‘Mmm,’ said Theron, attempting to sound interested in the size of his squire. ‘The gates are solid but they have to be quite wide to bring horses in and out. That makes them the weakest point of the fortress. That’s why we’ve constructed such a heavily fortified approach to them. Any army would suffer huge losses before they got here.’
‘Are his parents alive?’ Belwynn asked.
‘What?’
‘Evander’s parents.’
‘Yes. They have estates in the north-east. I know his father very well,’ answered Theron. He made a face.
‘What is it?’
‘You’re not that interested, are you?’
‘Sorry, Theron, I am. Please tell me more.’
‘This is the very place where Stephen fought the Green Dragon, you know?’
Belwynn wasn’t sure whether Theron really believed the story, but thought it best not to ask.
‘Yes, I know. It’s in the song.’
He smiled. ‘Come on. I’ll take you to the top.’
The inside of the fortress couldn’t have been a greater contrast with the High Tower. The whole place was deserted. There were no separate rooms, just one huge open space. It was the middle of a bright summer’s day but it was still dark and gloomy inside. Much of the inside space had been carved out by hand, and the walls were rough and unfinished. Its purpose as a last place of refuge could hardly have been lost on even the most casual visitor. To Belwynn it felt like a place to die. She mused to herself that, if ghosts truly came out of their graves on certain nights to revisit the lands where they once lived, this must surely be a popular haunt.
Theron led her up a twisting stone stairway to the top of the cliff, and they emerged back into the sunshine. The cliff top was also well fortified. Battlements faced out towards the path while to the rear of the cliff, more stonework protected the area from enemies who had discovered alternative routes to the top.
Belwynn peered over the edge.
‘Evander!’ she bellowed out.
The squire, now an even tinier figure than before, dutifully waved up towards them.
‘Well? What do you think?’ asked Theron.
‘It’s very impressive. I was wondering when was the last time it was used?’
Theron puffed out his cheeks. ‘Not for generations. Not since the great wars with the Kharovians.’
Belwynn nodded. ‘Because it is a strange place for the Knights of Kalinth to hold.’
‘Yes, I understand what you mean. Our strength is as a cavalry force, which is useless here. But this place isn’t meant to be just for the Knights. It’s for all the people of Kalinth. We maintain it on their behalf.’
‘I see.’
‘Belwynn,’ began Theron, and she immediately caught the change in tone. Butterflies flew about her stomach even before he continued speaking.
‘I enjoy spending time with you. I—’ he began, but seemed at a loss for words, and walked towards her. Belwynn let him take her hand. He looked into her eyes and shook his head. ‘Why can’t I get my words out?’
Belwynn felt a sudden, mad urge to kiss him. It felt like, atop this cliff, they were free to do whatever they liked, with no consequences. She took a breath and controlled herself. They weren’t free. And she wasn’t a wilful child.
‘I understand what you are trying to say, Theron,’ Belwynn said. ‘But you are a Knight of Kalinth and have taken your oaths. You are about to lead a Knights’ army against your king. I need to find my brother. If we both get to the other side of all of that— then we can speak about this.’
Theron nodded. He clasped her hand in both of his as if he didn’t want to let it go. ‘Very well, Belwynn. But I promise you. After I restore my country, I will find and rescue your brother.’
Don’t make promises you can’t keep, she thought, but didn’t say it. Instead she moved forwards and they embraced, not letting go of each other until it was time to leave.
He swam from unconsciousness towards consciousness, sliding through the membranes in his path, but being careful not to go too far. A queasy feeling in his stomach made him stop. He peered ahead tentatively, fighting down the natural urge to re-join his body. Pain and fear. That was why he was hesitating. That was his waking life now. Fighting down panic, he tried to force his cloudy thoughts to think clearly, without waking him up.
Who am I?
It sounded like a stupid question but he had to start somewhere.
Soren.
