The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘That’s it?’ Jessom posed. ‘You are merely a go-between?’

  Aremys did not look at the Chancellor but addressed Celimus. ‘Yes, sire, that is precisely what I am. Because I had been employed directly by you, Cailech thought it would be easier for me to seek an audience and set up this parley. He believed you were more likely to trust me than him.’

  ‘I don’t trust anyone, Farrow, least of all mercenaries who have no loyalties.’

  Aremys said nothing but he did not shrink under the hard gaze of the King either. He understood that Celimus was used to staring down others. He must practise it in his mirror, Wyl had once commented caustically. Aremys remembered that now and had to stop himself from smiling.

  ‘King Celimus, I sell my services, not my soul,’ he finally replied, determined to stand his ground. ‘Cailech certainly does not own me — no one does. I am here to respectfully suggest that you, the reigning sovereign of a powerful kingdom, might consider it worthwhile to listen to what your northern neighbour has to say. Far more can be achieved around the dinner table, sire, than on the battlefield, I’d wager.’

  ‘So now you’re a philospher and peacemaker, Farrow? I could have you killed for your insolence.’

  ‘Yes, you could, sire,’ Aremys said in a tone that made it clear he knew worse had happened to innocents around this man. ‘But I ask your forgiveness if I have given the impression of presumptuousness. What you need to understand is that my own life is at stake, sire.’

  That seemed to win the King’s attention. He gestured for Jessom to pour some wine. ‘Carry on,’ he told Aremys.

  Aremys felt relieved that he too was offered a cup of wine. Perhaps his life would be spared.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said before continuing. ‘I give the impression of being a free man, sire, but I am in fact Cailech’s prisoner. I have bought my freedom with the promise that I would attempt to set up this meeting. No money will exchange hands.’

  Celimus held his cup towards Aremys in an ironic toast. ‘You play with your life freely, mercenary.’

  ‘It is mine to give, although I’m not sure I had any choice, your majesty.’

  ‘And did you think I’d just say yes?’

  ‘I could only hope so, sire.’

  ‘In order to save your life?’ Celimus mocked.

  ‘No, my lord. To save Morgravia from war. I presume you’d like your marriage to be conducted in peace.’

  Celimus arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘So the Mountain upstart believes he can wage war on Morgravia — is that right?’

  Aremys was tired of this but knew he was treading a fine line. From what he had heard of Celimus, the man walked his own knife edge of madness and would just as easily snuff out a person’s life as swat at a fly. He needed to be careful. ‘No, your majesty. I think he believes he can achieve peace between his realm and yours.’

  Celimus smiled slyly and walked around Jeryb’s desk to sit down. As he did so, Aremys had time to notice a child’s engraving in the wood of the desk. The letters carved clumsily into the timber said ‘Alyd’ and he was reminded of how that young man had been treated by this very King — his life taken on a whim, and in front of his new wife and his closest childhood friend. That same friend who was now considered friend by Aremys. The mercenary felt a charge of anger when he considered that the two great families of Morgravia — the Donals of the north and the famous Thirsks to the south — had been all but wiped out on the command of the cruel man before him.

  He watched Celimus lean back in Jeryb’s handsome chair and sip from Jeryb’s cup what was presumably a refreshment from Jeryb’s cellar. His anger settled in his gut. He joined Wyl in hating Celimus more than any man, alive or dead, and determined to bring about his demise.

  ‘Farrow,’ the King began in a voice filled with tedium, as though explaining something obvious to someone stupid, ‘you know full well that I will not risk myself by going into the Razors to meet with your cowardly captor, a man who sends one of my own people — if I dare call you that — to do his dealings for him.’

  ‘I realise this, your highness.’

  ‘So I must presume that he is prepared to risk coming here alone, for I will not brook his men setting foot on Morgravian soil.’

