The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  If Cailech wanted to punish Lothryn, why hurt his horse? And how would a horse know of Elspyth, for Shar’s sake!

  ‘You’re going mad, Farrow,’ he told himself finally, when nothing made sense any more. ‘Now you’ve contrived a magical talking horse.’

  He decided to clean up and go in search of Myrt and more answers. Something else had begun to niggle at him and he wanted to find out if it had any basis in fact. Discovering he was right might not advance his cause but it might provide some leverage if and when required.

  Aremys opened his chamber door and explained to the guard, a nice young fellow with an unfortunate harelip, that he needed to find Myrt. The guard nodded and a shy smile emerged on his deformed mouth when Aremys said, ‘After you.’ It was a joke they shared from when the guard, Jos, was first assigned to Aremys and had made the wry comment that if he proceeded first, the mercenary might bash him on the head and escape.

  This, of course, had made Aremys laugh. ‘Look at you, lad,’ he had replied, grinning. ‘I’d need an axe just to dent you. You’re built like an ox. You terrify me.’ He could see that Jos had taken the remark as a rare compliment coming from a man akin to a bear. They had never spoken at length but Aremys had been sure to keep the words they had shared light-hearted and friendly and Jos had always responded, albeit cautiously. The guard was only just into manhood and still establishing a reserve of confidence to draw upon, a process probably made more difficult by taunts about his affliction, Aremys figured. When they walked shoulder to shoulder, as now, the mercenary was careful always to defer to his guard in the hope that the young man might take some self-assurance from it.

  They found Myrt at the main stables. The Mountain man nodded when he saw them. ‘Go get your meal, Jos. Leave him with me. I’m getting our stuff ready anyway. We leave soon.’

  Aremys grinned at his young keeper. ‘Don’t forget what I said about that young lady,’ he said, referring back to an earlier exchange. ‘You should tell her,’ and he winked.

  Jos chuckled, a hand flying up to cover his crooked smile.

  ‘What have you been filling that lad’s head with?’

  ‘Nothing that didn’t fill yours when you were his age, Myrt,’ Aremys replied, helping him to lift a heavy crate into a cart. ‘Why aren’t you with a woman, Myrt?’

  ‘Who says I’m not?’ the man countered, somewhat sharply.

  Aremys shrugged. ‘You haven’t mentioned a wife —’

  Myrt reached for another crate. ‘I have no wife.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Oh? And what do you see?’

  ‘Nothing, my friend. What’s wrong with you?’

  The warrior flicked away what sounded like an apology. ‘Cailech’s furious about what happened. Kept asking me what you were doing when Rashlyn passed out.’

  ‘Mmm, I thought he might. I told you he suspects me of knowing something.’

  ‘He’s not so suspicious that he’s not pressing ahead with the journey. In fact he’s brought our departure forward — we leave at sundown. You, me, Byl and two others.’

  ‘So what’s all this stuff?’

  ‘Gifts for the Morgravian King.’

  ‘Ah, goodwill.’

  Myrt grunted. ‘Help me load the rest of it.’

  They worked quietly and quickly for the next few minutes.

  Maegryn appeared. ‘I’ve picked out the horses you’ll be taking, Myrt. I’ve given Farrow Cherub.’

  ‘Sounds a bit effeminate for me,’ Aremys said, joking.

  ‘Does that worry you?’ Myrt asked.

  ‘No,’ Aremys replied cheerfully. ‘I’ll just feel ridiculous calling out “Whoa, Cherub”.’

  ‘That’s the joke, Farrow,’ Maegryn said, grinning. ‘He’s anything but!’

  The two Mountain men laughed and Aremys joined in, but he was sure of it now: Myrt had a secret of his own and the mercenary intended to exploit it.

  ‘We’re expected at the King’s chamber,’ said the warrior. ‘He wants us to sup with him before we leave.’

  Aremys nodded. ‘Are we finished here?’

  ‘Yes, I’d say so. Thanks, Maegryn. Back later then.’

  ‘As it suits you, Myrt. I’ll be waiting.’ The stablemaster turned back to the stables.

  ‘I need to talk to you first,’ Aremys said as they made their way towards the fortress.

