‘I’m at The Empty Goblet.’
Petyr laughed. ‘That fits.’ Then he was lost in the crowd of men headed towards the main doors.
Tor sat down on the narrow stone ledge which ran the perimeter of the walls. Feeling gloomy he began to pull on his boots and it was only then that he saw the note which had fallen inside. His spirits lifted when he realised it was from Eryn. Her writing was atrocious but he managed to work out that she seriously wished she had stuck with the ardent, carrot-haired farmer last night.
He intended to make good with her if he could. But right now it was time to return to Cloot and find out more about his strange friend.
7
Dreamspeaker
The Empty Goblet was a hive of activity as Cyrus and his company made preparations to depart Hatten. The men were eager to leave: they had been on routine patrols through the middle towns of the Kingdom for many weeks.
Cyrus was as popular with his soldiers as he was with the Tallinese who made him welcome wherever he travelled. Curiously though, despite women flocking to him, it was whispered that he never involved himself in liaisons. His wife, a beautiful, fragile creature, had died giving birth to his son a decade previous. When the infant had also died he had been so lost in grief that friends had feared for him. King Lorys had always liked the dashing young captain and when the old Prime died, Lorys did not hesitate to promote Cyrus over three more senior contenders. It was an honour for someone so young, though Lorys had never regretted his choice for Prime of the Shield, and was glad that the security of Tallinor was in the hands of Kyt Cyrus.
‘You’ve settled the account with that rogue Doddy?’ Cyrus asked his captain.
Herek nodded. ‘I gave him only the agreed price we set last spring.’
‘Good, though I don’t doubt the slime watered the men’s ale.’
‘Do you want me to go back and—’
‘No,’ Cyrus cut in distractedly. ‘No, it just occurred to me he’d fleece us somehow. Innkeepers seem to think that because we wear the King’s crest we have access to his purse.’
The captain remained silent.
‘Herek, we leave at daybreak. Inform the men.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How many days?’
‘Two, sir—if we get a good trot around the Great Forest.’
‘We must move swiftly then. I’ll be with Mayor Reyme most of today if you need me. Otherwise, just get the men readied. You know what to do.’
The Prime nodded at Herek before looking towards the door. He was pleased to see Torkyn Gynt walk in, looking decidedly more chirpy after a bath and visit to the barber it seemed. Cyrus acknowledged Herek’s snap to attention yet was more interested in how the youngster had got on the previous night.
‘Ho, Gynt.’
‘Prime Cyrus. Still here?’ Tor was on his way to the stairs but walked back to where Cyrus was seated.
‘As you see.’ Cyrus nodded towards one of the stools at his table.
‘When do you make tracks?’ Tor asked, seating himself and briefly casting to Cloot. He discovered Cloot was awake and was about to speak with him but stopped himself.
‘What happened?’ Cyrus was grinning good-naturedly at him.
Tor came back to the conversation and was puzzled. ‘What happened when?’ Two ales had found their way to the table.
‘Just then. You asked me when we were making tracks; I replied but you seemed to be focused on something else. Surely I’m not that tiresome?’
‘Apologies.’ He had to do that better from now on. ‘It’s been a strange couple of days and my head is anywhere but where it should be.’
‘I don’t doubt it, Gynt, after last night. How did you perform anyway?’
‘All right, I think…didn’t hear any complaints.’
‘Ha!’ Cyrus liked this boy. Draining his mug he banged it down on the table. ‘I shall look forward to seeing how you get on in Tal, young Gynt. Until then, travel safely.’
Tor stood and took the Prime’s outstretched hand firmly in the Tallinor manner.
‘Oh, by the way, Gynt, good luck with Merkhud. If you ever have need, you can reach me through the Palace Guard,’ Cyrus said, eyes shining with amusement.
Tor was shocked. ‘How do you know?’ he stammered, sure he had told no one but Doctor Freyberg.
‘It’s my job to know.’ Cyrus tapped his nose.
‘The Light guide your way home, Prime Cyrus.’