Yes, that was it. Soren the wizard. Not a very clever wizard, though, because he had let himself be captured. He had been captured in Edeleny, by the Isharites. He had been part of a group. Some of them had been captured, but...
Something made Soren wake up. He couldn’t see or hear anything. Since being separated from Herin, Clarin, and the others, they had somehow removed his senses. He didn’t know what kind of room he was in, or whether there were other people in it. He didn’t know if he was lying down, sitting, or standing. He didn’t know how long he had been there.
He knew about the pain. The excruciating, agonising pain that He had inflicted on him. It wasn’t happening right now, but his nerve endings were so raw it felt like it was. The pain overload would have caused most people to have gone mad or die by now. He hadn’t, because his magic powers helped to keep him alive; and, because He still wanted something from him.
Who ‘He’ was Soren couldn’t be sure. He was a powerful wizard and so could have been Arioc, or even Erkindrix himself. Or some other. He had done this many times before. Using the pain, He had gained entry into Soren’s mind, finding out all about his life; his magical gifts and knowledge had been forced out of him; all the details of his journey from Magnia to the Grand Caladri. Soren had fought him all the way, protecting and separating information, with the aim of keeping any small secret; but the pain was unbearable, and his torturer already knew all the tricks, shoving a clawed hand around in Soren’s brain, scratching and picking out the pieces until his job was done.
And yet his job wasn’t done. Because Soren was still alive. There was one thing his torturer didn’t know, hadn’t fully found out, that he was still looking for. Soren’s link with his sister, Belwynn.
Soren had closed this off early on, knowing that if the link was found it could be used to locate and kill Belwynn. His interrogator knew there was something Soren wasn’t telling him; that there was something unusual about him. But He didn’t know what it was: as far as Soren knew the link was unique, so his interrogator didn’t know exactly what he was looking for. The pain had forced Soren to give everything else up—he would have given his life for it to stop a long time ago. But because this involved the life of his sister, he had found the strength to resist. It had surprised and shocked his torturer at first. Soren had got some small sense of satisfaction from that. But he soon realised that it had also sparked an interest, and that He wouldn’t let go until he knew everything.
‘Soren.’
It was Him. The voice of his tormentor. Smooth and confident, it was the voice of a God, and Soren was an insect squirming on the sole of His shoe. Had He just arrived or had He been there all along? Was He speaking inside Soren’s head or was He there in the room?
‘Soren, I’m glad you’ve returned. Because you know we have unfinished business, don’t you?’
‘Please,’ whimpered Soren. His pathetic and purposeless begging made Soren disgust himself, but he pleaded and begged anyway, every single time.
‘I’ve been thinking, since last time. This thing you are hiding from me, and can’t tell me about. I’ve been thinking that maybe you don’t know what it is yourself. That maybe someone else has hidden it. That would explain why you haven’t been able to tell me so far. Do you think I’m on to something, Soren?’
‘Yes,’ said Soren. ‘Yes, that must be right.’
‘Right. Well, let’s focus on that this time then. Are you ready?’
‘But...but doesn’t that mean you don’t have to hurt me?’
‘Please—if I don’t know where it is, maybe there’s no need for the pain—’
But the pain came, it coursed through Soren’s body, his nerve receptors flaring up until there was nothing but pain, unbearable pain that somehow didn’t stop. Soren screamed and screamed. I’m screaming, he thought to himself. I’m screaming, but am I screaming out loud, or just in my head?
Cyprian would always be much faster than him, Gyrmund admitted to himself.
Another day in the mines, and Gyrmund’s back was aching, his knees were creaking, and his head felt dizzy. His work partner, on the other hand, seemed to be built for this kind of work. Cyprian was small and wiry, able to bend down and stretch back up all day long without getting noticeably tired. It might have been demoralising if they had not started to get along with each other. Occasionally, the Persaleian would shake his head in bemusement at Gyrmund’s efforts, and chuck some of the crystals he had excavated himself into Gyrmund’s box.
