‘Maybe not,’ Saxon replied carefully, taking her hands from his face and wrapping them in his own. He pulled her close again. Alyssa began to tremble. The joy of moments earlier had fled, to be replaced with horror.
Saxon spoke softly, close to her ear. ‘I have just learned that Goth escaped the night before Tor’s death, but it was hushed up. The Shield was confident of tracking him down within hours.’ He sensed a torrent of questions and squeezed her to prevent them pouring out. ‘He escaped with the help of an accomplice. Xantia.’
This time a shriek escaped her but he continued. ‘The Shield has not relented in its efforts to find him and has kept a constant vigil in all parts of the Kingdom for years now, but with no success. I want to help them search, which is why I leave tonight.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You’re going to hunt him down?’
‘Now that I know he lives, I must.’
‘Where are you going? Why must you leave now?’
‘No time to waste, Alyssa. I’m heading north, to Caradoon.’
‘Alone?’ She looked disturbed.
‘Only initially. Herek is headed north as well; the Shield is at Kyrakavia.’
Alyssa shook her head. ‘Why Caradoon? Actually, I don’t think I’ve even heard of it,’ she added.
‘Good thing, too. It’s inhabited by the dregs of Tallinese society, those who don’t necessarily stick to the laws of the Land. It’s just a feeling I have, Alyssa. I tried to work out where I might head if I was a notorious outlaw like Goth and it occurred to me that Caradoon is just the sort of place where someone on the run, who also has such a distinctive face to hide, might go. People keep themselves to themselves up there—everyone’s secrets are safe.’
He had more to say but was annoyed to be disturbed by a page running towards them, calling breathlessly for Alyssa to present herself in the royal chambers. Saxon let his irritation show. ‘At this hour?’
‘Hush,’ Alyssa said quietly, ‘it is the King’s summons.’
The page said nothing further; his large eyes darted between them. He had his orders and did not know how to respond when questioned about them. He was just a lad.
Alyssa stood and pushed her hair back from her solemn face. ‘I’m coming, Edwyd. You go ahead.’
The page ran off and she turned back to Saxon, who was on his feet now and clearing the remnants of their supper into Alyssa’s basket.
He kissed her quickly. ‘I’ll be back soon. You are safe—don’t worry.’
He left her inside the palace gates, calling back to her, ‘Tell Gyl to practise his sword skills. The Swan, in particular—he’s hopeless at it.’
Tor and Cloot were deep in the Heartwood, surrounded by the Flames of the Firmament. Solyana and Arabella were there too, silent in the shadows. They had been summoned to keep vigil over Tor’s body. For now, however, all were listening to Darmud Coril.
‘I will keep your body alive, Torkyn Gynt, but mark my words: you have two sunsets to complete your task. Once the sun sinks on the second evening, so will your spirit…beyond my reach. You must return to your body by that time or you will be lost.’
Tor never failed to be fascinated by the hypnotic chiming of the Flames and their dazzling colours but this night he gave his full attention to the god of the forest. There was no mistaking the grave warning which had just been delivered.
‘I hear you, Darmud Coril. I will heed you.’
‘Cloot,’ the god addressed the bird, ‘is this your wish too?’
Cloot leapt to Tor’s shoulder. Tor instinctively touched him.
The god spoke before the falcon could. He needed no answer. That brief gesture between the two had said enough. The barest of smiles creased his face and flickered in his soft, gentle eyes.
‘Brave Cloot of the Paladin, our strength will travel with you. You will need it. The Heartwood will speed you on your journey. Let it guide you.’
There was nothing else to say. Tor linked with the Flames, having memorised their special trace.
Keep me safe, beloved Flames, he whispered to them.
He was rewarded by their chiming in unison, a note long and loud.
Solyana spoke for the first time. Listen for our call, Tor. Please return to us.
Arabella added a final warning. ‘Don’t be reckless, Tor.’
