18
Kiss of the Silver Maiden
When Tor awoke between Sylven’s silk sheets, the Queen’s side of the bed was cool. She had obviously arisen some time ago. He blinked and rolled over to stare through the doors leading onto her private balcony. It was beautifully cool and silent out there. The sun was not yet high and the colours outside looked watery and dreamy. He had slept long and deeply; the sleep of total relaxation.
Tor recalled the pleasure of the previous night and how much they had enjoyed the erotic finale to a grand day in one another’s company. Sylven looked nothing like Alyssa but all the same she reminded him so much of his wife. Her joy in life and infectious sense of humour had consumed him and his years of grief and loneliness had been released during a passionate exchange. Sylven enjoyed men and she was certainly not shy about showing him how to please her.
Tor must have drifted off briefly again because this time he opened his eyes to the sound of quiet voices on the balcony. It was Sylven talking with one of her maids. He wrapped a linen around himself and stepped through the doors. Neither of the women were embarrassed by his semi-nakedness; the maid even looked appraisingly at his body.
The Queen made a sound of disapproval. ‘Tor, you’ll catch your death out here. Hela, fetch a wrap, please.’
Hela departed and was back in a blink with a beautifully weaved cloth of the finest wool. It looked light in her hands but once Tor threw it around himself, he marvelled at the instant warmth.
Sylven grinned. ‘Galinga goat. Very precious, very rare.’
Hela put a steaming mug of chicana in Tor’s hand and he raised it to his lips. It tasted amazingly good.
‘And very expensive, no doubt,’ he said, bending to kiss Sylven’s hair.
The Queen accepted his affection and proceeded to sign some paperwork. While she read, Tor quietly sat himself down to inhale the crisp morning air. It was perfumed by the exotic flowers from the palace gardens he had explored the previous day. He felt comfortable and serene. He sipped his chicana and turned to watch Sylven.
The Queen knew his eyes were on her but did not look up. ‘I do not enjoy the formal part of running a Kingdom, you know. I love getting out and being with my people but I despise all these papers and signings and treaties and…’
Sylven stopped at Tor’s chuckle. ‘It’s a lot of work,’ she admonished, reaching for a sugar-encrusted pastry.
Tor helped himself to one of the delicacies as well. ‘I realise this,’ he said, taking a bite. ‘I’m laughing because you sound exactly like King Lorys of Tallinor. Oh, this is good.’ He took another huge chunk.
‘Really?’
He struggled to get the words out of his pastry-filled mouth. ‘Yes, absolutely delicious.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I mean about King Lorys! Tell me about him. I hear he’s handsome and—forgive how callous this sounds—but he must also be very eligible now.’
Tor nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I suppose he is. Lorys is a good-looking man. Perhaps not as tall as you, your majesty, but he carries his kingliness with great nobility. He possesses a sharp mind and great wit, loves to hunt and race, adores his people…and complains incessantly about paperwork.’
The Queen smiled. ‘I know how he feels. And is he true, Tor?’
‘True?’
‘Faithful.’
‘Your majesty, I cannot answer that,’ Tor replied, remembering how Lorys had looked at Alyssa the first time he set eyes on her. It had been a look of raw desire. ‘He is a man, after all.’
‘Indeed,’ she said cryptically. ‘Do you think he will remarry?’
Tor finished his pastry and licked the sugar flakes from his lips. ‘Now that question is beyond me. He is young enough at fifty summers. Finding a woman who would match him as well as Nyria would be a difficult task though.’
‘Why? Surely there must be plenty of nobles only too happy to marry off their youngest and prettiest to become Queen of Tallinor?’
‘Light, yes! But knowing Lorys as I do, or did a few years ago, I think he would prefer an unknown. A girl who would hold some mystery for the other courtiers. You know, I think he’d sooner fall in love with a girl from one of his tiny villages than a worldly city sort. Lorys and Nyria, as I understand it, were childhood sweethearts,’ Tor added wistfully, almost as though thinking aloud.
‘Have you ever loved anyone like that, Tor? I mean, friends first, true lovers later?’ Sylven suddenly asked.
He did not want to answer this question and yet Sylven’s directness demanded reciprocal honesty from him. ‘I have.’
‘Ooh,’ she said, grabbing another pastry, loving the intrigue.
‘I still do,’ he said very quietly.
‘I heard that! You still do! Who is she?’
