Time had played tricks on Fergus during these last seconds. He came to himself now and found Marcel close by his shoulder, his face stark with shock. He was staring down at the dying man, bewildered by what he had done.
‘You saved me,’ Fergus said in a whisper.
‘I had to. He was going to kill you, and because of me you couldn’t fight back.’
‘What are you talking about? I made a stupid mistake no soldier should ever make — I didn’t keep my sword close at hand to defend myself. Stupid, stupid.’
He looked down at the gruesome sight that Marcel couldn’t tear his eyes from. ‘Ever since I left Elstenwyck there hasn’t been a day when I didn’t think about killing Damon, but in the end it was you, Marcel. You killed him.’
‘He’s not dead yet. See, he’s still breathing.’
It was true. The blade had missed Damon’s heart, it seemed, and although breathing was agony, his chest still heaved while his hand tugged weakly at the sword.
‘With a wound like that he won’t last long,’ Fergus said coldly.
Damon heard them and despite the pain managed two blood-specked words. ‘Help me.’
‘I could save him, Fergus. His wound’s no worse than the sergeant’s in the tunnel. What do you want me to do?’
‘Why are you asking me?’
‘You know why. He’s your father.’
‘Is he really, do you think? Ever since you told me, I’ve tried to think of him that way, but there’s nothing there. I can’t feel anything at all,’ he said, touching his chest. ‘A father does more than give you life, and that’s all Damon ever did for me.’
‘You didn’t kill him when you had the chance though. Isn’t that the reason?’
Fergus shook his head firmly. ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he said. He knew more explanation was expected, but didn’t offer any. How could he, when he wasn’t sure what the answer was?
After a long silence Marcel gave up waiting and spoke again. ‘We have to decide together then — life or death?’
‘You choose. I don’t care what happens to him.’
‘Yes, you do, Fergus. You wouldn’t have chased him for so long if it wasn’t the most important thing in the world to you.’
‘And you, Marcel. He killed your mother and he would have killed mine too, if he’d found her before I was born. Don’t you want revenge?’
‘I suppose,’ Marcel said doubtfully. ‘It won’t bring our mothers back. It means more to you, though. You told me once you wouldn’t go back to Elstenwyck until he was dead.’
‘I swore an oath to myself,’ said Fergus.
‘But you couldn’t even live there while he was alive. Why did you run away, Fergus? It was more than revenge for Ashlere’s death, wasn’t it?’
‘I had to leave. I had to get out of the palace, and going after Damon … it was the thing I had to do. Don’t you see why? He pretended to be my father. He did it again, just now, before you arrived. It didn’t make any difference to him that it was true. I was only ever a stupid boy he could use to get his hands on the crown, so he let me believe it, Marcel. That’s what I can’t forgive! I was so easy to fool.’
He leaned over his dying father. ‘I trusted him!’ he cried, scattering those last three words among the trees only to hear them return as echoes. They broke through his defences as no weapon had been able to that day. A year ago, he’d stood in a field and opened his heart to Gadfly, only to slam it shut again when the true nature of his anguish had threatened to break free. This time he couldn’t hold back, and as the first tear drew a watery line down to his chin he turned to his cousin, trying to make him understand.
‘I loved him like a son is supposed to love his father, Marcel, and he saw it happening, even encouraged me, when all along he knew what a cruel trick he was playing on me. He didn’t care what it would do to me, he didn’t care how much it would hurt. Once he didn’t need me any more he kicked me away like a puppy. I couldn’t trust anyone after that. I couldn’t settle in the palace with you and Nicola and the man who was supposed to be my father. In the end, I couldn’t even sit still for more than a few seconds at a time. I had to run.’
He watched Marcel’s face, desperate that he understand the anguish he was trying to put into words.
‘There’s no place left to run then, once Damon is dead,’ said Marcel.
He did understand. ‘No, I suppose not,’ Fergus murmured.
Neither boy spoke after that. They stood side by side, staring down at Damon, once a prince of Elster, then a murderer, and a finally a traitor to his own kingdom. Along with the trees, they were the only witnesses when some minutes later he took his last blood-choked breath.
