He shifted his attention to the fight. Tamas had been doing well; clearly, he was the better swordsman and obviously far too modest because he’d never mentioned his ability. But he was the elder man by a decade. In Captain Wentzl’s body, Cyricus was stronger, faster. Tamas looked to be wearying.
He watched the king feint and strike. He caught Wentzl a slashing blow on his fighting arm and Wentzl shrieked with pain. Blood flowed easily. Good, that would slow him … in fact, that was the way to win this fight. Ham checked again on Cassien and then took the risk, hurtling down the staircase two at a time until he rushed out into the main yard, emerging from the shadow of the cloisters.
‘Your majesty,’ he yelled.
‘Busy right now, Ham,’ Tamas yelled back, blocking and swinging, missing a nasty hack at his calf, dancing out of the way just in time.
‘Wound him, your majesty. Make him bleed any way you can.’
‘Who in the devil’s bright blood is this, Tamas? You take advice from a boy now?’
‘You should too, Cyricus,’ Ham said, beginning the ruse, ‘because I would advise you to give up this mortal body.’
Tamas, not yet bleeding, but visibly slowing, sneaked in a crushing blow that damaged Wentzl’s shoulder.
‘You’ll pay for that, Tamas,’ Cyricus groaned, but Ham could see that the king had gone into the fighting trance that Ham had heard spoken of when he looked after swordfighters in Orkyld. He’d had it explained by several different men as they talked of the curious ‘space’ they fell into when fighting. You go within yourself, one had said, in order to stay focused and not be distracted. Another had likened it to wearing blinkers: You are simply not aware of anything around you, other than your opponent’s blade and where the weight of his body is shifting. And that’s how Tamas looked now. Completely absorbed and dedicating himself to parrying the sudden flurry of blows that his younger, stronger opponent was pressing. Tamas was holding, twisting and turning his sword with skill and courage to ensure the flat of the blade met the blows and deflected them, although his shoulders were likely burning by now. In fact, Ham could see he raised his hands slightly lower with each parry. Time was getting away. Was it already too late?
Even so Ham urged him again.
‘Make him bleed, sire!’
‘Shut up!’ Cyricus roared, turning his blade on Ham, which was a foolish error, for Tamas — in his ‘space’ — saw the opening and took his chance. Like a viper striking, he moved, throwing his last reserve of energy into a hacking motion that brought the keen edge of the Ciprean sword into Wentzl’s unprotected side. Wentzl staggered, still facing Ham.
And Ham cheered inwardly. He’s ready, Gabe. Ham opened a new link — they came easily now. Cyricus, do you know that Wentzl is already dying?
Shut your filthy mouth, boy. How are you speaking this way to me? Wentzl’s body crumpled to his knees.
The king doesn’t know, Ham continued, as if unoffended by the demon’s insult, and what you don’t know either, is that I am on your side.
What? Wentzl’s expression was a mask of pain and confusion as he doubled over, but Cyricus sounded strong if perplexed. What are you talking about?
Ham cut a glance at Tamas and nodded. The king staggered back in fatigue. He had sustained one wound to the body, but although it bled, it did not look life threatening. Ham’s peripheral vision told him that Florentyna and Brother Hoolyn were making for the king but he had eyes now only for Wentzl. He turned his mind back to Cyricus.
Cyricus! I can save you.
The demon laughed in Ham’s mind, cruel and mocking.
Trust me, he continued calmly, we can do this together.
Cyricus raised Wentzl’s head. The gaze was fading, but Ham knew the demon inside was as strong as ever.
Your host is failing, but you needn’t die.
I won’t die. I can remain dormant.
Not if they burn the corpse, Ham followed up quickly.
Ah, now he had the demon’s attention.
They don’t cremate in Morgravia, Cyricus sneered.
They do in Cipres. Tamas will ensure the captain’s body is accorded full honours. Besides, no Morgravian will protest; they’re not taking chances with this one. Wentzl is going on a pyre.
The silence that followed his reveal was loud and horror-filled.