Sylven noticed Tor’s discomfort. He was being very honest with her; she liked this in him. Tor had intrigued her from the first moment she saw him and his combination of sophistication and naivety, strength and gentleness, arrogance and humility fascinated her. One moment he was a small, lost boy and the other a brave man who appeared to carry a great weight on his shoulders. And now he was revealing a long-lost love! It fitted him perfectly: the man who loved the woman he could never have.
‘Is she not yours, Tor?’
‘She will always be mine,’ he replied, sadly. ‘We just can’t be together.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh…circumstances.’
Sylven was not to be put off by his evasiveness. ‘Where is she?’
‘Tal.’
‘But she’s not from the city, I’m guessing?’
He snorted. ‘No. Alyssa is from a little place called Mallee Marsh; a more simple and uneventful village you will not find, Sylven.’
‘And I’m also guessing that she’s pretty beyond words?’
He summoned the face he loved. ‘Golden hair. Green-grey eyes. Honeyed skin. Petite, funny, intelligent; she’s just…adorable.’
‘Now I’m jealous,’ Sylven pouted.
‘Don’t be.’ Tor smiled. ‘You remind me of her in a curious way.’
‘Thank you. I do believe that’s a fine compliment. Oh, you know what?’ Sylven’s eyes lit with a wicked idea. ‘I’ve just had a brilliant thought. Lorys and Alyssa.’
She watched Tor pull a face as she finished her pastry. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said firmly.
She dusted the sugar from her fingers. ‘Why not? She is all the things you described the King of Tallinor would want. A girl with no past—well, a past that the courtiers have had no involvement with. She is Tallinese and from a village—she is poor, I take it?’
Tor nodded.
‘She’s adorable—you said it yourself—and you also described someone who is very easy on the eye and clever. I think they make a perfect match. King Lorys and Queen Alyssa.’
Sylven raised her cup in a mock toast.
‘I can’t drink to that, your majesty. Alyssa despises the King. She hates him more than a true enemy of the realm could. She would never marry the King of Tallinor.’
‘Every girl dreams of being Queen, Tor.’
‘Not this one.’
Sylven was thoroughly enjoying this conversation and how it was unsettling Tor.
‘Why would she hate a King whom you yourself have just described as almost perfect? What could he possibly have done to make a village girl hate him so much?’
There was a long and uncomfortable pause. Sylven wondered if she had pushed too far.
‘He took me away from her, your majesty,’ Tor said finally, his face no longer showing any sign of amusement.
Before she could reply, the city’s bells began to toll. They both put down their mugs and moved to the edge of the concealed balcony. Sylven was glad the bells had saved them from wherever their discussion was going and was relieved to see Tor had lost that defensive look.
‘Those bells sound urgent,’ he commented.
‘They sound death,’ she replied.
He looked at her, puzzled. The Queen moved nearer and he put his arm around her and pulled her close. She enjoyed the sensation. Usually she banished lovers from her harem within minutes of performing their duties. She could not bear them hanging around or, worse, falling in love with her. They were servants, that’s all.
Torkyn Gynt was different.
She had desired him from the outset; now she was discovering that she wanted his affections not just his urgent lovemaking. Sylven wanted more of this man; all of him!
‘Your friend, Locky,’ she said and Tor nodded. ‘He has demanded that the sailor, Haryd, undergo the Kiss of the Silver Maiden.’
‘Yes. I did not understand it at the time, but there was so much going on with Adongo and then all his people being released that I forgot to find out more.’
Oh dear, she thought. Then this will not be easy for you to hear.
‘The bells are tolling the Day Wait.’
‘I don’t know this custom, Sylven—I don’t know any Ciprean customs.’
The Queen guided him back from the balcony to their comfortable seats near the small braziers.
‘Kissing the Silver Maiden is the worst punishment in Ciprean law. It is a horrible death if it occurs, but the Maiden is not choosy about her victims. She kills innocents as well.’
Tor shrugged. ‘I’m making no sense of this.’
‘The Silver Maiden alone chooses who she will kiss and who she will not. Her kiss, when she delivers it, slices her victim in two, from head to toe.’
Tor looked pleased. ‘I can’t think of anything more suitable for Haryd.’
‘No, wait, Tor. He who calls for this punishment must first risk the Kiss of the Silver Maiden himself. If she spares him, he is deemed truly aggrieved and the person who caused him grievance must then face her wrath.’
Tor looked stunned and a little confused.
She hurried on. ‘Yes, I know what your next question will be. Let me answer it now. The Maiden has a complex series of locks which open and close at random. They allow the blade to pass through or not. The choice is hers alone.’
Now he looked aghast. ‘You mean it’s all down to chance? Locky is playing dice with his life?’
