The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

They were locked into the same cell. It was large but with nothing in it save a bucket. A vent offered vague but nonetheless welcome air and the walls dripped with a slimy damp. A single candle had been lit by Lothryn as a small mercy; he had said nothing, refused to answer Elspyth’s pleas, but Wyl could sense the big man was deeply unhappy at the turn of events.

  Guards had bound their hands and, although Lothryn had left the two men tied, he had undone the rope around Elspyth’s wrists, even lingering just long enough to rub them. Then he had left, but not before a final glance towards Koreldy which, for all his intuition and experience, Wyl could not fathom.

  The heavy oaken door had slammed with a chilling finality.

  ‘Untie me,’ he said to Elspyth, then looked anxiously over at Gueryn.

  She began worrying at the knots. ‘I suppose your rib has broken again?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll cope.’

  ‘That was particularly stupid of you to incense the King. What was in your head?’

  ‘Love, loyalty, friendship,’ he replied.

  She heard the sadness in his voice. ‘Love! For whom?’

  ‘Him.’ His hands came free and he put a finger to his lips to ask Elspyth to keep silent. ‘Gueryn?’ he whispered.

  The man did not flinch. Wyl tried again but with no success.

  Elspyth, never one to remain silent for long, decided to intervene. ‘It’s Elspyth here, Gueryn. We’re alone for now. The man speaking to you is —’

  She was not permitted to finish. ‘It’s me, Gueryn. It’s Wyl.’

  Elspyth sat back astonished. Romen ignored her. He was intent on watching Gueryn’s reaction which was immediate. The man turned his swollen face towards the voice.

  ‘Wyl?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘When … how … your voice … it is —’

  ‘I know. I have much to explain but you must trust me now.’

  ‘How can I?’

  Wyl thought hard. ‘You gave Ylena a white kitten when my father died but you gave me a long hug of comfort in my father’s study which I have never forgotten. You hated not being with my father in the field but you loved our family … loved me enough to give up your career when he asked you to in order to raise me and train me in his absence. I have loved you for it. I think you might have admired my mother, just a little more than duty required, and I think she knew this. She —’

  ‘Stop!’ Gueryn said. ‘Enough … enough,’ he added in a voice which hurt Wyl more than the old soldier could know. ‘Did he injure you?’

  ‘Not nearly as much as you, old friend.’

  Gueryn, amazingly, croaked a laugh. ‘Wyl … my boy … I never thought I would see you again.’

  ‘And I was told you were as good as dead.’

  ‘Celimus?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It figures.’ He began coughing.

  ‘Cover him with your jacket. He is sick,’ Elspyth admonished in a stiff whisper, still trying to fathom this conversation.

  ‘No escape, Wyl. I’ve tried. It’s secure,’ Gueryn warned as he felt the comforting touch of Wyl’s jacket.

  Wyl ignored that fact for now. ‘Why did they sew your eyes shut?’

  ‘Because Cailech didn’t like the way I looked at him. He said he could see nothing but contempt in them. He was right.’

  ‘I suppose you’re fortunate he didn’t have them poked out,’ Wyl offered glumly.

  ‘He’s saving that for tomorrow night. He will do only one apparently. Says I should not miss out on watching myself being eaten.’ He rocked back and forth. ‘What have we come too, Wyl? Fodder for the barbarians.’

  ‘Tell me everything,’ Wyl asked.

  Gueryn began his tale from the moment the hated Celimus ordered him north to his capture. ‘I was set up for it. Celimus intended for this to happen.’

  Wyl nodded knowingly.

  ‘By Shar’s Name, I swear it. He deliberately had me ordered to lead a reconnaissance into Razors territory with men I was not familiar with. Felrawthy was furious but it was all done behind his back. We all know you only send the very best trackers and experienced soldiers on such a dangerous mission. These men were clearly expendable, with little soldiering experience. Fresh from the fields, I’d say. They made so much noise and were useless at coping with the mountain terrain. It was not a case of whether we would be picked up but simply when. I realised as much as soon as the orders were given. The woman was probably a special sweetener from Celimus. I learned she was paid to follow us.’

  Wyl squeezed Gueryn’s shoulder in sympathy and his friend reached up to cover his hand with his own. It was an emotional moment for both of them as they realised how low Celimus was forcing his proud Legion. Bound to the King, they had no choice but to do his ugly bidding.

