Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  Tor nudged his horse forwards; he looked once behind at Alyssa and then opened his Link with Cloot.

  Where? he asked his falcon.

  Follow the track. They haven’t even stirred as yet.

  How long?

  I’ll see you well before you get close. Just ride quickly now and listen for me.

  The Link closed and Tor pushed his horse into a gallop.

  Cloot’s voice entered his head. Slow down now. Tether your horse beneath the shade of the trees you see coming up.

  I see the open country soon closed up again.

  Yes. The Great Finger points into Rork’yel. They’d have to head east now to escape the Forest or the mountains. It seems they don’t want to lose the cover.

  Where are you? Tor asked, having slowed his exhausted horse to a slow walk. It had been a wild ride.

  Here, Cloot said, swooping from behind Tor and landing neatly on his shoulder.

  Light! I’ve asked you not to do that.

  I’m getting so good at it, though.

  Tor stroked his bird and immediately softened. I don’t like us being apart.

  I know. I feel the same. But this is too important.

  They led the horse to shade. Saxon had sent a water bladder and thin leather bucket which it now gratefully drank from. A bag of oats had also been packed.

  He thinks of everything, Cloot commented.

  When it comes to horses, Tor said dryly.

  How are our patients?

  Grumpy, he answered. Especially my wife. Gidyon’s travelling east as fast as he can now with Figgis and Themesius.

  Yes. Thank you for letting me share that conversation. I’m glad he’s got the stone back.

  Mmm, but I’m wondering what he might have promised in order to get it.

  The girl?

  Tor nodded, stroking the horse as she drank.

  Cloot paused before asking: Why does this trouble you?

  He’s so young.

  Does it matter?

  Tor said nothing.

  Cloot continued. In fact I seem to recall you telling me that you fell in love with Alyssa when you were just a spotty youth and she wasn’t yet a decade of summers.

  But that’s—

  Different? I don’t see how. Gidyon is so like you. Why wouldn’t he take after you in affairs of the heart? Relax, Tor. Your children know so much grief. If this Yseul brings him joy…why not? It could be as real as the love you feel for Alyssa.

  I cannot say goodbye to her again, Tor suddenly blurted.

  I know.

  I’m frightened for her.

  She’s stronger than you give her credit for.

  How much more punishment must she take?

  Don’t underestimate her, Tor. She could hate you for that. Alyssa has a purpose in all of this. I don’t suspect for a moment it was only to birth your children. The blood of the gods runs strong in her veins. She will prevail.

  Shall we?

  All of us shall, somehow.

  And none of us will die, Tor replied sombrely, not believing it.

  I didn’t say that.

  Let’s not talk about this.

  We can’t run away from destiny.

  I hate that word.

  It is what has shaped you…what drives you—me, all of us.

  He’s my brother, Cloot.

  And you are his. Promise me you will wait—make no decision yet—and let’s see what that relationship means. For now, we deal with what we can. And that means Goth.

  27

  Valley of the Sentients

  Goth had been awake for hours. He knew they would be followed—the falcon he presumed would keep them in sight. He was now convinced that the bird somehow communicated with Gynt. Every time he considered this concept it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Magic! How he hated it.

  He recalled how the trees had claimed him. He could feel their hate; knew they wanted to tear him apart. And yet they had only broken him slightly and had deliberately preserved his life. He presumed they did this for Gynt…for retribution. Did Torkyn Gynt and the mysterious Great Forest work as one? They must, but why? And what was Gynt’s purpose? No matter how he considered that question he could never give himself an answer which satisfied him. He had learned to accept that where Gynt was concerned there were never satisfactory answers.

  But Goth chuckled quietly to himself as he lifted the small vial he had discovered the previous night in the satchel stolen from Gynt. Arraq! No more pain. He took another sip and felt its familiar healing burn to the tips of his toes whilst the pain was just numbed away. He would be able to ride now, and swiftly. The arraq would protect him.

