19
A Truce is Called

At the Queen’s pleasure, Tor was given a few moments with Quist and Locky. There was only time for a brief farewell.

They hugged and Quist looked Tor hard in the eye, his way of conveying his thanks.

‘Travel safely,’ Tor said.

Locky, still in a state of high excitement and satisfaction, said, ‘Come back to Caradoon soon.’

Quist nodded. He said no more but gave Tor the Tallinese salute of farewell. It was a respectful gesture for a Caradoon pirate who rarely acknowledged any laws of Tallinor.

Then the guards were pulling Tor towards the cart, which he had to share with what was left of Haryd, covered by an inadequate sack. The crowd had dispersed quickly and the Queen had long gone back to her palace. As the cart made a slow circuit to turn around, Tor noticed that Lorke and his team were dismantling the Maiden; her blade had already been cleaned and returned to its special box.

Tor spent the night in a dungeon. He was not treated badly there but it was cold and damp. To his surprise, he was presented with an exceptionally fine meal during the evening. It was small and served on a humble clay plate, but beyond that had no resemblance whatsoever to regular prison food. A small mercy from the Queen, he decided. It was delicious.

Afterwards, he slept fitfully on his pallet. He dreamed of Orlac. Tor watched him rise from the floor where he had obviously been sitting, though he could not tell where the god was located. The vision was hazy but the surrounds appeared cavernous.

The god stretched and spoke. ‘It is time,’ he said.

Tor strained to hear more but his attention was pulled away by the feeling of another’s presence. The sensation was cold, not friendly. He had the notion of a red mist and an icy wind enveloping him; it reminded him of when he was travelling back to the Heartwood after leaving Cloot’s body. There was something trying to reach him. In his sleep he shrank back. The presence felt evil.

Tor. It was Lys.

What is that which pursues me?

He is of no concern. He will not come close to you again.

He?

Lys sighed. His name is Dorgryl. He is just an observer, Tor. Give him no further thought.

Are you in danger from him, Lys?

He heard her laugh gently. Tor did not think he had ever heard her laugh before.

Dorgryl is no threat to any of us, Tor.

I saw Orlac. He said it was time. What does this mean?

That Themesius must face his final battle.

I see. How long have we got?

Not long. Her evasiveness in the past had often fired his anger but not any more.

I must find Cloot.

Yes, he needs you, she said cryptically.

He knew not to ask her to elaborate. The children?

Are safe. They travel towards you. You must get back to the Heartwood quickly, Tor.

The vision melted, Lys disappeared from his consciousness and he woke grumpy and stiff, wondering what the day might bring. How would he escape confinement whilst his head was bound by something which overwhelmed his powers? He passed the following hours niggling away at the magical binding.

By the time the sun had risen, he had begun to understand its complexity. He wondered if, like the archalyt, he would be able to overcome it once it was removed because he had begun to unravel its secrets.

Finally some guards arrived and helped him to his feet.

‘Take his shackles off but bind his hands. Queen’s orders,’ the main warder said.

The fellows who would be escorting him to his next stop nodded.

‘Where now?’ Tor asked.

‘To the baths,’ one replied curtly.

The Queen’s maid, Hela, met them outside a pretty, stone structure. It had taken several minutes to reach the baths on foot and Tor realised he was now well away from the prison complex and deep into the main palace grounds.

‘It’s nice to see you again, Hela.’

‘Likewise, Physic Gynt.’ She smiled warmly at him. ‘I can take him from here,’ she said to the two men, who left without another word.

She led him inside the structure to a small pool carved into the stone. Steam billowed off the top of the faintly blue water and a delicate fragrance wafted towards them.

Hela saw him inhale it. ‘Nettle, mint, lavender and citrus. They will refresh you,’ she said and began to remove his clothes. When Tor was naked, she took off her own loose robe and stepped into the water with him. ‘Her majesty wishes you bathed before she gives audience,’ she explained.

Tor spent the next hour being washed with great care by the attentive Hela. He could not imagine anything more delightful than the treatment he was receiving at her hands. Finally, when his skin was warmed and supple, she dried him and laid him on a table, then massaged his body for another hour, applying sensual oils.

