Chapter 15

   

Wyl took cover in a small grove of trees he remembered passing on the journey into Briavel. It was the first time in hours he had taken a rest.

One stroke of luck a little earlier was coming across the mercenaries’ horses and a mule that had seemingly meandered over to join them. It occurred to Wyl that this had to be Fynch’s animal. He had untethered two of the horses and slung his corpse over the back of one. He would take the other horse for himself and not wishing to abandon the animal that had effectively saved his life, he attached the mule to the horse carrying the body and the small party set off. Food was in the saddlebags and life-giving water too. It was urgent that he get the body to Pearlis. If he could just cross onto Morgravian soil, he would feel safer. When he had spotted the grove, he had cried out with relief. His nerves were in shreds, his mind felt stewed from the shock of what had occurred, and during the journey thus far he had spent the hours keeping up a string of nonsense-talk to the animals to deliberately stop himself from thinking on the shocking events. He had resisted glancing toward the body. His body.

Wyl slid the corpse off the horse and unsaddled the animals. Exhausted but still not prepared to think on his troubles, he spent time rubbing the beasts down. He finally hobbled his companions with a generous length of rope and lay down, hoping to drift off before he was forced to face the bleak truth. The moon was fat and high in a cloudless sky. denying him the total dark he craved, and despite his exhaustion sleep refused to rescue him. And so he finally confronted his fear—the terror that was surely Myrren’s gift. Her true gift, he now realized with a deep sob.

He stared at his hands, eerie in the moonlight, and accepted that these were indeed the large, well-kept hands of Romen Koreldy. still wearing the small, elegant signet ring. Wyl tentatively reached those long fingers to the face he now wore. His touch told him the once-familiar roundish features were now angular. He possessed a neat, clipped beard and moustache.

He could not help but enjoy the lustrous feel of his hair when he loosened the thong that bound it and it fell to his shoulders. He recalled admiring it when he was an orange-haired General with his own, coarse thatch. Wyl knew his eyes were now a clear silver-gray. He even allowed himself the rueful grimace that his features were no longer ordinary and forgettable but were now remarkably striking. A face to turn heads.

Romen’s smile had been bright and quick. He tested it now, daring to touch the smooth, even teeth he recalled grinning back at him from the mercenary’s generous mouth. And his legs! Now Wyl did make a sound. It was a nervous laugh but nonetheless genuine as he stared at the new length of his legs, which now surely stood him as tall as Valentyna—taller than Alyd—perhaps even taller than Gueryn.

He thought of these people now and the wave of grief he had kept at bay crashed against his mind. Both the men he loved were dead, or as good as. while both the women he loved were living through enormous fear and loss. Ylena, he imagined, was probably still unable to come to terms with what she had witnessed in the courtyard—perhaps she never would. Valentyna. his love, was no doubt wondering whether her father still lived as life’s strange turns threw her onto an unknown path. Loving her so immediately and with such intensity frightened Wyl but he knew his heart belonged only to her now.

He remembered how he had made Romen promise to protect her. swear that he would lay down his life for her. Romen had given that oath with blood. It would now be up to Wyl to keep it.

He considered the man he had known so briefly and wondered if there was anything left of him inside. He probed gingerly and was rewarded with a vague touch on memories and ideas, thoughts and inclinations. It was not easy to reach and his instincts were to pull away and yet he glimpsed that the private nuances which made the man were still there, albeit dimly. It was similar to how a woman, walking past, leaves that faint, tantalizing waft of her scent after she has gone.

And yet the very essence of Romen was long gone. His soul had passed to Shar.

Wyl remembered it crossing to die in his shell as his own life force entered Romen’s body. Wyl decided to seal away what was Romen for now. He was not ready to delve into his life. In this shocking time of confusion he needed to sort out his own life first. He felt the first feathery touch of sleep and yawned, welcoming its escape.

It was a cold, hard bed tonight but he was alive. And he was angry. Angry and confused. He recalled the dream he’d had about dying, and yet not being dead—it seemed now to be a premonition rather than a nightmare.

Wyl pushed his confused thoughts aside. He had plenty to do in this new body, not the least of which was finding Valentyna and Fynch, but first there was unfinished business back in Morgravia. As his eyes closed he whispered a final farewell to Romen, an assassin Wyl could not help but like—and the man he had now become.