‘Yes, you could say that. Which is why the Silver Maiden is so rarely called upon for her affection. Most who are aggrieved go for the simple sword thrust or a flogging, depending on their level of grievance. But if you wish to call for the highest punishment in the Land and the most terrifying for your victim, then there is a price to pay.’
‘But what are his chances?’
‘Slim,’ she replied. Honesty was best. ‘We do not tamper with the Maiden. She has her own Keeper and he is a Queen’s man. I trust him completely. The Maiden in her past two outings has not executed anyone. That is four people she has spared. She is hungry for a kill now, I imagine.’
‘Your majesty, with the greatest of respect, you cannot allow this. Locky is still a boy.’
‘A boy making a man’s decision, Tor. He insisted. I cannot refuse him; his grievance must be honoured. This is Ciprean law.’
Tor looked angry now. ‘When does this barbaric event take place?’
Sylven ignored his intended insult. ‘In a few hours, hence the bells. Lorke needed some time to set up the Maiden in the city’s amphitheatre. Her blade had to be sharpened and the locks oiled—’
‘I don’t want to hear any more of this,’ Tor said, beginning to pace. ‘This is terrible. What will I tell Eryn?’ he muttered.
‘Who is Eryn?’
‘Locky’s sister. I am supposed to look out for him.’
‘Tor, this is Locky’s decision. Not yours. Not his sister’s. Even Captain Quist is abiding by the law.’
‘Yes, it’s easy when it’s not your own flesh and blood. Quist is married to Eryn; he is Locky’s brother-in-law, though he acts like the father Locky never had. Eryn will never forgive her husband. Never!’
‘Tor, you are ranting. You will just have to hope that the Maiden is kind. There is nothing you can do.’
‘I will not stand by and watch your Maiden split Locklyn Gylbyt in half.’
His veiled threat was not lost on the Queen. ‘If you use your magic, Tor—and that’s still a secret between us—I will have no choice but to declare it. We in Cipres are more understanding than your own kind, but we do not tolerate use of magic openly.’
‘I must follow my heart, your majesty,’ he said, standing to leave.
‘And I must follow the laws of my realm.’
‘Is there a law against magic?’
‘It must only be wielded by the Queen for her daughter,’ she said sharply.
‘Then perhaps I might have to taste the Maiden’s Kiss myself, your highness. And it will be at your command.’ He bowed slowly. ‘I should leave now.’
‘Yes, I think you should,’ she said sadly and watched him dress and leave her chambers in silence.
Sylven was not surprised when, a few minutes later, the other recently arrived stranger was brought in by Hela.
‘Your highness.’ The man bowed low.
Obviously used to being in royal company, Sylven thought. ‘I was expecting you,’ she said.
‘You have welcomed me into your palace, your majesty. I feel it is important that I pass on to you my experience of Tallinese life, as you have asked.’
‘Indeed,’ she said in her dry way, which could mean anything.
The stranger was not deterred. ‘Queen Sylven, I must warn you against this man.’
‘You mean Gynt? Why? You said not only yesterday that I would find it interesting should I invite him to the palace.’
Goth gave a short nod, almost a bow, to her accuracy. ‘This is true. When you told me of his presence at the slave markets, I could not believe it was the same man. Suffice to say, I consider him dangerous. Trouble follows him, your highness.’
As this rather detestable, arrogant man grovelled before her, Sylven wondered if he knew of Tor’s powers. She considered it unlikely. No, there was something more than that here; jealousy, perhaps.
‘You were both at the Tal palace together, I presume?’
‘You are correct.’ The man attempted a smile but it appeared on his face as a sneer.
‘But he is charming; most diverting, in fact.’ Sylven enjoyed seeing his face twitch at that comment, not that the wretched fellow seemed to have much control over his ever-moving features.
His black eyes hardened. ‘I would advise you not to permit him in the palace again, your highness. I wish that you would allow me to deal with him for you, perhaps with a small number of your guard,’ he said.
‘Remove him, your highness,’ he clarified.
‘From Cipres or from life?’
‘Whatever your majesty desires, I would be very happy to carry it out. I owe you my life, Queen Sylven. It is a debt I could spend the rest of it repaying.’
He had been in the palace for only a few days, since his rescue, and already she despised his obsequious manner. She did not trust him one bit, but her mother had taught her always to listen, no matter who was giving the information. All she knew of Goth was that he was the former Chief Inquisitor of Tallinor who had fled when the Inquisitors had been disbanded. He had feared for his life, apparently. He too had been on the ship, The Wasp, which was wrecked off one of the small islands but had not realised that others had also survived. Goth had said he had spoken only to the captain and the ship’s boy, Ryk, during the voyage.
