23
A Desperate Escape

Goth’s speed carried him into the cover of the forest before his pursuers had even begun to give chase. As he ran he went over events again and again in his mind. How could Sylven have got the poisoned goblet? He had been so careful to hand Gynt the doctored wine. It did not make sense.

He could hear yelling now behind him. He knew it would be Gynt but the idiot did not know to whom he gave chase. The robe was slowing him down and Goth realised he needed to dispense with it. He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, instantly realising that he had forgotten to remove the arraq in its pocket.

He sneaked a look behind and felt his hatred instantly boil up. Pursuing him grimly was Gynt and his old sidekick, that once blinded but now all-seeing bastard Kloek. So that’s what had happened! The Kloek must have swapped the goblets to protect Gynt. Yes…he understood now. His anger helped him to find new speed and he pulled away from the pair.

‘Who is it?’ Tor called breathlessly to Saxon, who was slightly behind.

It was Cloot who answered from up ahead. It’s Goth.

Tor stopped in his tracks and Saxon caught up. ‘What are you stopping for?’

‘Cloot’s just told me who we’re chasing.’

Saxon looked immediately into the sky. Cloot had been found? He felt a fierce wave of joy pass through him. Tor and Cloot had been returned to him. The Paladin would not fail again; the Heartwood would prevail and the Trinity would be found.

‘I’ve not seen the man’s face,’ Saxon said, returning to the conversation. ‘Do we know him?’

‘Goth,’ Tor snarled and opened himself up to the Colours. This time he would kill him.

They picked up their pace again. In the distance, they saw the small figure halfway up a hill; Goth miraculously scaled its height with ease and speed. Tor remembered that night at Caremboche, when Goth had almost caught him and Alyssa; he recalled how fast the Inquisitor had run then, fuelled by his anger and his determination to stop their escape.

They had lost sight of him now. Breathing hard, they climbed higher and higher into the hills, with Cloot flying overhead and telling Tor which direction to take.

He’s trapped! Cloot suddenly said.

Tor stopped; Saxon followed suit. What do you mean? Tor asked.

He’s reached a waterfall. There’s no way out for him, Tor. If he retraces his steps, he’ll meet you. He heard the falcon chuckle. He’s all yours.

Tor began to lope ahead again. ‘Come on, Sax. We’ve got him trapped apparently.’

They climbed further; they could hear the rushing of water now as it hurtled over the edge of a precipice and crashed below. The air was damp with the mist from the waterfall.

Tor stepped through a narrow pass between two tall hills and came out on a high crag. There he finally recognised Goth; the man was standing at the edge, looking down.

‘Goth!’ he screamed, and the face he hated turned and sneered at him.

The former Chief Inquisitor certainly looked different; the once solid frame was slim now and gaunt. But he could not disguise his eyes and Tor was angry he had not made the connection when he first stared into those small, mean eyes at the picnic. He put it all quickly together in his mind as he watched the man’s sneer overwhelmed by the prominent twitching of one side of his horribly scarred face.

The poison had been meant for him but it had mistakenly found Sylven. Oh, Sylven, what have I done to you? Tor’s Colours burned inside, they wanted him to unleash them. But he had Goth cornered now. He could take his time.

Saxon rounded the crag and stopped, sucking in gulps of air. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked, triumphant at finally having this man at their mercy.

Tor’s own chest was heaving, more from hatred for Goth than exertion. ‘I’m going to finish it here. He’s killed enough people in his useless life.’

‘Then do it, Tor. Finish it now.’

‘He can’t hurt us, Saxon. There is nothing he can do,’ Tor said, walking forwards slowly. ‘Do not fear him.’

Goth hurled a stream of abuse at him as he approached. Tor had to admire his courage.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Saxon called from the crag. He had no desire to look Goth in the eyes again. This was the man who had once taken his sight and beaten him savagely, leaving him for dead. He despised the man and could never forgive him for what he had done to Alyssa either. Saxon did not care if Goth suffered now—all he wanted was to see his life extinguished once and for all.

Goth fixed Tor with a look of scorn. He had never feared death. Now that it stared at him, he did not exactly welcome it but neither did he turn away, terrified. His clever mind wrapped itself around several options, none of them feasible. He was trapped. He could even see the falcon up there, circling, waiting for his death. He refused to give them the satisfaction of dancing around his corpse with glee. He could deny them that much at least.

Tor prepared to unleash the Colours and finally kill his enemy, but he faltered as a vision of Jhon Gynt suddenly entered his mind. He recalled how his father had abhorred all violence and had raised his son to show compassion to others.

‘Killing is not my place,’ Tor said, hesitantly.

‘Then I’ll do it,’ Saxon said, pushing past him. ‘And I’ll enjoy it. I’ll crush the last breath from him with my bare hands.’

Goth laughed and the girlish sound incensed Saxon. The man was remorseless. Even when facing obvious death, he did not plea for mercy. He simply laughed at them.

Then, to the disbelief of them both, Goth leaped off the crag into the roaring torrent of water. ‘Give my love to Alyssa!’ he called and was gone. They could hear him howling, as if with joy, as he descended.

‘No!’ Tor yelled but it was too late; the man had disappeared from sight.

