The Scrivener's Tale

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘But I began this tale about a man called Elysius, didn’t I? And it’s his story that is relevant here. He was the powerful warlock whose talents passed through to his daughter, Myrren. She never knew him and he remained very secretive. He lived in a place called the Wild.’

  Gabe was surprised to feel his body shiver as though a cold wind had swept across it, but it had been a genuine tremble prompted by Cyricus’s mention of the Wild.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Aphra asked.

  ‘You’ve forgotten, it seems. It was the Wild that divided us.’ He pointed Gabe’s arm toward a street. ‘We’re nearly at our destination so I’d better hurry my story.’

  Gabe had been aware that they’d entered a far more salubrious part of the town. He was surprised that what had looked to be a small area from the other side of the toll-gate was a bustling town and, going by the size of the houses, it was home to wealthy residents.

  Cyricus continued. ‘You never knew why you were cast out of our world, Aphra. You were too young, probably not interested in learning the history.’

  ‘You’re going to tell me that it was because of this mage Elysius,’ she said, leaping to her conclusion.

  ‘Indeed I am, and all our recent sufferings are due to him. I hadn’t meant to invade the Wild. It happened after one of the cyclical wars between Zarab and Lyana in the far east of Percheron. The goddess Lyana —’ he paused to spit, surprising Gabe — ‘had beaten our leader, Zarab, and not only reduced his powers for a long, long time, but hunted down his minions. I was one of them. I escaped her wrath but found myself weakened and cast into the oblivion of the Razors — a mountain range north of Morgravia and far from Percheron. I travelled without purpose or direction, drifting south on the winds, and that’s when I felt the magic of Myrren. I found it irresistible; I watched her death and marvelled at her dark legacy. I had no time for the battles of mortals, of course, but now that Thirsk carried this demon-magic, I was intrigued by its consequences. I went in search of its origins and that led me to the Wild. I was not on guard, not at all prepared for the fury of Elysius, his manic protection of what I realised was a supremely magical place.

  ‘It shrouded itself so well that even I did not pick up on its power until I passed through one of its great defences, known as the Thicket. My trespass was innocent — more one of fascination than anything else — but Elysius knew of my breach immediately. He hunted me as Lyana had, but he was relentless, as she was not. And when he cornered me, employing magic I was not familiar with, he used it to catapult me into a dark wilderness, where I have been for centuries, trying to find my way back through the planes. More than that, he also punished those who paid any form of homage to me. One by one he found those loyal to me and they never saw it coming. He was patient, cunning and ancient. He sent each of you into a void of your own. You were sent to another world —’

  Aphra sounded indignant when she cut him off. ‘Where I too have roamed for centuries trying to find my way back to you.’

  Cyricus remained silent.

  ‘But we are together now, Cyricus. We should —’

  ‘I want revenge,’ Cyricus said, and it was so quietly murmured that Gabe strained to hear, ‘and I will take it now that the opportunity presents.’

  It was as though Aphra was fluttering around inside his body. Gabe felt dizzied by her sudden blaze of emotion.

  ‘How is this revenge?’ she demanded.

  ‘I know it’s hard for you to understand, Aphra, but my plan is taking shape. And you must not question me.’ He sighed. ‘If you wish to be with me, you must follow. Nothing else.’

  ‘I’ve done everything you’ve asked.’

  ‘True, and if you want to remain with me then you must continue following. I will have my revenge. This is the land that Elysius loved, that he worked hard to protect. Now I’m going to have my fun with it. The best place to begin is with the Crown — exactly the way his daughter did. She didn’t waste her skill or energy on the noble who began her downfall. He was nothing. Myrren levelled her fury at Celimus, who had laughed at her and conspicuously enjoyed her suffering. I might add, she didn’t even bother with Celimus at the time. She possessed patience like no other. And she used a “mule”, poor Wyl Thirsk, to carry her magic and unleash her vengeance long after her death, when Celimus reached the throne. She went after only what mattered to Celimus — his reign, his lands, his title, and ultimately his life. I will mimic Myrren, but the Imperial Crown of Morgravia, Briavel and the Razors is not enough for me. I want the Wild.’