He had been shocked to learn that Torkyn Gynt had also been aboard The Wasp and was now in Cipres. He seemed to know a great deal about Gynt, though Sylven could tell Goth did not like him. He tried to hide it behind his clever words but Sylven was a woman who read deeply into people’s eyes. She had inherited her mother’s clever intuition for people and she could tell Goth was a dangerous man. No, she decided, she could not trust him, for beneath the polite, sycophantic surface there boiled something cruel and unforgiving.
It was Goth who had suggested she invite Gynt to the palace, advising her that it might prove interesting. He had not counted on her spending the night with him, of course, but then neither had she. Disapproval was written all over his pock-marked face and Sylven presumed some of the maids’ tongues had been wagging. How else could Goth know of Tor’s stay? His opinion did not trouble her, however; she was more interested in the former Chief Inquisitor’s relationship with her guest.
They had not had the opportunity yet to discuss at length his knowledge of Gynt, though she fully intended to exploit it now. Once again, she wondered if Goth knew of Tor’s magic.
What was the relationship between the two men? Was it jealousy for the affections of a woman, she wondered? Perhaps Alyssa? Surely not. The pretty Alyssa and the impossibly handsome Gynt were a perfect match. Why would any girl who had enjoyed Tor as a lover consider Goth? No, it could not be that. Anyway, Goth gave the impression of being celibate, eunuch-like even. He had made no improper advances to her female staff—or male staff, for that matter—nor had he visited any brothels during his few days in Cipres. So sex clearly was not his bent and she dismissed the idea that he might be jealous of the love between Tor and Alyssa.
Goth was watching her carefully. His eye twitched incessantly and when he licked his lips once again she had to look away. She could not bear to have him near for long; she dismissed him. She was not ready to listen to his ideas. He was very disappointed but tried to hide it and left quickly.
Sylven knew the day was going to be a difficult one. It had already started badly. She was angry at Tor’s disobedience and his veiled threat to flout her laws. On the other hand, she found herself attracted even more strongly to that arrogant side of him. He feared no one; not even her. Now here was a man she could love.
Love? She had never thought she would fall in love with any man. Oh, she had entertained such thoughts when she was young but she had been trained well. She was to be the powerful Queen of a powerful nation. No man would ever rule it. There would be no husband; she would never be allowed to fall in love. Her mother and her grandmother, whilst still alive, had gone to great pains to assemble the finest harem for their Princess so that she would have dozens and dozens of men at her beck and call. The harem was to be constantly ‘refreshed’ with new faces so the young Queen-to-be would be kept interested and not become too close to any individual.
It had worked. Sylven had taken so many lovers over the years that falling in love seemed out of the question. Now, at forty summers, she found it amusing that she might have discovered love…and with a Tallinese! Torkyn Gynt was irresistible. Charm, beautiful looks and physique aside, he was fascinating. He matched her own brilliant mind and she imagined that she could never tire of his intelligence. And his magic powers astounded her. She could spend a lifetime being intrigued by those alone.
Sylven shook her head clear of such thoughts. Torkyn Gynt had just walked out on her!
Tor was furious. How could this whole thing have got so out of hand? Locky could have called for any punishment, from flogging to beheading, but no, he had to choose the one method which risked his own life as well. Now his quest to find Cloot had been set back even further.
Foolish! Foolish! Tor ranted to himself as he stomped back across the city towards the inn Quist favoured. Suddenly Cipres didn’t seem so gentle of colour and beautiful to behold; it looked bright and dangerous. The stand-off between Sylven and himself did not help his humour either. He strode into the inn and demanded to know whether Captain Quist was up.
‘Up and gone,’ one of the serving lads said.
Tor left. Where should he go next? He made for the docks. A captain liked to be near his ship, he decided. His hunch was right: he found Quist and his men preparing The Raven for departure.
‘Quist!’
The captain looked over the rail. He waved to Tor but his face was grim. Tor ran up the gangplank.
The captain met him. ‘You’ve obviously heard then?’
‘How could you let him do such a thing?’ Tor spat.
Quist’s own anger kindled quickly. ‘Are you mad, Gynt? Do you think I would have agreed to this? He told me he had requested a public flogging and then starvation in the cage. I knew nothing of this Silver Maiden until this morning when I had to sign some paper or other. I refused of course but the officials could not care less. Apparently it was simply a formality; the boy’s choice remains. I am helpless,’ he snarled back.