  A new thought occurred to him. Until the arraq had begun to work he had not been able to think clearly. Now, after a deep sleep, his head felt clear again and all his guile was back. Why not escape?…not only from Gynt but from the man called Nord Jesper who was still sleeping nearby. No one in this party had stirred. They had all drunk heavily, having found some skins of liquor in the cart. He figured they might well sleep off their stupor for a while yet. It would give him sufficient time to steal away with one of the horses.

  He decided that with the way his luck was running, anything now was worth a try. Goth got to his feet silently, slipping the arraq vial into a pocket, knowing he would need it later despite feeling strong at this moment and headed to where the animals were tied up. He realised the mare he had ridden was still saddled. She would be tired and cranky for that reason but it saved him the time—and the nuisance…and noise—of having to saddle a horse.

  The mare nickered with reproach when he began to untie the reins. Goth was perspiring in the cool morning from the effort of remaining silent. He even stroked her muzzle—an action foreign to him—to keep the beast quiet. He noticed her ears suddenly prick up and forwards although he himself had heard no sound. He turned anyway.

  ‘Hello, Goth,’ Gynt said, the falcon on his shoulder. ‘Were you going somewhere?’

  Goth wanted to scream his frustration. So close. If only he had thought to leave before first light.

  Tor smirked. ‘I would have tracked you down, anyway,’ he said, as though he could read the man’s thoughts. ‘Shall we wake your friends?’

  Goth noticed the mare still carried the bow. He was an excellent shot. As Tor turned to look at the slumbering figures, Goth reached for the bow, awkwardly sliding a single arrow from the nearby quiver.

  You’ll be quite amused at what Goth’s up to behind your back, Cloot cautioned, as Tor walked towards the group of men.

  Tor shielded casually for both himself and Cloot. Nothing from Goth could hurt them now.

  He kicked the men, one by one. They came to slowly; everything a blur. Finally Tor turned back to Goth who barked a harsh laugh.

  ‘Shall I shoot the bird first, or you?’

  Cloot tsk-tsked in Tor’s head. Trying, isn’t he?

  The men beside them were fully awake now, confused, and slowly standing up.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Jesper growled.

  Goth let fly the arrow which pierced the chest of one of Jesper’s companions. The man dropped like a stone. Not bad, Goth thought to himself, although the heart would be a cleaner target next time. In a blink, Goth had nocked another arrow. His former travelling companions were suddenly wary.

  ‘We can rush you, Goth. You can only get one of us in the time it will take us to throw you to the ground,’ Jesper warned.

  ‘Yes, but which one?’ Goth asked gleefully, another arrow flying with horrible speed to its target. Jesper’s second companion joined his friend on the ground in death.

  ‘That was just stupid,’ Jesper said. ‘This gormless sod and I will now finish you. You’d better choose quickly which of us you like least.’

  ‘Well, that’s not an easy decision but I must admit, I don’t owe him money,’ Goth said, nodding towards Tor, still enjoying himself.

  Tor turned to the sailor. ‘And I despise both of you and will certainl
y not join you in anything, Nord Jesper.’

  The sailor looked stunned. ‘How do you know me?’

  Tor’s voice was hard. ‘I only know of you but that’s enough to welcome your death, either by his hand or mine. I care not.’ He lied. He would prefer it to be by Goth’s bow.

  Jesper looked between his two would-be killers. ‘What have I done to either of you?’

  Tor felt his anger rise in concert with the man’s whimpering tone. ‘Apart from felling two of my companions you mean?…one of them my wife.’

  Goth stepped closer. His wife? He could only mean Alyssa. ‘Is she dead?’ he asked.

  ‘She lives,’ Tor replied, not even looking Goth’s way. ‘Apart from them, you killed a friend of mine. His name was Petyr Gylbyt.’

  Nord Jesper scratched his head nervously. ‘I don’t recall.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you do because that’s how much his life was worth to you.’ He turned to the former chief inquisitor. ‘Kill him, Goth. I see your strength has curiously returned.’

  Goth smiled. ‘Yes, I do appreciate the healing properties of your arraq. Well, well…whoever thought we’d be on the same side, Gynt.’

