The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Celimus took a swig from his goblet. ‘The last of the great Thirsks, strung up for our pleasure, gentlemen. Call in the archers,’ he said, then glanced towards the stony-faced Mountain King. ‘Come on, Cailech, I thought you people were…’ He paused.

  ‘Barbaric?’ Cailech offered.

  Celimus smiled, sly and cunning. ‘Fun-loving, I was going to say.’

  Cailech did not reply. He turned to look at the intriguing woman and was met by a hard blue gaze which had fire burning behind it, fuelled by hatred and anger. He felt his breath catch, as it did each time he looked at her. He admired the defiance, her complete disregard and indeed disrespect for where she was, the company she was in and the lack of fear for what she surely knew was coming. She had the courage of the Mountain People in her soul, he thought fancifully, caught by the golden hair which had fallen loose. Ylena Thirsk looked dirty and dishevelled but she was nonetheless desirable, he admitted to himself.

  He had to look away from her fierce stare. ‘No trial?’ he asked as two archers were brought in.

  ‘None required,’ Celimus said. ‘She pays the price for the treachery of the men of her family.’

  ‘Shar won’t grant you forgiveness for this, you evil scum, Celimus. This is like the Witch Myrren all over again, isn’t it?’ Wyl forced out a laugh as the similarity of the situation struck him. He saw that it struck home with Celimus too and took pleasure in seeing the King flinch. ‘She beat you and I’ll beat you. I won’t scream, I won’t give you any satisfaction, you cowardly —’

  ‘Shut her up!’ Celimus ordered a soldier.

  But Wyl was going to have his say, even as the embarrassed guard moved towards him. ‘Your father wished many times that my brother could be King so you got rid of both of them — and the King of Briavel, Koreldy and the Donals. Watch out, Cailech, he’ll be planning to kill you next. And no doubt his bride. He’ll slaughter everyone until —’

  Ylena’s mouth was bound. No sensible words were coming out because of the linen tied across his face, but Wyl kept raging at the man who had destroyed the lives of so many good, loyal people of Morgravia. He saw Cailech shake his head; noticed the Razor King wore an expression of wonder.

  ‘Where are you going, Aremys Farrow?’ Celimus asked loudly over Ylena’s accusations. ‘Be quiet, Ylena, or I’ll slash your mouth so it can’t move properly.’

  Wyl quietened. He had promised himself he would keep Ylena as unmarked as he could. There was nothing more to be achieved anyway. He joined everyone else in the chamber in looking towards the mercenary.

  Aremys had hoped no one would notice him slipping away from the hall. He could not witness this. He could not save Wyl — he was one man; they would cut him down before he even reached him. They would both die, but only one of them would live again. Granted he could probably reach Celimus, but then what? He had no weapon. Bite him to death, I suppose, he thought sourly as he straightened from the bow he felt obliged to give before his retreat. But the Morgravian had seen him from the corner of his eye and was now expecting an answer.

  ‘Apologies, sire. I thought I should go and check on the horses and be ready to move out after the… entertainment.’

  ‘Everything will be readied for your departure, Farrow. I’d prefer you to stay. In fact I rather thought you’d like to see your prey being felled?’

  ‘Not in this manner, sire,’ Aremys risked.

  Celimus did not react as Aremys thought he would. In truth, the King was enjoying everyone’s discomfort. Except for Cailech, he noted sourly, who seemed more troubled than affronted. ‘Your King has remained, and as this is in his honour, I expect you to share in this gift,’ he ordered.

  ‘Of course, sire. As you wish,’ Aremys said, glancing towards Ylena and privately agreeing that it was probably for the best. He would need to know which of these men in the room Wyl would become. And then a chilling thought occurred to him. Did Myrren’s gift only work if Wyl was slain by hand — that is, someone connected to the weapon? His mind raced. Wyl had never mentioned it but then perhaps Wyl did not know! Koreldy was killed by Faryl, who plunged a knife into his heart with her own hand. Faryl was killed by Ylena, who held the blade which slashed the assassin’s throat. If Celimus was planning to loose arrows into Ylena, no one would be connected to the weapon when it landed in her body. Ylena would surely die… but perhaps so would Wyl.

  The sense that he had stumbled across something important so terrified Aremys that he shouted into the thick, expectant silence: ‘Sire!’

