The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  It was Elspyth. Bruised and ragged. She was sobbing.

  ‘Behold another proud Morgravian whom I’ve allowed some of my men to … well, soften up, shall we say,’ Cailech said, turning back to watch Gueryn closely. ‘I have Lothryn too … he is a guest of my dungeon for the time being. It’s true Koreldy eludes me.’

  Gueryn ignored him. ‘Elspyth,’ he muttered, all hopes dashed, but the woman did not respond.

  Elspyth appeared vague and disoriented. He could see nasty welts across her face and a cut in her hairline which had bled down the side of her face and now dried. She looked abused and distant, frightened. Her mouth was shockingly swollen and bruised.

  ‘We have cut her tongue out, le Gant. I’m sorry she cannot talk back to you,’ Cailech said, motioning towards a guard who held her. The man pulled open her jaw to reveal a black and bloodied mass which was formerly her pretty mouth. Teeth had been broken in the process.

  Gueryn felt waves of fury now. He could feel his despair pounding at the site of his wound, his blood pumping angrily towards it. Gueryn wanted to wreak violence on this heinous man who could perpetrate such horror on a woman … on any innocent.

  ‘Shar will see you rot for this and your name be spat upon and ultimately forgotten,’ he raged, ignoring the pain.

  ‘I do not fear your god, le Gant. But you should fear me.’

  ‘What do you wish to hear?’ Gueryn yelled, feeling the wound burst open again and a trickle of something warm ooze down his naked back.

  ‘I wish to know your connection to Romen Koreldy,’ Cailech replied in a soft tone, deliberately giving the impression he was bored as he lifted a huge dagger from his belt. He stared at it for a moment and then back at Gueryn, his eyebrow arched in a question.

  Gueryn looked from the pathetic, bleeding figure of Elspyth back towards the man whom it appeared would be her executioner. Nothing in Cailech’s expression told Gueryn that he was bluffing this time. The evil-looking blade was resting loosely in the man’s large hand and it was clear he would not hesitate to use it on this lovely woman who had shown Gueryn such tenderness and whose grimy cheeks now showed rivulets of tears as if she understood what was being bargained for here … what Gueryn’s failure to satisfy might mean.

  Gueryn was shaking his head in silent disbelief. He was helpless. He could no more save this woman’s life than his own. All the years of training, all the skills and talent at his fingertips, all the arrogance of being from a noble line and attached to a family of such prestige and power was suddenly worthless. He could not help her. She would die because he was so helpless … so worthless … so pointless.

  He lifted his eyes back to the searing gaze of his keeper, King Cailech. ‘I beseech you, lord King. Let her be.’

  ‘I have run out of patience with you, Gueryn le Gant. She is Morgravian. She is little more than worthless scum to me.’

  The words cut as sharply as the blade the King held. Rage returned to Gueryn le Gant. ‘Romen Koreldy knew a man called Wyl Thirsk whose family I worked for. That is our only connection. I have never seen Koreldy before — I can tell you no more … nor would I if I could!’

  He regretted his tone and his harsh words the instant they fell out of his mouth. Anger — normally something he had in control — betrayed him and the woman. He watched with horror as Cailech calmly turned away from him and punched the blade into Elspyth’s belly. As she doubled up, the King stepped away momentarily to ensure Gueryn could see him wiping at the spattering of blood which had hit his jerkin.

  ‘Let him watch,’ he said and the guards held her upright as Cailech ripped the blade, still embedded in her, across her abdomen.

  Her face became waxy white, a terrible sound issued from her throat which turned to gurgling as blood welled up and spewed from her ragged mouth. Cailech calmly removed the gutting blade, wiping it on the woman’s garments as her head slumped forward. The guards and their King made a show of avoiding the spume of blood and turned their heads from the smell of ripped bowel. Gueryn could not tear his eyes from the horrific scene. He watched her lifeblood creep slowly yet inexorably towards his boots in a thick line and then curl around one of them, moulding itself to his feet … for ever marking him with her death.

  For ever reminding him that he killed Elspyth.

  She shuddered and groaned once more before mercifully letting out her last wretched breath. Fiery Elspyth with the kind voice and tender, steady hands was dead.

