Bridge of Souls (8 page)

Maegryn appeared. “I’ve picked out the animals you’ll be taking, Myrt. I’ve assigned Farrow Cherub.”

“I’m a better horseman that that,” Aremys protested. “I’ll feel ridiculous calling out ‘Whoa, Cherub.’”

“That’s the joke, Farrow,” Maegryn said, grinning. “He’s anything but!”

The two Mountain Men laughed and Aremys joined in briefly, until Myrt gestured that they should leave.

“We’re expected at the King’s chamber,” said the warrior. “He wants us to sup with him before we leave.”

Aremys nodded. “Are we finished here?”

“Yes, I’d say so. Thanks, Maegryn. Be back later, then.”

“As it suits you, Myrt. I’ll be waiting.” The stablemaster turned back to the stables.

“I need to talk to you first,” Aremys said as they made their way toward the fortress.

“I reckoned you might. Follow me.”

They walked in a companionable silence through several courtyards toward a part of the fortress he had not been to before.

“Where are we going?” he said.

“My home,” came the brief reply.

Myrt stopped a few times to share swift words with various people. He asked one youngster to find Byl and have him call at Myrt’s home after dusk. The big warrior generously introduced Aremys to all those he spoke with and the mercenary noted how they deferred to Myrt. He presumed the man had taken on a stronger leadership role since Lothryn’s disappearance. He mentioned as much.

“I suppose so,” Myrt replied. “I don’t really want it, but Cailech finds it easier to rely on me to pass on his orders. I’d prefer everything to be back to how it was.”

“With Lothryn as the King’s second, you mean?”

“Yes, he was worthy of it and good at it.”

“Why was he better than you?”

“Because he understood Cailech, and because he was not afraid of him. They grew up together, they were friends first and foremost. A bit like how it was between the old Morgravian King and his general, that Fergys Thirsk. They were great friends from childhood, I was told.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aremys said.

“Well, friendships made young like that have longevity and there’s great affection there too. I’ll never have that kind of relationship with the King. And when a relationship like that is broken, it hurts.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience, Myrt.”

“In a way,” the man muttered, hurrying Aremys down a short flight of steps.

“Did you know Lothryn from childhood as well?”

Myrt glowered at Aremys and his persistent questions. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

They emerged into the open again, into what appeared to be a walled community. The place took Aremys by surprise. “Shar! How amazing.”

His obvious delight broke the tension. Myrt grinned. “More of Cailech’s dreaming. This is his great social experiment.”

“Explain it me,” Aremys said, gazing around at the hive of activity.

“Well, not everyone chooses to live in and around the fortress, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. Originally the Mountain Dwellers were different tribes, spread throughout the Razors. Cailech not only united us into one people but dreamed of forming a small city—he wants the fortress to become the true heart of the Razors and he is encouraging people to settle inside it. He dreams of his own Pearlis or Werryl, I suppose you could say. He has built homes for the settlers and has encouraged markets to be held regularly. He’s even set up a school, which is very popular and getting bigger and bigger. Our king encourages education and at his urging more people are bringing their children to the classroom. Cailech has organized special rewards for families who set up home here permanently. It’s really quite a new experience and a lot of our folk are watching to see how it goes. I think it will work. I believe Cailech will have his city in years to come.”

“It looks like this community is thriving,” Aremys said, unable to keep the awe from his voice. “I can see from the layout that it’s been thought through very carefully.”

“It has.” Myrt smiled. “The King didn’t want it emerging too haphazardly, so he put together a group of people who could plan a village, grow it into a town, and envision a city emerging one day. I was one of the first to live here and that encouraged others to come too. Lothryn lived not far from here, among a smaller group of senior people—formerly tribe leaders and family members distantly related to Cailech.”

“Does Cailech have family?”

“Oddly, no. We Mountain folk tend to have large family groups, but Cailech was an only child. His mother died by accident, in a fire. Cailech was about thirteen when it happened. He was away with his father at the time, settling a dispute among the tribes.”

“Does he blame himself?”

“No, I don’t think so. He knew it was an accident. But Lothryn told me the King never really got over the loss. That’s why he’s keen on keeping families together, and he loves the youngsters. Part of his belief is that children thrive when they have elders around them and big family groups to teach them the right ways, and I agree with him.”