‘It always does, Gynt.’ A slight nod of his head and the master of swift departures left the inn.
A powerful friend to have at the Palace, Tor thought as he ascended the two flights of stairs and walked into his small room.
You look well, Cloot, he remarked and settled himself in his spot by the window.
Cloot, seated and relaxed on Tor’s bed, had obviously gone to some trouble to clean himself up. From somewhere in his small sack of belongings he had produced a clean shirt.
I am well. His voice had a rich timbre in Tor’s head.
Tor took a deep breath as he turned slightly to gaze out at the buildings across the marketplace.
How do you know my name? he asked quietly, not turning from the window.
I have known it all of my life.
Tor was alarmed but he forced himself to continue. Who told you about me?
Lys.
A woman?
Yes.
And who is she?
I have no idea, Cloot replied flatly.
Well, how does she know me?
You would have to ask her, Tor. Cloot shrugged apologetically.
And, what is your purpose?
Cloot shook his head slightly. Of my ultimate purpose, I am not advised but I—
Tor turned sharply to eye Cloot whose large, ugly face was softened by compassionate understanding. He put his hand up to stop the boy’s frustration.
Tor, let me tell you what I do know rather than what I do not, and perhaps we can put together some of the pieces of this curious puzzle.
He continued after Tor nodded with resignation. I come from an almost unknown region in the far northeast of the Kingdom which my people call Rork’yel but I’ve heard it referred to as Rock Isle by some of the oldest northerners, which is odd because it’s certainly not an island.
He noticed Tor blink with irritation and cleared his throat.
Ever since I was old enough to be aware of dreams, I have been visited by a woman who calls herself Lys. She never shows herself but she is always there. For all of my life she has told me of a person—Torkyn Gynt his name—to whom I am bonded.
Tor interrupted. What do you mean, bonded?
I’ll explain but first, have you ever heard of the Paladin?
Tor shook his head.
Well, what I’m about to tell you will mystify you as much as it did me for many, many years, until Lys wore me down into acceptance of my life’s charter. I have never discussed this with anyone—not even my own family, who may never forgive me for leaving them several weeks ago.
Cloot sounded strained when he mentioned his family.
Go on, Cloot.
The man sighed. There are ten members of the Paladin. One is chosen from each of the Kingdom’s ancient peoples. Mine, the Brocken, have lived in our region for hundreds of years. Since I was old enough to understand her words, Lys has told me that I am one of the ten.
He fell into a heavy silence.
But what does this have to do with me?
The Paladin are guardians, Tor. Cloot spoke now with gravity. There are two of us who will protect you with our magic and our lives.
But why? Tor could suddenly hear his own heart beating. His tongue was dry, his hands wet with perspiration. He really did not want this answer.
Because you are He. You were given to save our world and I was bonded to you as one of your protectors as soon as I was born, probably long before you were born.
Tor’s barely controlled anger slammed into Cloot’s mind. It doesn’t make
sense Cloot—just listen to me. I’m a simple scribe’s son. I’ve led an ordinary life in a small ordinary village where nothing more exciting happens than the Twyfford fair!
Cloot remained calm and spoke gently. And yet here you are, that simple scribe’s son, on his way to the royal Palace, apprenticed to the most famous physician our land has known and who just happens to be a powerful sentient.
But that’s got nothing to do with it! Tor snapped, secretly shocked that Cloot knew of Merkhud’s powers.
The Light it hasn’t! What about the powerful magic you wield? Do you think that doesn’t interest him? Look at what it has done for me and you’ve barely tapped it, Tor. Think about it. What did it feel like to heal me? Once you understood what was required, it was like eating one of Goody Batt’s pastries—simple and irresistible!
Fine. I’ve saved you, Tor spat. Next the world, but what am I saving us from?
Cloot shook his head. That I don’t know, boy. Perhaps Lys will tell us.
Tor poured himself a mug of water from a pitcher. He drank, calmed himself, refilled the mug and handed it to Cloot.
All right. Tell me what else you know, he said, resuming his seat.