  ‘Take her away. Throw her to the wolves. We need to give them a taste for fresh Morgravian meat.’

  As she was dragged away, Gueryn took his guards by surprise as he hurled himself towards the King. It was the young woman’s blood which undid him; he slipped and, before he could make any impact on Cailech, he was falling heavily on his face, his legs flipping under him. The ravaging pain newly erupting at his wound was sufficient enough to throw him into a dark place. When he woke he found he lived an even bleaker existence.

  Cailech had imprisoned him again in the dungeon. There would be no escape this time.

  Cailech sat brooding over a spiced wine. In the shadows of his great chamber overlooking the lake, Rashlyn waited patiently. They had been like this for some time. It was a familiar scene for both. The King finally hurled his clay goblet at the fireplace where it shattered loudly, breaking the silence, klaxoning his fury.

  Rashlyn spoke quickly. ‘The glamour was effective, my lord. The likeness was extraordinary,’ the man of many magics said.

  ‘But it didn’t work, Rashlyn! He still didn’t break.’

  ‘Perhaps it was too effective?’ the sorceror said.

  Cailech turned on his man. ‘What do you mean?’

  Rashlyn shrugged. ‘Only that I imagine for him there was no point in co-operating beyond her death. Perhaps he never thought you would do it, my lord?’

  ‘Trust me, he knew. And he allowed her to die. You’re right, the likeness of your glamour was extraordinary — he could never guess it was not her. Who was it, by the way?’

  ‘The Morgravian whore we captured him with.’

  Cailech nodded. ‘Why is he protecting Koreldy!’ This time the King kicked over a small wooden seat in his frustration.

  ‘Calm, my lord,’ Rashlyn soothed. ‘Send out more men. The Stones tell me they have followed Haldor’s Pass. In the meantime we must think hard on this. It will come to us … we will find a solution.’

  Hours later — Gueryn had no idea of day or night — the door swung back and Cailech was outlined menacingly in the archway. Gueryn pretended he was asleep but the King ignored this fact. He knew full well the Morgravian would hear him and he was filled with energy at having resolved his dilemma. Rashlyn’s advice was sound. Keep him alive. If he was so important to Koreldy, use him as bait.

  ‘I hope you like it here, soldier, for this is your home now. Make yourself familiar with these granite walls, welcome the damp and embrace the darkness. There is no light for you, no warmth … very little sustenance will I offer, save what will keep you alive.’

  ‘Why bother? Koreldy’s escaped your clutch. He won’t be back,’ Gueryn said, not even turning towards the King. It was the only way he could show the Morgravian spirit remained strong in him.

  ‘Because as long as you’re alive I know Romen Koreldy will find my fortress irresistible.’

  ‘I don’t know him!’ Gueryn roared with the little strength he possessed.

  ‘Ah, but he knows you, le Gant and he has saved you once — he will do it again.’

  The door slammed with finality.

  Gueryn wept. Rashlyn was right. Death would have been much kinder.

  THIRTY-ONE

  THE THREE OF THEM trudged higher. Lothryn had been right to warn them of Haldor’s Pass. This was its earliest stages and already the going was treacherous. The air was thin enough to discourage any conversation other than odd grunts and noises to check on each other. Wyl’s thoughts rested with Gueryn. As much as Lothryn believed Cailech would kill him,
Wyl did not share this notion. The subtlety of Romen’s thoughts — what tiny residue was left of them — reassured him that Cailech would not kill any man who may have some value down the track.

  Cailech is too shrewd, he reminded himself. Why save Gueryn? Because up until Wyl declared his knowledge of him, Gueryn was a stranger to Cailech … nothing more than a Morgravian soldier of rank, and worth the satisfaction of killing. Now, Wyl reasoned, Cailech may view him as worth saving, if just to taunt Koreldy.

  All of this was hypothetical, of course. Wyl had had a premonition that his mentor was dead. None of them had any idea whether Gueryn survived the descent. The likelihood of him surviving his rampaging fever was slim enough. Still, Wyl clung to his notion that Gueryn’s spirit was stronger than his body and Cailech’s shrewdness would overcome his desire to slake his thirst for revenge. Wyl reasoned that Cailech might spare Gueryn even just to find out what he knew of where his companions had headed. At the heart of it Wyl accepted that Cailech’s real thirst was for Koreldy and, no doubt, Lothryn. Gueryn was of negligible interest against such tempting prey but if his being kept alive could help trap them, Cailech would not hesitate to use him.