As he gave in to sleep, it was suddenly as clear to him as the sharpness of the moonlight that there was only one course of action he could pursue. He would take his own body back and present it triumphantly to Celimus, going through all the motions required of him. He would trick the King into believing the Crown was rid of Wyl Thirsk. And then as Romen he would collect his purse, make provision for Ylena—please, Shar, let her live this long—and then depart Morgravia to formulate a plan to make Celimus pay for his sins.

Its King slain. Its heir missing. Werryl was silent and stilled with shock.

Commander Liryk sat with Krell, the dead King’s Chancellor. Krell was a man of few words but when he spoke he made sense and people paid attention. He had been in Valor’s service for more than two decades and was the former sovereign’s most trusted counsel and confidant. He tried to comfort the old soldier, who sat now in his study with his head in his hands.

“I’ve lost her.” Liryk whispered repeatedly.

Krell had allowed the man his sorrow. They were all grieving, all shocked at the previous night’s events. It was Krell who had had the presence of mind to contain the damage within the palace walls as best he could. As soon as Liryk and the main Briavellian Guard had returned from the hoax. Krell had insisted Liryk dismiss all but his most trusted men.

“I would appreciate your thoughts.” Krell said evenly into the silence.

The soldier looked up from his hands, face puffy from helpless tears shed intermittently these past hours. Dawn was threatening and decisions needed to be made.

“What do we have thus far?” he replied.

“The diversion of the Guard was deliberate, we know that now. That and the drugging of the palace staff suggests this was a well-planned raid.”

“Which succeeded,” the old soldier said bitterly.

Krell nodded. “Or did it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Others know the truth, I suspect. There were two other men here this night past, the most important of our visitors, and their bodies are not among those dead.”

“So?”

“Who do you think killed all the mercenaries? Hardly our King, I’d suggest.”

Liryk nodded. “Valor was a fine warrior in his time, but no, he could not have taken on ten men single-handedly.”

“Valor, aided by Thirsk and possibly Koreldy, despatched the foreigners.”

“Why would Thirsk travel with a mercenary?”

“That is a mystery. I can’t imagine that he would agree to come onto Briavellian soil with anyone but his own men.”

“A trap by the Morgravian King?”

“Possibly. I’m thinking that if Thirsk was forced to travel with mercenaries on his mission, it would account for the thanks I read in his eyes when I separated him from what to all intents and purposes looked like his captor.”

“But you think they fought alongside Valor.”

The Chancellor nodded. “I do. And I suspect they may well have helped Valentyna escape.”

This shocked Liryk. “Was she inside with Thirsk and the King?”

Krell smiled. It was the first reason to do so in many hours. “That headstrong young woman comes and goes as she pleases. She knows the secret passageways better than any. I know her father expected her to attend the supper so I suspect it’s highly likely she was present.”

“But surely Koreldy could have smashed through the door with the other mercenaries?”

“Yes, he could have. But there are three swords missing from the case.” Krell tapped his lip. “No. I’m guessing the King or Valentyna furnished the men with swords—Thirsk worked with Koreldy and they both fought with the King’s agreement.”

“Set aside their differences, you mean?”

The Chancellor shrugged again. “I’m guessing. Perhaps the new Morgravian King is more cunning than we give credit.”

“A double cross?”

“On Thirsk, for sure. I don’t think for a minute that Thirsk came here to take the life of Valor.”

“What was he here for then?”

The old man gave a slight shrug. “Perhaps he came for Valentyna,” he suggested carefully.

Liryk was startled. “Valentyna?”

“Rumor has it the new young monarch is ambitious. Perhaps he sent Thirsk here with a proposal.” He sat back, satisfied he had released the thought that had been gathering momentum in his mind for a few hours now.

Liryk looked stunned. “How can you be certain of all this?” he asked, impressed by the Chancellor’s confidence. And watched that confidence evaporate as his companion gave a wry smile.

“I can’t. It’s possible is all I’m saying.”

Liryk dismissed Krell’s uncertainty and stood. “Plausible. And so?”

Krell shook his head. “Not much else. Thirsk and Koreldy kill the mercenaries, but let’s say the King is too injured, or perhaps he died before they could save him. The pair have no choice but to escape with Valentyna.”