His friend smiled. Lys told me to wait. Each visit she would insist on my patience. I spent fifty summers waiting.
You what? You’re fifty summers old? Tor spluttered. But…but…
Yes. I am old in your terms but we Brocken are a strange race, Tor. We live long and I am still very young in the minds of my elders.
Your parents are alive?
Why, of course, and my older brothers and sisters and even my grandparents, and they are all livid that I’ve left Rork’yel. A brilliant smile lit his ugly face.
Tor couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Cloot, have you any idea how strange this all is for me? A few days ago I was spilling ink and being scolded by my father. Now I’m under the protection of a strange, very ancient…Brocken, is it? And being told it’s up to me to save our land from who knows what.
Believe it, Tor. You must accept as I have. Consider how strange it is to hear about some child yet to be born and then, fifty summers on, you’re told to leave your home and your family to find and protect him.
They sat in silence for a while, thinking about how their lives had been thrown together.
Has Lys told you what she wants from me? Tor wondered.
No, but she has suggested we just follow our instincts and events will unfold. Cloot shrugged.
Unfold? Light! What am I getting myself into? Is there anything else I should know? Er, wait a moment, you said you were sent to find me. How did you know where to look?
Cloot swallowed the contents of the mug and stretched. Lys came to me in a dream last full moon and said it was time. She said I was to leave before dawn and when I asked her where I should go, she told me I would know when I woke. She was right. When I woke just before dawn I could sense you. It was as though I was gathering in a length of luminous colours as I travelled across Tallinor. That’s how I recognised you: your colours are blindingly strong.
You see me in colours?
No, I followed the colours I sensed and they were connected to you, and if I hadn’t been accused by that loutish corporal of—what was it…peeping? Cloot snorted, I would have reached you outside of Hatten rather than under such dangerous circumstances.
What were you planning to say to me? Here I am, the great—and very old—Cloot, your protector?
Well, no, I had in mind to wrestle you from your horse and challenge you to a power struggle, so infused was I with this new magic. Why should a scrawny lad like you get to save the world? Why should not a noble and, dare I say, handsome Brocken have the honour?
Cloot was being theatrical, waving his arms in the air and Tor’s nervous mirth bubbled over. It was reassuring for both of them to hear him laugh.
To tell you the truth, Tor, I had no idea what I would say—or was supposed to do—once I found you. I was simply following my nose, as Lys instructed. As it turned out, you found me.
This magic you say you now have…why didn’t you use it?
Well, that would have been intelligent, would it not, to ensure attracting attention to myself? I hear they bridle anyone who shows the slightest trace of the power. No, Lys warned me to not draw any undue notice to myself. She said my looks alone do enough…not that I know what she meant by that! So I took her advice and made sure I got my ear nailed to a post and every soul for miles around clustered to look at me and jeer at me and throw nasty things at me. Yes, I went to great pains to go unnoticed.
Tor enjoyed Cloot’s humour; he felt genuine warmth for his new friend. What magic do you possess?
Cloot shrugged in his habitual way. I honestly don’t know because I haven’t tried to do anything. I surprised myself when I reached out to you yesterday and spoke without anyone else realising I was doing it. If I hadn’t been in such a difficult position, I would have done a jig of glee on the spot!
There was a light knock at the door. Tor crossed the room in two easy strides to answer. It was the young serving girl, bringing up fresh candles and water. Tor allowed her to enter and noticed her petrified glances towards Cloot, who was sensibly pretending to sleep. If the girl’s tongue got wagging that he was up and healed, then new dangers would present themselves. Initially impressed at his friend’s presence of mind, Tor did not appreciate Cloot suddenly dropping his jaw open and snoring menacingly. The girl let out a terrified squeak and hurried out of the room.
Busybody!
Tor sighed. So, what now, O my protector?
I go where you go, Torkyn. We’re bonded, remember? Not that I want to do this, mind. I can think of any number of things I’d rather be doing in my homeland. Right now I’d like to be strolling down to Goody Batt’s to see what’s cooking in her kitchen. Cloot’s voice trailed off dreamily in Tor’s head.
