The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  The Mountain man reacted as if burned. He stood up, pushing his chair away, eyes blazing with sudden hatred. ‘Fuck you, Aremys.’

  Aremys kept silent and did not so much as flinch when Myrt threw his cup and its contents into a corner and then kicked at his chair, smashing one of its legs. The big man turned to glare at the Grenadyne, daring him to make a move so he could punch him as well. But Aremys did not move.

  ‘I don’t want to fight you,’ he said. ‘I want to find him for you.’

  Despite the warning, he was prepared for a fight; a black eye perhaps, maybe broken fingers. So he was ill-prepared for tears, and when they came he hated himself to his very core for shattering the barriers which had kept Myrt strong. Now the man’s pain was being unleashed and Aremys was at a loss as to how to deal with it. He sat there a moment bewildered, then did the only thing one person can do for another who is hurting. He put his arms around the Mountain man’s big shoulders and held him.

  Eventually he spoke: ‘He’s alive, Myrt, I know it. From all that you’ve told me I don’t believe Cailech would have killed him. And that’s why his reply to you was so cryptic. Lothryn lives and our only clue is Galapek. Help me and we’ll find him together.’

  The tears were brief; dried away almost as soon as they had dared to arrive. Wrath replaced them. ‘I can’t!’ the man roared.

  ‘You can. We’re all he’s got. If you love Lothryn — as I know you do — then fight for him. Let’s at least find out if he’s alive and what state he’s in.’

  Myrt stomped around the small cottage, a new battle going on within him now. Aremys had noticed that the dwelling showed the touches of a woman — a jar of fresh hill flowers on the humble sideboard, dishes neatly stacked, floors swept and surfaces dusted. It was as neat as a pin. He wondered where the sister was and asked Myrt.

  ‘Due back shortly,’ he answered, distracted. ‘Listen to me, Aremys. I’ll help you because of Lothryn, not because I’m threatened by what you’ve learned about me. If you ever repeat what has occurred here or been mentioned between us, I’ll kill you. I might be in love with a man but it doesn’t stop me being capable of killing one. I want you to understand that.’

  ‘Your secret is safe with me. Whether you prefer men or women is of no consequence to me. I’ve trusted you with my life — I shall go on doing so. I’m only sorry that you have to be so unhappy.’

  ‘Don’t trouble yourself. I’ve lived with it all my life,’ the Mountain man said gruffly. ‘More to the point, what can we do? We leave in a few hours and I don’t think Cailech plans for you to return here.’ Myrt’s anger had dissipated to be replaced with despondency.

  ‘Well, that does change things. It might be that you must track Lothryn down without me.’ Aremys looked towards the ceiling, racking his thoughts for the best step. ‘Can you take me to see the horse again? I think it was trying to communicate something to me on our ride.’

  ‘You are jesting, aren’t you?’ When Aremys returned his gaze evenly Myrt scoffed. ‘You expect me to believe the horse tried to tell you something?’

  ‘Don’t laugh at me, Myrt. I’ve explained about the magic. No, I’m not saying it talked,’ he lied, ‘but if there is something to learn, this is my last chance. I also want to see le Gant.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes! He is not loyal to Celimus. He’s like Koreldy and all the others that bastard has coerced and tricked, double-crossed and had killed. What do you think a soldier of that calibre was doing blundering about in the Razors anyway? Did you really think he wanted to be here with a gang of farmers who wouldn’t know a sword from a threshing fork?’ Myrt bit his lip. ‘Come on, man. This was set up by the Morgravian King. He wanted Cailech to kill Gueryn but I have to see him to find out why.’

  ‘Do you think it might help in your mission?’

  ‘Of course, why else would I want to see him?’ Aremys lied again, hating himself for deceiving this good man. ‘Keep the secret of Koreldy, I beg you — just a little longer. The King will learn of his death anyway once he enters Morgravia, or, if you insist, I’ll tell him myself.’

  ‘I do insist,’ Myrt said, staring hard at Aremys.

  ‘All right. Just keep it quiet for now until I can learn some more.’

  Myrt nodded. ‘Where to now?’

  ‘The dungeon,’ Aremys replied grimly. ‘Then Galapek.’

