Myrren's Gift (31 page)

Upon touching his own corpse Wyl experienced a breathlessness as he felt his own emotions rising up.

His body looked small and helpless lying there; it made him think of his father’s and then Magnus’s death.

It reminded him that Alyd and possibly Gueryn were dead. All he had left was Ylena to love and Valentyna to protect.

A loud fanfare of trumpets sounded, signaling the monarch’s entry into the cathedral. Celimus was earlier than expected. Wyl grimaced with Romen’s mouth. He had hoped to be in and out before the King arrived. People about him were dropping their heads and bowing low—as Celimus demanded apparently—yet Wyl could not do the same. Something hard and unforgiving prevented him from paying this treacherous bastard any homage. He could see Celimus striding down the main aisle of the cathedral, his heels clicking loudly and arrogantly on the flagstones, resounding all the way up to the magnificent arched ceiling.

The King made his way to the opposite side of the nave from where the winged lion resided. Celimus stood before the stone dragon, his alone until he died and a new King inherited the throne. Here he paused in quiet reflection, not caring that all were required to remain bowed until he had seated himself.

He finally extended an arm to touch the dragon’s clawed foot, its rearing head—as befitted the King of all beasts—being too high even for one of his height to reach.

Then he turned and clicked his swaggering way back toward the stone throne at the front of the cathedral. No one was yet permitted to straighten. It was ludicrous. Wyl protested inwardly. Magnus had never asked for such a lengthy and theatrical obeisance.
What is happening to the Morgravians? And
how much worse will it get, for these are such early days in the reign of Celimus
?

He realized the traitor had spied and was now watching him; the King had reached his chair but was not seated yet. The olive gaze stared hard, demanding that Romen Koreldy of Grenadyn bow to the King of Morgravia.

Bow
! Wyl urged himself but Romen’s body would not obey. He knew this was not Romen at work.

Romen was gone. This was his own spirit rising up against the evil that looked back at him now from that devilishly beautiful face. Celimus cocked his head slightly to one side. He was asking a question of Romen now. Wyl understood he was pitting his wits against the most dangerous of opponents. All that he had planned would come undone if he threw away his one chance to escape after the funeral.

Obey him, bow to him!

It was his neighbor who broke the spell, the old soldier who had been standing in front of him in the line outside the cathedral.

“Bow, damn you,” he growled beneath his breath and mercifully grabbed Romen’s arm to pull him not only downward but to his senses as well.

Wyl dropped to Romen’s knee and bowed fully to the King.

“Thank you.” he whispered to the soldier.

Seemingly satisfied but wearing an unreadable expression, Celimus at last sat. Soft music immediately erupted from a choir on the gallery level above. Their voices soared in the cathedral as though angels were singing. People stood straight and the line resumed its shuffle around the body, the music provoking tears.

At the head of the corpse Wyl looked down upon the closed eyes, the ones that hid the mystery of Myrren’s gift. Ginger lashes lay like soft down against the tops of the dead man’s cheeks—his cheeks.

How deeply sad he suddenly felt for himself.

Dead but not dead. Trapped as Wyl and yet free to be Romen.

Grief betrayed him now and Wyl had to recover quickly lest King Celimus notice genuine sorrow in Wyl Thirsk’s assassin. He strode away from the body, pleased to escape, throwing a glance toward the King, who chose not to look his way.

Many nobles had gathered. He noticed the Duke of Felrawthy was not present, probably still shoring up defenses in the north, as was his duty to the Crown. The Duke’s absence was probably a blessing in the circumstances, considering his son’s fate, although the King still desperately needed the support of the influence Jeryb Donal wielded in the north. He wondered what lies Celimus had contrived to send to the Duke regarding Alyd’s death to avoid jeopardizing that relationship. Perhaps the King was beginning to regret his vengeful decision to end the young man’s life?

The service began and pulled Wyl from his musings. The holy men said all the usual things and then the King made a flowery speech lauding the virtues of Morgravia’s favorite man of the military. Music, pomp, ceremony—just as Celimus had promised. Once the body was finally shrouded, later to be laid in the family vault at Stoneheart with all the other Thirsks who had served Morgravia, the service concluded, and was followed by a funeral feast that stretched long into the afternoon.

