Chapter 25

   

They were shown to separate guarded chambers. The rooms were warmed by hollowed clay pots, standing half as high as a man, in which small fires burned, their smoke exhausted via cunningly concealed flues. Painted frescoes adorned the whitewashed interior walls; even the ceilings were painted with vines and intricate border designs. Animal skins were laid on the floors and carved beds were decorated by woven spreads, simple and beautiful in their bright coloring. In such a forbidding place, beauty abounded and this was a surprise.

Wyl dozed briefly and woke to make full use of the fresh water and fatty soap that had been left for him. With Romen’s hair washed and neatly tied back, he scratched his new beard, wishing he could shave as well. There was not much he could do about his clothes, he decided, and so fetched a chair to the window, which afforded him a breathtaking view of the pretty meadows beyond the lake. Intuition—only Romen could give him this—told him that those meadows led to a cove with a sandy beach. Why was this significant to him? He settled back in the chair, cleared his mind as Gueryn had taught him to do in readiness for a sword fight, and allowed any random thoughts or information to flow in. He cast a prayer that Shar might guide the truth to him of Romen’s dark past.

He sat for a while without any thought. Still and unfocused he stared out toward something he knew was significant. It was beyond the meadows but before the sea. It evaded him, although he sensed it was tantalizingly close to revealing itself Wyl heard a noise from below; it disturbed his clutching search into Romen’s history. He leaned out of the window to see a team of men rolling wine barrels. He sat back down hard on his seat, his pulse suddenly quickened. Wine! What was it that Lothryn had said earlier? It was subtle but it was loaded with meaning and it was connected with wine. A place called Racklaryon—he had suggested that was why Romen’s physical reaction to seeing the fortress again had been so strong. Wyl remembered now how some trace of Romen had unwillingly stirred at the naming of that place. Why was that?

Racklaryon. The name was painfully familiar but he could not say why. He leapt from his chair and summoned the guard from outside his chamber.

“Where is Racklaryon?” he inquired.

The guard nodded. “The plains are after the meadows,” he replied abruptly.

“Before the sea,” Wyl added.

“The vineyards eventually lead down to the sea, yes.”

Wyl felt his heart leap. Vineyards. He was close. “Am I permitted to go there?”

“I will check,” the man replied and left Wyl standing in his doorway. The guard then muttered quietly to another man who was passing by. “We wait,” he called back to Wyl.

Wyl returned to his room to wait and soon enough the guard knocked on his door.

“You are permitted,” he said. “Then you will meet with the King.”

Wyl nodded. He needed someone to show him the way and presumed he would not be allowed to roam free. “Will you accompany me?”

“Yes. I will arrange horses.”

Leading the horses away from the fortress, Wyl gave up trying to be chatty with his companion. The man’s stern countenance and monosyllabic answers to polite questions were sufficient to warn him off. So now they cantered in silence, two more men bringing up the rear.

“I have no intention of riding away anywhere,” Wyl reassured him.

“Orders,” his captor said.

The ride was pleasant enough and lifted Wyl’s spirits for a while, which was perhaps why the shock was even more intense when he caught his first glimpse through some trees of the picturesque vineyards of Racklaryon.

He galloped toward it, skirting the trees, his escort following just as fast. Finally seeing the rows of resplendent vines rolling down the plains to a sandy cove was too much even for Romen’s buried memories. The force of the sight’s terrible impact smashed through whatever thin veil had kept Romen’s recall of this time so remote from Wyl and the full tragic event exploded into his consciousness as though he were watching the horrific scene unfold once again.

Wyl jumped from his horse, all but falling to the rich earth of Racklaryon, and there, on his knees, his arms uplifted to the heavens, he screamed his despair as the truth of his host’s mysterious background unleashed itself on its guest.

