Myrren's Gift (21 page)

Any nonessential workplaces would close. Throughout the Kingdom no animals would be slaughtered during the coming five days and Morgravia would live on vegetables and pulses in a further sign of respect. People would not be about the city. The dwellers of Pearlis would be encouraged to remain at home or attend chapel to pray for the soul of Magnus to speed it to Shar.

They should be rushing to church to pray for deliverance from Celimus
, Wyl thought bitterly as he steered his horse through the great stone tunnel and beneath the gate. Celimus’s timing was perfect. The fact that Morgravians would be off the streets and Stoneheart had effectively become a ghostly place meant no one of any note knew this party had left.

That is, all except a small boy and a large dog who followed at a safe distance. Fynch had cautioned Knave to stay quiet when he noticed the dog’s tail wagging as Wyl passed by. As usual Knave appeared to understand the warning and now they moved at their own pace, keeping the last rider’s dust in sight.

Fynch’s plan was to catch up to them by nightfall and he also hoped by then he would have found a way to convince Wyl of the truth of the plot he had overheard.

Fynch had gotten word to his sister not to worry about him. He had recently been paid so he knew the family would be fine for a while. He had run all the way home to fetch the family mule, their only asset, and pack a stock of dried food. oats, and water. Fynch had no idea how long he might be gone or what indeed he might be able to do. All he could think about right now as he followed discreetly was reaching Wyl and warning him of the trap Celimus had laid.

Stoneheart was behind them now and the signal was given to increase the pace.

Fynch noted that the horses quickly put more distance between them.

“Come on then, Knave, we must stay with them, boy.” He moved his heels against the mule and the sweet-natured beast obeyed his wishes and broke into a canter. Knave bounding easily alongside.

At the head of the column, Wyl rode in stony silence next to Romen Koreldy. Everyone except Wyl was armed, although there was no further need to hobble him. Celimus knew Wyl would give full cooperation with his beloved sister as security.

“Thirsk, this is not personal,” Romen finally said when they were resting the horses with a trot.

“It is for me,” Wyl snapped.

“I understand. I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Why would you care?”

“Because it was unnecessary, frivolous even. No man should lose his life for a whim. It was obvious that you would have agreed to almost anything if Celimus had simply threatened your sister. If it means anything to you, it sickened me.”

“You don’t know the new King as I do, stranger. He has no scruples. If there’s an ugly way to do something, that’s the way he prefers. Killing Alyd was settling an old score—it was convenient that it looked to be serving the purpose of coercing me.” Wyl looked away, disgusted.

Romen nodded. “I see. We have a code, us mercenaries. We kill only if it pays.”

“I am the General of the Legion of Morgravia, stranger. Mercenaries are the dung that clings to the bottom of our boots.”

The man sighed. “Yes. it would seem that way, although it also seems that we have our place in the world, doing the unsavory tasks that you more superior soldiers prefer not to take on.” Wyl’s head snapped back to look upon the handsome foreigner with the easy manner. “I do not kill for money.” he spat.

Romen smiled sadly. “Oh, we all ultimately kill for riches of some sort. It’s just a matter of perspective, Thirsk.”

“Who are you, Koreldy?”

“Just someone who fell by the way. Let’s just say I wasn’t cut out for traditional soldiering. Our two grandfathers fought together, by the way—my background is Morgravian.” Wyl was surprised. “All the more reason for you to find this task despicable.” It annoyed Wyl to see the man grin. There was no unkindness in it. Just a wryness he could not interpret.

“You need me, Wyl Thirsk, because I’m the only one who can control this lot following us. Don’t look upon me with such disdain—we are not so different, you know. I don’t care for Celimus’s tactics much but I agree with what he’s trying to do. Morgravia and Briavel will end up destroying each other without this marriage, leaving themselves open to genuine threat from the north. His rationale is sound but I admit the way your new King goes about his business is certainly brutal.” Wyl grimaced. “He’s a lunatic.” Anger boiling again, he changed the subject. “What do you know about the threat from the north?” He hoped Koreldy might throw some light on Gueryn’s chances of surviving this death mission.

“I know Cailech grows strong and more confident by the day. He will test his army. The raids will become more bold, more frequent. Mark my words.”