  SIX

  GUERYN FELT FORGOTTEN. It had been days since Myrt and his friend had walked with him and he had begun to think he would never smell sweet air again. Food and fresh water was being delivered daily, however, so he knew he had not dropped entirely from the Mountain People’s consciousness. The gaoler, Haz, offered no news or even conversation and Gueryn had given up trying. In truth it was his own fault. Haz had made the effort to talk in the early days, but since allowing Gueryn to starve himself and feeling the King’s wrath as a result, he had ignored the prisoner, doing only the bare necessities.

  Rashlyn had looked in on him twice since Gueryn had been returned to the dungeon and was satisfied that his health was being maintained. The Morgravian had kept an icy silence with the softly spoken healer on each occasion.

  Having decided that he was fighting a losing battle in trying to kill himself, and realising he could do more good by regaining his health and learning as much as he could about the Razor King and his intentions, Gueryn had tried to keep himself fit. Once he felt strong enough he had begun doing push-ups; now he was up to three hundred daily. As a result his upper body was muscled again. And he walked. His cell was relatively narrow but quite long and he had used this length to pace relentlessly up and down. He lost count of the times he met each wall at either end because he had given up keeping track after a thousand. And to keep his mind as agile as his body, he had taken stock of everything he knew and had begun to speculate using that information.

  The hated Rashlyn knew something about Lothryn, that much was clear. And he was smug about it. This suggested to Gueryn that perhaps the brave Mountain man might not have perished as they had all assumed. Gueryn also knew the King was keeping him alive so that Koreldy would return to save him, but had no idea why Cailech should believe there was any attachment between them. Gueryn had never met Koreldy until that time in the fortress. The odd thing, of course, was that until Gueryn’s sewn-up eyes had been released of their stitching he had believed that Koreldy was Wyl Thirsk! He had gone over it time and again in his mind, realising that he had just wanted to believe it was Wyl. Nevertheless, something deep down told him there was more to this than what his eyes had confirmed. Even when he saw the unfamiliar face, his heart had still believed Wyl was somehow present. And how could Koreldy know the family battle cry? Or speak to him in the way Wyl would? Nothing added up, and the King’s belief that Koreldy would return to rescue him further muddied the waters of his thoughts.

  Gueryn was sitting in the corner of his cell, once again remembering the murder of Elspyth, for which he could never forgive himself, when he heard the key turning in the lock.

  ‘You’re early, Haz,’ he mumbled. He had no real knowledge of time, but his body and its regular functions gave him reasonable clues. And right now his body was not yet hungry.

  A huge man stepped into the cell, a man he had never seen before. ‘Gueryn le Gant?’

  Gueryn nodded, searching for a pithy rejoinder — any attack on his keepers felt good. ‘Who else did you expect?’

  The man grinned which confused him and turned to nod something to another person outside. Gueryn was sure he heard Myrt’s voice saying that he would keep watch.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, alarm bells suddenly klaxoning in his mind.

  ‘I have very little time, so you must listen as I explain something quickly. And you’re going to have to trust me.’

  ‘Why would I trust you?’

  ‘I’m a Grenadyne, not one of the Razor people. And there’s a single word I can say which I believe will make you trust me.’

  ‘Oh ye
s? What’s that, Grenadyne?’

  ‘Thirsk,’ Aremys replied abruptly. ‘Now hear me out. No interruptions. I am friend, not foe.’

  The name Thirsk was like a slap in the face to Gueryn. The big man had his full attention.

  ‘My name is Aremys Farrow. I am a mercenary and was employed by your King to hunt down and kill Ylena Thirsk.’

  ‘What?’ roared Gueryn, pushing himself to his feet.

