The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Your majesty, King Celimus is here to greet you. May I accompany you?’ Captain Bukanan offered.

  Aremys thanked Shar that Celimus was playing this out to strict protocol. It was a heartening sign that the King of Morgravia was treating his sworn enemy with courtesy and equality, even though Jessom had no doubt been a guiding hand.

  ‘Thank you, Captain,’ Cailech said. He threw a final glance towards Aremys, who noted the glint in the King’s eye and read it as a combination of pleasure and mischief. He truly admired this man who walked so boldly into his enemy’s camp, unarmed and with nothing to offer but promises.

  Aremys closed the gap between himself and Myrt to fall in step behind the King. He admired the superb cloak that the King had donned for this most formal of occasions. It was a pewter colour, made from the softest of wool, spun repeatedly until it shone, from the coats of the shaggy polders — a cross between a goat and a sheep. These rare animals were found only in the mountains and he had noted how well Cailech’s people cared for the two large flocks they had gathered. The animals’ long hair was impervious to moisture and felt like silk to touch. The women of the Razors had done their King proud with this beautiful garment, which kept the natural silvery grey of the polder for its background while crimson and black dyed yarn had been woven into an eye-catching, intricate pattern along its entire length. Aremys marvelled at how the clever design made an already tall man look even larger. Cailech was certainly a match for Celimus in height and looks, although the Razor King was older and generally more rugged in comparison with the vain southern monarch.

  Myrt nudged Aremys out of his thoughts and they stepped forward for the party from the mountains to be introduced to King Celimus.

  The dance of Kings had begun.

  ‘King Cailech, welcome to Tenterdyn, our summer retreat,’ Celimus said, his tone full of largesse. He noted a twisted expression flicker across Farrow’s face and wondered what it meant. He returned his attention to his guest, irritated further by the man’s surprisingly deep voice. It made him feel as though he was a boy greeting his father and his stomach clenched.

  ‘King Celimus, it is a true honour to meet you.’ To the Morgravian’s astonishment — and indeed that of all who were privy to this historic meeting — Cailech bowed his head and shoulders towards his southern foe. ‘Thank you for this parley.’

  For once in his life Celimus was lost for words. He had not expected Cailech to look as he did, and he certainly had not anticipated such graciousness to go with the startlingly good looks. The man was paying him homage, but in such a noble manner that it felt anything but subservient.

  Everyone waited for Celimus’s response. Finally it came. ‘I am intrigued, King Cailech,’ he said, reaching for the right words, annoyed by his higher-pitched tone even though so many people had praised his smooth, velvet voice, ‘by this opportunity for Morgravia. Come, we are here to talk.’ It was not as eloquent as Celimus knew he could be, but these were unusual circumstances.

  Captain Bukanan, already briefed on the format for the day, returned to where Myrt stood. ‘I believe I must accompany you, is that correct?’

  Myrt nodded. ‘We will return on horseback to a spot of my King’s choosing and await word of his safe return. There are others coming with us, of course.’ He stopped himself using the word ‘hostages’.

  It made little difference: Bukanan knew he was a hostage. The Captain nodded his understanding and took his leave from his King, as did Myrt from Cailech. The necessary paperwork was handed to Myrt by Jessom, after Aremys had read it through to check all was in order according to his earlier specifications.

  Inside, the party was led by their regal host to a huge chamber which Aremys had not seen on his previous visit to Tenterdyn. At each end of the large space was a glorious stone fireplace and a long table stood in its centre. Tapestries softened the walls, as did huge windows with bench seats and elegant shutters, each one crafted with the Donal sigil. Aremys realised that the room’s simplicity deliberately allowed the dazzling scenery of the distant Razors to do all the work of beautifying the chamber and impressing visitors.

  ‘I thought you would be comfortable seeing your home from here,’ Celimus said, his charm more evident now that he had taken a minute or so to gather his thoughts.

  Cailech smiled in return. ‘Having never witnessed its beauty from this vantage point, I thank you for such a treat.’

