Myrren's Gift (46 page)

Wyl moved quickly. He could not risk Cailech’s blood boiling up. Romen’s memories told him the man became unpredictably dangerous if his temper was stirred. “Hush, my lord. You will make your people anxious. This is a celebration, is it not?”

The King gulped his wine, forced himself to remain silent as he calmed down.

Wyl filled the pause amongst the swirling noise of the festivities. “Truly, you don’t mean to eat those folk.”

The King remained silent.

“Cailech, you said yourself these people are peasants, not soldiers! You cannot punish them thus—even in war there are protocols observed. It is Celimus who is guilty; these people are innocents!” Wyl noticed there was pleading in his voice…and so did the King, who turned his intimidating gaze upon him now.

“And the people I lost were not?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It is implied.”

“I beg forgiveness. It was not my intent. Soldiers at least deserve an honorable death. The woman doesn’t deserve to lose her life at all.”

“For a Grenadyne you seem very concerned about Morgravian lives.”

“As I grow older. I am concerned for all life.” A woman with a lovely voice began to sing a soft, haunting ballad and Wyl was relieved that it seemed to calm the listeners.

“But I thought you killed without remorse, for money?” Cailech asked, looking back at the woman.

“I don’t have to like it though.” Wyl replied, and at this the King finally smiled, genuinely amused. Wyl felt relief.

“You never fail to surprise me, Romen. It’s probably why I let you go on living.”

“I am grateful for your indulgence, my lord,” Wyl said gravely, lifting his cup to the King. “May I speak with the prisoner?” He was relieved that Cailech had not answered his question about eating the prisoners. Perhaps it was all plain theater—something to stir the blood of his people.

“Go ahead. He’s tough, that one. We’ve tried breaking him but his spirit is strong.”

“Who is he?”

Cailech shrugged. “Who cares? Someone of rank by the way he spoke up on behalf of the others… and accepted their pain.”

It was a cryptic statement. Wyl left it. “What is your plan for him?” he asked: suddenly afraid of the answer.

“Rashlyn suggests we cook him bit by bit. We’ll cut off his hands and feet first and slice off fresh bits of meat from his sorry carcass each day. And perhaps I can take a leaf from your book, Koreldy. I shall send his head—baked, of‘ course—to Celimus, so he can no longer perpetrate a lie that we eat our enemies. He will know it to be truth!”

Wyl ignored the rhetoric. “Who is Rashlyn?”

“My barshi. He advises, you could say.”

The word barshi meant nothing to Wyl. He stored it away to check with Lothryn, though, and he had a very good idea who the barshi was. “Was tonight his idea?” Cailech ignored him. Wyl had no doubt that Cailech was a ruthless ruler but he sensed he was too intelligent to lower himself to this horrific deed without being influenced in some way. Obviously this Rashlyn fellow wielded some power with the King. He turned away from the table, bowing to Cailech as a stuffed, roasted, and artfully refeathered swan was presented at the royal table to much applause.

Trying to regain some composure as he left, Wyl paused by Lothryn to offer his condolences on the loss of his wife.

The Mountain Man only nodded before moving onto the matter at hand. “I’m sorry you bore witness to this dark deed tonight.”

“You don’t agree, obviously.”

“I don’t believe the King is even speaking to me after I had my say about it.” Wyl nodded. “Was that man with the beard and long hair Rashlyn?”

“Yes. He’s very dangerous.”

“I gather this is his doing.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Where’s Elspyth?” Wyl asked, noticing she was not present.

“I think Cailech’s surprise was too much for her.”

“His course of action is unwise,” Wyl said, knowing Lothryn to be a reasonable man.

“I don’t like it any more than you. but I have said all I can on the subject. He is determined to retaliate in this contemptuous manner. You know what Cailech is like. We have lost many lives recently and, in spite of anything I advise, he is immovable. He is also wrong, of course. This will simply provoke more killing of our own people but he is proud and he is hurting over the children who died. They killed them for sport, you know…Mountain Dwellers are less than animals in Morgravian eyes.” Wyl sighed. It seemed impossible that men under his command would perpetrate such horror.
Except
they aren’t under my command
, he reminded himself. He looked at the pathetic, chained figure squatting naked against the wall. Something was nagging at his mind; something he knew he should pay attention to but his thoughts were too fractured.

