The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Midday, your highness. We had better make for the house.’

  ‘My summer palace,’ Celimus corrected and smiled.

  Jessom saw no warmth in the smile; if he was honest with himself, he would have to admit that he had never seen any genuine warmth in Celimus. Why it should bother him now was a surprise. This mood of dissatisfaction had taken him so unexpectedly that he recognised it as dangerous. He, like the King, had some thinking to do; nevertheless, he was relieved that Celimus had agreed not to kill Ylena Thirsk immediately, which had surely been his original intention. This was a small win. Now the Chancellor prayed to his adopted god of Shar that King Celimus and King Cailech would take to one another. Surely that was not too much to ask in the name of peace?

  The King galloped on ahead but Jessom rode back to Tenterdyn more sedately, silent and distracted by his thoughts.

  FOURTEEN

  VALENTYNA CRAFTED HER letter to Celimus the same afternoon of Crys Donal’s departure. She wrote with great caution, outlining that she was releasing the woman, Ylena Thirsk, into his care. The words suggested her expectation that he would look after Ylena even though she was being given into the captivity of the Morgravian Crown. The Queen expressed her desire that any known enemy of Morgravia could not be considered a friend of Briavel and that, as helpless as Ylena painted her situation, Valentyna did not wish to go against the express wishes of her husband-to-be. She felt sick writing the lies but pressed on, detailing her progress with her own arrangements for the wedding, not describing her gown but telling him a little of how well it looked. She discussed the party that would accompany her into Morgravia, which was not inconsequential, and then lightly touched on her desire to return to Briavel soon after the ceremony so that a second celebration could be held for her people. Valentyna, much to her distaste, felt she should ooze some special compliments here about how much the Briavellians were looking forward to seeing their Queen with her new King.

  By the end of it she felt revolted by the smooth way in which she had lied to protect her own life as well as how easily she was giving Ylena’s precious life away. As terrible thoughts filled her mind about how Celimus might choose to kill Wyl Thirsk’s sister — and kill her he would, she knew this — the guilt of knowing how generously Wyl had sacrificed himself for Briavel’s heir and how she was repaying that with disdain for his family nearly overwhelmed her. Valentyna’s fingers twitched with the desire to rip up the parchment with its treacherous contents.

  But it was the memory of Ylena’s hard words that she was not the Queen’s to command, and that returning to Celimus was her own choice, that stayed her hand. It was Ylena’s decision to give up her life and Valentyna realised she would probably aggrieve the young woman more if she did not carry out her wishes. Her life was forfeit anyway, Valentyna told herself. One way or another, Celimus would hunt Ylena down and complete his annihilation of the Thirsk line — this much she knew was truth. Ylena wanted to make her life count for something. It was as though she felt her sacrifice for Briavel — Morgravia’s traditional enemy — matched that of Wyl’s and would give some point to all the deaths that surrounded this tragic family. Buying Valentyna more time in tricking Celimus and almost having the last, albeit pointless, laugh was the only way Ylena could fight back and avenge all the pain.

  ‘Too sad,’ Valentyna murmured at her desk. ‘Your life is given too cheaply, Ylena, for the gain is so little. I cannot escape marrying him.’

  She had the letter despatched immediately, for fear of changing her mind, going so far as to take the parchment to the stables herself and place it into the courier’s hand.

  ‘How long?’ she asked. Briavel also used a relay network for messengers and she felt sure, once across the border, the Morgravian couriers would respect the urgency of this missive.

  ‘Two days if we all ride hard, your majesty,’ the young man said.

  ‘Then use as many couriers as you can for maximum speed. It is extremely important that King Celimus sees this message as quickly as possible.’

  ‘I shall personally ride like the wind, your highness,’ he said, and with a bow from the saddle he was gone, clattering over Werryl Bridge and heading north-east as fast as his horse would go.

