Destiny (34 page)

Locky shook his head awkwardly as he gulped the sweet water to slake a raging thirst he had not even been aware he had. Herek nodded and someone immediately disappeared to find food.

‘Better?’ the Prime asked as Locky finished his drink.

‘Much. Thank you, sir.’

‘Good, tell me what you came here to say.’

Locky ordered his thoughts. This was the head of the entire army he was now speaking to—the Prime. It did not get any higher bar the King himself. The man would react well to a brief, accurate report.

‘You said we can speak freely?’

The Prime nodded.

‘The new sovereign of Cipres, Queen Sarel, is being hidden in the Great Forest—’

Immediately a cry of voices interrupted him.

‘Whoa, lad,’ Herek said. ‘The Queen of Cipres?’

He nodded. ‘Let me tell you it all, sir, and then perhaps I can answer any questions.’

Herek was impressed by the youngster’s composure. ‘All right, let’s start with who you are first.’

Locky began, telling an increasingly anxious Prime everything he knew of what had happened since the two Cipreans had arrived on Tallinese soil.

‘…and we decided someone had to get word to the King. I was chosen.’

Silence reigned in the room.

The Prime finally rubbed his face with both hands.

‘Torkyn Gynt was stoned to death some years ago. I was there at the execution. I witnessed him take his last breath, just before the stones split his head open as one might ripe fruit.’ He stared at Locky. ‘It is preposterous.’

Locky wanted to shrug. He had known none of this. ‘He is alive, sir. I have spoken with him on countless occasions these past years. We sailed to Cipres together where he saved my life…twice in fact, I believe.’

Men smirked at this but not Herek, whose eyes had narrowed considerably as he regarded this earnest boy.

‘Describe Gynt to me.’

Locky did and it was accurate.

‘Where did you meet?’

‘On a ship, sir.
The Wasp
, bound for Cipres as I mentioned.’

‘So you have met the Queen? I was not aware her name was Sarel,’ Herek said, picking holes in the incredible tale he had just heard.

‘Sir? Um…Queen Sylven was murdered. Tor believes it was by the hand of Goth—’ He stopped talking as he watched the Prime bristle at the mention of that name.

‘Goth? Almyd Goth, former chief inquisitor of Tallinor?’ It was asked in a whisper. ‘Be careful, boy. I want the truth.’

‘Yes, Prime Herek. I speak only the truth. That is the same Goth I speak of. It is he who murdered the Queen and her daughter is on the run from the usurper, Orlac.’

‘So Goth is in Cipres, eh?’ Herek said, beginning to pace the room.

‘Er…no, sir,’ Locky said.

‘But you just said he killed Queen Sylven.’

Locky felt his heartbeat increase in tempo as he fought back the bile of Goth’s grisly work back on Tallinese soil. ‘He is returned to Tallinor, sir. Not long ago in Caradoon he executed my sister, Eryn Quist. He also murdered Captain Quist, her husband, who rode with me and the Cipreans.’

Herek could hardly believe all that he was hearing. The lad’s story was becoming more and more complex.

‘You have seen this, know it to be true?’ he asked, confused yet intrigued beyond his doubts.

‘The Light saved me from seeing my sister killed in the brutal manner he chose, sir. He gutted her,’ Locky said, his hands balling into fists. ‘I saw the head of Janus Quist in the Forest. Goth kept it as a memento for all of us.’

‘Where is he now, boy?’ Herek had grabbed Locky by his shirt.

Locky did not struggle or try and fight him off. ‘He is held captive in the Heartwood, sir. Torkyn Gynt has him.’

He saw a light blaze into life in those fathomless eyes of the Prime, who slowly uncurled his grip on the lad’s shirt. ‘And you say Alyssa…er, the King’s Mother, is in the Great Forest with Saxon and Sallementro?’ There was a tone of utter disbelief in the Prime’s voice. When the hell did a musician get involved in all this adventure? ‘I was told she had gone to a convent to recuperate from the loss of her husband.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, that your information is wrong. I left the King’s Mother a few days ago.’ He shrugged. ‘She
hugged me farewell,’ he added and Herek could not help but smile inwardly at this brave lad.

‘Eat something, Locky. Your tale makes my hair curl.’ He pointed to the plate of food which Locky had not dared touch whilst he was giving his report. He ate with gusto now. ‘And you say you can prove it?’

Locky nodded. His mouth was too full to answer.