Tor would not be put off. ‘So you are leaving, running away?’
Quist’s voice was icy. ‘I am readying my ship, Gynt. We were departing tomorrow anyway. I have to get home to Eryn. I may be carrying a body in my hold back to her. Do you think I look forward to this?’
Tor could not help himself. His frustration at Sylven’s casual attitude and placating words turned to anger which he now directed at Quist. ‘I’m surprised you have the courage to face her after this.’
It was too much for the pirate; he turned and hurled a punch. Tor’s reaction was faster and he threw up his shields. Quist watched in surprise as his fist slid away through the air, twisting his own body full circle with the force. But he did not stop to wonder; instead he charged forward, head aiming straight for Tor’s belly. The blow was meant to wind and hurt but did nothing of the kind. Quist found himself running into a barrier as hard as stone and he dropped unconscious to the deck of his ship. As he lay there lifeless, Tor bent to check how badly hurt he was. It was not serious: the captain would soon come around. No doubt he would feel somewhat dazed and confused, but he would survive.
Fortunately for Tor, no one had seen this furious exchange, for Quist had sent his men off on errands just as Tor was making his way up the gangplank. But now the men arrived back from their various tasks and spotted their captain slumped on the deck.
‘What happened?’ one cried, hurrying forward.
‘He collapsed,’ Tor lied. ‘Let’s get him to his cabin. I’m a physic and can help.’
Quist was carried to his chambers and laid on his bunk. Tor reassured the men that he would call them as soon as he had performed a physical examination. One especially persistent fellow he sent off to find some fresh water. It bought him the precious time he needed.
The captain slowly began to come to. Tor administered some arraq from the satchel he now habitually carried with him.
Quist’s eyes opened. ‘My head hurts,’ he groaned.
‘Here, sip some more of this,’ Tor said, offering the vial containing the rapidly dwindling liquid. Quist did as he was told and made the effort to sit up.
The sailor arrived back, breathing hard, with fresh water in a jug.
‘Dismiss your man; we must talk,’ Tor muttered under his breath.
‘Lurg, I’m fine now. Finish off your duties.’
Lurg looked edgy. ‘Are you sure, Captain? You look right pasty to me, sir.’
‘I’ll be fine. Just a headache. I felt dizzy and stumbled.’
‘Righto, Captain, sir. Call me if you need anything,’ Lurg said, before closing the door.
Quist fixed Tor with a baleful stare from his one good eye. ‘Now what exactly happened up there?’
Tor sighed. ‘I’m sentient, Quist. I used my magic on you.’
‘Aren’t you the lucky one?’ Quist replied, rubbing at his temple. ‘Actually I feel better. That stuff is good, physic.’
‘So people tell me.’ Tor grinned. ‘I’m sorry for hurting you.’
Quist shrugged. ‘I would have hurt you, otherwise. I’ve survived worse.’
‘Are you bothered that I am sentient?’
‘No, but it seems you are. I heard that Tallinor had abolished the Inquisitors. Yet you are obviously still nervous.’
‘You never know how people may react. I don’t broadcast it.’
‘Neither will I,’ Quist said. He pushed his feet over the edge of his bunk and groaned. ‘I would like such skills myself,’ he added. ‘So, Gynt. Can we use this talent of yours to save Locky?’
‘It’s my intention but the Queen has forbidden it. She knows, you see.’
‘Do you talk in your sleep then?’ Quist began to laugh.
Tor felt himself go red. ‘Does everyone know?’
‘They’re all quite proud of you. I certainly am. Never did get the opportunity to sleep with a real Queen myself, though I have my princess waiting back home.’
‘You really love her,’ Tor said, inadvertently thinking out loud.
Quist looked at him in surprise. ‘Yes, Gynt, I really do. Why do you find that difficult to understand?’
Tor shuffled, uncomfortable about the fact he had lain in Eryn’s arms just days ago. ‘I don’t find it difficult. I am incredibly fond of Eryn and always felt she deserved the true love of one man. And now she has it. I’m happy for you both.’
Quist grunted. ‘She won’t love me too much if I return with her brother’s corpse.’
‘No. Well, you’ll have to trust me, Quist. I promise you I will not allow a hair on Locky’s head to be hurt.’
‘You’re all we have then, because the lad’s under very tight supervision. I’m not even allowed to talk with him. Not that he cares. He is driven by revenge and is not old or wise enough to know there are different ways to get even.’
Tor nodded. ‘I’m going to the city square now. It’s time for me to meet this fair Maiden.’