  The response pleased Celimus. He indicated the thin man at his side. ‘I took the liberty, King Cailech, of retaining only my Chancellor, Maris Jessom…’

  ‘Your majesty,’ Jessom said on cue, bowing his head to the Mountain King.

  ‘…to match your Aremys Farrow. I believed this would be more comfortable than too many other ears.’

  ‘I am grateful for the consideration, your highness.’

  ‘Well, now,’ Celimus continued. ‘Please, be seated and let us offer you some southern refreshment.’

  Jessom nodded towards a waiting servant and trays with drinks and wafers were immediately walked into the hall. Celimus gestured for Cailech to be seated at his right, so the Mountain King could see the Razors through the magnificent picture windows. Aremys was offered a seat at his left.

  ‘I will bear witness alongside the Chancellor,’ Aremys said, as deferentially as he could manage, and moved to stand beside Jessom.

  ‘As you wish, Grenadyne,’ Celimus said, unfazed.

  ‘Smart move, Farrow,’ the Chancellor murmured under his breath. ‘You would fare well in court.’

  ‘I don’t belong here, Jessom, and you know it,’ Aremys shot back, relieved to be out of the gaze of King Celimus who was watching a servant pour a goblet of wine for Cailech.

  ‘Shall we dispense with our regal titles, Cailech?’ Celimus said brightly as he raised his goblet.

  ‘I thought you’d never suggest it,’ the Mountain King replied, grinning and raising his own cup.

  ‘To us then,’ Celimus said with a flourish, tapping his goblet against his guest’s and noticing the glint of humour in Cailech’s light green eyes.

  ‘To Morgravia and the land of the Razors!’ Cailech responded, and both men drained their goblets.

  ‘Again!’ Celimus called to the servant. His cheeks were suddenly flushed with the gravity of this historic moment.

  ‘Would your father be proud of this parley?’ Cailech asked as their goblets were refilled.

  The Morgravian was not ready for such a disconcerting question. ‘My father?’ he repeated, angry at himself for doing so.

  Cailech nodded and again Celimus saw amusement sparkling in the man’s eyes although his facial expression gave nothing away.

  ‘Er… I’m sure he would.’

  ‘I think he would be shocked,’ Cailech said.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I believe he did not see such a vision of peace as you have, Celimus.’

  Aremys silently congratulated the King of the Mountains. Suddenly the parley had become Celimus’s idea: it was the Morgravian’s vision for harmony that was bringing together two enemy nations.

  Celimus searched for any guile behind the words but saw nothing except openness on Cailech’s rugged face. Again he was not ready for the man; such praise from the enemy was something to be savoured. ‘I would like to think that I can bring together our realms, Cailech,’ he began, warming to this vision of peace he apparently was chasing, ‘as well as Briavel.’

  ‘Indeed. In the space of just a few days, you could achieve such an amazing feat. Your jongleurs will craft songs about it, bards will write plays in homage and I have no doubt your artists will record the events so that future generations will understand this momentous time in Morgravia’s history.’

  Aremys felt Jessom shoot a warning glance his way. Cailech’s praise was honeyed but it should be diluted before it became too much like treacle. So far Celimus was lapping it up, Aremys noticed, and he was fully convinced that the Morgravian King would personally commissi
on the songs, plays and artworks should they not eventuate unprompted. Wyl had told him that the man was vain, but he also recalled Wyl’s warning that Celimus was clever; that behind his charm and looks was a stunningly sharp mind. Yes, Aremys thought, Cailech would have to be a bit wary.

  The servant had been dismissed now. It was just the four of them.

  ‘And tell me how you fit into all of this, Cailech,’ Celimus said, leaning back in his chair.

  ‘Quite simply, I wish us to stop being enemies. I see no reason for it other than our own stubbornness and I am offering you the hand of friendship and alliance from hereon if you wish to take it. My people will respect your boundaries utterly. There will be no further threat of raids, no incursion into your lands without your permission.’

  Celimus nodded. ‘And what will your people gain from that?’

