The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘It’s all right, really,’ she replied, making a swift decision. This was her ride. She looked towards the girl again. ‘I once knew a pretty lady called Jen and she had beautiful red hair like yours.’ It was a lie but Elpsyth needed any leverage she could create and quickly. She knew Shar would forgive her. Her cause was a noble one.

  Jen’s eyes grew wide with pleasure. ‘Am I pretty?’

  ‘I think you are. I’m sure your father does too.’

  ‘Would you like to ride next to me?’ Jen asked.

  She wanted to hug the child. It was the invitation she had hoped for, and travelling with a family was the safest and least conspicuous ride she could possibly hitch.

  Elspyth looked deliberately towards the man. ‘Oh, I don’t think your father would…’

  He reacted precisely as she had intended. ‘You’re most welcome to ride with us, miss,’ he offered kindly. ‘We’re going as far as Coneham if that helps?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it will,’ she smiled. ‘Where is it exactly?’

  ‘Hop up. It’s north of Brackstead.’

  Jen shifted closer to her father and made room for Elspyth. ‘Thank you,’ she said, with relief. ‘Will we be stopping in Brackstead?’ she added as innocently as she could. She did not like the idea of running into Valentyna and Crys.

  ‘No. We don’t stay in inns or the like, miss,’ the driver said. ‘We just curl up in the back. We carry everything with us.’

  Elspyth smiled. It was perfect. ‘Thank you, and I’m sure I can help to keep your Jen amused on our journey.’

  ‘My name is Ericson,’ the man said, an expression of gratitude sweeping across his tired face. Elspyth felt a tiny pang of guilt at how adroitly she had manipulated this kind fellow.

  The cart rumbled through the northern gate, Jen chattering incessantly about anything that came into her head and Elspyth doing her best to agree where necessary and answer if required. She pulled her blue cloak tighter around herself for the morning was chill. As they passed the soldiers at the gate, she had tried not to catch anyone’s eye. But Elspyth had never quite grasped how attractive she was and her dark hair and pert features could not help but win attention.

  ‘Shar guide you,’ the guard said to her. It was a common blessing used by Morgravians and Briavellians alike to bid others a good journey but it was the wink that came with it that made her grin. ‘Don’t stay away too long now,’ the guard added, encouraged by her smile. ‘I won’t sleep until I see your pretty face again.’

  Elspyth made a gesture of admonishment, as if to say it was improper of him to talk like that in front of her family, but the cart had already rolled on and the young man missed her mock annoyance. She lifted her hand in farewell instead.

  It had been a long time since Elspyth had felt as light-hearted as she did at that moment. Perhaps it was knowing that she was finally doing something positive towards finding her love. I’m coming, Lothryn, she silently cast. She hoped Shar would take pity on her that soon her beloved might hear her words.

  As Elspyth was privately celebrating her escape, Gueryn was arguing with Rashlyn, now recovered, who had decided to visit the prisoner.

  ‘Who would it hurt?’ Gueryn demanded.

  ‘No one, but I don’t understand your request,’ the barshi said.

  ‘Because I am rotting away here.’

  ‘Why is that my problem?’

  ‘Because you’re meant to take care of me,’ Gueryn said, his tone as acid as he could make it. ‘Either you make it possible or, I promise you, Rashlyn, I’ll find a way to kill myself, even if it means banging my head against this wall until I knock my senses clean out!’

  Gueryn knew he sounded desperate; he could hear as much in his tone, and it was highly unlikely he could fashion any genuinely expedient method to assist his own death. Still, the threat was there and the barshi looked thoughtful. Gueryn decided to press his luck. ‘The King insisted I be looked after. I refuse to sit here day after day in your stinking dungeon.’

  ‘Isn’t that what prisoners do?’

  The man’s light voice irritated Gueryn further. ‘Let me work, damn it! I’ll provide an honest day’s toil for the chance to breathe fresh air and work my muscles. You can keep me chained if you must.’

  ‘Oh, I will,’ Rashlyn murmured.

  Gueryn felt himself losing his temper; the only thing that stopped him reaching for the barshi’s throat was the memory of the magic Rashlyn had once used on him and the threat that he would make it hurt the next time.

  He tried again, a little more humility in his tone. ‘The King agreed to allow me daily walks so I can remain as healthy as possible considering my situation. I am prepared to work for it, for Shar’s sake.’