  He came out of his tangled private thoughts only because Elspyth had signalled a stop. She was breathing hard, ignoring the advice of Lothryn to take shallow breaths. The Mountain man walked back to where she had slumped on a rock.

  ‘I need a few moments,’ she begged.

  Lothryn nodded. It clearly was not to his liking but he refused to waste precious breath and strength arguing. He pointed to a small circle of boulders which would offer minimal shelter but a break nonetheless from the icy wind. He helped Elspyth back to her feet and the three of them gratefully collapsed amongst the circle of stones.

  ‘If you tell me to eat anything, I am going to be sick,’ she haltingly cautioned, eyeing Lothryn.

  ‘No eating. Drinking is important, though. That’s what our bodies need.’

  She took small sips from the skin he offered.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Wyl said, glad to be out of the wind momentarily, ‘does Cailech have an actual healer he trusts?’

  Lothryn nodded. ‘More than a healer. It’s Rashlyn.’

  ‘Ah, of course. Tell me what you know of him.’

  The big man sighed. ‘He is dangerous, as I’ve said. In ancient times, when we were separate tribes, each had their own barshimon. The barshi, as he is known, was called upon for everything from blessing a birth to cursing an enemy. He does readings, he interprets visions, reads the Stones, he performs enchantments … and he heals.’

  ‘You say only in ancient times.’

  He shrugged. ‘Perhaps the magics were more genuine in ancient times or, more likely, most were pretenders. In the last few centuries we’ve discovered that true sorcerers are a rarity … most people could move through a lifetime and never meet someone with the true gift of magic.’

  ‘And Rashlyn?’ Wyl asked.

  ‘As I said, he’s the real thing. And he’s ambitious.’

  ‘You think he’s using Cailech.’

  Lothryn nodded. ‘I know it and none of it towards good.’

  Elspyth joined in. ‘I heard one of the women use the word barshi against me when I came looking for you at the time of your son’s birth.’ She instantly regretted mentioning his baby.

  Lothryn smiled sadly. ‘Yes, barshi can also be used as a way of calling down darkness … bad things,’ he said, shrugging. ‘They needed something to blame for my wife’s death. You were an easy target … and a stranger.’

  ‘So Rashlyn is barshi to Cailech?’ Wyl reasoned.

  ‘He is barshi to the united Mountain Kingdom,’ Lothryn admitted.

  ‘You don’t sound approving,’ Wyl risked, already knowing it to be true.

  ‘I hate him. He has no soul. I have wished all too often that Cailech had not aligned himself with a man of such darkness.’

  Wyl nodded. He would store away this knowledge. ‘But he is a healer?’

  ‘Yes. I can see where you’re headed with this conversation, Koreldy. You believe Cailech will spare Gueryn’s life … save it, in fact, with powerful healings of the barshi?’

  ‘You read my thoughts well!’

  ‘You are as easy to read as a book when you’re being this person, Wyl Thirsk. If you are to outwit Cailech you need to be Romen through and through,’ Lothryn counselled.

  ‘He’s right,’ Elspyth admitted. She smiled. ‘Now that Loth mentions it, you do flit between personalities. I can believe there are two of you. As Wyl you seem naked, too honest.’

  Wyl considered what they said. ‘Wise words. I must learn from them.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, Rashlyn has the power to save Gueryn if Cailech permits it. But what he is being saved for he may prefer to escape through death,’ Lothryn added. ‘Cailech will go this way only if he can benefit.’

  ‘He can,’ Wyl said. ‘He can lure me back.’

  ‘Romen, no!’ Elspyth shouted. ‘Gueryn chose. He gave his life to save you. The two of us aside, he wanted you to get away. You make his sacrifice worthless if you consider returning.’

  ‘I don’t mean to turn back now,’ Wyl reassured. ‘I just have a strange feeling that Gueryn will be preserved for the one reason that it might bring Koreldy back to Cailech’s fortress. I was so transparent at the feast. It was obvious I knew Gueryn well and cared for him. Cailech’s too shrewd to not notice such things.’

