The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘They went into Sideshow Alley. Young men, letting off steam, celebrating. Alyd was drunk.’ At this she laughed bitterly. ‘Poor fool — I believe he was more intoxicated with life than ale. Wyl brought him back to my chambers and, after settling my brand new husband, we talked late into the night. My brother told me what had occurred in the tent that night. If I recall correctly,’ she screwed her face in thought, ‘the seer’s name was Widow Ilyk.’

  Elspyth nodded so that everyone could see their two stories matched.

  Ylena continued. ‘Wyl was disturbed, very unsettled by what she had said. Neither of us had forgotten the episode with Myrren,’ she explained. ‘Although I was not present, I heard of it from Gueryn — that’s our guardian, the man you mentioned earlier. He told me that Wyl’s eyes had changed colour. It had frightened him because it smacked of things magical and sinister, but he forgot about it eventually and frankly so had I until this moment.’

  The silence after she had finished was heavy.

  Crys, gazing somewhat helplessly towards Ylena, broke it. ‘And this Romen Koreldy is now…?’

  ‘Dead! And dear Wyl with him,’ Elspyth answered with feeling. ‘A woman, apparently, a hired killer. Goes by the name of Hildyth, although I suspect it’s a false one. I have her description.’

  ‘Then detail it and we shall have it circulated,’ said Crys, keen to show his determination to help Thirsk’s sister. ‘All of Felrawthy’s loyal should be on alert. We don’t know who hired her or if she might strike again.’

  ‘Oh, I think we can safely guess who hired her.’ Aleda’s tone was acid. Her glance met Ylena’s; they both knew who was responsible for killing the man they loved.

  Elspyth obliged. ‘She is described as not beautiful but an intensely striking woman. Tall with auburn hair and feline eyes apparently.’

  ‘Sounds hard to miss,’ Crys commented to no one in particular.

  ‘Koreldy is dead?’ Ylena suddenly blurted. ‘But he saved my life.’

  Elspyth turned sadly towards her and once again took her hands. ‘Wyl saved your life, Ylena. He was Romen.’

  Ylena’s eyes filled with tears and no one could blame her. Everyone’s heart went out to this courageous woman who was bearing up under so much terror in her young life. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she whispered.

  ‘Brother Jakub said there was something different about Romen this time,’ Pil said, eyes shining with awe. ‘I noticed it too. If it weren’t for the idea of magic, Elspyth, I’d know you were talking truth.’

  ‘I am. You all have to trust me now. Wyl, moving in Romen’s body, escaped with me from Cailech’s dungeon. It was during our journey through the Razors that he admitted all of this. It was no jest. He spoke like a man beaten.’

  The duke looked sharply at Elspyth. ‘Wait a minute. What are you talking about, escaping from Cailech? Do you mean the King of the Mountain Kingdom!’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I told you that none of this would be easy to hear. I understand how much of a shock it is. I will explain everything, but it means nothing now that Wyl is dead. Romen is no more.’

  ‘Then we have an axe to grind with both King Celimus and now this Hildyth,’ Ylena said angrily. No one in that room denied her words.

  Aleda took a breath. ‘I think we should eat now, and we’ll hear more of what Elspyth has to tell us. Come, Ylena, dear. You look pale, child.’

  As the two women left the room, Crys shook his head. ‘She is Alyd’s widow,’ he said, hoping his interest in Ylena did not show. ‘We shall look after her now, Elspyth,’ he reassured. ‘What about you?’

  She sighed. ‘Oh, I think now that I’ve fulfilled my promise to Wyl to see his sister to safety, I shall travel home.’

  ‘To Yentro?’ he qualified.

  She nodded. No one needed to know her intentions from there on. Too many would try and talk her out of it. As it was, she had kept much of the full story to herself. There was little point in relating much more of the strange events for the duke was already sceptical. Crys might be persuaded, but he was anxious to avenge his brother. He would no doubt soon urge his father to ride on Pearlis with their men.

  ‘My lord,’ she said, addressing the duke.

  The gaze levelled at her was direct and bright. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Wyl sent this.’ She hesitated momentarily before handing the duke the crushed letter she had dug from her pocket.

