Betrayal

by Fiona McIntosh

Goth knew his fate was sealed but he loved that he had once more found a stake to drive into Gynt’s heart. No one could speak for Alyssa.

  The King knew it too. His heart sank. Goth was clever indeed. Even in this moment of high stress he had dug deep enough to find a catch that may yet see this beautiful woman tormented and imprisoned, perhaps savaged by the brand. He slumped inwardly.

  ‘Chief Inquisitor Goth is right. Ancient law decrees that a sentient must have someone of higher rank than the Inquisitor who accuses them speak for them. Goth is the highest-ranking member of the Palace in this room save myself. I cannot speak for her and so there is no one.’

  Goth’s twitching face re-arranged itself into a leer of victory.

  ‘Is there not?’ said Queen Nyria’s clear voice. ‘I shall speak for this woman. I am of superior rank to the filth which I see cringing at our feet, my King.’

  The throne room erupted. Alyssa had won the hearts of the gathered with her dignity and courage at the beginning of proceedings and her triumph through Nyria was a triumph for them. Some even began to clap.

  Queen Nyria had not finished. ‘Lorys, I seem to recall that the ancient law states that the accused, if successful in finding a speaker, has the right to decree the punishment. Is that not so?’ she asked innocently.

  The King nodded. ‘Alyssandra Qyn, you are pardoned of all accusations. This man has committed an unforgivable sin against you and it is your right to choose his fate.’

  All eyes were fixed on Alyssa. Goth was forced to remain on his knees, his head bent. He wanted to look her in the eye, to frighten her into submission as he had always done before. He was enraged, shaking with fury that he could not stare at her.

  ‘He must burn,’ she said quietly and without hesitation. ‘Perhaps the flames that moulded him in childhood will cleanse the man’s rotten soul.’

  ‘It will be done,’ said the King. ‘Take him away.’

  ‘Wait!’ screeched Goth. He had one more card to play. ‘King Lorys, what of Gynt? What is his punishment for having carnal knowledge of the same woman I am accused of lying with?

  ‘I demand the punishment decreed in the ancient law. He is guilty; you have heard him admit it. He must be crucified and stoned.’

  Lorys was trapped again. If he could have slashed open Goth’s throat himself then and there, he would have done so. For more than two decades he had upheld a barbaric law which his ancestors had decreed. Now he must pass the same barbaric sentence on Torkyn Gynt or his reign would count for nothing. He would be seen by his rivals as weak; worse, he would be seen as a hypocrite.

  ‘Take him away,’ he said.

  Goth was wrestled to the door. He shrieked over his shoulder to Tor. ‘See you on the cross, Gynt.’

  ‘Not if you burn first, Goth,’ Tor shouted back. It sounded courageous but he was frightened and he felt his Colours roaring around him. Merkhud must have felt the power surge too for he jumped into Tor’s head and begged him to keep control.

  Remember the woman in my dream, boy.

  But Tor was not thinking of Lys; he was remembering his promise to Nyria. He had given his word to his Queen.

  As the doors closed on the struggling Chief Inquisitor and his henchman, the hall filled with an eruption of voices. Everyone, it seemed, had an opinion.

  Lorys sat quietly, stunned for the second time that day. Nyria touched his arm gently and looked hard at him.

  ‘You cannot, must not do this, Lorys, I beg of you.’

  ‘I have no choice, Nyria.’

  ‘You pardon the woman, a stranger, yet will execute the man you have known and liked for so long. He saved my life, Lorys.’ Her eyes begged him.

  ‘I must be true to the law I have decreed in Tallinor through all of my reign. Goth is right. I make a mockery of that law and my sovereignty if I flout it now. It is regrettable.’

  His eyes flicked helplessly to the beautiful woman at the window. Hers were fixed on him and they were filled with hate.

  ‘Regrettable! Lorys, this is a good man’s life.’

  Nyria was frightened. She knew the set of his jaw and recognised the look of finality settling on his face. His decision was already made. Nothing she said would change that now.

  She turned away. ‘May the gods take pity on your soul, Lorys.’

