30
The Tenth Falls

Tor spent the next few weeks enjoying getting to know his children within the cocoon-like atmosphere of the Heartwood. The joy they brought was, at times, overwhelming. On several occasions Lauryn asked him why he was staring; and Gidyon noticed that his father often deliberately sat so near to him that their shoulders touched. He liked it but did not comment, for fear of chasing away his father’s welcome attention.

For Tor, it was a remarkable time. Being able to see these glorious individuals every day made him want to burst into song. One day he did, to everyone’s astonishment. He was happy; truly happy.

Lauryn was already in love with him. A daughter’s love; so precious. He knew this by the way she seemed to delight in every moment of the day she shared with him and by the way she warmly accepted his affections. Tor sensed that this very beautiful daughter of his had felt her lack of parents keenly, and now that she had found family, she was terrified to let go.

Gidyon was different. He had arrived at the Heartwood as a ‘complete’ person; at ease with himself and his loneliness. Tor could see that he had a very good head on his shoulders. The boy was a leader, all right, and the power he commanded seemed to seep out of every pore. If Tor cast around Gidyon, without making actual contact, he could feel that power pulsating within the boy. But Gidyon was not aware of its magnitude. He was also unconscious of his classical good looks. His unassuming manner would stand him in good stead, Tor was sure of it.

The children enjoyed those carefree weeks hosted by the Heartwood, while Tor, Saxon and Cloot were reminded of those wonderful days with Alyssa after the escape from Caremboche. This time, however, they knew their days here were numbered, but for now it was a time of peace and of learning for the children.

Gidyon and Lauryn had much to catch up on about the story of their parents. Their memories of their childhood had gone now; even Lauryn’s recall had dimmed to nothing of ‘before Tallinor’, as she described it. Neither seemed particularly troubled by this, though both suffered grief over Sorrel’s death, especially Lauryn who had shared those first few days after their arrival with the old lady.

At Cloot’s wise bidding, Tor began to inform the children in much greater detail about his past, their mother’s past and what he knew of this strange journey he was destined to make. Saxon disappeared for a few days’ foraging in the forest and Tor took advantage of this time to educate Gidyon and Lauryn.

This particular day, over a leisurely picnic, he picked up the threads of his story with the intention of finishing it. He spared them no detail and included all he could remember of his dreams about Orlac. If he thought the tale of Cloot’s shapechanging had created intense curiosity, he was not at all ready for the barrage of enquiry which followed his telling of his more recent adventures. He brought them up to date, finishing with his journey back to the Heartwood, where he had come to await their own arrival.

Gidyon shook his head in disbelief. ‘And our mother is now Queen of this realm?’

‘As I am given to understand,’ Tor replied.

Lauryn wasted no time in hitting to the heart of the matter. ‘And how do you feel about that?’

Tor took a breath. He had promised them nothing but honesty at the outset. ‘Devastation. Anger. Pain. Heartbreak.’ He sighed. ‘Perhaps understanding…I hope,’ he added and smiled, a little embarrassed. That wound still felt very raw.

‘There could be a mistake,’ Gidyon offered hopefully.

Tor shook his head. ‘No, son. I read the official notice; saw the royal seal which I know all too well. And your mother is disarmingly beautiful—like her daughter here.’

Lauryn wanted to pinch herself. She still could not believe anyone, even a biased parent, could say such a thing.

‘Any King would fall in love with her,’ Tor added very quietly.

Lauryn switched subjects quickly. ‘What about Goth?’ she demanded. ‘What kind of threat is he to her, or to us?’

Tor took a sip of the sweet wine he held in a clay cup. ‘Of this I am not sure. What I am sure of is that he will go to ground for a while. He will re-emerge to do more damage but I shall be looking for him this time. Your mother has been warned and is safe.’

‘Father…’ Gidyon said tentatively, ‘in all this time, we have not yet talked about this Trinity you speak of and how Lauryn and I fit into the story.’

Tor nodded. ‘You are right. I have not discussed it because I do not know what to tell you. I don’t even know if you do fit into this terrible web being weaved about us; I am assuming you must.

