The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Wyl nodded. ‘We made a pact. If we both lived after the assault from the mercenaries, then we would duel honourably. Whoever remained standing would protect Ylena and Valentyna with his life. We made a blood oath.’

  ‘And Koreldy killed you?’ the boy asked, astonished.

  Wyl grimaced. ‘A lucky pass with his sword. I had him but misjudged. Koreldy’s a brilliant swordsman but not as brilliant as I.’ He smiled at this. It seemed Romen’s confidence was infectious. Wyl shrugged at the question on Fynch’s face. ‘I suppose I had more to lose and so I took more risk … and paid dearly for it,’ he said.

  ‘And then … how did it happen?’

  Wyl looked up, confused. ‘Oh, how did I become Romen? Hard to explain. He entered my dead or perhaps dying body — I could not tell because I had already moved into his. I am fully myself. My soul is here. His has gone.’

  Fynch’s eyes were sparkling with wonder now. He spoke one word. ‘Magic.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  With that, Fynch launched himself towards Wyl and clung to him. It took Wyl so by surprise that he only had time to catch the tiny lad and hold him close before he could feel Fynch’s ears against his neck. And then he too was weeping. It was as though Fynch’s interrogation had opened the floodgates of emotion as well as memory and they both poured out as they held each other. This brave little lad had to constantly find so much courage and now here was a new challenge. Magic had been unleashed and, though Wyl had tried to protect him from it, Fynch was too smart. He had worked it out. No, it was more than that … he had felt it, trusted his instincts, seen his visions and worried at the truth until he had unearthed it.

  Their tears subsided but both were reluctant to let go of the embrace — they needed each other now. Fynch alone understood the magnitude of Wyl’s dilemma.

  The boy finally pulled back but his arms were still around Romen’s neck. ‘And Knave?’

  Wyl grinned. ‘The strangest dog to ever roam Morgravia or Briavel.’

  ‘He’s part of the magic, though, isn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know, Fynch,’ Wyl said with honesty. ‘But I believe he is enchanted somehow and, yes, our lives are definitely linked through Myrren. You know that vision you had of me?’

  ‘It was horrible.’

  ‘It is also true. Knave saved my life. I was in the north, in Orkyld then. How he reached me or even knew where to find me is beyond my comprehension.’

  ‘He was gone for three days.’

  ‘And he sat with me for one full day of that, waiting to see that I would recover. How could he cover such ground?’ Wyl said, astonished.

  ‘Magic, that’s how,’ Fynch replied gravely. ‘Were those men sent by Celimus?’

  ‘Yes. His intention was to kill Romen Koreldy. It still is. I know too much. They won’t be the last who make the attempt.’

  ‘There’s more.’ Fynch told him about the second vision.

  ‘Valentyna married to Celimus?’ Wyl said, aghast.

  ‘No, I’m not saying that, I couldn’t tell from what I saw — I was more interested in the odd circumstances of the execution.’

  ‘And you don’t know who the victim is?’

  Fynch shook his head. ‘I described him to Valentyna but she doesn’t know either.’ He gave Wyl the same description: ‘Large man, sun-weathered face, rugged features.’

  ‘It could be so many men,’ Wyl said, thinking of the Mountain Dwellers. ‘It reminds me of at least two I know personally. There’s only one certainty here — I can’t let her marry Celimus. He will destroy her.’

  Fynch shrugged his tiny shoulders. ‘It was only a vision, Wyl. It doesn’t make it real,’ he offered, hoping to find some comfort himself in the words.

  ‘Mmm. But yours have a way of being true, my friend. By the way, you have to call me Romen.’

  The boy smiled and Wyl was amazed at how it changed his demeanour. ‘I’d prefer to call you Wyl.’

  ‘Then they’ll definitely have you and the dog carted away!’

  ‘They’d have to catch me first.’

  ‘And this voice speaking to you … that’s a mystery in itself.’

  ‘What do we do?’ Fynch said, sitting in Wyl’s lap. Suddenly he was just a little boy looking to the grown-up to make decisions.