  No one except the prisoner himself could look him in the eye as the King passed sentence of death on Torkyn Gynt.

  27

  Visitors

  This will probably be the last time we speak, Merkhud said quietly to Nanak.

  That sounds very final, my friend.

  It is. That is, if I can achieve the powerful Spiriting magic.

  I have heard of this, Nanak said thoughtfully. I have never heard of anyone achieving it, he added.

  I must try. It is our last hope. Merkhud tried to lift his voice. How are they?

  Holding for you, Merkhud. Themesius and Figgis are as strong as ever.

  And you?

  Disturbed since speaking with you, but my spirits were high until then.

  Tell me. I need cheering. Merkhud sighed.

  I have been visited by the Custodian; an honour I am still shaking from.

  Merkhud frowned at Nanak’s unmistakable joy. Custodian? Who was that?

  Who is the Custodian?

  Why, Lys of course.

  Merkhud heard footsteps. Nanak, I must close. I may not get another chance to speak with you.

  Yes, you told me that.

  You must know, Merkhud said hurriedly, expecting to hear a knock at his door any moment, that she visited me also.

  There was a slight pause. Then you are honoured and must obey her.

  The knock sounded and then a voice. ‘I know you’re in there, old man. Open up.’

  The Queen. Her voice sounded tremulous despite the command.

  Farewell, friend Nanak, Merkhud said sadly and closed the link.

  He had so much more to say and time was short. He heaved his tired old bones from his seat and walked to the door where her majesty was becoming impatient. He opened it and she crumpled into his arms, sobbing.

  ‘What are we going to do, Merkhud?’ she whispered. ‘Tomorrow they crucify our Tor.’

  For the first time in two decades Merkhud hugged the woman he had adored for all of that time, and thanked any of the gods who were listening for giving him this chance to hold her before he died.

  What are we going to do? he echoed silently in his head as he stroked her soft hair. We shall obey the Custodian.

  When the gaoler opened the cell door to check on the Chief Inquisitor he was cheered to see Goth slumped in the darkest corner…just as he had been when the visitors left. He put a plate of weak porridge on the musty floor and pushed it forward with his foot, enjoying the chance to demonstrate the contempt he felt for this monster.

  The cell check was not routine but the gaoler was suspicious. One of the visitors had been uncommonly attractive. Of all the people who might bother to see this fiend, she was the least likely, he mused. Even through that veil he could see she was lovely. It struck him as very strange that she had claimed, along with the old crone she had in tow, her right of visitation as a relative.

  The gaoler scratched his head as he looked again at the hooded, slowly rocking figure of Goth. His grisly death would occur on the morrow, scheduled before that of the poor physic on the other side of the dungeon. They had been ordered to keep the two men well apart. The gaoler shivered at the thought of the fire which would consume its victim in the most painful way possible.

  ‘Your food’s here,’ he said gruffly. As he began to pull the door closed he heard the replacement guards arrive for the changeover.

  ‘How is he?’ one called.

  ‘The same,’ the gaoler said, shrugging.

  The new guard peeped in around the half-open cell door. ‘Hey, Goth! If you don’t eat this now we’ll have to warm it up in the flames around you tomorrow.’

  Everyone on the watch sniggered. Other
than Rhus, all in the castle would be cheering the flames on. The other execution, however, was a different matter.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he added, ‘we’ll all bring some bread and break our fast with you.’

  Goth finally turned to face his tormentors. Except it was not Goth. They looked into the rotting smile of the mad woman, Heggie, who roamed the fields outside Tal begging for food.

  In his shock, the guard stumbled backwards against the wall. The gaoler pushed him out, fumbling himself with the keys to lock Heggie inside. He did not know why he bothered. She was no prisoner.

  Captain Herek arrived to discuss the arrangements for tomorrow’s proceedings.

  ‘What goes?’ he demanded.

  ‘It’s Goth, Captain,’ stammered the gaoler.

  ‘And what about him?’ Herek snapped.

  The guard stood to attention although he felt in a stupor.

  ‘Speak.’ The captain was irritated.

  ‘Captain Herek,’ the soldier began, ‘it’s Heggie in there. Goth is gone.’