Still Cyricus rallied. That doesn’t mean I’m finished. I can move through the spirit world again. But I’m interested. You said you could save me? His amused tone belied the way the body he inhabited was crumpling in on itself, wheezing to its death as blood bubbled around a sucking wound.
I can.
Why?
You tell me.
Power?
Yes. Power. Wealth. Lands. Women. I am an orphan, Cyricus. I have known only poverty. I have no skills but this curious talent to engage in mindspeak with other sentients. I have no magic, other than my mind. But I am clever. I see opportunities that people see as dead ends.
Cyricus actually laughed. How old are you?
Far older than I appear, Ham said lightly, but not masking the truth. You’ll need to make a decision now, Cyricus, for Wentzl’s body is not going to last beyond another fifty heartbeats.
I know what I must offer you, boy, but what are you offering me? You speak of saving me. How?
It was the moment.
Like this, Ham said and opening up his mind he drew Cyricus in and showed him a vision of the forest. I can take you here.
How?
Magic.
You don’t have any.
I told you I had some, not as much as you. Use me. Harness what I’m showing you, take yourself to the forest.
Where is this forest?
No ordinary place, my lord. In Morgravia and Briavel, it is known as the Wild, he lied.
Another deafening silence.
They both heard the roar. It was Tamas again, hauling himself back to his feet, and brandishing his sword.
‘Not finished yet, Cyricus. Let me help you on your way, demon!’
Choose, my lord. The Wild is a place of fierce magic.
I know of it, Cyricus snarled, but Ham could hear the hunger in his voice. Tell me again, who are you?
I am … Myrren, my lord, once known as the Witch Myrren of Morgravia.
Myr— he stopped and Wentzl coughed.
Ham glanced up at Tamas and shook his head, to stay his hand a moment longer. Tamas obeyed making a show of finding it difficult to raise his heavy sword, muttering and growling obscenities.
Myrren, Cyricus repeated. It’s not possible.
It is. I will explain how later. I walk in the form of this young boy now, but tomorrow I can be Florentyna. I can be your queen. I can be anyone I want to be.
You died! I watched it happen.
Ham shook his head and gave a sly smile. People believe what they see. My spirit escaped and hid. My magic made a mess of Morgravia and Briavel for a while, didn’t it? But I got bored. Centuries have passed. You’ve livened things up a bit, Cyricus. I’d like to join your vengeful mission. But, Ham made a show of looking at the wound again, a dozen heartbeats and you’ll never know what you’ve missed. Ham intensified the image and the forest glowed dark and green. And that’s only one entrance to the Wild, Cyricus. You should see it on the other side. He paused, took a breath — this would be his last chance. He didn’t think he could stop Tamas now even if he begged.
The king’s towering figure stood over Wentzl and the Ciprean blade was being raised for the final time.
‘Die, Cyricus!’ Tamas growled, animal-like.
Cyricus! Ham urged. Let go!
Tamas brought the sovereign sword of Cipres down onto the neck of his beloved captain and severed the man’s head from his body.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Ham whispered across the private link to his brothers, relief evident in his voice. He’s back in his ethereal form.
The demon was still slightly stupefied from the transference. He groaned from where he cro
uched and Cassien, waiting in the shadow of the trees, was intrigued that he took the form of a man.
But he wasn’t ready for the familiar face or voice when the demon looked up.
‘So this is the Wild?’ he murmured in Fynch’s voice.
It was shock enough that Cassien, who had been stepping forward, shrank back. Fynch! How could it be? His mind raced. Fynch was the demon? Surely they hadn’t all been duped. Why?
Cassien! It was Ham. It’s not Fynch.
I … he hesitated.
Gabe’s mellow voice joined Ham’s. Brother, listen now. If it were Fynch he would know where he was. He would not have said, ‘So this is the Wild.’ He’s just adopted a form.
But why walk as Fynch? Cassien demanded, his ethereal heart pounding. He doesn’t know him.
Cass, there’s no time for this, Ham urged. Think of your body.
Ham, you don’t understand, Cassien said. He didn’t want to say anything about Fynch being their father, but how could he explain to his brother how confronting it was to know in the next moments he was going to attempt to kill this man who walked as Fynch.
