Chapter 26

Wyl sank into a glum silence as their party neared the higher ground and the in evitability of the fortress.

The terrain was familiar and once again he felt the weak but nevertheless sickening pull of Romen’s fears as what little was left of him recognized where they were.

Cailech had been generous enough to leave Ylena to herself during the journey. At night she was permitted to sleep alone in a tent made from animal skins that the warriors rigged up for her rest. Fresh water was always found for her ablutions and Cailech had even promised a dip in a hot spring where he insisted she would have privacy. He had been formal and courteous in all conversation and their only physical contact had been during the hours on horseback. Wyl realized that Cailech must be enjoying the feel of Ylena’s slim body pressed against his chest, and although he made a huge effort to sit as far forward as he could, ultimately by day’s end the journey would wear him down sufficiently that, without meaning to, he would find himself leaning against the King’s broad, hard body. There were occasions when Cailech, wanting to show Ylena something, would win her attention by gently touching her arm or speaking quietly into her ear as he pointed out a soaring eagle or a particularly jagged series of peaks, so distinctive to the Razors. And each time Wyl would withdraw just a bit further within, to what was purely him.

This was the third morning and they had broken camp a couple of hours ago. Aremys dropped back to ride alongside Cailech. Wyl had been surprised to find that the mercenary had essentially ignored him these past two days, preferring to keep company with Myrt and a fellow called Byl. He guessed that his friend was anxious and embarrassed by the situation in which Wyl found himself.

“I imagine they’re restless to be home now,” Cailech commented, nodding toward the men Aremys had just been talking with.

“They are. I don’t think any of you Mountain People feel comfortable outside the fortress and its compounds.”

Cailech grinned. “That’s a good thing.” He inhaled the sharp mountain air. “Can you smell that, Ylena?

Those are tiny white flowers called thawdrops that burst through at the first hint of spring and flourish toward midspring. The fragrance is being blown here from the valley just outside the fortress, which we’ll be passing soon. It’s quite a sight. I shall pick you some.” Wyl remembered the valley—it had been bare the last time he had passed this way. His stomach clenched at the thought of reentering the Mountain Fortress.

“Your friend is very quiet, Aremys,” the King said, amused, as if Ylena were not encircled by his arms, the prisoner of his desire.

Aremys shrugged, not daring to look Wyl’s way. “I hardly know her, my lord, to pass judgment on her silences,” he said carefully.

“You have us baffled, Ylena, you see?” Cailech said. Wyl could feel the King’s face touching the back of Ylena’s head as he leaned forward. “Are you not happy to have escaped Celimus again? Can you not share your pleasure with us?”

“I wanted to die, sire. You denied me my revenge.”

“How so?”

“I wanted the blood of both Thirsk heirs on his hands, your majesty. I wanted it mingling with that of the blood of the holy men of Rittylworth and the loyal souls of Felrawthy he had slaughtered.”

“And Koreldy’s,” Cailech said quietly.

“Yes, Romen’s too. And that of King Valor.”

“Do you think he will kill his bride?” Cailech suddenly asked.

Wyl flinched. “He is capable of it.”

The King nodded. “Is that his plan, though, do you think?”

“No,” Wyl admitted. “He wants heirs. Perhaps three, to sit each realm,” he added craftily.

It did not rattle Cailech as intended. “I have an heir, Ylena,” he replied. “His name is Aydrech, and I am hopeful you will give me more sons.”

Wyl felt a fresh wave of nausea, all his own. He fought back, unwisely. “I hear that Aydrech is not truly of your blood, sire.”

Cailech’s right hand left the reins and raised itself in the air. The men behind obediently slowed and stopped their horses, as did Cailech. Aremys looked uncertain, glancing between King and guest.

“What did you say?” Cailech said, his voice hard.

It was too late to retract it; besides, Wyl had nothing to lose. The threat of being touched by this man was coming closer by the minute.

“You heard what I said, your highness, and your very reaction proves its truth.” Myrt had dropped back to Cailech’s side. “My king, is everything all right?”

“Move the men forward, Myrt. I have a private discussion to finish.” The big warrior nodded and shot a surreptitious glance toward Aremys, who also felt the dangerous tingle in the air but hadn’t understood Wyl’s words. The other horsemen moved by, averting their eyes, and Aremys made to follow.