  He took it. Both she and Crys waited in suspense while he broke the seal and held the parchment to the candlelight to read it more easily.

  ‘Father?’ Crys ventured.

  The duke looked contemplative. ‘He confirms the death of Alyd but speaks of none of this magic. He signs off as Thirsk and asks that we don’t rush into revenge. He wants us to hold until he comes. But he’s dead — or this Romen fellow is. You told us yourself.’ The duke turned on Elspyth.

  ‘But I heard that news from strangers. We can’t be absolutely sure it is reliable information. I would urge you to wait.’

  ‘For what?’ he asked, his voice struggling against his own emotion. ‘My son has been murdered. Do not ask me to stand by and not take action.’

  Elspyth held up her hands in a warding motion against his anger. It was a gesture loaded with sorrow to echo his own grief. ‘I have passed on Wyl’s caution, my lord. It is not my place to suggest anything further.’

  He grunted. Crys noted her glance of irritation with a shrug of apology. But none was required. Elspyth, given the chance, would suggest Felrawthy storm Pearlis this very night, if it were possible. She had good reason to hate Celimus herself and could think of nothing better than riding alongside this powerful duke and the loyal men he could muster at a single request to overthrow a hated sovereign. She did not begrudge Jeryb his anger.

  Crys did, however. Rage helped nothing, particularly levelled against this plucky woman who had suffered plenty. That said, he knew how deeply the news of Alyd’s death had cut his father. ‘Mother is waiting,’ he said diplomatically.

  Elspyth accepted his gracious release and left the duke to brood alone on the letter from a dead man.

  TWENTY-TWO

  THE FAMILY AND THEIR guests shared a meal during which Elspyth recounted her story of incarceration in and then escape from Cailech’s fortress. The tale was accompanied by much muttering and shaking of his head by the duke. Only Ylena’s eyes shone — Elspyth guessed this was with pride for Gueryn’s steadfastness and ultimate sacrifice, but especially for Wyl. She did not enlighten them about her feelings towards Lothryn; that was her secret and of no consequence to anyone in the room.

  The duchess had suggested the food be kept simple that night. No one’s appetite was keen after news of Alyd’s death, or learning that Wyl had lived but then died in Romen’s body. Duke Jeryb would not be drawn on his plans, not even by his patient wife. Inevitably a bleakness settled once again across the household, sucking Elspyth into its maw as well, driving the conversation towards the inconsequential and ultimately to quiet.

  It was no wonder then that when the sound of horses’ hooves echoed through the still night the men leapt to their feet. Jeryb silenced the alarmed women and motioned for Crys to find out from the duty guards who now had arrived at Tenterdyn. The Donal men drew their swords — just in case — and Aleda was heard to mutter to her husband that they should have taken the precaution of raising more men at arms when Ylena first arrived.

  They waited, the twins watching through the window as their elder brother crossed the main courtyard with long strides. His path was lit by torches. Earlier the duchess had considered it a shame that Tenterdyn’s gates should be locked for the first time in the family’s history, but now she thanked Shar’s wisdom for suggesting to her husband that he do just that.

  ‘He’s coming back,’ one of the boys said over his shoulder. It seemed that everyone held their breath.

  Crys finally re-entered the chamber, a blast of cool air whirling about him. He appeared startled. His attention was riveted on Els
pyth. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but I think the Hildyth you spoke of is at the gate literally begging to be admitted.’

  Elspyth could see he was not making a jest.

  Crys qualified his claim. ‘Shoulder-length golden-brown hair. Tall. Dressed in mannish style. Eyes unmistakably like a cat. It’s her all right.’

  Elspyth shuddered. She was not the only one to do so. Ylena fairly blazed with a still, silent anger.

  ‘Is she alone?’ the duke demanded.

  ‘No, sir,’ his son replied. ‘She is accompanied by a big man, just short of a giant he looks. He goes by the name of Aremys Farrow.’

  ‘And their reason for coming here?’ Aleda asked, her thoughts fleeing to the young woman under threat.

  ‘She says she wants to see Ylena.’