  ‘But what about Elysius?’ Aphra asked, sounding awed.

  Cyricus laughed. ‘Elysius is dust by now; he was mortal, after all. And, while I’m sure it’s still magical, the Wild can be tamed. I will find a safe way to return to it and I will raze whatever I find. I will fell its forests, drain its waters. I will kill its animals and I will destroy everything — especially and including its Thicket, which I will watch burn. And in Myrren’s honour I will destroy the crown of Morgravia in the bargain.’

  ‘Oh, what a wonderful revenge you will wreak, my lord. Are you sure no-one inherited the crown of that warlock?’

  ‘Elysius was a freak. No-one could replace him. No mortal could wield that magic again. The Wild might scream its rage at my re-entering its region but this time it won’t have its warlock. I have watched for decades, since I found my way back to this plane, and no mortal walks its paths. Only beasts have access and they are no threat to me. I will use the magic of his daughter to lay waste to the land Elysius held so dear.’

  Gabe was astonished. The story he’d just heard was terrifying. It didn’t matter how or why, but he was now mixed up in this battle and likely to be the only soul in this world who knew of this sinister plan … possibly the only one who knew of the existence of Cyricus and Aphra. Excitement had begun to build in him that he could play his part in not only bringing them down, but helping to warn the unsuspecting people of this world of the vengeance being levelled against them. But he must make no move yet. He had learned plenty by keeping his own counsel, hiding completely, but he must continue to learn everything he could about the demon’s motive and plans.

  ‘And then you will be content and we can leave this place?’

  ‘Yes, Aphra. My hunger will be sated.’

  ‘Where are we, my lord? I am yours to command.’

  ‘Indeed, to the business at hand, the next stage of our journey. If we are going to behave as mortal — and reach the Crown — then I need the wealth to move freely and the standing to mingle with the right people. Behind these doors lives a man with just these attributes.’

  Aphra laughed. ‘Who is this man?’

  ‘A wealthy merchant but he lives as a recluse. Few in the capital could claim to have met him.’

  ‘No family? No wife?’

  ‘Tentrell’s tastes do not run to the female form.’

  Aphra giggled. ‘Ah, I see. And you think he will enjoy the look of Gabriel?’

  Gabe’s senses went onto full alert.

  ‘I like that you catch on fast, Aphra. Yes, I think the body you brought us is precisely what Tentrell craves. Shall we?’

  She laughed again. ‘You’re in control, my lord.’

  Gabe watched his fist bang on the door, feeling helpless.

  The small peephole hatch swung open. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Someone told me that Merchant Tentrell might have some work for a fit man,’ Cyricus replied, a soft plea in his tone.

  ‘Thank you, no,’ the man said and began to close the hatch.

  ‘Oh, please wait,’ Cyricus said, even more pitifully. ‘I was sent by a man called Easov.’ Clearly Cyricus knew this would win the attention of the person behind the door.

  Easov is powerful in a neighbouring town, he explained inwardly to Aphra. I’m sure we’ll get entry now.

  Cyricus waited. The door opened a short while later and a man stood before them wearing pale robes with the striped edging that attested he was a slave. He was y
oung, almost feminine in his movement.

  ‘Master Tentrell said you are to go around to the back,’ he said in a light, breathy voice, nodding his head in the direction of the side of the house. ‘He will speak to you in the grounds.’ The door closed without another word.

  Cyricus chuckled and walked Gabe’s body down the side pathway until it opened up into a neat, formal garden. It was, in the main, a beautifully manicured small orchard. Miniature pear trees had been strung against lines so their branches acted as climbers and framed one side of the garden. Gabe noticed there was no fruit, but there were signs it had been a good crop. On the other side, citrus trees had enjoyed similar treatment, with limes and oranges hanging plump and ripe.

  In between the trees, herbs and spices mixed with highly coloured flowers while small benches were strategically placed to enjoy maximum sun, or shade, or simply to revel within a cloud of perfume.

  Cyricus inhaled and Gabe recognised the look and scent of lavender and mint, rosemary and thyme. There were other plants he didn’t know but he could smell clove and aniseed. There was also a dark, arrow-shaped herb with a bouquet that was akin to crushed berries, but he had no idea what it was or how it might be used.

