Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Locky!’ Tor exclaimed.

  He looked towards the lad’s two companions. ‘The Light save us! Is that you, Hela?’

  Alyssa saw a handsome woman curtsy. She looked dishevelled but relieved to see them. She did not miss the glint in the woman’s eye as she looked upon Torkyn Gynt again.

  ‘It is me, Tor. And I bring with me, her majesty, Queen Sarel of Cipres.’

  Tor looked aghast and turned his gaze fully on the statuesque young woman before him. The last time he had seen Sarel she had been sobbing over the body of her dead mother and seemed to be just a young girl with ribbons in her hair. Here stood a proud young woman.

  There was a defiance in her stance which shone through the obvious fear they were all emanating. He bowed. Saxon followed suit he noticed, though Alyssa he saw remained upright. He smiled inwardly; so the Queen of Tallinor does not bow to the Queen of Cipres. No time to think on it. He strode towards them.

  ‘Your majesty.’ He took her hand and kissed it.

  She smiled. ‘I’m glad we found you.’

  He led her towards Alyssa. ‘Sarel, this is her highness, the King’s Mother; our former Queen of Tallinor, Alyssa.’

  Sarel felt herself blush—she had been thinking how impudent of that golden-haired woman not to curtsy before royalty. Oh, she had a lot to learn about curbing her impetuous nature. She nodded graciously, bending very slightly to the older woman.

  ‘Your highness.’

  Alyssa followed suit Tor was relieved to see. ‘Welcome, Sarel. But you arrive in such haste—are you being followed?’

  Locky was at Tor’s side in a few strides and Saxon joined them.

  ‘Tell me quickly,’ Tor said.

  Locky rubbed his face. Curiously, he was suddenly very distressed now that he felt safe. Until this moment, he had found steely courage in getting the women into the Forest and to sanctuary. He felt as though he could pass all the fear of responsibility over to Tor now. The relief was huge and he found his knees were trembling; in fact he fought hard not to break down.

  Saxon laid a huge hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Calm, lad. You’re safe now. Tell us, but fast.’

  Locky took a deep breath. ‘Goth follows. He nearly had us just past the last village. Janus,’ he gulped and then found his composure. ‘Janus forced us to leave him behind. He hit the horses, made us gallop at breakneck speed towards the Forest. I…I don’t know what’s become of him. He stayed to fight them…delay them I suppose, alone. Eryn will never forgive me.’ He looked devastated.

  Tor stiffened at the mention of Eryn’s name and was glad when Hela came up beside them and took his hand, preventing him from further explanation to Locky. Alyssa, who had encouraged Sarel to sit and catch her breath, did not fail to notice the intimate gesture but she forced herself to rise above the jealousy it provoked.

  ‘Hela,’ Tor said, and embraced her. ‘What has happened here?’

  They all gathered near Sarel, sitting down and allowing racing pulses to slow in the warmth and safety of the Heartwood as Hela related their story as quickly as she could, beginning with a dream visit from a woman called Lys.

  Goth was furious. He was down to just a pair of men, having left the two horseless men behind to bury their dead and make their way back to the north. He could not care less what happened to them, in truth. His duty was to find the Queen and he simply could not wait to dispatch the troublesome maid. The head of Quist banged unhappily beside him in the sack, blood leaking through the loose weave of the hessian, but it gave Goth comfort that it was another of Gynt’s supporters dead and done with.

  They were upon the Forest now. Rather impossibly a donkey stood grazing ponderously at the fringe. It reminded him of the bastard creature that had created havoc at Caremboche all those years ago. He ignored it and spurred his horse on, kicking and whipping at it viciously to go straight towards the trees which it seemed disinclined to do.

  He entered the cool of the dark Forest at high speed, ahead of the other riders, knowing the branches were more than high enough for a mounted man to pass beneath. And so it came as a powerful shock when he felt his cloak snag on a branch and lift him from the saddle. He wrenched at the cloak but more branches seemed to entangle and entwine him and suddenly his horse was gone from beneath him, galloping into the depths of the Forest, riderless and with no direction. He found himself swung about, which was odd for there was no wind, and the trees began to pinch his skin where they held him.