‘I’ll be right behind you. Just a few more things to sort out here. We leave tomorrow morning. You’re welcome to come back to Caradoon with us.’
‘I’m grateful, but I still have to find my falcon.’
Tor headed back into the city centre towards the amphitheatre. He felt brighter. He knew his powers could easily overcome the Maiden’s locks, no matter how complex they may be. But he was still wondering what to do next about Cloot. Without Sylven to open doors for him, he had a mighty task ahead in tracking down a bird which no longer communicated with him. The region was dotted with dozens and dozens of tiny islands and Cloot could be on any one of them.
Again Tor wondered about the silence. He felt sure that if Cloot had died, he would have sensed it. Instead, the link between them was blank. Could it be the archalyt again? It had been a thin green sliver of the magical stone which kept him separated from Alyssa initially, and then the physical distance between them had maintained that barrier. However, the archalyt had started to lose its potency the closer he got to her location and by the time he had arrived at the Academie, even Alyssa had been able to sense him casting to her, albeit very weakly.
Now that he knew what the archalyt felt like, he could overcome it with ease. But he had tried this with Cloot and he could sense no archalyt barrier at all, certainly not one he had encountered before. Nevertheless, Tor maintained a permanent open link to his falcon…just in case. Cloot might be trying desperately to reach him and if the link remained open, something may just get through.
He felt suddenly melancholy at the bleakness of his situation. Cloot was lost, Locky was facing death, Nyria was already dead, and he had just had an argument with Queen Sylven. Inevitably, his thoughts turned to his greatest loss of all: Alyssa. But Tor was determined not to sink into feeling sorry for himself; instead he worked at conjuring a positive mood.
He recalled that Lys had told him the children were on the way. So Yargo had found them. He felt a surge of hope just thinking about the children and as he walked along the pretty streets of Cipres, he began to daydream about his son and daughter. It was a luxury he had not once allowed himself since Sorrel had fled the Heartwood with her precious charges.
They must be about five summers by now, he decided, and tried to imagine how they might look. Gidyon had been dark at birth so perhaps he resembled Tor. Lauryn was likely fair like her mother, although she had been bald when born so it was anyone’s guess really.
He realised that thinking about the tiny, bald baby girl must have caused him to smile, for a woman walking towards him smiled back. The thought of the children’s arrival made him all the more determined. He had to hurry and find Cloot and then get back to Tallinor. He presumed Sorrel would bring the little ones to the Heartwood for safety. Damn Sylven and her aviaries and damn Locklyn Gylbyt and his wounded pride—he did not need any extra troubles to keep him from his quest.
Tor pulled up sharply as he came into sight of Cipres’ main square. It was a mass of humanity and activity, but he only had eyes for the amphitheatre just beyond, where a huge contraption towered above all the people. The Maiden winked her welcome at him as a watery ray of winter sun broke through gathering clouds and glinted off the vicious blade.
‘And to you, Maiden,’ he said under his breath, looking at the machine with awe.
Tor climbed up into the beautifully carved stone tiered seating to watch the preparations. One man—he assumed he must be the Queen’s man, Lorke—was giving directions to a dozen others. Tor softened down the noise of the city about him and cleared his head to listen.
‘…just a boy. The Maiden is parched for blood. I don’t want the boy’s blood on her lips or my conscience,’ Lorke griped to a soldier.
‘It is the Queen’s judgement,’ the man hissed.
‘Yes, and it’s because of her I’ll obey,’ Lorke grumbled, banging a final wooden pin into place on the Maiden’s framework.
‘Are you set?’
‘We will be before the Fourth bell.’
‘The aggrieved and the prisoner will be brought in at the Sixth. Her Majesty will arrive at the Seventh—’
‘I know, I know. I’m the one who has been doing this for the past two decades, you fool. And the first kiss will occur on the stroke of the Eighth—I am well aware of the proceedings.’
‘Good. Then stop your moping and do your job. I must report back to the palace. By the way, if a tall stranger who goes by the name of Torkyn Gynt approaches, do not involve yourself in conversation. Queen’s orders.’
So, Tor thought, Sylven was taking precautions. He could not blame her. He should not have been quite so fast to boast of his powers. Merkhud’s voice came back to haunt him as he sat and watched the final preparation for the Maiden’s Kiss. As far back as when Tor was fifteen summers, the old man had warned him never to showcase his talents, always to keep them secret. He could not help but smile wryly; it had taken him barely a day or more to break that promise. By the time he had reached Hatten he was using his power with abandon, first to punch a bully in the belly and then minutes later to assist poor Cloot who was nailed to a post by his ear. Merkhud’s warning had fallen on deaf ears then and clearly still did, Tor decided. Just a little playfulness from the Queen and he had demonstrated his magics like a sideshow practitioner.