  The flowers were a riot of purples and deep reds, rich pinks and chocolatey yellows. His attention was dragged from the garden beds by the arrival of a heavily built man.

  ‘Master Tentrell?’ Gabe heard his voice ask.

  ‘Am I supposed to know you?’ the man queried. He may have been handsome once, Gabe thought, but he had run to fat. Clearly his life was prosperous and sedentary.

  ‘No, sir,’ Cyricus continued, ‘but Master Easov told me of your lovely garden and said you may have some manual work for me.’ Cyricus made a show of looking around. ‘I can see that he told me no lie of its beauty, Master Tentrell.’

  ‘Easov said that?’ Tentrell said with a smirk. ‘The man despises me.’

  Cyricus shrugged Gabe’s shoulders. ‘I don’t know anything about that, sir. I can tell you that he doesn’t despise your garden.’

  Tentrell’s hooded eyes seemed to shrink back further into the layer of flesh above his cheeks, in which was a network of broken red veins. ‘And you want some work?’

  ‘I can’t remember the last time I ate, sir. I will give an honest day’s work for a bowl of food and a half flagon of watered wine.’

  ‘A very modest wage, indeed,’ Tentrell remarked. ‘Take off your shirt.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Cyricus said, putting on a startled tone. Gabe could tell the demon was amused, as though expecting a request such as this.

  ‘You heard me. What’s your name by the way?’

  ‘Gabriel.’

  ‘Well, Gabriel, I need to see that you have the, er … loins, shall we say, and a strong chest to do my work.’

  Gabe could hear the innuendo in the man’s words and feel the amusement from Cyricus at the same.

  ‘So you have some work?’

  ‘Always. This garden does not tend itself. Over there,’ he pointed, ‘I am keen to plant a new vegetable bed.’

  ‘I can help with that, Master Tentrell.’

  ‘I’m waiting to see some proof.’

  Cyricus began to peel off his leather jerkin and the shirt beneath. Gabe knew the demon was relieved he’d taken the precaution of bathing Gabe’s body and stealing a shirt, for Flek’s had been ruined. He knew he hardly looked like a strong labourer, but it was true that he took care of himself and had worked on staying physically fit. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

  He watched Tentrell’s gaze alight on his torso and observe it hungrily.

  ‘Do I look up to the task?’ Cyricus deliberately baited, layering his words with innuendo as well.

  ‘You’ll do,’ Tentrell said, turning away, trying to sound as though Gabe was of no further interest, but he betrayed his intention by turning back. ‘You will present yourself to me at the end of your day’s toil.’

  Gabe could feel the pleasure that Cyricus felt warm his body at having achieved his aim.

  ‘Of course, Master Tentrell,’ Cyricus replied, nonetheless humbly. ‘Should I come to the back door?’

  ‘No, Ash will show you upstairs. I shall be spending the afternoon resting. You can come and get your coin at sunset.’

  ‘But a meal is more than —’

  ‘I like to pay my workers, Gabriel. You can certainly have a meal on the back porch.’ He pointed to where a stool and table were. ‘Then clean yourself up and present yourself … Ash will show you where.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’ll find all the tools you’ll need in that small enclosure.’ He pointed again. ‘Ask Ash if you’re unsure. He will bring you some water to drink and show you where you can clean up at the end of the day. Make sure you prepare my bed properly.’ He stopped just short of winking, Gabe was sure. Tentrell gave a final languorous smile before waddling off on swollen ankles into the house.

  ‘Surely you’re not going to do this manual work, my lord?’ Aphra asked, sounding disturbed.

  ‘I am, because I know he will be watching from his upstairs window. We might as well go through the motions and get his excitement levels to the right peak.’

  Aphra laughed. ‘Gabe has a fine body.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t enjoy it too much.’

  ‘I thought of myself as a whore when I was with him. It disgusted me to feel his touch, my lord. I am for you alone. And I permitted his slobberings only in order to reach you.’

  As Cyricus’s laughter boomed around his mind, Gabe felt sickened by her insult and felt it stoke the fire of his rage. He had to be especially careful. If he allowed his emotions to rise any further, his unwelcome guests might feel his fists clench against their will or sense his blood warming in anger. No, he must use all of his psychologist’s skills to remain calm and silent under any insults.