‘Wait here,’ Herek ordered. He whispered something to his men and then he disappeared.

Locky ate and the men around him maintained a detached silence. He began to wonder whether anyone believed him. Herek was gone a while.

The back door finally burst open and Locky saw him reappear with another man. This one was not especially tall but he was strongly built and had a clear air of authority about him. He was dressed as a soldier —simple clothes, a sword at his side and a blade in his boot. Locky was instantly impressed by the man’s presence.

‘Is this him?’ the stranger asked.

Herek nodded. ‘Locky, you may care to bow. This is your sovereign, King Gyl.’

Locky did not know whether to bow first or spit out what was in his mouth. And so he did both, unloading his mouth into his hand as he bent quickly to acknowledge his sovereign.

‘Your majesty,’ he said, hoping he was following correct protocol.

‘As you were,’ the King said.

When Locky stood upright, the King was holding out his hand in welcome. Locky felt horrified for his own right hand was full of food. He immediately threw it onto
the plate nearby and then wiped his hand on his trousers, rubbing vigorously. Then he shook hands. The King did not seem to notice his anxiety nor his grubby hands.

Instead Gyl grinned to put the lad at ease. ‘The Prime has just told me an extraordinary tale which you’ve brought to us today.’ Locky nodded. ‘And the reason I believe you is that I have met with Torkyn Gynt and I am aware that my mother is not at the convent. Apparently you have some proof that you have recently left her?’

‘I do, your majesty…if you’ll pardon me,’ Locky said, digging into his pockets—several of them, in fact, until he found the right one. ‘She asked me to give this to you so that you would know all that I’ve told is true.’

He held out his hand and the King did the same. When he looked into his palm, he saw that Locky had dropped a pale green disk, a sliver of a gem, into it.

Gyl took a breath. ‘It would seem, gentlemen,’ he said, addressing the others in the room, ‘that this lad speaks true.’ Now he eyed Locky. ‘You have your audience, Locky. Tell me everything you know.’

And Locky told his tale again…this time impressing on the King that Lauryn was not held captive by Regent Sylc. Sylc was a manifestation of Orlac, the stranger Alyssa had warned him about.

‘They’re frightened you may walk into a trap, your majesty.’

The King nodded thoughtfully. ‘This does change things. Did they offer any advice.’

‘No, your highness. Alyssa said you would do what you had to do to retrieve Lauryn.’

The King turned back to Locky. ‘You have been courageous, son. We must reward you for your efforts.’

Locky shook his head. ‘No, sir. I want nothing. I did it for my dead sister and her husband.’

The King nodded. ‘Is there anything we can do for you, Locky?’

‘Yes, your highness.’ This was his moment.

‘Well?’

‘Your majesty…um…all of my life I have dreamed of one thing only.’

‘Yes?’ the king said, with a slightly bemused expression as he cast a glance towards Herek.

‘May I address the Prime, sir?’

‘Go ahead.’

Locky turned to Herek and bowed. ‘Prime Herek, I offer you my service. I wish to join the King’s Guard and protect my sovereign’s life with my own. It is my extreme desire to be a soldier. Saxon the Kloek said you might bestow the opportunity upon me if I impressed you enough. He said he would speak on my behalf.’

The King winked at Herek now.

The Prime addressed him. ‘How old are you, Locklyn Gylbyt?’

‘Sixteen, sir,’ he lied.

Herek could see the lad was gilding the truth. ‘I see, well that makes you of an age to join the Company although I suspect you have some growing yet to do?’

Locky flicked a nervous glance up from the ground towards the Prime. ‘Yes, sir. I gather I’m small for my age but I can read, write and fight with heart, sir.’

Herek reached forward and laid an arm on Locky. ‘We don’t need your brawn, lad. The Company recognises a bright mind when it sees one. You have proved yourself to be brave and resourceful and men like you are rare.
Welcome to our army, Locky. Go with my man, now, and he will kit you with what you need.’

‘We need good men like you, Locky,’ Gyl said. ‘Especially those who know Cipres. You’re coming with us.’

Locky dropped to his knees to thank his sovereign but Gyl stopped him.

‘Come on, son. You need some rest whilst we find a fast ship.’

‘Have you not got a ship?’ Locky asked.

The King grimaced. ‘No, we don’t tend to drag them behind us on wagons. We had hoped to secure some vessels here, although your story makes me think I must re-work our plan.’