Liryk rubbed his face distractedly as he paced the room. “But how…where?”

“A good question among too many that we still have to answer.” Krell sighed. “There is only one certainty here: Valentyna must be found—that is our priority. And when we find her we will convince her of the sense of a union with Kins Celimus.”

“What?!” Liryk swung around on Krell. They were of an age and had both served Valor faithfully over many years. Neither felt the other had rank. “Allow Celimus to get away with this?” The soldier’s voice was hard, barely more than a whisper.

“There is more to this than we know,” Krell appealed. “What we can safely assume, however, is that should Briavel start a war with Morgravia right now we are lost. Our Queen is young and incapable of waging a long conflict with our neighbor. She is in no position to withstand Celimus and, frankly, neither is Briavel. The marriage will save our people. We walk a tightrope of diplomacy now.”

The old soldier nodded thoughtfully as the implication of Krell’s words sank in. “You play a frightening game, Chancellor.”

Krell held the old soldier’s gaze steadily. “We must find Valentyna before he does.”

They did not have long to wait, for at that moment a small boy was escorted through the study doors.

With the corpse slung again over the second horse and a quick glance toward the sweet-natured mule, Wyl ignored his hunger and set off towards Pearlis. They had met several curious onlookers along the way over the past two days and now as they drew into its outlying villages he gave none sufficient eye contact to invite questions about the shrouded body. It was nearing evening when he finally drew near to the magnificent stone arch that welcomed visitors to Stoneheart.

The guards eyed him suspiciously and he could hardly blame them, considering his odd company: a mule and what was obviously a corpse. Wyl felt a pang of sorrow upon recognizing a couple of his own men as they held up their hands to stop his progress.

“Ho. there. You. man. what is this?”

Wyl had to remind himself of who he was. “A dead body. I think you’ll recognize him if you take a look.” He pulled back some of the shroud from the head.

The men stepped closer and Wyl read the dismay on their faces as they noted the flame-colored hair first.

“It can’t be,” one spluttered. “No!”

“I’m afraid so.” Wyl said in Romen’s wry manner. But he was glad of their pain. It reassured him that his men knew nothing and were not in on Celimus’s elaborate intrigue.

Suddenly their swords were drawn and pointed at this throat.

“Who are you?” one of the guards demanded. Wyl saw dampness in the man’s eyes.

This is it, he told himself. Remember who you are. In that moment of hesitation, he realized he had held himself too tightly within this stranger’s body. He knew he must loosen himself and embrace it; must own it if he was ever going to avenge his own murder. Wyl opened himself up to what was left of Romen and felt all that was Wyl Thirsk flow into the lithe and graceful stature that Romen had once possessed. Now the voice, the easy style, and even his mannerisms came effortlessly to Wyl.

“I am Romen Koreldy of Grenadyn. You can see which son of Morgravia I am returning home. I think you’ll find King Celimus is expecting me.” he said confidently.

An urgent runner was sent with a message. More soldiers had gathered, most in silent shock, just to lay their hands on the beloved General. Wyl was touched by their grief.

“What happened?” one asked, not at all shamed by his wet cheeks.

Wyl was ready for this question and intended to make it difficult for Celimus to squirm out of endorsing the explanation. “The palace at Briavel was attacked by mercenaries posing as soldiers from the Morgravian Legion.”

New shock claimed each face around him.

“But what was he doing in Briavel?” more than one cried.

Wyl shrugged. “I gather he was on business there for your King and became helplessly embroiled in the problem.”

The soldiers muttered among themselves.

“He gave no word—he just left. It’s had the whole company baffled,” someone said.

Wyl nodded. “Probably on a secret mission then, for Morgravia.”

“How do you know they were mercenaries?” one wily campaigner asked him.

“There was no mistaking them.” he said and then embellished with: “I was there on private business myself but when the attack occurred I found myself fighting on this man’s side. What is his name again?”

They answered as one grief-stricken chorus.

And then for good measure and a chance to escape further scrutiny he grimaced, adding. “I was wounded and am in need of some aid.”

Hands rushed to help.

“My mule—well, she is not truly mine—is exhausted. The beast has run all day to keep up with the horses.”