For Fergus there was no elation, but there was relief. His journey through the Mortal Kingdoms was over and he could finally live a life that carried no demands from his past. He hadn’t killed Damon, but with the man’s death he was free at last.
It was time to leave. The remnants of Ismar’s scattered forces had long since passed through the forest. The only men they could see among the trees now were dressed in blue and walking in joyful groups of three and four, their arms around each other’s shoulders. Some were even singing.
‘We’d better go back to the citadel,’ said Fergus, turning away abruptly.
‘Wait, what about your sword?’ called Marcel.
Fergus glanced back at the steel protruding from Damon’s lifeless body. ‘Leave it there. I don’t need it any more.’
Epilogue
THE BATTLE OF CADELL was over. Three days after the attack on the city, Demiter was crowned Queen of Tamerlane in the same square where she had rallied the townspeople to fight. Gracious in victory, she allowed the surviving rebels who had stormed the walls under Lord Ismar’s sinister influence to return unpunished to their homes. Men like the sergeant Marcel had saved and other mercenaries who had joined Ismar in the hope of plunder were sent to their homelands in chains.
After the coronation, the visitors from Elster set out for home, leaving one of their own behind forever in one of the many new graves. On the voyage to Elsmouth, Nicola stayed mostly in her cabin, barely saying a word. Whenever her brother and her cousin visited her she tried to hide her red-rimmed eyes and the handkerchief soaked in her tears.
‘Isn’t there anything you can do to help her?’ Fergus asked Marcel, the edge of anger in his voice an attempt to hide how deeply he felt for Nicola. ‘Isn’t there some spell you can use?’
‘I could take away her memory of Finn so she’d have nothing to grieve over.’
Fergus stared at him in horror. ‘That’s what Lord Alwyn did to us, so we’d forget Lady Ashlere. No, don’t do that.’
‘Of course I won’t,’ Marcel replied with a snort. ‘I wish there was something I could do, but no sorcerer before me has found a way to ease a grief like hers. Some pains just have to be endured.’
The young woman’s heartache hung around the ship like a fog and the last day’s sailing passed without a word being uttered between the passengers.
Since barges took much longer to travel up the river to Elstenwyck than they did to sail down, the travellers mounted horses for the final leg of their journey. They already had one horse with them, of course, Gadfly, and Marcel rode her. The three of them settled into a steady walking pace and watched for stones chiselled with a large ‘E’ at the roadside to count the remaining miles.
‘We’ll sleep in the palace tomorrow night,’ Marcel remarked, tired of the silence.
Nicola made no reply and Fergus didn’t show any sign that he had heard either, but a while later he said, ‘What do you think will happen when we get to Elstenwyck?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ll have to tell Father …’ Fergus paused to correct himself, taking a deep breath before going on, ‘you’ll have to tell King Pelham that I’m not his son. When you think about it, I’m not related to him by blood at all. How do you think he’ll treat me?’
Marcel was
surprised to find himself beaten to an answer by Nicola.
‘He’ll treat you like a son, as he always has, the same as Marcel and I will go on thinking of you as our brother. What that old midwife told Marcel doesn’t change anything, and it won’t make any difference to Father either.’
This was the first time since Finn’s death that Nicola had joined in one of their conversations and for Marcel it was a pleasure simply to hear her voice in place of silent tears. He nodded towards Fergus to show he agreed with every word.
‘I can’t remember how he treated me,’ Fergus said. ‘Oh, I’m sure he’s always been a good father, but all my memories of him were wiped away by Lord Alwyn.’
‘I’ve broken Lord Alwyn’s spell for Nicola and me,’ Marcel told him. ‘Just give me the word and I can do the same for you.’
‘No, then I wouldn’t be Fergus any more, I’d be Prince Edwin. It’s all right for you, but even my old life was a false one.’
Marcel and Nicola shared a bewildered glance. They hadn’t thought of this until now, but he was right. They’d had only one identity hidden from them. Fergus had had two.