A final dip and cleanse before he was shaved, his hair groomed and he was dressed into clean garments. Hela did not speak a word during this time and Tor was happy to receive her ministrations in gratified silence. Hela tidied herself and then, with a smile which said droves, asked him to follow her.

After passing through various halls and passages, Tor recognised the route they were taking. Before long they were climbing the familiar tower to Queen Sylven’s private chambers. He was shown inside and left. He knew she would be standing on the balcony.

Sylven turned around and looked at him, her eyes apologising before her voice did. ‘Let me remove those bindings for you,’ she said. She busied herself untying his hands. ‘Can I count on you not to do anything untoward?’

‘Such as?’

‘Hurting me.’

He was genuinely grieved. ‘Sylven, I made love to you the night before last. How could I hurt you?’

She dug her nails into her palms. It would not do to allow her eyes to mist up in front of him. If her grandmother were alive, she would flog Sylven for showing such weakness towards a man.

The thrill of his touch made her lightheaded as he gently reached around her waist.

‘Turn around so I can untie the headband,’ she said, terrified by her own feelings.

Tor did so obediently. He was still angry at what had happened but after the visit from Lys, the vision of Orlac, finding out about his children’s arrival— what was happening now suddenly seemed so much less important. He knew he had to exploit every opportunity to find Cloot as quickly as possible and Sylven was the key. That he was fond of her was a bonus.

‘You must be angry with me, Tor,’ she said, slowly untying the bindings at his head.

‘I am.’

‘Will you forgive me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I am indebted to you.’

The band fell free and Tor was connected to himself again. He summoned the Colours and cast out freely. He never wanted to feel that dislocation again.

‘May I?’ he said, reaching out.

Sylven handed him the soft leather band which was encrusted with dull black studs.

‘Sylven, what is this?’

She turned to where the table was laid with wine and cheeses, fruits and savouries. ‘Sit with me, Tor. Eat,’ she said.

Tor wanted information but remained patient and helped himself to a plate of the food. He even allowed her to pour him some excellent chilled wine.

‘We have a new cook in our kitchens,’ she said, relieved and very pleased to see him at her table again.

Tor grinned. ‘And is his name Ryk?’ he asked, as last night’s exquisite food suddenly made sense.

‘Yes!’ she exclaimed. ‘How could you know?’

‘It is not magic, your majesty, relax. Ryk was on board The Wasp with me. I came to know him well and like him very much. He comes from a long line of famous chefs from Ildagarth and I mentioned this to Master Lard on the day we were taken to the slave market. I gathered from his reaction that a good cook would be warmly welcomed at the palace.’

‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember eating any better. Those pastries yesterday morning were his and he even visited last night to insist that he prepare an evening meal for you. He seems totally enchanted by you, Tor. I’m beginning to wonder if everyone is affected by your presence in the same way?’

‘Are you, Sylven?’ he said, taking a sip from his wine.

It was rare that Sylven could not hold someone’s look; she was never one to back down. But she did so now, looking away almost shyly. She simply could not admit out loud how good it was to see him back here and smiling. She was already imagining the night’s sport in the bedroom and how much fun it was going to be.

She changed the subject, hoping her cheeks were not flaring with colour. ‘Tor, I want to apologise again about yesterday. I do mean it and it’s important to me that you understand I say it from my heart. However, I think you will agree that my decision was the right one. The Silver Maiden honoured Locklyn’s decision to call upon her; she spared his life and endorsed his grievance against Haryd, dealing with the sailor in her harshest manner.’

She looked at him steadily now. ‘I think we can say the very best outcome was achieved.’

Tor was not about to tell her the Maiden had had nothing to do with it. The contraption was nothing more than a deadly game of chance, with the odds stacking up against each victim with each unsuccessful drop of her gleaming blade.

Instead he gave her peace. ‘Yes, you were right, Sylven. There is no need to apologise, because you showed me there was never any need to employ any magical powers to save Locky’s life. I hope the fact of my powers remains private between us.’

