‘I don’t need to. It’s written in the book. His name is Merkhud.’
‘One and the same.’
‘But, Tor, that would make your Merkhud centuries old.’ She wanted to use this impossibility to dismiss everything.
‘Why not? Nothing makes sense in my life any more, or yours come to that. There is potent magic surrounding us; coursing through us. We go undetected by Inquisitors and yet Merkhud finds us. He seems to be at the very core of all of this. Alyssa, I could almost believe he contrived to have you leave Mallee Marsh because he suspected I might try to bring you with me to Tal.’
Tor’s face creased in thought as he tried to gather together threads of ideas which had lain on the fringe of his mind for years.
‘It would not have suited him to have you with me but he knew you were sentient and that you also had escaped notice; you were too valuable to ignore. I know it sounds like a wild notion but I could even believe that he veiled you from me!’ He leapt to a new thought. ‘Alyssa, why did you leave? What made you wander off with a woman you had never met before?’
She thought hard. ‘After the Floral Dance I hoped that you might…well, you know.’
He nodded, knowing all too well.
She sighed. ‘Instead you scared me with your harsh words and angry voice. She was so kind to me on that first day when I felt alone and scared. But now that I think about it as an adult, I recall that Sorrel’s conversation was cleverly directed at informing me of your leaving. Now I hear that you had not left at all. Sorrel wanted me to get angry at you, perhaps. I don’t know. Why would she lie otherwise?’
‘Exactly! I’ll bet all the gold in Ildagarth that Sorrel is part of this elaborate web which Merkhud weaves. Alyssa, if Merkhud is the mortal father of Orlac then why not—’
‘Don’t say it, Tor, please. She’s been my guardian for five summers. She has protected me and nursed me and watched over me.’
‘Of course she has! That’s her task. She may well love you, Alyssa, but she’s controlled by Merkhud, her husband. And why? I’ll tell you. Because she’s the mortal mother of Orlac. They have controlled us from the start and deliberately kept us apart.’ There was no elation in his voice as he weaved his threads together.
Alyssa felt hollow. She knew she had accepted Sorrel into her life all too easily and that the woman had come along at just the right time to help a hurting young girl find her feet and a purpose. Tor’s summary was very painful because it rang of too much truth. The jigsaw piece hovered, then snapped into place.
Merkhud and Sorrel, mortal parents of Orlac, working together to manipulate events.
‘Did you choose to come north when you left Tal?’ Alyssa asked carefully as she frowned again in thought.
‘No, Merkhud suggested it.’
‘So, if we follow your plot, then they have contrived to bring us together; they knew we would have to meet again. Why?’
Alyssa never did hear Tor’s reply for at that precise moment a familiar figure caught her attention. Sudddenly she was cold to the marrow. Over Tor’s broad shoulder she glimpsed a flash of purple; a colour she had not cared for since Fragglesham when she had lost something precious to a man she hated more than any other. That same man was now strolling down the street in Ildagarth where she sat twisting over a theory and sipping zabub.
Tor watched her expression flip from puzzlement to terror. He turned and immediately saw what had created the fear. He felt his own bile rise but fell into the practised calm he had taught himself that night when he felt Cloot’s life slipping away from him. That was the very first time he had banished fear and replaced it with power—his own power from within. Tor had called upon the calm many times since then and he called upon it now for he knew fear would draw the enemy to them.
He opened a link to Alyssa and told her to look at him. She turned with effort away from the purple and stared into the blue she trusted.
Pull your hood up over your hair, he said calmly. Do not look at Goth.
Then he sliced open a link to Cloot and warned his friend of the turn of events. The falcon was in the air before Tor had turned back to Alyssa.
Link with Saxon. Tell him you are coming. He must be ready to flee straight back to the Academie.
She did as she was told.
Good. Now, my beloved, I must do something I regret deeply but it will save you once more. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the pale green archalyt disc.
Cloot, circling high above, spoke a warning. He’s about forty steps from you, Tor, but is engaged in conversation with a storekeeper. He is not looking your way.