  Valentyna turned away, feeling hollow and more lonely than she ever had in her life. Growing up as an only child had taught her to be self-sufficient and imaginative but nothing could have prepared her for this complete loss of family, friends, and allies. And still, she realised, she could not begin to reach the depth of loss that Ylena must surely be experiencing. No wonder Wyl’s sister was throwing her life away with such abandon. It might also explain why she was indulging in curious affections. The Queen had not been able to shake the memory of Ylena’s kiss; it seemed to haunt her every moment. There had been such tenderness in it … no, it was more than that. It was filled with love. Valentyna had only been kissed once before in such a manner and that was by Romen. Although this was a different mouth, different face, a different everything, there was such aching familiarity to the passion behind that affection. But the memory of that physical love made Valentyna angry too. Angry enough to want to fight: not Ylena, but the person who had perpetrated all the pain. On her way back into the palace, in a state of absolute resentment at the way life was turning out, she sent a runner to find Commander Liryk.

  He arrived slightly out of breath at her study door. ‘My Queen, you wished to see me?’

  Valentyna was struck by how old Liryk seemed all of a sudden. She had taken his and Krell’s presence around her for granted, as if they would always be in her life, but this man was surely well into his seventh decade. The notion of him not being around one day bit hard into her thoughts, reminding her that she may lose yet another of her supporters soon. It hardened her resolve.

  ‘Yes, Commander, thank you for coming so quickly. In the absence of a Chancellor I would like you to summon the nobles for me.’

  ‘Of course, your highness,’ Liryk said, frowning despite his courteous manner. ‘All of them?’

  ‘Yes. It is urgent. How swiftly are you able to gather them for a meeting?’

  He paused and she wondered whether he was considering her question or her state of mind. He obviously anticipated that she was about to do something dramatic. ‘Three days, your majesty, if I get the couriers sent immediately.’

  ‘Do it please, Liryk. I’d appreciate it if you would give this your utmost priority.’

  ‘Of course, your highness.’ She waited, and of course the gentle objection came. ‘It is unusual. Perhaps I could give them some inkling of what you wish to discuss so urgently?’

  She smiled. She had expected this. ‘State security, tell them,’ she answered and turned away, not unkindly but certainly sufficiently firmly to let Liryk know he was dismissed. ‘Thank you, Liryk,’ she added, just in case he thought to try and dissuade her.

  Valentyna heard the soft sigh, the protest of his knee as he bowed and then the sound of the door closing. She shut her eyes, thankful it had not turned into a discussion where she felt obliged to explain her every action. It was done. Now she had to consider carefully what she was going to say to these men that could possibly change their minds about this forthcoming union of Briavel with Morgravia.

  At around the same time that the somewhat bewildered nobles of Briavel were answering their young sovereign’s summons to gather in the Great Hall of Werryl, Wyl had allowed himself to be picked up by Morgravian soldiers and was relieved to see that they were genuine Legionnaires and not mercenaries. It was a young company but although he recognised none of them, they certainly recognised his name. An awkward silence spread through the group of men as Wyl finished his introduction.

  ‘You are General Wyl Thirsk’s sister?’ the startled leader qualified.

  ‘I am,’ Wyl replied, his spirits soaring. He knew it was unlikely he could change the outcome of what was going to happen, but hearing his own name uttered with such reverence restored his confidence that
he could at least do his best to interrupt Celimus’s plans. And perhaps he might live to fight another day in another body.

  He wondered whether Valentyna had taken his advice to write to Celimus and claim she was sending Ylena to him. Their parting had been so awkward and painful, he supposed the Queen was just glad to be rid of Ylena Thirsk.

  The young officer could not help himself. ‘But what are you doing here? We heard you had disappeared.’

  Wyl was certainly not going to start explaining any more than he wanted to give away. ‘What is your name?’ he asked.

  ‘Harken,’ the young man replied. ‘Er, Captain Harken, I hope, by year’s end.’

  ‘Well, Harken, firstly please remember whom you address. I am the daughter of General Fergys Thirsk, Duke of Argorn, and the sister of General Wyl Thirsk. Please treat me in the fashion you should any noble.’

  Harken flushed with embarrassment at the stinging rebuke. Blotches of red appeared on his cheeks and ears. ‘I… I apologise, Lady Thirsk.’

  When he saw his reprimand had worked Wyl deliberately looked behind him as if suddenly fearful. He might as well continue with his planned charade and hope that the Queen of Briavel would at least make his next death count for something. ‘Thank you, Harken. Have they gone?’