Relief flooded through her. She had not realised how very important his acceptance and agreement was to her. Perhaps there could be a future for them?

‘I will never share this knowledge with anyone, Tor. Your secret is safe.’

He raised his glass. ‘To friends and true loves,’ he said, thinking of Alyssa.

The Queen of Cipres smiled sensually. ‘To true love,’ she said and drank.

‘Tell me about this headpiece,’ Tor said.

Sylven explained all she knew of it. Tor listened carefully.

‘Do you know what the black stones are?’

‘Ah, yes. My grandmother called it…er now, let me get this right…’ She tapped her manicured nails on the table. ‘Midnight archalyt—yes, that’s it,’ she said, pleased with herself for her exceptional memory.

Tor nodded and continued to eat, betraying nothing. So it was archalyt. That meant he could overcome it. He just had to learn more about it.

‘And how did it come into your family?’

‘Oh, Tor, I hardly paid attention in the first place. No one ever thought it would be used. You can see how new-looking it still is. It has never been used in my two decades as Queen and I never heard of it being used during my mother’s reign either.’

Tor could tell Sylven had no interest in this conversation but it intrigued him. He would learn more of this midnight archalyt. But for now, he masked his fascination and allowed the discussion to move to more trivial matters until their meal was complete and the wine almost finished. The Queen ordered another flask to be brought.

Tor stretched. The next few moments would be tricky.

‘Your majesty, I have been honoured by your hospitality and personal attentions. But I must now take my leave,’ he said graciously.

‘You’re leaving?’ She banged down her glass, more from surprise than anger.

‘Yes, your highness,’ he said gently. ‘When I set off on my voyage from Caradoon I was on a mission. I am searching for something. I became embroiled in all sorts of distractions, including a memorable day and night with a beautiful woman.’

She dipped her eyes.

‘But my task is still ahead, Queen Sylven, and I no longer have the luxury of time to spare.’

‘Whatever do you search for, Torkyn Gynt?’

‘A bird, your majesty.’

‘A bird?’ She wondered if she had heard correctly.

‘A peregrine falcon. He was captured and taken from me by mistake, then brought here and sold, as I understand it. I am on a journey to find him.’

She looked at him as though she hardly understood a word he had said.

He played his card. ‘Perhaps you could help me, Sylven?’

‘I can help?’

‘Yes. You keep aviaries of hunting birds, do you not? He is a magnificent falcon. Perhaps the royal keepers purchased him. It is a thought, anyway,’ he said hopefully.

Hela arrived with the fresh flask of wine and it seemed to snap Sylven out of her dreamy state.

Her voice was commanding again and her attention sharp when she next spoke. ‘You are asking me to help you find your falcon?’

‘I am.’

‘I suppose I could,’ she said, accepting a glass of wine from him. ‘My very best birds are sent to the winter palace at Neame, in the foothills.’

‘Would you allow me to visit there, your majesty? Perhaps a note from you would gain me entry?’

‘Oh, I can do better than that, Torkyn Gynt. I shall come with you. We normally close up the city palace for several weeks at this time of year anyway. I like to spend some time in the hills. We shall go together and if my aviaries have your falcon, we will find him and I shall return him to you.’

It was more than Tor could have hoped for, but he needed for her to move fast. He decided to press his advantage. ‘This is kind of you, Sylven. I am more grateful than I can show.’

She cut across his words. ‘I’ll make you earn it all right,’ she said, with that familiar wicked sparkle in her eye.

It made them both laugh, though Tor’s humour was forced. Sylven could never understand how important this was to him. ‘Speed is critical, your majesty. Cloot—that is my falcon’s name—and I have been parted for too long. If he is not at Neame, then I will be forced to search far and wide throughout Cipres and its islands.’

‘Then let us hope he is as magnificent as you say, Tor, because such a bird would not have slipped past my men’s notice and he will be at Neame. We can leave today if you wish.’

Tor could hardly believe his luck. ‘That would make me very happy.’