‘Your majesty, er…I have a ship you can use. She cuts the waves faster than any ship in Caradoon.’

Gyl and Herek turned to the lad.

‘Explain yourself,’ Gyl requested.

‘Janus Quist’s ship,
The Raven
. She’s mine now, your majesty. And I extend her to you for swift, safe passage to the Exotic Isles.’

‘Light, lad, but you’re a constant stream of surprises.’

Locky grinned. ‘I even have a reliable crew, your highness.’

‘Herek, let’s get this boy sorted and then get down to the docks immediately. If he’s as good as his word, we sail tonight.’

The four companions emerged from the Great Forest on the outskirts of Ildagarth with Hela and Sarel impressed by and just a little breathless from Rubyn’s enchanted mode of travel. Rubyn whispered his thanks to the trees but if the Forest replied, they could not tell.

He deferred to Cyrus. ‘What’s our next move?’

The soldier’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the land ahead. ‘It’s nearing dusk. I’d recommend we head into the city and take some rooms for the night. We’ll make better decisions on a full stomach and after a good sleep.’

Hela smiled her approval at Cyrus, admiring, not for the first time, his fine looks and stature. In just the short time they had known one another, she found she was helplessly drawn to him. True, he had looks any woman would admire, but his appearance was not what truly attracted her. There was something else. Something about his closed manner as well as his direct gaze and
the strength which she detected bubbling just beneath his calm exterior.

‘I’m presuming none of you have visited Ildagarth?’ he asked.

They shook their heads.

‘Then you are going to enjoy this city. It is the most beautiful in all of Tallinor with a rich history and culture.’

They entered the wondrous city as night fell and Cyrus suggested they wait by an especially ornate fountain which seemed to be a popular meeting spot. There were sufficient people milling around that the strangers would not be noticeable. In any event, Cyrus noted, Ildagarth received hundreds of curious visitors each year. A few more new faces would not register as odd.

‘Let me make some enquiries,’ he said, nodding at Rubyn. ‘Keep a sharp eye out, boy. Sarel is our precious charge.’

Rubyn made no move in acknowledgement but something obviously passed between the two men and Sarel presumed they spoke across the Link. It fascinated her as much as it irritated that they had this private skill.

They watched Cyrus stride away, Hela noticing something new and attractive about him in the arrogant gait and the way he carried himself, so tall and straightbacked, head high.

‘You two seem very close,’ Sarel said quietly to Rubyn as they waited.

‘He is the dearest friend I have. More than friend, in fact,’ Rubyn replied, not elaborating as he reached into the cool water of the fountain to rinse his face.

Sarel knew precisely what he meant by his careful
choice of words. She followed suit, dashing refreshing water on her hands and face. ‘I never knew my father.’

Rubyn said nothing.

‘But you knew the intense love of a mother, child,’ Hela offered. It was the most gentle of rebukes.

The Queen smiled shyly, realising the clumsiness of what she had said and how perhaps it might affect Rubyn. She glanced towards Hela who made no more of it. ‘I hope that now you are returned to Tallinor, Rubyn, you will enjoy many years making up for all that was lost but is now found. You have two parents in your life again.’

Again she looked towards Hela who smiled her approval, not wanting to acknowledge the hollowness of such words when she considered what Rubyn, Cyrus and their friends were up against.

If Rubyn knew it, he shared nothing. He only nodded briefly. ‘Cyrus comes.’

‘Good and bad news,’ the former prime said in his usual direct manner. ‘We can get rooms at a decent establishment called The Rose and Thorns but I’ve heard that the Cipreans were recently through here enquiring not so gently about two women who go by your description.’

‘I see,’ Hela said, hoping he had a suggestion. ‘Is it still risky then?’

‘I would prefer not to take any risk with you ladies. I have an idea but it may not be to your liking.’

‘Sir. Anything which offers us protection from danger is welcome,’ Sarel said.

He inclined his head towards the Queen. ‘Of course, your majesty.’ This was said in a whisper to prevent any
passers-by from hearing. In a more level tone he outlined his idea.

‘You can disguise your appearance a little if you each cover your hair with a scarf. I’m suggesting that Hela and I arrive and book in as man and wife. I can be a soldier on leave bringing my lady on a special trip north to see this wondrous city. We can carry such a story off without trouble. It will be harder for the two of you,’ he said turning to Rubyn and Sarel. ‘Can you pretend to be brother and sister? You are travelling through Ildagarth on your way to meeting family at any one of the northern towns…let’s say, Saddleworth.’ He noticed Hela’s astonishment at his suggestion out of the corner of his eye but deliberately ignored her.

