The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘We will find a way to restore you.’

  Turn me loose, I beg you. Tie the dog onto my back and let us go.

  ‘Aremys,’ Wyl gasped, ‘touch him. Hear what he’s planning.’

  The Grenadyne laid a hand on Galapek and shared the conversation.

  I must save my strength, Lothryn said, what little is left. Please, put Gueryn on my back and turn us loose.

  ‘Why?’ Wyl beseeched.

  I don’t know, in truth. It seems right. Don’t leave us here like this.

  ‘Do you know how to rid yourself of this guise?’ Aremys asked, heart lurching with hope.

  No. But something is compelling me to escape from here.

  Wyl frowned. ‘Why take Gueryn?’

  Do you want him to die here… in a stable?

  Aremys grimaced at the harsh words. ‘Where will you go?’

  I don’t know. Give him to me. You must leave, let us do the same.

  ‘We could lose you for ever,’ Wyl pleaded.

  You’ve lost us already. Let me try — let me see what or who this is calling to me.

  Wyl nodded, resigned to the endless misery of losing those he loved. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said to Aremys.

  They fashioned a sling from the linen in which Aremys had carried Gueryn to the stable and found a sack to hold the dog. Knave finished tending to the grey’s wounds.

  ‘Odd that he would do that,’ Wyl commented absently.

  ‘An instinctive attempt to heal the wounds perhaps?’ Aremys offered.

  ‘Or simply Knave’s way of showing his sorrow.’

  ‘He can breathe easily through the sackcloth,’ Aremys said.

  ‘He won’t be breathing much longer,’ Wyl said, stroking the dog’s face.

  ‘Come on, Wyl. You have to be strong,’ Aremys warned. ‘Like Fynch.’

  Fighting words. They rallied Wyl’s flagging spirits. ‘Yes, you’re right. Fynch is off fighting a lost cause; I should at least try.’ He hefted the injured dog into the sack and together he and Aremys tied the sack into the sling then onto a saddle on Galapek’s back.

  Aremys watched the King reach again towards the majestic face of Galapek. He knew this was intensely difficult for Wyl.

  ‘Haldor protect you, Lothryn,’ Wyl said.

  Shar go with you, Wyl. We shall see each other again.

  ‘Elspyth will kill me in an ugly fashion if not,’ he said, trying to lighten the heavy moment.

  Lothryn did not reply, simply waited for Wyl to make his farewell to Gueryn.

  Wyl cupped the grey dog’s face in his huge hands and kissed it, hoping that love and honour would somehow pour through that touch and reach the brave, dying man trapped inside.

  ‘As One,’ he whispered to the dog, and then the horse was off, moving through the great doors Aremys had pushed open.

  Galapek did not look back or make any noise of farewell; he simply cantered off into the blackness of the night.

  Rashlyn felt himself compelled to return to the clearing, even though every fibre of his being told him he should run. Curiosity had him in its grip and now he knew that the boy, Fynch, called himself the King of the Creatures, he wanted to know what that meant.

  ‘Come, Rashlyn,’ a voice called. It startled him, for he could see no one. Then Fynch shimmered before him. ‘It is time.’

  ‘For what?’ the barshi screamed at the child.

  ‘For you to die,’ Fynch replied, a new gravity in his voice. He too had left behind everyone he loved, deliberately cutting himself away from Wyl and Knave. He could not carry out his task, could not offer himself as Sacrifice, if they were near.

  Sacrifice. He understood now. It had taken some time to ponder its meaning and how he must apply it to this battle with Rashlyn. It meant more than death. It meant yielding. Fynch smiled, pleased that his neat, ordered mind had worked it out and could put it away now. He no longer had to tease at its complexity to unravel its secret.

  Faith Fynch. Sacrifice.

  The first wave came as Rashlyn hurled a magical avalanche of blows at Fynch, screaming with madness and anger as he loosed his powers.

  Around them the creatures of the mountains quietly gathered in awe. They had instinctively known for many hours that something momentous was about to occur, but were not sure what exactly. Now they knew. Ekons, ice bears, deer, snow hares, even the birds who had been spreading the news since dusk, gathered side by side, predator and prey, forgetting their fear or hunger for the time being as they witnessed a wild man doing battle with a creature they had never seen before. They knew of it only through stories handed down through the ages. A dragon.