“Would you keep an eye on Elspyth? She doesn’t deserve to be a part of all this.” Lothryn nodded, suddenly silent again and Wyl thanked him, walking now toward the Morgravian, whose head was hung between his knees. He was a tall man, Wyl could tell. Slim and hard-muscled, clearly one who had trained hard. As he drew close, again Wyl felt the nudge against his mind.
What is
it? What are my thoughts trying to provoke
?

Now he could smell the grimy, unwashed soldier. It reminded him of how he had found Ylena and anger surged. He wondered how much punishment this man had taken upon himself to protect the others. Wyl made to bend down to talk with the man but a guard prevented him.

“It’s all right. Bore,” a voice came from behind. It was Lothryn.

“Cailech’s leaving nothing to chance, then,” Wyl said, a hard edge to his voice at being trailed by Lothryn.

“He never does. Romen. You should know that.”

Wyl nodded, his fury mingling with despair and a small surge of wisdom advising him against responding to that comment. He ignored the guard and squatted. The overpowering smell of the soldier almost made him stand up again but he reached out his hand and lifted the head to look into the ruined face of a man he knew all too well.

“Gueryn!”

“Is that you, my boy? Is it you, Wyl?” the man croaked, clearly in some sort of stupor. He was blind; his eyelids had been sewn together.

“You know him?” Lothryn asked, surprise evident.

Wyl could not respond to either Lothryn or, more importantly, Gueryn. He could not bear to see the state of his mentor—this brave man of Argorn, so loyal to Morgravia, so dedicated to the Thirsk family.

“Wyl?” the battered man asked again and then hung his head into its same cowed position.

“He’s always asking for someone called Wyl. Must be his son,” the guard commented. “Wish we’d got him too.”

His malicious laugh was poorly timed. Wyl moved fast. In a blink the guard’s throat was being crushed by the large hands of Romen Koreldy. The man’s flailing limbs managed to send one server’s tray of roast swan high into the air before it came crashing down onto the stone floor, causing quite a commotion. Wyl was grabbed from behind and a more powerful strength than he owned fortunately prevented him from doing any further damage.

“Are you out of your mind?” Lothryn exclaimed, pinioning Wyl’s arms.

It was too late. Cailech had leapt from the dais and arrived quickly at the scene. “By Haldor’s hairy ass!

What happens here?” he roared.

The cavernous hall had become silent, save the sound of the serving woman moaning over her tray of swan meat.

“Koreldy!” Cailech yelled, forcing Wyl to look at him. “You would assault one of my men in my own fortress?”

“I took offense at something he said, my lord,” Wyl replied, his mind racing, knowing he would need a watertight reason for this latest act.

“He knows the prisoner.” Bore croaked.

Cailech’s jaw was working furiously. “Out!” he said and Wyl was manhandled by Lothryn, away from earshot of curious bystanders.

They left Bore coughing and massaging his bruised throat.

“Who is he?” the King demanded.

“His name is Gueryn le Gant,” Wyl said, glad to be away from his old friend as he began to wield Romen’s inimitable skill at spinning a web of lies. “He is originally from Grenadyn. I grew up with him.” Gueryn was only about ten years older than Koreldy, Wyl realized. He would have to be careful.

“Then what in Haldor’s name was he doing wearing Morgravian colors?” Wyl’s gaze flicked to Lothryn, who stood expressionless behind his King. There would be no help from that quarter. He played for time instead. “I can’t answer that until I’ve spoken with him. I haven’t seen him in years,” he lied.

“Fetch him,” Cailech said over his shoulder and Lothryn obeyed.

Wyl realized that Romen’s normally easy smile failed him now. And Cailech knew it too as he took a threatening step forward.

“If I find out you’re lying, Koreldy, it will be for the last time. You will suffer the same fate as your naked friend here.”

Gueryn was dragged shivering before the King. Perhaps he anticipated more beatings. Wyl supposed, as the brighter torchlight showed up livid bruising over most of his body. Lothryn’s expression showed that he did not agree with his sovereign’s brutal taste for revenge. Wyl assumed the sewn eyelids was Rashlyn at work again.

Wyl turned at a disturbance behind them: Elspyth was trying to break through the guards. When Cailech inquired with a single glance, Lothryn whispered something brief.

“Allow it. She can help.”