  ‘Yes, Farrow?’ the King said, his temper rising.

  Aremys looked at Ylena and then at Cailech; saw the Mountain King frown and knew he suspected something between him and the woman. ‘King Celimus,’ he began, clearing his throat nervously, ‘this is a messy end, sire, particularly for a celebration. Why don’t I just take her out the back and kill her for you?’

  ‘You had your chance, Farrow. Now I will show you how to finish a job.’

  ‘But, your majesty…’ His words died away and he felt a twinge of fear as Celimus turned to stare at him, no longer indulgent of the emissary of the Mountain King, no longer prepared to be generous.

  ‘Don’t push me, Grenadyne, or you’ll find yourself staked out like the Lady Thirsk there.’

  ‘I would have to object to such treatment of a protected guest,’ Cailech warned icily and nodded at Aremys to continue.

  ‘Let me finish what you asked me to do, King Celimus. I will cut her throat here and now before you.’ It was his last desperate try. At least he could be sure Wyl would live on.

  Celimus found himself cornered. He wanted to have some fun with Ylena’s death but he could tell he had overstepped the mark where Cailech was concerned in threatening Farrow. He knew from the expression on Jessom’s face that the Chancellor was urging him to take the easy way out: have the mercenary finish off the woman. He was angry but this was not the time or place to make a scene.

  ‘Well, at least her blood will not be on my hands.’ He smiled. ‘Go ahead, Farrow. Finish the job I paid you to do.’

  Aremys risked a glance of thanks towards Cailech, convinced that without the Mountain King’s timely comment and brittle tone, Celimus might not have relented. Cailech returned the gaze with an expression of utter bafflement.

  ‘I will need a blade, sire,’ Aremys said.

  Celimus gave an order and one of the soldiers at Ylena’s side pulled a mean-looking knife from his belt. ‘It’s sharp,’ he murmured. ‘Make it quick.’

  Aremys nodded. Everyone wanted this ugliness done with. He took a deep breath. So this was it. He was about to die and Wyl would become him. He stood close to Ylena. ‘As One,’ he said and grinned sadly at the irony of the words. He saw the tears well in her eyes as she heard the Thirsk family motto.

  Aremys raised the blade, knowing precisely where to strike to slash the jugular for a swift death. But Ylena began to scream and struggle, disturbing everyone but the two Kings. Wyl saw that Celimus’s eyes shone with joy and a telltale bulge in his trousers attested to the pleasure he was getting out of this horrific scene.

  ‘Arrow! Arrow!’ Wyl shrieked in Ylena’s high voice, determined to stop his good friend giving up his own life.

  ‘What’s she saying?’ the Morgravian King enquired, determined to drag out the agony.

  ‘She’s simply yelling my name,’ Aremys answered.

  ‘Er, I think she’s saying “arrow”, sire,’ one of the guards confirmed.

  ‘Oh, perhaps she’d prefer to be killed by the archers?’

  ‘No, sire,’ Aremys said as firmly as he dared. ‘This is best.’

  ‘Wait!’ the King replied. ‘Let’s ask her. It’s the least we can do, isn’t it?’ He cast an appealing glance around the hall, playing the magnanimous sovereign.

  Aremys glared at Wyl. ‘You fool,’ he said angrily, under his breath.

  The guard ripped away the bindings around Ylena’s mouth.

  ‘Step aside, Farrow,’ Celimus sai
d, enjoying himself hugely again. The big man did so reluctantly, but not before glaring at Cailech who frowned again, taking in all the strange nuances on display here.

  ‘Ylena,’ Celimus said; it sounded almost tender. ‘As a final act of generosity towards your family, I’m going to allow you to choose how you die. By Farrow’s blade across your throat or cleanly with an arrow fired expertly?’

  ‘By the arrow,’ Wyl said fiercely, not daring to look at Aremys.

  ‘As we suspected. Good choice, Ylena,’ Celimus replied and stopped just short of rubbing his hands in glee. ‘Thank you, Farrow. It seems your job is complete. Move away.’

  This time Aremys looked at no one as he returned to his spot near the door. He stared at the floor. He would not watch Wyl die.

  ‘Ylena, my dear, I did have some sport planned with the archers but as everyone here seems to want you to have a speedy end, I’ll send them away and instead I will do the necessary.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Wyl replied without blinking, knowing he was spoiling Celimus’s fun by being so accepting. It worked. The King’s face darkened with a scowl.