  Wyl wrapped Romen’s long arms about his tiny friend and held him close. ‘We must protect her. Valentyna is the only obstacle to Celimus getting what he wants. And only you and I know how ruthless he will be.’

  ‘He arrives soon,’ Fynch warned. ‘You cannot be seen.’

  ‘This is true. And we are going to sit here until we have a plan. We alone share the truth of Myrren’s gift.’

  ‘You won’t tell Valentyna?’

  ‘No! She is the last person who must know. Briavellians are actually more suspicious of talk of magic than any Morgravian could ever be. We are scared of it because we quietly believe it. The people of Briavel dismiss it. She would not trust us.’

  ‘She trusts Knave.’

  ‘She trusts you and now, hopefully, me. But Knave frightens her.’

  ‘Well, she believes he is somehow touched.’

  ‘That’s a fairly tame word, Fynch. She’s hardly admitting to having an open mind on the subject. To start explaining that a witch gave me the gift of a second life and that I am really Wyl Thirsk will push her too far. As it is she is frightened and confused. No, we tell her nothing of this. Can I rely on you to keep our secret?’

  Fynch nodded. ‘Can it happen again?’

  ‘No,’ Wyl snorted. ‘She’s gifted me a second chance at life, I have to protect this one.’ He suddenly remembered Lothryn and Elspyth. ‘Fynch, I did tell two other people, to be honest. One might already be dead. The other, a woman, who helped me greatly these past few weeks is, I hope, protecting Ylena. She is true to us.’ He gave Fynch her name.

  ‘She believed you?’

  ‘Yes. She and the man of the mountains have strong spiritual beliefs. Magic is part of their lives — at least, I should say, they accept it. Elspyth will tell no one.’

  ‘You must tell me of your northern adventure, Wyl.’

  Wyl nodded. ‘It is a long story — when we have the time I will share it with you. For now, though, you must call me Romen,’ he corrected. ‘You cannot let it slip, my young friend. I am Koreldy, although that name too is not to be murmured around Celimus.’

  Fynch nodded solemnly.

  Wyl could not help taking the tiny hand in his. ‘I thank you for your trust and friendship, Fynch.’

  They spent the afternoon in deep discussion, building and tearing down each other’s ideas, and Wyl was once again grateful for the brilliant mind for detail which Fynch brought to their final strategy. He would take this to the Queen and hope she might go along with their fragile plan.

  THIRTY-SIX

  A LIGHT BREEZE CARRIED THE scent of mint and basil and the seductive fragrance filled the mild early evening air. He loved this light most of all, just as dusk descended with her horde of tiny flying insects backlit by the haze of the soft, dying sunlight. Wyl knew he would for ever associate Valentyna’s radiance with sunset and the perfume of herbs and lavender.

  ‘Forgive me, am I late?’ she asked, approaching quietly. She was dressed in a simple and unadorned gown of soft, dark-blue velvet which matched her eyes in this evening light. The bodice was cut low. She was ravishing.

  Wyl felt his throat go dry. ‘No. I was early, long before the last bell,’ he admitted, silently amused by her long boyish stride which even her formal skirts could not disguise.

  She arrived at his side and he bowed. ‘I love it here at this time of day,’ she said, allowing him now to gently kiss her hand.

  ‘You keep a wonderful herb garden.’

  ‘Not me,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘I’m hopeless at any sort of gardening. It’s fortunate my mother is not alive to despair of me, for I’m told her fingers were ever green.’ She bent to pick a flower from the lavender bushes which e
dged the garden. Crushing the head to release its oil, she held her hand up so he could smell the perfume.

  He held her slightly self-conscious gaze as he leaned towards her palm and inhaled. ‘Do you miss her?’

  ‘Not really,’ she replied, beginning to stroll the path which would lead them towards a magnificent sun dial. ‘She died when I was still very young. And you? Do you have family?’

  Wyl did not know why he lied, or was he being truthful? It was hard to distinguish. He so badly wanted to be Wyl with her and not Romen. ‘My father died not so long ago but my mother died when I too was very young. I still miss her, though.’

  ‘You must have a rich memory.’ And she knew that this was true by his nod, which seemed weighted with sorrow. ‘Do you have brothers?’