“Wait, Aremys,” the King commanded, leaping down from his horse with agile grace. He walked around to where he could look his bride-to-be directly in the eye. Wyl knew that stare well. “Now, Ylena. Finish what you have to say or I shall slit your throat here and now.” Wyl remained silent. Aremys shifted uncomfortably on his horse.

“What do you know about my son?” Cailech said, and his tone was now edged with a fire that had not been directed at Ylena previously.

“Only what I said, sire.”

“And how do you come by such information?”

Wyl considered his options. Romen could be the scapegoat; no one could hurt him anymore.

“It was Koreldy.”

The King looked shocked. “How could he know?”

Aremys wanted to know as well, although he feared Wyl’s answer and feared even more this nest of vipers Wyl had seemed to deliberately uncover.

“Did anyone mention to you the love between Romen Koreldy and Queen Valentyna, my lord?” Wyl asked, enjoying watching the surprise flit across Cailech’s face, to be immediately masked.

“You jest, of course.”

“I have no reason to, your majesty. You heard Celimus tell you that Romen was at Werryl Palace, acting as champion to Queen Valentyna.”

Cailech nodded. “She fell for his charms,” he said, smiling at an old memory of Romen’s flirtatious manner.

“She fell in love, your highness,” Wyl corrected. “He was not charming her—he was wooing her.”

“It sounds like Koreldy,” Cailech said disparagingly. “So what?”

“So he told her things—things he would normally have kept to himself. A man truly enraptured can have no secrets from the woman he loves.”

“He told her about my son,” the King finished.

“He told her about a man called Lothryn whose wife bore a new son, sire.”

“Aydrech is of my flesh, Ylena.”

“She knew that, my lord, and mentioned as much. Lothryn explained to Koreldy about the boy. I gather it shocked Romen, as it does me, to learn that you would take another man’s wife purely to produce an heir.”

At this the King found his lazy grin again, infuriating Wyl. “As I am doing with you. Now I understand, Ylena. You were married to Alyd Donal. I’m sure he won’t mind if I bed you, although I am sorry that you see me in such a harsh light. I am genuinely intrigued by you. You have kindled a fire in me I have never before felt burn so bright.”

“And I’m supposed to be flattered by that?” Wyl asked incredulously. “What about how I feel? You are treating me with the same contempt that Celimus treats Valentyna.” Cailech did not react to Ylena’s stinging words but changed the topic adroitly, frustrating Wyl. Cailech was too wise to fall for his baiting. “You sound as if you admire the Queen, Ylena.” Wyl shook Ylena’s head in annoyance. He glanced at Aremys, who looked as anxious as he had looked in the hall at Felrawthy. “I do, more than any other woman I’ve ever met, sire.” Cailech made a sound of disgust. “This is the same woman who sold you out to Celimus, knowing full well he was determined to kill you.”

Wyl’s anger flared. “And if you believe that, your highness, you are even more ignorant than the southerners believe you to be.”

It happened fast. Wyl felt Ylena’s body being wrenched from the saddle. Cailech’s strength was immense and her body hung from his hand like a rag doll, the tips of her boots only just touching the unforgiving rock they stood on. Aremys was off his horse in a blink, unsure of what to do.

Cailech dragged Ylena even closer. “Don’t you dare use that high-handed Morgravian tone with me, Lady Ylena. Remember, you breathe only because I allow it.”

“Then disallow it, sire,” Wyl taunted. “Kill me now as you threaten. I don’t wish to marry you. I would sooner die. Why can’t you understand that I went to Celimus to lose my life?” The light green gaze narrowed and studied her hard. “You went to Celimus? Willingly?” Wyl nodded as best he could.

The King let go of Ylena and Wyl explained. “Valentyna was as determined not to release me from her protection as I was to leave it. She could not help me, sire. But I could help her. Presenting myself to Celimus as if I had been sent by his bride-to-be meant I could probably get the Legion called away from Briavel’s borders. Celimus is unpredictable and Valentyna is headstrong; their engagement has been threatened by Morgravia’s aggression. So I made the sacrifice.”

“Why? Why do you owe her anything?”

Wyl had no ready answer to that question. “Because Wyl died trying to save her, to save her father. My brother must have had good reason to swap his allegiance to Briavel, sire. Can you imagine a Thirsk doing that without cause?”

