The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Wyl paused and looked at his friend. ‘Is this all right with you?’

  ‘My pleasure to be responsible for his death,’ the big man replied. ‘I’ll ensure the body is disposed of carefully too.’

  ‘What about the executioner?’ Valentyna asked. ‘He will know that it was Cailech I executed, not Jessom. And there were a few other guards in the courtyard too.’

  ‘Apparently they were all mercenaries, your majesty,’ Crys offered, ‘not true Legionnaires, and I have a list here of their names, as Jessom — I mean, Wyl — ordered. We can easily track them down and either pay them to keep their silence, or use other means. Same for the executioner.’

  ‘No, the executioner need not die. He is a good man,’ said Wyl, remembering how Featherstone had asked him not to make Valentyna’s task any harder. ‘When you find him, bring him to me. I shall explain.’ He offered no further explanation and no one pushed him for one.

  ‘What reason do we hazard for Jessom’s betrayal of the King?’ Crys asked.

  Wyl tugged at his ear again. ‘I can say I had a discussion with Jessom the night before the wedding and shared with him my understanding that Celimus intended to lay the blame for so many deaths firmly at the Chancellor’s feet. The King would have needed to explain the deaths to the nobles somehow, and that would be an ideal solution. And so they can assume that Jessom killed Celimus out of revenge. Let’s be honest, few of the nobles are going to grieve at the news of the King’s death.’

  ‘They’ll probably have to grit their teeth to prevent themselves from cheering, if truth be known,’ Aremys commented.

  ‘Then we have the perfect opportunity at the wedding feast to explain our position,’ Wyl continued. ‘We should be as honest as we can. Celimus is dead — we cannot escape this.’

  ‘I shall throw Felrawthy’s support behind Valentyna as the new sovereign of Morgravia,’ Crys Donal offered. ‘Hopefully others will follow the Donal lead.’

  ‘That’s generous of you, Crys,’ Valentyna said, ‘but I worry about Morgravia accepting me. Surely there is another family they would argue is more suitable?’

  ‘They might,’ Crys said, ‘but that family is my own; we are distantly related to the Crown. I would not accept, however. Believe me, it’s the last thing I wish for. I belong in the north, and you, Valentyna, already have one crown on your head. In marrying Celimus you accepted the second.’ He shrugged as if to say she no longer had much choice in the matter.

  ‘He’s right,’ Wyl said. ‘And I think they will accept you if the right voices are behind you. We must speak with Lord Hartley too — he is a powerful voice and will probably be the most pleased amongst the lords to hear of Celimus’s death, as he only just escaped being killed himself. We can thank Jessom for that mercy.’

  ‘You can’t be seen here, Crys,’ Wyl went on. ‘The nobles have been told that Cailech slaughtered your family so it’s unthinkable you would even be in the same room as him. In fact you should go and change into your formal wear, get your hair colour back to normal and join the nobles to hear what is said at the wedding feast.’

  Crys nodded. ‘So I know nothing of this, right?’

  ‘Correct,’ Wyl said. ‘But we shall be revealing the fact of Celimus’s death at the banquet so you can have your say then.’

  Valentyna said aloud what they were all thinking. ‘I know this is all a lie but Celimus and Jessom deserve no better.’

  Aremys had one last question. ‘What about the Quickening?’

  Wyl smiled and turned to Valentyna. ‘I believe the magic will be satisfied if I become sovereign of Morgravia through marriage, instead of through Celimus,’ he said. ‘That is, if Queen Valentyna will have me?’

  Crys and Aremys had gone off to fulfil their various roles in getting Morgravia to accept the death of their King and the reign of their new Queen. Wyl and Valentyna were finally alone.

  Wyl took Valentyna’s hand, ready to pour out all that was in his heart, when there came a knock at the door. He smiled sadly and nodded at her to answer it. ‘We have a lifetime ahead now, my love,’ he said, and kissed her fingers.

  The Queen took a moment to compose herself, then called out, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Renton, your majesty.’

  My page, Valentyna mouthed to Wyl. She went to the door and opened it a crack, to hide the interior of the chamber from curious eyes. ‘Yes?’ she said.

