Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  Orlac looked tiredly at Juno. ‘Go now. Send in the people waiting.’

  They filed in slowly and warily. These were people who had never thought they would see a man sitting on the exquisite gold throne, which for eternity had been the seat for a line of women. When the doors were finally closed behind them and the shuffling had stopped, a dread silence descended on the huge room.

  Orlac measured the silence. It was built entirely on fear.

  He addressed them. ‘It is regretful that people were hurt today.’ One after another they lifted their eyes to meet his as he continued. ‘I have no quarrel with the people of Cipres but I must impress on you that you should not attempt to defy me. I am powerful beyond imagination. You have no weapon against me for I have the Power Arts on my side.’

  A white-haired man, richly robed, stepped forward.

  ‘You are?’ Orlac questioned.

  ‘I am an adviser to our former Queen,’ he bowed before adding, ‘highest ranking courtier in the palace.’

  ‘What is it you wish to say?’

  The man looked grimly around. ‘I speak for all gathered. We know your name but not who you are, why you are here, why you killed one hundred and forty-three of our citizens today with a further eighty, perhaps more, almost certainly still to die from your attentions. What is it you want of us?’

  Orlac, about to respond, felt suddenly nauseous. The chamber seemed to spin and the oil lamps gave off light that flickered into and out of darkness as whatever it was that was truly him was pushed aside and trampled upon. He was not ready for this; had no inclination that it was even possible. He was as shocked as the people looked when the answer came, for it was not he who spoke, but Dorgryl.

  ‘Your throne is what I want,’ replied the deep voice.

  People recoiled instantly; not just from the outrageous claim but moreso from the change in the stranger’s voice. It was chilling.

  Dorgryl continued whilst Orlac felt he was drowning within himself. ‘Your Queen is dead. Obey me, good people, and we shall rule fairly.’

  The people gathered found their voices, overcoming their fright at this man and protesting loudly at what he was suggesting.

  Dorgryl smiled showing Orlac’s perfect teeth, even allowing the smile to touch Orlac’s large, strangely violet eyes and blinked his long, beautiful dark lashes. ‘For if you do not obey, I will level your city; I will murder all of your people…whole families—mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, grandparents, even babes in arms will die horribly…and I shall do it so slowly that each of you will suffer the most grotesque finale of pain and humiliation. Cipres will cease to exist. It will be dust. Forgotten—as will its people.’

  The white-haired man looked ashen. ‘Why would you do this?’ was all he could numbly force his voice to ask.

  ‘Because I can!’ Dorgryl bellowed, his voice reaching way beyond the confines of the room. ‘I am a Prince. I should have been a King. I will rule!’ His tone disconcertingly fell back to its normal level but was no less intimidating. ‘Perhaps I might sweeten this deal between us. I grant you a concession. You require a Queen and I shall provide her. I shall rule through her. Accept this or die…it’s really quite simple.’

  People began to look around at one another. They were too terrified to say anything directly to him but he could read the confusion and he loved it. Loved feeling Orlac squirming beneath him, around him, demanding to claim his body back. Well, he could wait. A good lesson was being learned not only by the Cipreans but by his young host tonight.

  A figure in black slithered from the fringe of the gathered. A gaunt fellow with a face to terrify children presented himself, bowing low. Dorgryl considered him. He did not appear as cowed as the others. One eye twitched erratically due to a pronounced tic on one side of his face; the rest of his face looked as though it had been mauled by leprosy. Dorgryl found himself momentarily fascinated by the horror of the face in front of him.

  ‘And who might you be?’ he finally asked, his interest piqued.

  The voice was effeminate. ‘I am Almyd Goth, sire. Also an adviser to the former Queen. I wonder, could I beg a word?’

  Dorgryl looked around at the expectant faces, filled with fear. Hold that fear, good folk, he thought to himself, and obey me. He felt Orlac attempting to claw back his mind again. He was strong and Dorgryl would have to be extremely wary of that strength which had stood Orlac in such stead during his battles with the Paladin. The boy was also powerful with magic way beyond his own but he was inexperienced, used to wielding only one particular form of it—killing the Paladin. Mind you, it was taking all of Dorgryl’s concentration to keep Orlac’s power at bay.