  ‘Only this once,’ Tor said and again the wolfish grin crossed his face as though he knew something the others did not.

  Jesper had begun to beg for his life and Tor turned away, walked a few steps and sat down. ‘I shall wait here for you,’ he said to the man brandishing the bow.

  ‘Your arrogance amazes me you know, Gynt,’ Goth said, shaking his head. ‘Yes, wait for me and the arrow I have reserved especially for you. Then I’ll go back to where Alyssa is and finish off what my travelling companions failed to do.’

  The Colours flashed. Tor could kill him here and now but he remembered the wise counsel of Cyrus. Justice must be done. He was not the person to administer it.

  Go Cloot. To the trees. The falcon obeyed. Goth did not notice the bird lift silently from Gynt’s shoulder.

  In his fright at imminent death Jesper had emptied his full morning bladder.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Goth said with fake sympathy. ‘That is a shame. What an untidy way to go to your gods.’

  Tor looked at the grass. He heard Jesper make one more plea and then the terrifying sound of an arrow as it left the bow and thudded home. A wet, gurgling sound was quickly replaced by silence. Goth had done the dirty work for him; Nord Jesper was dead. Eryn’s promise to avenge Petyr’s death had been kept.

  He lifted his bright blue eyes to rest on Goth who had taken several more steps towards him. In the bow was nocked one final arrow. Tor noticed the quiver was empty.

  ‘I suppose I had better make this one count,’ Goth said, knowing his enemy had seen this arrow was his last.

  Tor nodded sombrely, his gaze not leaving Goth’s twitching face.

  ‘Is there anything you want to say?’ Goth asked, slightly perturbed by his victim’s calm countenance.

  ‘Hurry up, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh, you’re in a rush to die, then?’

  ‘No. I must make haste for your judgement.’

  Now Goth was hugely amused. He laughed heartily. ‘I might almost miss you, Gynt. I just wish I could get you and your hideous bird with one arrow.’

  ‘You can hurt neither of us,’ Tor said softly.

  ‘Shut up, Gynt. And now you die. Lift your chin and I’ll make sure it goes straight through your throat.’

  Tor obliged.

  ‘Farewell,’ Goth said and loosed the arrow which whizzed through the air with a sickening sound.

  Tor made a small motion with his hand and the arrow followed that path, sliding past him to land harmlessly in the ground behind.

  The tic on Goth’s face intensified wildly.

  Tor regained his feet. He spoke in a measured tone. ‘There are several ways we can handle this now—’

  Goth had started running. Once again, Tor was amazed at the man’s speed and agility. The arraq had certainly worked its wonders.

  Cloot flew down again to his shoulder. How far will you let him go?

  Until he reaches the top of that hill he’s making for. I think we should wear him out first.

  He heard the falcon laugh in his head as they watched Goth’s pumping legs carry him nimbly but less swiftly up the steep incline.

  Goth was reacting on pure instinct now. He knew Gynt would catch up with him. Still he must try. He made a desperate lunge towards the top of the hill, knowing that if he could just get over the other side, then he might have the chance to put some space between his pursuer and himself. Perhaps Gynt’s magic only worked over a short distance?

  His hopes were short-lived. As he crested the hill, he felt his body lurch to a stop. It was not his choice to halt even though he felt tired. His legs simply would not move. Next he was thrown to the ground, which winded him. Goth lay there gasping for breath and wondering what horrible death was in store. Now he was being dragged backwards down the hill, his arms and head banging hard against the ground. Nothing gripped him; it was the most eerie sensation—of being pulled against one’s will by something all-powerful.

  Tor sat through the rest of that day in a stony silence. Goth tried to engage him, first cajoling and then insulting him, but nothing induced him to pass a word with his enemy who was battered and bleeding from his humiliating journey down the hill. Tor maintained a gentle flow of his Colours which pinned Goth against a tree.