  ‘The nobles are gathered in the banquet hall, your highness. They await their King and Queen.’

  FORTY-FIVE

  A TALL MAN CLUTCHING a child walked into a sunlit clearing, emerging from the tangled mass of the curiosity known as the Thicket. He was followed by a magnificent black horse.

  Gueryn looked at the boy in his arms, pale and lifeless, and wanted to cry. To him, the death of young Fynch was the embodiment of all his sorrows. The passing of this courageous child echoed the bravery of so many who had died since that terrible day when Wyl Thirsk’s eyes had first changed colour. Gueryn had no idea what they were doing in this strange place that reeked of magic, but he had been drawn here, with Fynch and Galapek, as if he no longer controlled the direction he moved in. He had braved the sinister darkness of the yews to emerge into this clearing. What must he do next?

  His wonderings were answered, somewhat disturbingly, by an oversized owl who pierced him with a grave yellow gaze and said into his mind, Put him on the ground, please. The Thicket wishes to feel him.

  Gueryn obeyed. He had seen so much that was strange, not even a huge talking bird could shock him now.

  We of the Thicket are pleased to see you restored, Gueryn le Gant.

  Gueryn bowed to the bird. ‘It was Knave, I believe, who saved my life.’

  He is here, you can thank him yourself, Rasmus said and turned his head to where a massive black dog bounded out from the shadow of the yews.

  ‘Knave!’ Gueryn called, kneeling to greet the dog. ‘I owe you my life,’ he whispered to his saviour, hugging him close.

  The dog barked and then, as he looked at the child on the ground, began to whine sadly, sniffing every inch of the boy’s body.

  ‘Can you help Lothryn?’ Gueryn asked, the plea evident in his voice.

  A great evil has been wrought upon this beast, Rasmus replied. I cannot undo it.

  Gueryn laid his hand on Galapek’s strong neck. Had this journey been for nothing then? As he mourned the tragic fate of the Mountain man, the sun-drenched patch where they stood was suddenly darkened by a great shadow. Gueryn looked up and was astounded to see something huge descending upon them. He could not guess what it was.

  The King comes, Rasmus said reverently.

  Now Gueryn could make out the shape looming above them. ‘A dragon?’ he whispered, overcome by awe.

  The massive creature landed, shaking the ground. Its scales shimmered with dark, seemingly ever-changing colours.

  Gueryn was on his knees in a second, in veneration. He lifted his head a fraction and dared to stare, goggle-eyed, at the fantastic creature before him.

  Welcome, Gueryn le Gant, it said. We owe you our thanks for returning Faith Fynch to us.

  ‘Can you help him, sire?’ Gueryn pleaded, unsure of how to address the magical creature the bird had called King.

  Not in the way you would like, the dragon’s deep voice answered gently. But yes, although Fynch’s life amongst your kind is over, he will live on in a new form.

  The dragon turned its attention to the trembling horse. Come to me, poor Galapek.

  The stallion came to stand before the King of the Creatures and effected a gracious bow of sorts. The scene brought tears to Gueryn’s eyes. He instinctively stepped back from the horse and the dragon as he sensed — that was the only word for it — the thrum of a powerful magic gathering. The clearing exploded into a dazzling golden light which burned for several moments. Although he tried to peer through it, its intensity prevented Gueryn from seeing anything. It blazed like a huge fire; he could feel its warmth and
hear its crackle as it flamed around them, then suddenly disappeared. The rays of sunlight remaining seemed dull by comparison.

  Standing where Galapek had been was a huge man. His body was shaking and his head was thrown back, mouth open in silent prayer.

  ‘Lothryn!’ Gueryn called, tears flowing freely now, running down his face into his straggly beard. He ran towards the Mountain man and grabbed him just as he toppled, taking them both heavily to the ground.

  Let him recover for a few moments, the dragon advised. He is weak now and will remain so for some time.

  Gueryn nodded. ‘When I was bringing Fynch here, I thought I heard the boy call Wyl’s name. It was the only word he uttered. Did I imagine it?’

