‘Leave it,’ Crys ordered through gritted teeth. ‘Pil, what madness is this?’
Elspyth could see the strength and leadership of the duke now in his eldest son. It was an attractive quality he had not formerly revealed, deferring to his father. Its reassurance cut through her fear. ‘Take a deep breath, Pil,’ she urged.
The novice’s eyes were wide and scared. He rubbed at his newly bruised elbow. ‘Shar’s blessing, I found you.’
‘What’s happened?’ Crys demanded.
‘They’re all dead,’ Pil blurted. ‘Your family.’
Elspyth felt Crys’s body go rigid next to hers. ‘What are you talking about?’ he growled.
Pil looked towards Elspyth; his words came out in a rush, tripping over one another in his terrified eagerness to explain. ‘Brother Lewk wanted to pay his respects to the duke and duchess. I said I’d take him back to the estate. When we arrived…’ His voice broke.
‘Tell me all,’ Crys said, pain spreading to all reaches of his body from the ball of emotion which unfurled in his heart.
According to the novice, it was Aleda who first heard the sound of galloping horses. She wondered aloud to Pil and his companion Brother Lewk if it could be the men at arms arriving, but as the troop entered the courtyard it was clear they were not of the Legion although they bore the King’s standard.
‘The duchess sent us into the house to hide,’ Pil said. ‘She told us to go up into the attic so there would be no trace of the presence of any guests at all. Daryn had come to warn her that the men were looking for the woman, Faryl, or any woman fitting the description of Ylena.’
Angered by the soldiers’ audacity Aleda had swept across the courtyard to join her husband where he was talking with the leader.
The young novice told them how, from their hiding spot in the attic, he and Brother Lewk had watched as heated words were exchanged by the two men.
‘The man didn’t even climb down from his mount,’ Pil recalled. ‘He just addressed your father from the saddle.
‘The rider kept pointing at the duke, issuing orders it seemed, but the duke stayed calm. He must have offered an invitation for them to search the house but that’s when it all went wrong. I have no idea what happened but I suspect the man said something to your father which your brother, Daryn, could not tolerate,’ Pil said to Crys, whose stony expression did not flinch. ‘He bravely — or perhaps unwisely — grabbed the leader and pulled him down off the horse.’
‘Stupid boy!’ Crys cried. ‘Daryn never could keep a cool head.’
‘Pandemonium broke out, my lord,’ Pil said. The new title was not lost on his audience. ‘One of the riders fired an arrow into Daryn’s chest. He dropped like a stone. Your mother screamed and fell to the ground beside him to cradle him. He may still have lived for a few moments, my lord; I could not tell for your father had already drawn his sword. He didn’t stand a chance. He fought bravely but they brought him to his knees.’
‘Stop!’ Elspyth interrupted, tears blinding her. ‘Crys, I —’
‘I will hear it all!’ Crys yelled, ignoring his own free-flowing tears. ‘Say it!’ he commanded.
Pil shivered and nodded. Jakub had always warned him to stick plainly to the facts when conjuring an important event. He told precisely how it had unfolded, hating every painful word and its effect on Crys.
‘They beheaded him, my lord duke. It was not clean. I had to look away. They held your mother, made her watch. When it was done, they took her and tore off her clothes. They raped her one after another in the courtyard. Your other brother, Jorge, suddenly appeared from the stables, but he died also, fighting for her dignity.’
At this, Crys fell to his knees and screamed out, beseeching the heavens for deliverance from this nightmare.
Elspyth threw herself on top of him, arms around him, weeping as hard as he was. She could understand his pain, wanted to absorb it for him. He cried in her embrace for a lengthy time whilst Pil sat in horrified silence, head bowed between his knees.
Finally they heard Crys’s voice, croaked and muffled.
‘Pardon, my lord?’ Pil said gently.
‘I said, how? How could they know?’ the new Duke of Felrawthy screamed. He moved so swiftly that Elspyth fell backwards as he grabbed the monk in a vice-like grip, their faces barely inches apart.