  ‘And Elspyth with the lovely voice … who are you, my dear?’

  ‘Entangled in your friend, Koreldy’s web, I’m afraid,’ she answered. ‘Not that I know who he is these days.’

  ‘Have you taken a guise, Wyl?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, glad to use that excuse.

  ‘What about your story? Are you going to enlighten me?’

  ‘In good time, Gueryn. Right now you must rest. Your breath comes hard. Please, sleep.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Elspyth echoed to the older man. ‘You’re shivering with fever, sir.’

  ‘Good. I hope I have plague and make fine eating for tomorrow — infecting all of the Mountain scum.’

  Wyl had pretended to sleep. He did not feel much like talking or, more to the point, explaining himself to Elspyth. She left him alone, although he could feel her disgruntled stare for some time until she too realised that rest was a good idea. It seemed many hours had already passed since the door had closed on them.

  Then came the sound.

  A soft thud. Wyl listened intently. There it was again, this time louder and accompanied by a grunt. He heard the jangle of keys and then in the thin, dying candlelight noticed the ring handle on the door move. He was on his feet now, looking around for something with which to hit whatever head came around that piece of oak. Barring his own fist for a weapon, he could only see the bucket, which was mercifully empty. He grabbed it, blew out the candle and stood behind the door as the key turned in the lock.

  A large shape, outlined in ghostly light from the torch in the corridor, entered the room as the door swung back. It was such a wide door that Wyl had to step out and around it and he thanked the reach of Romen’s long arms as he swung the bucket towards the head. The weapon connected and shattered, accompanied by loud swearing. Elspyth screamed.

  ‘Haldor’s Balls, Koreldy! Did you have to do that?’ Lothryn whispered angrily, rubbing at his head.

  ‘What did you expect me to do?’ Wyl replied, unprepared for the familiar voice. ‘Walk meekly to the ovens without a fight?’

  ‘Well before you hit me again, consider why I’m whispering.’

  Elspyth had already worked it out, leaping to her feet and into Lothryn’s arms.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me perish,’ she said.

  ‘How could I?’ he said, voice suddenly gentle.

  ‘Lothryn, this is all very touching but what in Shar’s Name is going on?’ Wyl hissed.

  ‘I’m getting you out,’ the man whispered. ‘Hurry, rouse your friend. I’ve brought warm clothes.’

  Wyl wanted to shake his head and think it through. Lothryn, betrayer of Cailech! Surely not?

  The Mountain man seemed to guess what he was thinking. ‘I don’t agree with Cailech. I grieve too for our dead but butchering our enemies to make a point is heading back to our darkest days.’

  Wyl gently shook Gueryn who now awoke bewildered and groggy, the fever still claiming his body. ‘Loth, it’s suicide for you to do this.’

  ‘I know. Here’s a key to unshackle him. Now help him dress; you need to climb into these clothes to look like we’re all from the tribes, and hurry. I’ve drugged the guards but you never know how luck will
hold.’

  ‘Who is the man who helps us?’ Gueryn wondered aloud.

  ‘Lothryn,’ Elspyth answered, just a little too proudly, Wyl thought.

  She too was climbing into the men’s clothing which Lothryn had brought.

  ‘You were the one who tried to break me?’ Gueryn said.

  ‘And I failed, I’m glad to say. Your loyalty is stronger than mine,’ Lothryn replied.

  ‘I bow to you all the same for your courage.’

  ‘You can thank me later if we still have our lives,’ he said grimly.

  ‘Can we help the others?’ Gueryn asked, teeth rattling.

  ‘It is too late. We would risk everyone’s lives to save them.’

  ‘We can’t let him eat them!’

  Lothryn sighed. ‘In truth, I don’t think he will. Tonight he was fired up, angry. You’ve seen him like that before, Koreldy.’ Wyl nodded. ‘But he will end their lives. Escape with me is your only hope. Is everyone ready?’

  His companions nodded, although Gueryn was definitely confused now, knowing full well that Wyl had never met Cailech before.

  ‘Weapons?’ Wyl asked.

  ‘None, other than mine. There will be no killing. We either get out without harm to any of my people or we die in the process. Here is your pack.’

