Myrren's Gift (38 page)

This had been a successful trading week. The King would be pleased and in his usual way he would plow the gold from the sale of the prized horses bred in the Razors back into goods for the Mountain People, seeds especially. Paper and stylos were high on the King’s shopping list this time—he was determined the children would write with the correct equipment from now on. His plans for the future were lofty indeed, but why not? Lothryn argued to himself. Cailech had a vision for their harsh Mountain Kingdom, and if anyone could realize it this man could.

Lothryn had grown up loving Cailech and although he rarely dwelled on it. he knew he could flatter himself in saying that the feeling was mutual. They had played side by side since they were old enough to walk and had been inseparable since. And now Cailech ruled. A self-proclaimed, magnificent King; Lothryn his unfailingly loyal second. Lothryn smiled. Life was good—almost perfect in fact, if not for the increasing upheavals with the new King of Morgravia.

Celimus had already made what was surely a challenge to war by sending a team of spies into the Mountain King’s territory. And Lothryn was quietly worried that Cailech’s well-known temper might lead them into deeper waters. He was already talking up the notion that his people deserved the plentiful southern lands for themselves, to grow their crops and raise their children. It was an audacious dream and one that Lothryn did not agree with. He had suggested time and again that their people should keep to the safety and obscurity of the Razors. Their arable land was small but rich, their animals fat and healthy, the people themselves happy. But he knew Cailech wanted more. Cailech always wanted more—even as a youngster he had dreamed big. And now he wanted to teach the new sovereign of Morgravia a lesson in kingship. Lothryn shook his head. In truth, if they were going to attempt to take the south then Lothryn believed they should attack weaker Briavel first, thus effectively encircling Morgravia.

He shook his head clear of thoughts of war. All he wanted right now was to be gone from Morgravia, to head back into the Mountains, where his child was preparing to be born.

He watched Koreldy pace in the cold and smiled at his discomfort. The man had obviously softened in his time south. A young woman was approaching him. Lothryn had not seen her before in Yentro but that was not necessarily surprising.
She’s lovely
, he thought,
small but a lovely handful
. And he grinned to himself.

“Here we go,” he muttered to himself, as the young woman paused to speak with Romen. Lothryn looked behind, caught the gaze of his companions, and nodded. It was time to follow their prey.

Chapter 22

Elspyth came up behind the man who had been described to her. She had been watching him for a brief while, wondering what his true interest was with her aging aunt. His story was a ruse, she was sure of it, but her gifted aunt had recognized the name Thirsk, had been startled to hear it in fact, and had immediately given her agreement to meet with him. Why she herself felt so wary she could not say.

Her aunt had only just made the long trek home; she was weak and fragile and Elspyth was tired. Tired of the fairgrounds and weary of life on the road. She loved the rugged north and Yentro seemed to have swelled to twice the size even in the time they had been away. She was not sure the south knew how this place was flourishing and Elspyth wanted to be here to enjoy it. She liked their cottage in the foothills and for the most part did not mind the lonely life, although she dreamed of one day having a family.

Why do I think this stranger will bring us trouble
? she thought as she approached him. “Koreldy?” she said.

He turned, looking down at her from his height. Her friend told no lie with her description either. Elspyth could sense this was a man who enjoyed the company of women.

“You are the niece?” he asked, affably.

She nodded.

“Thank you for coming.” he said and bowed.

Elspyth was not going to let him work his charms on her. “Follow me.”

“Is it far?” he called to her back, for she had already turned and left.

“Why? Are you lame?” She did not mean to be rude but his easy smile clashed with her mood.

He did not take offense—laughed in fact. “No. No. I’m not but I am hurt.” She turned, her expression a question.

“I took a beating from some bandits. It’s my ribs.” he said in explanation.

“Our cottage is in the foothills.”

It gave Wyl no more information than before. He protested no further. “I’m sure I’ll manage.” They walked heading north out of Yentro and then veered east. Wyl regretted not wearing his knives at least, having had no idea he would be leaving the main town. The woman called Elspyth strode ahead but he had gradually made up the ground with Romen’s long stride, admiring her shapely backside and the way it swayed as she walked. He finally drew level with her.