Pil stammered out the final crushing item of information. ‘Brother Lewk, my lord — he’s a spy.’ He began to weep now. ‘I led him to your family, asked them to make him welcome. I tried to keep up the pretence, to stick to the story we’d all agreed on. But, my lord, I could not lie to a man of the cloth. I didn’t mention about Wyl being Faryl of course, but I admitted that I had escorted Ylena to your family.’
Crys looked as wild and angry as an injured beast. He shook off Elspyth’s touch and pushed Pil away then ran blindly towards the shadow of a few trees.
‘Leave him,’ Elspyth said. She could feel the tension in her jaw, causing her temples to throb as she asked, ‘And the duchess?’
‘I don’t know. I have no idea whether she lives or died.’
She felt sickened. ‘Everyone else is dead, you are sure?’
He nodded, although a sob escaped. ‘I don’t know what happened to the twenty men, but they didn’t arrive in time to help anyone.’ ‘The duke is definitely dead. Jorge was hacked down and Daryn’s body did not move after Aleda was pulled from him. The arrow had hit in the region of his heart.’
‘Shar’s despair… all of them, all of them gone,’ she whispered, shaking from the trauma of realisation. ‘I led you to Brother Lewk. It is all my fault. Again. I did it! I am a curse!’ she wept, feeling herself losing control.
‘No, Elspyth. How could you know he was an impostor? I fell for it too. Anyone would have.’
‘How did you get away?’
‘I fought him. I sensed him watching me closely when the first of the deaths occurred. Something about him suddenly felt wrong. It all began to add up — the fact that I sang a well-known hymn on the way to Tenterdyn with him and he didn’t know the words. Plus he said he’d visited Rittylworth, yet couldn’t remember Brother Bors — everyone knows Brother Bors, he was over ninety years old.’ Pil shook his head. ‘I suddenly realised I’d been duped. When I saw them hurting Aleda, I began looking around for a weapon. I knew it was stupid — how could I fight them? Yet I needed to do something. But he grabbed me, and that confirmed his betrayal. So I fought him, fought him with everything I had. I knocked him unconscious, more through luck than anything, and then I fled. I climbed out of the window and ran across the rooftop as I had once before with brave Ylena. The soldiers never knew I was there of course so I was able to get to the stables, steal a horse and come after you and Crys.’
‘Did you kill him?’
‘Brother Lewk?’
She nodded.
‘I… I think he was just stunned.’
‘Then he will tell them about you and they will come after us,’ she said, newly panicked. She leapt to her feet and ran after Crys.
‘Go away, leave me!’ Crys roared, rounding on her.
‘Listen to me,’ she begged. ‘They will be coming after us, Crys, I’m sure of it, and they will slaughter what remains of Felrawthy. You are its duke now. You are all that’s left. We will avenge them, but not unless we get you to safety.’
He laughed bitterly. It was a horrible sound. ‘Duke of Felrawthy, you say?’
Elspyth looked around at Pil. ‘Get the horses readied. Yours is over there,’ she said, taking charge. ‘Crys, look at me. We have no time for recriminations, not yet anyway. We must flee and save our lives.’
He groaned. ‘Elspyth!’
His broken expression tore at her heart. ‘I know,’ she wept, reaching for him. ‘I know. But you have to be strong now. You will get your war with Celimus, but you have to —’
She never finished what she was about to say. He took her into his arms and sobbed into her hair. She shook her head towards Pil and he
obediently led the stray horse back towards the others, leaving them alone. It felt frightening to hold this man so close. Their emotions were strung out and tragedy and pain can bind as much as cleave souls. Elspyth felt a dangerous stirring in them both but particularly Crys. She pulled away, shocking him with her sudden movement of rejection.
Gazing directly into his hurt handsome face, she spoke softly. ‘Come now — we must get you to safety.’ She hoped he would recognise her affection for him — perhaps not right now whilst he hurt, but later when he was rational and understood her heart was already claimed.
‘Where?’ He looked lost.
‘Briavel. They wouldn’t dare follow us there.’
He nodded, capitulating to her strength and suddenly glad to be led. He understood how Ylena must have felt not so long ago. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, a grimness in his voice that had not been there before.