I understand this. Your body is cooling fast. We have Cyricus where we need him to be. You know what you have to do. He’s Cyricus, just tell yourself that. I suspect, Ham began, thinking hard, it’s an echo. He’s adopted the form of someone the forest knows well and whose paths he has oft trod.
Cassien couldn’t tell whether Ham was just placating him, but the concept of the echo resonated with him, felt right, and Gabe’s point about the man’s easy belief that this was the Wild did reassure him.
Fynch looked around. ‘Well, come on, Myrren, where are you? Show yourself, girl! We can have a little fun together. It’s been a long time since I’ve squeezed a bright, firm, young —’ He stopped, looking thunderstruck.
He doesn’t recognise me, Cassien said. It’s not Fynch.
Keep telling yourself that, Gabe whispered across their link. Hurry, Cassien. I don’t know how long I can maintain the forest.
Cassien took a breath and stepped out from beneath the low-hanging branches.
‘Myrr—’ Cyricus stopped. ‘You! It can’t be. Cassien, the Queen’s champion?’
‘I am your destroyer, Cyricus.’
The demon sighed. ‘And Myrren?’
‘Dead, burned as the witch she was.’
Fynch’s expression changed from bemused to sombre to frowning, and Cassien could feel the rage building.
‘I was tricked?’
Cassien nodded. ‘Twice now. This time in a brilliant ploy by the lad. His name is Hamelyn, I don’t know if you recall. He’s my brother.’
‘I knew I recognised him,’ Cyricus said, shaking his head. ‘I just didn’t pay enough attention; although, in my defence, Wentzl was dying at the time. And his ploy about Myrren sounded so plausible. Yes, I remember now, the wretched messenger boy who came with Tamas into Darcelle’s chamber.’
‘Very good.’
Fynch spun around. ‘This isn’t the Wild?’
Cassien laughed. ‘You’re about as far away from the Wild as we could bring you, Cyricus. Welcome back to the Void.’
Fynch’s face darkened, all humour fled. An animal-like growl sounded distantly and it took Cassien a moment to realise that it wasn’t some creature bearing down upon them but that the noise was coming from the small man who replicated his father. Fynch began to tremble, and then he began to shake uncontrollably; the whole time a roar was gathering, growing in intensity around him.
Any ideas? Cassien threw at his brothers. Can you sever the forest illusion, Gabe?
I’d leave you stranded where you are. Your body with Ham, your spirit in the Void. So no, that’s not an option.
Cassien watched in bleak horror as Cyricus suddenly reached up to his head and, as though he were peeling the skin off a ripe, juicy finula, tore away the flesh that encased him. Unfolding out of the dark space within was a monstrous, forbidding shape. It was huge, troll-like, with a head as big as a boulder and a body that looked far too large, making that massive head appear like a pebble on a cliff top. The hirsute body shifted and blotted out the pretend light that was dappling through the pretend trees of Gabe’s creation.
Cyricus stood to his full height and cast aside the shell of Fynch like an empty husk. It looked tiny and pathetic by comparison with the creature that stood before him.
The voice belonged to the same, sly Cyricus that he knew.
‘Well, Cassien, brother of clever Hamelyn and no doubt brother also to Gabriel, it appears to me that I shall have to take out my rage on you.’
Cassien drew his sword and for the first time he heard its voice. It was female and she screamed her joy at being drawn in the Void and her fury at who stood before her. ‘The sword knows you, Cyricus.’
‘Knows me? Could I care any less, brave Cassien? Do you really believe a blade frightens me? You can smite me a hundred times and I won’t feel it.’ And the troll-like creature leapt.
Cassien swiftly retreated behind the trees. He could hear Cyricus laughing. Cassien dodged one way and then spun back the other. He thought he’d given himself enough clearance, but he underestimated again how swiftly the demon could move. He felt a vice-like grip and he was thrown into the air. Then his training took over and he twisted to land lightly before rolling, never letting go of his sword, which was now singing, and he could hear her beautiful voice.
The boldly drawn face of Cyricus, with its heavy brow and pouting lips, formed a frown. He hadn’t expected Cassien to be so acrobatic. ‘Tell your blade to stop its incessant song so we can focus on killing one another.’
