The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Ylena said, recovering herself. ‘And I bring the gravest of news.’

  ‘I am sorry we meet under these circumstances,’ Crys said, extending his hand towards her. The smile froze on his face whilst puzzlement creased his brow. ‘So where is Alyd?’

  The duke reached for her arm. ‘My son Alyd. Why is he not with you?’

  Ylena felt her world sway from the euphoria of finding the duke to despair at what she must now share with him. ‘No, my lord, he is not with me,’ she admitted carefully, the hairs tightening at the back of her head. ‘Forgive me, sir…’ She glanced tearily towards the baffled expression on Crys’s kind face. ‘It is why I am here…to tell you that Alyd is dead.’

  The silence that met this statement was vast and of sufficient weight to crush the breath out of Ylena. Her pity for these men of Felrawthy was palpable. As much as she mourned Alyd, she had now accepted his death, knew the only way forward was to seek vengeance. It terrified her, but even more frightening was knowing that Celimus was hunting her down. He would not stop; she knew this. She could run forever and he would not give up — Wyl had said as much when Alyd had spoken of fleeing before the journey. So it was better to turn and fight him as best she could. Nothing could bring back those she loved, but a measure of satisfaction could be gained by helping to bring down their murderer. Alyd’s father and brother were yet to grasp the significance of her words let alone know the worst of it.

  Jeryb stared at her, his eyes stormier now, brow furrowed and angry. ‘Dead you say?’ he finally asked.

  Ylena nodded, too numb to show her emotion. ‘I am so sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘There is so much to tell, sir. I hardly know where to start, but you must know that you are all that stands between me and certain death too.’

  ‘We cannot speak of this here,’ the duke said, closing his eyes in grief. ‘I will hear it all but not here. If we ride hard we can make Tenterdyn by nightfall.’

  Crys reached over and squeezed Ylena’s hand for reassurance. It was precisely the sort of gesture Alyd would have made, never afraid to touch or show emotion. She hardly dared look at Crys for fear of breaking down. ‘Tenterdyn is our family home,’ he whispered. ‘You will be safe with us.’

  Crys turned to the novice. ‘Can you ride, Pil?’ The young monk nodded. It seemed that Crys Donal had taken control. The duke looked incapable of saying another word. Crys rested a hand on his father’s shoulder as he sorted out arrangements.

  ‘Good. Then go outside and tell Parks to find you a mount on my orders. I shall bring the Lady Ylena. Are you happy to ride with me, my lady?’

  ‘Yes… yes, of course,’ she replied, dreading being close to the man who so resembled her dead husband.

  EIGHTEEN

  WYL KNEW HE HAD pushed the mare hard. He finally slowed her from a gallop to a canter, cooling her down to a trot which the brave horse would hold for a little while yet before permitting herself to walk. He stroked her neck in silent thanks and she tossed her mane as though in response.

  The small stream he had expected to find made itself known by a soft gurgling and he angled the chestnut mare off the road, ducking beneath the overhanging trees before emerging into a pretty glade. The horse was happy to stop now. Wyl nimbly alighted and led her to the water where she drank greedily. Fretting for Ylena, Wyl wished he could have continued on, but he knew he was already well ahead of any party sent by the King. He was counting on Celimus not discovering the disappearance of Leyen until later this morning, and even then the King might not sense anything untoward and thus not react at all. Perhaps Jessom and Celimus would simply assume she had set off about her duties. They might think her lack of a formal farewell odd, but would hardly dwell on it.

  No, they were not the issue here. The problem was Aremys, but again Wyl comforted himself that he had a lead of the whole of the night and most of the morning on the mercenary. By the time Aremys discovered Faryl’s disappearance, Wyl could be halfway to his destination.

  With this thought he forced himself to allow the mare some rest time. He unsaddled her and gave her a bag of feed and a quick rubdown before settling himself against a tree to think. He had not counted on falling into a doze quite so readily and so would have heard the approach of the horse much earlier than he did. Leaping to his feet he released the double blades of Romen Koreldy and moved into a fighting stance. A crashing through the undergrowth signalled the approach of man and beast. Wyl had no idea who it was but he was determined they would die. He crouched lower, ready to strike.