TWENTY-SEVEN
CELIMUS SAT ATOP A white mare. His new prize in the royal stables. He called her Grace which was befitting: she was light, elegant and the swiftest horse he had ever ridden. He was still breathing hard from the gallop during which he had given her the rein and allowed her to show her superb speed. Cooling her carefully now he walked her towards the shade of a tree where they would wait for Jessom and his falconer who would be a while yet catching up. He bent to stroke her and she tossed her mane, keen to be off again. ‘Not so fast, bright one. There is business to be done yet,’ he cooed.
The King took a draught of water from his flask and surveyed the beautiful landscape about him.
‘I must have an heir for all of this, Grace,’ he said, tapping her beautifully muscled neck. ‘I want him to have two thrones.’ He laughed. ‘Why not three even?’ he added, throwing the Mountain Kingdom into the ring. ‘He shall be called Emperor — after me, of course. Empress Valentyna shall be his mother and I shall teach him to mock the pretender, Cailech, whose head I shall have preserved and spiked outside Stoneheart for eternity.’
He drank again, noticing the two riders finally appearing over the crest of a small rise. They arrived, panting.
‘Sire,’ the falconer said, ‘we are ready. I have your three favourite birds and we are positioned down there, your majesty.’ He pointed into the distance where two men could be picked out.
‘I won’t be long,’ Celimus said to the falconer, who dismissed himself with a nod to his King and a glance towards Jessom who was still catching his breath.
‘I think we should introduce a new rule, sire,’ Jessom commented once the man had departed and he felt more composed, ‘that you should not ride without at least one guard.’
‘Bah! This is Morgravia, man. I have my bow with me,’ the King said contemptuously.
‘Nevertheless,’ Jessom replied somewhat imperially. It was his favourite retort.
‘I won’t be babysat. I am a King.’
‘My very reason for suggesting the higher security, your majesty. Your status demands it.’
Celimus nodded reluctantly. He knew his Chancellor was right.
‘Did you want me to watch you work your birds or shoot arrows at deer, my lord, or is there another reason I am abroad in this thoroughly fascinating landscape and freezing my balls off?’
The King laughed. Jessom’s timing on when to jest with his sovereign was always masterful.
‘I am meeting someone. Not for castle ears.’
‘Ah,’ his man replied knowingly. ‘Do you want me involved in the conversation or hidden, sire?’
‘You may remain. Here he comes now,’ he said, nodding towards a lone rider.
‘Excellent timing,’ Jessom said, shivering at the bite of the spring morning. ‘Who is he, my lord?’
‘His name is Shirk. He ran an errand for me.’
It was all Jessom needed to know. Shirk was clearly one of the King’s newest henchmen, sent off to tackle unsavoury tasks which could not be given to the Legion.
They watched him approach. ‘Lady Bench?’ Celimus enquired of his Chancellor whilst they waited, his glance not moving from Shirk.
‘Having a large party in a few days, I gather, sire. Her husband is on one of his rare visits to Pearlis, though I imagine he won’t remain long.’
‘He’s a wanderer that one. However, my father suggested I should listen to his advice. Much as I detested my father his strategy was sound. I have found Eryd Bench, so far, to be reliable counsel.’
Jessom nodded and remained quiet, waiting for the next question.
‘So nothing out of the ordinary for Lady Bench, then?’
‘Not that I can tell, your highness. I am having her household watched day and night as you requested, sire. There have been no odd comings or goings.’
‘Good. Keep her under watch.’
‘Another week, sir?’
‘That should do it. Ah, Shirk.’
‘Your highness.’ The newly arrived man bowed in his saddle.
‘This is Chancellor Jessom. You may speak freely.’
The man nodded at Jessom. ‘Thank you, sire. Shall I report?’
‘Go ahead,’ Celimus said, looking down towards the falconers as if it did not matter one way or the other to him.
Jessom noticed the man’s clothes were of sufficient quality to need reasonable coin. A well-paid mercenary then, he presumed.
‘We found no sign of the Lady Ylena Thirsk, your Majesty, nor the woman, Leyen, who you described.’
The Chancellor saw the King’s jaw clench in disappointment. He wished that his King had asked him to handle this particularly delicate mission. It needed finesse. He could only imagine the damage he suspected he would be left to mend.