It felt like an age before he could compose himself and he was grateful that his escort had finally dragged him from the vineyards, forced him back on his horse, and returned him to his chamber where he remained, numb, until they came for him. The men spoke only the words necessary to ask him to come with them and he appreciated that they used his own language to communicate. Their own was a guttural, bastardized version of an ancient language from lands to the northeast of where the Mountain Dwellers’ ancestors originally came. He suspected Romen knew this language but he no longer wanted to delve into Romen’s past. What he had learned today he wished he could give back.

This new escort, like the first one, wore nothing warmer than shirts and sleeveless leather jerkins over woolen baggy pants tucked into sturdy boots, while he was glad of the several layers he had donned back in Yentro. He tidied himself quickly once again until he was neat and presentable for the King.

There were no stairs in this part of the fortress but gently swooping circular ramps, smoothed from the stone, ran between the floors. Wyl noted sconces burned at frequent intervals on the walls. He presumed they must remain lit constantly as only very little daylight would seep through into this vast place of cavernous halls. He soon lost his bearings. The men escorted Wyl through a wide, dark passage that ended at a great oak door. Guards were posted down this corridor and two burly men stepped aside as Wyl’s entourage arrived. One banged on the oak door and it was opened from the inside.

Cailech was obviously a cautious leader.

Inside, the large room lost all the austerity of what had gone before. Massive windows allowed maximum light and overlooked a picturesque scene of the lake, which was home to thousands of water birds. Snowcapped mountains in the background stepped jaggedly down toward the valley and its pastures, over which the fortress hung.

Huge pines lined the slopes. Late winter flowers were bursting into bloom everywhere. Wyl found himself entranced by the spectacular panorama and was tempted to squint against the blaze of light and color as he emerged from the dark of the corridor.

The chamber he stood in was enormous.

A familiar voice greeted him now from one of its many nooks. “Romen Koreldy. Tsk, tsk. I told you what I’d do to you if you ever set foot on my path again.”

Wyl turned to his right where Cailech, King of the Mountain Dwellers, stood relaxed by a huge open fire, its stone mantelpiece intricately carved with beasts and birds. A bare hint of a grin played around the man’s mouth. The King’s light-colored hair was long and loose, carelessly held back from his oblong face by a leather thong tied around his head. He wore no beard but Wyl imagined he could grow one with ease. He did not bother with a shirt but wore only his leather jerkin over his skin, which was burnished from sun and wind. His arms were thickly muscled, ending in large, blunt hands.

The King held one out now, palm down, in the Mountain way.

Wyl stepped forward and intuitively placed his own, palm up, against the calloused hand, which dwarfed his. As he did so, he bent over that large hand to show his respect for this self-proclaimed royal.

“To tell the truth, my lord Cailech, I did not deliberately set foot on your path. You had me stolen from Morgravia.”

Hard, unreadable pale-green eyes held Wyl as he straightened. For a moment he worried that the man might see him for the impostor he was.

“Why were you so far north, Romen?” The voice was pleasant enough but the question was pointed. Cailech knew no other way.

Romen had warned Wyl not to trifle with this man. He gambled. “That’s a rather long story.”

“Share it with me. I’m in no hurry and you are certainly going nowhere.” Cailech glanced toward his men who then withdrew, although Wyl noted they remained in the chamber itself.

They sat. Wine was immediately served.

“Hungry?” his host asked.

Wyl shook his head, recalling how violently he had emptied himself earlier. “But I will gladly take wine with you, my lord.” He slipped into a topic he was familiar with and which came naturally to him. He had seen the wine barrels, noticed the vine designs in his chamber and on various items—Wyl felt he could risk this conversation as a polite opener. “Has the harvest been generous?”

“Bountiful last year and this year shaping up to be just as good. This is some of our finest from the plains of Racklaryon.”

Wyl flinched at the naming of this place. He looked over the rim of his goblet at the strong features that regarded him. His father had cautioned so many times about the threat from the north and how Morgravia should never underestimate its wily King. Wyl could appreciate that now, staring into the face set in an expression that seemed carved from the same granite as the Mountains he called home.