  ‘Gone? Have you been drinking?’ Herek strode over, took the key and opened the door.

  He stepped back out almost immediately and addressed another guard. ‘Get her out of here.’

  Herek fought to keep his own fear under control and the command strong in his voice. ‘Gaoler! Explain.’

  The gaoler slumped onto a nearby stool.

  ‘He had a visitor today—well, two. Only one spoke. She was veiled and young. Very beautiful. She said she was a cousin and I thought, well, it couldn’t hurt—not that I cared if Goth was hurt, mind. The other woman didn’t speak, sir. They left minutes after arriving.’

  ‘Who was she, man? Did you get her name?’

  ‘She said her name was…’ The gaoler had to think hard, hoping he would not embarrass himself further by having to consult the ledger. His relief was evident as he finally recalled it. ‘She said her name was Xantia.’

  28

  The Stoning

  Tor came back to the noisy, terrifying present of his execution. There was no point in thinking about the past.

  He realised he was squinting into the noon sun again. Blinking, he saw a man not that much older than himself step forward to touch his arm. There was something about his searching look which made Tor glance back. Guards quickly pushed the man back into the crowd but Tor’s sharp hearing caught his words clearly. ‘I am Sallementro, the musician. I am her protector.’

  Tor’s heart leapt. He was talking about Alyssa, surely. Another of the Paladin? He nodded at the man who was being swallowed up by broader shoulders and taller heads.

  The noise of people shouting at him and crying for his quick delivery was overwhelming. He wondered if he could do this, keep his promises to Merkhud and Lys to trust them. Seeing Sallementro gave him hope, though. Perhaps he could convince himself that this was not the end. Just a new beginning. He felt his spirits lift.

  Cloot flew to his shoulder. Tor reached up and touched the falcon.

  Cloot’s voice was choked. Tor…

  I know. I must trust Lys.

  Cloot was as terrified as everyone else that this execution was a reality. He had never questioned the wisdom of Lys over the years but the scene unfolding in front of him now challenged his loyalty. He was not privy to what came next. Cloot wanted to tell Tor to summon the Colours and escape but he held his own fear in fragile check.

  A drum began to beat mournfully. Suddenly Tor realised that he was already standing at the hastily erected stage where the executioner was waiting to introduce himself.

  The man’s name was Jod. Solemn and businesslike, he took Tor’s hand in the Tallinese way of welcome. It was strangely reassuring. Herek was at his side in a moment and he felt the captain squeeze his elbow. More reassurance.

  Jod spoke quietly and surprisingly eloquently. His voice was rough and deep.

  ‘I do not like my work but I am good at it. Nay, I am the best in the Four Kingdoms, if you’ll pardon such arrogance. I am told by Captain Herek that this is not a popular execution, Physic Gynt. I make no judgement upon your sins but since I have heard of your good deeds in the Kingdom, I make you this promise: your death will be swift and as painless as I can make it. I am using dampened hide to bind instead of the traditional twine and first-grade weight stones.’

  Tor presumed this meant that the lighter stones were used in order to prolong death and provide entertainment during the execution of a tyrant. He felt lightheaded. He heard Herek speak on his behalf and thank Jod for his compassion.

  The executioner grunted and gestured politely towards the cross which was resting on the floor of the stage. ‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ he said.

  Tor looked at Herek; suddenly nothing was making sense.

  The captain responded gently. ‘He needs you to lie on the cross, Tor, so he can tie you to it.’

  Tor did not trust his own voice any more. He nodded. All the while, the huge crowd kept up its fierce noise; clearly most were against his death but had gathered to show respect on the day of his execution.

  Cloot! Panic gripped him as Herek helped him to lie down on the cross.

  I’m here with Alyssa, Tor. Cloot’s voice had found its calm and he poured that across the link into the man he had sworn to protect with his own life. Look at her, Tor. Please.

  Tor had avoided it so far, unsure of whether it might be the one thing which would destroy his fragile composure. But as Jod began to deftly bind his wrists and ankles to the timber frame, Tor tracked Cloot’s voice and turned his head to see her. Forcing a trembling smile, Alyssandra Qyn communicated her eternal loyalty to the only man she had ever loved by reaching out her hands towards him.

