Blood and Memory (27 page)

“I know you can, but you will still be a target. If I were to travel with you, it will prevent the unnecessary interest that will be leveled at a young noblewoman alone and abroad.”

Wyl considered it. Aremys was right; he might well be vulnerable as Ylena. And in truth, he could use the quiet company of the big man.

“I agree,” he finally replied.

Aremys looked up in surprise. “What, not even going to fight me on it? Throw some knives at me or something?”

“No. You’re definitely right. I don’t have time for the obstacle of unhealthy interest some might take.”

“Well, that’s that, then,” Aremys growled, relieved. “Where are we going?”

“I had a dream last night.”

“Oh?” his friend said, lifting an eyebrow.

“A vision perhaps.” Wyl sighed and pulled at his ear. Aremys had seen him make this identical gesture as Faryl and realized it was probably Wyl Thirsk’s trait. That felt reassuring, for some reason.

“There’s too much talk of magic, I know, but this was real…it felt that way at least.”

“Tell me,” Aremys said.

“A voice told me to go where no one else goes.”

“Well, that’s certainly specific. We’ll find him easily, then.”

Wyl gave him a gentle glare. “It’s what I was told.”

“All right, where could that be?”

“Across the oceans?” Wyl hazarded.

“Which one?”

Wyl shrugged. “All right, the Razors. Most wouldn’t think to be heading into the mountains, especially not in this climate with war brewing.”

“This was a man’s voice?”

Wyl nodded. “His accent didn’t suggest he was a northerner, if that’s what you’re getting around to. He sounded Morgravian if anything—like I used to. A southerner.”

“For a Morgravian, Briavel is somewhere they don’t trespass.”

“Except there’s been trade between the two realms for many years now.” Wyl shook his head. “No, I don’t think it’s Briavel.”

Aremys stood and stretched. “Well, there’s always the Wild.”

“The Wild? To the east of Briavel, you mean? There’s nothing there.”

“How do you know? None of us have visited.”

“But isn’t it supposed to have some curse on it?” Wyl added. “That you can’t return from it?”

Aremys nodded slyly. “They say it’s enchanted. Sounds like the sort of place cursed people go.”

“That’s not funny.” Wyl bristled.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” his companion said evenly. “Sounds like a neat match to me, though. An enchanted place where a warlock might live?”

Wyl closed his eyes and breathed hard, trying to find some sense of ease. “Well, I have no better idea.”

“Then we’ll go take a look.”

“How do we get there?”

“You’re not going anywhere without me,” Elspyth said, arriving at the doorway. She shrugged at them. “I couldn’t sleep. I heard voices.” Then she hesitated, looking at Wyl, emotions marching across her face unconcealed.

Wyl stood, walked around the scrubbed table, and he hugged his good friend. She wept a little, but he had finished with tears. His eyes remained dry. “Don’t cry, Elspyth. We do them no good with tears.”

“I know,” she said. “This is all my fault, though. You told me not to reveal the truth. I should have stayed quiet, should have kept your secret…”

He hushed her mouth with his soft, female hand. “Don’t. Ylena would have killed Faryl anyway. I was the one who failed. I should have seen it coming, reacted faster…still, I should have sent Aremys in first to explain that I was not coming to kill her.”

“It’s just so much sadness rolling into one huge sorrow,” she admitted.

He hugged her hard again, wanted her to accept his forgiveness. “Did anyone bother to introduce you to my friend Aremys, by the way? He knows everything.”

“I’m sorry, Aremys, we did meet under difficult circumstances,” she said, holding out her hand.

The big man took her small hand in his and squeezed gently. “I understand from Wyl how lucky he is to have you for a friend,” he said, pleasing her with his gentle words, “even though you are a blabbermouth,” and watched the look of hurt cross Elspyth’s face.

“Take no notice,” Wyl assured. “Aremys loves to tease.”

She narrowed her eyes at the big man, saw the levity in his expression, and accepted the jest with some grace. “May I have some of that?” she asked, nodding toward his tea.

“Surely,” Aremys said, smiling back to reassure her that he had not meant to hurt. He was glad to busy himself once again.

“So where are you going now?” Elspyth said to the angelic-looking woman before her, an accusing tone in her voice.

“I have to find Myrren’s real father, Elspyth, before I can tackle anything. I have to know more about this magic within me.”

“I understand,” she replied tightly.

