Chapter 16

Wyl allowed the king’s physic to see to his wound. He was impatient, twisting under the doctor’s ministrations. The injury was uncomfortable but the slash was clean and a few sutures closed it with ease. Whatever that fellow gave him to drink to deaden the pain of his needlework was making Wyl feel like he was drifting but there was still something important he had to do. He splashed his face with water and was pleased he had been provided with a valet—albeit one still in training—to see to his needs. The youngster had carefully laid out fresh clothes. Wyl told him he would only be needing the shirt for now and that he would require a bath later. Keen to please, the valet said he would arrange for a tub to be brought up.

Feeling only vaguely refreshed, Wyl made off for Stoneheart’s dungeons; he needed no help in finding his way down there but asked the guards for directions all the same, just in case he was being watched. As he arrived he was reminded of that day years ago when as a boy he had been tricked into coming to this place of despair. It was as though that terrible scene of torture had occurred only yesterday, so vivid was his memory of Myrren’s suffering.

They had expected his arrival but not so soon. The man on duty asked him to wait. Wyl’s thoughts sped once more back to Myrren, marveling at her resolve not to capitulate under the most enormous pain and torment. She knew she would die, would not escape their ultimate punishment, and he wondered why she had not just admitted the sin regardless of the truth. Why suffer such immense anguish? Why indeed, if she was empowered, did she not save herself? He could not answer his own questions.

His thoughts wandered further to Knave. Myrren was determined—persistent even—to win Wyl’s assurance that he would take the pup and make him his own. Is Knave connected with the enchantment? Certainly the dog had mysterious ways. And Fynch, he thought. Where does he fit in all of this?

Wyl recalled the Widow Ilyk’s strange words of caution. Keep the dog and his companion close, she had warned, adding that he had already met the companion she spoke of. It has to be Fynch. The lad had showed immense courage and tenacity. It would have been so easy for Fynch to return to Stoneheart and forget everything he had seen or heard. But he had not. Instead he had saved Valentyna’s life and, to some extent, Wyl. Wyl was just beginning to wonder how he would ever convince the boy of the truth of whom Romen Koreldy now was when the guard returned with the man in charge of the dungeons.

He was a good man. Wyl recalled, who took no part or pleasure in the torture of the inmates on the rare occasion it occurred. In fact he was known for showing leniency to all of his “guests.” as he liked to call them.

“Sir,” he said, nodding a brisk bow towards Wyl. “I’m sorry for the delay, we were not expecting you so soon.”

He dismissed his guard, leaving them alone.

“That’s quite all right,” Wyl said. “You know I am here to take Ylena Thirsk from your—” he searched for the word, “care.”

The man smiled. “Yes, sir. And I’m glad of it. That fine young lady does not deserve this treatment. Er—do you mind if I ask what your interest in this woman is, sir—you being a stranger and all?”

It was an impertinent question and one Wyl knew he could have the man flogged for. Instead he made a promise to one day seek this man out and thank him for protecting his sister’s interests.

Right now, he returned the smile to show no offense had been taken but it died as soon as he spoke. “I had the misfortune to witness what they did to Lady Donal—and to her husband.” He was glad his voice didn’t choke on the last. “I have offered help and been given permission to extend it.”

“I am grateful to you. sir. If I might speak freely, it was a wretched thing they did to those two young people.” he confided. “Follow me.” As they walked, the dungeon’s keeper cautioned him. “She is not in a very good—urn—state. I should warn, sir. This is no place for young ladies.”

He said no more but turned a large key in the cell door. It was the only prison cell with a full, thick timber door rather than bars. This prisoner was clearly not on show.

Stepping inside. Wyl was immediately assaulted by the smell. He saw her and anger warred with pity. Still wearing the same bloodied clothes. Ylena was crouched in one corner. She had soiled herself and her hair was filthy and lank; it fell across her face and she ignored it. Ylena’s once-soft lips were chapped and her eyes, formerly so full of amusement and the joy of life, were hollow shadows of their former sparkling glory. She was expressionless and rocked to and fro on the balls of her feet, softly voicing a tuneless hum.