  ‘They would set up camp at the border,’ Aremys replied, as though he and Cailech had already anticipated as much from Celimus. He felt relieved that the Captain had not reported that Aremys had been escorted into Morgravia by men of the mountains. Aremys inwardly saluted Bukanan’s foresight at not risking anything which might turn this situation ugly. Presumably the man knew how vicious his King could be and that an opportunity to make an example of Cailech’s men would prove irresistible.

  ‘I see. So that means Cailech is perfectly comfortable about coming to meet me, in Morgravia, with no protection other than the sword of a Grenadyne mercenary who is in my employ and presently under my guard?’ Celimus’s tone was filled with ironic amusement.

  ‘I am not his protector, sire. I am purely his emissary.’

  ‘Excellent. The situation is even more precarious then, for Cailech is all alone and on Morgravian soil. What is to stop me from simply killing him?’

  ‘Your desire for peace, sire,’ Aremys offered as reasonably as he could. ‘The men of the Razors can be damnably elusive and they do not forgive, my lord. I am guessing that they would wage systematic attacks on your borders until their last man fell… the last woman, even.’

  ‘That does not scare me, Farrow,’ the King replied, lazily twirling his goblet. ‘Frankly, I’d prefer his head on a spike at Stoneheart rather than holding talks in my court.’

  ‘Of course he does have some insurance, sire.’

  Celimus laughed, genuine enjoyment spicing the mirth. ‘Of course he does! Now what could Cailech possibly offer me that I don’t have and could possibly want?’

  Aremys felt a tremor of fear pass through him. He was about to weave his most audacious lie yet, the only trump card he could produce from up his sleeve, and to a King who would have his throat slit from ear to ear this very second if he even suspected the ruse. ‘I believe there is only one major item on your wishlist right now, sire.’

  ‘I didn’t know you possessed such magical insight into my desires, Farrow. Perhaps I should have you tortured and burned as a warlock?’

  ‘No enchantments, sire,’ Aremys replied calmly. ‘Simple logic tells me what you covet at present.’

  ‘And that is?’ Celimus said, a sarcastic sneer on his face.

  ‘Ylena Thirsk, your highness.’

  The sneer vanished instantly, as did the casual posture. The King sat forward, suddenly alert. ‘You have her?’

  ‘I will deliver her, your majesty, on the promise that both Cailech’s life and mine are ensured your complete protection. We will come to Morgravia for the parley and you will allow him an escort of his own men. Chancellor Jessom, and your two best captains, including Bukanan whom I gather is currently indispensable in the north, will stay at the border with the Mountain warriors. When the parley is complete, we will be escorted safely to the border of the Razors and permitted to depart into the mountains. With this promise in writing and announced publicly to your people, then I will arrange for Ylena Thirsk to be delivered to you.’

  Celimus ignored everything Aremys had just listed. ‘Do you have her, Grenadyne?’ the King bellowed.

  ‘I do, sire,’ Aremys lied, furiously controlling his features to show an expression without guile. ‘Although I am not at liberty to tell you how that comes to pass or where she is.’ He smiled. ‘I do not require payment for her capture, sire. I would not consider that fair,’ he added, and chanced a soft grin.

  The idea to use Ylena as bargaining power had only occurred to Aremys when he stood before Captain Bukanan and had somewhat arrogantly claimed that he had something in store which would keep Cailech’s life safe. He had no clue as to where Wyl was at present or how he might reach him, but he reckoned Celimus would go along wit
h the notion that Aremys was holding Ylena, not just because he was a mercenary paid to track her down, but because the King wanted her. Celimus’s own greed and cruel desire to visit more torture on this last remaining member of the Thirsk dynasty far outweighed any doubt of Aremys’s honesty — at least, that was what Aremys was counting on. How he would deliver on his promise or, more to the point, wriggle out of it was a whole new problem, but for now he was bargaining for his life and Wyl was all he had. If he could win Celimus’s nod with the lie then he would also win his freedom from Cailech. He reassured himself that he had no intention of betraying Wyl; he was simply using Ylena’s name as the lure to buy some time and his own safety.