  Wyl could only nod. ‘Then we’re ready.’

  ‘Did you bring my cloth bag?’ Elspyth enquired of their rescuer. Wyl laughed. What a typically womanly thing to ask. Elspyth understood his smirk. ‘It occurs to me, Romen Koreldy — or whoever in hell you are — that you may need pain relief. Feel free to go without, though. I will lose no sleep.’

  Wyl meekly muttered an apology, which she chose to ignore as Lothryn, who had indeed brought her bag, tossed it towards her.

  ‘Here,’ she said, roughly pushing the small bottle into Wyl’s hand. ‘It’s all yours.’

  He took several sips and felt the numbing sensation begin to ease the pain. He made Gueryn take a few sips as well. It would not touch the fever but it would ease the pain of his other hurts.

  ‘Silence,’ Lothryn cautioned as he and Wyl virtually carried Gueryn between them.

  The early hour worked in their favour. The castle was only lightly guarded, such was Cailech’s faith in his fortress’s impregnablity. Very few Morgravians even knew of its existence save what the old stories told and even fewer would know how to reach it. Most would die with an arrow through their throat anyway, for Cailech posted keen-eyed lookouts throughout the passes which gave access to the fortress.

  For now the small group tiptoed by several fallen guards, presumably sleeping off the same drug Lothryn had used on the dungeon guards.

  ‘I’ve tipped off the gatekeeper that I will be leaving with three other of our men. Remain silent. I will do the talking. Elspyth, keep your hair under that hood and your face covered. We are all dead if they suspect anything.’

  Wyl whispered to Gueryn, ‘You’d better keep your head covered too.’

  Lothryn had planned well. They wore the special hooded cloak favoured by the Mountain Dwellers for travel in the higher parts. That hood would serve them brilliantly now, they all hoped.

  ‘Are we trying to do this on foot?’ Wyl whispered.

  ‘No. Horses have been readied. Can he ride, do you think?’

  ‘Don’t talk around me as though I’m senile. I can ride. Ride the breeches off both of you — even without sight!’ Gueryn growled as they both shushed him.

  Lothryn led them to stables where a young lad was rubbing sleep from his eyes.

  ‘Very late for you to be heading out, Loth,’ the boy said.

  ‘Secret mission, lad. I told you. Now you must keep that quiet, remember. Tell no one, all right?’

  ‘Not even the King, Loth?’ the boy joked.

  ‘He’ll know,’ Lothryn replied and they all imagined the cold touch of Cailech’s wrath reaching out to them already.

  Lothryn kept the nosy stableboy distracted with a request to adjust his horse’s saddle straps while the others mounted. Somehow Gueryn managed to clamber onto his horse himself, slumping into the saddle. Elspyth’s foot slipped in the stirrup but fear made her quick to scramble up, while Wyl managed easily enough with no pain to hamper his movements. He had little doubt, however, that his rib would be aching again before sunrise.

  Lothryn whispered some final parting words to the lad and then waved a silent farewell. The boy responded in kind and then yawned, heading back into the stable.

  ‘That was the easy bit,’ Lothryn muttered to Wyl. ‘Just follow my lead now.’

  Walking the horses softly out of the stables complex, Lothryn led them towards the gatehouse. They pulled their hoods even deeper over their faces as they approached.

  ‘Ho!’ Lothryn called to the man whose sleepy head poked out of the window.

  ‘What do you call this then?’ the guard asked.

  ‘Apologies, Dorl, for the late hour. We are on the King’s business.’

  ‘Oh yes, and what might that be, Lothryn?’

  ‘Never you mind that nose of yours, Dorl. It will get you into trouble one of these days,’ Lothryn replied, amusement in his voice.

  Dorl responded in kind. ‘It’s my job to be nosy.’

  ‘Yes, but not on Cailech’s private business.’

  ‘All right, all right. Give me a moment. I’m off for my supper, just waiting for the relief.’

  ‘Who takes over?’

  ‘I think Borc is on his way down,’ Dorl called as he cranked the wheel which would open the gate. Wyl and Lothryn threw each other a meaningful glance. Borc would be a problem. ‘Although I heard there was some problem at the feast. That he had been hurt or something?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Lothryn lied. ‘Come on, Dorl. Put your back into it!’

