Revelyn: 2nd Chronicles - The Time of the Queen

by Chris Ward

‘Orcxyl, what else might you use?’ And without hesitation Orcxyl replied.

  ‘You are your daughter’s kindma. It is possible that with your scent I can pick up a trace.’ At this Sylvion nodded.

  ‘What must you do?’ she replied, but Orcxyl already had his mind upon the matter.

  ‘With your permission My Lady,’ he whispered softly, such that none of the others heard him, and immediately he reached to Sylvion and lifted her hair and placed his nose upon her neck and breathed in her woman’s scent...

  Gravyn was immediately enraged at what he took to be a most unseemly liberty and sprang upon Orcxyl and knocked him to the ground.

  ‘You cur, you dog that you should sniff upon the Queen like a common market mongrel,’ he snarled. It all happened in an instant and even the speed of one such as Reigin was defeated by Gravyn’s act and all were amazed once more for Orcxyl was on his feet in a moment and in his hands were his bow full drawn, and a poisoned arrow aimed at Gravyn’s heart. Without thinking Rema stepped between them as Reigin grabbed Gravyn by the arm and threw him back to a safer distance. And then all stood in silence and waited, for none knew quite what to say.

  ‘My Lady he sniffs you like a common dog. Surly this is not acceptable to you?’ Gravyn spoke with a deep anger and no fear, for it was clear he felt his act was right. He stood and looked at Sylvion alone and it was as if the others did not exist. The fact that Orcxyl’s arrow would slay him in a moment seemed not to make the slightest difference.

  ‘Once again Gravyn you take matters too far,’ Sylvion said quietly but with an anger which could not be ignored. ‘I asked for Orcxyl to assist me. I gave him the right to do as he did, to find upon my person some scent which might give a clue to which road my daughter travelled. His gift is strange but we need it now and I do not need your dislike of this man to interfere in what I desire.’ Gravyn seemed to relax little at these strong words. ‘Do you understand me Gravyn?’ Sylvion continued. The archer stood tall and nodded, but it was clear it was in response to his Queen’s words, and not for any slight he may have imparted to Orcxyl.

  ‘I apologise to My Lady.’ Gravyn said.

  ‘No you apologise to Orcxyl,’ Sylvion commanded. Gravyn tensed and once more it was clear to all that this might be too hard, for his pride was full upon him; but as Sylvion stood unmoving, and Gravyn saw the angry fire in her eyes, he spoke, but he did not look at Orcxyl.

  ‘I apologise Hunter,’ he said slowly, and then turned and walked off to where the horses grazed. Orcxyl lowered his bow and replaced his arrow in his small quiver.

  ‘I will slay him if he lays a finger on me again,’ he said with deadly force.

  ‘No you will not,’ Sylvion said in even firmer tone. ‘We will travel together and we will not let our differences destroy us. Surely that is what evil wants. I will deal with Gravyn, Orcxyl. You will refer all matters to me.’ And now her eyes bored deep into his being and Orcxyl too allowed her to rule.

  ‘My Lady, I will comply, but I am sorely tested by his words and his actions.’

  ‘I think we all are,’ Sylvion replied, ‘but perhaps there is a deeper reason which none has sought to find. We all travel with some secrets do we not?’ And these words struck them as being of great wisdom. ‘Now Orcxyl, continue,’ Sylvion commanded and once more Orcxyl stepped close to her and filled his mind with her scent. He then stood back and allowed the smell to reach deep into his brain where his strange and remarkable gift sought to store it and allow his sight to see things which no other might.

  After a moment Orcxyl went to where the roads divided and stood for some time and looked in the dirt. He walked up and down and stared and stood with the sun before him and behind him. He studied all three of the paths and then at last he came back and stood before Sylvion.

  ‘What have you found Orcxyl?’ she asked gently, hoping that this strange man would once more surprise them all.

  Orcxyl smiled in a manner which completely belied his words.

  ‘Nothing My Lady. I see not the slightest sign of your daughter’s passing.’

  Reigin then sought to make some sense of it all. ‘If she was riding or on a cart, then would she leave a trail you could see, and after so long Orcxyl?’ he inquired sincerely, and Orcxyl shook his head.