“Ylena?” he whispered, knowing she would not recognize the voice of Romen.

She did not even stir. Instead she seemed to be gazing past him. He followed her stare and stumbled against the dungeoner, horrified to see the remains of Alyd Donal’s head mounted high on a spike. The lids were half-closed, his expression still seemingly reflecting the horror of his last moments. Wyl held back the cry of anger that rushed towards release.

The dungeoner shrugged. “King’s orders, sir. I’m sorry, did you know him?”

Wyl ignored the question. “What did they do with the rest of him?” he barked.

“Burned. I think. We are under strict orders down here. Not a single man of the Legion is to hear of her situation or even that Captain Donal was executed, I was told under penalty of death. It is only myself that knows who has been incarcerated and in fact, sir, it is my orders that I must shroud the lady when she leaves.”

Again all Wyl could do was nod. “Do it,” he said. “Can she walk?”

“Best I carry her, sir.”

“Right. Follow me and bring that as well,” he said, indicating Alyd’s head. “I will see it gets a proper burial.”

Wyl seethed all the way back to his chambers at the state in which he had found Ylena. His only consolation was that she lived. He said farewell to the dungeoner outside the door, taking Ylena from him and pressing a gold coin into his hand.

“No need, sir,” the man said. “I’m just happy she’s back where she belongs.”

“Let me assure you it’s not here,” Wyl replied and the man nodded at this before leaving him.

The young valet’s eyes matched the size of his open mouth when Wyl staggered in carrying a woman.

“Lord Koreldy. sir!” was all the boy managed to get out.

Wyl laid the catatonic Ylena on his bed and the sack containing his friend’s stinking remains in the corner.

“Jorn, fetch hot water. Do we have bath oils?”

The lad nodded.

“Good. Hurry now.”

Jorn was at the door when Wyl called him back. He flipped him a gold coin, knowing the youngster would not have held such a fortune before.

“There is nothing illegal about what we do but please don’t go wagging your tongue outside of this room. I have the King’s permission to care for this person, who is the sister of the dead man I brought back to Morgravia with me this morning.”

Jorn nodded. Word of Wyl Thirsk’s death had ripped around Stoneheart like wildfire. “Yes, sir. You wish me to say nothing of the lady’s presence,” the boy replied seriously.

“Good boy. Discretion is the highest-valued ability of a valet and I will mention that special quality of yours to the King.”

Now Jorn’s eyes were sparkling with pride. “Thank you, sir,” he gushed and tumbled through the door in his rush to fetch the hot water.

He was surprisingly fast. Wyl had only just drawn the curtains around the bed in time to hide Ylena before two servants arrived with Jorn, dragging buckets of water. Satisfied that they were too busy with their chores to wonder what might be behind those drapes, he dismissed them with brief thanks, then suggested Jorn go in search of some suitable clothes. He directed the lad to Ylena’s former chambers and then he set about the task of cleaning up his sister.

She seemed so entirely lost to him. Wyl wondered if he could find her again, whether he would ever see her smile again. Softly singing an old lullaby she loved as a child, he began to wash her. Very gradually the familiar features began to emerge from beneath the filth and he saw her thin shoulders begin to relax as the warmth of the water worked its own magic. Orange and violet oil in the water smoothed her skin under the sponge he moved gently about her. and then he soaped her hair, slowly removing its tangles and dirt.

By the time Jorn returned with some garments, Ylena, now wrapped in Wyl’s huge shirt, looked like a new person. Wyl had just finished combing her still-damp hair and the young lad offered him a ribbon with which to tie it back. Then he gently laid her again in his bed and covered her.

“Thank you. Jorn,” he said with genuine feeling. The boy had been a great help. As well as clothes and footwear, Jorn had brought toiletries and grooming implements from her rooms.