Wyl sensed he must not show any further proof that the word disturbed him. “How old are you anyway, Cailech?” he asked, falling back on Romen’s nonchalance, which had saved Koreldy so many times.

“Odd question.” the man replied, showing a smile that Wyl noted touched his eyes and changed his demeanor into one of pure amusement. “I would hazard that you and I are around the same age.”

Wyl nodded, estimating thirty-five or so summers. “You have achieved so much for one still relatively young.”

Cailech snorted. “I don’t feel young.”

“Tell me how it all came about… how you united the tribes.”

“I thought we were discussing you. Anyway you would have heard it from others during your last stay, I’m sure.”

“I’d like to hear it from you.” Wyl said carefully.

“Why?”

“You said you were in no hurry and you have never told me much about yourself,” Wyl gambled again, all but holding his breath.

Cailech sipped, watchful, obviously carefully considering Wyl’s question.

“There really isn’t much to tell,” the King finally said. “We were a rabble. A horde of scavengers who would just as soon fight over a neighbor’s goat than look to the bigger prey of neighboring kingdoms and fight over something worth winning.”

“Such as?”

“Land, horses, wealth.”

“Go on.”

“We were never going to amount to anything more than vandals whose best success might be raiding another tribe’s region. I suppose I had a vision.”

“How old were you when you had this vision?”

The King tapped his goblet in thought now. “I could see it clearly from childhood. As soon as I was considered old enough to wield weapons and join the raiding parties, I began preaching that vision. At every opportunity I’d beg my father, the leader of our tribe, to call talks. After a raid, whether we were successful or not. he would sit with his counterpart and they would discuss what I suppose could be called terms of war. It became infectious and my father and I would travel into different tribes as the mediators for such talks. As my voice deepened into a man’s. I think they began to pay more attention to me. For this, you see, was only the beginning of my vision. My plan was always to unite the tribes into one race, one leader, one aim.” He broke off and shrugged suddenly. “All history. This fortress took almost two decades of my life to build.”

“I was impressed all those years ago, your majesty. I’m even more astounded by its simple beauty now.”

“Thank you,” the King said. “And Racklaryon? How was your ride?”

This time he did not hesitate. “Painful.”

“I expect it was,” Cailech replied carefully, then switched topics as smoothly as his wine slipped down Wyl’s throat. “We are wondering why Morgravia would use you to spy on us.”

Wyl balked and the surprise showed on his face. “I am not spying for Morgravia, your majesty. I would sooner join you in cutting its King’s throat.”

It was Cailech’s turn to be surprised. “Is that so?”

“He has done me many wrongs. That’s why I was in the north.”

Cailech raised a cynical eyebrow. “Well, Romen. It’s your turn. I shall have your story about this trip so close to our border.”

Wyl took a careful breath of relief. This was something he could speak about without fear of error.

After an opportunity to wash and neaten her appearance. Elspyth enjoyed a most acceptable meal of warm bread and a thinly sliced meat she did not recognize. As she finished off the light but nonetheless deliciously buttery wine, there was a knock at the door. She took a deep breath and crossed the room, brushing crumbs from her clothes. She was pleased to see it was Lothryn who had come for her.

“How is your wife?” she asked before he said anything.

Lothryn’s expression did not change but she would never know how much her gentle-mannered inquiry meant to him. “As well as can be expected. She began her pains before our arrival. She’s still going.”

Elspyth could sense the anxiety he did his best to disguise. “Not long then before you can celebrate your son’s arrival,” she said brightly.

“Haldor willing.” he replied softly, calling on the Mountain god.

“Have I been summoned?”

“Not yet. I thought you should see how barbaric we really are.”

She frowned, not sure what this meant.

“Shall we take a walk?” he offered.

This took her by surprise but she quickly rearranged her expression to a smile. “I’d like that.”

He showed her through sections of the fortress and Elspyth admitted to being delighted by the beautiful decoration on the walls and ceilings, on the timbers and in their fabrics.

“You are a most artistic people.” she observed and meant it. “More talented than us Morgravians.”