  Rollo, Myrt and Byl saw Cailech glance at the muslin bundle tied over a horse. They could not see past the stern expression to the emotional battle going on inside. Wyl steeled himself not to look at Ylena’s corpse again. It was over. Her life was spent and had been given bravely, like all Thirsks before her.

  Beside Cailech’s horse stood a huge dog. He explained its presence to the Mountain men. ‘This is Knave. He is going to help us with what we must do, and is one of the reasons why Rashlyn no longer has any hold on me.’

  ‘Where is Rashlyn, sire?’ Myrt asked. He seemed fully recovered from the barshi’s attack now.

  ‘He is dead,’ Wyl risked, hoping he was telling the truth.

  ‘And Lothryn, your majesty?’ Rollo added.

  They deserved to know. ‘I have released him. Aremys here can talk to him and that was what Lothryn wanted.’

  Rollo gasped. All the talk of magic had been confusing enough, but now the King was saying the Grenadyne could communicate with the magically created animals? It was too much. ‘What? How?’

  ‘Myrt knows,’ Wyl replied. He was not in the mood to go into further discussion tonight. ‘He will explain. Right now we ride for Briavel.’

  ‘May I ask why, sire?’ Myrt said. His tone was hesitant but his manner firm.

  ‘To make a new peace treaty, this time with a Queen who needs the support of the Mountain People.’

  ‘Against the Morgravian Crown?’ Myrt asked, quickly grasping his King’s intent.

  It was Aremys who replied. ‘Celimus has no intention of keeping his promise to the Razor Kingdom. Our only hope of peace is with Briavel.’

  ‘But, sire,’ Rollo pleaded, ‘she is marrying Celimus. Her loyalties stand with him!’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ his King replied in a tone that discouraged further argument. ‘I need you to trust me. I have never led our people wrong so far. I will not do so now.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we come with you, sire?’ Myrt asked, far preferring to ride headlong into danger with his King than take over royal duties.

  ‘No. I need you here, Myrt. You and Rollo will keep everyone steady. And in case the horse returns — he will need friends, allies who know the truth.’ He said no more. It would not serve any purpose to get their hopes up that Lothryn might be restored.

  Myrt asked anyway. ‘Can the spells be reversed?’

  ‘It’s my keen hope they can be. According to Aremys, it is why Lothryn asked to be released.’

  ‘Where has he gone?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Aremys replied. ‘But he took the grey dog with him. We just have to hope he knows more than us, now that Rashlyn is finished.’

  Myrt nodded unhappily, a glum Rollo by his side. ‘Haldor keep you safe, sire.’

  Cailech nodded back, appreciating the warrior’s suffering and his wish to protect his King. ‘It is better this way, Myrt. We two can slip into and out of Briavel far more subtly than a mass of Mountain barbarians storming Werryl Palace.’

  ‘Get word to us the usual way,’ Myrt said and cocked his head towards a small box fastened to the side of the horse that carried Ylena.

  Wyl frowned, taking a moment to delve into Cailech’s memories. He understood. ‘I hope those pigeons are strong flyers,’ he said.

  ‘The best,’ Myrt answered. ‘Rollo’s top birds,’ and he grinned towards his compani
on.

  ‘All right. Keep faith. Look after Aydrech. If anything happens, if Celimus sets a raid, the boy must be protected at all costs.’

  The big man nodded. ‘I will take care of him personally.’

  ‘Good,’ Wyl said, adding, ‘Rotate the watches more regularly. I have no idea whether Celimus will attempt anything or not.’

  ‘Possibly not with a wedding not far away,’ Aremys commented drily.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Wyl replied, ‘the child’s safety is paramount.’ He leaned down and clasped each man’s hand in farewell, knowing full well that neither of these loyal Mountain warriors would see their King again.

