The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘I suspect that was none too pleasant for you,’ he said to the creature. ‘In fact, I imagine it was nothing short of excruciating. I’m surprised you lived through it… and rather pleased you did.’

  Again the dog growled weakly, baring its teeth, pulling helplessly at the restraining chain that held it to a ring in the wall.

  ‘How does it feel to be a dirty dog, le Gant? A filthy Morgravian dog?’

  The dog leapt forward and managed to make the sorcerer flinch. But the chain dragged it back viciously and it fell over. It lay on the ground panting hard, eyes glazed, its energy spent.

  ‘Oh, don’t die on me now, le Gant. I do so want to show the King my handiwork. I’m going to give you to him so he can feed you the crumbs from his table, or perhaps break your ribs with his boot if that takes his fancy. I suggest you change your attitude, Morgravian dog. You are nothing now. You never were,’ he finished.

  The dog snapped once, but so weakly that Rashlyn did not even hear its jaws come together. He was lost in admiration at his skill. The dog could hear and could react. The horse Galapek seemed nothing more than a void, but le Gant the dog showed spirit. Very good.

  He was so close to full control now. He could hardly wait to present his latest creation to Cailech. Together they would rule not only the men of the land but its creatures and birds as well. Imagine Cailech going to war with the south with bears, wolves, wild cats, even a troop of ekons under his command — it was more exciting than Rashlyn had ever dared to dream.

  The barshi left the semi-conscious dog to lie in its own mess, slamming the door shut on yet another tomb. The dog, hurting deeply and wondering how it could bring about its own death, whined softly as it passed into unconsciousness and a dream of running alongside a majestic black stallion.

  TWENTY-SIX

  WYL SANK INTO A GLUM SILENCE as their party neared the higher ground and the inevitability of the fortress. The terrain was familiar and once again he felt a weak but nevertheless sickening pull of Romen’s fears as what little was left of him recognised where they were.

  Cailech had been generous enough to leave Ylena to herself during the journey. At night she was permitted to sit alone in a tent made from animal skins which the warriors rigged up for her rest. Fresh water was always found for her ablutions and Cailech had even promised a dip in a hot spring where he insisted she would have privacy. He had been formal and courteous in all conversation and their only physical contact had been during the hours on horseback. Wyl realised that Cailech must be enjoying the feel of Ylena’s slim body pressed against his chest and although Wyl made a huge effort to sit as far forward as he could, ultimately by day’s end the journey would wear him down sufficiently that, without meaning to, he would be leaning against the King’s broad, hard body. There were occasions when Cailech wanted to show something to Ylena and then he would win her attention by gently touching her arm or speaking quietly close to her ear as he pointed out a soaring eagle or a particularly jagged series of peaks, so distinctive to the Razors. And each time Wyl would withdraw just a bit further within to what was purely him.

  This was the third morning and they had broken camp a couple of hours ago. Aremys dropped back to ride alongside Cailech in the middle of the party where his warriors insisted their King ride for safety. This deep into the Razors Cailech had no fears of ambush but he respected their desire to protect their sovereign. Wyl had been surprised to find that Aremys had essentially ignored him these past two days, preferring to keep company with Myrt and a fellow called Byl. He guessed that the mercenary was anxious and embarrassed by the situation Wyl found himself locked into.

  ‘I imagine they’re restless to be home now,’ Cailech commented, nodding towards the men Aremys had just been talking with.

  ‘They are. I don’t think any of you Mountain People feel comfortable outside of the fortress and its compounds.’

  Cailech grinned. ‘This is a good thing.’ He inhaled the sharp mountain air. ‘Can you smell that, Ylena?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Those are tiny white flowers called thawdrops which burst through at the first hint of spring and flourish towards mid-spring when their perfume becomes intense, as it is now. The fragrance is being blown here from the valley where you’ll see the flowers soon. It’s quite a sight. I shall pick you some.’

  Wyl remembered the valley — it had been bare last time he passed this way. It meant they were just miles from the fortress now. His stomach clenched at the thought.

  ‘Your friend is very quiet, Aremys,’ the King said, amused, as if Ylena was not there; not encircled by his arms, not the prisoner of his words or his promise to marry her.