“Skills passed down through generations over centuries.” he explained, not showing it but pleased by her compliment. Outside he guided her past the busy kitchens.

“There’s a feast in the making.” he added, which explained the frenetic activity.

They continued beyond the stables and into the orchards and vegetable gardens.

These were vast and a small army of people were busy tending to them. He left her momentarily to reach up and pick some late apples. Lothryn munched on one and offered her the other. They strolled in silence as they ate.

“Tell me about Koreldy.” Elspyth suddenly blurted.

“I can’t imagine there’s anything I can tell you about him that you don’t already know.” he responded cautiously.

“Please. Lothryn. He’s a stranger. I’m having enough trouble working out what I’m doing here. Perhaps if I knew more. I could help with what you want.” she offered.

The man paused a while as if measuring whether she was trying to trick him.

“We want to see if Koreldy is a threat to our people.”

“But you know him already, surely? And how can a single man be a threat?”

“We knew him a long time ago. Cailech would like to know what he’s doing in Morgravia.”

“Well. I can tell you that.” she said, puzzled. “He’s somehow connected to that General who recently died.”

“Thirsk?”

“Yes.”

Lothryn shook his head. “He was an old man, bound to eventually die on the battlefield. Connection or not, I suspect this is not what my King pursues.”

“No. I’m talking about the son. His name was Wyl.”

“Wyl Thirsk is dead?”

It clearly came as a shock to him. she realized. “Well, yes. My aunt and I heard about his state funeral on our travels back to Yentro from Pearlis. I remember her saying we hadn’t heard the last from that one but I don’t know what she meant by that.”

Now she had Lothryn’s interest piqued. “And what is Koreldy’s connection with Thirsk?”

“I have no idea but my aunt may have known. She agreed to meet Romen only because he mentioned the name Thirsk.”

“Then what are your aunt’s dealings with the former General?”

“Very little. She did a ‘speak’ for him when we were in Pearlis for the tournament.”

“A ‘speak’?”

“That’s her talent. She’s a seer. She speaks about what she sees in people, although I would not admit that on Morgravian soil.”

“Do they still burn people?”

“Not for several years now, but the old suspicions die hard in the south. In the north we believe in empowerment, we always have.”

He grunted. “Us too.”

Lothryn tossed his apple core aside. “So what did she see in Thirsk?”

“Truly. I don’t know. I wasn’t present. It wasn’t anything serious—just a bit of fun fortune-telling to earn a few pennies.”

Lothryn nodded thoughtfully. “What else do you know?”

“That’s it. We arrived home and not long after Koreldy appeared in Yentro asking after the Widow Ilyk. my aunt.”

“Perhaps we should have grabbed the old woman,” Lothryn muttered ruefully.

She took advantage of his mood. “All you had to do was ask me —I would have given you this information willingly. You didn’t have to knock me unconscious and drag me up here to learn it.”

He did not respond. although she sensed his amusement. They continued walking.

Elspyth tried again. “So what is Romen’s secret?”

Lothryn looked at her with no understanding and she returned it with an expression of exasperation. “Ifs clear he hides something which you know about. You two greeted each other amicably; how does a Mountain Dweller know a Grenadyn noble?”

“Grenadyn is but a short boat trip away.”

Elspyth shook her head. “You’re avoiding my question.” she admonished.

“Perhaps you should let him tell you his past.”

She made a sound of scorn. “Lothryn, you didn’t bring me out here for the fresh air. I suspect Cailech asked you to find out what I know. I’ve told you what information I have. I also suspect the walk helps take your mind off your laboring wife. First child? I’d say you have hours to go. We’re in no rush. Talk to me—I’ll keep you company but only if you’re honest. I’ve told you the truth.”

