Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘It’s Kyt Cyrus,’ he said firmly, his piercing look narrowing and hardening as he impaled the eldest soldier with a look once legendary amongst the King’s Guard.

  The older man’s attention was equally riveted now. He frowned. ‘Very familiar although forgotten by most. I never knew him, of course, so I am not the one who can verify the face that goes with such a memorable name.’

  ‘But he can,’ Cyrus said, nodding towards a very senior ranking soldier coming down the gangplank of The Raven.

  They looked over. ‘Now look here,’ the young guard said. ‘If you think I am bringing him into this conversation, you are sadly mistaken. He is not disturbed happily by trite requests from strangers.’

  ‘I am no stranger to him, boy, and there is nothing trite about my coming here.’ Cyrus’s voice had an edge. ‘Fetch him.’

  The soldier could take the insult of being ignored but being referred to as some sort of snivelling lad was an indignity he would not abide.

  ‘You and your friends can either leave of your own accord or I shall have you forcibly escorted from this wharf. Make a decision.’

  Hela had to smile to herself. Cyrus was so calm. He seemed to pour more scorn with his eyes than any words could. She saw that he simply looked beyond the officer giving orders and addressed the elder subordinate.

  ‘Fetch Herek.’ It was no polite request.

  The older man nodded and stepped away.

  ‘You will do no such thing,’ the officer commanded. ‘I am in charge here,’ he said, realising it was already too late. His superiority had been calmly and brilliantly undermined as the older soldier shrugged and continued to approach Prime Herek.

  ‘Guards!’ the younger man yelled to some men loading goods onto a cart.

  ‘Oh be still!’ Cyrus cut in, his voice hard and commanding.

  Sarel and Hela had to stop themselves laughing at the poor speechless soldier. Rubyn looked away, knowing how humiliating this would be for a young man in front of women and himself.

  The guards ran up but the officer could already see it was useless. Herek was looking over—he was squinting towards their group and then beckoned.

  ‘Thank you,’ Cyrus said to the officer. His words were polite. The tone was not.

  The others silently followed Cyrus as he walked towards where the Prime of Tallinor stood and watched them approach. He had his captains nearby. They also stopped their activity as the group arrived. The Prime of Tallinor stared. It was as though all the frenzied activity of the wharf was muted as he stood there in obvious shock; his ruddy complexion paling to waxy.

  ‘Herek,’ Cyrus spoke very softly and they could hear the catch in his voice too. ‘It’s good to see you, man.’

  The Prime’s mouth opened and closed. He shook his head.

  Cyrus saluted before clasping his friend’s hand and then briefly hugging him. Herek, the shorter of the two, returned the Tallinese handshake, clearly moved. Everyone around them had stopped their tasks now and watched in surprise their normally dour Prime displaying such an outpouring of emotion. Both men began to laugh and baffled smiles began to appear all about them.

  They finally stood back from each other. ‘What? Where? Why?’ Herek said and grinned. It was the old trio of questions Cyrus used to impress upon his captains over and again. Facts! he would argue. Give me the facts. Then we’ll talk about the solution.

  Cyrus acknowledged the old line. ‘Indeed, Herek. You are owed much explanation but our time is very short. We come on urgent business for the King.’

  ‘He is on urgent business too,’ Herek said with a sigh. ‘I am imagining that your urgent business and his urgent business are one and the same.’

  Cyrus nodded more sombrely now. ‘You would be right. Herek, this,’ he said reaching for Sarel and gently pulling her forwards, ‘is none other than Her Majesty, Queen Sarel of Cipres.’

  Loud murmuring broke out and soldiers took off their helmets. Herek looked astonished, his eyes flicking between Sarel and Cyrus. His former prime nodded and Herek went down on one knee. ‘Your majesty.’

  She stole a quick glance towards Hela whose eyes told her to go ahead. She was Queen. She must now act like one. Sarel bent to take Herek’s hand. ‘Please,’ she said, encouraging him to stand. ‘You and your men,’ she smiled, looking about him, ‘are most gracious. We come with news for King Gyl. I beg an audience, sir.’

  ‘And you will have one,’ Herek assured her.

