The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Wyl grasped the shift in thought and pushed the point harder. ‘Their hate for each other went back to childhood, I hear. It festered for a decade or more and was complicated — the fathers were blood brothers and old King Magnus was fond of Wyl whilst never enjoying much of a relationship with his son. There’s more to it but Celimus did not enlighten me.’

  ‘All right, let’s say I do accept most of what you’ve told me today, I still don’t understand your trip north.’

  ‘Cailech, you’re reading more into it than there is,’ Wyl said, reaching for the familiarity he sensed Romen once had with the King. ‘The seer told me my life would become entwined with a Queen. And that I must pledge my life to her cause. It meant nothing at the time — there was no Queen in any of the realms I knew. And then I went to Briavel for Celimus and met Valentyna,’ he lied. ‘All the events I spoke to you about then unfolded and I knew, at her father’s death, this was the Queen the seer spoke of.’

  ‘So you came here to learn more about the vision she saw for you?’

  ‘It’s as simple as that. I didn’t get a chance to learn much because Widow Ilyk kept calling out that the barbarian was coming. If only I’d paid attention.’

  Both the men before him smirked.

  ‘Plus he was unwell from the potion he was taking for his pain and I served wine and we thought he might pass out and that’s why we were outside,’ Elspyth concluded in a rush of words.

  All eyes turned to Cailech. He swallowed what was left in his goblet, not at all perturbed by the audience’s held breath or the awkward pause which he further pressed by turning to Lothryn. ‘How is your woman?’

  ‘I might check on her if we’re finished here, my lord,’ Lothryn replied, undisturbed by the sudden twist in conversation.

  Cailech nodded and his man left.

  The King switched his topic back, once again surprising Wyl with his quick mind. ‘Why do you care about Thirsk, Briavel … any of it?’ Cailech sounded exasperated now.

  ‘Because Wyl Thirsk, as I discovered, was honest. I’m an outsider and I’m telling you Thirsk was true to Morgravia — as true to his King Magnus as Lothryn is to you. Now you admire loyalty and so if you had known him you would have admired Wyl Thirsk for that quality alone. Furthermore, he abhorred torture of any kind,’ Wyl said, warming now to his own pet subjects. ‘If he had had the chance to go to battle, he would have spared death wherever he could. This was not a warmongerer. He was not so dissimilar to you, in fact. Your vision was to parley, to settle squabbles with talk not bloodshed.’

  ‘You seem to know a great deal about him — you must have got close swiftly?’ Cailech watched Romen blink as though taken aback momentarily, then he saw him shake his head wearily.

  ‘We spent a few days tied together, then we fought alongside each other to save a monarch under attack, then we fought each other because even he understood that only one of us could escape from Briavel alive. He died valiantly and he won my oath, as I’ve explained, to protect Valentyna.’

  ‘I ask again, why do you care?’

  Wyl had no more answers. He cared because he was in love with her and that love was as ferocious as his hate for Celimus who betrayed him.

  Cailech sighed as though admonishing a child. ‘This is that nobility thing again with you, isn’t it, Koreldy?’

  ‘It runs in my veins,’ Wyl answered with sincerity, glad for the excuse. ‘And I made a pact with him. We mixed our bloods. It is binding, Cailech, and I must admit my loyalties are far easier given to Briavel than Morgravia,’ Wyl said, lying now. He felt suddenly tired and confused. He hated to think that he was no longer loyal to his homeland.

  Cailech missed very little and could see the spirit, the fight that was there previously had suddenly evaporated from the man he rather liked in spite of himself.

  ‘We shall talk later. I need to think upon what you have told me. You two are free to enjoy our hospitality. Please don’t try and leave the fortress grounds or our archers will use you for target practice. My guards are on orders to kill either or both of you on sight if you are anywhere you shouldn’t be. Understand?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘Tonight I am holding a feast. There may be a special dish on the menu which I’m sure will amuse you, Romen … not so you, my dear,’ he said to Elspyth. ‘I will ask you both to join us for some interesting festivities.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  WYL TOOK ADVANTAGE OF the afternoon to sleep. His dreams were filled with nightmares of a young woman hanging from a timber crossbeam begging him to save her. It became even more disturbing when the young woman’s face dissolved from one he vaguely recognised from borrowed memories to one which was achingly familiar. Ylena hung now, beseeching Wyl, wondering how he could have failed to protect her.