  The horse arrived at the edge of the wood. Lothryn felt drawn towards the trees and as he entered their cover he felt the pulse of magic emanating from somewhere deep inside the forest. He also noted that he was feeling stronger, more himself, than at any time since the change had been inflicted on him. It was as though his own essence was a tiny flame flickering within the horse and now that flame was burning a fraction brighter. Pain continued to be his companion but, although he reminded himself he could be imagining it because the stunning arrival of Wyl in the guise of Cailech had so warmed his spirit, he believed the pain had lessened ever so slightly.

  Lothryn was reassured by the connection between him and the dog. He could feel its heartbeat — weak but still there. Hang on, Gueryn, he passed through the link, even though he had no idea whether the trapped man heard him or could even register something as subtle as another’s thoughts.

  Still following the compulsion, Lothryn pushed deeper into the wood until he came to a clearing. He stood at its fringe and looked in wonderment at the sight that confronted him — a huge dragon coated in a shimmering armour of scales. Its serpent-like neck was twisted and the great head was thrown back but there was no sound. The great beast was silent as wave after wave of sickening magical power pounded its body. Lothryn saw that deathly magic as a sickly brown colour, impenetrable by light. It was Rashlyn who was dealing the blows, his face a twisted mask of hate.

  Lothryn felt the impulse to rush forward and pummel the barshi with every last ounce of strength he could muster from Galapek’s powerful body, and yet something stopped him. He stared at Rashlyn and knew that if hate, madness and despair could be embodied then it would look exactly like the sorcerer punishing the magnificent winged creature before him. The dragon looked to be foundering as Rashlyn muttered a stream of unintelligible words. Although the sorcerer looked exhausted he was standing and seemed to be in control of this frightening drama.

  Looking around, Lothryn became aware of other creatures — dozens, no scores of them — clustered amongst the trees and dotted around the nearby foothills. He even saw ekons and flinched in fear, before realising they were as paralysed by the same awe that he was experiencing.

  A dragon! Who would have thought they truly existed? Lothryn had always considered them creatures of myth.

  Fight back! Lothryn begged.

  He won’t, replied a voice, startling him.

  He twisted to see who it was. A bird on a nearby branch stretched its wings. Who are you? the horse asked.

  I am Kestrel.

  And who is that? Lothryn asked, hiding his surprise at being able to communicate with a bird.

  That is the King. The King of us all. And he is sacrificing himself to save us. He was once Fynch.

  I gathered Fynch was a child?

  He is so much more.

  But I see him as a dragon, Lothryn persisted. There’s no boy there.

  He is still a child but the dragon reflects who he truly is.

  Lothryn was none the wiser for Kestrel’s explanation. He looked back at the dragon, which staggered slightly. Why doesn’t he use his powers? Surely he can topple a man!

  Oh yes, he could overcome the sorcerer with ease but he refuses to kill. That is the child in our King. He made a pact with himself, I think. I sensed it when he first spoke to me. There is no violence in Fynch. He agreed to destroy Rashlyn but in his own way.

  Lothryn felt his spirit lurch with grief for this brave boy, Wyl’s friend, now — like all of them — somehow changed by enchantment. So how can he beat the barshi?

  Kestrel’s sorrow came into his mind like a gale. By taking everything that is Rashlyn. He will absorb the storm of magic, consume the pain, devour the evil. Already his glow lessens. When the battle began, the King of the Creatures burned golden bright. See how the murky evil has dimmed him.

  But then he will die himself, Lothryn said, aghast.

  I suspect so, Kestrel agreed, bitterness now in his voice. But not before Rashlyn burns through his power until there is none left.

  Both creatures fell silent and kept vigil with all the other animals of the mountains, still gathering to pay homage to their King.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  WYL AND AREMYS SET OFF FROM the fortress in the dead of night, Knave trotting at their side. The Grenadyne chanced airing his concern to the grim-faced King at his side. ‘We cannot travel the Razors successfully at night, Wyl. Surely you know that the way down is treacherous?’

  ‘I do. We won’t be going far,’ came the reply, which hardly addressed the question.

  ‘If you’re intent on this mad journey into Briavel, why not leave at first light? We would easily make up the poor advantage of departing now.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t explained myself,’ Wyl said, turning to look directly at his anxious friend. ‘Leaving by horse was purely for appearances.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have another method of travel, much faster — though horribly unpleasant.’