  ‘I reckoned you might. Follow me.’

  They walked in what Aremys hoped was a companionable silence through several courtyards towards a part of the fortress he had not been to before.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he said.

  ‘My home,’ came the brief reply.

  Myrt stopped a few times to share swift words with various people. He asked one youngster to find Byl and have him call at Myrt’s home after dusk. The big warrior introduced Aremys to all those he spoke with and the mercenary noted how they deferred to Myrt. He presumed the man had taken on a stronger leadership role since the demise of Lothryn. He mentioned as much.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Myrt replied. ‘I don’t really want it, but Cailech finds it easier to rely on me to pass on his orders. I’d prefer everything to be back how it was.’

  ‘With Lothryn as the King’s second, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, he was worthy of it and good at it.’

  ‘Why was he better than you?’

  ‘Because he understood Cailech, and because he was not afraid of him. They grew up together; they were friends first and foremost. A bit like how it was between the old Morgravian King and his General, that Fergys Thirsk. They were great friends from childhood, I was told.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ Aremys said.

  ‘Well, friendships made young like that have longevity and there’s great affection there too. I’ll never have that kind of relationship with the King. And when a relationship like that is broken, it hurts.’

  ‘You sound like you’re speaking from experience, Myrt.’

  ‘In a way,’ the man muttered, hurrying Aremys down a short flight of steps.

  ‘Did you know Lothryn from childhood as well?’

  Myrt glowered at Aremys and his persistent questions. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’

  They emerged into the open again, into what appeared to be a walled community. The place took Aremys by surprise. ‘Shar! How amazing.’

  His obvious delight broke the tension. Myrt grinned. ‘More of Cailech’s dreaming. This is his great social experiment.’

  ‘Explain it to me,’ Aremys said, gazing around at the hive of activity.

  ‘Well, not everyone chooses to live in and around the fortress, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. Originally the Mountain Dwellers were different tribes, spread throughout the Razors. Cailech not only united us into one people but dreamed of forming a small city — he wants the fortress to become the true heart of the Razors and he is encouraging people to settle in amongst it. He dreams of his own Pearlis or Werryl, I suppose you could say. He has built homes for the settlers and has encouraged markets to be held regularly. He’s even set up a school, which is very popular and getting bigger and bigger. Our King encourages education and at his urging, more people are bringing their children to the classroom, which, of course, leads them to see the benefit of settling close to the school. Cailech has organised special rewards for families who set up home here permanently. It’s really quite a new experience and a lot of our folk are watching to see how it goes. I think it will work. I believe Cailech will have his city in years to come.’

  ‘It looks like the community is thriving,’ Aremys said, unable to keep the awe from his voice. ‘I can see from the layout that it’s been thought through very carefully.’

  ‘It has.’ Myrt smiled. ‘The King didn’t want it emerging too haphazardly. So he put together a group of people who could plan for a village, out of which could grow a town, and who had the vision to see how a city might emerge one day. I was one of the first to live here and that encouraged others to come too. Lothryn lived not far
from here, amongst a smaller group of senior people — formerly tribe leaders and family members distantly related to Cailech.’

  ‘Does Cailech have a family of his own?’

  ‘Oddly, no. We Mountain folk tend to have large family groups but Cailech was an only child. His mother died by accident, in a fire. Cailech was about thirteen when it happened. He was away with his father at the time, settling a dispute between the tribes.’

  ‘Does he blame himself?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. He knew it was an accident. But Lothryn told me the King never really got over the loss. That’s why he’s so keen on keeping families together, and he loves the youngsters. Part of his belief is that children thrive when they have elders around them and big family groups to teach them the right ways. I agree with that creed.’

  ‘I would have thought that he’d have a wife then, his own family.’

  Myrt shook his head and Aremys thought he saw something painful flicker across his expression. The Mountain man fought down whatever demon was rising. ‘He hasn’t had time to take a wife yet, I suppose.’

  ‘And you, Myrt, what of your family?’

  ‘I have a sister. I live with her. Her husband was one of those killed in the Grenadyn disaster. He was seventeen; they’d only been married a few weeks. I suppose you’ve heard of that incident?’