“A barbarian will not take Morgravia,” Wyl countered. “Even someone as deranged as Celimus will not permit it. He has an intense dislike for Cailech anyway. I’m not sure how it has grown to such a festering sore but he hates the barbarian—been telling us all for years how he’ll rid us of him once he became King.”

“Don’t be too sure about what the Mountain King is capable of. He is far more sophisticated than you give him credit for,” Romen warned.

Wyl’s voice sounded condescending. “You know this firsthand, of course.”

“As a matter of fact. I do.” Romen replied, not at all offended at his companion’s tone.

“You’ve met him?”

The mercenary smiled again in his disarming way. “I fought alongside him for a while.” Before a surprised Wyl could pursue the conversation. Romen had called the men to pick up the pace again.

And so it went. For a few hours Wyl was able to let go of the powerful grief that he felt so assaulted by.

allowing Romen to talk in his carefree style about life amongst the Mountain Dwellers. He was impressed with the man’s knowledge and the sheer audacity of how he had navigated his way into Cailech’s stronghold.

“So where is the famous rock fortress—does it even exist?” Wyl wondered aloud.

“Oh, yes, it exists, and impressive it is too. If you could ever see it, you’d be surprised by its sophistication.” Wyl looked at him, was tempted to smirk but could see Romen meant what he said. “I hope you do see it, just so that you know I’m not a liar.”

“But why were you there? I thought it was forbidden for any stranger to even get within leagues of the fortress.”

Romen hesitated and his expression darkened momentarily. “Oh, family business,” he replied, not convincingly, Wyl noted, and stored it away. “I’m from Grenadyn, as you know. We traded with the Mountain Dwellers. Let’s just say I managed to find myself on reasonable speaking terms with Cailech.”

“Will you tell me about him?” Wyl was intrigued.

“He’s an enigma.” Romen grinned. “I think I recognize some of my own traits in Cailech but he is certainly someone you wouldn’t want to make a hasty judgement on.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“That he’s unpredictable.” He shrugged. “Cailech is larger than life. He’s heroic and devoted to his people. That makes him dangerous if he’s crossed or senses any form of betrayal. He rewards loyalty and wins it easily from his warriors. He is at once easygoing and relaxed but in the next breath will trap you with cunning.”

“Go on,” Wyl urged.

“What else can I tell you? He thinks deeply on most subjects. His decisions might appear impetuous but they are often far from it, yet his personality is spontaneous. He lives by instinct.” Wyl blew his cheeks out. “You sound impressed with him.”

“I am. Believe me. I don’t know another who can be as ruthless to his enemies as he is generous to his own. I fear for his temper, though. He can be more cruel than you can imagine if someone has crossed him or he feels threatened. But his creed is really quite simple and I admire that. Mostly I admire his subtle mind. He is intelligent enough for ten men.”

“A Mountain Dweller.” Wyl mocked gently.

“Don’t be fooled. Wyl. This is no ignorant, ale-swilling barbarian. This is a man born to be King.” Wyl pondered the advice. “What can you tell me about the fortress itself?” Romen laughed. “Plenty, but it would be a betrayal for me to tell Cailech’s enemies his secrets. He paid me well for my service. In return he enjoys my discretion.”

“A mercenary with morals.” Wyl jeered.

“You’ll be surprised.” the man replied softly. “Stop here, we make camp.” Fynch and Knave caught up with the group long after the campfires had burned down to embers. The horses whinnied nervously as the huge black dog melted silently out of the darkness. Fynch had had the presence of mind to unsaddle and tether his mule some way back. She was munching happily on her oats and seemed disinterested in the dog that frightened most other animals of her ilk. The boy waited in the darkness and watched as Knave padded up to Wyl and licked his master’s face. Then the dog disappeared as silently as he had arrived, back into the shadows where Fynch crouched, and they both waited.

Wyl sat up and looked about him, shocked at the arrival of his dog. Most of the mercenaries in the camp were snoring; there was no need to post lookout guards in this part of the realm.

“What is it?” Romen asked quietly, his eyes still closed. He was clearly a light sleeper.

“Um—I have to go to the, er—”

The man sighed. “I’ll come, wait a moment.”

“No! That is, I have to empty my bowels.”