  ‘No, just a sister. Mother died at her birth.’ This was dangerous telling his story and not Romen’s.

  ‘Then we are kindred spirits, Romen. We both know the same loss of family.’

  He offered his arm and she took it, much to his delight. ‘Did you feel pressured being the only royal child?’

  ‘Yes, of course. After my mother and brother died, I worked out early that I must be more of a son than a daughter to my father, even though everyone was determined to treat me like the finest of glass.’

  ‘Is that what he wanted?… I mean for you to have been a son?’

  ‘No. If his son had survived, I don’t believe he would have loved me any less — just differently perhaps. I only strove to please. I always wanted to make my father proud of me,’ she said and then added in a sad voice, ‘I still do.’ She walked on, picked some rosemary to twirl in her fingers and continued more brightly. ‘In the early days I felt I had failed him for not being born a boy, especially as he had been too enraptured by my mother to consider remarrying, starting afresh with the possibility of a male heir.’

  ‘He was enormously proud of you … you do know that, don’t you?’

  She shrugged, a little embarrassed. ‘Yes, I am very lucky that my father never found it hard to share his love and his emotions. He told me every day how much joy I brought to his life, although I’m surprised he would share this with a stranger.’

  Wyl realised he must be more careful. ‘We knew it was a hopeless fight somehow. I guess all three of us shared thoughts we normally would not,’ he lied.

  She nodded gently and then pointed towards a small copse. ‘There’s a beautiful summer house in there which my father built for me. I still like to go there often. Shall we walk in that direction?’

  ‘Please. I would be privileged to see it. I was admiring your woodland today.’

  ‘My woodland?’ she laughed. ‘I suppose I have made it mine in a way. Did you meet Fynch there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Let me just say that I have put his mind at ease and given a promise that I am here to stay.’ He hoped he had said the right thing.

  ‘Good. He has seemed withdrawn lately,’ she said carefully, not wishing to reveal anything further about the boy’s visions which had such personal meaning for them both. ‘No doubt your arrival will cheer him,’ she added, ‘so I can stop fretting over Fynch and worry about the King. How serpent-like is he?’

  ‘More slippery than an eel, let me assure you.’

  Valentyna could not help but laugh. ‘A snake and now an eel. Tell me about him … describe his looks to me.’

  Wyl did so candidly.

  ‘What a waste,’ she admitted. ‘And if he’s really as handsome as you describe then surely he can have the pick of brides … although perhaps not so readily a Queen,’ she added wistfully, knowing all too well the politics driving the proposal.

  ‘For sure but he wants Briavel more than a bride, your majesty. The only marriage Celimus craves is that of Briavel to Morgravia. He would control all land south of the Razors … and no doubt, once the south is unified, it is his plan to control what lies north too.’

  ‘So marriage really is the means to the end,’ she said, confirming what she knew, but wishing it did not have to be so.

  ‘I would put my life on it. Celimus cares for no one and nothing but his own greedy desires. I will never forget how he killed Donal so heartlessly and he would have killed Thirsk’s sister without remorse or a moment’s hesitation if Wyl had not capitulated in that second. Let’s not forget that he paid men to assassinate your father.’

  ‘Oh, Romen. Don’t let’s talk of Celimus any more. I know my duty. Let me enjoy a few moments’ peace instead.’

  They had arrived in the copse.

  ‘Here it is,’ she said, a wistful note in her voice. ‘Isn’t it perfect?’ She sat down on a nearby log.

  Wyl looked at the fairytale-like structure which had been built around the hollowed trunk of one of the trees. It was artful the way it blended into the forest — a canopy of leaves disguising and yet decorating it. A haven for a little girl, especially one who played alone and dreamed of being a Princess the equal of any Prince.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ he replied.