  Aremys burst through the trees with a roar. Wyl realised who it was and hesitated. The mercenary took that moment to leap from his horse and landed heavily on his prey. Their bodies crunched to the ground, rolled and then Aremys grunted. He lay still for a moment, on top of his victim, crushing the air from Wyl who felt battered from the impact.

  ‘Didn’t count on the knives, Faryl,’ Aremys sighed and rolled off to show a dark patch of blood already enlarging on his shirt.

  ‘You stupid fool!’ Wyl shrieked.

  ‘I asked for it.’ Aremys grinned then his face contorted and he closed his eyes. ‘Ah, but it hurts.’

  ‘Be still!’ Wyl ordered, using the other knife to cut away the shirt. ‘You’re lucky it’s your arm and not your foolhardy chest.’

  ‘And I thought you were accurate.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Why did you hesitate?’

  ‘Shut up and tell me what you’re doing here,’ Wyl said angrily, knowing all too well. He tore a piece from his own shirt and dipped it into the water so he could clean the wound.

  ‘Following you, of course.’ Aremys sounded reproachful. Despite the pain he enjoyed Faryl’s ministrations and her hands on his body. He especially relished looking up into those fathomless eyes so filled with secrets. ‘Why did you leave without me?’

  ‘I don’t work with others. You know that.’

  ‘Not even on your King’s instructions?’

  ‘Especially then. He wants the job done cleanly and I don’t need anyone else making errors.’

  ‘Except you’re not going to do it, are you?’ Aremys stated, staying her busy hands with his good arm. ‘Tell me the truth.’

  ‘About what?’ Wyl cried, hating his screechy woman’s voice and the closeness of the mercenary.

  ‘About why you have no intention of killing Ylena Thirsk.’

  Wyl sat back and tossed the bloodied rag aside. ‘It’s quite deep and going to need sewing up. You’re fortunate nothing serious is severed. Do you want me to bind it for now?’

  ‘Please.’

  Wyl tied a tourniquet to stem the bleeding then dressed the wound with a fresh piece of linen. ‘It will hold only for a short while. You need to see a physic quickly.’

  ‘Forget my damned arm, woman! I want you to talk to me.’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘I can’t do that. We’ve been given a task — a paid one — by the King of Morgravia and I see no reason why I shouldn’t carry it out.’

  ‘Then you’re already a dead man,’ Wyl replied in a much softer voice.

  Aremys had no doubt Faryl meant what she said. ‘Are you planning on using the other knife on me then?’

  ‘If I have to,’ Wyl said, removing himself from such close proximity to his companion.

  ‘So her life does mean something to you. Why are you protecting this noblewoman when Celimus assures us she is an enemy of the realm?’

  Wyl laughed. It was a bitter sound and made Aremys wince. But it also seemed to open the floodgates and Wyl began talking angrily.

  ‘She is barely seventeen years of age. She lost her mother at birth, her father when she was but an infant, and her brother…’ His voice broke. Wyl cleared his throat. ‘Her brother, Wyl Thirsk, was murdered at the King’s command because of Celimus’s long-held jealousy over the fact that King Magnus loved Wyl more than his own son.’

  He continued, his voice lower and harder with the rage driving it
. ‘Ylena Thirsk was widowed within hours of her wedding. She witnessed the beheading of her innocent husband, whose only crime was to love her and cheat Celimus of a bedmate. She was made to kneel in her husband’s still-warm and gushing blood as her own neck was laid on the block.’

  Aremys looked shocked. ‘How can you know this?’

  ‘Because I was forced to watch it!’ The words rushed out now, angry, bewildering, not permitting Aremys the immediate question which sprang to his lips. ‘Her life was saved only because I agreed to blackmail. Either her life was forfeit before my very eyes or I could protect her by undertaking a mission set by the King.’

  ‘Which was?’ Aremys muttered, entirely confused now and not sure whether Faryl was speaking of herself or someone else.

  ‘To contrive a meeting with King Valor of Briavel. The name Thirsk meant something to Valor — he respected my father even though they were lifetime enemies. It was the only reason he agreed to allow a Morgravian into his palace.’

  Aremys shook his head — why was Faryl speaking as if she was Wyl Thirsk? But she was still talking in that flat monotone and he was loath to interrupt her.