‘And where are we from?’ Rubyn asked.

Cyrus considered this. ‘Mexford,’ he said. ‘You’ve taken the slightly longer journey because you preferred not to travel through the capital and instead wish to see Ildagarth.’

They both nodded. ‘Who are we?’ Sarel asked, frowning.

He could see Hela would have her protest and did not answer the Queen immediately.

‘Light! Are you mad all…of you?’ Hela hissed. Then spoke in a harsh whisper. ‘Do you think I’m going to let the Queen of Cipres sleep with a stranger?’

‘But I see you are not protesting at sleeping with one, Hela. Please fret not either for my modesty or my chastity. Rubyn will respect both.’

There was that haughty Queen’s tone. Hela’s jaw gaped open at what was just short of a dismissal. Rebukes flew to her lips but none escaped. She
reminded herself this was no longer a child to be admonished for her cheek. This was a Queen about to reclaim her throne.

Cyrus could see he needed to calm troubled waters and made a point of looking around. ‘Ah, there’s an excellent restaurant called The Tapestry here which is a favourite of mine. We can nut out a proper background for ourselves over our meal. Everyone hungry?’ He glanced at them all but eyed the elder woman. He needed to help her claim back some status. ‘Hela, what do you think?’

‘Again, a most suitable plan,’ she said softly.

He offered her his arm and Hela took it. ‘For the purposes of The Tapestry, we are family travelling together. I’ll do the talking,’ he said.

Later, with their bellies full and stories rehearsed, they had also hatched a new plan—much to Hela’s added despair—to stay in separate establishments overnight after Sarel had mentioned that they might be notable by their lack of luggage.

‘A single couple arriving at an inn without bags may be swallowed. Two apparently separate couples travelling without luggage and checking into the same inn on the same evening could draw attention,’ she had suggested. Cyrus had nodded sagely, looking uncomfortably towards the Queen’s companion.

‘She’s right,’ he responded, hating to add to Hela’s woes.

They were all surprised when the maid agreed. ‘I know she is. We must do whatever we can to protect her life.’

Cyrus glanced towards her, glad that she had wrestled with her objections and found them wanting.
She had followed sound advice; done what was right despite her heart, and indeed head, begging differently. She enjoyed his soft, fleeting smile of pride in her decision and felt a tremor of helpless excitement now that she would be sharing a room and a night alone with this man.

Not long after seeing Rubyn and Sarel wave to confirm the successful booking of a room with two beds at The Rose and Thorns, Cyrus was smiling at the innkeeper’s wife at the The Lily Pond…another highly reputable establishment.

‘Just you and your good lady for tonight, sir?’

‘That’s right.’ He smiled graciously for the woman’s benefit.

‘I imagine you’ll be wanting the double bed then, sir, rather than the two single pallets.’

Cyrus’s smile hesitated. The single beds would be far better.

‘Of course,’ Hela intervened. ‘I had forgotten how cold the nights can be in the north.’ She winked at the lady behind the counter.

‘Oh my, my, sir. You’d better have our best room then, the one with the fire and armchairs.’ She tapped her nose suggestively.

Cyrus had to fight back the urge to glare at her as an old pride flared up until he reminded himself that he was no longer anyone of status in this Kingdom. No longer Prime; no longer the revered head of security and protector of the King. Instead he was pretending to be an officer on leave, bringing his wife on a short holiday to the north. He forced the smile to return to his face.

‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll have our lad send your bags up, then.’

‘No bags,’ he replied, perhaps a little too quickly.

‘Oh?’ the woman said, confused. ‘I thought you were taking a holiday in these parts, sir?’

‘We are,’ Hela said, intertwining her arm through that of Cyrus. She had noticed his face darkening. For someone who was going to do all the talking, he really was not very good at deception. ‘Do you know, madam, our luggage was lost on our way from the east?’ She lied smoothly and convincingly.

‘No.’ The woman’s eyes widened with disbelief.

‘Yes indeed. I am mortified, for how am I to travel without my clothes and toiletries?’

‘Stolen?’

Hela shrugged. ‘It matters not how they’ve disappeared, that we don’t have them is what troubles me.’

‘Well, quite,’ replied the woman, warming to her guests’ plight.