  Fynch did not die at Rashlyn’s hands, as you suspected. He died because he chose to relinquish his spirit and his power. If he had kept both, things might have turned out differently.

  ‘What do you mean, your majesty?’ Gueryn asked, hoping he used the right title.

  Fynch was a sacrifice, the Dragon King said and Gueryn heard genuine sorrow in the creature’s tone. We demanded so much and he accepted all that we asked of him, giving his life freely. His one request was that he could use his power to aid your Wyl Thirsk. He asked for nothing for himself. Rashlyn did not kill the boy. Fynch was far stronger than even we had anticipated.

  ‘But I thought —’

  You heard true; Fynch did call Thirsk’s name. He needed to send himself a long way to reach Wyl, and he was so weakened by the fight with Rashlyn that he had to make a decision. He could not maintain life in his body and also send himself to Wyl. It was a risk he was prepared to take.

  ‘He chose Wyl?’ Gueryn could not contain his emotion. Perhaps all was not over for his precious boy.

  Fynch made the ultimate sacrifice for his friend. He gave his life.

  Gueryn bowed his head. He grieved for the child yet he so badly wanted to know that Wyl lived. ‘And Wyl Thirsk?’ he asked, frightened to hear the reply.

  Wyl Thirsk lives, le Gant, as the Mountain King. And Celimus is dead.

  It was all such a shock, but — apart from Wyl being alive — this was the best news he had received. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Gueryn admitted. He could tell that the dragon, along with the strange creatures he now noticed gathering around the fringe of the clearing, were hurting at the loss of Fynch. Even the Thicket itself seemed to be pulsating with a sense of sorrow.

  We shall provide horses to take you and Lothryn from here, was all the dragon replied.

  Lothryn spoke as a man for the first time in as long as he could remember. It hurt, just as it hurt to breathe, even to think. ‘Elspyth?’ was all he could manage. The dragon turned to regard him with huge black eyes which seemed to absorb light instead of reflecting it. She clings to life, Mountain man. Go to Argorn in Morgravia, and hurry.

  Both men paid homage once again to the King of the Creatures. But there was still one thing left to ask.

  Gueryn cleared his throat and looked at the tiny bundle on the ground beside him. ‘The boy? Should I take him back to his family or…’

  We are Fynch’s family now, the dragon replied gently. He is one with me and my flesh.

  ‘I don’t understand, sire,’ Gueryn said as he helped Lothryn to his feet.

  Fynch was no ordinary gong boy. He was sired by Magnus, King of Morgravia.

  Gueryn paled. ‘Did Magnus know?’ he asked, astonished he could sound so composed.

  No.

  ‘What are you telling us, your majesty?’

  That Fynch is the true Dragon King. As you know, the Kings of Morgravia have always been bonded exclusively to the dragon. No one else but they are permitted to claim union with me.

  Gueryn shook his head with wonder. ‘This is a revelation, your majesty. You mean Fynch was a Prince of Morgravia?’

  Now Celimus is dead, he becomes a King.

  ‘There must be something you can do, great one,’ Gueryn said, looking around wildly. ‘This place is enchanted. Surely Fynch can be saved?’

  There is something I can do, Gueryn, the dragon said patiently. Watch. The two men looked on incredulously as the creature of legend tenderly lifted the tiny boy in its huge claws. A blaze of golden light surrounded Fynch the instant the dragon touched him, and the gold in turn was fringed by a riot of dark iridescent colours that echoed the creature’s ever-changing hues.

  We are one — dragon and king unified. The dragon’s voice boomed deep in their minds as he wrapped his vast wings about the tiny body, cocooning it. Then he threw back his head and roared. It was a sound of triumph and his scales all became gold, dazzling and sparkling in the drench of sunlight. He opened his wings to their full span and both men inhaled sharply. Fynch’s body was gone.

  And then a new voice spoke to them. Thank you, Gueryn, Lothryn. Courageous Knave, I shall never forget you. It was Fynch.

  Knave leapt up and let loose with a howl that even the men could tell was one of victory. They clung to one another, tears and laughter mingling as they shared in the creatures’ triumph that Fynch lived on. He was the Dragon King.

