Betrayal

by Fiona McIntosh

  Whispered jibes from envious visiting nobles insinuated that Tal’s army would not know a real battle if it came up and bit it on the backside. Yet its long history, unrivalled fighting capability, its famous Prime and intensely secret ways, made it worthy of respect.

  Merkhud rode beside the King as requested. This was not work for a physic but the King needed his support. The physic felt deeply unsettled, not only because of the news of Cyrus—by his reckoning Tor should have presented himself two days ago. It was fortunate he had requested Miss Vylet’s aid, for through her he had learned of the boy’s safe passage into Hatten. She had kept Merkhud abreast of his whereabouts by virtue of her network of agents, but had communicated this morning that Tor had disappeared.

  Merkhud had hoped with all his heart to receive word of the boy in Tal when he returned from Wytten, but no message awaited him. The meeting with Marrien, Tor’s disappearance and now the misadventure of Cyrus was too much for one day.

  ‘I said, old man, are you going deaf on me?’ the King boomed in his ear.

  ‘Light Lorys! My hearing is just fine, thank you. I was thinking, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, think on your own time, physic. I’m worried and I brought you along for your counsel, not this melancholy quiet.’

  Merkhud remained stiffly silent.

  The King continued, ‘Don’t sulk, Merkhud. You’re far too old. I was asking you about the new apprentice.’

  ‘Due any moment, I imagine, and you and the Queen will be the first people I introduce him to. You have my word.’

  It was a courteous dismissal. Merkhud was not in the mood for conversation. Lorys, however, would have said more but one of his men had come abreast to tell him that the second six men would be breaking off here.

  ‘Good, Norrysh, thank you.’ The King acknowledged the salute and turned back to his friend. ‘Groups of six men are peeling off at each village within ten leagues of Brewis to search for any news. These are heading to Hobb.’

  Merkhud nodded. It was only minutes later though, as the main unit rounded a bend, that they saw the dust of the Company ahead. Lorys sighed with relief and picked up the pace so his Shield might meet the column swiftly.

  Herek, pale with worry, brought his men to a stop, jumped from his horse and bowed with deep respect to his King.

  ‘My Liege,’ he said, on his knee now, voice barely steady with emotion. ‘Did my rider reach Tal safely, sire?’

  ‘He did and delivered his baleful tidings,’ the King replied gently as he eased off his superb white stallion to stand in front of the lieutenant. ‘Be easy, man.’

  Herek looked distraught. Lorys became businesslike: anything else and he felt sure Herek would simply collapse from grief. He understood very clearly how the men felt about their Prime: save himself, no other person in the land had such influence over the soldiers.

  ‘No further news then, Captain Herek?’ he said.

  ‘No, your majesty. No sign of Prime Cyrus, and I thought it best to get the Company back to Tal as swiftly as possible.’

  ‘You made the right decision, Captain—precisely what the Prime would expect of you. Get your men safely back to Tal now, there’s nothing more you can do for Cyrus at the moment. The Shield is searching the immediate area and will search the Kingdom, if necessary, to find him.’ Lorys put his hand on Herek’s sagging shoulder. ‘You and these men need rest and some good food inside you. You’ve been away a sizeable part of the summer and it’s time you went home to your women and families.’

  ‘May I request permission to join the men of the Shield, my liege?’ Herek pleaded.

  The King smiled kindly. ‘Permission denied, Captain. My orders are that you escort these men to Tal and remain there until you receive further direct orders from myself. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, your majesty, forgive me.’

  ‘Nothing to forgive, Herek. You’re an excellent soldier. Back on your horse, son. The Shield will find him.’

  As the column began to move off, Lorys walked slowly down the line. He smiled reassuringly, talking to the men, acknowledging their show of respect. In those few minutes he managed to lift the spirits of all around him and Merkhud had no doubt that the soldiers fully believed their King would keep his word and find their beloved Prime.

  Once back on his own stallion and cantering briskly, Lorys and Merkhud fell into a comfortable silence. The next six men left the main group at the entrance to Chigley and another six followed—they would go on to Perswich, Lorys explained. And so it went, until the King, Merkhud, Norrysh and eight remaining soldiers galloped into Brewis.

