9
The Pursuit Begins

Goth had wasted no time since his audience with Orlac. He had been given freedom to assemble a dozen or so men and money was plentiful in his purse from the royal coffers. He told the soldiers that, at Orlac’s bidding, he was leading a raiding party into Tallinor to track down the killer of their Queen Sylven. More than enough men volunteered their services and he was careful to take one of the officers who would command these soldiers.

He explained that someone had left the palace in a hurry—a servant called Hela—who had information leading to the Queen’s murderer, a man called Torkyn Gynt. Some of the men knew Hela and he noticed their look of surprise at the mention of her name. He quickly quashed any doubts they had, suggesting that it was she who had first encouraged the Queen to meet with this Tallinese physic. It did not help that one of the officers expressed his shock, saying that he knew Hela very well and that she was the most loyal of all of her majesty’s confidantes. Goth swiftly laid his most damning accusation, announcing that Hela had captured the Princess Sarel and had taken her prisoner with her into Tallinor to meet up with Gynt, holding the heir to the throne of Cipres to ransom. He was making it up as he went along, his mind sliding this way and that around every objection—if only he had known that Hela was indeed fleeing to the safety of Torkyn Gynt it would have amused him.

When questioned about the fearful stranger he reassured the men that Orlac had every intention of putting Sarel on her rightful throne and that he was their only hope against the conspiracy which had been uncovered —that Tallinor had designs on Cipres. Killing the Queen and imprisoning her heir was the first step towards the Tallinese success. He was rather pleased with himself that all of this fakery had been contrived as he stood there in front of these men. His fabrication was thin: Orlac had killed so many. When further objections ensued, he reminded them of what they were dealing with—magic beyond understanding; powers they could not fight. Better to have him on their side, he reasoned, as he played on the Cipreans’ shock for their dead Queen and now their stolen Queen. He knew he was clutching at straws and needed more time to come up with a better rationale for them, but he had his own pressing mission and that was to track down the heir to the throne. Beyond that task he envisioned unimaginable riches but mostly power, which was what he craved more than anything.

The men were readied; they would begin to sweep the city for news —any clues at all which might lead to Sarel’s whereabouts.

A man was dragged up in front of Goth. He had been beaten badly and was favouring one side of his body. The soldiers who held him upright threw the man down in front of Goth.

‘He knows, sir,’ one of the soldiers said.

Goth gestured for the injured man to be lifted up again. When he faced him, he could see his lips were so badly wounded, they were almost shredded. Someone had either worked him over very well in anger or the man was too courageous for his own good.

‘If you have information on the maid, Hela, it is best you tell us now,’ Goth said in a pleasant voice.

The man spat the blood running freely into his mouth at Goth’s face. The former chief inquisitor did not react predictably. Instead, he pulled his horrible sneer-like smile and motioned for silence.

‘Who knows this man?’

A soldier stepped forward. ‘I do, sir. His name is Garth; a good man, just a lowly guard.’

‘I see,’ Goth said, turning back to the soldiers who held the man. ‘What makes you think he knows something?’

‘He was boasting at the guardhouse that Hela owed him a roll between the sheets because of a favour, sir.’

‘Ah, good.’ Goth returned his attention to the soldier who knew Garth and whispered something to him. The man nodded and disappeared with another soldier.

‘At ease, men,’ Goth said, ‘we have a little while to wait.’

Puzzled, the men dropped their cargo to the dust, where Garth now lay in silence, bleeding.

A short time later the soldiers returned; this time they carried a child with them; a little girl of around six or so summers. She was crying. The mother had come too and was wailing. Both men looked uncomfortable and frightened.

‘Get him up,’ Goth said and watched Garth being heaved back to his shaky feet.

Garth immediately recognised his sister and his niece. The woman was screaming at her brother and the child’s crying grew louder. Goth could not help but enjoy this pathetic scene. He wished he had a branding iron handy because this so reminded him of the good old days in Tallinor.

He finally spoke above the din. ‘Now, Garth. As you can see, I care not for your suffering—as indeed neither do you, it seems. But if you do not tell me what you know of Hela’s disappearance, then I will cut off the finger of your sister’s child here and I will continue to cut off fingers until she is left with two stumps at the ends of her arms.’

He could sense the horror of the men around him at such a suggestion. Cowards, he thought. The Cipreans, like the Tallinese, had grown soft. He continued. ‘And then I will start on her toes, Garth. But you can save her becoming a cripple and no small amount of pain if you offer up immediately what you know. It’s really very simple.’ He even tried to grin although his twitch had become extremely pronounced and frequent now…it always did when he was excited like this.

Garth hung his head. Goth counted silently to five and then grabbed the child. In a flash he had removed a wicked-looking knife from a pocket. The girl was screaming so loudly he wanted to thrust it straight into her heart but he resisted. Men closed around him murmuring angrily.

‘Back off, you men,’ he warned. ‘I have Orlac’s authority here and you would do well to show your respect. He will not look upon you with any favour for interfering with the safe return of her majesty, Queen Sarel.’

That seemed to have the desired effect.

‘Garth?’ he called and was pleased to see the man had the decency to look at him.

‘What’s it to be? Finger or information?’ The little girl was just whimpering now and her mother was chalkwhite, staring at her brother and continuing a stream of desperate cajoling to get him to deliver the information.

Goth was not prepared to be patient. He wasted no further time. Garth would need to be reminded that Goth never made empty threats. He bent the child’s tiny hand across his own thigh and without further warning had sliced off the smallest finger of her left hand. The scream meanwhile sliced through the heart of every man around and several retched.

The mother shrieked and fainted, as did the child finally, which was a mercy. Goth returned his cold stare to Garth, as he handed the man his niece’s finger.

‘A memento for you,’ he said.

Garth broke down and told him everything. In moments they had the story of Hela’s strange departure from the palace with a cloaked friend. Garth explained she was a maid who was pregnant with no idea of the father and that Hela was taking her home to prevent tongue-wagging and a cloud hanging over a good family.

Goth laughed. ‘And you never saw this friend?’

Garth watched his shocked sister and her screaming, bleeding daughter being led away. ‘No. I believed Hela. She had no reason to lie but I did have her followed for her behaviour was strange. She met a man and my only information is that she and this companion were taken aboard a ship.’ All of this was said haltingly and with difficulty but Goth held his patience.

‘And the ship’s name is?’

‘The Raven. It belongs to a Captain Quist of Caradoon.’

Goth was pleased. He recognised the name from his time in Caradoon; knew the pirate’s formidable reputation as running the most successful ship in the archipelago. Now they had a path to follow.

‘Thank you, Garth,’ he said before slashing the blade of his knife across the guard’s throat. The man died quickly and quietly. Orders had already been given to a paid mercenary by Goth to rid Cipres of Garth’s sister and niece. The mercenary was, in fact, waiting for their return home now to finish Goth’s ugly work.

Goth wiped at splatters of Garth’s blood. ‘Get rid of his body —and I want a ship readied immediately. We are bound for the Kingdom of Tallinor.’

Soldiers unhappily but obediently snapped to his command.

Goth turned away satisfied. But next time he headed into Tallinor, he vowed, it would be with an army and the sorcerer, Orlac, for protection. He would see Torkyn Gynt’s severed head sewn onto the body of Alyssandra Qyn’s and he would burn the single corpse and scatter its ashes to the very corners of the Kingdom and he would then assist his new master raze it to the ground.