Betrayal

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘That was my wife’s favourite song.’

  ‘I’m sorry I—’

  ‘No. Don’t be sorry. It’s lovely to hear it again. I think I pushed it so far from my mind during those early years that I’d forgotten it.’

  ‘Do you still miss her, Cyrus?’

  ‘Deeply. Every day,’ he replied.

  ‘And there’s never been anyone else for you?’ Tor could have pulled out his own tongue for his bludgeon-like directness.

  ‘Plenty. Like you, I enjoy women and just like you, I keep it casual. No, there never will be anyone else I’ll share my life with. When you’ve known perfect love, as I have, you don’t even bother to look again.’ There was no regret in his voice, just resignation.

  Tor shook his head. ‘It must be terrifying to love someone like that.’

  ‘It’s the only way to love someone. Have you never been truly in love, Tor?’

  ‘Once. But I lost her.’

  ‘Dead?’ Cyrus sounded shocked.

  ‘No. Well, I don’t think so. That’s another reason why I left the Palace. Somehow I have this feeling I might be able to find her, if I look hard enough.’

  Tor shrugged and held out the wineskin to Cyrus who took and raised it in a toast.

  ‘To lost souls then and to finding love again,’ he said, smiling at last.

  Tor seized the moment. ‘Cyrus, do you mind if I ask what happened today?’ He hoped his sense of timing was sharp this night. ‘I mean, why you’ve been so withdrawn?’

  The Prime let out a long sigh and lay back on his bedroll. He turned on his side, his back to the deep shadow of the forest which loomed in the distance.

  ‘Didn’t you feel it?’ he asked.

  ‘Feel what?’

  ‘Perhaps it was just me then.’ Cyrus was almost whispering. His eyes were closing.

  ‘What did you feel, Cyrus?’ Tor kept the fear at bay by warming his hands against the happy, dancing flames of the fire.

  ‘I felt a great sadness wash over me. It seemed as though all the grief I’d held over these years, all that melancholy, passed through me again…and then it was gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Cleansed. Now I feel nothing except a burning desire to re-enter the forest and I’m scared of the feeling. I’m frightened of what it means.’

  Tor snuggled into his bedroll too. ‘Cloot’s certainly glad to be back here,’ he offered in consolation.

  ‘There’s more though,’ Cyrus mumbled. ‘I have this overwhelming sense of…destiny.’

  It had been a full Eighthday since the Prime was last seen. Herek was used to Cyrus’s shifting moods; there were occasions when he sensed it was best just to leave the man be. He was complex, could brood for days—sometimes on the past, often on an event which had just occurred. He was a deep thinker and his decisions were rarely rash.

  This had seemed to be one of those times when Cyrus needed to be alone and Herek had not thought to question it. He was the Prime, after all. They had returned from the south to the news that Physic Gynt had left the Palace bound for the great Caremboche Festival. He was representing the royals this year in the stead of Physic Merkhud who was ailing.

  It was a logical notion to send Gynt. But Cyrus had reacted strangely to it. He had fallen into a foul humour upon hearing the news and this had spiralled into one of his famous black moods where the entire Company knew to give him a very wide berth. Two days later he had announced to Herek that he had some personal matters to see to up north and ordered Herek to assume command until he returned. Well, now that time had stretched into eight days without any word and Herek was worried. Cyrus had looked drawn during the patrol. He had complained of sleeping badly and dreaming constantly. Herek had not thought much about it at the time but now realised Cyrus had definitely been out of sorts.

  Perhaps the Prime had taken himself off on a brief sabbatical? But being the professional they knew him to be, he would have mentioned it to his second-in-command. He was not a man to disappear without any follow-up word and yet this was precisely what he had done. He had taken his horse, a few provisions, packed lightly and even left without formal word to their majesties; again totally unlike the Prime’s normal protocol. Herek would be lying if he did not admit he was worried, which was why he had requested an appointment with the King this morning.

  He waited in the antechamber until he was announced. Drake met him at the door and sniffed at his heels as he walked across the room to bow low to King Lorys.

  ‘Ah yes, Herek. Welcome. Are you thirsty, man? I was just thinking of a cool ale.’