  ‘Celimus used Wyl Thirsk to get an audience with the King to discuss his daughter’s marriage to the King of Morgravia and lull the Briavellian Crown into a false sense of security. Meanwhile, he had secretly ordered the death of King Valor, as well as the slaying of myself, both to be performed in the King’s study as I negotiated for his daughter’s betrothal to Celimus.’

  Wyl fell quiet, his head moving in a sad shake as he recalled the events once again. Aremys held his breath, remained silent. He desperately wanted to hear the end of this chilling tale.

  ‘You mentioned a man named Koreldy?’ Wyl suddenly said, looking up.

  Aremys nodded.

  ‘I lied. I do know him… did know him. He was a member of that party to Briavel and saved Thirsk’s life you could say. Together he and Thirsk certainly saved the life of Princess Valentyna, now Queen of Briavel.’

  Again Aremys was lost. He knew Thirsk was dead so how could his life have been saved? Sensibly he maintained his silence, allowing Faryl to speak on.

  ‘Koreldy took Thirsk’s body back to Pearlis to make sure his name was cleared of any traitorous act Celimus might accuse him of to cover up the ambush.

  ‘Because of Koreldy’s actions, Celimus was forced to give General Thirsk a full ceremonial burial and his name remains unsullied. And Romen Koreldy had made a promise to the dying Thirsk that he would rescue and protect his sister, Ylena, from Celimus.’

  Aremys nodded as the broader picture became clearer, grateful that Faryl had stopped confusing herself with Thirsk. It was such odd behaviour.

  ‘When Koreldy tracked Ylena down she was imprisoned in the dungeons of the castle. This is a noblewoman, Aremys, who grew up in the corridors of Stoneheart, who was ward of King Magnus and had always enjoyed his full protection.’ Wyl sighed. ‘Magnus loved her as a daughter and she was treated like a princess. What Celimus perpetrated on that young woman during her incarceration is unspeakable. He surely damaged her mind. My sister is no longer the same bright girl I knew.’

  There it is again, Aremys thought. What does she mean?

  ‘Koreldy rescued her, under the guise of wanting her for himself. Celimus trusted him as his own man, believing it was Koreldy who had slain Thirsk. I suspect Celimus enjoyed the irony of knowing Thirsk’s killer would also rape his sister. It is the kind of cruel twist his mind would love,’ Wyl said bitterly.

  ‘So now you are trying to protect her? Why?’ Aremys ventured.

  ‘Because she is innocent. Because I hate Celimus. Because she is the last of our line and I have sworn on my own life to protect her.’

  Aremys’s confusion was complete but still he tried to make some sense of this tale, if just for Faryl’s sake. ‘Where is Koreldy — is he with her?’

  ‘He’s dead,’ Wyl said, standing.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I killed him,’ Wyl replied, moving towards his horse to resaddle her.

  Aremys struggled to sit up. ‘Help me, damn it!’ he yelled.

  ‘No. You’re on your own now. Go get yourself fixed up. I’ve told you all I’m going to. Now I ask you to leave me in peace. I suggest you head home to Grenadyn as was your original plan. Don’t go near Ylena Thirsk or I promise I will finish what I began.’

  He stood. ‘Then you’ll have to kill me, for until I have the truth, Faryl, I have no reason not to pursue my prey. I am not involved in the Thirsk woman’s sorrows no matter how sad her tale is.’

  ‘Well, you have been warned. I will not hesitate next time.’ Her eyes glittered with menace.

  ‘Then answer me this: why did you say Fergys Thirsk was your father?’ Aremys saw Faryl become very still. Her back was to him but she was no longer interested in her horse. Her long arms dropped to her side.

  ‘And you said that you were blackmailed by the King, that you witnessed the death of Ylena’s husband — yet it was clear when he met us that Celimus had never clapped eyes on you before! Which one of us is going mad here?’

  Now Faryl turned and he felt the full weight of her glare.

  He was not to be deterred. ‘You make it sound like she is your sister — but how can that be, Faryl? How can that be?’ he shouted, equally angry now and determined to have an answer.