She was easy to like, this one. Lothryn found her fiery nature attractive. He hoped Cailech would not order her defilement as some sort of example to the Morgravians, although he was more than capable of something that brutal, especially now the young Morgravian King had showed himself to be more aggressive than his father. Magnus had left it to General Fergys Thirsk to ensure the Legion’s presence at the border was a sufficient deterrent, but Fergys had never been heavy-handed with that weapon. In contrast Celimus had. and his recent act of slaughtering innocents who had inadvertently stumbled across the border had plunged Cailech into an unpredictable mood. It might have been eased had Celimus sent immediate apology but the silence from the south was both deafening and damning.

Lothryn hoped his influence might count for something when he met with the King later—perhaps he might help avoid some brewing trouble. He came out of his musings, realizing Elspyth was staring at him, waiting for his response.

“All right. I’m sure it can’t hurt,” he said. “Sit here.” Lothryn gestured toward a low wall that led into rockier pastures where the fortress’s goats were grazing.

“He is from Grenadyn. He belongs to a wealthy noble’s family— I mean real riches. There were three children. An eldest son —the heir—and then twins, Romen and his sister. I gather that Romen was the wild one of the three and always leading his sister into trouble. His antics became more reckless as he grew up and it was the brother who saved Romen’s lot countless times.”

Elspyth smiled. She had never had any siblings to know that kind of love. “They were close then.”

He nodded.

“I sense from your expression that this story doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“No,” Lothryn admitted. “Grenadyn’s south island is really not that Far from our mainland. Cailech passed a law forbidding any visitors beyond our borders without prior permission being sought. He really meant it against the Morgravians and Briavellians who treated us Mountain Dwellers as nothing more than barbarians.”

“If only they knew,” she said, trying to ease his obvious wrath for the rich southern realms.

“I don’t think he really worried about Grenadyn. They had no argument with us; never sought our lands, never gave cause for us to regard them as anything but friendly neighbors.”

“Until?”

“Until some of our people mistakenly got themselves washed up on a Grenadyn beach. Some panic-stricken idiot sent out the word that the barbarians were raiding. It was a ludicrous claim considering our people were in a smallish rowboat but it was night and the thugs the alarmist called were drunk. I presume they decided to take matters into their own hands. Our people fought back as bravely as they could without many weapons but they were slaughtered. The children, too, who were hiding in the boat. One of those children was the King’s cousin. He loved her very much.”

Lothryn threw a stone into the distance. He stayed quiet for a few moments and Elspyth wondered if he would continue with the story.

“Cailech did not respond as predicted—he took us by surprise, to be honest, and I imagine the Grenadynes held their collective breath waiting for the onslaught that never came. Instead he simply issued a warning. His instructions were clear. If anyone from Grenadyn was ever sighted on our land they were to be killed with the same speed and lack of sympathy that had been shown our people.”

Elspyth did not need to hear any more. She could guess the outcome but Lothryn’s tongue was loosened now and he seemed compelled to tell it all.

“We sent word to Grenadyn of his decision. Everyone sensibly heeded the warning—except Romen Koreldy. Arrogant and possessing that sense of invincibility all young braves have in abundance, he devised a dare for the young folk of the south island. Bring back a bunch of Cailech’s prized grapes from his vineyards of Racklaryon and you won what he called the dare gold.”

“You don’t need to go on.” she said, touching his arm gently.

Whether he noticed the gesture or not. he ignored it. “Several took him up on the dare but were unsuccessful. Thankfully that channel of water that divides us is usually perilous. But I gather from Romen that he goaded his sister unfairly, for this girl was not scared of anything, as I understand it—very much in his mold…a worthy twin, you could say. She was every bit the adventurer Romen was and always trying to prove she was a match for him.

“The short of it is that Lily—that was her name—took the dare. And Romen, delighted and filled with bravado, said he’d join her. They rowed across the channel. Fate calmed the waters on that particular day. When the elder brother found out their folly he was understandably furious and rowed after them.” Lothryn put his head in his hands. “You know she almost made it, that brave girl. She had the grapes in her hand when she was discovered. The elder brother had the presence of mind to bring his sword and he wielded it gallantly. I was there, I witnessed him fighting for their lives.”

“And Romen?” Elspyth enquired.