“Another mile.” she warned.

“When did you get home?” he asked, mainly to make conversation, but realized it was an error.

She glared at him. “How did you know we’ve been away?”

Yes, how could Romen know this? Fool
! “Er—I saw your aunt at the Morgravian tournament.”

“Oh?”

“She met with a friend of mine.” he added, hoping that was enough information.

“My aunt took unwell on the night of the tourney. We started the long journey home the next day.”

“Well, it is wonderful countryside,” Wyl said, trying to turn the conversation away from that particular day. “I can understand why you would want to be home here.”

“Can you?”

He nodded. “I don’t care much for cities myself.” It felt like this was his first truth in days.

Elspyth went quiet after this and Wyl soon began to labor. The pain was back.

“What’s that?” she asked, returning to where he had stopped at the roadside to tip something from a bottle into his mouth.

“Something to ease the pain.” He grimaced as the vile-tasting stuff slid down his throat.

Her brow creased at his expression. “That bad?” He nodded. “May I?” she said holding her hand out.

Wyl gave her the tiny bottle and she smelled its contents. “Powerful stuff. I have something else, less harsh on your belly, that you may care to try.”

He nodded his thanks as his eyes picked out the thatched roof of a cottage, partly hidden behind a mound and some trees. It seemed Shar was smiling on him. They were here. Elspyth led him out of the sharp sunlight and into the darkness of the small cottage.

“I’ll not be long,” she said, gesturing at a scrubbed table and chairs. The young woman disappeared into the back of the cottage and reappeared a few moments later.

“My aunt will see you now.”

Wyl had not realized he was holding his breath with tension. He followed Elspyth into the back chamber, which was darker still, and the familiar odor of burning sticks took him back to the seer’s tent at the fairground.

“Welcome.” the old woman’s voice croaked.

Wyl bowed to the Widow Ilyk out of courtesy even though she was blind. Somehow he felt she would sense his good manners anyway.

“Elspyth. my dear. Would you fetch us some wine?”

Her niece glanced toward Wyl as she departed. He suspected her glare was to warn him not to tire the old woman. Meanwhile the wine was obviously her aunt’s manner of requesting privacy.

“It is good of you to see me, Widow.” Wyl said.

The old woman swayed slightly as her whitish eyes stared over his shoulder. “Your name is unknown to me, Romen Koreldy, but I am familiar with Wyl Thirsk. That one had an aura about him.” Wyl felt a chill settle across him. She was definitely no trickster.

“No aura about me?”

“Not that I can detect.” she said and a small smile snatched at her mouth. “Where are you from?” she asked.

“Grenadyn, madam,” he replied. “Originally,” he added for truth.

“Yes. I hear its soft lilt in your voice. A nice voice, belonging to a handsome man, I’m told,” she said, her eyes crinkling as she smiled.

“That depends only on the opinion of the beholder, madam,” Wyl replied.

“You’ve obviously come a long way to find me. How can I help?”

“Take my hands,” Wyl suggested.

“Why?”

“Isn’t that what you do?”

“Sometimes. Other times I just listen.”

“To what?”

“Oh, the voices around you, the aura surrounding your person. I might add you are closed to me.”

“Please, take my hands,” he asked.

“If it pleases you,” she agreed, reaching forward. “I imagine—” At his touch she instantly swallowed what she was about to say. Instead what came out was a terrified gasp.

“Widow?”

Now she trembled. He could feel her fright beneath his fingers, could see her garments shaking against her frail body. Her lips began to move but no sound came out.

“Widow!” Wyl repeated, worried.

“It is you.” She spoke hardly above a whisper. “It has happened, Wyl Thirsk.” Relief flooded through him. “You remember.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice.

“I could never forget you. When?”

Wyl told her what had occurred.

“A curse or a gift, Wyl Thirsk?” she demanded.

“I’m not sure. It saved my life but it took another.”

“He would have taken yours.”

“This is true. He was. I suspect, a good man.”

“You will make him better,” she comforted, sensing his sorrow. “You’ve tracked me down because you have questions.”

“Yes.”

“I will answer as best I can. though I warn I know little.” He nodded. “Are you a witch?”