  Aremys nodded. He knew only too well the story of Grenadyn’s unwarranted attack on the Mountain People and the slaughter that ensued.

  Myrt sighed. ‘Well, my sister never got over her loss. She all but raised me. Now, I suppose, I look after her.’

  ‘No love of your own, Myrt?’

  The Mountain man walked on. ‘One. That person did not want me,’ he answered in a thick tone, and prevented any further conversation by stopping to chat with a shopkeeper selling candles.

  Aremys took a moment to marvel again at Cailech’s embryonic city. The laneways had been cobbled with stone from the mountains and it looked to him that more building was already under way, with more streets leading off the main one. It certainly was not Pearlis but it was bigger than any village he had encountered. There was a sense of sprawl about it; the place seemed well on its way to developing into a bustling town. He could not help but be impressed by this still relatively young King with such a vision for his realm, and it was this very moment when Aremys decided he would give his all towards helping these people. If somehow he could influence the attainment of a working peace between the two prideful monarchs of Morgravia and the north, then he would. Not for Cailech so much, but for Myrt and Byl, for Myrt’s sister — perhaps he could atone for the sins of his own folk, for their stupidity all those years ago. For Maegryn and young Jos and, yes, even for Lothryn, wherever he was.

  Like Wyl, Aremys wanted to believe that Lothryn was still alive. And if he was, he intended to find him. He was convinced it was the horse and its magic that would lead him to this man it seemed everyone had loved — even the King.

  ‘Everyone except Rashlyn,’ Myrt cautioned, when they were sitting in his small house a short time later and Aremys brought the subject back to Lothryn.

  ‘Rashlyn didn’t like him?’

  ‘More to the point,’ Myrt said, busying himself with a pot of tea at the hearth, ‘Lothryn despised Rashlyn and the barshi knew it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cups are over there,’ Myrt said, nodding towards a dresser. ‘Lothryn objected to the influence Rashlyn has with the King. He admitted to me not long before he disappeared that it had got to the point where he felt something had to be done about it.’

  Aremys almost made the terrible error of mentioning the feast and Cailech’s threat to turn his people into cannibals by forcing them to eat the Morgravians. He stopped himself just in time and covered his near blunder by turning his back on the Mountain man to reach for the cups.

  He brought them back to the small wooden table. ‘What made him say that?’

  Myrt poured boiling water over the leaves. ‘Let that brew, shall we,’ he said amiably. ‘Well, there were many reasons. Cailech had been making erratic decisions, out of character for him — there was one particularly disturbing incident involving some Morgravian prisoners. He wanted to make an example of them as punishment to their people for killing some of ours. They weren’t even the culprits, for Haldor’s sake, they were just a raggle-taggle group of farmers who were sent into the Razors with one old soldier as a leader.’

  Aremys held his breath. Myrt was almost certainly referring to Wyl’s friend, Gueryn le Gant. He kept his voice casual. ‘And?’

  ‘The King’s method of making an example of them was terrifying to say the least. I don’t want to go into the details, but it never sat right with me, or any of us for that matter. Don’t get me wrong, Cailech can kill with the best of them — as you know from the repercussions of the episode at Grenadyn — but he’s not a cruel man by nature.’

  Aremys nodded: he remembered the events on his island home only too well. He had held a crush for Lily Koreldy for several years, but she was older than he and no doubt had never even noticed the lumbering boy who turned a beetroot colour if ever he was in her presence. ‘That was a terrible business.’

  ‘Yes, but Cailech spared Romen Koreldy, even gave him a home and looked after him for a while. They actually became quite good friends by the end of it, despite the trauma that sat between them.’

  ‘I’m surprised Koreldy could forgive him.’

  ‘Don’t be fooled: Koreldy never forgave Cailech and the King knew it, which was why he warned him when he left that if he ever set foot in the Razor Kingdom again, he would lose his life.’

  ‘So Koreldy was like me, eh? A very well-treated prisoner.’

  Myrt turned the pot three times and grinned at Aremys’s perplexed expression. ‘Tradition,’ he explained. ‘Yes, Koreldy was dealt with in much the same way as we’re treating you, except he was never entrusted with a mission for the good of our people.’