  Sarel turned and introduced Hela. ‘This brave woman helped me to escape the usurper’s clutch. We owe much to her for keeping the royal line of Cipres intact.’

  Herek bowed to Hela. She liked him already.

  ‘And this,’ Cyrus said, putting his hand on Rubyn’s shoulder, ‘is the son of Torkyn Gynt.’ He carefully did not mention Alyssa as all these men, he knew, were loyal to Lorys and now to his son. They had served Queen Alyssa briefly too and all would know her as wife to their former king and now King’s Mother. It would not do to inflame emotions at this delicate stage.

  Herek’s response was subtle. He took Rubyn’s hand in his. ‘I think I could have guessed at your parentage. You are most welcome here, Rubyn Gynt.’

  ‘Sarel!’ They all turned at the sudden outburst as a young man nimbly ran down the gangplank.

  The Queen smiled demurely.

  ‘Locky,’ Hela said.

  ‘Light! How come you’re here?’ Locky asked the women, his eyes shining.

  Sarel nodded. ‘It is good to see you again, Master Gylbyt.’

  ‘Thank you, your majesty,’ he replied, remembering himself. ‘Er, they call me Captain Gylbyt now,’ he said, casting a glance at her male companions, his eyes resting on the tall young man with fair hair who stood beside her. He nodded towards him. ‘You remind me of someone,’ Locky muttered, not actually saying that the man reminded him of two people very strongly.

  ‘I am Rubyn Gynt, son of Torkyn Gynt and—’

  ‘And I am Kyt Cyrus,’ he cut across Rubyn. Best not to talk of your mother in this company, son, he cautioned.

  Locky nodded and then smiled at Hela. ‘Hello again,’ he said, real warmth in his voice.

  ‘Brave Locky,’ she replied. ‘You made it. We all knew you would.’

  He grinned.

  ‘If you are captain of this ship now, may I ask where Quist is?’ Cyrus asked.

  ‘Dead.’ Locky answered flatly. ‘At the hands of Goth.’

  Now both Prime and former prime bristled and glanced at each other.

  ‘It is in hand, Locky,’ Cyrus reassured him. ‘We have much to tell you all.’

  ‘Come, then,’ Herek said. ‘The King must hear it first.’

  Alyssa shielded her spirit as she felt herself coming closer to Xantia. She had gathered in the trace, pulling herself nearer as she hurtled blindly, relying on her senses. She wondered if Xantia would be waiting; ready to strike at her? Alyssa slowed herself. The sense that she was now upon her target was very strong. She must be wary. And suddenly she could see her, standing in a room—a beautiful room—her eyes riveted on the two people with whom she shared it.

  The god, Orlac, was laughing at her child again. She could see Lauryn backed against a window. He was taunting her and her heart broke to see Lauryn pull her very thin satin wrap closer around her petite frame. He would strike again soon—how many times already she wondered? But Alyssa had plans for him too.

  Xantia! she called into the woman’s mind. I am here you black-hearted witch. Come face your destroyer.

  The Raven had sailed three days and was now barely hours from docking in Cipres. Locky could not understand it. The voyage, in good weather, took about six days, and yet here they were on the third night virtually at their destination. The ship was fast, for sure, but not this fast—he had sailed these waters enough times to know this crossing was impossible in the time they had achieved.

  He gave an order which was passed on to the lookout and then his attention came to rest on Rubyn. It then s
hifted to Sarel whose eyes, he had already noticed, rarely left the newcomer. Rubyn seemed oblivious to her gaze and somehow Locky knew not only did the son of Torkyn Gynt wield a power which had brought them here so soon but he also wielded a different sort of power over a queen. Locky swallowed hard and then took a gulp of the fresh breeze. He had lost her then—not that she was ever his—but somehow he had hoped their paths would cross again. That final glance in the Heartwood had spoken much. He knew he had not imagined it. Sarel had communicated more than just camaraderie brought on by their terrible circumstances. But in his absence, whilst he had galloped away to entreat a king, another man had stepped into focus.

  And why not? he asked himself as he swung back to face the sea, banging his fist on the rail. He is everything she would want in a man and empowered to boot. Why would she ever look at a common sailor, a man whose only ambition was to be a soldier?