  Lothryn nodded. ‘He misses nothing.’

  ‘Then if Gueryn is alive — and I choose to believe he is — I think he will remain a prisoner of Cailech for no other task than to entice Cailech’s enemy back.’

  ‘If you believe this, then you must not fall for such a plan,’ Elspyth reasoned.

  ‘I won’t, I promise,’ Wyl said but his glance towards Lothryn said differently.

  ‘We must press on,’ Lothryn cautioned and wearily they hauled themselves back to their feet and stepped out into the biting wind. ‘Use your hood tails,’ Lothryn shouted against the howl. ‘Wrap them about your mouths. You must keep the icy air from entering as best you can.’ They followed his lead. ‘One more thing,’ he cautioned. ‘We’re entering ekon territory. We must be wary.’

  The first indication that one or more of the beasts were near came some time later when Lothryn, becoming suddenly rigid, stopped and smelled the air swirling about them.

  ‘What?’ Wyl mouthed, careful not to make a sound.

  ‘Ekon,’ Lothryn replied in the same manner.

  Elspyth’s expression queried how he could know this.

  ‘The stench,’ he whispered. ‘Can you smell it?’

  They both lifted their noses and inhaled. A vague waft of something musty and unpleasant crossed their senses and they nodded.

  ‘Not close enough to threaten yet. But if we can smell him, trust me that he can smell us. He will stalk us.’

  ‘What can we do?’ Elspyth asked.

  ‘Distance is all we have,’ Lothryn admitted. ‘But if he signals any others …’

  He opted to say no more.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Wyl said and took the lead, setting a rattling pace.

  Cailech’s tracking group had made good ground on horseback but the terrain was fast becoming too precarious for their precious animals. They did not know it yet but they were getting close to their prey who had been labouring for a much longer distance at a slower pace.

  ‘They’ve passed this way — and recently,’ the leader called back to his second-in-command. He scrutinised the footprints and broken stems of nearby bushes where the trio had rested in the circle of boulders just a short while ago. ‘Send a bird,’ he said. ‘Let the King know they’re on Haldor’s Pass and we’re following.’

  The man he spoke to nodded. ‘Immediately.’

  Myrt, close friend of Lothryn, turned back and squinted into the snowcapped Razors. He despised leading this mission, knowing how it must end. But he hated more Lothryn’s betrayal
and the fact that his own loyalty was now being called into question. It was no coincidence that Cailech specifically picked him out for this task. The King was testing Myrt’s faithfulness to the tribe. Cailech would determine through Myrt’s behaviour how deeply friendship ran in opposition to commitment to the Crown.

  Myrt grimaced at the thought. ‘Hobble the horses, we’re on foot from here,’ he ordered.

  Wyl and Lothryn were just hauling Elspyth up a slippery series of rocks when they heard a sound that made Lothryn almost let go of her hand.

  ‘That’s our ekon. He’s calling in another. They often hunt in pairs.’

  ‘How close?’ Wyl asked, dragging Elspyth up onto the flatter ground.

  ‘Too close. No longer any use fleeing, they’re much faster and sure-footed than us.’

  ‘Can we hide?’ Elspyth gasped, still out of breath.

  ‘No point,’ was the terse reply.

  ‘Right then,’ Wyl said, shedding his pack and dragging out the blue sword from the sheath he now wore across his back. Instinctively he touched the knives at his chest. ‘So we stand and fight.’

  Lothryn dropped his pack onto the ground and brought out a crossbow.

  ‘I’ve been wondering what you carried in there,’ Wyl admitted.

  ‘This might be more effective than your beautiful weapon,’ Lothryn said.

  The men shared a knowing smile, one shared universally by soldiers needing the bravado to go into battle.

  ‘What was that thing you called out to Gueryn?’ Lothryn asked.

  ‘As one … Thirsk family motto and warcry,’ Wyl said proudly.

  ‘As one, then, Wyl Thirsk,’ Lothryn said and they stood back to back, watchful. ‘He won’t strike immediately. If there’s two, they’ll watch us for a while.’