  ‘I said don’t interrupt, soldier,’ Aremys warned. ‘I found Ylena, but instead of killing her, I took her to safety into the north of Briavel, which was where we parted company. I hope she has made it south to Queen Valentyna. I won’t go into how I got to be here but, rest assured, although I might look like a free man I’m as much a captive as you are. Cailech plans to use me to negotiate a parley with King Celimus. If I’m successful I might win my freedom, in which case I’ll go looking for Ylena again and offer her my protection. There is another woman — someone you know — who holds strong affection for a man called Lothryn. I understand that Lothryn betrayed the Mountain People in helping you, Koreldy and this woman, Elspyth, to escape. Now that I’ve found you, as I promised Ylena I would,’ he lied, ‘I’m determined to find Lothryn as well. My instincts tell me the King has kept him alive in order to make the punishment — whatever it is — of aiding your attempted escape the sweeter. You should know that Koreldy is dead.’ Gueryn closed his eyes as he heard this. ‘And that somehow I am going to get you out of here.’

  Aremys stopped. It was obvious he was sharing too much information; the prisoner looked too shocked to respond.

  Then the Morgravian began to laugh. It was clearly not the reaction the big mercenary had expected, for his expression was all confusion.

  ‘A word of thanks might be more appropriate,’ Aremys suggested.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Grenadyne. Thank you for what you’re trying to do, but I’m as good as dead, man. If Koreldy is no longer alive, that’s my death warrant,’ Gueryn said, painful resignation in his tired voice.

  ‘No one knows about Koreldy but myself and Myrt,’ Aremys assured.

  ‘Myrt is a good man, but he is a loyal Mountain warrior. The King will already know.’

  ‘The King does not know. He doesn’t even know we’re here now. Myrt is outside keeping watch. He is protecting you.’

  ‘Why?’ Gueryn demanded.

  ‘It doesn’t matter why.’

  ‘It does to me because it doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Let’s just say I have something on him which encourages him to help me.’

  Gueryn shrugged tiredly. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. Everyone I have ever cared about is dead except Ylena, and it sounds to me like Celimus will kill her too.’

  ‘No chance.’

  ‘If you’ve met Ylena, as you claim you have, then you’ll know she is a pretty, indulged and fragile creature. She will not outwit Celimus — not without her brother’s protection or mine.’

  ‘She has the protection of a Queen… and mine.’

  ‘Oh that’s right, the protection of a new, inexperienced Queen under siege by now from King Celimus, I imagine, and a Grenadyne mercenary who is a captive of King Cailech. Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath.’

  ‘I don’t know why I bothered,’ Aremys muttered, clearly stung by le Gant’s ingratitude and ungracious manner.

  ‘Neither do I. Save yourself if you can. I watched Cailech kill Elspyth with his own hands and enjoy it. He will do the same to me, and to you if he so chooses.’

  Aremys frowned. ‘Elspyth isn’t dead.’

  ‘Yes, she is, mercenary. I’m sorry to upset you further. See this on my boots — that is her blood. Her life became forfeit when I refused to capitulate to Cailech’s interrogation. I might as well have stuck the knife in her myself,’ he finished bitterly.

  Aremys moved for the first time since entering the cell. He crouched by Gueryn and dared even to take the soldier’s hand. He felt as though he should be holding his breath. ‘When did this happen?’

  Gueryn shook his head. ‘I’ve lost track of time here. It was weeks ago, I’m sure.’

  ‘Gueryn, look at me. I saw Elspyth so few days ago I could count them on both hands and probably have a finger to spare. She, Ylena and I were all together in Felrawthy.’

  ‘You lie! Why are you lying to me, you bastard?’

  It was Aremys’s turn to shake his head, but with compassion. ‘I’m not. We drank tea together, for Shar’s sake! Elspyth is alive and determined to return here to discover Lothryn’s fate. She was on her way to Briavel the last time I saw her. She’ll be there right now, I’d wager.’

  A barrage of emotions raged openly across Gueryn’s face as he considered what he was hearing. Aremys watched him take a deep breath. ‘Farrow, I saw Elspyth of Yentro die horribly. Now one of us has been taken for a sap. I know your time is short, but I want you to tell me everything you know.’

  So Aremys did, as quickly as he could, while leaving out everything relating to Wyl’s magical metamorphosis. The gruff old soldier would never trust him if he began to talk that sort of nonsense. Besides, he had given his word to Wyl. He would not break that promise.

  When Aremys had finished his story, Gueryn struggled to his feet and began to pace, deeply shocked by what he had heard. ‘The Duke of Felrawthy is dead?’ he said, so disbelieving that he repeated it. ‘Dead? Jeryb?’