  ‘Freedom of movement without harassment or threat of injury. We wish to have permission to trade freely with the people of Morgravia and Briavel. I would also suggest you sanction a delegation of your people to visit the Razor Kingdom to gain a greater understanding of our people, our culture and our living standards. Perhaps you will allow a similar delegation from the Razors into Morgravia? I firmly believe that the more we can appreciate each other’s culture, the more peace will be achievable.’

  ‘Interesting. I am not averse to anything you have suggested, Cailech. There would have to be a governing body made up of delegates from both realms to supervise the…’ Celimus searched for the right word ‘…the melding of our Kingdoms.’

  ‘Of course. My thoughts entirely. But I don’t believe we could ever live as one, King Celimus,’ Cailech cautioned, addressing his counterpart with highest courtesy now. ‘Our ways are too different to yours. By the same breath, there are many areas in which we are similar. I want the same things for my people as you want for yours. I want our young to be educated and literate; I want free trade so marketing and commerce can flourish between our realms; I want my people to eat and sleep well, secure in the knowledge that their own are safe no matter which borders they are moving across.’

  Aremys could have applauded Cailech for building his case eloquently. He doubted whether Celimus could find anything at fault in what Cailech was presenting and it seemed the Morgravian King was paying attention rather than just paying him lip service. He listened as Cailech continued.

  ‘Nevertheless, my people do not want to be Morgravian and I know you have no intention of taking your people into the Razors. Let us agree that we are different but we will tolerate each other’s differences. We will learn to admire those differences which make us the people of the Razors and your people the sophisticated Morgravians.’

  ‘Bravo,’ Jessom whispered to Aremys under the guise of softly clearing his throat.

  Before Celimus could respond there was a knock at the door. The King looked towards his Chancellor, irritated. ‘See to it, Jessom,’ he said unnecessarily, for Jessom was already making for the door.

  The other three remained silent as the Chancellor listened to the hurriedly spoken message. He turned. ‘My King, apologies for the interruption. There is an urgent missive from Queen Valentyna. Apparently you have insisted that anything from Briavel is to be delivered to you immediately.’

  Celimus nodded. ‘Forgive me,’ he said to Cailech.

  ‘Never keep a woman waiting, Celimus — least of all a bride and a Queen at that,’ Cailech responded with mischief.

  Celimus laughed. ‘Bring the messenger in,’ he ordered.

  The man was permitted to enter. He bowed and then moved towards Celimus. ‘Your highness, this was sent in haste.’

  Celimus waved his hand at him, saying nothing, having already broken the wax seal. He scanned the letter. Jessom shooed the messenger out of the door. It seemed he, along with everyone else in the room, was holding his breath. Aremys had not realised how much tension had been created through Cailech’s proposition; it was only now he saw that he had been hanging on Cailech’s every word, waiting for Celimus to agree once and for all to a formal union. This messenger could not have come at a worse time.

  ‘Nothing wrong?’ Cailech queried, his voice casual, although he glanced towards Aremys for guidance. Aremys shook his head, glad that no one noticed the exchange.

  ‘Farrow,’ Celimus said, taking Aremys by such surprise he almost jumped.

  ‘Yes, sire?’

  ‘The delivery of Ylena Thirsk…’

  Suddenly the King’s tone sounded cunning and his body language was sly. Aremys heard alarm bells ringing somewhere in his head.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It is in hand, as agreed?’

  Aremys hoped he was not reddening. His collar certainly felt a tad tight and he forced himself not to visibly swallow. ‘It is, sire.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Celimus said, standing. ‘Listen to this,’ and he read Valentyna’s letter aloud.

  When it ended, Aremys was convinced he could hear his own heart pounding, the silence in the room was so profound. He made himself look directly at the King and from somewhere — he would never know where — he found his best lie ever and delivered it with such aplomb he too almost believed it to be truth. ‘That’s right, sire,’ he confirmed. ‘I sent a message to the Queen to release Ylena.’

  Celimus frowned. ‘You did!’

  Aremys nodded, determined not to look at Cailech whom he felt sure would be grinning, slyly enjoying his friend’s discomfort, although this was no laughing matter. Cailech could never know what a fine line Aremys was walking right now with the most dangerous of men.

  ‘You know Queen Valentyna personally?’