Tor shook his head at himself and his poor judgement. He looked up to see that the amphitheatre was gradually filling. There had to be a hundred more people milling around now than there had been just a short time ago and they were being joined by hundreds more, streaming in from the main city square.
A small man seated nearby caught Tor’s eye as he looked around. The dwarf grinned at him and his grizzled face looked as though it was lit by sunshine. What a difference a smile makes to this fellow, Tor thought.
‘Have you ever been to one of these before?’ the stranger asked.
Tor nodded. ‘To an execution? Yes. But I have not seen the Maiden before today.’
‘Ah,’ his companion replied carefully. ‘This place will be very crowded soon. It is not often the Cipreans have the opportunity to witness the Maiden’s Kiss.’
‘So I gather,’ Tor said. ‘Are you a local?’
‘No. My people come from a place so far away that you will see only a few of us wandering these lands.’
‘Who are your people?’
Before the little man could answer, Tor felt a jolt on his shoulder and, turning, saw he had been joined by Quist and some of his crew. Tor looked back at his neighbour but the little man had moved on a few rows. Tor shrugged his shoulders to indicate he was sorry that their conversation had been interrupted. The little man from a faraway land smiled radiantly again and returned the shrug, accepting the apology.
‘So what now?’ Quist asked, dragging Tor’s attention back.
‘We wait. I shall make my move when I see my chance.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Interfere,’ Tor said and grinned mischievously.
At the Sixth bell, a cart rumbled into the amphitheatre carrying a wide-eyed but composed Locky and Haryd, who was slumped in the back. As Locky stepped down the audience applauded. Word of this brave young man had spread quickly through the city. Haryd was helped out of the cart by some guards. He was unsteady and could only walk doubled over. When they caught a glimpse of his face, they could see he looked confused. Remembering the terrible duel with Adongo, Tor wondered how Haryd could stand at all.
One of the officials read out the grievance and the Queen’s ruling, then filled in the time before her arrival by outlining how Locklyn Gylbyt found himself to be there this afternoon. This was followed by a bloodcurdling description of how the Maiden administered her Kiss.
Tor noted that Haryd seemed entirely dazed by the proceedings. Locky, meanwhile, did not flinch during the gory explanation.
Quist was nervous. ‘He can’t die, Tor.’ It was the first time since they had met that the captain had called him by his first name.
Tor looked at him. ‘He won’t die.’
The Seventh bell pealed and within moments Queen Sylven’s glittering carriage, carried by eight burly men, came into view. A small unit of guards surrounded it. She was shrouded by her veils once again. Even though they could not see their Queen, the crowd went into rapturous cheers. It took several minutes for the noise to die down. More formalities took place, another parchment was read out and then Locklyn Gylbyt was led to meet the Silver Maiden.
Tor allowed his Colours to blaze within. Just then, the Queen’s head guardsman stepped forward and called out a short statement. Heads turned and people suddenly began talking all at once, debating this unusual occurrence.
Tor could hardly believe it. The Queen had summoned him publicly.
He noticed for the first time that there were guards surrounding him, all dressed as civilians. A clever ploy by Sylven’s men. He should have been paying more attention. The man in charge politely asked him to come before the Queen.
Tor had no idea what Sylven was doing. All in the audience were watching him.
‘I can use my magics down there just as easily as up here,’ he whispered to Quist.
Without another word, he stood and followed the guards down the tiers of seats into the centre of the auditorium, where he was then allowed to approach the Queen.
Tor wanted this over and done with. He would save Locky and then be on his way in search of Cloot.
He bowed. ‘Your majesty,’ he said, with nothing more in his voice than the respect she was owed.
There was no one within close earshot and Sylven spoke very softly; his acute hearing picked up her words with ease. ‘Last night was lovely.’
He smiled, but no one else saw for his head was still bowed. So these theatrics were just an excuse to be close to him again.
‘It was for me too,’ he replied.
She continued, ‘Which is why it makes it very hard for me to do this.’
Before Tor could react, his hands had been pulled behind him and tied. He felt something being pulled over his head. Instinctively, he let his Colours blaze and pushed out with them.
Nothing happened.
Tor was dumbfounded. He became very still. He could hear a voice—it seemed distant—telling the onlookers why he was being bound like this. He could not focus on the words. He pushed again. Once more nothing occurred.