He nodded solemnly and then lay down on the spongy forest floor. The Flames followed, dancing around him. Cloot flew to a branch hanging overhead. The cluster of Flames split into two, one group remaining with Tor, the other sweeping to encircle the falcon in a similar blaze of fiery tongues.
Tor closed his eyes and spoke gently to his friend. Ready?
As I ever will be, the bird replied.
The Flames of the Firmament increased in intensity in both colour and sound, surrounding Tor and Cloot with coloured light so bright that neither Solyana nor Arabella could see their shapes any longer. Tor summoned his own Colours and allowed their purity to roar through him. He let them mingle with those of the Flames and felt such an enormous well of power at his call that he suddenly knew the Spiriting itself would be very simple.
He imagined where Cloot was perched, pulled all that was himself into a tight ball and lifted from inside. It felt effortless. For a moment he floated, but he knew not to linger and within another blink he opened his eyes and saw the black and white of Cloot’s world through the bird’s vision. It was an odd sensation, yet familiar. He recalled this awkward discomfort from when he had thrown himself into Merkhud’s body all those years ago.
Welcome, Tor. Cloot’s voice sounded even deeper and smoother from within.
Tor felt Cloot stretch his wings and he stretched with them. It was a marvellous sensation.
I am honoured to be here, Tor replied with genuine humility.
Make yourself at home, Cloot said as they lifted off gracefully into the night.
Tor just had time to look down at his own body. The Flames continued to burn brightly around its form. Solyana and Arabella had taken up their vigil and sat one on either side of his body. There they would remain until he returned.
They flew higher. Tor was amazed to see through Cloot’s eyes that the Heartwood seemed to be leading them.
Cloot read his thoughts. We must follow that finger.
But what happens when we leave the Heartwood?
The Great Forest will guide us. It will show us the fastest way to Caradoon.
Until there is no more forest, Tor thought. But he refused to entertain any pessimistic thoughts. Cloot, this is the most exhilarating experience ever. He whooped loudly into Cloot’s mind.
The falcon chuckled with him, enjoying his friend’s pleasure at something he now took for granted. His keen eyes picked out the sudden movement below.
Hold on. I see dinner.
Before Tor could protest, Cloot had banked up high, turned almost on himself and swooped into a sharp dive which would have made Tor close his eyes if only they were his. He felt a momentary nausea, which vanished in the fascination and thrill of the hunt. He could see the prey now. A young hare.
It had broken cover of the trees and was nibbling on some juicy grasses which were luring it further and further from the sanctuary of the forest. Tor shared Cloot’s knowledge and realised it was the young creature’s inexperience showing. No adult hare would be this daring…or stupid, he thought sadly.
Once again it was as though Cloot was reading his mind. We have to eat, Tor. It will be over quickly, I promise.
Their speed was as fast as Cloot would ever go. Shaped like an arrow, the falcon dropped silently from the sky, judging the quarry perfectly and giving it no chance to flee. When the hare realised its fatal error, it was already too late. It turned and made for the trees but Cloot used his immense speed from the descent to swoop, claws outstretched. Tor could almost smell the young buck’s fear as it zigzagged instinctively. They hit the hare with terrible force. The falcon’s sharp claws ripped through its fur and sunk in deeply, tearing flesh as t
he bird continued its momentum. Finally they stopped, just inches from the trees. Tor remembered Solyana’s warning: no animal may be killed in the Heartwood. Cloot had been very careful.
The dying hare struggled bravely, yet knowing that death was but a breath away. Cloot kept his word. It was over quickly and once his razor-sharp beak had ripped into the creature’s neck, Tor had the sensation of tasting blood. It was warm and rich, pumping still as the heart of the hare—now in its death throes—slowed.
A mixture of fascination and horror claimed Tor’s consciousness. There was something primeval about this feast which he did not feel he should share. He was an intruder in Cloot’s body. This was not his business. He tried to shield. He could not. They were one right now. And so he did what he could and withdrew, pulling himself as far back into the spirit of Tor as possible. Small and silent he waited whilst Cloot fed for both of them.