  ‘Where?’

  That took Gueryn by surprise. He stopped his pacing and turned on the healer. ‘Where what?’

  ‘Where would you work?’

  Had he won? Now he had to negotiate more carefully than a mouse stealing past a sleeping cat. He forced himself to keep the exasperation in his voice, as if the chance to escape the loneliness and despair of the dungeon was all that mattered. No one, especially Rashlyn, must guess his true intent. ‘Where? Anywhere! The kitchens, the vineyards, the stables…’ He ran an unsteady hand through his tangled greying hair to give an air of distraction.

  ‘Your preference?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ he retaliated, wondering whether Rashlyn was testing him. ‘I’m good with horses; I’m not afraid to work in an open field; and if you want me scrubbing pans, I’ll happily do that. Why don’t you choose?’

  ‘The kitchens would not want you, Morgravian,’ Rashlyn mused. ‘And I don’t want you around knives or any potential weapons.’ He scratched at his wild beard and something fell out of it. Dishevelled as Gueryn himself looked and as dirty as he felt, Rashlyn’s grubbiness revolted him.

  ‘Then let me work in the stables,’ he said. ‘I’ll muck out, rub down, water, exercise the animals — whatever the stablemaster wants.’

  Rashlyn stared at him. The eyes were tiny and dark; no evidence of warmth flickered in that cold gaze. ‘I shall speak to Maegryn,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘Remember my lesson, soldier. With the King gone, you have no protection to count on, other than what my rule deems.’

  ‘I had no idea you hailed from royal blood,’ Gueryn risked.

  ‘Be very careful, le Gant,’ the dark man warned, his lips twisted in a cruel sneer beneath the filthy beard.

  Gueryn emerged into a sharply bright spring morning, his eyes stinging from the sunlight but his body rejoicing in its gently warm caress and the chance to breathe air the opposite of the stale mustiness of his cell. He had won.

  He stood between two guards, neither of whom he knew, and watched a man approach. Rashlyn was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘I am Maegryn, the stablemaster,’ the man said, coming to a halt.

  Gueryn nodded. ‘Thank you for allowing me to work in the stables. I’ll not let you down.’

  Maegryn made a low sound of disdain. ‘You wouldn’t want to, soldier. Come with me.’

  Gueryn followed as fast as the rope binding his ankles would allow.

  ‘You’re not going to make him wear that all day, are you?’ Maegryn complained to the guards.

  ‘Rashlyn’s orders,’ one said, shrugging.

  ‘And who is he to be giving orders?’ Maegryn said, adding under his breath, ‘Haldor spare me.’

  Gueryn took a chance. ‘He told me he is the King’s voice when his highness is not here,’ he said to Maegryn, who was now slicing through the rope with a blade.

  The stablemaster stood, his deep-set eyes giving away little of the man inside. ‘And I’m the fucking King of the Stable so Rashlyn had better look out when he gives orders in my domain.’

  The guards laughed.

  Gueryn bowed. ‘Your highness,’ he said, and knew he had made a fragile conquest when Maegryn grinned in response. ‘Thank you,’ Gueryn added, looking towards his unshack
led feet.

  ‘Don’t get too excited, soldier. Jos here will be hanging around to keep an eye on you.’

  Gueryn eyed the huge, lumbering lad beside him. ‘Nice to meet you, Jos.’

  The big guard nodded, a sloping grin pulling at his deformed mouth. ‘Don’t give me any trouble now,’ he warned, the words slightly mangled.

  ‘You have my promise,’ Gueryn assured, looking towards Maegryn too.

  ‘But is it worth anything?’ the stablemaster teased.

  ‘As an officer of the Legion, most certainly.’

  ‘I wish your King showed similar manners.’

  ‘My King is a ruthless, lying, cowardly murderer. I shall kill my King if I ever get the chance.’

  Maegryn gave a low whistle. ‘Well, I hope our King watches his back then.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I gather our people are about to make a peace alliance with your people, soldier.’

  ‘What?’ Gueryn’s eyes narrowed; surely this was a jest?

  ‘If our Cailech has his way, then the Razor Kingdom and Morgravia are soon to be allies,’ Maegryn clarified.