For the first time in his life, Torkyn Gynt was severed from his powers. The Colours were blazing; he could feel them. The power was there to use but when he drew upon it, it was ineffectual.
He turned wildly towards the Queen but was forced to his knees by the guards. ‘I’m so sorry, Tor,’ was all she said.
Meanwhile, Locklyn Gylbyt was being strapped expertly into the Maiden’s embrace.
‘The blade will fall at least once in every ten drops,’ Lorke announced. ‘Our Maiden has not killed in four drops and she is eager to deliver her Kiss. Are you ready, Locklyn Gylbyt?’
To his credit, Locky did not so much as pause. ‘I am ready to taste her lips, sir, and know her judgement upon me,’ he called out loudly.
Everyone in the amphitheatre cheered their support for this brave fellow.
It was hideous. Tor was reminded all too keenly of a similar scene nearly five winters ago, when an innocent man had been strapped to a cross and his body stoned until it gave up the life within. Except on that occasion, the crowd wept. This gathering had a festive atmosphere which his execution scene had lacked.
He loosed the Colours once again but realised it was futile. He had been moved away from Sylven’s carriage, so he could not even communicate with her. Lorke was doing one final check on his charge; no doubt praying to his gods that she would not show any affection for the boy in her grasp. He searched out Quist, whose face was a mask of anguish. It looked as though he was already convinced the boy would die horribly.
Tor began to probe around the magical ‘crown’ on his head. But it was too late. There was no more time to search for answers.
Women in the crowd screeched as Lorke pulled the heavy blade to the top of its axis and then let it go.
The blade hit the first series of locks, all of which opened immediately to allow it to pass through.
The Maiden was thirsty for blood. Locky was going to die.
The blade was moving quickly now; it was already onto the fifth of the ten locks. It opened. So did the sixth.
And then Tor felt it. Glorious, exquisitely sweet power washed over him. He looked around and realised that no one but he could sense it. It was strong and focused, felt otherworldly. It hit the blade as it met with the ninth lock and there the silver metal stopped, shuddering monstrously. Locky was trembling in time with it.
There was a moment of shocked silence and then the massive crowd erupted into delight. Hats were thrown in the air; babies were held aloft; women dabbed at their eyes and kissed their neighbours; men hollered their pleasure that the Maiden had spared the lad.
The magic was still all around him. It was beautiful. Tor could feel it but he could not respond to it or even touch it. It brought tears to his eyes that he could not reach out to this person and offer thanks. The Maiden had not spared Locky at all. A profound magic had interfered and Tor desperately wanted to learn whose.
He looked to Quist, whose sailors had enveloped him in a bear hug. Tor felt relief replace all his previous tension and he even laughed aloud as he scanned the crowd through watery eyes for the dwarf he had spoken with earlier.
The man put his hand to his head and then to his heart before bowing to Tor, who realised that the little figure was the wielder of the otherworldly magic. And then, curiously, the dwarf held up nine fingers. Tor was puzzled for a moment, then it dawned on him that he was looking at Figgis of the Rock Dwellers, Ninth of the Paladin.
Tor wept openly now; not just because Locky was saved but because the Paladin were almost fully re-emerged and gathering bravely, for his sake and for the real battle ahead. He must never forget the true purpose of his life. The Paladin had not, and now eight of them had bravely shown themselves. Only Juno and the lion-hearted Themesius, who, for the time being, kept them all safe, were still to emerge.
No one took any notice of the weeping man in the strange, studded leather crown; no one except Queen Sylven, who wiped tears from her own eyes behind the veils. She hated to see this man so weakened. Sylven had not touched the headband since it was first given to her by her grandmother more than two decades earlier. She had hardly understood its use and had not even thought on it again until the previous night, when Torkyn Gynt had displayed a power that shocked her speechless. It had reminded her of her grandmother’s warning and when Tor defied her, she went scurrying for that enchanted headband.
Queen Sylven had never before shed a tear over a man. Torkyn Gynt was changing her life in more ways than she could ever have thought possible. She looked away from his kneeling figure and at the new prisoner, now strapped into the Maiden.
Locky staggered past the elated crowd to Quist, but Haryd was not so fortunate. This time the Maiden intended to drink fully of her prisoner’s blood. The blade dropped so quickly there was hardly any time for the more squeamish members of the crowd to look away. It passed through all ten locks without resistance and Haryd just had time to shriek his despair as the Maiden bestowed her Kiss of Death. His scream was cut off as his body was split efficiently in half, gushing its contents into a dark red mass on the amphitheatre floor.
For the time being, the Maiden’s thirst was quenched.