Hela giggled coquettishly. ‘I shall need no clothing for tonight, madam, of course,’ she said, glancing towards Cyrus who looked aghast, ‘but tomorrow I’m afraid I shall have to do some damage to my husband’s fortune and replace all my goods from your beautiful city.’

Cyrus squeezed Hela’s arm. ‘The coachman said they may still turn up on the next journey north, my love.’ He smiled through slightly gritted teeth.

‘This is true,’ she agreed.

‘Is there anything I can send up for you good people then?’ the lady asked.

Hela smiled back. ‘I hear Ildagarth is famous for its drink known as zabub?’

‘Indeed, my lady.’

‘That would be lovely.’

‘Have a carafe of Morriet sent up too,’ Cyrus said, wresting back control of the conversation.

‘Right away,’ the woman replied. She handed them a large key. ‘It’s at the end of the landing on the top floor. The climb is worth it for the view over the city,’ she said, adding, ‘but don’t tire yourself, sir. Your wife has plans for you.’ She returned the wink to Hela and left, giggling to herself.

Cyrus sensibly chose to keep his irritations to himself and Hela wondered if she had overstepped the mark for as soon as they were out of sight up the stairs, he untangled himself from her arm.

‘I hope I did not offend?’ she asked and received only a grunt for her enquiry.

They climbed the next two flights of stairs in stony silence but the ascent was worth the effort when they finally entered their spacious room and unlocked the shuttered windows. They were rewarded with a magnificent view across the city of ruins lit by the moon and smiled upon by thousands of twinkling stars in the clear night skies of the north. The balcony was framed by beautifully carved pillars—it reminded Hela momentarily of Cipres.

‘Forgive me for any indiscretion. I merely wanted to keep our disguise authentic. This was all your idea, after all, and you seemed to be having difficulty convincing the curious innkeeper’s wife.’

‘I understand,’ he said, holding a lighted taper to the fire’s kindling which caught immediately. ‘It is cool outside,’ he added distractedly.

She turned around to face him. They both looked at one another and then towards the double bed as if in concert but Cyrus immediately looked away and busied himself with poking at the flames. Hela took a deep breath and was pleased to hear a soft knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ she called.

A serving girl entered, balancing a tray. ‘Your zabub, madam,’ she said, looking towards a small table. ‘And your wine, sir. May I set it here?’

‘Of course,’ Hela replied. ‘Thank you.’

The girl left almost as soon as she arrived and Hela found herself back with the difficult silence of Cyrus.

He finally cleared his throat. ‘I can rest on these chairs pulled together.’

She did not know what to say. How best to put him at his ease again with her. ‘Can I pour you some wine?’

‘Thank you.’

She cringed inwardly at their stilted words and responses. For his part, Cyrus watched her move towards the table and made himself pull his gaze from Hela’s lovely shape. He knew he had made her feel awkward and felt compelled to say something conversational. ‘You should enjoy your first taste of the famous zabub.’

‘I intend to,’ she replied, handing him his glass of wine.

There were two armchairs and they settled back into them, facing one another. She watched Cyrus sip his wine and was quietly amused by the contented look which stole across his face at its taste. His expression relaxed as he closed his eyes to savour the Morriet.

‘I can see it’s been a while since you’ve enjoyed such fine wine.’

‘Indeed,’ he murmured, taking another mouthful but not opening his eyes.

She sipped her own drink. It was surprisingly potent but its taste was nonetheless rich and exotic. ‘Mmmm,’ she said, helplessly. ‘Incredible.’

‘Told you,’ he said, his voice much softer.

‘Are you tired?’

‘No, just enjoying a simple pleasure and my own thoughts.’

‘Would you prefer me not to talk?’

He said nothing, which just served to confuse her further and so Hela kept her peace, sipping her zabub which was truly delicious. The silence lengthened and although she realised they should light a candle or two, she dared not disturb his peace and in fact began to wonder whether he had fallen into a doze.

She hated the silence; could no longer help herself. ‘Are you married, Cyrus?’ Hela stunned even herself with the sudden asking of such a personal question.

‘Once,’ he replied, his eyes remaining closed.

‘Oh?’ She found herself studying the lines of his face in the glow of the firelight. He must have been a handsome young man she decided, but life’s events were now etched on his lovely face and their lines disappeared into the moustache and beard he kept trimmed very close. Life had definitely made his handsome face far more interesting. She realised he had offered no further information.

She pressed on doggedly. ‘What happened?’