  Aremys shrugged, not daring to look Wyl’s way. ‘I hardly know her, my lord, to appreciate what her personality is like,’ he said carefully.

  ‘You have us baffled, Ylena, you see?’ Cailech said and Wyl could feel the King’s face touching the back of Ylena’s head as he leaned forward. ‘Are you not happy to have escaped Celimus again? Can you not share your pleasure with us?’

  ‘I wanted to die, sire. You denied me my revenge.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I wanted the blood of both Thirsk heirs on his hands, your majesty. I wanted it mingling with that of the blood of the holy men of Rittylworth and the loyal souls of Felrawthy whom he had slaughtered.’

  ‘And Koreldy’s,’ Cailech said quietly.

  ‘Yes, Romen’s too. And King Valor.’

  ‘Do you think he will kill his bride?’ Cailech suddenly asked, wonder in his tone.

  Wyl flinched. ‘He is capable of it.’

  The King nodded. ‘Is that his plan though, do you think?’

  ‘No,’ Wyl admitted. ‘He wants heirs. Perhaps three, one to sit in each realm,’ he added craftily.

  It did not rattle Cailech as intended. ‘I have an heir, Ylena,’ he replied. ‘His name is Aydrech, and I am hopeful you will give me more sons.’

  Wyl felt a fresh wave of nausea, all his own, mingle with Romen’s. He fought back, unwisely. ‘I hear that Aydrech is not truly your own though, sire.’

  Cailech’s right hand left the reins and raised itself in the air. The men behind obediently slowed and stopped their horses, as did Cailech. Aremys looked uncertain, glancing between King and guest.

  ‘What did you say?’ Cailech said, his voice hard.

  It was too late to retract it; besides, Wyl felt he had nothing to lose. He hated his life as Ylena and the threat of being touched by this man was coming closer by the minute. Death was surely stalking him whichever way he looked at it, because nothing in Shar’s name could convince Wyl that sleeping with Cailech was worth any cause.

  ‘You heard what I said, your highness, and your very reaction proves its truth.’

  Myrt had dropped back. ‘My King, is everything all right?’

  ‘Move all the men forward, Myrt. I have a private discussion to finish.’

  The big warrior nodded and shot a surreptitious glance towards Aremys who also felt the dangerous tingle in the air but had no idea what was going on. The other horsemen moved by, averting their eyes, and Aremys made to follow.

  ‘Wait, Aremys,’ the King commanded, leaping down from his horse with agile grace. He walked around to where he could look his bride-to-be directly in the eye. Wyl knew that stare well. ‘Now, Ylena. Finish what you have to say or I shall slit your throat here and now.’

  ‘I have said it, my lord, so go ahead and do your worst,’ Wyl replied. ‘Celimus wants your kingdom. He wishes to destroy it and you. He dreams of empire, your majesty, can you not see that? If he has a brood of children with Valentyna, he will ensure each takes a throne for maximum control.’

  ‘He may try, Ylena,’ Cailech said, gentle condescension in his voice, ‘but he will not succeed.’

  Wyl shrugged Ylena’s narrow shoulders. He could not care less about either of these ambitious Kings. There was only one sovereign now whose life he would protect and, sadly, she was the one most
likely to lose it.

  ‘It is not your prediction, however, that intrigues me, my lady. It is your accusation,’ Cailech continued.

  Wyl remained silent. Aremys shifted uncomfortably on his horse.

  ‘What do you know about my son?’ Cailech said, and his tone was now edged with a fire that had not been directed at Ylena previously.

  ‘Only what I said, sire.’

  ‘And how do you come by such information?’

  Wyl considered his options in those few moments of highly charged tension. He was tempted to say that he had learned it from a dream, but then visions of Ylena being hailed as some sort of witch and handed over to Rashlyn’s care came to mind. He decided that no one could hurt Romen any more, so he could be the scapegoat.

  ‘It was Koreldy.’

  The King looked shocked. ‘How could he know?’

  Aremys wanted to know as well, although he feared Wyl’s answer and feared even more this nest of vipers which Wyl had seemingly deliberately uncovered.