Later, Cloot perched on one of the highest branches of the tallest tree and cleaned himself of the hare’s entrails.
That was not fun for you, Tor. It was not a question.
Is it for you?
More than I could tell you. I feel invincible, all-powerful, during the chase.
Flying with you is amazing. Feeding with you is not. Thank you for making it quick.
Cloot began sharpening his beak. We’ll be off shortly but I must complete my ablutions.
Don’t hurry for me, old friend. My body’s just dying back there.
They shared a laugh together. It felt almost like old times when life had not been quite so complicated.
Do we have a plan, Tor?
Not really. Languishing back in the Heartwood felt wrong. Reading those books seemed to snap me out of a stupor. Goth is dangerous and still at large. Orlac is still coming. Alyssa remains in danger and ever apart from me. Nothing has changed.
And we are still none the wiser about the Trinity.
Well, doing something at least feels as though we’re trying.
I agree. So let’s get on with it.
Cloot lifted effortlessly from his perch and suddenly his wings were beating smoothly and strongly in glorious flight again. Relax now, he said gently. We shall be flying steadily for a few hours.
5
Old Friends and Enemies
They arrived mid-afternoon at the busy port of Caradoon, which they had found by following the inlet from the main harbour of Kyrakavia.
This is it, Cloot said, landing in a tree on the fringe of the town.
Are you tired?
The bird answered too fast. Not overly. Then, more abruptly. What do you propose?
Tor paused. He had been thinking hard during the flight on just this subject: what to do once they reached Caradoon? He still had no definite plan but could sense Cloot’s impatience.
What about these stracca houses you mentioned?
There would be several.
How could we find them?
Oh, I could just circle about aimlessly and see if we can spot one. Or we could fly down and ask someone. A magnificent peregrine falcon who also talks should not be a novelty here.
All right, all right. Let me think, Tor said, recognising that Cloot was tired and falling into one of his sarcastic moods. Perhaps he was hungry again, he thought unkindly.
Well, I’ll just sit here, Tor, whilst you think. Take your time. It’s your dying body.
Tor ignored him and they fell silent. He sensed Cloot’s anxiety and knew better than to think the falcon was worried about himself. Cloot had never really liked this idea and now that he realised Tor had no genuine plan in mind he probably liked it even less. Tor suddenly felt stupid for getting them both into this dangerous situation. How foolish to think they could just turn up at a town and find the man they were searching for; aside from the problem that they were both in the form of a bird while Tor’s own body lay cooling many leagues south.
Could it have been luck? Or fate? Or was it Lys manipulating events? Tor would never know but he suddenly spotted a familiar figure making its way along the main street of Caradoon. There was no mistaking him. Even from this high up and without seeing his face, Tor had no doubt that it was Saxon the Kloek striding below him.
Well, well, well, muttered Cloot, who had also spotted Saxon.
Why would he be here of all places?
Cloot’s interest was piqued; all sarcasm had disappeared. I saw some of the King’s Guard in Kyrakavia. He may well be with them. Saxon would know of this place through his travels with Cirq Zorros.
Of course. Tor’s mind raced. Let’s follow him.
The falcon sighed. At least it’s a plan, he said and took off, being careful to keep the trees as cover. He had already decided that this was not a place for a distinctive bird to be seen too readily.
They watched Saxon drift into an inn and back out again not long after. He called into several market stalls and looked to be asking questions.
He looks grim, Tor said.
He is searching.
For the same thing as us?
Possibly. But why? And why now?
Let’s just assume he is. How can we help him?
Before Cloot could answer, they saw a man giving the Kloek directions. Saxon nodded and thanked him. He set off and they followed him once more, heartily glad for the trees which encircled the town. They lost him momentarily and then saw him enter into one of the side streets towards the northern end of town.
Over there, Cloot.
I see him. Let’s get as close as we can.
As they flew over a very quiet part of the town where few people were walking the streets, a strange smell hit Tor’s senses. Before he could ask the obvious, Cloot answered.