‘Are you finding it annoying?’ Cassien taunted. ‘Wait until it cuts you.’
‘I could take a thousand cuts from that needle and barely feel a sting,’ Cyricus retorted.
Cassien leapt forward, but the troll was ready for him and swept a hand in a big arc. The connecting fist felt like a tree hitting him and Cassien was punched back. He felt bones splinter somewhere as he broke his fall and he registered the annoyance of pain but didn’t so much as pause. He was back on his feet.
‘You are tough, Cassien.’
‘I told you. I am here to destroy you. If it requires my final breath, I’ll give it.’
Cyricus exploded with laughter before bearing down on Cassien, but Cassien was quicker to react this time, rolling beneath the clubbing fist. He was behind the troll within a heartbeat and, holding the hilt of the sword like a spear, he plunged the blade into the creature’s great calf muscle.
Cyricus roared with pain.
Cassien. End it. Your body … it just convulsed. Ham’s worried voice pressed into his mind.
This had happened the first time he’d roamed, he was sure. He had trembled for days afterwards. Romaine had nearly attacked him she had been so angry with him. He’d promised her he would never push to such a limit again, and he hadn’t … until now.
‘Ooh, that hurt me, little mortal,’ Cyricus jeered.
Cassien noticed that although the wound barely bled because the creature’s hide was so tough, there was a distinct blue-black welt snaking its way up the demon’s leg, like a trace of poison. Cyricus was unaware and thought of it as barely more than a scratch, it seemed.
He couldn’t follow the thought and should not have hesitated as he had. Cyricus flung him again and this time Cassien couldn’t break his fall as well as he had on the previous occasion. He found himself wrapped around a tree, ribs smashed, coughing up blood.
‘That’s real blood. The Void doesn’t spare us,’ Cyricus sneered. ‘You are certainly courageous. Not so much as a groan of pain. What are you?’
‘I’m your destroyer, Cyricus,’ Cassien said again, ignoring the immense pain as he hauled himself slowly back to his feet. He had not let go of the sword and he leaned on it now.
Cyricus laughed mirthlessly. ‘Yes, you look like you could really hurt me, mortal. What is in your mind to make you think to hunt me?’
&n
bsp; ‘It’s not me who hunts you, demon. I’m merely the one who will deliver your death blow,’ Cassien said, through halting breaths.
‘Really? Who hunts me?’ Cyricus asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.
‘Fynch, Keeper of the Wild, will rejoice in your destruction.’
‘The keeper,’ Cyricus repeated and his voice had taken on a dead tone.
Cassien. It was Gabe. Ham is panicked. Florentyna is weeping. Please, brother, come back now. Leave it. We will watch him in the Void. He can’t escape us. Whatever he’s doing to you there is happening to your body in our plane. I didn’t know that would occur. He is killing you. Maybe I should change you back to the spirit.
No! Then I can’t hold this sword. Let me be, Gabe. I let you be at the cathedral when you knew it was the right decision. I’m going to finish this, Cassien sent back over the link. I can make it.
He heard the hesitation.
Ham’s voice came into his mind. He sounded as though he too was weeping. Please, Cassien. Please.
Be strong, little brother. My turn to be the hero.
Cassien snapped off the link, realising that Cyricus had him again and there was nothing gentle about the way the troll was handling him, rolling his body between his fingers as though he were preparing fingen weed to smoke. He grimaced with the agony, but let out no sound.
‘Impressive, Cassien. How do you bear it as I shatter your tiny skeleton?’
He could hardly speak and knew time was short. His body would let him down, but not before he finished what his father had charged him to do, what in his life of loneliness — albeit in ignorance — he had been raised for.
He pretended to whisper.
‘I can’t hear you,’ Cyricus teased. ‘The fun’s gone out of you, Cassien. You’re dying. That’s the sad thing about mortals. You die. But you see, we demons, we live on. I found my way out of this forsaken place once before, I’ll do so again. I hope the forest remains for eternity.’
‘It will be gone the moment I am,’ Cassien choked out.
The Scrivener's Tale Page 56