“Ah. that’s the crux of this dark tale. He lost his nerve. Cringing in a copse near the vineyard, he shielded himself and watched us take his brother and sister. Cailech ordered their deaths instantly. Our King made the right decision—the only decision he could under the circumstances—but it made me feel we earned our title of barbarians that day. We crucified those two young people in the Racklaryon vineyard for nothing more than a bunch of grapes.

“It was a bright, clear day and the Grenadynes could probably see the two crosses and their victims through an eyeglass. The brother died first but she lingered throughout the day and night, punishing us all. She called to Romen. Begged him to save her. Poor, tragic Lily. She fought death all the way to her last gasp and he would have heard every groan, would have watched every moment of her suffering.”

Elspyth was rigid with tension now, both sickened and despairing of this sad story. “What happened?”

“The next morning their stiff bodies were cut down and burned, their ashes scattered on the waters that brought them to us. Romen watched it all and when it was over, his fighting spirit, it seemed, made a return.”

“What do you mean?”

“He tried to kill Cailech.”

“What?”

“It’s true. He’s a dead-eye marksman with knives, did you know that?” She shook her head. “Cailech was at the burning, or so people thought. Knives hit him clean in the chest and killed him outright…or would have if the man had been Cailech.”

“I’m not following you now,” Elspyth admitted.

“Cailech had his Stones read the night before by Rashlyn, the King’s practitioner, and they told of an attempt on his life that next day. He is very mindful of any advice given through the Stones and took precaution. From a distance, any big man with long hair of similar color could fool an intruder such as Romen. He threw true, killed his man, and when captured was obviously stunned to learn the truth.”

“How has he survived to this day, then?”

“A miracle, I would suggest. Perhaps Cailech had had enough of the killing. He can be ruthless, don’t be fooled, but he is a deep thinker. My feeling is he admired the fact that the brother had finally found the courage to do what was right. They were of an age and he spared Romen, allowed him to live and work among us for a while and tried to help him come to terms with his loss. He never did, I might add. When he was ready to leave, he was given back his weapons and escorted to the southern border. He promised never to return to Grenadyn. Cailech told him that if he ever set foot near the Razors again, he would die.”

Elspyth ran her hands through her hair. “How long has it been?”

“Has to be ten summers or so.”

“And still you recognized him?”

“A man as distinctive as Romen is not easily forgettable.”

She nodded; he was right, of course. “And will Cailech kill him?”

“That I can’t answer but now come, we must return. He will wish to see you.”

“You expect me to believe that, although you were working for the Morgravian King, you have no loyalties to him?”

“I do,” Wyl answered carefully. “If I told you I could unite Briavel and your people against Morgravia, would you believe me?” he challenged.

“No,” the King answered. “I would not trust them anyway. And I don’t trust you. Your tale is too farfetched.”

“What can you not believe?”

Cailech sat back in his chair, twirling his wine glass, highly amused. “You were hired by Celimus to assassinate Wyl Thirsk, which you claim you have done. Then you took his body back to Pearlis to ensure the General’s name was cleared of wrongdoing because you suspected Celimus would spread lies about Thirsk’s involvement with the Briavellians… can you hear how unbelievable this all sounds, Romen?” Cailech scratched his head theatrically before continuing. “You witness the funeral… ah, no wait, another intrigue. First you rescue Wyl Thirsk’s sister from the dungeon where Celimus is keeping her. You spin him some story about wanting to shame the Thirsk name further by lying with her.”

Wyl nodded grimly. It did sound farfetched when spoken aloud like this—how sad then that it was the truth.

“But here comes the good bit. Then you escape from Stoneheart because you know Celimus will never keep his word—will most likely make another attempt at your life. And, of course, you’re right, but you escape death even though trained assassins follow you.”

Wyl had mentioned nothing of Knave’s involvement. That really would be pushing Cailech’s indulgence.