  Celimus leapt to his feet, as if readying himself to issue a command to his aides to have his guest’s head chopped off or something equally terrifying. His eyes were dark and stormy with wrath. Aremys wondered whether he had misjudged Celimus. But he had not. The impending storm cleared as swiftly as it had gathered and the King began to laugh as he applauded Aremys.

  ‘Bravo, Farrow. Bravo indeed. I shall guarantee your life and that of King Cailech for the duration of his stay on Morgravian soil. Is that good enough?’

  ‘With all the other provisos in place, sire.’

  ‘Yes, I agree. When?’

  ‘When it suits you, your majesty. You are the host.’

  ‘Where, Jessom?’ Celimus said, looking immediately to the man he could trust to pull something special together.

  ‘Here, of course, sire. Tenterdyn offers easy access to and from the border plus the ambience of a provincial palace. I would suggest a feast and entertainment, your highness. Show Cailech that you are a magnanimous host and prepared to extend the hand of fellowship whilst you hear what he has to say.’

  ‘Good. See to it all, Jessom.’ Celimus turned back to Aremys. ‘And Ylena?’

  ‘I will start making preparations, sire,’ Aremys said, feeling very nervous now.

  ‘Waste not a minute, Farrow. Return to your captor and pass on your news. I intend that the Thirsk woman be delivered as soon as our talks are done.’

  Aremys bowed and departed, eager to be out of the King’s sight.

  ELEVEN

  ‘SO HOW DID THIS AREMYS fellow end up in the Razors if he was with you in Briavel?’ the Queen asked, having discovered why both her guests had reacted so dramatically to the mention of the man’s name.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Wyl replied, feeling both relief and delight that Aremys was alive. ‘We lost each other in the north.’

  ‘How do you lose someone?’ Valentyna said, sipping her wine.

  It was not a serious question and Wyl opted not to answer it. ‘Long story,’ he murmured. ‘I have an idea,’ he added hurriedly when it seemed the Queen might want to hear the long story. Fynch’s suggestion would work now, with this latest news about Aremys.

  ‘Another plan?’ Valentyna repeated, fractionally sarcastic. She folded her arms.

  ‘Yes. But you won’t care for it much.’

  ‘What’s this about?’ Crys queried.

  ‘We have to buy some time with Celimus,’ Wyl explained, and Crys nodded. ‘So we buy it with me.’

  ‘He’ll kill you!’ Valentyna exclaimed.

  ‘No, he won’t,’ Wyl said, not believing it himself.

  ‘He razed Rittylworth Monastery and its village, killing dozens, before turning on Tenterdyn and slaughtering my family,’ Crys said, his voice cold. ‘He did this all to hunt you down. Don’t tell me he won’t kill you the moment he sees you.’ Then he added, quietly, ‘You know what will happen!’ He was stilled from saying anything further by a dark glare from Ylena.

  ‘What will happen?’ Valentyna asked, sensing a new tension.

  Wyl shook his head, ignoring the Queen’s question. ‘He won’t kill me because of Cailech,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure to time my arrival when the King of the Mountains is present. If they’re planning some sort of treaty, Celimus won’t be so stupid as to demand the death of a noble before his newly formed partnership, will he?’

  ‘Won’t he?’ Valentyna said, an appalled expression accompanying her query. ‘You’re gambling an awful lot on his sense of courtesy.’

  Wyl was relieved she had been diverted and sent a surreptitious glare towards Crys warning him to be very careful and not blurt the truth.

  ‘I know Celimus,’ Wyl replied, ‘I grew up around him. If he has one outstanding quality it is his charm. No, I don’t think he will harm me whilst he needs to maintain outwardly calm relations.’

  ‘And what about afterwards, when Cailech’s gone? Why will he care then?’ she demanded.

  ‘Because I shall be gone too. Aremys is there — he will help me escape.’

  ‘No,’ Valentyna said from the fireplace, her voice raised. ‘I can’t let you do it. It’s ridiculous and of no substance. I won’t permit it.’

  Wyl took a silent breath. He would not enjoy this next statement. ‘I am not yours to command, your highness.’