Romen yawned. “All right. You know I’ll have to leave one of your hands tied behind your back—can you manage to—”

“Yes, I’ll be fine.”

“And I’ll have to tie this other length to your ankle—I’ll keep a hold on this end here so you don’t go wandering off into the night.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Koreldy. My sister’s life depends on me staying right here with you.”

“Off you go then.”

“I may be a while—I’ve got cramps.”

“Take your time,” the man replied, yawning again.

Wyl left the fireside, one leg trailing the long rope, the other end of which was tied to Romen’s wrist. Just over the hillock he was overjoyed to be greeted by Knave but even more surprised to see the wide-eyed gong boy waiting for him too.

Fynch put his finger to his lips before whispering: “Just listen.” He told him everything he had overheard while hanging in the drophole and then all that had happened since, leaving out only his unsettling visions. He was brief and precise. Wyl listened grimly, his rage and bitterness settling into something cold and intractable within. Celimus would pay.
Somehow, Shar help
me,
he thought.
I will-survive this and he will suffer.
He surfaced from his angry thoughts and heard Fynch still whispering intensely.

“—we can follow you and perhaps plan an escape.”

Wyl shook his head violently. “Your turn to listen,” he whispered back and proceeded to tell Fynch all that had occurred this past day. He quickly realized that the little boy had not known of King Magnus’s death, being too young to understand the significance of the particular mourning bells. The lad looked distraught hearing of Alyd’s death and then Ylena’s plight, but Fynch was a plucky boy and pulled himself together quickly for Wyl’s sake.

“Hurry up, Thirsk,” Romen suddenly called from behind them.

“Coming.” Wyl replied. “You must go now.” he whispered to Fynch. “Keep Knave close—and go home, back to Stoneheart. Forget about me.”

The boy bit his lip. “I won’t. We’ve come this far to help you.”

“Go back, Fynch! I don’t want you near me!” Wyl said deliberately viciously. He did not want the blood of this courageous boy on his hands, and blood, he believed, would flow soon enough. “You cannot help me. You are—a—a nuisance,” he spat under his breath, hoping now to hurt Fynch, force him to leave.

Wyl watched the child’s eyes narrow in pain as he patted Knave farewell. He turned and did not look back.

“Feel better?” Romen asked sleepily.

“Remind me not to eat squirrel again,” he replied, laying his head down and recalling the strange Widow Ilyk and her caution to him about keeping Knave and his friend close.

Had she meant Fynch? How could she have known?

He pondered this as he drifted into an unsettled sleep in which he dreamed of himself being killed and yet somehow remaining alive.

There was no sign of Fynch or Knave as they entered Briavel’s western border the following midday and by late afternoon they had been met by a contingent of its soldiers, who were clearly expecting them. Wyl suspected their party had been trailed anyway since the moment the first horse’s hoof set foot on Briavel’s soil. There was no possibility that a party from Morgravia could enter this realm—and vice versa—without its guard being put on alert. The mercenaries agreed with the Briavellians’ edict, without a murmur, to make camp a few miles from the beautiful walled capital city. Werryl. There they would remain under a thin supervision of the Briavellian Guard. Romen had already briefed Wyl on their plan.

He had foreseen them being met and taken under escort to King Valor. And Wyl knew he was trapped.

So long as he was seen to be cooperating, then Ylena was safe. He realized he too would remain safe until he met with Valor. He hoped Shar would smile on him and grant him a private meeting.

Werryl’s palace was indeed as breathtaking as fabled stories had it. Very few Morgravians had seen it with their own eyes but the palace lived up to the famous tales of its beauty. In stark contrast to the somberness of Stoneheart, it was built from the palest of sandstones, so light in color to be almost white; it sparkled on a hill.

The city of Werryl stretched out among the safety of the palace’s walls. Smaller than Pearlis. it was no less sophisticated and its architects clearly had a keener eye for vanity. Even the bridge leading to the portcullis was superbly constructed, with statues of former Kings and Queens carved in marble and holding torches that lit the way at night.

Daylight was fading by the time Wyl and Romen arrived at the bridge and the keepers were just touching flames to those torches. Their escort led the way into the crowded city and through its pretty cobbled streets to the palace entrance on a rise. A messenger had gone ahead and various dignitaries were awaiting them.