  ‘No, she would need to be walking, and perhaps that is too much to expect if there was a long journey ahead. Why make her walk?’ he replied quietly.

  ‘Why indeed?’ Rema added with no idea what next they might try, but Sylvion persisted still.

  ‘I remember Reigin when long ago I was taken on a journey with you as my captor. From Wildwood to Fisher, you must remember that. Did I not walk behind a horse at first to show that I was but a lowly prisoner? Perhaps this is not impossible?’ Rema and Reigin shook their heads but once more it was Orcxyl who had an idea.

  ‘Let us wait till the night,’ he said. ‘I will have a keener sight in the dark, for what tracks might remain are likely lost to me in this sunlight.’ And as this seemed the only possibility they went once more to sit in front of the fire in the ruined inn and waited for the night to come; but Gravyn stayed away, and Rema feared that the group was now greatly weakened by what had come to pass between the Hunter and the Archer. Gravyn stayed apart and did not return to the group until Sylvion herself went and brought him in to eat. He sat alone and none could know his mood for his face as always showed no emotion. As the night descended Orcxyl went alone to search for any further clue of the passing of Rayven Greyfeld. He requested that the others remain until his return; he did not want any disturbing the ground, for should a mark remain it would be so faint as to be easily lost by a single footfall upon it, and so they waited in silence and thought much upon what must be in their future. Reigin felt keenly the need to go to his people and prepare them for some passing from the land. He felt a deep sorrow that the Edenwhood were to fade from Revelyn and the manner of it filled his mind for it was a troubling mystery. Rema thought long about his lost home in the Highlands and his parents waiting for his return, and Andes’ death, and Fryn now without any possibility of living life with her great love. And he looked upon Sylvion and wondered, for he had seen her power that day slay many men; half-men perhaps, but none could stand against her power. Even the evil sorcerer, the High Priest who had sacrificed without fear, time and again, had been but a helpless thing before her wrath. Rema felt a great love for Sylvion and yet for the first time her saw the gulf between them. A gulf of lifetimes, and of things done and memories gained, and he knew he was without hope in his feelings for such a one. He sighed deeply unaware, but Sylvion heard and looked at him. She smiled so warmly that once more Rema banished his doubts and held open the chance that she might love him too.

  Sylvion sat and judged her heart. She had long grown used to the coldness which came with the wielding of the Shadow Blade, but it still disturbed her greatly. Each time she took a life it seemed she lived further apart from those around her, and yet it was her companion and long ago she had lost the will to give it up. I grow colder still she thought. Just when I feel some new flicker of warmth and love towards another, and she looked at Rema and smiled for she heard his lovely sigh, each time it is stolen from me by the Blade. She looked away and thought of the Rema she had once loved and lost so long ago. Even him, I could not see just what I was losing, and now his likeness is before me in another, and I cannot respond for it seems foolish. But why not? He is the same man in body and gift. At least I could easily let myself believe this. What harm would come from letting love back into my life?

  And so she thought and Rema was unaware just what strength of feeling she felt for him, nor her confusion or concern that once more the Shadow Blade would in some manner stand between her desire for love and her duty to her Kingdom.

  And then there is Rayven and what must next be done she thought.

  Gravyn sat with a sadness in his heart which none would ever know, and he felt the distance which now stood between himself and the others, an
d grieved for his weakness and his lifelong hurt.

  Orcxyl stood at the crossroads and looked. In the dark he saw clearly where Sylvion had walked that day. Her tracks shone luminously in the dark, but none were near where he stood and so the land at his feet was clear of all other things which might stand to confuse him. He knelt and smelt the air close to the ground and allowed his gift to bring to his senses the very core of Sylvion’s scent which his brain had stored and held foremost in his consciousness.

  He saw nothing.

  He walked on the south road and from every place he thought might show something, he found no trace of anything which might excite further examination. So too the west road, which they all thought secretly was the path direct to Svalbard. He spent much time on this path and indeed walked half a league along it toward the mighty forest into which it disappeared some two leagues further on. He found nothing. On the north road he searched on hands and knees and carefully in places removed rocks and small branches and twigs which might obscure the faintest hidden trace.

  But in the end there was nothing.