  Farewell, Fynch called. This will be our secret. I trust you will honour it.

  The dragon beat its powerful wings and the resulting air movement drove the two men backwards. They held onto one another as the great beast lifted effortlessly into the sky, disappearing towards the east, into the Wild.

  Rasmus broke the awed silence. It is time for you to leave us, he said, looking to where two horses emerged from the yews. They are yours now.

  Gueryn nodded, still tongue-tied from all the emotions surging through him: sorrow and joy, elation and awe. It had all happened so fast.

  Elspyth is in Argorn as you have been told, Lothryn, Rasmus continued matter-of-factly. Wyl is in Stoneheart, Gueryn. We shall not meet again, although Knave has agreed to accompany you. Brace yourselves, the Thicket is sending you…

  They arrived moments later beneath the cover of a small stand of trees. The air was sweet-smelling and Gueryn instantly recognised their surroundings as the region of Argorn. He knew precisely where they were too: in a small copse barely an eighth of a mile from the Thirsk family estate.

  He looked at his companion. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Weak enough to lie down here and never get up again, yet so energised by the thought that Elspyth is close that I could run all the way to her.’

  ‘Then do that, my friend. And when you reach her, hold her tight and never let go. Bring her to Stoneheart as soon as she is well. She may be in a position to bear witness to some events, and I’m sure you will have things to work out for your people in the Razors.’

  Lothryn smiled. It felt strange to be happy, to know pleasure again. ‘Thank you, Gueryn. May our realms never be enemies again.’

  ‘Between you and Wyl, I’m sure you’ll see to it.’

  ‘I shall raise Aydrech as a proud ally.’

  ‘Hurry to the capital,’ Gueryn reminded him. ‘I’ll let Wyl know you are coming.’

  The two men embraced and then parted to follow separate paths. The Mountain man rode towards the grand manor where he knew an ailing woman waited for him. The Morgravian, with a huge black dog coursing beside him, galloped off towards Pearlis.

  EPILOGUE

  CAILECH’S LONG ARMS reached around Valentyna and hugged her close. They were standing on the small balcony of Magnus’s old war tower. It was the only place Wyl could think of where they might be truly alone for a short while.

  ‘Do you have to go north so soon?’ she asked.

  There was amusement in his voice. ‘You already have the nobles twirled around your little finger, Valentyna. Truly, you’ll handle yourself brilliantly and I’ll be back before you know it. The meeting with the nobles went much better than we could have dreamed.’

  She shook her head with wonder. ‘Thanks to Lord Hartley coming out of hiding and revealing just how treacherous Celimus was, even to his own nobility.’

 
; ‘We shall be married by summer’s end, how’s that?’

  Valentyna nodded glumly, knowing it would simply not be appropriate any sooner.

  Wyl continued, ‘I know you understand that I want to be with Crys when he returns to Felrawthy. We shall grieve together at Tenterdyn and our prayers will cleanse it.’

  The Queen sounded uncharacteristically sulky when she replied. ‘Crys is so smitten with Georgyana Bench, I’m sure he’ll hardly notice your presence.’ She saw his expression turn serious and was instantly contrite. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just so scared of losing you again.’

  ‘I know,’ he said gently and kissed her head. He loved being taller than her. This was the end of the curse on his life: he would remain Cailech now until he took his very last breath. Considering some of the guises he had lived in, he was happy to settle for this one, especially as he knew Valentyna found the King of the Razors irresistible. ‘You won’t lose me again, I promise you.’

  ‘How long will you be gone? It was Aremys who told me you’d be going to the Razors. Were you too scared to share that news with me yourself?’

  Wyl laughed. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact. I may be Wyl to you, but I have to make an effort to be Cailech to everyone else. I must return to the Razors and do the right thing by his people.’

  ‘You’re going to appoint Lothryn to rule in your stead, I gather?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s fitting. The people will understand that now I am planning to marry the southern Queen, I will spend a lot of my time here. But an absent King is not good for their needs so Lothryn will administer the realm — and far better than I can, I’m sure.’