  ‘Did you ever see Koreldy again?’ Aremys asked. Myrt poured the tea, not answering. ‘You know he was working for Celimus, don’t you?’ Aremys pressed. ‘But actually he was working against him.’

  That won the Mountain man’s attention. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Koreldy hated Celimus, with good reason. The Morgravian King double-crossed him in an agreement they had. I know Koreldy stuck to the mercenaries’ code of honour: he did his job and kept his counsel, but Celimus tried several times to have him killed for what he learned in doing that job.’

  Myrt’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re talking about the death of the King of Briavel now, aren’t you?’ he guessed, and was glad to see he was right when Aremys nodded. ‘What do you know about that?’

  ‘Plenty. What are you prepared to swap for it?’

  ‘What?’ Myrt said, astonished. ‘Swap information?’

  ‘Yes,’ Aremys said, reaching for his cup. ‘Listen, Myrt, you know things and so do I. I would give my knowledge happily, but getting information from you is like trying to get milk from an ekon. Dangerous at best and fucking hard to boot!’

  Myrt exploded into a rare laugh at Aremys’s comical explanation.

  ‘All right,’ he said, still laughing. ‘All right, Grenadyne, you win. I haven’t laughed like that in a while.’

  Aremys arched an eyebrow. ‘I can tell,’ he said. ‘Your turn, Myrt. The Morgravian soldier you mentioned — is he still alive?’

  ‘Yes,’ Myrt said, serious now. He sipped from his steaming cup. ‘Your turn. Whose side are you on?’

  ‘Cailech’s. I will negotiate for him and I will help to win this peace he pushes for. Understand this: I hate Celimus and will do everything in my power to undermine him. I am not an enemy to the Mountain Kingdom.’

  Myrt said nothing but Aremys saw something blaze in the man’s eyes. Aremys sensed it was relief.

  ‘All right, next question for you,’ the mercenary continued. ‘Is the Morgravian soldier called Gueryn le Gant?’


  Myrt baulked at that. ‘How do you know that? How do you know him?’

  A little fib would help here, Aremys decided. He could not tell the truth because no one would believe it. ‘I know le Gant’s niece. She’s been distraught since he disappeared and I said I’d keep my ears and eyes open for any news on my travels north. Thank you for confirming it.’

  ‘He’s in our dungeon.’

  It was Aremys’s turn to flinch. ‘I have to see him, Myrt.’

  ‘Not until you answer my questions. Koreldy — where is he, do you know?’

  ‘Probably scattered to the four winds by now.’

  ‘Dead?’ Myrt could not hide his astonishment.

  Aremys nodded. ‘Killed by one of the King’s hired assassins. A woman,’ he said.

  ‘The King must be told.’

  ‘Why? Did he want to kill him by his own hand?’

  ‘He was certain that Koreldy, after his recent escape, would return to rescue le Gant.’

  ‘What will the King do when he learns of Koreldy’s death?’

  ‘Kill the Morgravian soldier.’

  ‘Then he cannot know of Koreldy’s demise,’ Aremys said urgently.

  Myrt scowled. ‘Says who? I’ve told you, I’ll do nothing that smacks of betrayal of Cailech. Now answer me this if you want any more information or help: why are you so interested in Lothryn? It makes me suspicious of you.’

  Aremys shook his head. ‘Don’t be. Elspyth of Yentro is known to me — you could say we are friends, although we’ve not known each other long. I met her soon after she escaped from here and she was hoping to return to the mountains to discover Lothryn’s fate. You know they were lovers, she and Lothryn?’

  Myrt grimaced. ‘I guessed as much. There would be no other reason for Loth to betray us as he did, and without sharing his decision with me.’

  Aremys was glad the Mountain man had not blinked at the coincidence that he claimed to know two separate women who just happened to know Gueryn and Lothryn. He could slap himself for such a clumsy contrivance but the big man was not paying sufficient attention. Aremys took his chance. ‘Myrt,’ he said gently, ‘I know that you loved Lothryn too, perhaps more than in just a brotherly fashion —’