“I also found this, sir.” he said, handing over a box.

Wyl smiled. Jorn had brought Ylena’s jewels. They were mostly their mother’s but he was pleased to see a brooch he had given her and the pearl from the King. She had been allowed to wear her wedding ring, he noticed.

“Argorn jewels.” he whispered. “You’ve done her proud. Jorn. I think what she needs now is sleep.”

“What happened, sir?”

Truth was best. “She was a guest in his majesty’s dungeon while he suspected Wyl Thirsk of treachery.”

“And is it true that Thirsk was treacherous?”

“No. As it turned out his loyalties never wavered for Morgravia—the King knows that now.” he lied. “Which is why Wyl Thirsk is to be honored with a full state funeral and his sister has been released into my care.”

“And you, sir? You too look badly in need of rest. How about your bath?”

Wyl yawned. “I think what I need most is some food,” he said, realizing he had not eaten for two days. “And then I shall sleep. Forget the bath. Wake me early and we’ll see to it then.”

Jorn once again hurried off. this time to the kitchens, where he refused to be drawn out on the subject of the dashing stranger who had brought home a favorite son.

Wyl woke early from his hard bed on the floor but Jorn was ready for him with the promised bath and a very hearty breakfast. Ylena had seemingly moved only once through the night, turning to face the window from which she could see the sky. a sight lacking from the dungeon. She remained listless and silent, although Wyl sensed her eyes followed him.

He went about his ablutions and then ate hungrily in silence. When finished, he stretched and looked over at her. She was watching him, as he suspected she might have been.

“Good morning,” he said in Romen’s bright way.

The answer came so softly that he had to lean closer. “Who are you?” she repeated.

He would have to spin his best tale yet now. “I am Romen Koreldy, a noble and a long way from my home in Grenadyn.” He made his voice especially soft, so as not to disturb her. “I accompanied your brother on a special secret mission into Briavel.” Wyl would have liked to have taken her hand or held her close for the next part of his tale but she had shrunk beneath her covers, only her face above the blankets. He sighed. “Lady Donal. it is with a heavy heart that I must tell you we were attacked and although he fought bravely he was cut down. Wyl died of his injuries but I’ve brought him back onto Morgravian soil—back to Stoneheart.”

Her even expression did not betray her true thoughts. “Wyl was the most superior swordsman of the Morgravian Legion. No man could cut him down.”

Wyl nodded, loving her deeply for her loyalty. “This is true, my lady. We were set upon by many and he made sure he took the last one with him to death.”

He saw her clamp her jaw hard. She was working hard at remaining calm. “Wyl is dead.” Ylena fixed him with a heartbreaking gaze. “So what makes a complete stranger do this kind deed, sir—of bringing him back, I mean?”

She watched Romen Koreldy shrug.

“I too would be dead if not for him. He gave me life. I owed him this much.”

Ylena nodded. “And me? What is your interest?”

“A promise.” Wyl said, sitting forward and now chancing to take her slender hand from beneath the covers. “I promised your brother as he died that I would rescue you from the dungeon.” He steeled himself against the tears and pressed doggedly on. This needed to be said. He needed Ylena’s trust and the only way was to use her memory of Wyl. “He told me what happened in the courtyard.” Wyl said, carefully avoiding mentioning that Romen had been present during Alyd’s execution. “He made me swear I would win your release.”

She wept quietly as the frozen memory of Alyd’s last day began to thaw. As her body began to tremble, Wyl put Romen’s arms around her and drew her close, hugging his sister.

“Did he tell you everything?” she mumbled against his broad chest.

“Yes. I know about Celimus’s betrayal but I find myself in a very dangerous position, my lady. I have but one aim and that is to get you away from here and fulfill my promise to your brother. We will get you to a safe place but I am under supervision, you could say, until your brother is buried. The King promises a theatrical funeral.”

“Wyl would hate it knowing Celimus was smiling at his tomb.”