“We’ll take care of her. sir. don’t you worry now,” a kindly voice offered.

A messenger appeared. “Sir. the King will see you immediately.”

“Could someone put his body on my shoulder, please?” Wyl asked. He had. in truth, not realized his own wound had re-opened until he had drawn attention to it.

“We’ll bring him,” a guard said, a tremor in his voice.

“No. I’ve carried him since Briavel. I’ll deliver him to his King as I promised him just before he died,” Wyl lied, hating himself for it.

A look of reverence crossed their faces now. The man who seemed most senior nodded. “Do it,” he said and once again hands clamored to assist.

Wyl settled the body and followed the messenger, as did several of the guards.

“Was Captain Donal with him, may I ask, sir?” one said.

“A fair-haired fellow, always smiling?”

“That’s him,” the man said eagerly.

“Dead,” Wyl replied. “I’m sorry, I just could not bring the both of them back,” he added, truly despising himself.

More pain and sorrow, but he needed to craft this tale perfectly. He must trap Celimus into supporting the story and he also did not want the Legion rising up yet or doing anything rash.

Wyl could not speak any further as he labored up the narrow stone staircase that led him to that favorite open walkway where the familiar scent of winterblossom drifted up from the garden below. It reminded him once again of his first meeting with King Magnus. He fought the memory away and waited while the same courtier who had sneered at him not so long ago did the same again, this time eyeing his load with disgust.

“Follow me,” the man said coolly.

And Wyl did. taking a deep breath and bracing himself for Celimus. He wondered in one isolated moment of fear whether the King would see through his facade, see that this was not the hired killer but his hated enemy in a clever glamor. The notion passed as quickly as it arrived. He was Romen Koreldy and he would wield his disguise to brilliant effect. The nonchalant style of Romen was part of him now as he entered the chamber. Passing through the heavy-curtained arch he emerged fully into the familiar room and his silvery gray eyes met the hard, disbelieving stare of King Celimus.

“Leave us.” the King ordered his aide. “I could not believe the messenger when he told me you were here.” he said to Wyl.

No, I bet you couldn’t, Wyl thought, watching the aide bow and leave, his face pinched at being dismissed so plainly. Wyl could not enjoy it. returning his gaze to Celimus almost immediately. When he heard the door shut behind him he eased the corpse from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

“I bring you the body of Wyl Thirsk. sire, as ordered.”

He waited.

Celimus did not flinch, did not look down but held the stare. Wyl imagined a dozen or so scenarios were flashing through the King’s mind now as he tried to work out how his carefully laid plan had gone so terribly wrong, how it came to be that Romen stood before him and not Arkol.

“The other men you took.” It was a statement but the question was clearly there.

“Dead, sire, all of them.” Wyl reported.

At this the King’s eyebrow raised slightly. He had not expected such news.

“Including their treacherous leader. Arkol.” Wyl reinforced, hoping the King would bite.

He did. “Ah. yes. what of him?” Celimus inquired innocently but still the penetrating gaze held Wyl firmly.

“Died screaming, your majesty, as I ran him through. It was either that or be killed myself. It was their plan, you see—or so I think I’ve worked out—that they would deliver Thirsk’s body and share the purse themselves. I cannot think of any other reason for their betrayal.”

He could see the King relax just slightly after Wyl had deliberately given Celimus the room he needed to maneuver himself away from all links to Arkol’s band.

“Really?” Celimus said. “Treacherous indeed, Romen. I’m glad you were able to save yourself.”

“But not the King of Briavel, sire. Arkol murdered him.”

There was only a moment’s hesitation. “I had hoped as much.” Celimus could not keep the excitement from his voice.

Wyl ignored the admission, responding flatly. “I saw him die.”

Celimus became suddenly conciliatory and Wyl could sense the way the King’s agile mind moved around his problem. In the end Celimus decided to use a half truth. “I mean it sincerely. Romen, when I admit my discomfort at not sharing that intention with you. I sensed you would not be a party to it if I did.”

“And you would be right, your majesty. I do not kill sovereigns for any amount of money. Will you be attending the state funeral?”