  Everyone was waiting. ‘Dismissed until I summon you,’ he commanded. ‘You,’ he looked at Goth. ‘Remain.’ He watched the people, now even more confused and wary, shuffling to get away from him as fast as they could.

  He noted Goth’s satisfied look and the sneer he threw towards the other adviser, but Dorgryl ignored the fellow in front of him for now. Instead he spoke with Orlac whilst the people dispersed. You may have your body back now but remember how this feels and don’t ever forget I can do it to you any time I please.

  Dorgryl gave Orlac no chance to respond. He reduced himself in a second to the shimmering red presence as Orlac felt his body become his again. It slumped and he felt behind himself for the throne. Light! He felt weakened. The man, Goth, was talking to him. For a moment he could not hear what he said; could only watch his lips move.

  ‘Are you sure I cannot get you something?’ Goth repeated.

  Orlac pushed the dizziness back. There will be a reckoning he growled at Dorgryl who did not respond but he sensed his uncle shimmer brightly momentarily as though in a flash of anger.

  The room was empty, save for himself and Goth. Orlac deliberately took another few moments to find his composure. The man sensibly remained still and silent.

  ‘What is it you wish to say to me?’ Orlac finally said. He gave no explanation for his odd behaviour.

  Goth felt unbalanced. He was used to being able to fathom almost every situation. His agile mind and ability to rapidly respond to ever-changing situations meant he could assemble, dismantle and rework a plan in moments. Goth knew he had an uncanny ability to see events from almost any perspective, which was why, he believed, he continued to escape retribution. There was only one situation for which his brilliant and subtle mind had not been able to find an answer and that was the continuing good health and vitality of Torkyn Gynt. He had personally watched him die; watched his body break and take its last gasp before death consumed it. He had absolutely no explanation for his return to life, if indeed he had left it. But now he had another compelling problem to pick at. Orlac. Where had he come from? Why was this throne so important to him?…Why this realm and not Tallinor, for example? Goth had felt chilled—a rare sensation—when the golden man’s voice had suddenly changed to that deep, detached one.

  He, who felt no fear of anyone, had at that moment experienced an awe of something he suspected was so much more powerful and clever than him that he was frightened. The stupid people in the room had muttered between themselves about how to fight this enemy. How ludicrous! Had they not seen the dead and dying in the square? Had they not heard the terrifying tale of this man stepping through iron gates?…More than that, dissolving through those gates! Soldiers had thrown down their weapons in submission. There was no fighting a man like this…if he was a man, for which mortal possessed magical powers such as this?

  He looked now at the intensely violet eyes which were regarding him. Orlac was brilliantly handsome. Opposite in colouring but similar in stature, he reminded Goth of Torkyn Gynt, of all hateful people. Probably that uncanny height and those broadest of shoulders, he told himself. And that damn wide, bright smile!

  Orlac was waiting; he seemed vaguely amused by the long pause.

  ‘My apologies, sire.’ Goth bent low again. ‘I quite lost myself there. Your arrival has frightened
us all.’

  ‘The Cipreans have nothing further to fear from me,’ Orlac said quietly.

  Goth showed his surprise. ‘But you killed so many of them! How can they not fear you?’ He could not help the words spilling out and he braced himself for a painful response.

  ‘It had to be so,’ the golden-haired man replied.

  ‘What is it you want, sire? Perhaps I can be of some service?’

  Orlac was genuinely amused. ‘I don’t think so, royal adviser. What I want you cannot give me.’

  Goth decided to push his luck. It had held this far and he had nothing to lose, perhaps everything to gain by ingratiating himself with this powerful individual. ‘I may surprise you.’

  ‘What I want,’ Orlac said with deliberation, ‘is Tallinor razed, its people dead and a man called Torkyn Gynt on his knees paying homage to me!’ His voice had increased in volume but it was cold.

  Goth hardly noticed, such was his shock at what the man had just said. He trembled with the thrill of those words.