Tor pressed the archalyt onto Alyssa’s forehead and it adhered. She felt herself back in dullness, cut off from Saxon or Tor. It was a keen sense of isolation and renewed terror she now experienced but Tor stood and gripped her elbow, lending her his strength. He turned her from Goth and spoke quietly but firmly, releasing her arm so they drew no attention.
‘You are going to hurry but not run. You will move straight past Goth.’ He saw her flinch. ‘It is the shortest way back to Saxon. Goth will not notice you because I will distract him. I promise you will be safe.’
Alyssa did not believe him, he could see it in her frightened eyes, but she had courage and she would do as he asked.
Cloot?
He’s still busy haggling over some trinket. You had better do it now or not at all, my friends.
‘I love you, Alyssa,’ Tor said tenderly; then firmly: ‘Go now.’
Alyssa had heard him utter those words before, on a sunny day at Minstead Green. She left him against her will once again; this time walking away from the man she loved towards the man she hated.
Tor hid himself and watched her progress. He would not act until she was safely past Goth, whom he could now clearly see arguing with a shopkeeper.
Goth had had a pig of a day. None of his soldiers were with him at present and although he could not force a bridling without his men, he could certainly pick an argument with a grubby storekeeper who was fleecing people of their hard-earned money.
From the corner of his eye the Chief Inquisitor saw the robes of an acolyte of the Academie moving briskly past him. His practised observer’s technique registered that within them was a petite and slender woman. He could not see her face for she had it turned aside. And then she was out of his view and he was back with the story about eight mouths to feed as well as an ageing mother to care for.
At that moment the storekeeper stopped and looked up in wonder at the sky. Goth looked up too and noticed a falcon circling high above. The storekeeper and those around him were marvelling at it and commenting that no falcons had been seen in these parts for years.
It took only a second for Goth’s sharp mind to put it together. He had been following in the bastard physic’s footsteps for weeks now. He had lost all trace of him at Saddleworth; had hoped to catch up with him at the pass through the southern fringe of the Rorky’el Mountains—the only way to the north-west—but had found no sign. However, that was unmistakably Gynt’s bird flying above. The physic was here for sure. Goth dropped the item he had been haggling for and looked around wildly for the man.
His powers of observation served him well once again. Just about everyone around him was looking up towards the bird; everyone except the retreating acolyte. She, he saw, kept her robes pulled tightly around her—as if she did not want to be noticed—and was hurrying.
Goth had always led his life instinctively and his instincts had never let him down. Now they suggested strongly that he should follow that small, slender figure. His mind raced to the conclusion that his prey was close: Gynt was here. However, his gut feeling demanded he follow the woman as the only Caremboche woman who would flee from him was Alyssandra Qyn. Granted, he admitted as he walked away from the pointing crowd, he had not expected her to be an acolyte for she was not sentient. Perhaps it was a guise or perhaps it was not her at all but he followed all the same. He knew the women of the Academie were protec
ted by royal decree but he did not care a damn for such rules. He would find a way around them.
She would lead him to Gynt for sure. He would have the physic soon…and he would have the trembling, frightened Alyssa Qyn in his arms once again.
Tor ran out into the street and felt his stomach turn. Goth was not approaching as he had hoped; he was moving away and in the direction of Alyssa.
I sense I’m something of a novelty in these parts, Tor, said Cloot. I’m going to follow Alyssa; see she gets to Saxon safely.
Tor quickly caught up with Goth but kept out of sight behind whichever person, animal, store or pillar presented itself. He could not communicate with Alyssa but he could see she was no longer giving care to stealth. She was running.
Alyssa risked one look behind her. She did not expect to see anyone but glimpsed the contorted face of Goth, possibly fifty steps away; close enough to make out the lumps of his ugly face. He was chasing her. She threw off her hood and dropped the cloak which was slowing her down and ran. Her golden hair flowed free and Goth yelled out in delight.