Elspyth was permitted to join them. She averted her gaze from the prisoner and glared at Cailech instead.

“Ah, Elspyth. I did warn you that tonight’s festivities might not be to your liking. Now you can assist us, please. Would you address this wretch here and ask him a question on my behalf? It occurs to me he may respond to a woman’s voice—we should have thought of that before, Loth, eh?” He grinned but his deputy did not respond.

Elspyth turned and caught a strange expression on Romen’s face. There was pain there and she was not sure what he wanted from her in this moment.

“Talk to him softly,” Cailech guided. “Ask him who Romen Koreldy is,” he added looking slyly toward Wyl. There was both menace and warning in his glance.

She looked toward the trembling man. It was not fear that made him shake. As far as she could tell he was sick, and little wonder, looking at his battered body. Elspyth’s heart ached for this brave soldier who had obviously kept his secrets to himself. If he stood to his full height he would be a tall man and no doubt proud. Her tears welled to see his eyelids so cruelly sewn shut. They had bled and the blood had crusted. Sores had erupted around the punctured skin. Death might be a kinder blow. She pushed that thought aside, realizing the three men were watching her.

“What is his name?” she asked, turning to Wyl.

Cailech did not permit Romen to answer, which she considered strange. They had seemed friendly enough an hour before—now suddenly there was a cloying tension between the pair.

“His name is Gueryn,” Lothryn answered, directing a ghost of a smile toward her, from which she took courage.

“Gueryn, can you hear me?” she asked.

Immediately Gueryn turned sightless eyes toward Elspyth. He nodded.

Cailech’s expression turned into one of grim pleasure. At last, the man would reveal something…all it needed was a woman’s touch.

“My name is Elspyth, Gueryn. I am Morgravian from the town of Yentro.” A single tear oozed between the stitches of his lids as he recognized the lilt of her accent and Wyl’s heart broke. It was just too much for him to bear. “As one, Gueryn!” He shouted.

He should have anticipated it but he was so intent on reaching Gueryn’s blurry mind that Cailech’s fist connected unimpeded with Romen’s fragile ribs, which fractured again under such direct pressure. Wyl doubled and then fell to his knees, pain engulfing him in a haze of sharp, fragmented lights. He slumped in a corner, breathing with difficulty, desperately hoping nothing was punctured. He did notice that Gueryn stood just a little straighten a fraction taller; his mouth had found that firm line he remembered seeing as a child when Gueryn was displeased with him. Screaming out the family motto had achieved something far more important than a smashed rib.

It had happened so fast. Elspyth had not even the chance to scream.

“Make a sound, young woman, and I will do the same to you.” Cailech whispered.

“It’s all you’re good for then, my lord.” Elspyth rounded on him. “Hurting women. Torturing people. You had me fooled for a while but I see you are a barbarian in the truest sense of the word. You have no compassion, no empathy for your fellow man. Kill me if you must. I will not do your dirty work. I am Morgravian and proud of it. I will not bow to the Mountain race. I would sooner die than forsake my fellow countryman. Trust me when I say that I distrust my King but I love my people. I wish you and your tribe no harm but I will not allow you to torment me or my people any further. I will not join you in persecuting this man or humbling the mercenary. You can find out for yourself in your own barbaric way what you want to know.”

Elspyth’s a long speech took everyone by surprise, which was probably why she was allowed to have her full say. Her eyes blazed with passion and fury; her chest rose high with her heavy breathing. If Wyl had had the strength he would have cheered. He felt sure the King would strike her too after such high insult.

Instead Cailech sneered. “Take all three to the dungeon. Loth. They can share the same fate over the roasting coals. We shall have to do it tomorrow. Frankly. I’ve lost my appetite for tonight.”
Chapter 28

An observer might be forgiven for assuming that the Kins of the Mountains was alone, brooding by a fire he neither needed nor appreciated for its comfort or light. Beside him a cup of warmed wine stood untouched.

Cailech was angry. In fact still angry from Lothryn questioning his actions prior to the feast. He loved Lothryn. He would never have a more loyal subject or as close a friend. But it seemed they no longer shared the same vision. Lothryn was content with what had been achieved. Cailech knew his friend’s advice would be to live life happily now and reign well. Look after the people. Flourish among the mountains of their homeland. He could almost hear Lothryn saying it.