  Goth detested the feel of the enchantment wielded against him. He despised all magics and realised Gynt had been using such powers in his presence all the time they had known each other. He snarled as he recalled the miraculous recovery of Queen Nyria; one minute about to step through the gate towards the Light, the next sitting up against her pillows, colour returning to her face. This had been achieved with Gynt’s ministrations, he now realised. Then there was that amazing disappearance from Caremboche by Gynt and Alyssa, when he had certainly had them cornered and cringing. He recalled how a rainbow of blinding colours had appeared and the pair of lovers vanished.

  He tried to shake his head clear of these useless thoughts but they nibbled away, reminding him again and again of Gynt’s arrogant use of magic in his presence. How about the execution? Goth barked a laugh but Gynt did not so much as stir at the sound. He remembered how he had witnessed the corpse hanging from the timbers. How could life ever be breathed back into a broken, dead body?…And yet here he was. Despicable magic was the only way. Other events roared through his mind now…the coincidence of being on The Wasp; Blackhand’s death; the ship’s sinking; Gynt’s escape from the pirates; and his turning up in the arms of the Ciprean Queen. Goth had to marvel at it all—even the saving of that wretched Locky Gylbyt from the Maiden’s Kiss must have been Gynt at work.

  Goth watched the despised falcon arrive. He noticed the way it cocked its head to one side as though listening to Gynt. He was sure of it now…they communicated through magic. He hated them both more than ever.

  The hours passed slowly and his constant companion was pain. It would not kill him but it drained his energy and his resolve to survive this and destroy Gynt once and for all. The sun began to lower and day slipped into dusk and still the pressure of Gynt’s silent magics kept him pinned and motionless against the tree which also spoke its hate to him, over and over.

  Finally the sun’s glow deepened in the west and darkness arrived quickly. Not long after Gynt stood. He seemed to have heard something but Goth could only pick up the scampering of tiny creatures and insects. Gynt strode off deeper into the Forest and before long Goth could hear several voices.

  Five other people emerged with Gynt into a brightly moonlit clearing by the track. There was Alyssa who refused to even look at him—he could see she favoured one side and he took some delight that the injury was obviously paining her. And yet how beautiful she seemed…pale and ethereal. The bastard Kloek, as always at her side, was looking none the worse for his arrow wound, he noticed. And there was the initial shock of seeing a dw
arf and what surely had to be a giant within a couple of strides of each other. Goth was astonished; these races died out centuries ago, surely? Still, not even the sight of these two people could spare him the genuine cold shock of clapping eyes on someone who resembled his enemy so closely that Goth could swear even in this light that they were identical. However, when the young man stepped forward to glare at him, he could see this was the Gynt he remembered from many years ago. So, Goth thought, a son. How perfect.

  They all ignored him, talking quietly amongst themselves for a while after an initial flurry of hugs at seeing each other again.

  As the others rested and watered their horses, Tor and Alyssa stole some time alone. Gidyon, who was digging out dried fruits and cheese so everyone could snatch a hasty meal, saw his parents move away from the main party. He wished he could share what they talked about but respected their privacy.

  Tor put his arm gently around his wife. ‘I’m so relieved to have you back with me. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Oh, now don’t you start, Tor. Your son has been worrying away at me for hours on the same subject. I’m fine, as you can see.’

  ‘My eyes never lie, Alyssa. You look extremely pale, you favour one side; your expression tells a different story from what you would have us believe.’

  She softened her gaze. It was not fair to take out her bitterness on him. She knew she should tell him. But not yet. Not until she understood it better herself. ‘Fret not, my love. Your herbals worked, but not on my anger, I’m afraid. That will only be sated when justice is meted to Goth.’ Alyssa hated feeling like this. Goth brought out all the bad in her. All her scorn, resentment and rage over so many years, always brimmed up where he was concerned. She tried to pretend that the new fear was just that…a fear—and not something tangible—because there was no proof. It was a dream, that was all. She hurriedly changed the subject. ‘Saxon says you carry a special liquid fire which will heal anything.’

  Tor smiled. ‘Arraq. It is incredible. You will take some before we set out.’

  ‘What now?’ she asked, her head nodding towards Goth but still her eyes not touching him.