‘But?’ the King asked, his tone still deliberately casual.
‘The family — that is, the Duke of Felrawthy’s son — was not co-operative.’
‘I see,’ Celimus said. ‘Something to hide then. And did you handle it as I recommended?’ he asked, choosing his words with care. Jessom feared what was coming. Surely nothing had befallen the aristocratic duke and duchess?
‘Yes, your majesty. Precisely as you required. The duke, duchess and their sons are dead.’
Jessom flinched. He tried to set a blank expression on his face but was sure he was unsuccessful. This was a dire revelation and he had no doubt whose hand had pulled the strings of the puppets who had done the deed. His normally controlled thoughts spun frantically. How would they cover this new atrocity? This was well beyond even his slippery and dark notions of manipulation. Jessom enjoyed power but he was not a bloodthirsty man and would not order anyone injured or killed unless he could justify it in his mind. He could not come up with one scenario which justified the slaughter of the loyalists in the north who had single-handedly shielded the realm from invasion.
In Jessom’s short experience Duke Jeryb had shown himself to be steadfast and true to the Crown with a bright intelligence and an information channel to the King which could only be admired. He ran his Legionnaires with a firm but fair hand and even Jessom, from his much removed position, sensed that the Legion admired the duke and his fine family in the same manner that they had admired the Thirsks. Killing the youngest son had been a horrific mistake. Fortunately it had been covered well, but here they were still dealing with the repercussions of that murder. The remains of the Donal boy could reappear to undo them all. He could not imagine how they might now explain away five more deaths in the same family, and yet already his mind was racing towards how they might do just that.
‘You are quite sure?’ Celimus said, fixing the man now with his unnerving gaze.
Jessom noticed the man hesitate and blink. It was a telltale sign that perhaps all had not gone according to plan.
‘Well, the duke’s head is no longer attached to his body,’ the man replied, with an unsure grin, which quickly vanished. ‘His wife — well, she’s dead, I’m sure of that. I know one of the men checked and the —’
‘How did you deal with her?’ Celimus asked, his voice seemingly innoc
ent but his intense stare suggesting otherwise.
‘As you required, sire. We humiliated her.’
‘You raped her.’ Celimus said the words for him.
He nodded. ‘Yes, your majesty. Each of the men took a turn with her.’
Celimus was unfazed. ‘But someone checked her pulse,’ he said.
Again the man nodded, dumbly this time, Jessom noted. The man was clearly not so sure of the duchess’s current state of health.
The King let it be for now. ‘The sons — all three of them dead?’
The mercenary looked up sharply now, turning from his King to Jessom with a beseeching expression.
Jessom helped him out. ‘There are three sons. The heir is Crys — you could not miss him. Golden-haired, tall. Handsome, they say. The other two are darker, more like the mother. One is Daryn, the other Jorge.’ This was the Chancellor’s first and only contribution to the conversation but his words made the mercenary visibly pale.
‘I see,’ the King said, understanding all too well. ‘Which one didn’t you deal with?’
‘The handsome one, your highness,’ he stuttered. ‘There was no sign of him.’
‘Is there anything else?’ Celimus kept his disgust in check. Jessom felt a little sorry for the well-dressed man before them for it was now very clear — to the Chancellor anyway — that the mercenary’s days were sadly numbered.
‘Yes, my King.’ The man tried for crispness but failed, perhaps already sensing his own demise. ‘Our spy, posing as a monk, managed to corner a stranger. His name was Pil, a novice. But the youngster escaped over the rooftops.’
‘You’ve caught him though?’ Celimus enquired. Jessom felt genuine pity for the cornered mercenary. The King’s voice, so well controlled, managed to imbue a horrific sense of threat all the same. He was a master at it.
‘We have given chase, your highness. We should have him by now.’
‘A novice you say? What was he doing with your spy?’
The man began to shrug but shook his head instead to avoid offence to a sovereign known for his erratic moods. ‘I don’t know the answer to that, sire, but he introduced Lewk into the family. Lewk — that’s our spy — felt he could learn more about whether the two women had been at Tenterdyn.’
The Quickening Page 84