It’s the stracca. Smells sweet when freshly burned but after a while it gets that sour aroma. It’s worse up this high than I remember.
They watched Saxon get new directions from a youth, who pointed to a whitewashed building not far from the tree where they were perched, well hidden. The structure stood alone. The smell seemed to be coming from it.
Looks as though Saxon is on the same trail then, Cloot.
I’m astonished but I think you’re right.
From their vantage point, they could see all sides of the building. There were a few people milling around behind it, where a path led down to the water. Serving women were cleaning and washing linen; cooks’ helpers were scrubbing vegetables; other youngsters were fetching and carrying. It was a hive of activity. Tor and Cloot watched as a woman appeared at the back door. She called out something to a lad at the water’s edge. He turned, looking scared. The woman stepped out into the open. She wore a silk scarf over her head. The boy hurried towards her. When he arrived, she slapped him hard across his ear; they could hear its sound very clearly. As she did so, her scarf slipped and her dark and luxurious hair whipped around in the breeze. Both of them instantly recognised Xantia.
Together they said her name and looked immediately to Saxon, who was now approaching the stracca house.
We have to warn him, Cloot.
I can’t open a link.
Take the risk. Fly into the open. We can’t let him walk into this place. If Xantia is here, then Goth probably is too.
Cloot did not hesitate further. Saxon was just moments from entering the front door and they could see Xantia, her fury spent, also going back into the building. Cloot leapt off the branch and used the drop to gain some speed, flying straight at Saxon’s face. At the last second, he veered off, clawing at the Kloek’s hair and screeching.
‘What the hell…!’ Saxon spun around, one hand poised in mid air to bang on the door, the other grabbing at his face.
Cloot shrieked again, this time from cover. Saxon peered into the trees. He could not see anything but they had succeeded in grabbing his attention away from the stracca house.
Hurry, Cloot. She could step out any second.
I don’t know what else to do, Cloot replied.
Flap!
He flapped. Saxon approached.
He could see the falcon now and shock was written plainly across his face. His ear was bleeding from where Cloot’s talons had scratched him. The Kloek did not care about that though.
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Is it you?’ he asked softly, almost with reverence.
In answer, Cloot dropped from the branch and landed on Saxon’s outstretched arm. Then he jumped off and headed deeper into the cover of the trees. They needed to get Saxon well away from the building. Tor was relieved to see the Kloek follow.
When Cloot landed once again on his arm, they were both choked to see the Kloek begin to weep.
‘You’re safe,’ he said over and again, stroking Cloot’s head. ‘We miss you, old friend.’
I wish we could speak to him, Tor said.
No link. Cloot felt powerless. He allowed Saxon to stroke him until the Kloek chose to stop and lifted him high so he could stare at him.
‘You are magnificent, Cloot.’
Thank you, Cloot replied. He bobbed his head slightly so Saxon knew he could hear him.
It made Saxon grin through his tears. ‘And what are you doing here, bird? What is your business at a stracca house in sleazy Caradoon, eh?’
Cloot hopped about on Saxon’s arm.
‘All right, we can’t link, I take it,’ Saxon said, ‘but you can hear me and you can find a way to respond.’ Cloot flapped his wings in answer.
‘Why are you here?’ Saxon asked.
Oh Light! Cloot said to Tor. This is going to be painful.
‘Apologies. I must say that a different way,’ Saxon corrected. He frowned then said, ‘Are you looking for something?’
Cloot flapped.
‘For someone?’
Cloot flapped again.
‘For Goth?’
Cloot could have kissed him. Instead he flapped a third time.
Bravo, Saxon, Tor said.
The Kloek frowned again. ‘So you know he lives. Let me tell you what I know, Cloot.’ Saxon sat down on the grass beneath the trees and began his story.
Tor felt great guilt, for obviously the Kloek thought he spoke only to Cloot, yet he also felt great joy just to see Saxon again.
Revenge Page 5