  He screamed to the man racing behind but was stopped in his command by the sight of the donkey suddenly kicking with its back legs, high enough to connect with the rider who had no chance of staying in the saddle. He dropped like a stone to the Forest floor where the donkey, more than just reminiscent of the one at Caremboche, waited until the dazed guard staggered to his feet. Then with one more well-aimed and very powerful kick of his hind legs, laid the man out cold…dead, Goth presumed from the trickle of blood he could see emerging.

  He yelled to the final rider who had slowed his horse.

  ‘Get me down, you cur!’

  The man cast a glance towards his fallen companion and then back to Goth. ‘You can hang there and die for all I care, you scum. You are not one of us. You are a murderer and a coward to boot. Our men die and you care not. You torture women and kill without mercy.’ He spat towards Goth. It was an empty gesture for Goth was way up in the trees. ‘I go no further in this place. I’ve heard the legends of the famous Great Forest of Tallinor. I hope you rot in its branches,’ he said. The man turned his horse and led it out into the sun.

  Goth twisted and cursed but he was well and truly held. He had no idea how it could be so but he stopped struggling and set his mind to work out an escape. No brilliant idea had leapt to mind after several minutes. He was in trouble and alone.

  Without warning and hardly daring to believe it was happening, he witnessed a large branch reaching towards him. He took a sharp breath and tasted fear—a rare sensation for Goth—as the branch wrapped sinews of itself around him. He could not cry out; he felt frozen and his throat too dry to make a sound. And then he was being whipped savagely from tree to tree. He lost all sense of which way was up or down. All Goth could focus on was the next fierce and unpredictable movement he would travel in. He felt like a child’s rag doll as the strength seeped from his body and the trees had their fun with him. At one stage he felt his arm dislocate from its shoulder socket and the pain was immense but the trees cared not. They continued to sometimes throw, sometimes stretch him impossibly, but mostly whip him from branch to branch. Sometimes they grabbed him by the leg, other times the damaged arm and he screamed out in agony but no one heard.

  Goth lost track of how long the punishment lasted. He was beyond registering the pain now. His body was so racked with it, everywhere hurt. The magic of it stunned him. At one point he thought he heard the trees whispering, laughing at him. He thought he must have passed out because he suddenly felt the huge thump as his broken body hit the ground with force. He lay there dazed and confused. Somehow he knew he could still move his legs and one arm, though all movement was painful. The other arm was useless. He wondered if the trees somehow knew not to break him completely.

  Goth opened his eyes and stared into the pair of bright blue ones he hated more than any eyes in the Land…it was Torkyn Gynt.

  ‘Welcome to the Heartwood, Goth. I’m delighted you could join us. There are others here who wish to offer their warm welcome too.’

  Alyssa came into view. He felt a pang…was it a thrill, hate? He knew not. She said nothing, just stared at him with disdain.

  He looked beyond her, squinting through his pain. The bastard Kloek stood looking pleased by her side, as well as a woman he did not recognise. Quist’s brother-by-marriage, the lad, stood next to the despised Ciprean maid, Hela. They both had hate written on their faces.

  ‘Greetings, Goth,’ Hela sneered.

  And then finally the Queen. The young woman he had been told to retrie
ve by a vengeful master. It was all over now.

  ‘We beat you, Goth. You’re pathetic,’ was all she said before turning her back on him.

  And in that moment of desperation as he realised he was indeed beaten he somehow found he could laugh.

  ‘I’ve brought you something, Gynt,’ he said in his effeminate voice, having noticed that the sack was still tied to his side. ‘Open it.’

  Tor would never know why he did as Goth suggested. He was still quite shocked that the former chief inquisitor had been delivered to him with such ease and in such a manner. The Forest must have dealt with any of his companions.

  He tipped the sack’s contents onto the ground. Janus Quist’s bloodied head rolled to rest by his feet. He heard Locky retch and he presumed it was Sarel screaming behind him.