Cyprian was from the busy port of Lumberco in Persala, and the two of them had first hit it off when Gyrmund recounted a visit he had once made to the city, being careful to emphasise his admiration for the place. Cyprian had now taken over the conversation, and was running through all of the jobs he had worked in Lumberco since childhood.
‘You can get dock work all the time, once you know who’s who and you’ve got a reputation for doing a full day’s graft. You just turn up with your hook early in the morning, and you can work through `til evening. Tough work that, mind. By the end of the day you’re starving and gasping for a drink. I’d end up spending half my wages in the pub on an evening.’
At that moment, the thought of spending all day working outside, and all evening in the pub, sounded like heaven to Gyrmund.
‘And did you get any work on ship, Cyprian?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I did that several times. Local routes, usually up the rivers, to sell on the goods that had arrived in port.’
‘And the longer routes—they’re all controlled by the Sea Caladri?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Cyprian, hacking away at one side of a clump of crystal he was excavating.
It was said as if it was something he wasn’t happy about, but wasn’t going to complain about either, so Gyrmund didn’t probe any further. He knew that the Caladri control of sea trade was a sore point in many kingdoms, and that one of the reasons the Persaleians had originally constructed the Great Road was to open up an alternative, inland route, which they could control.
Anyway, Gyrmund thought, I’ve done enough skirting around the issue. ‘We need to get out of here,’ he said in a quiet, low voice.
Cyprian looked over. ‘That we do,’ said the Persaleian, before resuming his work. Just as Gyrmund thought that might be it, he looked over again, with a slight twinkle in his eyes.
‘And you and your two friends are the ones that can do it. I can feel it.’
‘Well—the other two maybe.’
Cyprian shrugged. ‘Maybe more them. But if they can lead, there’s plenty of us who can follow. I’ve been here as long as most. I know who could be persuaded to help.’
This was exactly what Gyrmund wanted to hear. ‘That’s great. How many do you think?’
‘First of all, though,’ said Cyprian, apparently ignoring the question, ‘you’ll have to deal with Vamak. He has a good relationship with the guards, and if he gets a whiff, he’ll tell ‘em about any escape plan. Plus, he’s feared enough to stop people siding with you. So, like I say, that’s your job. In the meantime, I’ll be quietly sounding out some of the other miners. But don’t worry `bout that. I’m not going to blab anything to the wrong person. So, to answer your question about numbers, we won’t know exactly how many. We’ll have a few on side. And we’ll have the rest, who we just won’t know about for sure until it happens.’
Gyrmund nodded. ‘I’ll let Herin and Clarin know. When you have some information, you can tell any one of us.’
‘Fine. Now, help me along with this, will you?’
Gyrmund hefted his axe and resumed his back-breaking work in the mines, but now with a little more hope that he might make it out alive.
12
A Blessing
THE KNIGHTS OF KALINTH were on the move.
Belwynn had mixed emotions as the High Tower of the Knights receded into the distance behind them, and then disappeared. But most of all she was glad to be moving on.
The sun was out as the mounted force made a good pace along a narrow but well used road. They had left the seat of the Knights of Kalinth for Heractus, the seat of its kings. The road was mostly mud, and looked like it got wet and boggy in the winter months, but after several weeks of warm weather it had now been baked dry, leaving big cracks on the surface. There was little shade on the route, the landscape dominated by low lying vegetation like heather and gorse, which allowed the scouts to get a good view of the area around them, in all directions. Nesting birds, disturbed by the armed force passing their homes, would fly or run away, causing the few dogs with them to bark, the handlers to curse, and some of the horses to get jittery. But apart from the wildlife, there seemed little else to worry about, and the mood was relaxed.
The momentous events at the High Tower had culminated yesterday in the formal removal of Galenos as Grand Master of the Order, and the adoption of Sebastian as his replacement. It had been a bloodless revolution, and Galenos was now being held in comfortable conditions in a room in the Tower. But Sebastian and his advisers knew that news of their actions would already be spreading across the country to their enemies. They had to move fast and retain the initiative.