Cailech said nothing, only continued to stare at Ylena. Wyl looked toward Aremys, whose expression begged him to win back Cailech’s trust. “I decided to give what little I had to my brother’s cause, my lord. I have no reason to live. Queen Valentyna has every reason to. Don’t be misled, my king, Valentyna alone is what stands between Celimus and the Razor Kingdom.”

“How so?”

“I think she can influence him. If she handles this right, Valentyna might just guide him from the path of war.”

“I don’t know her but I agree,” Cailech admitted. “Although something happened back there at Felrawthy. I can’t be sure but my instincts usually serve me true. I believe Celimus might hold to the promise we made to each other.”

“And you, my lord?”

“I have no reason to start a war, my lady, or I would not have wasted my own time or breath in meeting with Celimus.”

“I would be lying if I said I was not impressed.”

“Perhaps we can build on that, then?”

Wyl looked sharply up at Cailech. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Ylena, that I understand your reluctance to be here and your fear of the Mountain Kingdom, its people, and its sovereign. But perhaps my determination to forge a lasting peace with the south is a place from which we can build this new relationship. Your life is forfeit anywhere outside of the Razors—you do understand that, don’t you?”

Wyl nodded.

“Good. Then take my protection. It is mine to bestow on whom I please. I will not rush you, my lady, but I will make you my wife. I have given my word to our neighbor. It is on that understanding that he released you.”

Cailech watched Ylena take a breath to interrupt, and hurried on: “I know you wished for death. I could see it in your eyes. But I will not permit such beauty to be wasted, nor such a feisty spirit. You are the last of the great Thirsk family, Ylena. Surely you wish to see its name flourish again?” Wyl was ill-prepared for Cailech to touch on the very topic that was closest to his heart, one that provoked a storm of emotion and pain in him. He felt Ylena’s eyes water and turned away. It was in that moment of despair that he caught sight of a dark shadow that disappeared almost the instant he saw it.

Knave! That meant Fynch was here too. Why?

New fears and confusion erupted. He was cold and he was tired. Ylena’s fragile body needed rest and it was obvious he could not provoke Cailech into a swift killing. Despite his private anxieties, he could not help but feel his spirits lift at the thought that his friends were close. He would have to go along with Cailech’s plan for now and rethink his options once he was inside the fortress.

And so he gave Cailech a response he knew would please the King. “I wish that more than anything in the world, sire. I just cannot see how the Thirsk name can survive.”

“Through me, Ylena,” Cailech said gently, greatly relieved by her answer and beguiled by her sorrowful beauty. “I give you this pledge: Any child of ours will bear the name of Thirsk. That would also infuriate Celimus, of course, which is really rather satisfying. Does that please you, my lady? I would allow you to call him Fergys or even Wyl to honor your dead.”

“It pleases me, sire,” Wyl replied, taken aback by Cailech’s generosity.

“Then come, my lady. Let me take you to your new home and allow me to show you off to your new people. I will make you a queen, Ylena.”

Wyl sighed and dredged up a wan smile for Ylena’s face. “You honor me, sire,” he said, his mind racing for a way to escape the Razors again, and quickly.

Fynch could barely raise his head when Knave returned.

It is Wyl, as you warned. I think he is with King Cailech, the dog said.

The news roused Fynch, although he was too weak to sit up. He squinted his eyes. “How do you know it’s the Mountain King?”

I heard them talking and I saw the men defer to him. Ylena shares his horse and his cloak is far grander than any of the other men who travel with him.

“How in Shar’s name could this have occurred?”

From what I could gather, Wyl was at Briavel but somehow convinced Valentyna to hand him over to Celimus.

“Celimus! Where is he?”

I couldn’t tell from their conversation. But I do know Wyl tried to get himself killed.

“He cannot invite death!” Fynch exclaimed, coughing. Knave saw blood on the boy’s hand when he took it away from his mouth. “Elysius mentioned it to us, remember—after Wyl stormed out of the cottage in the Wild?”

I do. He risks much— the King got angry but fortunately took no action.

“We’ve got to see him, Knave,” Fynch bleated, feeling helpless.

You don’t seem so well. Knave deliberately kept his voice toneless.

“I’ll be all right,” Fynch replied, lying. He did not fool Knave.