  ‘Of course she does!’ Elspyth said, heart pounding. ‘She’ll have orders to kill her too! Are we safe? Are there enough guards?’

  ‘No one can enter Tenterdyn, child, without my permission. We are safe and well guarded,’ the duke replied with calm. ‘My love,’ he said, looking towards his wife, ‘I did take the precaution you spoke of. We have twenty men riding towards us now.’

  Aleda felt no little relief. ‘What shall we do until then?’

  ‘I shall see her,’ Ylena said calmly.

  Pil’s expression was a mask of terror. ‘Sir, I beg you,’ he whispered to the duke.

  Jeryb came to his rescue in a deep and very firm tone. ‘No, Ylena, you will do no such thing. You came here seeking my protection and I am compelled to provide it, not only because of who you married, but because of whose daughter you are. You will do as I say. We need cool heads now. I shall speak with these people myself,’ the duke assured her.

  ‘Come, boys,’ he said and his three sons fell into step with the man they worshipped, particularly on occasions such as this when he commanded such respect.

  ‘Be careful, husband,’ the duchess called after him but there was no response.

  The women waited, fidgeting at the window. Pil stood with them and they watched the four remaining men of Felrawthy cross the courtyard with purpose. Aleda was relieved to see her husband lead the boys up into the small tower of the gatehouse.

  ‘Ah, good. He is being careful.’

  ‘Your husband would not risk any of them.’ Pil knew he was reassuring himself; he felt more disturbed than anyone at this turn of events.

  There was a protracted wait before they saw the four emerge again from the tower. The duke must have given an order, for the two younger lads hurried to lift the heavy timbers that barred the gate.

  ‘What is he doing?’ Elspyth cried.

  ‘Give me a sword!’ Ylena cried in her terror. She looked around for a weapon and grabbed a carving knife from the table. She stepped towards the door and hid behind it.

  ‘Shar preserve us!’ Pil swore, as they watched the heavy gates being swung back.

  ‘Wait,’ Aleda cautioned, fighting back her own fears. ‘Jeryb must have learned something. He would not permit them otherwise.’

  Twilight had given way to full nightfall and they watched by torchlight as a giant of a man strode into the courtyard. In his wake walked another: man or woman they could not tell right now, but this person was smaller, leaner. Nevertheless the stride was purposeful. This must be the cat-eyed woman of whom Crys spoke. Their horses walked behind and Aleda watched, stunned, as the second figure clasped her husband’s hand.

  However, she calmed her companions with a look that implied they must trust Jeryb. She nodded encouragingly to Elspyth behind her, who was clearly fretting, but Ylena had disappeared in terror behind the door, unable to see Jeryb’s cordiality toward the strangers. They heard voices talking over each other as new guests entered the house. The duchess looked towards the door again at the sound of her husband’s tread.

  ‘Aleda,’ he said, entering and shaking his head. ‘I have the most curious news.’

  He could share nothing further as a tall, rather striking woman stepped into the chamber and took off her hat. Auburn hair tumbled to her shoulders.

  ‘Elspyth!’ Wyl cried and strode towards his shocked, confused friend. ‘It’s me!’ he laughed.

  From behind the door Ylena leaped towards the woman, one intention on her mind: to kill the person who had murdered Koreldy and thereby her brother Wyl also. All she saw in her rage was the wide mouth and feline eyes sparkling.

  ‘Ylena, no!’ Elspyth screamed and then there was a riot of movement. Aremys launched himself towards Wyl and even the duke put his arm out to take the blow. All to no avail. Ylena was slight but fast and she had been raised in a warrior family. Although her life at Stoneheart under Magnus’s rule had been one of pleasure and indulgence, she had never forgotten the lessons Wyl had taught her as children together in Argorn. She saw them all moving towards her, avoided their reaching arms and struck.

  ‘Murderer!’ she shrieked and threw herself forwards with the full force her body could inflict, punching the knife into the neck of the smiling assassin.

  ‘Oh, my darling sister, what have you done?’ the woman cried, clutching at her neck from which blood was spraying. Ylena heard the screams and cries of dismay around her but felt only triumph as she looked into the shocked eyes of the dying woman.