  It was as if Herek could read his melancholy thoughts.

  ‘Well done, Captain Locky.’

  He worshipped the Prime. ‘Thank you, sir, though I fear the swift sailing has been out of my hands.’

  Herek leaned over the rail, matching Locky’s stance. ‘You’ve done your bit, lad. You’ve impressed everyone including the King, since your arrival. Whatever other forces are prevailing we’ll take if they help us in our mission.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I understand it not either, boy. We are navigating through strange times and even stranger events. If the likes of Torkyn Gynt are on our side, we are fortunate. He is a good man.’

  ‘That he is, Prime Herek. No question.’

  ‘And so his son comes from good stock…mother and father.’

  Locky nodded.

  ‘We must help one another. No room for pettiness.’

  ‘My heart is not petty, sir.’

  ‘Ah, so I have been following the wrong thought pathway, son. My apologies. I cannot advise your heart…only your head. She is a queen, Locky.’

  ‘As was his mother, sir. They are well suited.’

  Herek sighed and squeezed Locky’s shoulder. It was probably best to leave the lad alone to lick his wounds. Soon he would receive the news that he was to be trained and appointed as captain to Herek, if he still wanted to join the King’s Guard, although the Prime could not understand why he would give up life on the sea. He was obviously an excellent sailor and already a captain. With a good crew, perhaps ridding The Raven of her pirate mantle, Locklyn Gylbyt could be a rising star as a merchant and sea trader, buying and selling legitimate goods. He would talk to the young man when this was over—perhaps on the voyage back to Tallinor.

  Herek looked over to where his King and their guests stood on deck. Gyl and Cyrus—similar characters, though Gyl had some years to put under his belt to achieve Cyrus’s level of poise and experience. Herek felt quite the odd man out, obliged to hand over the reins of command to his former chief. Cyrus had sensed this of course and had moved to quash that inclination very quickly. Cyrus had not returned to claim back his position; he had come back with a far loftier mantle falling on his broad shoulders.

  Herek and Gyl had listened in some awe as Cyrus, over these past three days, had related the most incredible tale. Gyl accepted it immediately, which surprised Herek at first—but on reflection he realised that Gyl had learned to accept a great deal of strange and challenging notions since Torkyn Gynt had come back from the dead. And if Gynt could, why not Cyrus? They had learned as much as Cyrus could tell them of his recent past. Gyl had drained a cup of wine at one point and then stood and paced the chamber distractedly. Herek recalled the conversation.

  ‘And so you were captured by the Heartwood and—’

  ‘Not captured, sire. Invited to remain.’

  Gyl had looked at Cyrus and been met by an equally firm gaze. There was no guile in Cyrus. Herek had long ago related tales to the young Gyl of the legendary Prime. The King had grown up on stories of Kyt Cyrus and felt no little sense of wonder to be in his presence now.

  Gyl had nodded, although it was obvious he found this story hard to swallow.

  Herek remembered how Cyrus had continued the story; telling them about raising the weakened newborn with the aid of a silver wolf and the god of the Forest. When the boy was strong enough, they were transported.

  Cyrus had given the same details as those he had given not so many days ago to Tor and Alyssa, citing how at Orlac’s arrival in Cipres, Rubyn had fainted and then they had been called back by a mysterious messenger, called Yargo.

  The King’s eyebrows had lifted at this. The story was getting stranger in its telling. He continued to pace. ‘Go on,’ he had encouraged.

  And Cyrus had, bringing them up to date with the meeting with Rubyn’s parents in the Heartwood.

  ‘As far-fetched as this all sounds, it correlates with Locky’s tale of my mother’s adventures in the Heartwood,’ he had said, ruefully, digging out a pale green disk from his pocket. ‘She sent me this. It is hers alone. I know she is there.’

  ‘But she is no longer there, sire.’

  At this King Gyl had stopped his pacing. ‘Where is she?’ he had demanded.

  ‘I left her and Gynt making plans to take the butcher, Goth, into the mountains.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Apparently there is a valley where all the surviving sentients Goth tortured were taken.’

  ‘Did you know of this?’ Gyl had asked Herek.

  And Herek had shaken his head, as baffled as his King at the news.