  ‘No, thank you, your majesty…er, not on duty.’

  ‘Good, right. So, you wanted to see me?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ The soldier stood to attention.

  ‘Herek, please sit, man. At ease.’ Lorys offered him a chair.

  Herek preferred to stand but he sat to please the King. The dog wandered over and sat on his feet which was an altogether unsavoury and uncomfortable experience. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Tell me…how can I help you today?’ the King asked while signing papers at his desk.

  ‘It’s about the Prime, your majesty.’

  The King looked up. ‘Cyrus? What’s wrong with him?’

  Herek suddenly wondered if this was such a good idea. Cyrus would probably arrive back any moment and have a few fiery words to say about Herek tattling behind his back to the King like a worried old aunt.

  He cleared his throat again.

  Lorys eyed him. ‘Speak, man. What’s troubling you? What’s happened with Cyrus?’

  ‘He’s gone, sire.’

  ‘Where? Why?’

  ‘That’s it, your highness. I don’t really know.’

  The King put down his quill. ‘Disappeared, you mean? Like the time before?’

  ‘Yes…er…well, no not exactly, your majesty.’ Herek was very uncomfortable and pulled at the collar of his uniform. The dog was making his feet hot and he really wished he had not come here. ‘He left of his own accord, on personal matters he said.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Eight days, sire. But it’s not like him to leave without providing information about where he could be reached or without sending word.’

  ‘I agree, Herek.’ The King scratched at his short beard. ‘He has always reported to me before going on any mission away from the Palace. You are right to be concerned.’

  At that moment Goth was announced. Herek made to stand but the King waved him back. Drake had not made any effort to move; in fact the huge dog grunted at being disturbed.

  ‘Send him in,’ Lorys told his secretary.

  Goth entered immediately and bowed obsequiously to the King and nodded at Herek. Herek despised the man. He enjoyed the fact that Drake had stood and was now sniffing the Chief Inquisitor’s crotch, much to the man in black’s discomfort.

  ‘My liege,’ he said, pushing at the dog’s enormous snout.

  Drake, satisfied with the unnerving routine he visited upon people he did not like, wandered away.

  ‘Good day to you, Goth. You’re early.’

  ‘Have I interrupted your majesty? Shall I return shortly?’

  ‘No, no, you’re here now, man. I was just having an interesting conversation with Herek here. Apparently Prime Cyrus has disappeared.’

  Goth’s piglike eyes looked at Herek. Dark and small, they gave away nothing.

  ‘Oh dear, we lose two in one week. First Gynt and now the Prime. Perhaps they are together?’

  Lorys stood and walked to the window. Herek was pleased for the chance to stand as well.

  ‘Unlikely I’d say, Goth,’ the King replied.

  ‘Well, they were quite close. And it seems those two have a habit of disappearing then finding one another,’ Goth suggested.

  The King grinned at the soft jest. ‘But Gynt was going to Ildagarth and on to Caremboche and Cyrus…er, where did you say he was headed?’ the King asked Herek.

  Herek did not want
to reveal anything in front of the Inquisitor. ‘He simply said he was heading north, your majesty. He gave me no details.’

  ‘Well, north, your highness—how much further north can one go than Caremboche?’ said Goth.

  The King shook his head. ‘No reason to though, Goth. But I agree it is a strange business. Look, thank you, Herek, for bringing it to my attention. Perhaps if we have no word in the next two days you will arrange for some of your men to see what they can find out, eh?’

  Herek bowed, relieved. ‘As you wish, your majesty.’

  Goth interrupted this exchange. ‘No need, my King. I myself am heading north shortly. My men and I will gladly keep an eye open for any sign of the Prime; in fact I will make it my purpose to ask questions and discover his whereabouts.’ He smiled sweetly at Herek but the soldier could almost smell the guile beneath it.

  ‘There you are, Herek,’ the King said brightly.

  Through gritted teeth Herek thanked both men and left. Cyrus would not forgive him for this. He prayed the Prime would return before Goth had the pleasure of officially tracking him down.