  Finally Orcxyl stood and breathed the night air and felt a great frustration overtake him.

  There are no tracks he thought. She must have ridden past here, or else the rains have washed all scent away. He looked to a glow in the eastern sky low down on the far horizon. The moon is rising, he thought and soon many things will glint and shine and then the night is lost to further examination. But still he stood and looked around, west and south and north in turn, and then once more as if to allow the merest chance to have its opportunity.

  And then to the north he caught a glow, and it registered in Orcxyl’s brain with a sudden jolt, as if had stepped upon a Gnabi thorn. The Great Hunter narrowed his eyes and fixed the place and without pause walked directly toward it. It was a league at least along the northern path, the one he thought least likely. I see you now, he thought with a surge of knowing. I know it is the mark. She passed by this way, I am sure. He left the path when it curved off away from his direction and crossed a field and suddenly realised that the glow was high up and not on the ground at all. Twice he lost it as isolated trees blocked his view, but by careful travelling he finally stood below where it glowed, high up in a spruce standing next to the north road as it swung back once more to where he had arrived. Orcxyl climbed up to it and with delight discovered a small bird’s nest made of feathers and grasses and a single tiny piece of ribbon woven throughout the careful placements of each chosen element. He took the nest and made his way back to the distant ruined inn.

  ‘The Great Hunter succeeds again Freya,’ he whispered to the night air as he walked. ‘You would be proud of your brother,’ he continued, and imagined the gentle breeze upon his face was Freya’s reply.

  They all looked up expectantly as Orcxyl entered. Even Gravyn. Orcxyl went straight to the fire and stood with his back to it and enjoyed the warmth and waited for the words which he knew must come.

  ‘What success Orcxyl?’ Sylvion asked. ‘Is there any clue...’

  ‘I bring you a present My Lady,’ Orcxyl interrupted and handed her the wonderful and intricately made bird’s nest. ‘I think this is the nest of the snow dove, a rare bird in Revelyn but perhaps up here in the north it is...’

  ‘A nest!’ Sylvion exclaimed interrupting him in return, ‘you have spent this time looking for bird’s nests.’

  ‘Well it is well made and a beautiful thing to behold,’ Orcxyl said putting on an air of hurt that his present had not been better received.

  ‘Orcxyl was there any sign of Rayven?’ Reigin asked with a slight tinge of anger in his voice. They all looked at Orcxyl and waited for his reply.

  ‘My Lady the nest is well made, perhaps you might care to examine it.’ Orcxyl turned away and warmed his hands at the fire leaving them all to stare dumbfounded at his back. Sylvion shook her head and cast her eyes upon the nest and suddenly understood.

  ‘Orcxyl there is a ribbon here woven into the nest.’ Orcxyl smiled but did not turn back, allowing the others to work out his simple puzzle. Sylvion pulled the ribbon from the nest. ‘It is surely Rayven’s,’ she said, but half questioning for she was not sure.

  ‘It is her ribbon,’ Orcxyl replied confidently. ‘It carries your mark. I saw it glowing from a league off and found it high in a tree on the north road. It seems your daughter, My Lady, went north.’ He turned back to the others and enjoyed their stunned silence. ‘Does no one wish to thank the Great Hunter?’ Orcxyl asked, and so they did, with much warmth and admiration; even Gravyn nodded and whispered, ‘well done,’ although it was not heard by any, save himself.

  Rayven Greyfeld stared blankly up at the cold stone ceiling above her. It was a constant reminder of what her world had become now that she had arrived in Svalbard where all, it seemed to her, was grey and cold and stone. She turned on her uncomfortable bed which in truth was hardly that, just a stone bench and single thin-woven blanket which had seen its best years long before. She shivered with the cold and in a moment realised that the new day dawned and sleep was no longer a refuge from her trial. She sat and stretched, and then stood and eased her stiff neck back to life. The guard outside her cell, a brutal primitive half-man heard her stir and looked in through the tiny slit in the solid iron door. He took in a sudden breath for he was entranced by the beauty of this one. I wish I had my hands on you he thought, none here in Svalbard compares...it is no wonder Lord Zydor wants you for the sacrifice. He cursed. But what a waste; Ungarit must surely bless us greatly for offering such a one. Then realising that he had spied for overlong, he turned back quickly to stand attentive, fearful that his stolen moment might not have gone unnoticed. He glanced left and right and saw no one. He took a deeper breath and resumed his guarding, but his witless mind was full of the woman who stood so close and yet was beyond his wildest dreams.