“It does not change the oath I swore to you. I will return to the Razors and find him.”

“He spoke to me, Wyl,” she admitted, a tremor in her voice. “There was pain and darkness around him. He was frightened. There was someone else too, but I couldn’t see him”—she shrugged—“or her. There was magic somewhere, I’m sure.”

“What did he say?” Elspyth’s words had jogged his memory of his own dark dream.

“He called to me,” she said wistfully, remembering his sadness.

“That’s all?”

She frowned in thought. “No. There was more. He said something along the lines of to tell Romen he will wait. And then he added something strange, cryptic—I can’t fathom it.”

“Go on,” Wyl urged.

“He said to tell you that he is no longer as you would expect.” She watched Ylena’s face frown.

“That’s it?” Wyl said.

“Mmm.” She nodded, smiling fleetingly in thanks to Aremys as he set the tea down before her. “What could that mean?”

Wyl stood gracefully and began to pace. If any in the room had known Fergys Thirsk, they would have realized Wyl had caught his father’s habit of movement when in thought. “I have no idea, but strangely I too dreamed tonight—well, I think I did. You’ve just reminded me of it and I don’t know who spoke to me, but whoever it was seemed to be in terrible pain, screaming for deliverance. A man.”

“He’s torturing him,” she said bleakly They both knew the torturer to whom she referred.

“If it’s him trying to reach us, then at least we know he’s alive,” Wyl reassured.

Aremys joined them at the table. “Is this the Lothryn you have spoken of?”

They both nodded.

“I’ve never given up the hope that Cailech has kept him alive,” Wyl said.

“But you also believed torture would not be enough for Cailech. Not his style, you said,” Elspyth countered.

“That’s true. The pain could be something else, of course.”

“Like what?” Aremys queried.

“Magic,” Elspyth murmured, and Wyl shot a glance toward her. He had not wanted to say it himself. “Why not?” she demanded, angry now as she allowed the thought to take shape. “Cailech has that evil Rashlyn hovering around him. Isn’t he a practitioner of magic? Just looking at his wild appearance and mad eyes made me go cold.”

“Among other nasty things, yes,” Wyl admitted. He drained his mug. “I don’t want you rushing off into the Razors on your own, Elspyth… I know it’s crossed your mind,” he added.

She blushed. “I cannot sit by and do nothing.”

“Cailech will kill you. No parley, no niceties at all. Trust me on this.”

“And you would know?”

Wyl nodded, wondering at the tension between them. It had felt different when he was Koreldy. More comfortable. Perhaps his being Ylena was driving a wedge between them. Elspyth would probably have felt less awkward if he had changed again into a man rather than this fragile beauty who was his sister. “Yes, I would. Cailech is ruthless. He will have you killed on sight.”

“Then what makes you think you can get through his defenses, Wyl Thirsk?”

“Because I am no longer Romen Koreldy, that’s why! He doesn’t know Ylena Thirsk, but he knows you. Moreover, I’m hardly intimidating with my long golden tresses and my silk gowns and soft hands.” Dawning swept across her face. “It’s our only weapon. You have to trust me and be patient…trust Lothryn to hang on.”

Aleda swept into the scullery. “I heard voices,” she said matter-of-factly. “No matter the hour, let’s get some food going. How are you, my dear?” she asked, looking in her kind way at Wyl.

“Stronger, thank you,” he admitted, and she smiled back at him.

“That’s the Thirsk in you, child. I told Jeryb you’d find your grit before morning.”

Wyl stood alone with the Duke. He had diluted Ylena’s femininity with riding trews and tied her hair almost viciously into a single plait. Try though he might, he could not make her feel as it had felt to be Faryl. He could neither hide her ethereal beauty nor make her movements any less elegant. It pained him on a number of levels, but he would just have to get used to being Ylena.

Aleda had given him a purse containing a small fortune. “Buy yourself some clothes and provisions. You must keep up the noble guise,” she had said. “Forgive us all that has happened, Wyl. I feel somehow responsible.”

“Don’t.” he had assured, wanting to refuse the money. He knew he could visit any one of Faryl’s many hides. However, he realized Aleda was trying to help in the only practical way she could and so he had accepted her gift with grace. “You do believe me, then?”