  The fire’s embers offered weak light and warmth on a cold night but both men had drifted into a dream-free sleep. Cloot, though, was restless and kept himself amused in a tree above his companions by watching the busy and erratic travellings of a tiny vole. However, a movement at the forest’s edge caught his attention. The miracle began.

  Tor! the falcon called into his friend’s blurred mind. He dropped like a stone from his perch and made a commotion with wing and voice.

  Cyrus came to instantly and sprang to his feet, a wild look in his eyes. ‘What the—!’ He did not finish what he had intended to say; he too was caught in amazement.

  Tor climbed from his bedroll, dazed, and together the three of them watched in astonishment as a slender pathway lit itself from the fringe of the Great Forest to where they camped.

  Tor recalled the golden drops which the god of the forest had rained down upon Cloot during his transformation. Here they were again, even more beautiful against the backdrop of an inky night. Their keeper, Darmud Coril of the Heartwood, was present. He stood, arms outstretched, and from his fingertips flew his drops of gold. The air was filled with chimes, like glass tinkling in a breeze.

  ‘It sounds like heaven,’ Tor said.

  ‘It sounds like home,’ Cyrus replied dreamily.

  We must walk the path, Tor, Cloot said quietly, his voice tinged with awe.

  Cyrus had already begun to do so, a faraway expression on his face. Tor, with Cloot steady on his shoulder, caught up and rested his hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. It seemed right that the three of them entered the Heartwood together, as one.

  None of them knew what to expect, though every ounce of Tor told him that magic of the most powerful kind was surrounding him. It made his flesh tingle. The last time this had happened he had lost his friend. He pushed the thought from his mind and focused on the magic, committing its unique scent to his memory.

  The golden drops continued their beautiful chiming and when they finally drew level with Darmud Coril he towered above them, much like a tree himself. He wore the colours of the forest, his robes an ever-changing patina of greens and browns. His long beard, which almost trailed along the forest floor, sparkled with the iridescence of flowers they had never seen before, as did his silvery long hair. The overwhelmed visitors entered the canopy of his forest and instinctively dropped to their knees, heads bowed.

  Darmud Coril reached over and stroked Cloot. When he spoke his voice was soft and deep.

  ‘Our hearts are glad that you are home, Cloot.’

  He moved silently to rest his hand on Tor’s bent shoulder. ‘Welcome back to us, friend of the forest.’

  Tor forced himself to look up into those gentle green eyes. ‘Thank you’ was all he could whisper.

  Walk safely amongst us always, Darmud Coril breathed into his mind like the touch of a falling leaf. Tor was so filled with emotion he wanted to weep. He resisted the urge to follow the trace of magic back to the god but his memory adeptly embraced its signature. He would never forget it.

  And then it was the turn of Cyrus. Tor could feel him trembling.

  The god spoke again. ‘Ah…Cyrus. The Heartwood celebrates your life and your spirit back amongst us. Do you hear the Flames of the Firmament? They sing for you, Kyt Cyrus. They welcome you to your home.’ His voice, so kind and sincere, sent a wave of sadness towards Cyrus who found himself weeping softly.

  ‘Hush, hush,’ soothed Darmud. ‘You are home and safe, my son.’

  None of them understood Darmud Coril’s words but each realised something critical was taking place. Later Tor would curse his own stupidity and Cloot would reason with him that neither of them could have guessed. For now, the three companions felt safe within the love and joy of the Great Forest and the Heartwood itself.

  They slept deeply. When they woke Cloot explained to Tor some of the rules of the forest as the two men marvelled over the plentiful food which lay nearby.

  Everything will be supplied. We are not to kill its creatures or pluck fruit from its trees or bushes. We may not fish its streams nor burn its wood. He paused for Tor to repeat his words to Cyrus.

  ‘Who provides all of this?’ Tor asked.

  The forest, Cloot replied flatly.

  Tor turned to Cyrus again, who waved his hand. ‘No, don’t. I can guess what he said. Let him get on with it.’

  Cloot ruffled his feathers importantly. Gentlemen, meet Solyana.