  He woke with a start, his bed linen drenched. I have to escape these mountains! The widow had warned him of the danger to his sister and now his dreams echoed that warning. To calm his anguish he lingered over his toilet, pleased to note that some kind soul had left him a fresh shirt. Washed and refreshed he was able to put aside his fears for the time being and concentrate on getting through this celebration of Cailech’s. Perhaps if the King was in a good mood tonight, he might negotiate his own release.

  Unable to sleep, Elspyth wandered the fortress aimlessly but felt her presence was unwelcome and all eyes watchful. The sense of alienation prompted her pleasure at seeing a familiar, albeit hostile, face as Myrt lumbered past her at one point.

  ‘Good day, Myrt.’

  He did little more than grunt but at least he paused.

  She wiped her palms nervously on her skirt. ‘Um … would you know where I might find Lothryn? He, er … he went to check on his wife’s progress.’

  The man mumbled directions which she hoped she could remember. According to Myrt, Lothryn had private lodgings amongst the fortress buildings. She had already gathered Lothryn was far more than a foot soldier for Cailech — it was obvious now that he was some sort of deputy. On her way she picked a bunch of wildflowers, hoping to please the new mother.

  She lost her way several times but worked up the courage to ask directions of other even less communicative souls than Myrt and retraced her steps. Finally she found the alleyway they spoke of which opened into a small central courtyard with several stone houses built around it. At one doorway a group of people had gathered and she presumed this might well be the welcoming party for the new babe. As Elspyth approached she sensed, however, that the atmosphere was far from celebratory. If anything it was grim. They noticed her standing back and she was embarrassed by their stares and mutterings.

  Elspyth called out carefully, introducing herself and asking after the family, having decided it was probably best not to trespass on what might be considered a private gathering.

  An older woman, perhaps she was family — Elspyth could not tell — looked angrily at her and yelled, ‘Go away, Morgravian scum!’ Then she spat towards Elspyth who was too stunned to avoid the spittle which landed on her skirt. ‘You’ve brought the barshi!’

  Barshi? She had no idea what it meant but found the mettle to ask where Lothryn was.

  The old woman hurled a string of words at her in a language Elspyth could not follow. So she turned away from her and addressed a girl with red eyes, sore from her tears.

  ‘I have a message for Lothryn,’ she lied.

  ‘The Mourning Stone,’ the girl answered.

  Elspyth began moving away. ‘Where are they?’ She did not wish to antagonise the group any further.

  Someone pointed towards a hill. She fled; her own fears and anguish welled as she ran towards someone she hardly knew yet she somehow felt connected with because he had shared a secret with her. She found him finally after falling twice and grazing her palms and elbows in her efforts to climb the steep incline.

  Elspyth found him kneeling on a flat boulder of granite facing out to sea. He keened and the sound of his anguish cut through her. His cries intensified w
ith the wind and were carried seaward.

  Elspyth felt herself trembling for his pain and it was only after a few minutes that she noticed a tiny bundle in his arms. The shock of realising the baby was present forced her to her feet and she stumbled forward again, risking his wrath, wanting to share his grief. It mattered not to her suddenly whether he acknowledged her presence or chose otherwise but Elspyth moved onto the Mourning Stone and put her arms about him and cried in unison with the stranger who had captured her. Elspyth so badly wanted family of her own that she could more than empathise with this family’s loss of a life.

  He did not recoil at her touch. Instead he rocked all three of them in his keening, clutching the bundle so close Elspyth could not even see the baby’s face. She assumed the worst, that new life had been snatched away by Haldor, the god in whom Lothryn had placed his faith. She lost track of time, realising the flood of tears she herself had cried were not just for this Mountain Dweller’s loss but for her aunt. Also for Romen and the horrible death of his family.