  Gueryn was shocked. ‘Celimus cannot be trusted.’

  Maegryn shrugged. ‘So long as you can, le Gant. I’m only King of the Stables remember? What happens for the greater good of our realm is not something I have any control over. Now, I think you need exercise as much as my horses do — follow me.’

  Jos stayed with Gueryn all afternoon and the Morgravian noted that the lad followed his orders dutifully, taking his responsibility of watching over his prisoner seriously. The deformity was a pity — it gave the impression that Jos was a dullard when he was anything but. It also gave the other guards reason to tease him, as Gueryn learned from the lad’s shy admission. He found the youngster pleasant, courteous and charming. He laughed at Gueryn’s small jests and even made a few of his own. No, the youngster was no dullard, just an unfortunate victim of the gods to be born so afflicted. Gueryn made a promise to himself to make a special effort with Jos. Confidence was all the lad needed. The harelip would fade to invisible if Jos’s personality was allowed to shine through.

  Gueryn had to admit he was enjoying himself after so many weeks of despair. He had walked, rubbed down and watered six horses now and was pleased with himself, despite the twinge from aching muscles and tired limbs. He had not counted on being as weak as he felt.

  ‘A good afternoon’s work, soldier,’ Maegryn said, offering a linen rag. ‘That’s good honest sweat there.’

  ‘Call me Gueryn,’ the soldier said. When the man nodded, he added, ‘Can I come again?’

  ‘Tomorrow’s fine. I’ll be glad to see you. Perhaps Jos can bring you this time.’

  ‘What about Rashlyn? Will you speak with him?’

  ‘The man’s insane. No one follows his rules. We won’t say anything — he probably won’t even come looking.’

  Gueryn’s relief showed. ‘Until tomorrow, then.’

  He nodded at Jos to let the guard know he was ready to be returned to the dungeon, and gave him a grin. He was building tenuous friendships here. He was a big step closer to Galapek too and that made the aches all the more satisfying. Tomorrow he might see the horse which the stranger, Aremys, had claimed was Lothryn. It still seemed too incredible to contemplate, but Gueryn could not forget the touch of Rashlyn’s evil magic on his own body or the murder of a woman made to look like Elspyth. He needed to see the horse for himself.

  Until tomorrow then, he said privately as he fell in step with Jos.

  SEVENTEEN

  CRYS ADMIRED THE WAY the Briavellian commander, despite his busy duties, offered his help. If Liryk minded, he did not show it.

  ‘Forgive me for dragging you away from important affairs, Commander Liryk,’ Crys said. ‘I’m just a little worried about Elspyth, as is your Queen.’

  ‘And rightly so, Duke,’ Liryk said sharply. ‘She is a young woman abroad alone. No matter how I tighten the net around bandits and cut-throats, they still exist and she makes the softest of targets.’

  ‘Too true. Where should we start?’

  ‘Let’s find out who was on duty first during our absence in Brackstead.’

  ‘How many gates are there?’

  ‘Five main ones, but as you rightly point out she was leaving as anonymously as possible so I imagine she would have used the busiest outlets, which would be Werryl Bridge or the northern gate.’

  It took them an hour to find and question the relevant men, drawing a blank until one young man was hurried back from a meal. He wiped his mouth in haste, concern on his face that he was in trouble. His superior introduced him. ‘This is Peet. He was one of three guards on the northern gate for the morning watch.’

  Liryk and Crys had already questioned the other two from the morning and all from the afternoon rotation. Crys was sure this man would offer no further insight and had resigned himself to a fruitless search following a trail that was already stone cold.

  ‘Sir,’ Peet said to his commander and nervously nodded at Crys. ‘My lord.’

  Liryk cleared his throat. ‘Relax, man, you’re not in any trouble here. We’re seeking your help.’

  ‘Oh?’ the guard replied, none of the anxiety leaving his tone or expression.

  ‘We’re hoping you might remember a young woman who left Werryl yesterday. We think she might have departed via the northern gate and we’re pretty certain it would have been on your watch, the early morning guard.’

  Peet nodded, relieved, looking between both men. ‘I’ll try, sir. Can you describe her?’