‘The Trinity eludes me, as it eluded Merkhud. But it is the only weapon with which we can fight Orlac and I have to keep searching for it—or all the suffering will have been worthless.’

‘Could it be us?’ Lauryn asked. The two men looked at her. ‘I mean, the three of us, now that we are reunited?’

‘Possibly,’ Tor conceded. ‘That was certainly my first notion. And yet I feel there would be a sign; an indication from the Heartwood, or even from Lys, to tell me that the Trinity is complete. But so far there has been nothing. It just doesn’t feel right for it to be us.’

‘What is your plan? Where will you continue looking?’ said Gidyon.

‘Well, first things first. I wanted you both to have this quiet time in the Heartwood. But soon we must move on to Tal. It is time we met with your mother.’

He looked unsure and Lauryn read his hesitation. ‘How do you think she will receive this news?’

Tor grinned sadly. ‘Your mother’s wrath scares me more than Orlac’s.’

The children smiled, but they knew there was probably some truth to their father’s words, having got to know the feisty Alyssa through both Tor and Saxon’s recollections.

He continued. ‘I don’t know, Lauryn. You must remember that your mother birthed you amidst great trauma and, above all, confusion. She had no idea that you had even been born. Worse still, she believes Gidyon to be dead; she saw what she was led to believe was his corpse. Can you imagine the pain of that?

‘And now, seeing her dead son alive after all these years, then learning that she was tricked into believing only one child had been born, and discovering that I knew of you both and allowed you to be sent away…Just one of these lies would be enough to send any woman mad. We are about to hit her with all three.’

The children nodded.

‘Finally, I am faced with confessing that I allowed her to watch me die. She loved me as deeply as I still love her and yet I permitted the trickery to take place. She witnessed the brutal execution of the one person she could love whilst she grieved for her dead son. How will she react to see me standing in front of her, when she realises I lied to her and betrayed her?’

Tor saw the dread and concern in their faces and tried to lighten the mood. ‘I suggest we all wear armour!’

It won the smiles he wanted but he could see they were uncertain. ‘Her anger will be directed at me, not you. She will be shocked to learn of your existence, but she will love you. I give you my word. You are her flesh.’

‘We are your flesh too,’ Lauryn cautioned. ‘I will stand by you, Father.’

Tor felt a surge of love for this proud child. She would need that courage for what they still had to face. He wished that Lys would come to him. She had been absent for a long time now and he wondered at how much time they had left. He knew it would be short and he must use it wisely in training the children.

As Merkhud had taught him, so he would now teach them. Gidyon’s power was vast but it was not under his control nor could he summon it easily. That must be righted. Lauryn, he sensed, would wield her power with subtlety but she must judge what to use and when.

He decided to spend another Eighthday in the Heartwood before beginning the journey to Tal. This would give him time to teach the children more about wielding the Power Arts. It would also give him time to gather the courage he knew he would need to face Alyssa once again.

While her children talked about her with their father, the Queen of Tallinor was tasting the custard which would grace that night’s sweet course at the banquet which the King was throwing in her honour. It was her Name Day and when she had shyly admitted it several days previous, the King had insisted they put on a feast and a show for the city of Tal.

‘Such extravagance, Lorys. Really, it is not necessary,’ she had admonished, desperately wishing she had never confessed.

‘Tush, my love. It is my pleasure to spoil you. I will hear no more against it and will leave it with your good self to plan with Cook. There must be plentiful food on stalls for all who care to come to the palace to pay their respects. And there will be wine and music and songsters. Sallementro can write a special song for you, Alyssa.’

‘Another one?’ she said, a groan evident behind her words.

‘Any amount of them would not do you justice. I see the Maglieri Chorus is in Tal—a more beautiful group of voices I cannot imagine. They must sing for our people in a free concert.’

Lorys continued to outline his spontaneous plans but Alyssa had already stopped listening, knowing already that she would have to suffer another of the King’s balcony scenes. She was only just recovering from the last one, on the day of their marriage, when it had seemed as though thousands of Tallinese had squashed into the main castle courtyard to celebrate their union. She had not enjoyed the experience.