“Sit next to me, Romen,” Celimus offered as a rare generosity, obviously excited by the closing of a chapter. He was free now to dominate the Legion.

Wyl reluctantly joined him, wondering how quickly he might make his escape. He pretended to eat the food and sipped frequently from his cup yet hardly took any of the wine into his mouth. He would need a clear head later.

Celimus leaned toward him and whispered, “I’ve a good mind to burn the body.” Wyl pushed away his startled expression. “Oh? Why?” he asked in Romen’s casual way.

“I hate them all grieving like that over him. I wish to rid Morgravia of his memory.” Wyl felt ill.
Would Celimus really open the tomb later and burn my body
? Burning was considered unsavory by all Morgravians. It was reserved for witches and traitors. The irony was not lost on him.

He slung his arm over his chair, a typically uninhibited pose of Romen’s. “I wouldn’t, sire. You may just incite trouble. Why not simply send the corpse to the family home? Where does he hail from anyway?”

“Argorn,” Celimus said, curling his lip. “A sleepy, hideously backward region of the realm, which yields halfwits and ugly, red-headed ingrates like those of the Thirsk line.” How Wyl held his temper he would never know. Bile rose in his throat and his fingers twitched near a fork that he would have gladly stabbed into the King’s throat.

He managed a derisory response, however, that even Romen would have been proud of “All the more reason to send the little troll back to where he belongs. Let him lie in exile,” he offered, twirling his cup of wine instead of his fork.

And now Celimus looked fully at him, just a tinge of gratitude in his expression. “Again you surprise me, Koreldy—this time with your insight.”

“Oh, and when was the previous occasion I surprised you, sire?” Wyl asked, knowing almost immediately it was a trap.

“This morning, in the cathedral, when you took a sincerely long time to pay me due respect. Should I be worried about your loyalty?”

Wyl took a silent steadying breath and then grinned expansively again. “I have none, sire…except to gold.” he said. Celimus did not smile back. “To tell the truth, your majesty. I thought I was going to faint in the cathedral,” Wyl said, his mind moving fast now.

“Why is that?”

“I’m not sure, sire. I made little of my wound yesterday but the physic said it was deeper than I thought and he sutured it. He gave me two draughts of some potion. One to take during his ministrations and another to take this morning. I fear this morning’s concoction was a little too strong, and my apologies, majesty, but it took all of my wits to stop myself from falling cold to the ground.”

“I see. Perhaps falling to the ground would have pleased me more than what appeared to be deliberate flouting of Stoneheart’s protocol.”

Wyl shook his head vehemently. “No, sire, never. I am in your debt. And also to my neighbor, who helped me when I asked for it. He assisted me to my knee.” And as fast as Celimus’s anger stoked, it passed, much to Wyl’s relief. Already the incident seemed forgotten. The King waved away the apology and asked for a refill of their cups.

“So tell me, Romen. Have you ravished the Lady Ylena?”

Wyl coughed but masked it well. “Not yet, sire. She is still in some shock and behaving as much a corpse as her husband. She also smells as ripe as he.”

Celimus did laugh at this. “So you are showing great patience, my friend. Is that right?”

“I’ve given her until tonight, sire. Then I shall take her—from behind if necessary so I don’t have to look upon that terrified, filthy face.” He had never hated Celimus as much as he did at this moment.

The King laughed again. “And when do you leave us?”

“With your permission, your majesty, I thought I would enjoy your hospitality for another day,” Wyl lied.

“Tomorrow eve perhaps?”

Celimus nodded. “Good. Let’s take a ride together tomorrow at dawn. You can see my falcons at work.”

“Excellent, sire, now you must forgive me,” Wyl said with absolutely no intention of remaining more than another hour at Stoneheart.

“Oh, leaving our table early, Romen?”

“Yes, majesty. I beg your indulgence. I am still feeling a little weak. I would rest and get ready to ride with you.”

Celimus raised his cup to Romen and sipped. “Until tomorrow.”

“I shall see you at dawn, sire.” Wyl said, Romen’s disarming smile winning hearts around the table but not where it counted.

As he strode from the hall. Celimus beckoned to one of his men. He had already formed an inner circle of sorts who clustered about him as private guards. None were from the Legion.

“Your majesty?”

“Jerico. do you see that man leaving the hall?”