  Liryk looked at Crys who obliged. ‘Well, she’s petite. She has dark hair and is comely. Very pretty in fact.’ He grinned at the young man. ‘She stands about yay high to me,’ he measured a point halfway between his elbow and shoulder, ‘and I’m guessing now but I think she might have been wearing a soft brown skirt, pinkish sort of blouse, black boots. I really can’t be sure, but they were the clothes she was wearing when we both came into Werryl.’ He knew Elspyth had not taken any of the items Valentyna had given her to wear.

  Peet’s expression became forlorn and he sounded embarrassed. ‘Hundreds of people pass through that gate each day, my lord. That description could be any of a dozen women from yesterday.’ He held his hands out in a gesture of helplessness. ‘So many people, you don’t really scrutinise anyone unless you’ve been ordered to.’

  Crys nodded, understanding. ‘I know, it was a long shot.’

  Liryk sighed. ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’ He was genuine in his commiseration; he did not like the antagonism the woman of Yentro had stirred up but he certainly was not happy at her going off alone into the mountains. He thought Crys had been far too flippant about her disappearance when it had been first discovered; obviously the duke had had a change of heart but a little too late, he thought privately. ‘Thank you, Peet, you can return to your meal,’ he told the guard.

  ‘Oh,’ Crys said suddenly, ‘she did have a cloak with her. The morning was cold so presumably she had that on. It’s blue, if that helps?’

  Peet, who had been turning away, swung around. ‘Blue cloak?’

  Crys nodded. ‘Does it jog anything?’ he asked, noticing the man’s keen attention.

  ‘Why, yes, my lord, it does. I do remember a woman in a blue cloak. Her hair was dark, I think, she had it covered with the hood so I can’t be sure.’

  Liryk stepped forward. ‘Well, tell us, man. Hurry now.’

  Peet frowned. ‘It was just some innocent cheek, sir. Guarding the gate can be tedious and she was very pretty, after all.’

  Liryk sighed. ‘Get on with it, Peet. What was said?’

  The soldier bit his lip in thought. ‘I wished her Shar’s speed, my lord,’ he said, looking towards Crys who seemed the most eager to hear. ‘I added something along the lines that she should hurry back to Werryl because I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I saw her pretty face again.’ He shrugged. ‘It was harmless really — I was just passin
g the time of day with a lovely girl.’

  Crys smiled. ‘That’s all right, Peet. Was she alone?’

  ‘No, as I recall she was with a family. I thought it was hers.’

  ‘Come on now, son. What do you remember?’ prompted Liryk. ‘Bring the scene back. Remember all those exercises we’ve been doing and how to recall a moment in detail?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I do,’ Peet said. ‘I can remember it well now. She was travelling with a little girl and a man who was driving the cart they were in. They — the woman and the girl — were laughing. It was a cart with one horse.’

  ‘Did she say anything?’ Crys asked.

  ‘No. She just waved. Seemed happy.’

  ‘The man — what do you remember about him?’ Liryk added.

  ‘Not much, sir. He said he was going to Coneham. His cart had brewery barrels on it. Only two of them, which strikes me as a little odd now but didn’t at the time.’

  ‘Why is that odd?’ Crys asked.

  Liryk turned to him. ‘Because our brewery is situated north-east of the city. There would be no need to pass through Werryl itself, let alone the northern gate, for deliveries to Coneham. It does sound suspicious.’ Liryk addressed the officer. ‘Find out whatever you can on this fellow — if there’s any information among the men. Get Peet here to give as detailed a description of him as possible. Anything at all he remembers, record.’

  ‘Is the lady in trouble, sir?’

  ‘No, lad. But we need to find her and your information can help us track her down.’

  Peet nodded and took his leave, following his superior officer.

  ‘Not much to go on, I’m afraid,’ Liryk admitted to Crys.

  ‘It’s something, though. I’ll wait around a little longer — someone might think of something jogged by Peet’s information.’

  ‘Let’s give it another hour.’

  ‘And then I’m heading for Coneham, come what may,’ Crys promised.

  The cart slowed to a stop and Elspyth was roused from the snooze she had fallen into. She presumed they were breaking for something to eat and felt embarrassed that she had no food to share with her hosts. She did, however, have some coin which Crys had insisted she keep during their journey to Werryl. ‘You may need it if we get separated,’ he had cautioned and she was grateful now for his generosity. At least she could offer to pay for her keep whilst travelling with Ericson and his little girl.