  ‘With your permission, your majesty, we’ll conduct a cursory search of the village and then go on to where the Company camped.’

  Norrysh waited out of respect. The King nodded his agreement.

  The soldier continued. ‘If Physic Merkhud and yourself would make yourselves comfortable, I’ll have some refreshment brought to you, sire.’

  He waited for no answer this time and one of the men disappeared into The Horse and Cart Inn in search of ale to suit a monarch. The remaining soldiers questioned the villagers. Merkhud could see them shaking their heads. He, like Norrysh, felt little hope of any leads from Brewis. Cool ale arrived with a giggling, curtsying serving girl and the two men drank deeply to quench their thirst.

  The King wiped his beard. ‘Something on your mind, Merkhud?’

  There was no point in hedging, Merkhud decided. ‘I met with the girl today, Lorys.’

  ‘Oh, and which girl is that?’ the King replied as he lifted his cup to his mouth.

  ‘The girl from Wytten,’ Merkhud replied flatly.

  Lorys swung around, ale forgotten, attention keen on his physic now. ‘She is well?’ His voice was just above a whisper.

  ‘She is.’

  ‘The child?’ Lorys put his cup down on the grass for fear his shaking hand might spill the contents.

  ‘He is very hearty.’ Merkhud knew it was a dagger into the heart of his King.

  ‘A son.’ Those two words spoke a lifetime of longing. A tragic look swept across the face of the sovereign.

  ‘Indeed, my lord. He is fit and strong and very well cared for.’ Merkhud was soft of speech, to ensure eavesdropping was impossible. ‘I have taken care of everything and Marrien will be comfortable, as will her boy.’ He stopped abruptly and waited.

  ‘Well, that’s that then,’ said the King.

  ‘It is, your majesty. I will not presume to tell you anything further on this matter.’

  ‘And will you speak with Marrien frequently?’ Lorys sounded embarrassed by his own enquiry.

  Merkhud lied. ‘No, Lorys.’ He drained the last of his ale, the despair beside him unbearable.

  ‘Done,’ came the reply with finality and Merkhud felt relief sweep through him.

  He knew the King was as good as his word. Neither Marrien nor their son would be discussed again and the Queen would continue to live in blissful ignorance of this blot on her husband’s otherwise unblemished fidelity. Norrysh was back and Merkhud was grateful for it.

  ‘We’ll head on to the camp site now, your majesty—there’s no information of any consequence here.’

  The King pulled himself swiftly together. His voice was steady and firm again. ‘As you wish, Norrysh. Lead on.’

  The site of the previous night’s camp was barely half a league away, and from it stretched the Heartwood.

  ‘I know our people fear this place, Merkhud, but I, strangely, always feel reassured by it,’ Lorys said climbing down from his horse.

  The horse shook its head and, trailing its reins, drifted off to graze, not too close to the fringe of the wood. The other horses followed suit: these were magnificently trained steeds and would rarely wander more than a few paces from their riders. Stygian, Merkhud’s mount, however, was a different beast. He kept his own lofty company and had no reservations about stepping up to and grazing calmly beneath one of the great oaks skirting the wood as soon as Me
rkhud had climbed down.

  ‘All right, what are we looking for?’ the physic asked.

  ‘Cyrus has a supreme soldier’s brain. He may have left us some sort of clue,’ Lorys suggested, shrugging his shoulders. They began a meticulous search of the area but, as particular as they were, they all felt it was a hopeless, almost desperate measure. It was just as Merkhud was about to give up his part in this hollow activity that he thought he heard voices.

  ‘Sssh!’ he called to the group. No one else had heard anything out of the ordinary and they looked up alarmed. Merkhud cast out widely. Voices, definitely voices. Everyone was staring at him expectantly. ‘I hear people coming,’ he warned.

  The soldiers drew their swords and reached for their horses’ reins; the King followed their lead. Lorys became indignant as they all strained to hear whatever it was that Merkhud had.

  ‘Can’t hear anything but the birds, old man. Why are you startling us?’

  ‘Because there is a small group approaching. I jest not, my King,’ Merkhud snarled in a whisper.

  ‘From where? I hear nothing.’ It was Norrysh, calm as ever.

  ‘From the wood. Trust me.’