“Yes. sire.”

“He is preparing to depart Pearlis tomorrow eve—perhaps with a woman in tow. Once he leaves the city gates. I want you to follow him with several of our own and kill him. Kill them both if she’s with him. Do you understand?”

The man nodded.

“No trace is to be found of either, except his finger wearing the signet ring. That you will return as proof of your successful deed. He will have much gold about his person. Whatever you find, you may keep and split as you see fit.”

The man called Jerico grinned. “Thank you? sire.”

Chapter 18

Wyl and Knave navigated their way to a little-used courtyard with a tiny arched entrance and a direct exit beyond Stoneheart’s walls. From past experience Wyl knew it would be patrolled only minimally. It was getting on to dusk, so light was rapidly failing, and he was able to distract the single guard in conversation long enough for Knave to trot through the opening. The guard spotted the movement, however, and reacted predictably but Wyl just raised his eyebrows and said something derogatory about Stoneheart having too many dogs.

The man looked worried and then explained that he recognized the dog as General Thirsk’s beast and perhaps he should have stopped him.

“Well, don’t blame yourself, lad,” Wyl said, reassuringly. “He’s making his bid for freedom. He no longer belongs here, what with his master dead.” He shrugged.

“You’re probably right, sir. He was a fearsome mongrel anyway. So are those directions helpful, sir?

Can you find your way back to your chambers now?”

“Definitely. My thanks for your help.”

“Don’t mention it. sir.” the guard said and returned to his post.

Wyl had decided he would use the exit through this courtyard to get out of Stoneheart later, when night would give him the shadows he needed. Another shadow, one that could move and melt easily into the darkness, was waiting outside. Knave had his instructions. He would be ready for them.

Jorn had packed their few belongings into a cloth bag. He had also tossed in some fruit, cheeses, nuts, and a couple of loaves.

“Just to tide you through, sir,” he said and Wyl realized the lad looked sad.

“Jorn… look.”

Wyl’s tone gave the youngster the courage he wanted. “Take me with you, Lord Koreldy, sir. I’ll be no problem, I promise. I can care for the Lady Ylena so you are free to do your business, sir.” The boy looked so desperate Wyl almost relented and then he remembered all that lay ahead.

“Jorn, you’re a good lad and you’re needed at Stoneheart. Here,” he said, handing him a parchment.

“I’ve written a high recommendation to the seneschal—make sure he gets it soon.” Wyl warned, knowing the name Koreldy would be blackened shortly but hoping the lad would be forgotten in the scheme of things. “I can’t take you with me. Where I’m headed I need no companion, son. I hope you understand.”

The youngster nodded but the disappointment was evident. It was Ylena who rescued Wyl. “When I get back to my family home. Jorn, I shall send for you. You will continue your training with us at Argorn.” The lad brightened immediately. “That would be grand, my lady, thank you. Where are you headed?” Wyl shook his head. “Not sure yet. Jorn. Probably northwest, somewhere very quiet. Rittylworth perhaps.” He knew it was a mistake to have said that much. It put the lad in danger and compromised their security too.

Jorn nodded. “I shall wait to hear, sir.” He bowed to Ylena. “My lady.” She glanced at Romen and smiled sadly. Wyl wished he could ease her pain, just a little, by telling her that it was him, her brother, smiling back.

Once Knave heard the low command whistle from his master he put on a big show for the terrified guard, growling and barking, running toward him at an insane speed and then swerving away. The man finally mustered enough courage to pick up rocks and hurl them into the darkness to where he thought the beast might be; then, rattled, he went to get help.

In those few moments Wyl and Ylena slipped through the gate toward freedom. They were well-clothed for travel on foot and their soft boots made no sound. Wyl knew Ylena would not be able to travel very far before needing rest. She was undernourished and still weak but he hoped she might at least make it to the next town, where he could buy suitable horses. His aim was to walk as far as they could under cover of darkness and they did so in silence for a mile or more until Wyl felt himself relaxing as Stoneheart was put behind them.

Knave emerged from the shadows of a hedgerow, a huge dark figure. “Good boy,” Wyl said, patting his head.

“I have no idea why that dog likes you. He hates just about everyone,” Ylena commented absently, her voice still an otherworldly monotone.