‘It is you, Alyssa! Oh, I am looking forward to our reunion.’ He broke into a run.
Goth was short but he was also fit and powerful. Tor, loping fast behind them now, could see it was a matter of moments before the Inquisitor ran Alyssa down. He had to do something but could not strike directly against Goth who was always well shielded by the same archalyt which protected Alyssa.
Tor thought fast. He had only a matter of moments.
A man was leading two horses towards the stables ahead. As Goth ran towards them Tor spiked the animals with sharp pain. As he had hoped, both reared up, squealing. One ripped itself free from the shocked stablehand and the other kicked out furiously and struck Goth on the shoulder.
It was not much more than a glancing blow but it was sufficient to knock Goth to the ground. People came scurrying to assist him. He shook them off and grimaced, not from the pain of his shoulder but from the agony of watching his quarry disappear around a corner and out of his sight.
Alyssa heard the horses but did not turn; she just kept running towards the edge of town where she knew Saxon would be waiting for her. She glanced above and, despite her fear, felt elated to see Cloot flying with her. She loved the falcon for this and even dared a wave.
The falcon cast back to Tor. Alyssa will be fine. Now you must get back to the Academie too. He knows you’re here because he’s seen me.
He’s heading back to the stables, I think, to get his horse. Are you sure Alyssa will be all right?
Saxon has her and they are already heading home at full gallop, came the reply. Just keep Goth busy for a few minutes more.
Think! Tor screamed to himself. He doubled back towards the stables.
Cloot spoke again. Remember that Aspecting charm Merkhud mentioned which all those Masters found so impossible to wield? I know you never bothered with it but now might be as good a time as any.
It was as though a shaft of sunlight had burst through dark clouds. I love you, Cloot.
What would you do without me? the bird said and closed the link.
Aspecting was an extraordinarily difficult charm; it and Shadow-walking seemed to exist only in theory for not even the great Master Joromi had wound his talents around either of the tricks. Nevertheless, as Tor watched Goth disappear into the stables he centred and felt the Colours surround him. Against his chest he felt the thrum of the Orbs as they vibrated with their and his power; he wished, yet again, he knew their true purpose.
He focused on a man standing to his right and cast the complex glamour. Goth reappeared, slapping his thigh with the whip he would use on his stallion to thunder down the road to Caremboche. He glanced around, his small boar-like eyes scanning the crowd swiftly and penetratingly. They were arrested by the profile of a man he knew. The tall figure noticed him and turned away to walk down a side street.
Goth’s pudgy face arranged itself into a nasty smile. ‘I have you now, Gynt.’
He was surprised not to see the physic when he too entered the side street but this was one of the maze of streets which comprised Ildagarth’s famed bazaar. Goods were strewn on makeshift tables under awnings and there was everything on offer, from boots to confectionery.
He took his time, watching closely. There he was! Talking to someone. Now he was moving off under the cover of the awnings. Goth followed.
He had lost him once more. Goth began to whip his thigh again in frustration. Surely Gynt was playing with him. Suddenly he saw him again, this time carrying a tray which he handed to a woman. Whatever was the physic doing? Goth watched him say something to the woman and then walk into a shop.
By the time Goth arrived at that shop it was empty, save for the storekeeper and the same woman buying rice.
Anger welled and control capitulated to rage. Goth was no longer thinking clearly. He wanted Gynt; wanted to hurt him for years of avoiding his wrath. He wanted to punish him for all those women who fell at his feet. Most of all, he wanted to break him now whilst he was away from the protection of Merkhud, the King and that arrogant Prime.
He stomped out of the shop and, to his surprise, found Gynt directly in front of him, offering him a quartered orange. His frustrations spilled over.
‘No more games,’ he said nastily. Gynt did not seem to recognise him and addressed him in Idagarthian, suggesting Goth try his fruit.