Stand up, then. Let’s be on our way. The dog loped off.

Fynch tried and failed. Tried again. Knave reappeared, looming over him. “I’m so sorry,” the boy whispered.

The dog hardly heard the apology. You can’t stay here, Fynch It’s too open. The warrior scouts could pick you up.

“I can drag myself somewhere perhaps?” the boy offered, feeling ashamed.

Use what strength you have to climb onto me.

It was obvious that Fynch understood the depth of his sickness or Knave knew he would have objected.

Instead the boy used his reserves of will to drape himself across the large animal’s back.

I’m sorry, Knave.

Don’t send! Save yourself. Now let me get you somewhere safe and dry.

Knave moved silently and slowly, picking his way over the rocky ground, careful not to dislodge the child lying across him. He hardly felt the weight. The boy fell asleep and the dog was relieved. With sleep there would be no pain.

Where could he take Fynch? Perhaps the Thicket could send them to a safe spot. It had done so before when they were traveling. He called to the magical place; disappointment knifed through him when it replied and he learned that he was no longer connected to it as he had been before. He could feel its magic but only through Fynch’s link. Knave no longer had its powers at his call.

He pressed on toward a ridge and sent a plea to whoever might be listening that there would be some protection here from the elements. He hoped that it would not be the final resting place of Fynch the gong boy.

Kestrel had tried to reach Fynch but could not raise a response. He had followed the pretty woman and her companion as far as the outskirts of the big southern city known as Pearlis. It was obvious they were headed into its center and he would lose them among the crowds. He sighed as he watched the two blend into the constant flow of people either making for or leaving the main city gates; time for him to leave. Kestrel dipped his wing to the right and made a new course. It was warmer here and he would not have minded a few days of hunting with the sun warming his outstretched wings. Here in the south spring was already turning its face to welcome summer, but the north was where Kestrel was headed—to cooler climes and an intriguing young lad who dared to call himself King of the Creatures.

Elspyth had no idea that the bird of prey had just bade her farewell. She was not feeling at all well and, for all her bravado, thanked Shar’s blessing that he had seen fit to send her an angel in the guise of Crys Donal. Her injuries reminded her constantly of her ordeal and the pain sapped her energy. She would never have made it into Morgravia without Crys’s strong arms and guiding presence. Reaching Yentro seemed wishful thinking, and the Razors and Lothryn a plain impossibility now.

Self-pity was corrosive and pointless. She pushed away the melancholy that threatened to overwhelm her and permitted Crys to use his body to shield her against the sudden crush of people. They had traveled in the cart until they neared the city and then left it at the roadside for some fortunate finder. Crys’s horse carried them both from there, but progress was slow because of the stream of people flocking into and out of Pearlis. Still, it was not nearly as crowded as it had been on Elspyth’s last journey into the city, when she had arrived with her aged aunt for the tournament. That felt like a lifetime ago, and yet she would have fingers to spare if she counted back in moons. Had it really been such a short period since she had first clapped eyes on Romen Koreldy in Yentro, before she had learned that he was no longer the dashing mercenary but General Wyl Thirsk of Morgravia?

She thought about Wyl as Ylena—felt a pang of sorrow for his suffering and wondered where he was now. Was Ylena already dead and Wyl walking as someone new?

“A regal for your thoughts?” Crys murmured from behind.

“That you’re clutching me too close,” Elspyth replied.

He squeezed her harder. “My only legitimate chance,” he said.

She ignored his jest. “Is the gate into Pearlis always this busy?”

“Yes, so I gather. Still, it was a good idea of yours to abandon the cart and expensive clothes.”

“How does it feel to be an ordinary citizen?”

“Better. For the time being the Donal name is cursed.”

“We’d better think of a name for you.”

“I can be your brother, how’s that?”

“I approve. I’ve always wanted a brother.”

“And if you had one, what would you call him?”

“Jonothon.”

“Then that’s who I am for the time being. I’ll hop down and lead you in on the horse. Hopefully we’ll slip by unnoticed.”

“There’s no register at Pearlis,” Elspyth offered.

“Nevertheless, some bright spark might recognize me. Alyd and I are.. .were incredibly alike in appearance.”

“Good idea to tie your hair back like that, then.”

“Thank you, sister. Here we go. Don’t look anyone in the eye, but don’t avert your gaze too obviously.”