  The movement was so fluid and so fast that he could not have avoided it even if he had full use of his arm and half a day’s warning. Within a blink the assassin had a knife at his throat and had twisted his injured arm up behind his back. The pain was agonising — Aremys knew the wound was bleeding again. He was amazed at Faryl’s strength. He struggled but it was useless in his state and he felt the blade slice into the skin at his throat — more blood, he assumed, and he fell still in her grip.

  She growled into his ear, ‘Because, damn you, Aremys of Grenadyn, and your constant interference, I am Wyl Thirsk.’

  Wyl shoved the burly man away. Aremys staggered forwards, clutching his arm, but managed to turn and face his companion. Faryl looked like a wild animal — he half expected her to pounce again and felt sure that if she did it would be for the last time and he would certainly take his final breath on this earth with a knife slashing across his throat.

  She was breathing hard and there were tears in her eyes. ‘Leave me, Aremys!’

  But he could not. He was too shocked. Stupefied by her angry words, he risked her wrath still further. ‘Faryl … please?’ His voice was gruff with his alarm and emotion.

  ‘My name is Wyl,’ came the bitter reply and Faryl turned away to hide her grief.

  He left her alone for a few minutes in order that both of them might steady themselves. Finally he walked towards her, clutching at the wound in his arm which was really protesting now.

  ‘Please, explain it to me.’ He was begging, he realised, and added, ‘I want to help.’

  ‘Help?’ she said sadly. ‘All I ask is that you leave Ylena be.’

  Aremys swallowed. ‘I promise you I will not permit a hair on her apparently pretty head to be harmed — not as long as I can draw breath to protect it.’

  Faryl or Wyl — whoever it was — turned slowly and he saw a new gleam in the feline eyes. He read it as hope.

  ‘On your honour?’

  He nodded wearily. ‘I’ll make a blood oath if you wish it.’

  ‘And in return?’

  ‘Your whole story.’ He held up his hand against the retort that was about to fly back in his face. ‘And I will help you to achieve whatever it is you are setting out to do.’

  ‘Why?’

  He shrugged, confused. ‘Because it was wrong of me to turn you over to Jessom.’

  ‘You owed me nothing. I’m sure he paid well.’

  ‘Not enough for my loyalty. You have that — not that I really understand who it is I pledge such loyalty to,’ he said, rubbing his face.

  Wyl reached for the bladder of water and handed it to Aremys. �
�Here, drink some. Then you had better sit down and listen well.’

  If Aremys thought he was a man who had seen and heard it all, he was sorely mistaken. As the full tale of Wyl Thirsk unfolded, the mercenary’s head began to spin with the startling notion that he was now in the company of three people.

  When Wyl had finished his story, both men sat in silence and watched the bees buzzing merrily about them, crawling in and out of the bright yellow and orange wildflowers at the edge of the stream. Sparrows chittered overhead and a frantic blackbird, clearly with a new nest of fledglings to fatten up, busied itself digging for worms nearby.

  Spring is almost here, Aremys realised absently. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured, still not trusting himself to say much more just yet.

  ‘Now I will definitely kill you if you betray me,’ Wyl threatened, feeling awkward yet vaguely relieved that the story had been shared.

  Aremys breathed deeply. ‘I have pledged my loyalty to you. It is not given lightly — no man has ever had it before.’

  ‘I am grateful that you consider me a man,’ Wyl said with relief.

  The mercenary snorted. ‘And I wanted to sleep with you.’

  Wyl’s shock was evident and they both laughed in embarrassment which, surprisingly, helped to diffuse the awkwardness.

  Aremys did not want to let the laughter go. ‘You know, you’ve got the greatest tits.’

  Wyl lifted one of Faryl’s eyebrows. ‘Apparently.’

  ‘I don’t suppose —’

  ‘Certainly not!’ came the indignant reply and more healing laughter. ‘I don’t own them — I’m… er… I’m simply the caretaker.’

  ‘Who else knows?’

  ‘A boy called Fynch whom I trust implicitly. An old woman, a seer, who first sensed this strange magic within me. Her niece, Elspyth, who I hope has already found Ylena,’ he said wistfully before adding, ‘and a brave warrior from the Razors.’

  ‘A Mountain Dweller?’

  ‘His name is Lothryn and I believe he gave his life to save mine.’

  ‘You believe? You don’t know if he’s dead?’