She chuckled at this. “No. son. I have no magics. Only the Sight.”

“But you deliberately masquerade as a trickster.”

The old woman shrugged. “I cannot risk the truth. You have witnessed firsthand the suffering of those they suspect are empowered. Those dark times are behind us now, thank Shar’s Mercy, but still I find it easier to hide my talent than flaunt it. If people suspected I could really see into their lives, I think they would fear me for what I might tell them. They prefer the notion that fortune-telling is just some harmless fun.”

Wyl understood. “Tell me what the Quickening is.”

The widow sighed and sat back into her chair, releasing her hold on his hands. “That’s not as easy to explain. I cannot answer it as you wish. All I can tell you is that it has no remorse, no empathy…and you have no control over it.”

“Can I rid myself of it?”

“No.” She had nothing to add.

“So I will remain Romen Koreldy for the rest of my life,” he murmured. It was not a question. He felt grief and yet in his soul he had expected nothing less.

“I have no knowledge to confirm or deny it.” she said sadly.

Wyl stood and paced the tiny chamber. He did not trust himself to speak for a few moments.

“Elspyth!” the widow called and her niece appeared around the door, answering softly. “Bring the wine, my love.”

The young woman came into the room with a tray. After setting down its contents she withdrew silently.

“Drink!” the seer ordered. “It will help.”

Wyl did, gulping down the sweet wine, needing to feel its sugary warmth within him. She was right, it steadied him.

“Why did Myrren do this to me?”

“I imagine she saw something in you, Wyl. A need perhaps? A burning desire? Who knows? It could even be that she wanted something of you… some thing she wanted you to achieve.”

“All because of a sip of water,” he said, laughing sadly to himself.

“There would be more to it than that but what that is, I cannot guess.” Wyl took another couple of swallows of the wine. Mixed with the potion, it was making him feel lightheaded. He sat again.

“Tell me about the dog.”

She made a small circle of her mouth as though they had stepped onto a hallowed topic. “A very powerful one. that.”

“He’s enchanted?” he asked, trying to make it sound like the most reasonable assumption.

“Not in himself.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is a channel for magic.”

Wyl did not understand but pushed on. “What else?”

“Keep him close. I told you that before. I meant it then as I do now.”

“And the boy?”

“Strange.”

“He is strange?” Wyl wondered aloud.

“No. Strange that I cannot read him. A complex child with an adept mind. He is very susceptible to magic, although he does not know it. That’s why the black dog chose him. Trust the boy. He begins to understand Knave—and you.”

She sounded as though she was falling into a trance but Wyl pressed on. He was frightened but determined to wring every last ounce of information he could.

“My sister, she—”

“Is in grave danger. You think you have her hidden but he will find her.” Wyl was astounded. How could she know these things? He felt suddenly violent, wanted to hurl something at the wall, at her, at the stupid cottage they stood in. Ylena was safe…safe with Brother Jakub.

Now the woman’s voice sounded dreamy. “Jakub cannot protect her, nor himself,” she droned. “And the other woman—the Queen. She is strong but her realm is weak. It makes her vulnerable.” This was not a revelation to Wyl but it still terrified him to hear her say it out loud.

“You must never speak of this to anyone,” Wyl warned.

“I am only a sideshow alley trader,” the woman said, more focused now. “No one takes me seriously.”

“Is there anyone who can help me?” he asked desperately.

“Seek Myrren’s father!” Her voice was hard. It sounded deeper all of a sudden.

“The physic?”

“No! He was not her real father,” the low voice said angrily. “Seek the manwitch.” Wyl felt his world tip on its axis. This was too much. He was about to demand more about the father when she suddenly screamed out. “Wyl! Beware the barbarian! He knows you. He’s coming—coming for you—coming for you—” Her voice trailed to a whisper and then she seemed to pass out.

“Elspyth!” Wyl yelled.

The woman ran into the chamber and bent down by her aunt, lifting the closed lids before rubbing the old woman’s chilled hands. “She forbids me to witness these sessions but look what it does to her. Saps her strength. I swear it will kill her. Quick, help me with that blanket…she’s freezing.” Wyl did as asked and together they wrapped the birdlike frame of the old woman in a thick woolen shawl.