“Can’t we just talk? You’re making me nervous with your instructions.”

“So how old would Cousin Jemma be now?” Crys replied smoothly.

They were passing through the main gate and Elspyth risked a laugh toward Crys. “Oh, I think she’d be marriageable age. I hear she’s very pretty.”

“I don’t like flaxen-haired women. I like dark haired beauties, as you well know,” Crys continued conversationally. He nodded at a guard, who ignored him, and then he laughed. “I am not marrying her even if it does mean you can come and live in the city.”

“We’re through,” Elspyth said, touching his shoulder with relief.

“Well done.”

“Now where to?”

“Lord and Lady Bench are old friends of our family, and they will be able to get some medicines for your pain. You look pale.”

“Are you sure we’ll be welcome?”

Crys grinned his reassurance. “Trust me.”

“Famous last words.” She groaned, but felt safe for his confidence. She could tell that the wound on her shoulder had reopened and was glad her cloak was dark enough not to give away their secret. “Let’s hurry.”

It took longer than Crys had anticipated to wend their way into the quieter, more affluent neighborhood where Lord and Lady Bench kept their family home. In the end, he stabled their horse and hailed a carriage to take them the final half mile.

“This is better, Elspyth. If for any reason their house is being watched…”

“Why would it be?” she asked, collapsing into the seat.

Crys gave the driver instructions. “I don’t know,” he said patiently. “But I highly doubt that Celimus would allow one of the most powerful men left in this kingdom to go about his business without some form of observation.”

Elspyth nodded. She did not want to talk anymore. It was all she could do just to hold herself together.

The pain had stepped up to a most determined throb, she could feel heat at the shoulder wound, and her head was pounding.

“Infection,” Crys muttered when she told him. “You need a physic. The Benches will see to it.”

“Let’s hope they’re home.”

Fortunately the Bench mansion was encircled by a huge privet hedge and the driver was able to take them into the sweeping driveway and unload them unseen. Crys paid him some extra coin; it might buy silence should it prove necessary. Then he all but carried Elspyth to the door, which was swiftly opened by a dour-faced servant.

“Is the family at home?” Crys inquired.

“That depends, sir,” the man said, looking the shabby couple up and down. “Who is calling?”

“If Lord Bench is in residence please inform him that…” Crys hesitated; perhaps this fellow could not be trusted. It paid to be cautious. “Tell him it is an old family friend from Bright-stone.” Crys remembered that the Bench family had a seaside property in the far northwest.

“I will need a name, sir,” the servant said with irritating condescension, closing his eyes as he contrived a fake smile.

Crys took a breath. “Just say it’s Booty. Now hurry, man, this woman needs medical attention.” Elspyth felt like deadweight in his arms, although she was conscious and gave him a brave grin as the manservant disappeared.

“Booty?” she asked.

“My father’s old nickname for Lord Bench. Apparently there’s no item he can’t appropriate if he sets his mind to it.”

They stood in awkward silence for a minute, then suddenly a plump, powdered woman came bustling through some double doors, closely followed by a tall, silver-haired gentleman.

“Shar’s wrath!” the woman exclaimed. “Is that woman sick?”

“She is, my lady, and urgently requires attention.”

Before Crys had finished speaking, the older woman had turned to the manservant. “Arnyld, why are you still standing there? Send a runner for my physician at once! Tell Physic Dredge to waste no time.” She turned back to Crys. “Put her over here, son,” she said gently, pointing to a long low bench seat.

“I’m bleeding, my lady,” Elspyth began, “I’ll ruin—”

“Hush, child,” the woman admonished. “Do as you are told.” Elspyth obeyed immediately, sinking to the bench.

Crys took his chance while there were no servants visible, turning and bowing to Lord Bench. He was met by a grim-faced stare.

“I wondered who had the audacity to use old Jeryb’s nickname for me to gain entry,” Eryd Bench said in his melodious voice. “Introduce yourself truly now, before I call a Legionnaire.”

“Lord and Lady Bench, my apologies for arriving in this manner, but circumstances demand it. I am Crys Donal, Duke of Felrawthy.”

The couple standing before him blanched. Lady Bench reached for her husband, who helped her sit down next to Elspyth. Crys, looking at their pale expressions, was relieved to know the physic was on his way.