  ‘Our own?’ suggested Lorys.

  ‘No, your majesty, Shield men would not approach from within the Heartwood,’ Norrysh said.

  As the unit began to feel edgy with anticipation, Prime Cyrus emerged from the dark copse of trees at their left, blinking his eyes in the afternoon sun. Behind him came four horses with sagging riders who were gagged and bound. To Merkhud’s astonishment, Torkyn Gynt appeared last, looking quite ridiculous with a falcon sitting atop one shoulder.

  ‘The Light strike me down!’ was all Merkhud could say but his exclamation was drowned amongst yells of happy disbelief from his companions.

  If Merkhud was shocked to see his new apprentice, it was small in comparison to Tor’s alarm at recognising the familiar figure in black.

  Oh, bollocks! he muttered across the mindlink as the column stopped.

  Cloot spied the old man. Merkhud?

  The one and only, Tor replied as he saw Cyrus lift his hand to wave.

  And the others?

  Your guess is as good as mine.

  Cloot’s voice dropped its humour. A word of caution, my friend.

  Make it quick, Cloot—I’m working on my dazzling excuse as to what I’m doing here.

  Don’t tell anyone, especially the old man, about me. The bird became silent and still.

  What? Why? Cloot did not answer. Instead he leapt from Tor’s shoulder into the air.

  A man with a closely shaved beard and fine clothes was upon them, dragging Cyrus down from his horse. Tor climbed down from his and watched the bird fly to the safety of the trees.

  Don’t leave me again Cloot, Tor cried across the link.

  I’m not far. Heed my warning. I must remain anonymous.

  Tor turned and stared into the eyes of a grim-faced Merkhud who had caught up with the younger men. They were shaking fists with their captain—as was the Shield’s way—relief mixed with confusion written across their faces.

  ‘Light, man! I thought I’d never see your face again,’ Tor heard the well-clothed leader say to the Prime.

  He was speechless when Cyrus replied, ‘My liege,’ and tried to drop to one tired knee. Tor avoided Merkhud’s icy stare and instead watched the man Cyrus addressed pull the protesting Prime to his feet.

  ‘My King…there is so much to tell.’

  ‘Later, Cyrus. These men?’ asked the King, his chin jutting towards Goron and his companions.

  ‘Scum, sire. Awaiting your pleasure,’ Cyrus replied with genuine relish.

  Norrysh and his men were pulling the four captives down from their horses. ‘On your knees in front of your King!’

  The prisoners looked terrified. The effects of the drug which Corlin had plied so plentifully had deserted them. Now they faced the reality of their deeds. They began jabbering their excuses as one.

  ‘Take them away,’ Norrysh ordered. ‘We can hear their story after they have enjoyed the hospitality of the dungeon.’

  Merkhud was still to utter a single word. Tor plucked up the courage to look at him again, keeping his expression contrite and full of appeal.

  ‘Did I, perchance, see a bird of prey sitting on your shoulder?’ the old man finally asked.

  ‘Er…yes, sir,’ Tor replied.

  ‘I see. And what do you call your pet hawk?’

  Tor wanted to explain that Cloot was a falcon but held his words. ‘He is named Cloot.’

  The old man flinched; he looked as though Tor had just slapped him. ‘Did you say Cloot?’ He seemed genuinely startled.

  ‘Yes, er…he took off towards the woods when all of you approached.’

  ‘Who named him?’ the old man asked urgently.

  Tor couldn’t understand the interrogation over a name but recalled Cloot’s warning. ‘Well, ah…my mother used to sing a humorous song to me when I was very small about a character called Cloot. I took it from that song.’ He hoped the lie had worked.

  Merkhud held his eyes for a long pause then nodded.

  ‘Lorys, may I—with no small amount of astonishment—present Torkyn Gynt, my new apprentice? Torkyn, your King,’ he offered in a tight voice.

  Tor bowed deeply as he had seen the others do and then dropped to one knee. ‘Your majesty.’

  ‘Hell’s fire! How many more surprises today? The long-awaited Gynt, eh? And you two obviously know one another?’ the King said, looking between the bowed boy and Cyrus.

  ‘Why, yes, my King,’ Cyrus replied. ‘Without Torkyn Gynt my blood would be warming the grasses in the Heartwood.’