  ‘It was at Lorys’s instructions,’ Cyrus then confirmed. ‘He wanted them taken somewhere safe and remote where they could live without fear of further repercussions from the inquisitors. I imagine he assembled a small and reliable team of soldiers, Herek. He would not have told me either…don’t feel bad.’

  ‘No I don’t. I feel proud that he made such a decision. It never sat comfortably with me that we perpetrated such terrible things in the name of our realm.’

  Cyrus had only nodded. He too understood the feeling of helplessness and recalled many conversations he had held with King Lorys to stop the madness and cruelty.

  ‘So what are you telling me, Cyrus?’ Gyl had asked. ‘My mother is taking Goth for judgement by the people over whom he made judgement for years?’

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you, sire.’

  ‘She’ll be the death of me, that woman,’ the King had muttered and yet no one in that chamber missed the tinge of pride in his tone.

  ‘They asked me to get to Cipres and get their daughter back. I thought it best to meet with you first, sire; prevent any…well, any unnecessary show of strength being visited on our neighbours. Hela can get us into the palace and Rubyn has the…’ he had searched again for the right word, ‘the skills to get us back out with Lauryn.’

  Gyl had seen the sense of his reasoning and immediately called for word to be sent, ship to ship, for all his men to turn back. The two ships following had slowed, confused, and finally turned, uneasy about leaving their King to sail into the unknown. But everyone on board the principal ship knew it would take a covert arrival to allow them to somehow snatch Lauryn back. Arriving aggressively with weapons and soldiers would prevent any surprise element or indeed the opportunity to reach her.

  And now they found themselves on the deck, not long from mooring at the famous Ciprean docks. Thankfully it was night and all was still.

  Herek approached and heard the King say, ‘Do you have a plan?’

  Cyrus shook his head. ‘No, sire. But trust me.’

  Herek had laughed then. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’

  And then Cyrus had turned serious. ‘We take as few people as possible ashore.’

  The others had nodded.

  ‘Providing you don’t say “and the King stays here because he is to be protected”…in which case I shall pull rank and throw you off this ship, former prime or not,’ said Gyl.

  Cyrus grinned. ‘Hela to get us in. Rubyn is critical.
Sarel.’ He saw both men baulk at the Queen’s name. ‘My bet is that the impostor will flee…he will head to Tallinor. She is safe from him for now.’

  ‘How can you know this?’ Gyl asked.

  ‘I have explained I am Paladin now. I know what Orlac wants. And once we remove Lauryn, his desire will not be to remain in Cipres. He holds her purely to attract her father. Without the bait, he must hunt him another way.’

  ‘What does he want?’ Herek questioned.

  ‘Torkyn Gynt.’ They had both looked amazed at this and Cyrus nodded. ‘Gynt and his family. They all threaten him.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ the King admitted.

  ‘And the history as to why this is, is too long in the telling for now,’ Cyrus offered sagely. ‘Another time and I will tell you a fascinating story.’

  He continued.

  ‘Sarel must come so that we secure her throne and get her crowned Queen. Hela will see to all of this once she can gather the Ciprean Council of Elders, if they are alive,’ he said ruefully. ‘Herek, you’ll need to handpick half a dozen men. We are dealing with a mightily empowered soul here. No weapons will help us. What we need is stealth and cunning and some of the same sentient power to wield of our own. Locky must have The Raven ready to sail.’

  They nodded again.

  ‘Are you sure I cannot persuade you to remain, your majesty?’ he asked Gyl. ‘Your life is worth everything right now to the Tallinese people.’

  ‘Yes, and the woman who would give me its heir is in that palace. No, Cyrus. I will be at your side to claim back my betrothed.’

  This shocked everyone. So far the women and Rubyn had been silent, although listening carefully. When everyone’s exclamations had died down, they saw that Gyl looked embarrassed.

  ‘Forgive me. No one knows of this yet; I pray you don’t speak of it outside of these ears.’

  ‘And does your intended bride know yet?’ It was Rubyn, posing his question with a deadpan face.

  Gyl bristled but held his famous temper in check. ‘I understand she is your sister, Rubyn—’

  ‘Sire, I do not even know her. Feel no embarrassment on my behalf.’