Bridge of Souls (35 page)

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.

K
estrel 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.

E
lspyth 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.

K
NAVE WHINED SOFTLY
,
HIS GREAT HEAD ON HIS PAWS
,
HIS BODY ENCIRCLING THE SLEEPING BOY
,
WHOSE BREATHING SOUNDED DANGEROUSLY
shallow. Something was happening to Fynch, but his close companion could not reach him. All he could do was watch, wait, and pray to the Dragon King that this was not Fynch’s time.

Fynch was dreaming. He felt himself flying; the wind whipped through his hair and whistled past his ears. For a dream, the view around him looked awfully real, and the wind was shockingly brisk.

A voice suddenly spoke into Fynch’s mind, and he knew it could not be a dream.
Not long now.

It was the Dragon King and Fynch was realized he was riding him, feeling each powerful beat of his wings as they worked in tandem to drive the creature faster through the air.

My king,
Fynch sent, his voice unashamedly filled with awe.
Where do we go?

To a private place, my son. Somewhere safe. Where you will be free from your pain and where no one can hear us.

Am I truly with you?

Your body is with Knave, Fynch. Your spirit is here.

How can I do this?

It my way of honoring you.

Honoring me?

We ask so much of you.

Whatever you ask, sire, I give it gladly.

Brave boy. You are more than worthy.

Of what, my lord?

Of Kingship, Fynch.

I don’t understand, my king.

You will, my son. That is why I have brought you here.

W
yl felt a sense of despair as they entered the gates of the fortress. Cailech was immediately surrounded by well-wishers welcoming him back, and stealing interested glances toward the golden-haired beauty he had left on the horse. It was Myrt who arrived at Ylena’s side to help her dismount.

“May I show you to your rooms, my lady?” he asked, taking her hand to help her from the horse, much to Wyl’s discomfort. “The King has requested you dine with him later.”

Wyl reached for a gracious smile, though the invitation reminded him of the meeting with Celimus he had been forced to attend while trapped in Leyen. “Thank you, er…?”

“Myrt.” Aremys appeared at Wyl’s side and now offered the formal introduction. “He is a friend, Ylena. You can trust him.”

Wyl nodded toward Myrt, who gave one of his rare smiles. Aremys had already explained that Myrt knew about Aremys’s suspicions about Lothryn’s fate, but as the mercenary obviously could not come clean about Ylena, he would have to remain polite but distant to Wyl’s sister.

“I will see you later perhaps?” Aremys said to Wyl, and then to Myrt: “Shall we meet at the stables?”

The big warrior nodded. “Come, my lady,” he said, and Wyl had no option but to be guided away, deeper into the fortress of the Mountain King.

F
ynch remained curled on the Dragon King’s vast back, though the creature had landed. Its darkly vibrant colors seemed to pulse bright one moment and soft the next, illuminating its scales. Fynch felt warm and safe for the first time since leaving the Wild, even though he knew he was not really
here. Physically, he remained on a freezing ledge near the home of the Mountain king and he was dying, with Knave’s body curled around him.

He twisted to lie on his back, loving the deep connection between himself and the Dragon King. The magnificent beast remained silent while his guest acclimatized himself to the breathtaking scene below. They were on the highest peak of the Razors, but not in the northeast, where Fynch’s body lay.

Are we in the Wild, my lord?

Yes, Fynch.

The boy sighed.
If I died now amid this beauty, my king, I would die happy.

The King did not reply.

I am dying, aren’t I, sire?

You have pushed yourself too hard. The magic you have called upon is so potent it is poisoning you.

Elysius managed to live with it,
Fynch said.

True, my son. But Elysius did not draw upon the magic of the Thicket, nor was he required to use magic for years on end. He preserved himself by using it sparingly.

I am sorry I have been so careless with it.

The Dragon King twisted his sinuous neck and the massive head came close. A monstrously large eye regarded the tiny figure that lay on its back.
You need make no apology to me, Faith Fynch.

It moved Fynch to hear these solemn words and tears ran down his face.
I am not afraid to give my life, my lord—I hope you know this. But I am so afraid of failing you that I am impatient to reach Rashlyn.

The Dragon King gave a murmured growl of agreement.
I know, child. You will not fail us.

But I am not sure I can recover in time, my king. I will likely end my life where Knave and I lie.

That is why I have brought you here, Fynch,
the King said, his voice so deep the boy could feel it rumbling the length of his own body, despite the gentleness of its tone.
I shall restore you. But, as always with magic, there is a price.

I will pay it,
Fynch said bravely.
I wish only for my strength to return so I may to do your bidding.

I accept your sacrifice, and in return you deserve an explanation. I have seen something in you, Fynch, that you must know.

I felt it too, my lord,
the boy admitted.
I sensed you recognizing a part of me I barely know myself.

Can you not guess, child?

Fynch considered the King’s question and closed his eyes. Yes, he could guess, but was this something he truly wanted to know? He assumed the price he must pay for the temporary restoration of his health was death, had already accepted as much. If it had to be sooner rather than later, he would not fuss. He made his decision.

It is connected with my mother, I feel.

Go on.

Fynch felt a breeze break through the protective wings of the huge beast and brush against his cheeks. More tears were falling, but he ignored them. He was not crying because he was sad or frightened; he was weeping because this was the most emotional moment of his life. The Dragon King was about to confirm something he had always known but had held buried within, a secret with far-reaching repercussions. If revealed, it could affect the course of a realm.

I believe I am not of my named father’s flesh.

A tremble passed through the Dragon King.
You are correct, my son. So who fathered you?

Fynch did not want to speak the name. He didn’t know why he was so sure it was the truth; all he knew was that he had glimpsed it within himself the moment the Dragon King saw it. While it had surprised the King of the Creatures, for some reason it had not surprised Fynch.

The boy looked out again over the majesty of the Razors, hidden valleys emerging from beneath the snows as spring staked its claim.

I didn’t know it would thaw this high up.

We are in the Wild, my son. Everything is possible.

Fynch nodded. The Dragon King was not rushing him to
answer, but now it was time.
My mother was fey. At each new moon she would experience a sort of madness. The madness took the form of lust.
He hesitated.

Go on, Fynch.

She would tempt other men. She had no control over it.

And?

I was conceived during one of those moon times.

Yes, you were. Who is your father, Fynch?

My father is…
He almost dared not speak the name but knew he must.
My father was Magnus, King of Morgravia.

Indeed. You are part of the dragon throne line and thus a part of me.

Was Magnus aware of who I was during our conversations at Stoneheart?

He felt a strong connection to you, Fynch, as you did with him. But no, he never knew you were of his flesh.

At the great creature’s final word, Fynch felt a rush of sadness. It washed over him like a crashing wave but settled finally into peace—the peace that comes with the finality of suspicions confirmed and a puzzle solved. A new sensation took over; a feeling of warmth. He did not know whether it was the dragon himself—but he was aware of some sort of new link between that creature and himself.

Suddenly he felt a sense of intense belonging…to both Kings, Magnus and the Dragon.