“I understand. May I call you Ylena?” She nodded. “Well, Ylena, we must get through the funeral and then we leave. That is the only way I can guarantee our safety.”

“I am not going. I will not watch Wyl be buried. I have suffered enough death.”

Wyl was relieved to hear it and sat her back down. “Right now I want you to eat and get some strength back.”

She touched his arm. “Romen. did you by any chance see—in my dungeon—”

“Yes. Ylena. I have brought him.” Now she cried again. “We will bury him properly.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” Wyl called.

“Jorn, sir. You have a visitor.”

Wyl grimaced. He went to the door and opened it a crack to get rid of whomever it was but the door burst open and the body of Romen Koreldy was knocked to the floor and straddled by a huge, very excited black dog.

“Knave!” he and Ylena both shouted as he hugged the dog.

Jorn had pulled in the dog’s companion; and now Fynch, wearing brand new clothes and a terrified expression, began to wail.

“Murderer! Assassin!”

Wyl was on his feet in a second and clamped his hand across Fynch’s mouth. The little boy began to kick and struggle, desperately trying to scream beneath the pressure of Romen’s large palm. Chaos broke out in the room. Ylena, terrified, managed to sit up. Knave was still growling with pleasure and leaping to put his paws against Koreldy in welcome while Jorn was so startled he flattened himself against the wall.

“Everyone, quiet!” Wyl roared. “Do you want the whole castle in uproar?” He glared at each. “Down, Knave! Now you, Fynch, silence! I will not hurt you if you stop struggling—stop!” The boy went limp. Wyl breathed out with relief. “Jorn, be at ease. This can all be easily explained,” he said, unconvinced he could explain anything. “Ylena, please—eat and rest. You are familiar with this beast?” he asked, looking with bemusement at the dog, whose tail was wagging furiously, his front paws leaning on Romen’s shoulders.

“Yes, he is my brother’s dog. I…I don’t understand.”

Wyl nodded to cut her short. “I will leave the dog here with you. Fynch and I have things to discuss.”

“What did this boy mean by calling you an assassin?” she asked.

“A mistake. I will explain later but let me talk to him first. He has been through much, my lady.”

Ylena shook her head, not understanding any of it. “Knave seems attached to you,” she said with equal confusion. “And yet he hates everyone.”

“I have a way with animals,” Wyl said, hoping that would suffice for now. “Excuse me,” he added and dragged Fynch from the room, his hand still over the lad’s mouth.

A chamber at the end of the hall was mercifully empty. Wyl took Fynch inside.

“I want you to promise me you will not scream but listen. I have news you must know. I understand you were a good friend to Wyl Thirsk. Please. I know about Valentyna and your escape. Just promise you will listen.”

Fynch nodded wide-eyed from behind Romen’s hand. When Wyl released him, Fynch scuttled away, breathing hard with fright.

“I know about you,” he accused. “I know you were hired to kill General Thirsk.”

Wyl sighed. He felt it was suddenly useless to try to convince Fynch he was anyone but Romen Koreldy—for now anyway. No one, not even someone who allowed for magic, would believe him. His mind raced; he must persuade the lad to trust him.

“Fynch.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Wyl told me.”

“Is it true—is he dead?”

Wyl nodded, hating to lie to the courageous lad. He watched Fynch fight back his inclination to weep.

“They say you brought him back,” he said, contempt glittering in his damp eyes.

“I did.”

“But you killed him.”

“No.” Wyl lied, knowing it was Romen’s skilled arm that had killed his body. He decided he would never be able to explain and pressed on with crafting a new lie.

“Wyl told me what you’d overheard. It is true and he and I spoke about it. After you and the Princess had escaped, he warned me not to trust Celimus. He told me everything and then when the attack came, I realized my life was dispensable too—that Celimus had almost certainly ordered my death together with Wyl’s. In the end we fought on the same side, Fynch. We both protected King Valor—”

“Valor’s dead!” Fynch hurled back.