She nodded. “What other choice have we? We watched two people suffer and one die, but we have to trust that the Ylena we met is no longer her. You tell us things only Wyl Thirsk could know; you no longer even sound like Ylena in the way you talk, and with all the other terrible things happening right now, we have to believe in this frightening magic.”

“You’ve been a rock of strength, Aleda,” he said as he hugged her goodbye. “Thank you for believing me in the midst of all the nonsensical magic.”

“You are living proof of it, son. I’ll try to make sense of it in weeks to come, I’m sure. In the meantime, I’ll trust you now to keep your promise and help give us revenge for Alyd and Ylena.” No tears now; Aleda was the bedrock of the family and she would not succumb to weakening emotions when there was a fight to be fought. She turned and left him with her husband.

“Crys will see her safely to the border,” the Duke said, nodding toward the place where Elspyth sat talking with Pil.

“I know she will be safe once she crosses into Briavel,” Wyl replied.

Crys strolled up.

“Perhaps we need a password… er, just in case the curse happens again,” Jeryb suggested.

Wyl held the Duke’s gaze. He was right. “What would suit you, sir?”

The tall man looked toward the sky in thought. “‘Carving knife’—innocuous enough and I’m sure none of us could forget that?”

“I know I won’t, sir,” Wyl said, eyes darkening at the memory.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take Elspyth all the way to Werryl?” Crys offered.

“No. Too many spies, Crys. Your name, your family cannot risk being linked to Briavel openly. Just see her safely to the border. The letter I’ve given her will take care of the rest.”

Crys nodded. “Shar keep you safe.”

Wyl shook the young man’s hand, once again struck by the keen likeness to his dead brother. Crys left them while he gave some instructions to his siblings.

The old man shook his head. “After all these years of fighting. Now Felrawthy conspires with the enemy.” His voice was thick.

“Briavel’s not the enemy, my lord,” Wyl reassured. “Our own king is the enemy. Valentyna and Briavel are, in fact, our only allies.”

“Fergys Thirsk would turn in his tomb,” the Duke said, disgusted.

“No, sir, he would not. My father would agree with our strategy.”

“Are you quite sure of that?”

“As sure as I stand here,” and they both smiled wryly. “Everyone here has agreed on the story. Ylena was not here, and although Faryl visited, she left immediately. It leaves Tenterdyn free of suspicion. In the meantime, you mustn’t give Celimus any hint that you suspect him. I know you’re expecting your mustered men soon, but make an excuse if questions are asked. Whatever lies he tells you, sir, accept them for what they are. Show him nothing—no emotion. He will surely concoct some fabrication to explain the disappearance of your son.”

“Why can’t I just kill him?” and now the Duke’s voice cracked.

“Because you or whomever you give the job to, sir, will never get out of Stoneheart alive. Legionnaires are sworn to die for their king…and they will. You and your family will be tracked down and slaughtered…and then he’ll go after your men. Please believe me when I say he’s ruthless. You have no idea of his ambition, sir—you have been away from the capital too long.”

“Fighting the Crown’s battles!” the Duke growled, but his roar had no bite to it.

Wyl continued. “He has amassed a private guard of mercenaries, too. He is well protected. No, Duke, trust my counsel that it is far better you play Celimus at his own game. I have much less to lose than you. Leave the killing for me.”

“So I must sit tight and not raise my hand.”

“As we agreed this morning, sir. Assemble a guard around Tenterdyn, by all means, but keep it as innocent looking as possible. Parley with him. See what he has to say. And if you can infiltrate the Legion in the meantime and spread the word, all the better. Work out who is loyal to our cause. And, sir, beware of Cailech. He is unpredictable and far stronger than most of us have realized.”

“You really believe he’ll raid?”

“Not yet. But he’s capable of anything. Be warned, he is cunning and highly intelligent. He won’t do anything obvious and perhaps he may not do anything at all, but you need to keep your men alert. In fact, you might use Cailech as your excuse for assembling men at Felrawthy. Celimus will agree with it.”

“And I should offer my services to the King?” Jeryb asked, as though tasting something bitter.

“Reinforce your services to him. It will throw him off your scent, sir.”

The old man sighed, heavy with his troubles. “What happened to good old-fashioned war?”

Wyl extended his sister’s milky white hand. “We fight a different war now, sir. We do it with intrigue…and magic.”

Jeryb grimaced at its mention. “Shar’s guidance over you and your strange, impossible life, Wyl,” the Duke said. “I’ll wait for word.”