  Elspyth caught the body as it fell and was instantly drenched in blood; in fact the whole room seemed splattered with it. Crys and Daryn grabbed Ylena’s arms but she had tossed the knife aside and crumpled to the ground, her breath coming in deep gasps. She was determined to watch the light die in the woman’s hated brown eyes.

  Except it did not.

  With horror, Elspyth, holding Faryl’s head on her lap, saw the eyes flash to an ill-matched sky grey and deep greenish brown. Beautiful hues individually; shocking as a pair. And then she felt the woman’s body stiffen in its final death throes, her spine arching impossibly. She guessed what was happening, could almost feel it herself with her sensitivity for magic. She wanted to scream.

  Ylena did it for her. Huge, gut-wrenching shrieks escaped Alyd of Felrawthy’s wife and her body twisted on the floor. The spirit of her brother fought the transference with all he had, somehow hoping to save his beloved sister — but it was not enough. Myrren’s gift was too powerful.

  Suddenly it was Wyl giving voice to Ylena’s deranged screams as he bellowed his rage at taking the life of his own sister. Crys and Daryn held on to the young woman. Confusion reigned. Jeryb was yelling orders whilst Aleda stared in horror at the brutal death scene, rivulets of Faryl’s blood coating her cheeks. Aremys had knelt in disbelief by his friend’s body.

  ‘Let her go!’ Elspyth shouted above the din. Crys looked even more confused at this order.

  ‘Leave her! It’s not Ylena any more!’ she screamed, tears streaming down her bloodstained face. ‘It’s Wyl!’

  The brothers stood back, thunderstruck by her words.

  Wyl writhed in agony, not from physical pain but from the greatest anguish he would ever feel. He had killed his sister, had taken the life of the very person he had strived so hard to protect. Swirling into her anger which only barely covered her intense fear, he glimpsed Ylena’s confusion, tasted her hollow triumph.

  He threw his head back and screamed again. The sound chilled everyone to their very core. Wyl pushed away Elspyth’s outstretched hands and fled the house.

  Once through the gates, he moved blindly — a demented female figure in a blood-spattered silk robe and soft slippers on her feet. Wyl hurled himself up a hill, seeking oblivion in the inky darkness, consumed by hatred and grief. His own wrath mixed with the well of despair Ylena had left for him. He cursed and raged for what seemed an endless time, until he realised his throat was raw. The sobs had ceased; all he could hear now was the haunting call of an owl and the furtive scratching of a mole.

  His new body trembled. Wyl didn’t know if it was from shock or the cold night. He did not care. Nothing mattered any more. The last of the Thirsks had lost the fight. H
e wanted to die too, but it would have to be by his own hand. He could not risk another’s life.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ a voice said gently through the blackness. There was not even the faintest of moonlight this night. Heavy clouds scudded darkly across the heavens obliterating even the stars’ illumination. But the voice was known to him; the voice of a friend. ‘I just wasn’t quick enough,’ Aremys added, his words laden with regret. ‘I failed you and my promise.’

  Apart from the involuntary trembling, Wyl could not move … did not want to move ever again. ‘She was so bright. Like one of Shar’s own stars. She deserved none of this,’ he croaked in his new, all-too-achingly familiar voice.

  ‘The innocent never do, Wyl. Yet they always seem to suffer.’

  ‘What was it?’

  Aremys knew what he referred to. ‘A carving knife, for pity’s sake.’

  ‘A lucky thrust,’ he said ruefully.

  ‘But just as deadly as Faryl’s stiletto.’

  There was a bitter laugh as Wyl accepted this notion. ‘What possessed her?’ he asked, voicing his private thoughts aloud. He required no answer but Aremys still replied.

  ‘Fear that Celimus’s assassin had come to kill her, just as she killed Romen.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have come. You were right — I should have left Ylena to you, while I went on to find Myrren’s mother. I should never have declared myself. How did they know of Faryl?’

  ‘Your friend, Elspyth — she heard of Romen’s death on her travels and that a woman of Faryl’s description was thought to be the killer. She pieced events together and then told the Donal family and Ylena. She blames herself for not considering Myrren’s gift might extend beyond the one transference.’