  ‘Give me a bow!’ Celimus said, his tone furious. ‘Let’s finish this.’

  ‘Why don’t we?’ Wyl said, in the most bored tone he could achieve. He could hardly believe his luck that Celimus had chosen to do the deed. He would become the Morgravian King within the next few moments and, as much as he hated the thought of being Celimus, what pleasure it would be to finally kill him. ‘Hurry up, sire! I am eager to be gone from here.’ He saw Cailech give a grin of astonishment at Ylena’s bravado but it was the last thing she would say, for Celimus was finally taking aim. He switched his attention briefly to Aremys but his friend refused to look at him. Wyl could not understand why: Aremys knew he would live again and this time he would be King.

  ‘Farewell, Ylena Thirsk. May Shar send you to wherever your predecessors have ended their days.’ Celimus stretched the bowstring taut. ‘Heart or eye? Or shall I let it be a surprise?’ he asked with a cruel smile. Everyone could hear the slight strain in his voice of holding back the string so tightly.

  Wyl refused to answer and instead closed his eyes. Celimus was an excellent shot. He held no qualms that the arrow would end his life as Ylena.

  Cailech’s astonishment was complete. This woman was extraordinary; she should not be wasted in this manner. Ylena Thirsk stirred more emotion in him than any woman had in his entire life. Cailech had been accused of being cold towards women. That was not true; he liked women well enough, he had just never met anyone who truly excited him. But Ylena Thirsk fired in him a swirl of inexplicable feelings. He wanted this woman! He had no idea from where this sudden desire had erupted, but one thing was for sure: he was not about to let her die trussed like an animal at the end of one of Celimus’s arrows.

  He moved as fast as a pouncing cat and pushed the Morgravian King’s wrist up just as the arrow was loosed. It shot high into the air, burying itself with a resounding thump into a solid beam overhead. Everyone followed the quivering motion of the shaft, not sure whether to be horrified by Cailech’s action or relieved. Wyl opened Ylena’s eyes with angry disbelief with no idea of why the arrow had missed its mark. Aremys had to ball his hands into fists to stop himself clapping.

  Celimus turned the darkest of stares onto his fellow King.

  ‘I’ve just decided about that gift you offered me, Celimus.’

  The Morgravian’s expression did not change nor did he utter a word in response.

  ‘I want her,’ Cailech said, pointing towards Ylena.

  ‘What?’ Celimus roared.

  ‘You heard me,’ Cailech replied calmly. ‘I shall take Ylena Thirsk from you. She will travel with us high into the Razors and will never trouble you again.’

  ‘What possible interest could you have in her?’

  ‘I’m sure if you think about it long enough you’ll work it out,’ Cailech said and winked.

  Impossibly, Celimus began to laugh. Jessom slowly let out his tightly held breath. Cailech had certainly taken a risk but the Chancellor could not think of a better idea to handle this situation. He had even suggested once to Celimus that he should marry Ylena off to a Mountain warrior and be done with her. There would be little chance of her escaping the Razors, and once the royal marriage was complete, no one would care about the Thirsk name. Everyone would be deliriously happy that Morgravia and Briavel were unified. ‘My lord, this is an opportunity,’ he risked.

  Cailech grinned. ‘You see, Celimus, even your own counsel likes the idea.’

  Wyl began to rage, Ylena’s voice becoming hysterical as he shouted, ‘Kill me, you bastard’ over and over again.

  ‘Oh, someone get her out of here,’ Celimus said, more exasperated now than angry. He could not help but like Cailech’s idea as he watched Ylena being dragged away screaming.

  ‘You did promise me a gift. Anything, you said,’ Cailech reminded him.

  ‘That’s true, I did,’ Celimus agreed, looking at Cailech. ‘There would have to be conditions, though. Koreldy tried something similar.’

  ‘I am not Koreldy,’ Cailech bristled.

  ‘Why do you want her?’

  ‘Why would any red-blooded man want her? Does she not affect you so?’

  ‘No. Her mere name sickens me.’

  ‘Well, that’s history, Celimus. I don’t have the same issues. She’s a beauty. Let us truly bind ourselves in our treaty — I will take a Morgravian as my wife.’

  ‘Your wife?’ Celimus exclaimed, unable to hide his incredulity.