He and Saxon ran to the edge and looked over. It was high and Saxon felt momentarily dizzy. The height did not bother Tor. He stared intently at the churning waters below. How deep was it? Could Goth survive this? It was a mighty drop.

They watched and waited for any sign of his body to float up. Tor’s keen eyes looked further down the rushing river, roving across the scenery below for any movement, any sign at all that Goth lived. There was nothing.

‘What do you think’ Saxon asked, finally.

‘I think I should not have hesitated,’ Tor replied angrily, turning away.

‘You think he could survive that? He’s dead, Tor. By your hand or not, it no longer matters.’

Tor did not share Saxon’s optimism. He cast to the falcon. Cloot, can you fly over and see if there’s any sign.

The falcon silently obeyed.

‘Goth seems to survive all adversity which comes his way,’ Tor said to Saxon. ‘I should have dealt with him the minute we arrived. He stood there and laughed at us and still I hesitated.’

It was true. Saxon could offer no consolation. Instead he spat on the ground in his unique Kloek way. ‘I haven’t formally welcomed you back from the dead yet, Tor.’

Tor felt awkward. ‘It’s…er…it’s good to be back, Saxon.’ He felt the familiar bearlike hug of the Kloek and returned the affection.

Cloot swooped down and landed on the crag. ‘Hello, old friend,’ Saxon said. ‘I’ve travelled a long way to see you again.’

The falcon flew to sit on Saxon’s shoulder, which brought the Kloek enormous satisfaction, whilst he gave Tor the bad news. Nothing down the river that I can see. But there’s pandemonium still at the picnic site, Tor. I think you should make plans to get away from here as quickly as possible. Accusations will soon begin to find their way to you.

Tor nodded. ‘How long has it been?’ he said to Saxon.

‘Since I left Tallinor, you mean? I set off the day after Queen Nyria died.’ Then he looked mortified. ‘Oh, Tor, I’m sorry. Had you heard this news?’

‘And far worse,’ Tor said, his face grim. ‘Do you know about Alyssa?’

Saxon had never imagined he would ever have to consider Tor and Alyssa in the same sentence again. ‘Know about her? Yes, she is safe; running her school at the palace and keeping up her duties to the sovereign, though I left her grieving for Nyria. Why? Is something wrong?’

Tor smiled ruefully. ‘Well, she’s certainly kept up her duty to the King in your absence.’

Saxon shook his head. ‘What am I missing here, Tor? What’s happened to Alyssa? And how could you know of it before I do?’

Tor sighed. ‘Whilst you were travelling here, Alyssa became Queen of Tallinor. Sylven told me this morning after receiving formal notification between the realms.’

Saxon looked dumbstruck. It was obvious Alyssa’s Paladin had not known of a relationship between Lorys and Alyssa, Tor decided.

The Kloek shook his head. ‘There must be some mistake. Alyssa and Lorys? No. She’s been working with him, and the last time we spoke she mentioned that she had finally begun to look forward rather then dwelling on the past. Your death…’ He cleared his throat, embarrassed. ‘Your death was a terrible shock for all of us, Tor. Alyssa was lost for many years; she only began to come out of that grief and anger when Gyl came along.’

‘Gyl?’

Saxon shook his head. ‘So much to tell you. Gyl is an orphan whom the Queen took under her wing some years back. She put him in the care of Alyssa. It was as good for Alyssa as it was for the child—as you can imagine…since losing her own son,’ he said, haltingly.

Tor said nothing; his face betrayed no emotion.

Saxon continued, keen to fill the awkward pause. ‘Nyria asked her to form a school. Alyssa excelled with her teaching of the children and in her work for the Queen. And then, after a year or so, the King’s private secretary died and Nyria thought it would be a good idea if she gave him Alyssa.’ His last few words sounded ill chosen even to his ear.

‘And she accepted?’ Tor couldn’t believe it.

‘She fought it, Tor. Fought it hard. I have not been around the palace as much these last few years, but I know she was terribly unhappy about this new turn of events. She has done so well though. You would be proud of how she has really made something of her life at the palace. And everyone loves her.’

‘Including Lorys, obviously,’ Tor said with disgust.

‘I know nothing of this. As I said, the last time we spoke was when I returned from Caradoon to tell her about Goth and how I had seen Cloot again. All she said was that she was trying hard to bury the hatred and move on. You were dead. It took so much of her energy to continue to hate Lorys. What was the point?’

‘No point at all,’ Tor agreed, standing. ‘I just can’t imagine how she made the leap from “I must try not to hate him” to “I want to marry you, Lorys.”’

Tor walked back to the edge of the rock and looked again into the raging waters, ostensibly to see if Goth’s body had surfaced, but in reality to turn away from the pain of his last sentence.

Saxon joined him. He put his arm on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Don’t be too hard on her, Tor. You can’t begin to imagine how much she suffered at your expense.’

It was true and Tor knew it.

‘How long afterwards was it?’ he heard Saxon ask.

He knew what Saxon meant but chose not to understand. ‘What do you mean?’

‘After the execution. How long was it before you returned?’

Tor felt again the full weight of despair and guilt he had suffered for so many years since that day he had reopened his eyes in the Heartwood.

‘Almost immediately, Sax. Come, we must move fast—we must get back to the Heartwood. And I have a long story to tell you as we travel.’