  They heard him make some deprecating noise at Lothryn’s comment and the gate slowly began to ascend, protesting with creaks.

  Lothryn was not prepared to risk waiting any longer and clicked his horse to move on. The animal was reluctant until the gate opened fully but the rider insisted and the beast obeyed, ducking its head. Elspyth was next and was relieved her mount simply followed the lead horse.

  ‘Haldor’s Wrath, but you’re in a hurry,’ Dorl called out.

  ‘King’s business can rarely wait,’ Lothryn called back, hoping Gueryn would take the hint and follow next.

  He did so and Wyl brought up the rear, lifting his hand in thanks to the gatekeeper.

  ‘Haldor guide you,’ he hailed at their backs.

  Lothryn replied in similar fashion and felt relief flood through himself as the gate began a quicker descent.

  ‘Ride!’ he said over his shoulder to his companions and they broke into a canter over the rocky ground and through the first pass. ‘Don’t look down, Elspyth,’ he cautioned.

  ‘I won’t,’ she called grimly, holding the reins and staring at the back of the Mountain man she realised had won her heart without even trying.

  ‘Do you think they’ll follow?’ Wyl called to Lothryn.

  ‘Of course they will. Cailech will track us for ever now.’

  It was probably fifteen or so minutes later that Wyl heard hooves behind them. He yelled to Lothryn, grateful he could see some flatter, open ground for a while. ‘Run for it!’

  No one needed to be told again. The four horses were spurred into a gallop, Wyl calling guidance to Gueryn who seemed fearless despite his blindness. His horse obediently followed the lead horses and, as the companions’ hoods blew off and their identities were revealed beneath a full moon, they heard the roar of anger behind them as Borc tried to shorten their lead. He was brandishing a sword and Lothryn had no choice but to pull his own from its scabbard and turn back to meet the howling man head on.

  Wyl turned back too but felt helpless without a weapon. The others slowed their horses and Elspyth took Gueryn off to the relative safety of a craggy overhang. Wyl yelled to Lothryn to give him the sword.

  ‘Don’t
fight your own man. Let me. I’ve reason to kill him. You don’t.’

  ‘I have no intention of killing,’ Lothryn yelled back.

  ‘I understand. Let me,’ Wyl begged, mindful of how hard this betrayal was for Lothryn.

  Lothryn finally tossed the sword to Wyl who grabbed it effortlessly from the air and then jumped from his horse. He had only a moment to gather his wits before Borc was upon his fellow tribesman, determined to slay him. He swung at Lothryn’s head with his sword, only just missing, and if not for the distraction of Wyl running at him with a weapon, might have finished the attempt with a second swing. Instead, he jumped to the ground to face Wyl.

  ‘You traitor!’ Borc yelled at Lothryn as he circled his new opponent. ‘How could you betray us?’

  ‘Because Cailech is wrong.’

  ‘Wrong to kill the enemy?’

  ‘Wrong to murder innocents.’

  ‘Since when have you cared about a Morgravian soul?’

  Wyl allowed them this time. As Borc continued to circle him, Wyl could already see that his opponent was clumsy by comparison to his own silky skills. Borc, he felt, would simply rush at him. Wyl had no fear of this warrior.

  ‘Since now, Borc,’ Lothryn replied.

  ‘Just fuck her, Loth, and be done. I’ll help you do it, man. You know there will be no forgiveness from Cailech.’

  ‘Not another word about her, Borc,’ Lothryn cautioned, ‘or I will take the sword and finish you.’

  ‘And you think I’m afraid of you?’ he countered.

  ‘No,’ Wyl chimed in, tiring of the conversation. ‘But you should be very afraid of me, Borc, because I still carry insult from you. How is your throat anyway?’

  Borc narrowed his eyes at Wyl. ‘When this is finished,’ he called back to Lothryn, ‘I shall do her in front of you,’ he warned.

  Wyl made the sound of a parent scolding a child. ‘Very ugly talk, Borc. Let’s see if you fight as dirty as you speak.’

  A whir of sword thrusts left Borc groaning on the ground, holding his leg, with blood pouring from a wound which had cut through tendon and muscle and another on his arm.

  ‘That should slow him down,’ Wyl said to Lothryn who looked on with awe.

  ‘I knew you were skilled, Koreldy, but not that good.’