  Goth laughed through his pain. Even now he impressed himself at the effect he managed to have on people. ‘Like my gift?’ he asked. ‘I wish I could have brought you a trophy of the pirate’s wife. But most of her is lying in a puddle providing a feast for the scavengers,’ he said. ‘Pretty body. Plucky thing, told me nothing; didn’t even give me the satisfaction of a scream when I slit her belly open.’

  He was able to say nothing more. Locky’s boot connected so hard with his head, Goth was unconscious and motionless on the floor a moment later.

  Alyssa’s chest heaved up and down with the effort of staying calm as she and Saxon rushed to Locky’s side. The lad buried his face in Alyssa and she soothed him as best she could. His sobs broke everyone’s hearts.

  ‘She was all I had,’ he kept repeating.

  Kythay reappeared, strolling towards the prone body of Goth. He shocked all gathered by urinating on the former chief inquisitor’s head. It had the desired effect. The burning, acidic liquid brought the hated man back to consciousness, but only just. He groaned and the donkey strolled away into the undergrowth. It was a comic gesture but no one smiled.

  ‘What now?’ Goth said, his mind very blurred and his body in pain.

  Torkyn Gynt’s blue gaze of wrath burned into the mauled face of Almyd Goth and answered the question with two words. ‘Your death.’

  It was no surprise to Alyssa when Sallementro appeared a few hours later; another dishevelled and distressed rider. He refused all sustenance but asked for a few minutes to catch his breath. He had ridden, without stopping, until he reached the Great Forest.

  He began to explain the situation back at the palace. Alyssa hushed him, explaining that they knew about the Regent Sylc.

  ‘Sal, listen to me now,’ she said to her babbling musician. ‘Sylc is not whom he pretends to be. We believe he is Orlac.’

  Sallementro’s mouth opened and closed and then his eyes grew wider. ‘Impossible! How can that be? He was amongst us!’

  Tor nodded. ‘Can you describe him?’

  The musician gave a detailed summary of the man he knew as Regent Sylc and with each word Tor felt his already battered spirits spiralling downwards.

  ‘It is him,’ he said.

  ‘How did he get her away without a fight?’ Alyssa asked, seeing Tor’s crestfallen expression.

  Sallementro told them all that they had gleaned and managed to piece together. ‘Gyl is wrathful. He has already left for the north with Herek and a full retinue of the Guard.’

  Tor shook his head. ‘He has no idea what he’s dealing with. They are all doomed.’

  ‘A boy is dead and if Sal’s interpretation is right, then the woman he may love has been stolen from his own palace. What do you expect him to do? Cringe and hope someone else rescues her?’ Alyssa sounded angry.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, Lyssa. Of course he’s doing the only thing he can do.’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘If only to save face. I warned him about this, though. He is not completely ignorant.’

  ‘Does he believe it?’

  ‘He’s sceptical but there’ve been too many strange occurrences for him to ignore the story I gave in colourful detail. If we could just intercept him somehow.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ the musician volunteered.

  ‘No, I will,’ Locky said. ‘I insist, Tor. I know the north better than most and I’ll wager I’m a better, faster rider than the singer,’ he said, his chin jutting towards the everpresent lute strung on the singer’s back.

  Sallementro did not have the strength to bristle at the insult. And Alyssa spoke to him. He is young. He is not careful with his words…and he’s just learned that his sister and her husband have been murdered.

  Tor asked Sallementro how long ago Gyl had left for the north.

  The musician shrugged. ‘We all left the same morning. He headed for Caradoon and I made for the Forest. I would estimate he is still two, possibly three days away.’

  ‘Then I can make it back there in time,’ Locky said. ‘If I leave now.’

  Tor walked away from the clearing. He needed to think. He hated the thought of Locky racing off alone to who knows what.

  He is safest with the King’s Guard. Cloot’s reassuring voice entered his head.

  I know…and it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of doing.

  Let him go. Let him feel he is doing something towards avenging his sister’s death.

  Tor turned back to Locky. ‘All right. Head off now.’ He saw Sarel’s face crumple. It could not be helped. ‘I hope Gyl believes you.’

  ‘Here,’ Alyssa said, pulling something from her pocket. ‘Give him this, Locky. Then he’ll know you have come from me.’ She handed the lad a small green disk.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked her.