“I doubt they’ll hold a public ceremony, thank Shar! The Briavellian commander, if he is wise, will not want to see the people excited to war just now, would he?” Celimus said, clearly delighted. “After all, the rabble would immediately point the finger at Morgravia and start baying for blood. But the Guard is in no position to fight. Not with the Queen so young, so vulnerable. Poor child. How lonely she must be. Ripe for the plucking.”

Wyl hated his King with such fury, it took all of his control, every ounce of determination he could muster, not to strike the man standing before him—kill him barehanded, in fact, despite the guards who could be summoned with a single call.

“But you do not hold it against me, surely?” Celimus queried, sensing the sudden tension.

It was an odd question. Wyl narrowed Romen’s eyes and forced the body he inhabited to relax. “It is your decision, sire. I do not interfere in politics or affairs of state. Arkol succeeded with your task and I’m presuming you had good reason for giving the instruction. I did not kill Arkol for that action,” Wyl lied. “I dispatched him for turning on me. I imagine he may have even killed more of his own men to keep a bigger share of your money.”

“But I was paying them gold to do our bidding,” Celimus said, all innocence and offended pride. “They have betrayed us both.”

Wyl appreciated how cleverly Celimus used the word “us,” artfully depicting them as partners.

“Yes, sire, but men like these can rarely be trusted. I told you that when you hired them,” Wyl said, amazed at where that piece of information had bubbled up from.

“That you did. Hopefully I can trust you.”

“I am a man of my word. I promised you the corpse of Wyl Thirsk.”

“And you have delivered!” Celimus said magnanimously, his pleasure barely concealed. “I am indebted to you, Romen Koreldy,” he added, bending down now to roll over Wyl’s body and reassure himself how very dead it was. He lifted the head by its orange hair and then banged it down carelessly.

Wyl blinked back the fury. “What now, sire?”

“For him? A state funeral, I suppose. Morgravia will honor her proud General and its Legion will grieve deeply. I will declare a day of public mourning in his honor. We will exalt one of our favorite sons and bury him with pride and pomp alongside his father. The people will weep and their King will shed his own special tears,” Celimus said before sneering, “of joy.”

Wyl could only nod.

“Come, Romen, sit and join me in a cup and help me celebrate what is surely one of the happiest days of my life.”

Wyl had no choice but to accept the goblet of sweet wine that the King deigned to pour from a chalice with his own hand.

“Tell me everything,” Celimus said, his dark eyes gleaming with anticipation.

And Wyl did. carefully reconstructing the story and sticking as much to the truth as he could, leaving out Fynch’s involvement.

“So Thirsk was supping alone with Valor?”

“No. I learned afterward that the daughter joined them—arrived through some sort of concealed entrance or other.”

“Ah, I assume, though, you discovered the outcome of Thirsk’s conversation with the King?”

Wyl smiled inwardly. Celimus presumed Valentyna was a simpering Princess without a notion or opinion of her own. If only he knew.

“I did. sire.” he admitted, leaning back in his chair as Romen would. “He assured me he had won the King’s agreement. Then he tried to bargain with me for his life.”

Celimus threw back his head and showed his perfect teeth in a full-throated laugh. “But you killed him all the same. I like you, Koreldy. You are my man.”

“Didn’t think twice about it,” Wyl answered, and joined the King in his mirth, wondering what it would feel like to slash the betrayer’s throat.

“Tell me how I can repay you for this stupendously good deed.”

Wyl’s expression turned into one of Romen’s favorites, a cynical raising of an eyebrow. “Apart from the promised purse, you mean, sire?” he asked dryly.

“Of course. I am feeling generous and you are responsible for this lighthearted mood. On top of the gold, ask a boon of me and let me grant it,” Celimus offered, sweeping his hand expansively as though nothing could be too large a favor.

“There is something, majesty,” Wyl said.

“Name it!” the King said, walking around his desk to retrieve two leather sacks, one larger than the other. He returned and banged them down on the table. They had the unmistakably heavy sound of gold. “They’re both for you. I am giving you all the money, including what was intended for Arkol and his men.”

“That wasn’t the boon, sire,” Wyl said carefully.

“I realize. Tell me,” Celimus commanded.

“The sister,” he replied.

The King looked momentarily confused and then understanding dawned. “Of Thirsk!”

Wyl nodded. “I want her.”

“Shar’s Balls. What will you do with her, man?”