  He found himself on his knees now, wanting to pay his own homage to this empowered man who lusted for the same vengeance as he. Oh kindred soul, he wanted to cry out loud. Instead he clasped his hands together with glee in front of Orlac. ‘My lord, I can indeed help you with what you desire so much. I am Tallinese; I was formerly the Chief Inquisitor of the Kingdom and there is no man on this Land I would rather see on his knees awaiting your pleasure and his pain than Torkyn Gynt whom I know and despise with every ounce of my blood.’

  It was Orlac’s turn to feel surprised. ‘Know him? By sight?’

  ‘Sight! Ha!’ Goth almost forgot himself. ‘He is my enemy. I nearly killed him but I failed, sire. The Queen died of the poison instead.’ Before he knew it the whole story was out of his mouth and laid bare in front of Orlac.

  ‘You murdered her?’

  Goth felt nervous and looked around to check no Ciprean had slid into the room and heard his confession. He nodded and was not surprised to hear Orlac laugh again; this time he seemed hugely amused.

  ‘But it is Gynt you seek to kill?’ Orlac asked once his humour had settled.

  ‘With all my heart. And his woman. Her name is Alyssa. And all of his supporters—too many to mention now, my lord. I would like to see all of them dead, including his King whom I have heard recently married Alyssa and made her Queen of Tallinor. I hope I’ll live to see his Kingdom in ruins and count him dead amongst it.’

  ‘You have a lot of hate inside you, Goth,’ Orlac observed.

  ‘I have my reasons, my lord, which is why I will serve you blindly, faithfully and to the exclusion of all other interests, for you desire what I seek.’

  Orlac paused to consider this strange fellow. How uncanny that this man and he should harbour such depth of hate for the same individual…the same Kingdom. He wondered why but then cast that question aside. He really did not care. It was the man’s passion he was impressed by. There was no question this Goth was sincere; his eyes told Orlac this was a man with no remorse, no empathy with others.

  ‘How can you help me?’ the god asked, curious to hear the fellow’s ideas.

  ‘In many ways, my lord. I know Tallinor; I know the collective mind of its people and how it works. I know the King and his failings. I know Torkyn Gynt and his companions by sight. I can lead you to those who would support, protect or hide him.’

  Goth could have gone on but felt he had said enough. He saw the golden man nodding thoughtfully, considering what he had said.

  ‘And what do you wish in return for such loyal service?’

  ‘In return? Why nothing, my great lord. I wish only to serve. Perhaps a nice plot of land on the hills around Cipres. Or you might throw some of the spoils of Tallinor my way. You may even care to give me status, sire, in your new dynasty for Cipres. I presume you will continue to rule here after your needs have been met in Tallinor. You may consider allowing me to rule Tallinor as your proxy?’ Goth was warming to his theme now and even began to strut around, waving his hand for emphasis. ‘From the ruins of Tallinor we can build a new Kingdom, my lord. Your Kingdom, which you can adjoin with Cipres. I will run it for you. And why indeed stop at Tallinor? With your powers and my knowledge of the region, we can acquire other realms.’

  Orlac chuckled at Goth’s grand plan. ‘Is there anything else you may want?’

  Goth became still. ‘Yes, sire. I wish to be present at the killing of Torkyn Gynt but I ask that first he watch his beloved Alyssa be disembowelled, beheaded and quartered. And I wish to be her executioner. I want to look in her eyes and be the last person she sees when the light dies in them, my lord.’

  It seemed to Orlac that this man thought along similar lines as Dorgryl. His uncle had already suggested they track down and destroy every family member and friend to Gynt. It would keep him wary and defensive, Dorgryl had counselled, and never in a position to attack. Orlac had seen the sense in this and now here was this strange fellow suggesting a similar plan. Perhaps he could be of some use.

  Goth pushed his advantage. ‘Sire, in order to help you, first I must know your plan for Cipres.’

  ‘Plan? Simply to rule.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘What do you mean how, Goth? You heard me tell that creaky old man that we would rule through a woman and at least honour their way.’

  ‘So you will rule through Princess Sarel?’ Goth asked, trying to understand and knowing he was risking the wrath of the powerful man in front of him.