  ‘Something I will never need again. But the King will know you have come from his mother and that what you say is true. Tell him everything you know, including that we have Goth and will deal with him and that he should remember everything that I warned him about is coming true.’

  She saw Sallementro cast a glance towards the bundle of black on the floor. ‘Is that the famous Goth?’ He had not noticed him until now.

  ‘Not for long,’ Tor said, his voice as hard as anyone had ever heard before.

  ‘He’s alive still?’

  ‘Just,’ Alyssa replied. ‘His life must be ended, Sal. He is evil.’

  ‘Oh, I agree. I was just thinking that it might be a waste to kill him here and now.’

  Locky busied himself checking the saddle on a horse which between them Kythay and Solyana had managed to coax beneath the trees.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tor said to the musician.

  ‘Well, several years ago I was travelling through the furthest northern climes. Don’t ask why, it’s a hellish place. I met a man who said he had once worked for Goth and knew some of the secrets. I think he may have been a man on the run because the inquisitors had been disbanded.’

  He saw irritation cross Alyssa’s face and knew to get on with his tale. ‘Anyway, I was on the run too from my family and we ended up getting drunk together and he said he wanted to show me a place. I thought it wouldn’t be far but we ended up travelling for two days into the mountains and there I witnessed the most incredible thing.’

  Alyssa thought she might have to slap her Paladin if he drew this tale out much longer. Sal, people could be dying whilst you tell this story, certainly many lives are in peril. Can you get to the point!

  He shrugged. ‘Apologies, I tell stories with my music. Habits die hard. The man showed me the place where all the sentients are taken who didn’t die from Goth’s torture or bridling process. It just occurs that those survivors should have the satisfaction of seeing Goth’s end.’

  Apart from the noise of their surprise at his suggestion, both Tor and Alyssa took steps forward. He thought both were going to hit him.

  ‘Sallementro, where is this place!’ Alyssa said. ‘Could you tell us how to find it?’

  ‘Um…’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, I think I could, though we would need someone who knew the mountains well.’

  ‘You need Figgis!’ Saxon said. ‘If only we could make co
ntact with him and Gidyon.’

  I could fly to Brittelbury, Cloot suggested.

  Tor noticed Locky was ready and keen to leave. ‘Let’s see Locky on his way and we’ll make decisions.’

  Locky left without further delay. He hugged Hela and bowed low to Sarel before kissing her hand, promising they would see each other again. The Queen had gathered her composure, Hela was glad to see, and was showing that she had the mettle to make a strong monarch. Alyssa too had hugged him hard. Although they hardly knew one another she remembered the numb feeling of abandonment and loneliness, with everyone you love dead. Locky seemed to understand this, accepting her affection with a sad grin. Saxon wished he could go with the lad but his place was now at Alyssa’s side and together with Sallementro they would put her life before theirs.

  ‘Don’t forget all I taught you on our first journey here,’ he said, squeezing the boy in a bear hug. ‘Remember me to Herek…perhaps you can make an impression on the man and make your dream come true.’

  ‘I intend to,’ Locky said. ‘You watch me, I’ll be Prime one day.’

  Arabella and Sallementro hoped the Light would guide him safely and then only two remained to farewell.

  Locky stroked Cloot and said something just for the falcon which he knew the bird could hear.

  ‘He says likewise,’ Tor replied on behalf of Cloot.

  ‘Tor, we will avenge her, won’t we?’ Locky suddenly urged.

  ‘I promise you, Locky, what you do now is part of that vengeance. Goth is merely a pawn in this much bigger game. Forget him. You get word safely to the King and Herek and you will have single-handedly made a major mark in helping to save Tallinor. I give you my word, Eryn will not have died in vain. She saved three lives by her incredible bravery and sacrifice…one of those lives is a Queen’s. Quist too. His courage had no bounds when it mattered—he also gave his to save your life. Both of them will be remembered by the gods.’

  Locky felt the grief gather and constrict his throat. But he also felt pride that he was part of this now and he would not fail them—as Eryn and Janus had not failed him.