The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Wyl stood. ‘Alyd Donal is my Captain, your majesty,’ he said firmly, swinging back towards Celimus.

  ‘Not on this sensitive mission, Wyl. In fact you’ll be taking none of the Legion with you.’

  Wyl baulked. ‘You would send me into an enemy kingdom without my own men, sire?’

  Celimus opened the window. ‘Entering our enemy’s kingdom so boldly is precisely why we will not send Morgravians other than yourself. The mere presence of the Legion would be like a spark to kindling. I cannot risk it.’

  ‘And you trust foreigners to the task?’ Wyl said, looking again towards Romen Koreldy who smiled back, his manner infuriatingly easy.

  ‘You are no foreigner, Wyl — you are a proud son of Morgravia. The foreigners will be briefed and fat purses await each on their return from a successful mission.’

  Wyl wondered if it was his imagination that Celimus’s grin had a new wolfish quality to it. Mercenaries, Wyl thought, grimly. Both our fathers will turn in their graves.

  ‘No, sire,’ he said, ‘I regret but I cannot do this without the men I trust around me and I must recommend that you reconsider this plan.’

  Celimus’s voice was now laced with a sharpness. ‘This is not about you or what you want,’ he snapped. ‘This is about achieving peace between two realms through a strategic marriage. You are its negotiator.’

  Wyl bristled. ‘I am a soldier, sire, not a politician. Perhaps I am the wrong man after all.’

  Celimus shook his head as though in the presence of a stubborn child. ‘Valor will trust no other name. He may be our enemy but his respect for your father is well known.’

  ‘And yours too, sire,’ Wyl countered. ‘It might be more appropriate for you to go in person and ask her hand.’

  Celimus swung around now. He could no longer disguise his anger. ‘Are you afraid, Wyl?’

  ‘No, sire. I’m just not stupid,’ Wyl said, instantly regretting his choice of words and what they intimated. He pressed on. ‘These men are strangers and I do not trust them with my life or anyone else’s.’

  ‘And if I guaranteed your safety?’ Celimus asked. Wyl opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. He knew now this was a trap. ‘I have, of course, sent a diplomatic messenger ahead to request Valor’s co-operation in entering into peaceful talks with my envoy,’ the King added.

  Wyl shook his head, determined not to show the shock he felt that Celimus had obviously begun orchestrating this plan when King Magnus was still alive. Trusting Celimus was laughable. He was as cold and as unpredictable as a snake. ‘I regret it, but no, your majesty.’

  ‘And this is your final answer?’

  Wyl nodded, fearful now of what the repercussions might be but resolute nonetheless. He would not risk his office nor his family name, conspiring with mercenaries.

  Celimus sighed dramatically. ‘As I thought. So now we must find new ways to encourage your loyalty,’ Celimus said, throwing open the other window. He turned to the burly men standing near. ‘Bring him,’ the new sovereign commanded.

  Wyl was dragged to the window, his eyes helplessly drawn to what had previously held the rapt attention of Celimus. Kneeling at a block was a man. Above him stood an executioner, his hands on a large axe, the blade resting menacingly between his feet.

  The prisoner’s hair was grabbed, his head pulled back. Wyl felt his knees buckle. It was Alyd. He saw Wyl and screamed Ylena’s name as his head was allowed to fall back to the block.

  ‘My King, please, I beg you …’ Wyl cried.

  ‘Too late, General Thirsk. I am not someone to be trifled with.’

  Celimus gave the signal and the axe rose and then fell. Wyl watched as his friend’s life was cut tragically short on the whim of a madman. Even the use of the axe was an insult to his friend’s noble status.

  ‘You evil bastard!’ His voice broke as he shouted at Celimus through the tears, struggling against the men who held him and the chains which prevented him from striking out.

  Celimus had barely batted an eyelid at what he had witnessed. ‘It’s your fault that he had to die, Wyl. If only you had followed your King’s instructions without question — isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Isn’t that what your father did for mine?’

  ‘My father did not follow the orders of a lunatic,’ Wyl spat, suddenly realising how calamitous his words were as his mind raced towards how to keep his sister safe.

  At Wyl’s insult, Celimus turned back to the window and gave another signal.

  ‘Where is Ylena, Celimus?’ Wyl demanded.