This enraged him. Goth struck Gynt across the face with his whip, then fell on him in a frenzy. He wanted to tear him limb from limb. He had lost Alyssa again and here was someone upon whom he could vent the anger of that loss. He felt hands frantically pulling at him but he was strong; he clung tight and banged the physic’s head again and again against the cobbles.
He heard himself giggle. My, my! This would take some explaining back at Court. But explain he would.
When Goth was finally wrenched off the body he saw it was a child who lay lifeless in the street, her blood mixing with the juices of crushed oranges. It did not make sense. What had happened to Gynt? Goth’s anger subsided.
People were whispering around him but most were too shocked to speak aloud. Many had known the child since she was born. None had known she was sentient. Why would the Inquisitor beat her to death?
It was fortunate that Tor did not witness the result of his Aspecting charm. He had waited to see the first two work beautifully and then had ducked and weaved through the cobbled streets of Ildagarth to put as much distance between himself and Goth as possible. He made his escape, out across open fields, running in the direction of the Academie.
Cloot, however, saw it all. He chose not to re-open the link and share with Tor the high point of his handiwork in adding a new dimension to the charm by making it pass from person to person through touch. No, he would keep this to himself and accept the guilt of the child’s death as his burden.
Nanak’s voice broke as he sliced the link open. Arabella, the priestess, she has fallen to Orlac.
Merkhud’s face twisted in a grimace of despair. Too soon. This can’t be.
It’s true.
Did she say anything?
She just called out that her time had come.
And she disappeared like the others?
Yes.
Merkhud paced his study. Nanak said no more.
Then she will show herself somewhere, my friend. She will re-emerge. We know that now. Her life as a guardian of Orlac is ended. Her life as a protector of the Trinity has begun.
He received no reply. The link closed.
22
Sanctuary
Tor returned to the Academie and, after hurriedly tidying himself, went looking for Alyssa. He found Xantia.
‘Back so early, Physic Gynt? I thought even Alyssa could have kept you amused for slightly longer.’
Tor was in no mood for her. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘I don’t, sorry.’ She took a few steps towards him, even dared to trace her finger across his hand. ‘Perhap
s I could show you whatever she hasn’t got around to yet?’ The innuendo was not lost on Tor.
‘I’m sure I can find her,’ he said and walked away.
‘I’ll look forward to that dance tonight, Torkyn,’ she called after him. He ignored her and made his way to the crypt.
It was a good guess; Alyssa was there. She appeared calm but colour was burning her cheeks. There were other acolytes in the library and her look told him to be careful.
‘Are you all right?’ he whispered, desperate to hold her.
She nodded. ‘Did you just get back from the city?’ Her tone was clipped. It was his turn to nod. ‘And our mutual friend?’
‘Thrown off your scent,’ he whispered again. He saw the pulse at her temple pound. Goth’s hold over her was monstrous. ‘We must talk.’
‘Not here,’ she cautioned. ‘I’ll meet you by the fountain; you can have a tour of the gardens this afternoon. I’ll be there shortly.’
A feeling of foreboding had gripped Alyssa. It was not just that Goth had returned to her life, though the sight of him giving chase had terrified her. Tor’s return had stirred up emotions she thought she had long buried. Somehow she had convinced herself that life as a member of the Academie was enough; it was not. Now she understood Xantia’s sentiments. All Alyssa wanted now was to be with Tor. But life could never go back to how it had been yesterday. She remembered her angry words to Xantia; how hollow they sounded now as she struggled to take the same advice.
She was an Untouchable. The disc of archalyt was her sole protection against Goth but it doomed the love she held for Tor. And yet Saxon had pressed her to accept him as the man she must follow. She walked through the Academie’s corridors, confused, and only realised when she saw him standing in the courtyard that she had actually come looking for Saxon. In her hands she carried the two volumes of Nanak’s writings.
‘Keep these safe for me, Saxon,’ she said, not exactly sure why she was doing this. Like Goth, Alyssa was led by instinct. Right now it told her to hide the books once again but to keep them close. Saxon nodded. He took the books and put them under a cloth in the back of the cart he was mending.
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