The King sipped his wine and smiled. “You kill them and then dispatch the head of one to Celimus…why? Why would you let him know anything of your escape? But let’s move on to the most intriguing part of all.” Cailech was enjoying himself. Wyl realized. “Your actual intention is to track down a seer who did this ‘speak’ on you because you want more information.”

“Correct.” Wyl said, terrified by all the holes in the story he had related.

Cailech exploded into laughter, getting up from his seat to return to the mantelpiece. “Priceless! But I’m afraid it’s too thin. Romen. You’re going to have to come up with something more plausible if you want your life spared.”

A servant stepped up quietly and at the King’s permission whispered something.

“Bring her.” he said and the servant departed.

Moments later Lothryn appeared with Elspyth, who went down on one knee to the sovereign.

“My lord Cailech,” she whispered in no little awe.

The King glanced toward Lothryn and Wyl was quick enough to catch the surreptitious nod from the man. What it meant he could not guess.

“You are the seer’s daughter, is this right?” Cailech asked.

Elspyth remained bowed. “No. my lord. I am her niece. Elspyth.”

“Ah, that’s right. Now tell me, Elspyth, what did your aunt say to Romen here the first time she met him? Please stand.”

She did so. looking up at the mountain of a man before her. He was taller than Lothryn. A fierce intelligence lurked behind those shrouded eyes and they saw the puzzlement on her face.

“My lord?”

“Would you like me to repeat the question?”

Wyl felt the hairs on his arms lift. This was dangerous. Think fast! He opened his mouth to say something but the King was quick. He held up his finger to his mouth to stop Wyl.

Elspyth glanced nervously between both. “No, sire. I…I just don’t understand it. My aunt has only met Romen once.”

Cailech glanced at Wyl slyly but he spoke to Elspyth. “Ah! And I presume this occurred at your cottage…in the foothills?”

“Yes, my lord. A few days ago.”

“And to your knowledge your aunt has met this man only once.”

“I speak the truth. She told me she didn’t know him, did not know his name.”

Wyl knew Cailech would turn that hard gaze of his toward him now and whatever Romen said next would have to be convincing.

He had no choice and adopted a tone of soft offense. “Well, she has lied to you, Elspyth. I’m sorry.”

Elspyth turned on Wyl and glared. “How dare you! Why would she?”

He shrugged, palms turned upward in a show of helplessness. “How can I possibly know her reasonings? She and I met briefly at Pearlis. It was early afternoon on the day of the royal tournament—the main break had just been called for the midday meal and there were plenty of people milling through the side stalls. You were definitely not around, though, or I would have recalled you.” Wyl watched her anger stoke as he pressed on. “If my memory serves me correctly. I did see Thirsk with a companion, a man about his own age I knew to be Captain Alyd Donal. I don’t think they went into your aunt’s tent because I overheard them saying something about coming later, if all went well or something.”

Fury turned to slow understanding on Elspyth’s face. She suddenly looked down, embarrassed. Lothryn felt sorry for her when he noticed her blush.

“Sire, perhaps this is my mistake. Romen speaks true. My aunt mentioned that Thirsk came with a companion called Captain Donal and she also told me they had been at her tent earlier that day—she mentioned it only because she was surprised they did not visit her then and that she knew they would return.”

“Where were you?” Cailech asked.

“I was at the tournament.”

Trying to be helpful. Elspyth recounted for Cailech the Prince reintroducing the old rite of Virgin Blood.

“And they call us barbarians.” Lothryn muttered under his breath.

Cailech’s wry smile was evident too. “Please go on,” he encouraged, fascinated.

“I was close enough to hear what followed the Prince’s victory,” she continued, looking at Romen while Wyl inwardly flinched at having to hear the torrid account again. “The General, I gather, thwarted the Prince’s plans by marrying off his sister the previous day. It was obvious the Prince wanted to bed her—not because he loved her, I don’t think, sire. She is a beautiful woman, of course. But he loves only himself, my aunt says.”

The King nodded. “So Celimus had good reason for hating Thirsk. Humiliation is a wonderful weapon, isn’t it, Lothryn?”