  ‘Right here,’ the King replied, menace in his voice.

  Wyl looked out again and despair racked his body for the second time as he saw his distraught sister being pushed into the courtyard. She saw her husband’s headless body slumped against the block; the initial dramatic spume of blood had slowed to a stream which pooled on the dusty ground.

  Fynch stopped running abruptly as his mind swam with a vision of blood. We’re too late, Knave, too late! he screamed inwardly and slumped against Stoneheart’s cold walls, his distress too much for him to bear as he succumbed to a small boy’s tears. His four-legged companion seemed to understand and allowed Fynch to bury his head against him.

  ‘Don’t do this, Celimus.’ Wyl was begging now as he watched Ylena slipping amongst Alyd’s blood, as they carelessly booted her husband’s body aside. Alyd’s corpse toppled to the dust and Ylena had to step around his legs before they pushed her face towards the block. He could see her body shaking as she began to wail.

  ‘I’ve had her dressed in virginal white. An ironic touch, don’t you agree?’ Celimus said coldly.

  The King raised his hand to give the signal and Wyl begged harder. The men holding him loosened their grip to allow him to fall to his knees.

  ‘Celimus, I beseech you. Spare her. I will do whatever you ask.’

  ‘On your sister’s life, yes you will,’ Celimus said viciously. He turned back to the executioner. ‘Take her back!’

  Ylena was roughly pulled back to her feet, her face and gown wet with Alyd’s blood.

  Wyl called out to her. ‘Remember who you are, Ylena. As one!’ He urged the family motto through his own distressed and trembling body.

  She did not even look up.

  Celimus laughed. ‘Wait! Make her carry her husband’s head back to the dungeons. He can keep her company, and tell her if she drops it, she’ll be flogged.’ He turned back to Wyl. ‘I’m glad you saw reason. Ylena will remain in the special accommodation I have chosen for her until you complete the mission we have discussed. Is this clear?’

  ‘Yes,’ was all Wyl could trust himself to say.

  Magnus had alarmed him by echoing his own conviction just hours earlier that Celimus must die if Morgravia was to be saved. He looked at the new King now and knew he would be the one who must do it.

  ‘Excellent,’ Celimus replied. ‘The messenger would have arrived by now and I have already taken the liberty of briefing the men. You leave immediately. Romen will accompany you to the stables. Don’t worry about packing, it has already been arranged.’

  ‘May I see Ylena?’

  ‘No. You will see her when you return. Until then, she remains a guest of Stoneheart’s dungeons. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes,’ Wyl said, trying to think straight. He grit his teeth before he spoke. ‘Gueryn. I will need to get word —’

  ‘Ah, I should have mentioned this before, Thirsk. My father asked your friend, le Gant, to go on a special mission deep into the Razors. A task requiring experience but also, I suspect, involving certain death. Le Gant, to his credit, accepted the mission without hesitation — a brave man indeed.’

  It was the final crushing blow and Wyl could not hold in his gasp. ‘This is surely a jest,’ he said, eyes wide with disbelief. ‘What special mission? Why was I not told about it!’ he demanded.

  ‘A secret mission,’ Celimus repeated. ‘Not everything, General, is cleared through your office.’ His voice was
filled with sarcasm.

  ‘Gueryn is not dead,’ Wyl affirmed.

  ‘Not yet,’ the new King said, and Wyl did not care for the manner in which those two words were uttered, as though Celimus planned otherwise. Once more he recalled Celimus’s threat at the tourney and realised now that it had been a true warning. The King was now following through on his intention to harm all those Wyl loved.

  Magnus was dead. Alyd was dead. His sister had been imprisoned and, Shar forbid, his beloved Gueryn had been sent on a death mission.

  Wyl’s world fell apart.

  ELEVEN

  THE COMPANY MOVED OUT of Stoneheart’s eastern gate in a frigid silence. Celimus had masterminded his plan with some brilliance and all news of Alyd Donal’s death, Ylena’s imprisonment and the coercing of General Wyl Thirsk, was contained. Meanwhile, the city bells continued to mourn the death of a monarch and Morgravia’s proud flag was being lowered in respect for the passing of a great man. Three official days of mourning prior to the King’s full ceremonial burial would now take place. This would include the closure of all drinking houses, eateries, brothels and indeed any establishments of entertainment.