  ‘Who, my lady?’ the man asked, desperate to please. He looked over her shoulder and his companions followed suit, suddenly nervous.

  ‘The Briavellian guardsmen who brought me to this crossing point.’ Swords were drawn instantly, the ring of steel loud in the silence of the morning. ‘Fret not, gentlemen,’ Wyl assured, ‘they have no quarrel with you. The guard accompanied me here — my keepers, if you will.’

  Wyl held his breath, hoping his detached manner and confident explanation would trick them into believing he had been brought to this point under armed escort.

  ‘Why have they brought you here, my lady?’ Harken sensibly asked.

  ‘I am a gift,’ Wyl said, taking some grim amusement from the irony of his words. ‘For your King.’

  The aspiring Captain looked appropriately baffled as well as rattled. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You are not meant to, but your sovereign will and you will raise his ire if I am not taken to him immediately. I have no intention of trying to escape,’ Wyl added, glancing towards the rope which had appeared in one anxious pair of hands. ‘All you’re required to do is escort me into Tenterdyn, gentlemen. Restraint is not necessary.’

  ‘Put that away,’ Harken snapped at a lad not much younger than he was. ‘You do know who this is, don’t you?’ he added, more angry with himself, Wyl suspected, than the youngster. ‘Lady Thirsk! She is to be treated with respect.’

  ‘Thank you, Harken. I’m sure my brother would be proud of you.’

  ‘I never met him, my lady. He passed away the same week as I entered the Legion, but your family’s name means everything to me. I grew up with it around me and all I ever wanted to do was join the Legion and be commanded by General Thirsk.’

  ‘Are you Laud Harken’s son?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. I am surprised you know of him.’

  Wyl realised it was probably an error for him to admit as much, but then the discovery that this lad was the son of one of the Legion’s finest soldiers was a surprise. ‘My brother spoke well of Laud Harken. How is he?’

  ‘Dead, my lady. He fell in the north recently.’

  ‘How?’

  Harken shrugged, embarrassed by the sorrowful tremor in his voice. ‘I was told it was a Mountain warrior’s arrow, but, my lady, he disagreed with the Rittylworth scandal and no doubt said too much, too loudly.’

  Murmurings erupted within the group. This was verging on treasonous talk, but it told Wyl how the name of Thirsk still resonated loudly within the Legion. It provoked an honesty which might not be so forthcoming with other strangers. He was counting on this very fact to enable Crys to stir up trouble in Pearlis.

  ‘I understand, Harken, and I am deeply sorry for your loss. Now you must taken me to Tenterdyn.’

  The company remained on patrol whilst the young Captain-to-be provided the escort alone. This pleased Wyl for it gave him a chance to learn as much as he could from the gullible youngster. They travelled in silence for a while before Wyl decided it was time to ease out information.

  ‘I imagine the missive from Briavel has arrived by now?’

  Harken frowned. ‘I’m sorry, my lady, I wouldn’t know.’

  Wyl felt disappointment slice him. Perhaps Harken would be no help after all. ‘Apparently there was a courier coming from Queen Valentyna about my arrival.’

  Harken shook his head. ‘We can find out. I will make some enquiries as soon as we arrive.’

  ‘Who is your General now?’ Wyl asked. He could see Tenterdyn sprawling in the distance. They would be there soon.

  ‘The King is our General, my lady.’

  Wyl felt sickened. So Celimus had finally got his wish and taken over the Legion.

  ‘I see. And I hear he is expecting a parley with the Mountain King?’

  ‘Yes. It occurs today, so I have been briefed. King Cailech arrives by midday and there is a feast in his honour.’

  ‘You sound excited, Harken.’

  ‘I am, my lady. If our King marries Queen Valentyna and this parley achieves a truce between Morgravia and the Razor Kingdom, there will be peace at long last.’

  Wyl made Ylena smile. ‘I thought most young men of your age dreamed of going to war?’

  ‘I am engaged to be married, my lady. I dream of Alys more than I do of killing for my realm.’ He returned her smile with a shy one of his own.