  A huge wolf, its silver fur flecked white at the tips, moved with the graceful silence of its kind into the clearing. But, unlike other wolves, her eyes were shiny black and fathomless. She loped towards them. Both men trusted Cloot but Cyrus nonetheless groped for his sword, which he discovered was no longer at his side.

  The wolf spoke into all of their minds. It was a new experience for Cyrus and he felt as though an icy blade was slicing into his head. He took a sharp breath at the sensation.

  Her voice was velvety. I will be your guide. Together we will travel the forest and in a few days we will emerge within a day’s ride of your destination, Torkyn.

  But that’s not possible. We are still a four-day ride from Ildagarth surely?

  If a wolf could smile, Solyana would have. Her intelligent eyes reflected her mirth.

  In the Heartwood there is no need of horses to ride nor distances to measure. Trust me, Torkyn. I will take you where you want to go many times faster than traditional means or routes.

  Tor nodded. He understood that he must trust the magic of the forest and besides, he liked Solyana already and wondered at the notion of travelling alongside a wolf…such a large one too.

  Cyrus spoke. ‘So this is how you talk to one another?’ His amazement made Tor smile.

  ‘May I try it?’ Cyrus asked the wolf.

  She responded in silken tones back into his mind. I would caution that you can only use the link if you are bonded. You are not bonded, Kyt Cyrus. However, strange magics prevail in our Heartwood. You are welcome to try.

  Cyrus made a polite bow to the wolf and then squeezed his eyes shut. He looked like he was in pain. Tor laughed.

  ‘Go ahead, you bastard,’ Cyrus said aloud but with good humour. ‘You have no idea how frustrating it is knowing all of you are carrying on conversations without me.’

  ‘Cloot thinks he knows what you were casting to us.’

  Cyrus stopped his efforts and looked at Tor expectantly.

  ‘He said that you were telling us how easy war would be if you could communicate with your men using the link.’

  Cyrus looked amazed. ‘How did he know that? Could you hear me, you wretched bird?’

  ‘He says lucky guess,’ Tor said shrugging his shoulders.

  Solyana briefed them further. Please, eat plentifully. We have a long journey ahead of us today but we will take it at an easy pace.

  What about our things, Solyana? Should we lighten off so we can carry t
hem?

  Thank you, Torkyn. I almost forgot. No. Please leave everything. They will be taken care of. You require nothing for your wellbeing. The forest will feed, bathe, warm and rest you. It is your host and you are its guests.

  She noticed Cyrus was about to say something and answered before he could. Your horses are well cared for and will be returned to you, Torkyn, when we reach the northern fringe of the forest.

  Cyrus found it vaguely irritating that the wolf seemed to address only Tor about the journey but he let it pass. They all nodded their agreement and answered the grumble of their hungry stomachs instead of worrying about the strangeness of their situation.

  Tor cooked the fish over a small fire Cyrus made with the kindling and branches provided. They ate luscious berries none of them had tasted before, dried nuts and a strange drink which Solyana told them was milk of gurgon.

  ‘Let’s not even ask,’ Cyrus said, draining the thickish, buttery-coloured liquid.

  ‘This is good,’ Tor said, licking his lips. ‘What do you suppose a gurgon is?’

  Don’t even suppose, Cloot joined in as he cleaned his beak from the fresh meat which had been left for him. Ah dormouse, delicious! he said deliberately to Tor who gave him the extreme satisfaction of squirming.

  Solyana bade them not to worry about the mess. I know, I know, said Tor to her, the forest will take care of it. He enjoyed hearing her laugh deeply in his head.

  They set off in high spirits with Cloot swooping deftly amongst the branches and Solyana padding at a slow lope between the long strides of Tor and Cyrus. They exchanged stories along the way. Solyana told them about life in the Forest and for the first time Cyrus heard Tor’s story from the moment he had witnessed his first bridling at Twyfford Cross.

  Even though the days had cooled considerably now they were so much further north and the beginning of winter was fast approaching, neither man required warm clothing. Within the forest they walked in a perfect warmth where butterflies, long dead by now in even the southern counties, flitted joyously amongst the undergrowth. Dusk took a long time to arrive but when it did it fell hard and fast, swiftly turning the forest into a more brooding place.