  ‘Not personally, sire.’

  ‘Well, how exactly do you know her then?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sire, I can’t divulge my sources. You understand that, I’m sure.’

  Jessom could see that his King’s ire was stoking frighteningly fast but there could be no scene right now with Cailech so intrigued and quietly watching this new event unfold. Jessom felt abashed that he too had been caught out by this missive. He had presumed Ylena had been brought to Tenterdyn via whatever means the mercenary had at his disposal. The fact that Queen Valentyna had become involved was something of a shock.

  ‘Your majesty,’ Jessom interrupted as gently as he could, ‘Ylena Thirsk is already here.’

  ‘Here?’ Celimus repeated, a storm gathering in the olive eyes. Jessom knew the signs all too well.

  ‘Yes, your majesty, she arrived just minutes before your guests. Circumstances prevented me from bringing her before you.’

  The King gave his Chancellor such a murderous look that even Aremys, who could not care less about the conniving servant, felt his blood run cold on his behalf. But Aremys also realised the King had been diverted: his wrath was directed at Jessom now, rather than himself, and he pressed that advantage.

  ‘As we know, sire, Ylena went to Briavel. I have contacts there and, before I was attacked in Timpkenny, I sent word to follow her and keep her under observation.’

  ‘Why, by the hairs of Shar’s arse, would you do that, Farrow, when I wanted her in Morgravia! Why not have her captured, man?’

  Cailech laughed openly at the curse. ‘I shall have to remember that one, Celimus.’

  The King of Morgravia caught his famous temper, the laughter reminding him that he was being watched carefully by another sovereign.

  Aremys, wearing the most innocent expression he could muster, began to embellish the lie, his mind already racing towards how he might get to Wyl before anyone else to ensure their stories coincided. If Wyl told a different tale, they were both as good as dead. ‘I figured that the noblewoman would be dangerous wherever I held her in Morgravia, your highness. And as I didn’t have her in my own hands, I thought it best just to have her watched. I knew I could get to her whenever I needed to so long as I knew where she was based. I also felt she was a captive of her own fears, sire. If she felt safe in Briavel, she would not leave the realm and I would not have t
o give further chase.’

  ‘But when did you plan to carry out your mission for me?’ Celimus asked, following the Grenadyne’s line of thought.

  Good question, Aremys acknowledged silently. He was making this up as he went along and again Wyl’s warning about Celimus’s sharp mind nudged him. ‘Immediately, sire. I was in the north, and Ylena Thirsk was presumably well south by then, which meant I didn’t have to hurry and run unnecessary risks of being discovered. I knew my people would pick up her trail and keep watch until I was ready to make my move. I didn’t expect to be carried into the Razors, sire. That was a surprise.’ He glanced at Cailech whose mouth was, as he had expected, twisted into a wry grin. ‘And a good thing too that I had people on task in Briavel.’

  ‘So then what?’ Celimus persisted, as if determined to prolong Aremys’s agony. The mercenary began to wonder if this was just public humiliation before the death squad came to fetch him.

  ‘My people are tactically placed, sire. It was simply a matter of getting word to them from the Razors.’

  Celimus switched his attention to his royal guest. ‘You were aware of this word being sent, presumably, Cailech? If Aremys is your prisoner, as he tells me, surely you didn’t give him such freedom as to pass messages out of your realm to enemy states?’ It was phrased as a question but no one could miss the challenge in the Morgravian’s words.

  To his credit Cailech did not so much as hesitate. Aremys had told him about his plan to use Ylena Thirsk as bait; he would have to trust his new friend for he had little idea of what game was now being put into play. ‘I permitted him a message, yes. It was to Briavel, to a dignitary in the Queen’s court. You must remember, Celimus, that you and I were enemies until just moments ago. I would have done anything to undermine you. Allowing this man to send a message into Briavel did not disturb me. Had I known, at the time, he was working on your behalf, however, I might not have been so generous.’

  Satisfied, Celimus returned a steely gaze to Aremys who felt like kissing the Mountain King. Perhaps he still would, he thought, relief coursing through his body.