  ‘Did anyone mention to you the love between Romen Koreldy and Queen Valentyna, my lord?’ Wyl asked, and enjoyed watching the surprise flit across Cailech’s face and then immediately be masked.

  ‘You jest, of course.’

  ‘I have no reason to, your majesty. You heard Celimus tell you that Romen was at Werryl Palace, acting as champion to Queen Valentyna.’

  Cailech nodded. ‘She fell for his charms,’ he said, and smiled at an old memory of Romen’s flirtatious manner.

  ‘She fell in love, your highness,’ Wyl corrected. ‘He was not charming her… he was wooing her.’

  ‘It sounds like Koreldy,’ Cailech said, somewhat disparagingly. ‘So what?’

  ‘So he told her things — things he would normally keep to himself. A man truly enraptured by love reveals far more than he would to a woman he simply lusts after.’

  ‘He told her about my son,’ the King finished.

  ‘He told her about a man called Lothryn whose wife bore a new son, sire.’

  ‘Aydrech is of my flesh, Ylena… or perhaps the Queen did not hear the whole story.’

  ‘She knew of it, my lord, and mentioned as much. Lothryn explained to Koreldy about the boy. I gather it shocked Romen, as it does me, to learn that you would take another man’s wife purely to produce an heir.’

  At this the King found his lazy grin again, which infuriated Wyl. ‘As I am doing with you. You were married to Alyd Donal. I’m sure he won’t mind if I bed you, although I am sorry that you see me in such a harsh light. I am genuinely intrigued by you, Ylena. You have kindled a fire in me I have not felt burn so bright.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to be flattered by that?’ Wyl asked incredulously. ‘What about how I feel?’ he hissed. ‘You are treating me with the same contempt that Celimus treats Valentyna.’

  Cailech did not react to Ylena’s stinging words but changed topic adroitly, frustrating Wyl who had hoped to enrage the King sufficiently to end Ylena’s life here and now. But Cailech was too wise to fall for the baiting. ‘You sound as if you admire the Queen, Ylena.’

  Wyl shook Ylena’s head at the deft way Cailech could defuse tension. He glanced at Aremys, who looked as anxious as he had in the hall at Felrawthy. ‘I do, more than any other woman I’ve ever met, sire.’

  Cailech made a sound of disgust. ‘This is the same woman who sold you out to Celimus, knowing full well he was hunting you down and was determined to kill you.’

  Wyl’s anger flared. ‘And if you believe that, your highness, you are even more ignorant than the southerners believe you to be.’

  It happened fast. Wyl felt Ylena’s body being wrenched from the saddle. Cailech’s strength was immense and her body in his hand was like a rag doll. She hung on the end of the Mountain King’s fist, the tips of her boots only just touching the unforgiving rock they stood on. Aremys was off his horse in a blink, unsure of what to do.

  Cailech dragged Ylena even closer. ‘Don’t you dare use that high-handed Morgravian tone with me, Lady Ylena. Remember, you breathe only because I allow it.’

  ‘Then disallow it, sire,’ Wyl taunted. ‘Kill me now as you threatened. I don’t wish to marry you. I would sooner die. Why can’t you understand that I went to Celimus to lose my life?’

  The light green gaze narrowed and studied her hard. ‘You went to Celimus? Willingly?’

  Wyl nodded as best he could in that grip.

  The King let go of Ylena and Wyl explained. ‘Valentyna was as determined not to release me from her protection as I was to leave it. She could not help me, sire. But I could help her. Presenting myself to Celimus, as if I had been relinquished by his bride-to-be, meant I could probably get the Legion called off. It only needed some small spark to ignite a fire which could turn into war and Celimus is so unpredictable that I could not be sure he wouldn’t welcome it. So I made the sacrifice.’

  ‘Why? Why do you owe her anything?’

  Wyl had no ready answer to this most pertinent question. ‘Because Wyl died trying to save her, to save her father. My brother must have had good reason to swap his allegiance to Briavel, sire. Can you imagine a Thirsk doing that without cause?’