  The words hit her as effectively as if he had punched her with his own fist. She struggled to control her expression as intense pain battled with her defences. ‘My apologies, Ylena. I think I misunderstood our talk earlier,’ the Queen replied, her tone as tepid as the congealed gravy around the chicken they had all forgotten to eat.

  ‘No, your highness. There is no misunderstanding. I am your servant. That will never change. But I will make my own decision on how to serve you.’

  ‘You will be going to your death, Ylena!’ the Queen snapped.

  ‘I don’t believe so, but I choose that path come what may.’

  ‘Not on my behalf! I will not have your blood as well as your brother’s on my hands.’

  ‘I’m sure you tried to order Wyl around too, your highness, but it seems you lost that argument as well. I am just as stubborn when it comes to protecting those I love.’ The bit about love had slipped out. Wyl felt his face colour afresh at the error.

  Valentyna missed the slip. ‘Ylena, you are barely into your womanhood,’ she all but yelled.

  ‘And it is my womanhood which demands I leave your table, your highness. Please forgive me,’ Wyl said, suddenly feeling a most unpleasant release to the build-up of pain which had accompanied him all day. Still, it was a welcome excuse to get away from the Queen’s commands.

  Crys looked baffled but the Queen, still angry, could only nod. She understood precisely Ylena’s predicament. ‘By all means.’

  Wyl fled towards his chamber, clean linens and a fresh brew of raspberry leaf tea. He hated being a woman. And he especially hated the disdain shown to women by others of the same sex. How dare Valentyna consider Ylena unworthy! Well, that’s not really fair, he told himself as he ran up the last flight of stairs. Not unworthy, but certainly inadequate. He thought of Faryl and wished Valentyna had had the opportunity to meet her. Then the Queen would have seen a woman hold her own with a man.

  He spent the next few minutes with an expression of disgust on his face as he sipped at the raspberry leaf tea and replaced the linens. He felt quite worn out by the end of it all and, in a fit of pique, changed into his favoured trews and shirt, although he had to admit a skirt was easier to wear in his current condition.

  Shar, please deliver me from this, he prayed as he drank the bitter tea. Let me be a man again.

  A knock at the door interrupted his plea to his god. He was not surprised to see that it was Valentyna, but he was embarrassed.

  ‘May I come in?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course, your highness,’ Wyl said, clearing his throat. ‘I’m sorry, I —’

  ‘No, it’s quite all right and it is I who should apologise. Forgive my interruption,’ Valentyna began. ‘Oh good, I see you’ve brewed more leaf. How are you?’

  ‘Oh, you know, first night,’ Wyl admitted like an old hand.

  ‘Had you hoped you were pregnant?’ the Queen startled him by asking in her most gentle tone.

  ‘No, your highness. I knew I wasn’t,’ W
yl lied, unable to think of anything more enlightening.

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I just thought that, newly married, you and Alyd had probably… well, you know…’

  ‘Yes,’ Wyl interjected, disturbed at where the conversation was headed. He had never felt more of an impostor. ‘No baby, though.’

  Valentyna looked sad enough to cry. ‘You know, Ylena, there are moments when I wish more than anything that I had joined with Romen and that his seed had quickened my womb.’

  Wyl had to look away. This was too painful. He busied himself with tidying his discarded clothing.

  Valentyna rallied a smile and changed the subject. ‘I see you’ve changed out of the gown. Not to your liking?’

  ‘It’s lovely, your highness. I just got so used to these comfy clothes whilst travelling. I like them.’

  Valentyna nodded knowingly. ‘So do I. Men have it good. I often wish I was a man, don’t you, Ylena?’

  ‘I do, your highness. I’m wishing it right now, in fact.’ Wyl had never spoken a truth with more passion.

  She took his intensity in a different light. ‘Ah yes, I can understand why. You presumably get a lot of pain. I must admit that I escape the cramps. Shar is merciful with me.’

  ‘Do you look forward to children of your own?’ Wyl asked, desperate to move away from the subject of women’s ailments and yet not doing so very successfully.