  Aremys nodded. ‘I only discovered this piece of savagery myself a day ago from Myrt, when the news filtered into the Razors. It seems Celimus is making Cailech’s people the scapegoats, but it was his men, his killing rampage — I presume punishment, for the family’s harbouring of Ylena. And no doubt it quashed any thoughts of an uprising from the northern duchy.’

  It did make horrible sense. ‘All of them?’ Gueryn asked.

  ‘So I’m told. Crys was seeing Elspyth to the border so I’m not sure about him, but the Mountain People said the whole family perished.’

  ‘This is monstrous. That poor girl. Her husband, Alyd…’ Gueryn closed his eyes in despair, then his courage rallied and he opened them again. This time they were flinty. ‘And now you’re going to negotiate a parley between these two Kings?’

  ‘To buy my freedom, yes. What about Elspyth? Do you believe me?’

  ‘How can I disbelieve what I saw with my own eyes?’

  ‘Because Rashlyn was present, that’s why.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You do know he’s a man of dark magic?’

  ‘I’ve been on the receiving end of it,’ Gueryn replied, remembering the hideous sensation of being suspended in mid-air.

  ‘Isn’t that enough evidence?’

  The Morgravian turned on the big Grenadyne, eyed him quizzically. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Gueryn, he fooled you. Whether it was Cailech’s idea — or, most likely, Rashlyn’s — they duped you into thinking you were watching Elspyth die.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid!’ Gueryn roared. ‘It was her, I tell you.’

  Aremys bit his lip in thought. He had not realised just how powerful Rashlyn was. ‘Yes, to all intents and purposes it probably was Elspyth. Have you ever heard of a glamour?’

  ‘No. What is it — some kind of magic?’

  ‘I’m guessing that’s what it was. We northerners are more accepting of magic than you folks in the south and growing up we tend to hear about spells and sorcery of days gone by. My grandfather once told me about a powerful enchantment that can make one person look like someone else. Only the most gifted can wield a glamour.’

  Gueryn wondered how many more shocks his heart could take in one day. He stared at Aremys in stunned silence.

  ‘Elspyth was alive and well when I left her,’ the mercenary went on. ‘I hugged her goodbye. I bet you didn’t touch her?’

  Gueryn shook his head numbly. ‘I could only watch her die.’

  ‘It was another woman, le Gant. They used some poor woman and placed a glamour on her. You said they were trying to get i
nformation from you. What was so important that they would murder a woman in front of you?’

  ‘Cailech wanted to know about my connection to Koreldy. I had none, but it appears Koreldy had some connection to me.’ He barked a harsh laugh. ‘They stitched together my eyelids as part of my torture and I was blind when I met Koreldy. But do you know something, Farrow, I thought he was Wyl Thirsk.’ Gueryn began to weep, all his pent-up emotion spilling over. ‘I failed the boy. I failed the Thirsks.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ Aremys countered helplessly, feeling the depth of Gueryn’s emotion. ‘There’s so much I’d like to tell you but there’s no time,’ he whispered, only barely managing to stop himself from spilling everything about Wyl. ‘Look, I have to go. You’re safest here until I can work out how we’re going to rescue you. You must hang on. Give away nothing of what we’ve shared.’

  He reached out and grabbed the man’s hand, putting it against his own heart. It was the highest form of commitment one soldier could make to another. It meant: I will give my life for you.

  Gueryn was astounded by the action. There were only two men he had ever given such a signal to. Both were named Thirsk; father and son. Both dead now.

  ‘Wait!’ he said, suddenly remembering. ‘Lothryn — you think he’s alive?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘That horse has something to do with it, the horse called Galapek,’ Gueryn murmured, almost to himself, as if disgusted that he had not yet worked out an answer.

  ‘What?’ Aremys hissed, and almost raised Gueryn’s feet from the floor as he lifted him to standing. This was no mean feat for Gueryn was a tall man, nevertheless the bear-like mercenary stood a head taller again and looked as if he would gobble up the other in his fury to learn more.

  Gueryn shook his head. ‘I don’t really know what I’m saying. I just have a feeling that the horse Galapek, Cailech’s new stallion, has something to do with Lothryn.’