  She was pleased he was impressed. Valentyna brought no one here. This was hers. Her private place which she shared with no one … not even her father. She had surprised herself in offering Koreldy a chance to see it. Why have I allowed him such a privilege? she wondered. She also pondered on the fact that she had taken extra care with her ablutions, deliberating uncharacteristically long over whether to roll her hair up or let it flow free. And her clothes, though simple, were more feminine than she had donned in a while. These thoughts niggled in her mind. In fact Valentyna had always ignored the curves of her own body. She rarely looked at herself in the glass and yet this evening she had lingered and even fussed a little. Still tall and lean as ever, she was nevertheless delighted earlier this evening to rediscover that her hips rounded nicely over her long legs. Her maid had commented on how beautiful she looked in her dress. She appreciated how much more shapely her breasts became when she was more elegantly attired. It pleased her fiercely all of a sudden.

  More than anything, she hoped it pleased Koreldy.

  ‘Pardon me?’ she said, realising he had asked her something.

  ‘I just wondered if I might sit?’

  ‘Oh, please do. I’m sorry, I was far away just then.’

  She loved his smile when it suddenly broke like that across his face.

  ‘What were you thinking of?’ he asked, making himself comfortable on the log next to her.

  Now she dithered. How can I possibly tell him? ‘Oh, just remembering good times here when I was little.’

  ‘I had an idyllic childhood too. So we have more in common.’

  An awkward silence followed. She felt that if they were lovers they would most likely kiss now but they were strangers. She pulled her gaze from his mouth and covered her agitation swiftly by saying the first thing which came into her head.

  ‘Have you found us a plan yet, Romen?’ She felt her heart lurch when he looked at her with such intensity through those clear grey eyes and took both her hands this time into his.

  ‘I believe I have, your majesty. It is risky but Fynch agrees, Celimus cannot pass up a challenge to his manhood — for want of a better word.’

  ‘What have you in mind?’

  ‘I must admit first that it was our young friend who suggested this. Have you realised how clever he is?’

  She laughed. It relieved her fluster and she was able to sit beside him without trembling. ‘He is so serious sometimes and he bedazzles me with his sharp mind.’

  ‘He is bright, that’s for sure,’ Wyl said, pulling her hands into his own lap; he felt her tense and wondered if he had been too presumptuous. ‘Fynch believes we should hold a tourney.’

  ‘Whatever for?’ she asked, hardly able to focus on her words, looking down at her hands in his for she dared not risk looking into his searching eyes.

  ‘Because Celimus would love it. We hold it in his honour. We invite him to participate and we let him win at everyt
hing … cleverly, though. He must never know.’

  ‘This would certainly put him in a good mood, but how does this help my cause, mercenary?’ she enquired, intrigued, nervous about her hands resting in his lap.

  ‘Ah, here’s the clever bit. We let him win at everything until he meets the Queen’s mysterious Champion.’

  ‘Who is you, I presume?’ she said, catching on quickly.

  He nodded.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I punish him mercilessly. This will put him in very bad spirits. Celimus is prone to bleak moods, your majesty.’

  ‘How do you know all this? You are not Morgravian.’

  ‘Fynch notices everything,’ he replied. ‘He assures me that Celimus does not handle humiliation with any aplomb.’

  ‘All right, so we have him embarrassed and furious — I can’t see that is any more of a help to my cause.’

  ‘Well, when Celimus falls into his black humour he is good for nothing. He locks himself away and rants. Fynch says he usually likes to hurt someone or something. When he was young, apparently it was the castle dogs or cats, even younger children. As he became older, he began to take his fury out on women.’

  She pulled a face of disgust and Wyl continued.

  ‘He will certainly not be of a mood to propose marriage if I humiliate him, so we must ensure the tourney takes place immediately before formal talks are held.’

  ‘This is it — our only plan?’

  ‘It’s the best we can come up with. I know it sounds risky —’

  ‘Risky? It is suicidal. Why won’t he, in his black mood, take umbrage and simply declare war?’

  ‘Because he is not stupid, your majesty. He is petulant, erratic, often dangerous but never stupid and he will not risk his wealth at war when he can secure the land he craves simply through diplomacy or a strategic union. Anyway, I’m assured by my small friend that Celimus has learned to recognise this particular frame of mind of his, and when it occurs he removes himself from the public eye. He will not wish you to see this side of him, your majesty. It might make you think less of him.’

  ‘If that’s possible,’ she sneered.