  Rayven faced the window in the wall. It was high up but not beyond her ability to reach. This she had proven to herself from the first day of her incarceration. She stepped back to the opposite wall and then with a push and three quick steps she leapt onto the wall she faced, and thrust up, and grabbing the lower lip of the window opening, hauled herself up into it, for the wall at that point was perhaps two cubits thick, and as the bars were set to the outside it left quite a ledge for her to sit upon. She winced and cursed softly for once more despite her leggings she had grazed her knees and blood seeped again from under fresh scabs which had hardly dried since her last leap the day before. Rayven however cared little for her knees, but turned her attention to the view from her prison window. The bars were set wide enough apart to easily allow her to thrust her head out, and this she did and once more examined the wall and the world beyond for any possible means of escape. She knew it was futile but her mind would not let her rest until she had exhausted this simple daily ritual. She looked down at the wall of the fortress. It plummeted sheer for a hundred cubits to where a drab town of old stone and thatched roof cottages sprawled untidily in all directions down the mighty hill upon which her prison stood, and out onto an amazingly flat plain which stretched two leagues to mountain cliffs that seemed to surround everything. Above, the prison wall stretched even higher and she could not see much of its shape or where it ended, only that it was massive and perhaps dwarfed even the White Palace in Ramos, which she knew to be the biggest building in all Revelyn. Rayven had by now decided that the fortress in which she was held was built upon a mount at the centre of an old and mighty volcanic shell, for as far as she could see the sheer cliffs of the outer caldera curved in a great arc to her left and right. Far off under the towering wall of the outer cliffs she could see a strange walled compound which seemed well guarded and was perhaps a prison town, for it was large and many people went in and out each day. The plain was well farmed although the produce seemed frugal and the animals only barely surviving on the stubble and feed which grew there. From her great height she could make out no important detail of the people, but many were clear
ly the strange heavily muscled type which she had encountered far to the east in the ruined sunken city of the ancient Ravalin, with its evil temple. She shuddered at the memory of her awful encounter with the sorcerer in that place and the human sacrifice she had witnessed. Nothing before in her life had been so horrible.

  ‘Oh Lars,’ she whispered, ‘I hope you are still alive, and perhaps have even escaped...’ but immediately these soft words passed from her lips, her heart spoke, and told that he was doomed. She shook her head in deep sorrow. ‘I am sorry Lars for I know that you loved me, and you were loyal to the end...’ Rayven fought back her tears and forced herself once more to examine every detail of the sad landscape which stretched before her.

  I could squeeze out between the bars she thought but to what end. I cannot scale the wall either up or down. She shook her head. I must wait until some better opportunity arises. And with this simple assessment of her situation, unchanged from the previous days, Rayven settled into her tiny niche and watched the strange cold world of Svalbard begin another day. She was not however given long for suddenly a shout was heard. The guard outside her cell, unable to resist, had taken another look to see what he might of his beautiful prisoner, only to see the cell was empty.

  ‘Escape!’ he called. ‘She has escaped!’ And with that he threw open the door and followed by two others who had instantly responded to his cry, entered and looked about stunned for a moment until high up they spied Rayven looking down upon them. The two who had come laughed loudly.

  ‘Escape!’ they mimicked, ‘She escape us!’ And they pranced about imitating someone in great panic

  Rayven’s guard flew into an instant rage at their mockery, and struck back at his companions who just as quickly responded with their own assault until in quick time the confrontation had escalated into a real fight. Rayven was astonished at their pigheadedness and looked down in amazement. Within a very short space of time all three were bleeding and cursing and making sounds which only animals might make for not a word which they uttered made any sense. They seemed unaware of the noise they made, so entirely lost were they in their own private world of violence that they did not see the large and powerful figure that suddenly appeared and stood at the door to the cell, watching impassively for a moment before halting the brawl with a single word.