  Any non-essential work places would close. Throughout the kingdom no animals would be slaughtered during the coming five days and Morgravia would live on vegetables and pulses in a further sign of respect. People would not be about the city. The dwellers of Pearlis would be encouraged to remain at home or attend chapel to pray for the soul of Magnus to speed it to Shar.

  They should be rushing to church to pray for deliverance from Celimus, Wyl thought bitterly, as he steered his horse through the great stone tunnel and beneath the gate. Celimus’s timing was perfect. The fact that Morgravians would be off the streets and Stoneheart had effectively become a ghostly place meant no one of any note knew this party had left.

  That is, all except a small boy and a large dog who followed at a safe distance. Fynch had cautioned Knave to stay quiet when he noticed the dog’s tail wagging as Wyl passed by. As usual Knave appeared to understand the warning and now they moved at their own pace keeping the last rider’s dust in sight. Fynch’s plan was to catch them up by nightfall and he also hoped by then he would have found a way to convince Wyl of the truth of the plot he had overheard.

  Fynch had got word to his sister not to worry about him. He had recently been paid so he knew the family would be fine for a while. He had run all the way home to fetch the family mule, their only asset, and pack a stock of dried food, oats and water. Fynch had no idea how long he might be gone or what indeed he might be able to do. All he could think about right now as he followed discreetly was reaching Wyl and warning him of the trap Celimus had laid.

  Stoneheart was behind them now and the signal was given to increase the pace. Fynch noted that the horses quickly put more distance between them.

  ‘Come on then, Knave, we must stay with them, boy.’ He moved his heels against the mule and the sweet-natured beast obeyed his wishes and broke into a canter, Knave bounding easily alongside.

  At the head of the column, Wyl rode in stony silence next to Romen Koreldy. Everyone except Wyl was armed, although there was no further need to hobble him. Celimus knew Wyl would give full co-operation with his beloved sister as security.

  ‘Thirsk, this is not personal,’ Romen finally said when they were resting the horses with a trot.

  ‘It is for me,’ Wyl snapped.

  ‘I understand. I’m sorry about your friend.’

  ‘Why would you care?’

  ‘Because it was unnecessary, frivolous even. No man should lose his life for a whim. It was obvious that you would have agreed to almost anything if Celimus had simply threatened your sister. If it means anything to you, it sickened me.’

  ‘You don’t know the new King as I do, stranger. He has no scruples. If there’s an ugly way to do something, that’s the way he prefers. Killing Alyd was settling an old score — it was convenient that it looked to be serving the purpose of coercing me.’ Wyl looked away, disgusted.

  Romen nodded. ‘I see. We have a code, us mercenaries. We kill only if it pays.’

  ‘I am the General of the Legion of Morgravia, stranger. Mercenaries are the dung which clings to the bottom of our boots.’

  The man sighed. ‘Yes, it would seem that way, although it also seems that we have our place in the world, doing the unsavoury tasks which you more superior soldiers prefer not to take on.’

  Wyl’s head snapped back to look upon the handsome foreigner with the easy manner. ‘I do not kill for money,’ he spat.

  Romen smiled sadly. ‘Oh, we all ultimately kill for riches of some sort. It’s just a matter of perspective, Thirsk.’

  ‘Who are you, Koreldy?’

  ‘Just someone who fell by the way. Let’s just say I wasn’t cut out for traditional soldiering. Our two grandfathers fought together, by the way — my background is Morgravian.’

  Wyl was surprised. ‘All the more reason for you to find this task despicable.’

  It annoyed Wyl to see the man grin. There was no unkindness in it. Just a wryness he could not interpret.

  ‘You need me, Wyl Thirsk, because I’m the only one who can control this lot following us. Don’t look upon me with such disdain — we are not so different, you know. I don’t care for Celimus’s tactics much but I agree with what he’s trying to do. Morgravia and Briavel will just end up destroying each other and leaving themselves open to genuine threat from the north. His rationale is sound but I admit the way your new King goes about his business is certainly brutal.’

  Wyl grimaced. ‘He’s a lunatic.’ Anger boiling again, he changed the subject. ‘What do you know about the threat from the north?’ He hoped Koreldy might throw some light on Gueryn’s chances of surviving this death mission.