  The wind gradually died down and she caught the unmistakable sound of a gentle whimpering of an infant.

  She pushed back on her heels. The baby lived! Fresh tears. Don’t let him see them. Elspyth stepped around Lothryn and reached tentatively towards the baby.

  ‘Lothryn, it’s Elspyth. I mean no harm. May I?’

  He turned eyes of such intense sorrow on her that her courage almost failed and she would have left him if not for the gentle way in which the huge man held out his newborn baby. She took the child, feeling a fresh wave of grief. Holding this precious infant highlighted her own plight, her own lack of family and belonging. Elspyth cradled the softly moaning baby and without thinking put the tip of her small finger in the child’s mouth. It immediately began to suck.

  ‘Your baby needs feeding,’ she said.

  His words came back hard. ‘His mother is dead. She fought hard to stay with us but she bled so much. They couldn’t stop it.’

  Elspyth swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She said no more, fearful of using the wrong words. Instead she simply laid her hand on his arm. Perhaps through touch she could convey her despair at his loss.

  He surprised her by covering her small hand with his own. ‘Thank you.’

  Then Lothryn, deputy chieftain of the Mountain People, took his newborn son from her and strode away, leaving Elspyth empty and shattered on the Mourning Stone where he had cast his wife’s spirit to the seas.

  Later, exhausted and back in her chamber, Elspyth glanced out of her window towards the meadows. She saw two riders. One was Lothryn. The other, unmistakably was his King. Elspyth hoped Cailech would offer more comfort to his friend than she had.

  ‘She gave a son to our people, Loth. We must celebrate her contribution rather than mourn her death,’ Cailech said, staring out across the pastures he loved.

  ‘You have good reason to celebrate the boy’s birth,’ Lothryn replied more pointedly than he had intended.

  Cailech now looked towards his closest friend and companion, the man he trusted above all others and remained silent. The look exchanged carried much weight. Both knew that whatever stood between them on this subject best remained unsaid. The King nodded in deference towards his deputy before they walked their horses on.

  ‘She didn’t love me at the end, Cailech, it’s all right,’ Lothryn finally said with a sigh. ‘I grieve for the unhappiness I gave her and the fact that the boy has no mother.’

  ‘We will care for him better than any other.’

  ‘I know.’

  The men guided their horses towards the lake. Cailech liked to skirt the water’s edge. It was peaceful here … and especially private.

  In his typical way he changed subjects. ‘I want to talk to you about the Morgravian prisoners we captured.’

  ‘Oh? I’ve been waiting to hear your decision on them.’

  ‘I’ve waited, Loth. Waited for my wrath to calm.’

  The big man spoke gently. ‘Cailech, our people should not have been there.’

  ‘That is as may be. But they were lost. I’m sure they explained this to their murderers before they died.’

  ‘If we overreact it could mean war between us and Morgravia.’

  ‘Overreact? A dozen innocents were mindlessly slaughtered, mostly our young.’

  Lothryn stayed quiet. He recognised the dangerous sign of his King’s anger stoking. He appreciated how Cailech admired and encouraged the young members of their race. It was through his efforts that so many now lived into older age and did not kill each other in pointless tribal war. It was Cailech who had turned the young’s energies into animal husbandry and farming on a more intensive scale. His people now fed themselves easily. Their harvests were plentiful and storage for less bountiful times more concerted and well organised. It was Cailech who had insisted from the moment that he had pronounced himself King that the young would now be taught letters and history of their people rather than how to kill a man. Cailech encouraged music, singing, dance. He always had time for the youngsters. It hurt his very soul when one died, let alone a dozen or so being brutally cut down.

  Lothryn knew, better than any, that Cailech would exact a price for their lives. He held little hope, in truth, for the unfortunate Morgravians they had captured but still he would try.

  Cailech pointed towards a small stand of trees. ‘Race me, Loth.’

  Their horses, especially bred to be fast and hardy in this terrain and climate, were spurred into a flat-out gallop. Predictably, the King won on his beautiful mare.

  ‘Isn’t she spectacular?’ he said, laughing, breathing hard from the exhilaration of the ride.