  This simple act of love stirred a variety of reactions. Most of the women in the crowd cried harder. The men looked down awkwardly.

  Queen Nyria refused to watch Tor being bound. Instead, the Queen turned to the Royal Physic who had been commanded to stand present with them. She felt a depthless sorrow for Merkhud. She could see he was struggling to keep his composure.

  When Lorys saw Alyssa show her love, he felt greater desire for the young woman, if that was possible. Niggling questions surfaced. Shall I stop it now, he wondered? Could my sovereignty withstand the backlash?

  Meanwhile, disguised and shrouded amongst the crowd, former Chief Inquisitor Goth and his new companion Xantia lapped up the anxiety swirling about them. Their only disappointment was the knowledge that they could not personally contribute to the death of a young man they both had reason to despise.

  Nyria had read Merkhud incorrectly. He was indeed struggling with the sight of his apprentice being prepared for death, but his display of raw emotion was actually connected to his concern about whether an extraordinary piece of magic could be achieved. He sat nervous and shaking, gathering all the power he could muster while he waited for the right moment for the Spiriting.

  Silence hit the crowd like a wave. Merkhud imagined Tor was being lifted on the cross.

  He was right. Tor was slowly being hefted into an upright position by soldiers of the King’s Guard. He knew the three men involved; had sparred and drunk with them regularly in years previous. Herek was directing proceedings, barking sharp orders, trying to hurry things up so they could be done with this ugly event.

  Tor felt the cross fall soundly into place. He hung there pitifully, looking out across hundreds of faces he recognised, including Saxon not far away. The crowd pointed and murmured as a majestic peregrine falcon they knew to be Gynt’s landed silently on the top of the cross.

  Cloot opened his wings aggressively and eyed them balefully. It was instinctive. He had not meant to do this but he was angry. It was not a regular emotion for him.

  I’m here, Tor.

  Be careful of the stones, Tor answered. His voice sounded shaky.

  I do not fear them. Neither do you. We do this together.

  Tor couldn’t help the tears sliding down his face now. He was past caring about looking b
rave for anyone.

  Don’t die with me, Cloot, I beg you.

  I promise you I will die only if you do.

  Herek began the formalities of proclaiming Tor’s sentence. He was not a man of theatrics and Goth hated to see the occasion wasted by a dour man like Herek. The captain was rolling up the parchment almost as soon as he had begun reading it.

  Tor realised he was being asked if he wished to say anything. The silence from the crowd was instant. He could hear himself breathing.

  ‘To all those who have loved or called me friend, I am sorry.’ He was looking at Alyssa when he said this. Now he turned his bright blue stare on Lorys. ‘I forgive you, my King.’

  The silence held; filled now with awe for his nobility.

  Jod broke the spell, waving back the crowd until there was space for him to stand thirty or so paces from the cross, directly in front of Tor. In his arms was a basket which carried the cruel, heavy stones of death.

  Tor felt the link slice open and Merkhud entered his head.

  Are you ready? the old man asked.

  Can we do this?

  We’re going to try. No one has succeeded before. You understand now: our spirits will swap bodies. You will inhabit my flesh until we are able to return you to your own body. And my spirit will enter your body.

  Merkhud, Tor whispered as he watched Jod set the basket on the ground, why must you die in my body?

  It is the only way. My time is done. I have found you and now you must follow your destiny. You must live and I must die. Use my body to get to the safety of the Heartwood. There is no more time. Despite all it seems I have done, child, I do love you. Open up your powers to me now. I shall need them.

  Tor, terrified, dropped all veils and all defences and allowed the Colours to roar. Merkhud was momentarily stunned at the enormous power at his command but he knew he had only moments now; there would be no second chance.

  Jod spoke for the last time. In his hands he carried two rocks which he had smoothed to form heavy balls of death.

  ‘Close your eyes, boy. I will aim for your head. It’s the quickest.’ Out of habit he weighted the stone in his right hand. ‘And I never miss,’ he added, pulling back his arm.