‘Father’s known you since the day you were born, the real you, the person he’s loved as a son,’ said Marcel. ‘Trust him, Fergus, the way he’ll be able to trust you now. That’s the good thing that’s come out of this. The Book of Lies said you would try to kill your own father, and you did — you tried to kill Damon. The whole kingdom will know what an evil trick the book played on you. They’ll know you’re a brave soldier too, because Nicola and I will tell them, as many times as they’ll listen. You’ll become a knight, like Finn, and defend the kingdom if Elster is ever attacked.’
‘More than that,’ said Nicola. ‘Years from now, when Father is dead and I’m the queen, you’ll be the leader of my army.’
It was difficult to know who was more stunned to hear this. Leader of the army! What greater show of confidence could anyone have offered Fergus than this? But Marcel was just as astonished for a very different reason. He’d never heard his sister speak of being queen before. If she already had Fergus in mind for such a role, then she was thinking ahead to the fate laid down for her.
WHEN THE SUN FADED ahead of them they made camp for the night at the side of the road. Termagant had ridden all the way from Elsmouth sandwiched between Marcel and Gadfly’s mane, sleeping for most of the journey. Now she was on the ground and full of energy, prowling between Marcel’s legs and sending her jumbled demands into his mind. After they’d eaten and he was settled comfortably beside the fire, he relented and listened to her words.
‘Tie the pouch around my neck. You’ve got it in your pocket, I know you have,’ Termagant insisted.
‘No, I prefer you as a black cat.’
‘But I’ll protect you. There might be bandits.’
‘Not in this part of the kingdom, and besides, you’ll scare the horses.’
‘Timid creatures. At least I’d have a bit of respect. Go on, get the pouch out of your pocket.’
Marcel sighed and shifted himself against the log he was using as a back-rest. For a moment Termagant thought she had convinced him, but only for a moment. Suddenly, her sleek black shape disappeared and in its place was a tiny grey mouse.
‘What have you done to her?’ asked Nicola.
‘Given her a different view of life,’ he said, then dropped his head to concentrate again. If things had worked as he’d willed them, the mouse had become a sparrow. He looked up and smiled when he saw the dull brown plumage in the firelight. The sparrow fluttered its wings frantically but couldn’t fly to safety in the trees; Marcel’s magic had seen to that. He closed his eyes again and sought the power inside him, a simple thing for the sorcerer he had become.
‘Oh, look at that,’ said Nicola, and this time Fergus came to see, and even Gadfly from where she was loosely tethered with the other horses. They all stared down at a fish floundering helplessly in the dust, rising a little way into the air with each spasm of its rainbow-tinged scales.
‘That should be enough,’ said Marcel, and instantly the fish became a spitting, writhing and utterly bewildered cat.
‘I thought it was time you learned a little humility,’ he said, scooping Termagant tenderly into his arms. ‘So I let you know what it feels like to be your own food.’
Termagant quivered from head to tail until she was sure of her shape again, then meowed meekly. Marcel freed one arm to hunt around in his pocket. He brought out the leather pouch. ‘See this,’ he said, dangling it before her face. ‘You don’t need this any more. I can turn you into your savage self any time I want, and the spell won’t break after a few seconds like it did before. But I’ll only do it when there’s a good reason and, to tell you the truth, I hope there never is.’
His own words echoed in his ears: … don’t need this any more. Inside the pouch lay the only remnant of the Book of Lies, that fabulous creation of magic that had betrayed its promise and caused such havoc in their lives. The fire’s flames caught Marcel’s eye, warming an idea that quickly grew. He stood up, drawing the attention of the others, loosened the leather thong and unfolded the page to its full size. Words were visible in the firelight — some of them Fergus’s, the rest Damon’s.
‘Just as well we had that to prove our innocence,’ Nicola said.