  ‘Get up, boy. Let’s have a look at you then.’ Since his anxiety had dissipated at the sight of Cyrus, Lorys was now highly amused. He loved to see Merkhud unnerved, as he clearly was. ‘Come on, Merkhud. You’ve been grumbling about his tardy arrival. Here he is, safe and sound.’

  ‘What happened here? How could you both be here?’ Merkhud could not stop the questions tumbling out.

  ‘The…er…Prime asked me to ride with him to Tal. Initially I said no but thought better of it, and I caught up and er…got involved in his…um…troubles.’ Tor fought his embarrassment. He knew Merkhud could not reveal that he had been tracking his progress all along by magical means—not in front of this audience anyway. There would be time later for explanations.

  The King groaned. ‘What does it matter, Merkhud? He’s here and the Prime lives.’

  Cloot chose that moment to arrive back on Tor’s shoulder.

  ‘And the bird?’ Merkhud could not hide his disbelief.

  ‘A finer bird, Physic Merkhud, you’ll not see in all of Tallinor,’ Cyrus blurted. ‘I watched the boy win him during a devilish hand of hari at the The Empty Goblet. He was the envy of all there.’

  ‘Yes.’ Tor picked up the lead from Cyrus. ‘It was on the second night and I didn’t know what I was going to do with a falcon but the bird seemed to take to me,’ he said, affectionately scratching the top of Cloot’s feathered head. ‘I don’t know why I even joined the game,’ he lied smoothly.

  ‘Too much ale, lad, but you played like a demon,’ laughed Cyrus and the King joined in.

  ‘Hari is addictive, lad. You’d better forget it and concentrate on your studies,’ the King said, looking at Merkhud and enjoying the way his whiskers twitched.

  ‘I will, your majesty, I promise.’

  Lorys became businesslike again. ‘Good. Now, Cyrus, are you strong enough to brief me on this mysterious tale?’

  ‘Of course, your majesty. Please, let’s sit.’ Cyrus pointed to beneath a nearby oak, then reconstructed the events from as far back as Cloot’s humiliation in the marketplace, when he first met Tor. Cyrus was very careful not to mention names as he pieced together the story. To Tor’s silent and heartfelt thanks, he remarked, almost incidentally, that the injured cripple had last been seen hobbling out of the town’s gates.

>   ‘Probably died before he was a mile down the road,’ Tor added daringly.

  Everyone nodded with a discernible lack of interest.

  Only Tor heard the falcon chuckle.

  Nanak, there has to be a connection!

  Never one to waste words, Nanak, keeper of the Paladin, kept his own counsel whilst he thought through Merkhud’s suggestion that Cloot the Brocken, the Second of the Paladin, had re-emerged in Hatten at the same time as Torkyn Gynt, their only link to the Trinity, had arrived in the town.

  I want to believe that none of the Paladin die, Merkhud, but this might be reaching. A falcon, you say?

  Nanak…think! Cloot is a Brocken name. It is not even a common one. No Tallinese would give their son the name of Cloot. So Tor’s story of his mother singing some Tallinese ballad is a sham. I don’t understand it either, but very little of your or my life makes much sense, does it? You reacted with cynicism when I first mentioned Cyrus, but this is no coincidence, my friend: Prime Cyrus and this Cloot are of the Paladin.

  Merkhud waited for Nanak to say something, to contradict him, to come up with something to refute this idea. But there was silence across the link.

  He continued thinking aloud. My only confusion is when and why this Cloot changed into a strange bird.

  Nanak spoke at last. Why do you call the bird strange?

  Oh, I don’t know. It’s as though they communicate. I can’t swear it but they work in tandem. I’ve tried every conceivable magic to eavesdrop but there’s nothing. It could be my imagination but, Light, man, think of it. What if our Cloot and Cyrus have returned as guardians to Tor? It reinforces that he is the One.

  Nanak felt his heart beating with excitement. No one was closer to the Paladin than Nanak, and his resolve cracked further each time one of them fell to Orlac’s magic. He had wept most recently when Sallementro disappeared. Each death brought such heartbreak, but he had held. He had found the strength to encourage and nurture his remaining guardians.