  ‘She’s magnificent,’ Lothryn answered, just as breathlessly, stroking his own mount who had chased well. ‘What is your decision, my King?’ he added, determined not to let the subject be left.

  His friend since childhood became serious again. ‘I’m going to make an example of them.’

  ‘Please, Cailech, think it through.’

  ‘I have. Whilst you were capturing Koreldy, I gave my attention to nothing else but this topic. I do not reach this decision lightly.’

  ‘These prisoners in our dungeons are innocents too. They have suffered enough. Must we react in the same fashion as our southern foe?’

  ‘They are soldiers, not innocents!’

  ‘Only one is a hardened soldier, my King. The others strike me as peasants who wouldn’t know anything about killing, other than their beasts for meat.’

  ‘What would you have me do?’ the King suddenly roared.

  Lothryn took his time answering, waiting for his friend’s anger to die back.

  ‘Release them. Be lenient, be better than the Morgravian King.’

  Cailech shook his head angrily. ‘It is his doing! His father would never have condoned such killing of our people. The son is a madman. You know all our spies report that even the Morgravians increasingly despise him. No, I cannot turn away from this, Loth. I want vengeance this time. Celimus will know my fury, he will know not to sleep too deeply. One day I will come for his lands.’

  His deputy sighed. This was the old mantra. For all his brilliance as a philanthropic ruler, Cailech still possessed the spirit of the conqueror. He remained a warrior and his desire to broaden the scope of his rule and his people’s lands burned bright and deep within their mercurial King. It would be his undoing one day, Lothryn feared; had said as much on previous occasions. This was not the time to repeat it.

  His sorrow at the King’s decision was evident in the weary way he spoke. ‘What do you have in mind, my lord?’

  And the King told him. There was no joy in it. Cailech spoke briefly, grimly and refused to justify his planned actions. Lothryn had never felt more hollow, could not have imagined that Cailech would take his people to such a low place.

  He could not help himself. ‘This is insane!’ he said, risking offence.

  ‘I will —’

  ‘Cailech! It’s madness, I say. D
o you want to give our enemies the right to retaliate?’

  ‘We are ready!’ the King growled.

  ‘For more of our people to die? Are you sure? Is this what you want, for war will come here, my King? Have you lost your mind with this plan?’

  ‘Be careful, Loth.’

  The King’s friend heeded the soft warning. ‘Cailech, we’ve known each other since the cradle. I have followed you through all the trials to becoming King and I have never once shirked my duty to you. There is no one more loyal to you.’

  ‘I know this,’ the King snapped.

  ‘But I don’t support this idea. It lessens you in my estimation,’ he risked. Then his voice became beseeching. ‘My King, this is not at all like you. You are so much better than this.’

  Cailech’s expression twisted in discomfort. ‘I want to teach them a lesson they won’t forget. The Morgravians murdered our children, Loth. Now I will respond in the only way they’ll understand. It’s horrific, I agree, but I am not going to let my people be bullied by this new and arrogant southern King. If I don’t retaliate now and in equal measure, he will think me soft — vulnerable even.’

  ‘What does it matter if he does? He is nothing to us.’

  ‘It matters!’

  ‘Could you live with yourself after this?’

  ‘You know me well enough.’

  And then it dawned on Lothryn. ‘This wasn’t your idea was it? Your mind doesn’t work this way.’

  Cailech gave a small shrug. ‘So what if Rashlyn devised it — he is right!’

  Lothryn grimaced. Rashlyn was the King’s barshi. People of the Mountains had always embraced the notion of magic. For a sovereign to have his own barshi or sorcerer was considered a blessing, for these practitioners were rare. But Lothryn had ever disliked Rashlyn since he had first come to the Razors and ingratiated himself into Cailech’s inner sanctum.

  Rashlyn had shown patience too. Years of quiet counsel and waiting, playing on the King’s superstitious tendencies until he had won Cailech’s trust. Now he considered himself untouchable; he knew Lothryn despised him but was confident of the King’s protection. His sway with Cailech was becoming more pronounced with each year; this latest idea an abomination.