The big man returned the nod.

Wyl grasped the shift in thought and pushed the point harder. “Their hate for each other went back to childhood, I hear. It festered for a decade or more and was complicated—the fathers were blood brothers and old King Magnus was fond of Wyl while never enjoying much of a relationship with his son. There’s more to it but Celimus did not enlighten me.”

“All right, let’s say I do accept most of what you’ve told me today. I still don’t understand your trip north.”

“Cailech, you’re reading more into it than there is,” Wyl said, reaching for the familiarity he sensed Romen once had with the King. “The seer told me my life would become entwined with a Queen. And that I must pledge my life to her cause. It meant nothing at the time—there was no Queen in any of the realms I knew. And then I went to Briavel for Celimus and met Valentyna,” he lied. “All the events I spoke to you about then unfolded and I knew, at her father’s death, this was the Queen the seer spoke of.”

“So you came here to learn more about the vision she saw for you?”

“It’s as simple as that. I didn’t get a chance to learn much because Widow Ilyk kept calling out that the barbarian was coming. If only I’d paid attention.”

Both the men before him smirked.

“Plus he was unwell from the potion he was taking for his pain and I served wine and we thought he might pass out and that’s why we were outside,” Elspyth concluded in a rush of words.

All eyes turned to Cailech. He swallowed what was left in his goblet, not at all perturbed by the audience’s held breath or the awkward pause, which he further pressed by turning to Lothryn. “How is your woman?”

“I might check on her if we’re finished here, my lord,” Lothryn replied, not at all disturbed by the sudden twist in conversation.

Cailech nodded and his man left.

The King switched his topic back, once again surprising Wyl with his quick mind. “Why do you care about Thirsk, Briavel… any of it?” Cailech sounded exasperated now.

“Because Wyl Thirsk, as I discovered, was honest. I’m an outsider and I’m telling you Thirsk was true to Morgravia—as true to his King Magnus as Lothryn is to you. Now you admire loyalty, and so if you had known him you would have admired Wyl Thirsk for that quality alone. Furthermore, he abhorred torture of any kind,” Wyl said, warming now to his own pet subjects. “If he had had the chance to go to battle, he would have spared death wherever he could. He was not a warmonger. He was not so dissimilar to you, in fact. Your vision was to parley, to settle squabbles with talk, not bloodshed.”

“You seem to know a great deal about him—you must have gotten close swiftly?” Cailech watched Romen blink as though taken aback momentarily, then he saw him shake his head wearily.

Cailech watched Romen blink as though taken aback momentarily, then he saw him shake his head wearily.

“We spent a few days tied together, then we fought alongside each other to save a monarch under attack, then we fought each other because even he understood that only one of us could escape from Briavel alive. He died valiantly and he won my oath, as I’ve explained, to protect Valentyna.”

“I ask again, why do you care?”

Wyl had no more answers. He cared because he was in love with her and that love was as ferocious as his hatred for Celimus.

Cailech sighed as though admonishing a child. “This is that nobility thing again with you, isn’t it. Koreldy?”

“It runs in my veins,” Wyl answered with sincerity, glad for the excuse. “And I made a pact with him. We mixed our bloods. It is binding, Cailech, and I must admit my loyalties are far easier given to Briavel than Morgravia,” Wyl said, lying now. He felt suddenly tired and confused. He hated to think that he was no longer loyal to his homeland.

Cailech missed very little and could see the spirit, the fight that had been there previously had suddenly evaporated from the man he rather liked in spite of himself.

“We shall talk later. I need to think upon what you have told me. You two are free to enjoy our hospitality. Please don’t try and leave the fortress grounds or our archers will use you for target practice. My guards are on orders to kill either or both of you on sight if you are anywhere you shouldn’t be. Understand?”

They both nodded.

“Tonight I am holding a feast. There may be a special dish on the menu that I’m sure will amuse you, Romen…not so you. my dear,” he said to Elspyth. “I will ask you both to join us for some interesting festivities.”