  ‘Good for you. It is a worthy dream. So you trust your King to achieve these two coups?’

  Harken smiled ruefully. ‘If anyone can, King Celimus can.’ Wyl suspected that Harken, young as he was, would not be drawn into saying anything openly traitorous, although his tone suggested he felt it.

  ‘Peace for the region would be a rare achievement.’

  ‘Is the Queen as beautiful as everyone says she is?’ Harken gushed suddenly.

  Wyl nodded. ‘More exquisite than you can possibly imagine.’

  ‘I was told you were a beauty, my lady,’ Harken began, then pulled himself back. He looked stricken. ‘Forgive me, my lady, I meant no offence.’

  ‘None taken. I imagine I look a real fright, dressed like a man and having ridden for days,’ Wyl admitted. ‘It is not easy to feel pretty in this situation.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lady Ylena, that was tactless of me. Do you mind me asking why you are presenting yourself to the King? There was a rumour that…’ he struggled to say more.

  ‘That he tried to kill me?’ Wyl finished. The young man nodded. ‘It is true, Harken. Your King is not a good man, I’m sorry to say, and I think you know it. You suspect your father’s death was not as cut and dried as it was painted to be, and you are most likely right. If Laud stood up to the King’s treachery at Rittylworth, then he would have paid in the most dramatic way. I am truly sorry for your family.’

  Harken’s eyes were wide, the first hints of fear creeping across his innocent face. They were just a few yards from entering the compound of Tenterdyn now. Wyl spoke quickly. ‘Listen to me. I am here to frighten the King. Trust me that I am not here to prevent peace. Hopefully the King’s marriage to the Queen of Briavel will herald the beginning of the great union of our two realms and perhaps he might forge a peace with King Cailech, but Celimus is not a man ever to be trusted. Remember that, Harken. Remember these words, spoken by someone who loves Morgravia and its people… and is especially loyal to the Legion.’

  The young man clearly heard the desperation in his companion’s voice. ‘I don’t want to take you in there, my lady,’ he said, further stricken. Both of them saw the gatekeeper stepping out.

  ‘You must. But you must also do what your heart tells you.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Harken urged.

  ‘You will. You are Legion, used
to taking orders, but one of the defining characteristics of an officer of the Legion is that he will never do anything to hurt another Morgravian unless that person is a betrayer of the realm. Keep that in your heart. Do not allow this King to lead you and your men and the rest of the soldiers down the path of darkness. Be true to the Legion first.’

  ‘Ho, who comes?’ The gatekeeper’s voice ripped through the tension of their whispered conversation.

  ‘Tell the truth,’ Wyl encouraged. ‘You cannot save me.’

  Harken spared an anguished glance towards the woman beside him. Wyl felt sorry for the youngster who, despite knowing so little, was torn; he had sensed he was involved in something deeply wrong by escorting Ylena Thirsk into the den of the dragon King.

  ‘Come on, boy, we haven’t got all day!’ the soldier urged, irritated. ‘Who do you bring here?’

  Wyl cleared his throat. ‘I am the Lady Ylena Thirsk, sir. I wish to speak to King Celimus.’

  The gatekeeper laughed. ‘Yes, and I’m the Lady Twinkle and plan to marry him. What is this?’ he roared at Harken.

  ‘Watch your manners!’ Harken commanded, and the soldier glanced towards the badge on the youngster’s uniform. This was an officer in the making and Wyl quietly smirked at the older man’s error.

  ‘This is the Lady Ylena Thirsk,’ Harken said, firm of voice now. ‘She has already been searched but you may do so again if you are required.’

  The gatekeeper, far less chirpy now, signalled to another guard who asked Wyl to alight from his horse, which he did. He was searched and Harken’s papers were checked for authenticity, which, Wyl guessed, was all part of the King’s fear that he could be assassinated at any time. They were permitted to enter the gate by the now slightly sheepish keeper. Another, more senior soldier arrived to ask questions and his eyebrows arched immediately at the name of the woman standing before him.

  ‘Call the Chancellor,’ he said to his offsider. Then to Wyl, politely: ‘We wait, my lady.’