Sebastian already had the makings of an army at his disposal. Almost all the Knights had been in attendance at the High Tower, and most of those who supported Sebastian, who were in the clear majority, now joined him in the march south. Remi, Sebastian’s long-time friend, had been left in charge at the Tower, to run things in the new Grand Master’s absence, and to coordinate communications and supplies.
Many of the knights had brought with them a sizeable entourage of squires, men at arms, and other followers. In addition, Sebastian now had charge of the Order’s servants, which included craftsmen whose expertise lay in working with metal, leather, or wood. These groups swelled the force at Sebastian’s disposal to something like three thousand fighters in all. But, as Theron explained to Belwynn as they rode together near the head of the army, many other knights had not brought their soldiers with them. Theron himself only had Evander, his squire.
‘My largest estates, in Erisina, are to the west. I’ve written some letters, and given them to messengers to take to that part of the country. Other messengers are heading to the estates of our supporters all over Kalinth. Enough should get through in time to add to our army by the time we reach Heractus.’
‘How many soldiers might come from your estates?’ asked Belwynn.
Theron thought about it. ‘Probably about fifty men who know how to fight. Not all of them are trained soldiers though. More of them are farmers, or other workers. Blacksmiths are usually pretty good in a fight.’
‘How many more might we get altogether?’
‘If you include the force that Remi will bring over from the High Tower we might reach five thousand.’
Belwynn thought about that. It wasn’t very many, even though the Knights were the best warriors in Kalinth. If they were to enter the capital, Heractus, they would need a superior force, and it didn’t seem like they had one.
‘And what do we do when we reach Heractus?’
‘That depends on the reaction we get. The city is well defended. There is a city guard who patrol the walls, and a royal guard of well-trained soldiers who serve the king. Jonas has many wealthy supporters who can raise soldiers of their own. We can’t rule out resistance.’
In the early afternoon, they made a stop by a fast-flowing river. Theron identified it as the Pineos, that travelled we
st and emptied into the Lantinen Sea.
The squires and other servants quickly got to work giving the horses a drink and a feed. The riders began to dismount so that their animals could get a proper rest, and their own legs could get a stretch after hours in the saddle. Theron went off to speak to Sebastian and the other leaders, and so Belwynn led Elana and Dirk away from the busy atmosphere somewhere quieter. They found a flat piece of rock by the river that was big enough for all three of them to sit on. It had been nicely warmed up by a full morning’s sunshine. Belwynn leaned back, enjoying the warm rays of the sun on her skin. Looking over at Dirk, she saw that the ride had done his health little good. His skin still had a white pallor to it, and his hair and face were wet with sweat. Elana began attending to him, working her healing magic by holding his hands inside hers and then pressing her hands onto the back of his neck and his forehead.
It was a routine they had both got used to, but it still made Belwynn feel awkward, as if she were intruding on a private moment. She looked around them, thinking she might go for a short walk by herself, when she saw a group of half a dozen knights making their way towards them. She got to her feet. Elana noticed and stopped attending to Dirk, a quizzical look on her face.
As the knights got nearer, Belwynn recognised a couple of faces as younger knights she had seen here and there at the High Tower, but she didn’t think she had been introduced to any of them.
They seemed a bit unsure of themselves and glanced nervously at one another. One of the knights eventually stepped forward. He was a sandy haired young man, whom Belwynn judged had not yet reached twenty years.
‘Lady Belwynn, I am Philon, a Knight of Kalinth as are my friends here,’ he said, gesturing at the men around him. His friends nodded, one or two staring sheepishly at the ground. ‘We apologise for disturbing you all at your rest.’
Philon paused, waiting for a response.
Belwynn was a bit unsure how to proceed, but the group of knights seemed harmless enough.
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