“I know. I watched him fall to the blade of a man called Arkol, who then turned on me. Wyl and I had already dispatched most of the mercenaries to their gods but Wyl was cut down by two men. He took one with him at the same time as I killed Arkol. I was wounded and if not for Wyl’s courageous slash from the ground where he was bleeding to death, my life would be gone too. He distracted the last man long enough for me to gather my wits and finish him off.” Fynch was crying now and Wyl hated himself deeply for the lies.

“Wyl died in my arms but not before making me promise that I would get his sister to safety. I had already given my oath that I would protect Princess Valentyna.”

Fynch looked up, disbelief crossing his face. “Did you?”

Wyl nodded. “I gave my promise with blood.” He showed him the wound on his palm. “So you see. Fynch. I am on your side. I came back for Ylena and to see that Wyl Thirsk gets the burial he deserves. I made sure the Legionnaires saw his body and knew that he had been sent on a special mission to Briavel by the King. Celimus cannot squirm out of that now. He must hail Wyl as the hero he was for Morgravia. I have deliberately seen to it that the Thirsk name is not sullied. Do you believe me?” He just stopped short of begging.

The small lad sniffed. He considered for a long time, long enough for Wyl to feel uncomfortable in the silence. Finally Fynch spoke. “I will trust you for one reason only.”

“And that is?” Wyl asked, Romen’s eyebrow lifting in its habitual manner.

“Because Knave does. Knave knows things that I don’t understand. He knew we had to come home. I followed him even though I would have preferred to stay in Briavel. Knave made me come back.”

“Do you talk to him, then?” Wyl asked, a chill crawling up his spine as Myrren’s gift returned to his conscious.

“Not exactly, but he does communicate things I don’t fully grasp. And when we got to Stoneheart, he knew where to come. I find it passing strange that he didn’t go in search of General Thirsk’s body but deliberately slipped into corridors and tiny entrances until he found these stairs. He came straight to your chamber. And I don’t understand why he was friendly toward you when three days ago he would have gladly ripped your throat out.”

Can Knave really have done this? Wyl wondered. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know, sir. Except that I will trust his instincts over mine, which are to run from you.”

“You saw Ylena. She is yet to recover from what she has been through, but she trusts me.”

“I trust only Knave and Valentyna now,” the boy admitted.

“Fynch, where is the Princess?”

“Where she belongs, sir. She is no longer Princess but Queen of Briavel. She is returned to Werryl to bury her father and—”

“How is she?”

“Physically fine, sir. Broken over her father’s death. She is even contemplating war against Morgravia.”

“No!” Wyl shouted, startling Fynch. “She must not, at all costs, do this.”

Fynch shrugged. “I am only a gong boy, sir.”

“Much more, I fear,” Wyl said, shaking his head. “Fynch, you have to go back. You must slip away from Stoneheart and return to Briavel. Give her a message from me. You and I must prevent war—there is a way.”

“Where are you going?”

“First, I must get Ylena to safety and away from the King’s line of vision or even thoughts. He is fickle and will forget her easily but not if she is anywhere near. I will return to Briavel, I promise. You know I have given my word to Wyl Thirsk to protect Valentyna,” he reassured, holding up his palm so Fynch could see the blood oath scar again.

Fynch nodded. “I shall leave immediately.”

“Have you a horse?”

“Yes, Valentyna gave me one. I lost my mule in the troubles back there.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Wyl smiled for the pure pleasure of being able to say something positive.

“Oh, I think I found her. A gentle beast who accompanied us back to Morgravia.”

“That’s probably her!” Fynch said, clearly pleased. “I must return her to my family.”

“Come.” Wyl said. “I’ll give you money for the care of your family while you are gone. Then you must leave with haste. Get away from Morgravia and remain in Briavel until you hear from me.”

“And the message for Valentyna?”

“I will write her a letter.”

“And Knave?”

“You two must stick together. He will keep you safe. Fynch.”