  He took his mind away from their conversation and focused purely on the work that soon got underway. Gabe kept himself deliberately distracted, revelling in the physical exercise, sensing the building fatigue in his shoulders and arms. He was glad of the weights he had used regularly in his apartment back in Paris and it was obvious that Cyricus was not only making very good use of that training but was now exerting his own strength somehow. The memory cut into the bubble of distance he’d managed to wrap around himself and he had to control the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. He must not allow himself to experience any rushes of emotion.

  Memories of Paris, the apartment, his former life, must be banished if he was going to survive this entrapment.

  SIXTEEN

  Florentyna had never felt more alone than she did right now watching Darcelle fuss over the final arrangements for the arrival of King Tamas in a few days. It wasn’t jealousy, it was envy — they’re different, she analysed privately. She had been betrothed once. She wondered if she would ever find someone to love. Weeping into one’s sewing just won’t do, majesty, Reynard used to tease when he caught her in a moment of self-pity. Shar, but she missed him.

  ‘Oh, I’m so nervous,’ Darcelle twittered in Florentyna’s general direction.

  ‘Formal welcome, to the throne room, meet the queen, talk with nobles briefly … and so on and so forth,’ Darcelle continued murmuring to herself as she looked over her list. It had originally held a mammoth series of tasks, which she had doggedly shortened — through canny management over seven moons — to this final list. ‘Stables, cleared. Guestrooms, ready. Servants appointed … er, Burrage?’

  ‘Yes, highness?’ he said, looking up from his desk in the queen’s salon, where they were all seated.

  Florentyna felt obliged to be present but was doing her best not to be involved in the final flurry of activity to organise the welcome for the arrival of the King of Cipres.

  ‘I know it’s tedious of me,’ Darcelle continued, ‘but I want to check again that Tamas has been appointed the best from our household staff to wait on him.’

  Florentyna had
to wonder why Burrage didn’t fling the book of household accounts straight at her sister’s head, which appeared to be empty of anything but her own inane, repetitive queries regarding her nuptials.

  ‘Hytchen will be his manservant at all times, and Looce his maid, your highness. I have seen to it.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to make you run through it again.’

  ‘It is no hardship, highness. Little Venn will be his page, and I will, of course, offer my secretarial and administrative services to ensure confidentiality and reliability. Looce has picked three other of our most senior and trusted women. Meanwhile, Hytchen has assembled his special team — from stable hands to falconer, to dressers, to musicians. Essentially, though, it will be myself, Hytchen and Looce who will supervise and manage the needs of the king and his retinue. Please do not worry yourself — we will ensure a smooth and delightful stay.’ He smiled warmly and cast a glance towards Florentyna, which she ignored, preferring not to be drawn into the conversation.

  ‘Thank you, Burrage,’ Darcelle said briskly. She continued checking off her list, muttering and dipping her nib into the queen’s inkpot to scribble small notes to herself. ‘So, we’re leaving pre-dawn to go and meet him?’ she cast into the silence.

  This was too much for Florentyna.

  There was no actual wedding ceremony yet. The visit of the king at this time was essentially to meet the sovereign of Morgravia in order to parley, to broker the right structure for this marriage between the two realms. It continued to annoy Florentyna that strict protocol had already been breached when Darcelle had made her own journey to Cipres and accepted the king’s proposal so emphatically. Darcelle should have known better, which is why Florentyna continued to believe that her stepmother was behind this union. Getting a crown onto Darcelle’s head was, no doubt, Saria’s prime outside interest while incarcerated at the monastery.

  Once Darcelle became a queen — with the power that such a title might bring — Florentyna was sure Saria would then set about chipping away at her through Darcelle. She’d hoped, over the passing of many moons, that Darcelle might drift away from their stepmother. Florentyna had to acknowledge to herself it was why she had acquiesced to her sister making the journey across the ocean to Cipres in the first place. It was a useful, cunning old ploy to expose a young woman to new experiences, new people, fresh interests. It hadn’t worked. Darcelle’s affections for Saria had remained intact; intensified if anything.