  It was Orlac’s turn to look puzzled. ‘I have no specific woman in mind yet.’

  Goth pushed on nervously. ‘So you may kill the Queen and install another?’

  ‘There is no Queen, Goth. You irritate me now. You killed her, remember?’

  Goth believed he could feel his own blood chill. ‘No, my lord,’ he said carefully. ‘I killed Queen Sylven. I am talking about the Princess…the soon to be crowned Queen Sarel.’

  Orlac sat upright and regarded Goth—he had been taken by surprise and was unsure what to make of this news.

  Dorgryl, who had been listening carefully to this exchange, broke his own silence. She must be found and killed. She is too dangerous.

  Why killed? Orlac asked, deep down knowing the answer.

  As long as there is an heir, the people will not rest. There will always be those—many in fact—who will want their rightful Queen on the throne. And whilst you’re off wreaking havoc on Tallinor, you don’t want an uprising here. Waste no time, Dorgryl growled.

  For all the young god’s immense powers, the elder god decided his nephew was spineless. When the time was right he would overpower him for good but that was some while away yet—he must wait until he had the full measure of his host’s extensive magics and strengths. He must know that before he could make any decisive moves.

  Goth cleared his throat uncomfortably. He noticed that Orlac did a lot of staring into nothing. The pauses in the man’s conversation unsettled the former chief inquisitor. It was as though Orlac’s attention was entirely diverted; that he was seeing something else, talking to someone else.

  Orlac came out of whatever reverie he had been in and looked down upon Goth.

  ‘Where is the Princess?’

  Goth was relieved to be talking again and released from the disturbing silence. ‘Presumably in her chambers. No one has seen her much since her mother’s death at Neame and the girl’s arrival in the city. She has a maidservant who is rather,’ he carefully chose an appropriate phrase, ‘over-protective.’ It was the right choice he decided and just stopped short of smirking. Perhaps he could get Hela thrown out of the palace as well. Better still, killed or, wait, even more satisfying…delivered to him as a slave.

  Orlac’s voice disturbed his flight of fancy. ‘I want the girl summoned. I instruct you to personally find her and bring her to me.’

  ‘Now, your highness?’ Goth was not quite sure when this golden man had become a sovereign but he felt it was the right amount of respect to sh
ow to this person.

  Orlac ignored the title. ‘Did you think, perhaps, I meant tomorrow?’

  Goth felt his colour rise immediately. It was not often he could be caught out like this. ‘No, sire. I presumed you meant right now.’

  ‘Then why are you still here?’ Orlac asked, a subtle change in his tone suggesting something of a threat.

  Goth snapped into a bow. ‘At once, sire.’ He left the chamber immediately in search of Sarel.

  After a lengthy and extensive search of every room, every nook and cranny of the palace with dozens of people involved in the orchestrated hunt, Goth found himself once again standing in front of Orlac. This time, however, he felt a lot less confident.

  He bowed low. ‘My lord. She has disappeared.’ Brevity was best, he decided.

  ‘Would escaped be a better word?’

  Goth found the courage to look into those violet eyes. ‘Perhaps, sire. I have no idea. She was not under any constraint. I’m guessing now that she may have been alerted to your arrival in the city and took flight.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ the god conceded, suddenly tired. ‘I want her found and returned to the palace. You, Goth, will track her down.’

  Dorgryl whispered. She will have fled to Tallinor.

  To Gynt?

  I couldn’t say but you can be sure it’s Tallinese soil which beckons. It would be the safest place to flee to…and the largest to get lost in. The only other places around here are tiny islands.

  Goth felt a finger of doubt poke at him and again the silence was unnerving. ‘She may already be on a ship, sire,’ he offered.

  ‘Then chase her. This is your first duty for me and if you succeed you will be richly rewarded, in the manner you wish. Don’t fail me, Almyd Goth.’

  ‘I will not let you down, my lord. May I have some men?’

  ‘Take what you want. Leave immediately. I suggest you head for Tallinor first.’

  Goth bowed, ecstatic. Back to Tallinor and with armed men behind him. Could it get any better?