He said nothing but allowed one of Romen’s sardonic smiles to drift across his face.

Celimus began to laugh and then to clap slowly, his delight evident. “This is priceless. Oh; it is too much fun to know Thirsk’s executioner will now bed his much-beloved sister. It’s an even more perfect sentence than I could have imposed myself” the King admitted. “Take her. Romen. with my blessings. And when you’ve finished with her, you’re welcome to kill her. You’ll rid me of a problem—I’ll inform the dungeoner immediately.”

“Good.” Wyl said, only barely holding on to his emotions now. He gripped the goblet and deliberately forced himself to raise it. “To secrets, sire.”

“I’ll drink to that. You’ll be my best-kept one.” And he swallowed the contents of his own goblet in one draught. “I see you are hurt.” he said.

Wyl shook his head to show it was nothing serious but took his chance to escape. “A legacy from Thirsk. sire, but I will take my leave if you’ll grant it and have it seen to.”

“Of course. But tell me before you go of the Princess.”

This was a critical part of his plan now. In order to protect Valentyna. Wyl knew he must make her irresistible to Celimus. Much as it galled him. he must encourage the King’s amorous attentions and thus keep him from waging any strikes on Briavel.

He deliberately rearranged Romen’s permanently amused expression into one of seriousness. “She is breathtakingly beautiful, your majesty. A more exquisite woman I have never laid eyes upon nor will I.” It was all truth.

Celimus’s attention was riveted on him now. “You mean this?”

“I do, sire.”

“Describe her for me,” the King commanded, perplexed, as he remembered only the hysterical, plump child.

Wyl brought Valentyna fully into his mind and felt the thrill once again of looking upon her.

“She is tall, sire, like yourself. Her raven hair is glossy and falls long and wavy. She has intelligent eyes—blue as a summer sky—and her wit is bright and quick.”

Celimus was shaking his head with disbelief Wyl continued. “She is lean, your majesty, but shapely,” he lied, remembering her almost boyishly narrow hips. “Her breasts are high. Her skin flawless, creamy in complexion.”

“Stop!” Celimus said. “This is surely not the same person?”

“Sire?”

“Oh, never mind,” he said impatiently. Celimus’s brow creased in thought.

Wyl decided to press his case.

“Sire, far be it from me to presume anything even resembling a political stance but, if uniting these realms is your intention, not only is marriage to this woman a most feasible option but she could not fail to please your eye, your majesty. More than your eye, in fact,” Wyl added conspiratorially.

Celimus caught the dry comment and exploded into laughter. “My bed would be ever warm, you mean?” he encouraged.

Wyl shrugged slightly; it was a nonchalant gesture yet clearly one of agreement.

The King banged his hand on the table. “Damn you, Romen, I’d enjoy having your company around me. Can I persuade you to stay?”

“No, sire—though it is a generous offer. I have business elsewhere to attend to.”

“More assassinations?” the King suggested.

Wyl shook his head. “Your purse is substantial enough, sire, that I will not need to pursue such employment for a long time. No, majesty, the good life beckons. I should return home and inquire after my family. It has been too long since I have enjoyed the rich meadows and lush wines of Grenadyn.”

He hoped the King would not ask him his intentions for Ylena.

Celimus had already forgotten her. “But you will stay for the funeral? In fact, I demand you do. It will look right that the man who brought General Thirsk back to his King sees him buried.”

Wyl did not want to but he could see the set of Celimus’s jaw. It was obvious the King wished to enjoy his company just a little longer. He could also see the sense of it and it might help impress upon the men of the Legion that he was to be trusted. It could come in handy later.

“Of course, sire. It will be my pleasure to remain until the business of Thirsk is fully behind you.”

The King nodded. “I will send for my physic to see to your injury.” Celimus pulled on a cord, which brought back the courtier. “Koreldy is to have the full generosity of Stoneheart available to him. See to whatever he needs. And call Physic Gerd to his chambers.” The man bowed as Celimus turned back to Wyl. “Until later, then.”

Wyl. putting the two sacks under one arm. took the King’s elegant hand in his. Although he hated to touch his enemy, he liked it that he was finally tall enough to look Celimus directly in the eye. He bowed but the King did not see the smile of satisfaction on Romen’s handsome face.