  Cailech said nothing, continued to stare at Ylena. Wyl looked towards Aremys whose expression begged him to win back Cailech’s trust. ‘I decided to give what little I had to General Wyl Thirsk’s cause, my lord: Queen Valentyna. I have no reason to live. She has every reason to. Don’t be misled, my King, Valentyna alone is what stands between Celimus and the Razor Kingdom.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I think she can influence him. If she handles this right, Valentyna might just guide him from the path of war.’

  ‘I don’t know her but I agree,’ Cailech admitted. ‘Something occurred back there at Felrawthy. I can’t be sure but my instincts usually serve me true. I believe Celimus might hold to the promise we made to each other.’

  ‘And you, my lord?’

  ‘I have no reason to start a war, my lady, or I would not have wasted my own time or breath in meeting with Celimus.’

  ‘I would be lying if I said I was not impressed.’

  ‘Perhaps we can build on that then?’

  Wyl looked sharply at Cailech. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, Ylena, that I understand your reluctance to be here and your fear of the Mountain Kingdom, its people and particularly its sovereign. But perhaps my determination to forge a lasting peace with the south is a place from which we can build this new relationship. Your life is forfeit anywhere outside of the Razors — you do understand that, don’t you?’

  Ylena nodded.

  ‘Good. Then take my protection. It is mine to bestow on whom I please. I will not rush you, my lady, but I will make you my wife. I have given my word to our neighbour. It is on that understanding that he released you.’

  Cailech watched her take a breath to interrupt and went on: ‘I know you wished for death. I could see it in your eyes. But I will not permit such beauty to be wasted, nor such a feisty spirit. You are the last of the great Thirsk family, Ylena, surely you wish to see its name flourish again?’

  Wyl was ill-prepared for Cailech to touch on the very topic that was closest to his heart; one that provoked such a storm of emotion and pain for him. He felt Ylena’s eyes water and turned away. It was in that moment of despair that he caught sight of a dark shadow which disappeared almost the instant he saw it. Knave! It was definitely the dog. Which meant Fynch was here too. Why?

  New fears and confusion erupted. He was cold and he was tired. Ylena’s fragile body needed rest and it was obvious he could not provoke Cailech into a swift killing. Despite his private anxieties, he could not help but feel his spirits lift at the thought that his friends were close. How they could be here was a mystery but it meant help. He would have to go along with Cailech’s plan for now and rethink his options once inside the fortress.

  And so he gave Cailech a response which he knew would please the King. ‘I wish that more
than anything in the world, sire. I just could not see how the Thirsk name could survive.’

  ‘Through me, Ylena,’ Cailech said gently, greatly relieved by her answer and beguiled by her sorrowful beauty. ‘I give you this pledge: any child of ours will bear the name of Thirsk. This will infuriate Celimus, of course, which is really rather satisfying,’ he said, winking at Aremys. ‘Does this please you, my lady? I would allow you to call him Fergys or even Wyl to honour your dead.’

  ‘It pleases me, sire,’ Wyl replied, taken aback by Cailech’s generosity.

  ‘Then come, my lady. Let me take you to your new home and allow me to show you off to your new people. I will make you a Queen, Ylena.’

  Wyl sighed and dredged up a wan smile for Ylena’s face. ‘You honour me, sire,’ he said. His mind was racing for a way to escape the Razors again and quickly — or, at the very least, to die trying.

  Fynch could barely raise his head when Knave returned.

  It is Wyl, as you warned. I think he is with King Cailech, the dog said.

  The news roused Fynch, although he could not sit up, could only open his eyes. ‘How do you know it’s the Mountain King?’

  I heard them talking and I saw the men defer to him. Ylena shares his horse and his cloak is far grander than any of the other men who travel with him.

  ‘How in Shar’s name could this have occurred?’

  No point in us speculating. They had an altercation. From what I can gather, Wyl was at Briavel but somehow convinced Valentyna to hand him over to Celimus.

  ‘Celimus! Where is he?’

  I couldn’t tell from their conversation. But I do know Wyl tried to get himself killed.

  ‘He cannot invite death!’ Fynch exclaimed and coughed. Knave saw blood on the boy’s hand when he took it away from his mouth. ‘Elysius mentioned it to us, remember… after Wyl stormed out of the cottage in the Wild?’