“I would have thought he’d have a wife, then, his own family.”

Myrt shook his head and Aremys thought he saw something painful flicker across his expression. The Mountain Man fought down whatever demon was rising. “He hasn’t had time to take a wife, I suppose.”

“And you, Myrt? What of your family?”

“I have a sister. I live with her. Her husband was one of those killed in the Grenadyn disaster. He was seventeen; they’d only been married a few weeks. I suppose you’ve heard of that incident?”

Aremys nodded. He knew only too well the story of Grenadyn’s unwarranted attack on the Mountain People and the slaughter that ensued.

Myrt sighed. “Well, my sister never got over her loss. She all but raised me. Now, I suppose, I look after her.”

“No love of your own, Myrt?”

The Mountain Man walked on. “One. That person did not want me,” he answered in a thick tone, and prevented any further conversation by stopping to chat with a shopkeeper selling candles.

Aremys stared at Myrt for a few heartbeats. He was sure of it now, sure that the Mountain Man had a secret. Perhaps it could be exploited toward his own ends of helping Wyl. As Myrt finished his chat with the shopkeeper, Aremys took a moment to marvel again at Cailech’s embryonic city. The laneways had been cobbled with stone from the mountains and more building was already under way, with more streets leading off the main one. It certainly was not Pearlis, but it was bigger than any village he had encountered, and there was a
sense of sprawl about it; the place seemed well on its way to developing into a bustling town. He could not help but be impressed by Cailech: He was still a relatively young king but he had enormous vision. It was then that Aremys decided to give his all toward helping the Mountain People. If somehow he could influence the attainment of a working peace between the two prideful monarchs of Morgravia and the north, then he would. For Cailech and his ambition, yes, but also for Myrt and Byl, for Myrt’s sister, for Maegryn and young Jos, and yes, even for Lothryn, wherever he was.

Like Wyl, Aremys wanted to believe that Lothryn was still alive. And if he was, he intended to find him. He was convinced that the horse and its magic would lead him to the man it seems everyone had loved—even the King.

“Everyone except Rashlyn,” Myrt cautioned, when they were sitting in his small house a short time later and Aremys brought the subject back to Lothryn.

“Rashlyn didn’t like him?”

“More to the point,” Myrt said, busying himself with a pot of tea at the hearth, “Lothryn despised Rashlyn and the barshi knew it.”

“Why?”

“Cups are over there,” Myrt replied, nodding toward a dresser. “Lothryn objected to the influence Rashlyn has with the King. He admitted to me not long before he disappeared that it had gotten to the point where he felt something had to be done about it.”

Aremys almost made the terrible error of mentioning the cannibalistic feast. He stopped himself just in time and covered his near blunder by turning his back on the Mountain Man to reach for the cups.

He brought them back to the small wooden table. “What made him say that?”

Myrt poured boiling water over the leaves. “Let that brew, shall we,” he said amiably. “Well, there were many reasons. Cailech had been making erratic decisions, out of character for him—there was one particularly disturbing incident involving
some Morgravian prisoners. He wanted to make an example of them to send a message to the Morgravian Crown. They weren’t even the culprits, for Haldor’s sake, they were just a raggle-taggle group of farmers who were sent into the Razors with one old soldier as a leader.”

Aremys held his breath. Myrt was almost certainly referring to Wyl’s friend Gueryn le Gant. He kept his voice casual. “And?”

“The King’s method of making an example of them was terrifying, to say the least. I don’t want to go into the details, but it never sat right with me, or any of us, for that matter. Don’t get me wrong, Cailech doesn’t hesitate when harsh punishment is called for—as you know from the repercussions of the episode at Grenadyn—but he’s not a cruel man by nature.”

Aremys nodded; he remembered the events on his island home only too well. He had had a crush on Lily Koreldy for several years, but she was older than he and no doubt had never even noticed the lumbering boy who looked older than his years and who turned a beetroot color if ever he was in her presence. “That was a terrible business.”

“Yes, but Cailech spared Romen Koreldy, even gave him a home and looked after him for a while. They actually became quite good friends by the end of it, despite the trauma that sat between them.”