  ‘Yes, why not?’ Cailech was grinning widely now. He glanced at Aremys who could hardly keep his own smile in check.

  ‘You jest, surely?’

  ‘I would never jest about anything so grave as the sacrament of marriage. If you can marry a Briavellian, Celimus, why shouldn’t I complete the triangle of our realms and marry a Morgravian?’

  ‘Why not indeed, sire?’ Jessom said, daring to join the conversation. ‘It is a perfect union.’ His eyes pleaded with his King. This was better than any of them could have dreamed. Surely Celimus could see that?

  ‘There would be conditions,’ Celimus said again, frowning as his agile mind ran through this new turn of events.

  ‘As you said,’ Cailech replied. ‘Although I can put your mind at rest. Ylena Thirsk would not be permitted to leave the Razors. I make that pledge to you right now.’

  ‘Ever?’

  ‘Ever.’

  ‘And as your Queen you would not permit her to make any decisions which might affect Morgravia — or our treaty will be disqualified and I will wage war on your people. Not just the Legion, Cailech, but the full might of the combined Morgravian and Briavellian armies.’

  ‘She would be Queen in title only. I am the power in the Razors.’

  ‘So how do we effect this?’ Celimus said, looking towards his Chancellor.

  Cailech took the lead. ‘I will take her with me now. Your men can escort us to the border and see that she is taken safely into the Razors, from where she will never emerge. Your Chancellor here can draw up the paperwork and your delegates can talk with mine. I will sign whatever you need to effect our treaty and this new understanding regarding the Thirsk woman.’

  Celimus shook his head. He could pick no ruse: Cailech seemed earnest in his desire for Ylena. ‘All right, I agree. Ylena Thirsk is yours to take. She is my gift to you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Cailech said, surprising himself by how delighted he felt. He turned to his companion. ‘Come, Aremys. Ready the Thirsk woman for travel. She rides with me.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  IN THE END, WYL WAS GIVEN his own horse for the first part of the journey. He sat sullenly astride the bay next to Aremys, a thick and uncomfortable silence between them as the two Kings made their official farewells.

  ‘You have no idea how angry I feel by what’s happened tonight,’ he finally said in a low voice to his companion.

  Aremys bristled. ‘Th
is was Cailech’s idea, not mine, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m ready to kiss the ground he walks on because of it!’

  Wyl glared at his friend. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  The Grenadyne cast a glance around to check they were not being eavesdropped upon, particularly by the Chancellor. ‘It occurs to me,’ he muttered, a bite in his tone, ‘that perhaps Myrren’s gift only works when the killer is still in touch with you somehow.’

  Wyl frowned. ‘I don’t get you,’ he replied.

  ‘Did Elysius explain how the gift works?’

  Wyl shrugged. ‘What’s to know,’ he said, bitterness underpinning his reply as he watched the sovereigns clasp hands and shoulders in the tradition of parley and peace.

  Aremys sighed. He understood Wyl’s angry mood; it would be ludicrous to even pretend he could imagine what it felt like to be trapped as Wyl was, or how much courage it had taken to welcome the agony of whatever form of death Celimus had wished upon Ylena Thirsk. ‘I began to wonder, back in that hall, whether whoever killed you had to be connected with you through the weapon.’

  That won Wyl’s attention. He paused in thought. ‘I’ve never considered that. You mean if the arrow had been shot I might be fully dead, but if you’d slit my throat I would be you?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Aremys muttered beneath his breath. ‘You might truly have died and then all would be lost. That’s why I acted as I did.’

  Ylena’s face looked newly distressed. ‘So I do owe Cailech my life.’

  ‘Possibly, is all I’m saying. I don’t care to test my own theory,’ Aremys admitted. ‘And I’d prefer it if you didn’t either.’

  Wyl glanced at Aremys again and this time Ylena’s expression was chastened. ‘Thank you,’ was all he had time to say before Cailech was striding back to their party.

  ‘My lady,’ the King of the Razors said. Wyl was unable to read the soft tone or the gentle expression on Cailech’s face. All he could do was nod.

  Aremys felt a new fear thrill through him. He had not had time to explain that although Cailech might have saved Wyl’s life, the new situation was just as dire, with the King announcing his intention to marry Ylena. He was glad, in fact, that he had not had to give that explanation yet or deal with its consequences.