‘Yes, it helped us,’ Marcel agreed, ‘but the book it came from gave us false lives that weren’t meant for us. If Bea hadn’t interfered on the night I was brought to Fallside, we’d still be living those lives. But we’re not, are we? We’ve taken back our lives, the ones we were born to lead. It’s been a year, but today we’ve taken them back.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Nicola. ‘Why today?’
‘It started with you,’ he told her. ‘You talked about the time when you’ll be queen. You’ve never done that before. You’ve never admitted to yourself that it was your future, not until today. And you, Fergus, you’re going to be the commander of her army. Don’t you see? That’s what you two were born to be.’
‘And you?’ asked Nicola.
‘You saw my magic just now. That answers your question, doesn’t it?’ and with those words Marcel dropped the last remaining page of the Book of Lies into the flames.
It curled instantly in the heat and blackened along one edge. Then a long yellow flame began to feed on the paper, lighting their faces with a steady glow, as if the Book of Lies was announcing one last truth. The flame died as quickly as it had appeared and moments later the shrivelled remains collapsed into the embers beneath, leaving no trace at all that it had ever existed.
IN THE MORNING, THEY set out again and by noon had reached a fork in the road. Without a thought Marcel turned to the left, towards Elstenwyck, and Gadfly had already travelled on a few paces before Nicola’s call made him twist on her back. He saw Fergus staring in the opposite direction.
‘That road leads to Grenvey,’ Marcel told him. ‘Come on, home is this way.’
‘I’m not going home with you, at least not to Elstenwyck.’
‘Of course you are, we settled that yesterday. I even burned that page to show how we’ve beaten the Book of Lies.’
‘Yes, you burned the last page and I’m glad you did, glad to be rid of that thing at last, but there was something wrong with what you said around the fire, Marcel. I hardly slept last night thinking about it, and it was only when I saw the road to Grenvey just now that I finally worked out what it was. You two didn’t beat the Book of Lies by getting back what was stolen from you; you beat it because you’ve chosen your new lives, both of you.’
He looked down the road towards Grenvey, his eyes taking in more than the others could see. When he turned back to face them, his features were relaxed and his voice as steady as they had ever heard it.
‘I know what you said yesterday is true — Pelham would be a good father to me. But down that road, there’s a family who will welcome me even more. If you ever need me to fight for you, then I’ll come,
you know I will, but before I’m a soldier, I’m going to be a farmer’s son.’
Nicola began to argue with him but Marcel cut her off. ‘Leave him. It’s his choice.’ He was remembering what Fergus had said over Damon’s dying body, when he’d explained a year of struggle and loneliness in a handful of words. ‘This is Fergus’s way of beating the Book of Lies. Now all three of us are free of it at last.’
Fergus urged his horse forward until he was side by side with Gadfly. ‘Goodbye, Marcel,’ he said, offering his hand like a man. He leaned across to kiss Nicola on the cheek, holding her in a firm embrace afterwards until his horse shifted nervously and he had to break away.
Marcel and Nicola watched from the fork in the road until their cousin was no more than a dark speck in the distance.
The afternoon sun wearied them as they rode on towards Elstenwyck, both content to remain silently within their own thoughts. With only two hours of sunlight left, the road crested a rise and Nicola gave a gasp.
‘Elstenwyck, look. I can see the towers of the palace.’
They halted to let the horses rest after the steady climb, but mostly to take in the view.
‘Do your powers let you see into the future?’ Nicola asked.
‘I haven’t tried, and I don’t think I want to really. I read in one of Lord Alwyn’s books about a farseer from Tannock Noor. He’d gone to that faraway place to discourage people from coming to him to find out what lay ahead in their lives. He thought it was better for people to live their lives and see what unfolded. I think he’s right.’
‘So you’re not going to tell me whether I’ll be a good queen?’
‘A few weeks ago I wasn’t so sure, but you’re different now. I don’t need magic to know you’ll be a good queen.’
‘One thing hasn’t changed: I’ll have to marry one day.’
Marcel could only marvel at his sister’s resilience. She still wept for what she had lost, yet with not even a week passed she was able to speak openly like this. He tried to find an answer that would bring her least pain.
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