Right then—if you don’t have one, here’s my plan. Tomorrow night we leave for Tal…and in secret. I’ll need to get a horse for you and beyond that we’ll just have to see what happens. And who in the name of Light is Goody Batt?!
8
Miss Vylet’s
It was several hours later and fortunate that they had the link to argue across.
No, I will not!
Cloot, you have to trust me, Tor implored.
What? That you’ll catch me on a cushion of magic should I fall, or that you’ll cast a spell to patch me up again? Cloot just stopped short of sneering. He hated heights and what Tor was suggesting was outrageous.
Tor reached across and squeezed his friend’s hand. No, trust me that I won’t let you fall in the first place.
Where you go, I go, Cloot grumbled with weary resignation.
Now look, I’ve worked it out and I’ve done a run-through. All we have to do is cross the rooftops for a couple of buildings and then I’ve found a way we can get ourselves to street level relatively easily. Oh, and one more thing. You’ll be wearing a skirt and shawl—they’re in there. Tor pointed to a sack in the corner.
He left the room quickly, snapping closed the mindlink before Cloot roared.
There was one final task to complete prior to their pre-dawn escape. If his directions were right he needed to make his way down towards the port and a brothel called Miss Vylet’s. He found it, attached to The Lookout, an inn popular with those who arrived in Hatten by ship and the ships’ skippers. Tor expected it to be a roughhouse part of the town but the buildings were well kept.
Walking into Miss Vylet’s he reeled from the noise of a hundred or more loud conversations above the din of drunken singing. Tobacco smoke caused a bluish haze to settle around the drinkers and merrymakers. Scanning the room for Eryn he could not see her and felt a knife of disappointment slash through him. He pushed his way to the inn’s counter and ordered an ale. He paid his coppers, turned his back against the counter and leaned on his elbows, watching the activities.
There were various women, dressed provocatively in l
ow-cut silks, serving drinks and meals. Some were sitting on laps and lighting pipes for the patrons. Miss Vylet was a clever woman: the ale was good and the smell from the kitchen told Tor’s experienced nose that she ran an honest inn, which ensured its patrons returned over and again. She not only took their money for food, drink and accommodation but next door could take their money for the satisfaction of other needs.
To encourage her guests’ desires, she had her pretty troupe of girls showcasing themselves most efficiently. He watched one fresh-faced young woman in a scarlet gown that hugged her perfectly proportioned body superbly, deliberately lean low over a table to gather up the mess of three wealthy men who had finished eating. The man closest to her got himself such an eyeful of smooth, pert breasts that he was ready to negotiate the price on the spot. The girl knew of it, of course. She caught someone’s eye up on the landing and was strolling off arm in arm with the man before he could think it over.
Tor followed her glance upstairs and saw a straight-backed, slim woman of some sixty-five years seated there. Her dark, roving eyes took in everything. She caught his look and acknowledged his smile with an amused arch of her eyebrow.
She had to be Miss Vylet.
When Tor turned back he noticed another pretty woman had already taken the scarlet girl’s place and was busily clearing the same table. Yes, Miss Vylet was a very clever woman, he concluded. And rich, no doubt, for the money changing hands over the counter was brisk and plentiful.
He drained his mug. As he shouldered his way towards the door he knocked someone’s arm, causing his ale to spill. Tor apologised and the man good-naturedly waved the mishap away and bent to wipe the froth from his pants. As he did so Tor caught sight of a familiar cascade of raven hair. His breath caught to see her in animated conversation with a man upon whose knee she was perched. The man he had tipped ale onto stood upright again and Eryn was once more lost in the crowd.
Tor moved closer to the door and into a better position to see her. She looked ravishing and her companion was laughing at some story she was telling while tracing a hairy hand along her spine which was only vaguely covered by a crimson gown. She was laughing as she teased him. Tor seethed. He had no right to but he felt a fury grip him dangerously.
Betrayal Page 9