“I’m surprised Koreldy could forgive him.”

“Don’t be fooled. Koreldy never forgave Cailech and the King knew it, which is why he warned him when he left that if he ever set foot in the Razor Kingdom again, he would lose his life.”

“So Koreldy was like me, eh? A very well-treated prisoner.”

Myrt turned the pot three times and grinned at Aremys’s perplexed expression. “Tradition,” he explained. “Yes, Koreldy was dealt with in much the same way as we’re treating you, except he was never entrusted with a mission for the good of our people.”

“Did you ever see Koreldy again?” Aremys asked. Myrt poured the tea, not answering. “You know he was working for
Celimus, don’t you?” Aremys pressed. “In name only, though. Actually he was working against him.”

That won the Mountain Man’s attention. “What do you mean?”

“Koreldy hated Celimus, with good reason. The Morgravian King double-crossed him in an agreement they had. I know Koreldy stuck to the mercenaries’ code of honor: He did his job and kept his counsel, but Celimus tried several times to have him killed for what he had learned in doing that job.”

Myrt’s eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about the death of the King of Briavel now, aren’t you?” he guessed, and was glad to see Aremys nod. “What do you know about that?”

“Plenty. What are you prepared to swap for it?”

“What?” Myrt said, astonished. “Swap information?”

“Yes,” Aremys said, reaching for his cup. “Listen, Myrt, you know things and so do I. I would give you my knowledge happily, but getting information from you is like trying to get milk from a zerkon. Dangerous at best and fucking hard to boot!”

Myrt exploded into a rare laugh. “All right,” he said. “All right, Grenadyne, you win. I haven’t laughed like that in a while.”

Aremys arched an eyebrow. “I can tell,” he said. “Your turn, Myrt. The Morgravian soldier you mentioned—is he still alive?”

“Yes,” Myrt said, serious now. He sipped from his steaming cup. “Your turn. Whose side are you on?”

“Cailech’s. I will negotiate for him and will do all I can to help win this peace he pushes for. Understand this: I hate Celimus and will do everything in my power to undermine him. I am no enemy to the Mountain Kingdom.”

Myrt said nothing, but Aremys saw something blaze in the man’s eyes and sensed it was relief.

“All right, next question for you,” the mercenary continued. “Is the Morgravian soldier called Gueryn le Gant?”

Myrt balked at this. “How do you know that? How do you know him?”

A little fib would help here, Aremys decided. “I know le
Gant’s niece. She’s been distraught since he disappeared and I said I’d keep my ears and eyes open for any news on my travels north. Thank you for confirming it.”

“He’s in our dungeon.”

It was Aremys’s turn to flinch. “I have to see him, Myrt.”

“Not until you answer my questions. Koreldy—where is he, do you know?”

“Probably scattered to the four winds by now.”

“Dead?” Myrt could not hide his astonishment.

Aremys nodded. “Killed by one of the King’s hired assassins. A woman,” he said.

“Cailech must be told.”

“Why? Did he want to kill him by his own hand?”

“He was certain that Koreldy, after his recent escape, would return to rescue le Gant.”

“What will the King do when he learns of Koreldy’s death?”

“Kill the Morgravian soldier.”

“Then he cannot know of Koreldy’s demise,” Aremys said urgently.

Myrt scowled. “Says who? I’ve told you, I’ll do nothing that smacks of betrayal of Cailech. Now answer me this if you want any more information or help: Why are you so interested in Lothryn? It makes me suspicious of you.”

Aremys shook his head. “Don’t be. Elspyth of Yentro is known to me—you could say we are friends, although we’ve not known each other long. I met her soon after she escaped from here and she was hoping to return to the mountains to discover Lothryn’s fate. You know they were in love, she and Lothryn?”

Myrt grimaced. “I guessed as much. There would be no other reason for Loth to betray us as he did, and without sharing his decision with me.”

Aremys was glad that the Mountain Man had not blinked at the coincidence that he claimed to know two separate women who just happened to know Gueryn and Lothryn. He could slap himself for such clumsy contrivance, but fortunately the big man had not been paying close attention. Aremys took his
chance. “Myrt,” he said gently, “I know that you loved Lothryn too, perhaps more than in just a brotherly fashion—”