  ‘Has becoming a King gone to your head?’ Aremys began to sound truculent. The night’s proceedings had worn down his emotional reserves. He was tired, angry at losing Cailech, furious at failing Lothryn and Gueryn, sad for Wyl and altogether sick to the back teeth of magic. He must have murmured the last thought aloud because Wyl answered him.

  ‘Well, just a little more magic to go. It was you who gave me the idea.’

  ‘Me! Whatever are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about the Thicket, Aremys. We will use the Thicket to travel.’

  That won the Grenadyne’s attention. He felt like he had been punched in the belly and could not speak for a few moments. Finally he said, ‘How?’

  ‘Knave. It’s why I insisted he come.’

  ‘He looks none too happy about it.’

  ‘He isn’t, believe me. I’ve never known him be this aloof.’

  ‘Because he had to leave behind Fynch presumably?’

  ‘Correct. The two of them are inextricably linked.’

  ‘But you told me he was your dog.’

  Wyl sighed. ‘It’s complicated,’ he said and smiled sadly. ‘Knave loves us all and has protected all of us. Now he is having to suffer each of us dying, and me so many times over.’

  Aremys did not want to talk of death again. ‘So how can the dog help us?’

  ‘He is of the Thicket. He is our connection to it.’

  ‘And?’ Aremys was still baffled.

  ‘Remember how you suddenly found yourself between the fringe of Timpkenny and the Razors…?’

  Aremys frowned, and then a dawning occurred. ‘Oh no, you jest, surely?’

  He saw Cailech’s eyes — now settled back to their pale green — sparkle in the light of the flaming torch he carried. ‘Not this time, my friend.’

  Aremys began to stutter, words falling out on top of each other. ‘But how do you summon it, command it, control it?’

  Cailech’s shoulders shrugged and a twitch of a grin at his mouth disappeared as rapidly as it arrived. ‘We just have to trust the Thicket.’

  ‘That place is no friend of mine, Wyl. It cast me out, remember? What if it hurts me this time?’

  ‘It won’t.’

  ‘You sound so confident,’ Aremys blustered, unsettled by this idea of Wyl’s. He did not trust the Thicket.

  ‘I am. T
he Thicket will not hurt either of us — firstly, because we travel with Knave, and secondly, because of our connection to Fynch. The boy means everything to the Thicket, I believe.’

  ‘How do we know it can do this?’

  ‘It threw me all the way to Briavel in seconds,’ Wyl said.

  Aremys gasped. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘There is so much you don’t know,’ Wyl said, his voiced laced with regret. ‘The fact that Fynch will die this night, doing what he has done since I first met him.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Acting out of sacrifice, loyalty, love. He has always put others before himself. Or that Valentyna will marry Celimus, come what may.’

  Aremys now felt utterly baffled. ‘I thought we were going to Briavel to try to prevent it?’

  He saw Cailech shrug. ‘I can’t read the future,’ Wyl said. ‘Elysius told me that she will marry the King of Morgravia.’

  ‘Why do we go then?’

  ‘Because Fynch told me that Myrren’s gift is still subject to randomness.’

  Aremys looked quizzically at the King of the Mountains. They were moving slowly, often raising an arm to acknowledge scouts and guides on higher ridges who were recognisable only by the flicker of their small fires. A special flame burning on top of the fortress told these guards that their King was passing, so the two men had no fear of being attacked or stopped. ‘I don’t understand any of this, Wyl.’

  ‘I hardly understand it myself,’ Wyl admitted. ‘Fynch believes that random acts can still affect the outcome of Myrren’s gift.’

  ‘And so you will try and do something to prevent the Queen marrying Celimus, is that right?’

  ‘In truth I don’t see how I can. I think I am going there simply so that I may see her before I die again.’

  Aremys reined in his horse and Wyl followed suit, knowing his statement was too provocative to be ignored. ‘Why?’ his friend demanded. ‘Stay as Cailech — you can achieve so much. Let’s turn back. You say yourself that you cannot affect the outcome of the marriage. We have friends here, loyal people. You are a King. You can live. Stop the gift now!’

  ‘Only one thing will stop it, Aremys,’ Wyl said, weariness in his tone now.