  ‘I know Cailech grows strong and more confident by the day. He will test his army. The raids will become more bold, more frequent. Mark my words.’

  ‘A barbarian will not take Morgravia,’ Wyl countered. ‘Even someone as deranged as Celimus will not permit it. He has an intense dislike for Cailech anyway. I’m not sure how it has grown to such a festering sore but he hates the barbarian — been telling us all for years how he’ll rid us of him once he became King.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure about what the Mountain King is capable of. He is far more sophisticated than you give credit,’ Romen warned.

  Wyl’s voice sounded condescending. ‘You know this first hand, of course.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ Romen replied, not at all offended at his companion’s tone.

  ‘You’ve met him?’

  The mercenary smiled again in his disarming way. ‘I fought alongside him for a while.’ Before a surprised Wyl could pursue the conversation, Romen had called the men to pick up the pace again.

  And so it went. For a few hours Wyl was able to let go of the powerful grief which he felt so assaulted by, allowing Romen to talk in his carefree style about life amongst the Mountain Dwellers. He was impressed with the man’s knowledge and the sheer audacity of how he had navigated his way into Cailech’s stronghold.

  ‘So where is the famous rock fortress — does it even exist?’ Wyl wondered aloud.

  ‘Oh yes, it exists and impressive it is too. If you could ever see it, you’d be surprised by its sophistication.’ Wyl looked at him, was tempted to smirk but could see Romen meant what he said. ‘I hope you do see it, just so that you know I’m not a liar.’

  ‘But why were you there? I thought it was forbidden for any stranger to even get within leagues of the fortress.’

  Romen hesitated and his expression darkened momentarily. ‘Oh, family business,’ he replied, not convincingly, Wyl noted, and stored it away. ‘I’m from Grenadyn, as you know. We traded with the Mountain Dwellers. Let’s just say I managed to find myself on reasonable speaking terms with Cailech.’

  ‘Will you tell me about him?’ Wyl was intrigued.

  ‘He’s an enigma.’ Romen grinned. ‘I th
ink I recognise some of my own traits in Cailech but he is certainly someone you wouldn’t want to make a hasty judgement on.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘That he’s unpredictable.’ He shrugged. ‘Cailech is larger than life. He’s heroic and devoted to his people. That makes him dangerous if he’s crossed or senses any form of betrayal. He rewards loyalty and wins it easily from his warriors. He is at once easygoing and relaxed and in the next breath will trap you with cunning.’

  ‘Go on,’ Wyl urged.

  ‘What else can I tell you? He thinks deeply on most subjects. His decisions might appear impetuous but they are often far from it, yet his personality is spontaneous. He lives by instinct.’

  Wyl blew his cheeks out. ‘You sound impressed with him.’

  ‘I am. Believe me. I don’t know another who can be as ruthless to his enemies as he is generous to his own. I fear for his temper, though. He can be more cruel than you can imagine if someone has crossed him or he feels threatened. But his creed is really quite simple and I admire that. Mostly I admire his subtle mind. He is intelligent enough for ten men.’

  ‘A Mountain Dweller,’ Wyl mocked gently.

  ‘Don’t be fooled, Wyl. This is no ignorant, aleswilling barbarian. This is a man born to be King.’

  Wyl pondered the advice. ‘What can you tell me about the fortress itself?’

  Romen laughed. ‘Plenty, but it would be a betrayal for me to tell Cailech’s enemies his secrets. He paid me well for my service. In return he enjoys my discretion.’

  ‘A mercenary with morals,’ Wyl jeered.

  ‘You’ll be surprised,’ the man replied softly. ‘Stop here, we make camp.’

  Fynch and Knave caught up with the group long after the campfires had burned down to embers. The horses whinnied nervously as the huge black dog melted silently out of the darkness. Fynch had had the presence of mind to unsaddle and tether his mule some way back. She was munching happily on her oats and seemed disinterested in the dog which frightened most other animals of her ilk. The boy waited in the darkness and watched as Knave padded up to Wyl and licked his master’s face. Then the dog disappeared as silently as he had arrived, back into the shadows where Fynch crouched and they both waited.