Standing on that particular balcony had brought back the nightmare of Tor’s execution all those years ago. It had shocked her that these memories could still affect her so profoundly and she had needed to steady herself on the King’s arm whilst she pushed the rush of visions away.

That grisly scene aside, Lorys might enjoy the attentions of his genuinely adoring people but Alyssa still felt very awkward about being called Queen. She and Lorys had been married almost three moons now but she could not shake the notion that she was an impostor. Lorys simply laughed and kissed her to stop her talking when she broached the subject; but Nyria’s perfume still permeated the chambers Alyssa had been given and that was how fresh the older woman’s memory was in Alyssa’s mind.

‘Well, dab some of your own around,’ Lorys had suggested. He was no help in this situation. He was so enamoured of his new wife that none of her gentle protestations had any effect whatsoever.

It made Alyssa nervous that the Tallinese had accepted her so readily after loving Nyria for so long. It was old Koryn, the King’s manservant, who had commented quietly to her that the Tallinese memory was long.

‘They have never forgotten that courageous young woman who proudly watched her lover die the worst of deaths. The people never held you to blame, my lady. They suffered with you at the thought of what that terrible Goth had visited on you and their hearts bled with you when Physic Gynt died.’

She had cried when he said this to her. ‘Thank you, Koryn,’ she had whispered, ever grateful for his wise and timely counsel.

‘Let them love you, your highness. You are a wonderful partner for the King. They can see this. And you embrace all that is good about Tallinor: grace, elegance, a love of the village, a respect for its people, its creatures. You have opened five schools already, my lady. It won’t stop there. The education of our young minds is the future, and yet you also hold close to the past with your knowledge of herblore and even your mark as one of the Academie. You are truly a fine ambassador for our Land,’ Koryn had added.

The old servant had died only two days later and it was Alyssa who had grieved the hardest. His insightful words still echoed in her mind. She needed to trust his judgement—and her own ideas of how the new Queen of Tallinor should win the respect of her people.

She may dress in stunning robes, sleep between silk sheets and be bathed and groomed by a myriad of servants, but she was still, in her heart, Alyssandra Qyn of Mallee Marsh. Her closest staff begged her to be more lavish and to command them to do her bidding rather than politely request it, but such behaviour was not to Alyssa’s liking.

Nyria had earned her respect over a lifetime and, although it might have sounded to others as though she commanded, that was just her aristocratic manner. And working so closely with Lorys as his assistant, Alyssa had learned that though he was King by right, he never behaved as though that right came to him unearned. Lorys believed that the sovereign must earn the respect of his people through action.

No, if Alyssa had to be Queen, then she would rule alongside her King in the only way she could. Her own way.

Which was why she was in the kitchens with Cook right now, her sleeves rolled up and her face gleaming from the efforts of crafting the perfect custard.

‘How’s this?’ she asked, dipping a wooden spatula into the mixture and holding it out.

Cook loved Alyssa. They enjoyed a special relationship in which familiarity was important to both.

‘Well, I can hardly tell my Queen I hate it, can I?’

‘Speak plainly,’ Alyssa said, grinning. ‘I defy you to find fault.’

Cook tasted the fluffy yellow blob on offer. ‘Well, well…it is delicious, your majesty.’

Alyssa clapped her hands. ‘You mean it?’

‘I do,’ Cook replied, genuinely impressed. ‘Now, turn it out into that fresh bowl—Jos will help you lift it—and let it cool for tonight. You learn fast, your highness.’

‘I enjoyed doing this,’ Alyssa said, wiping the back of her hand against her forehead.

Cook put her own spoon down firmly. ‘I know. But you can’t keep hiding down here. You belong upstairs. And it’s time you headed to your chambers and prepared for tonight. You have to look wonderful, not all red and sweaty. Come on—away with you, my pretty Queen, or I’ll be in trouble with the King.’

Alyssa pulled a face. She wished she could hide down here in the kitchens. But Cook was right: she had to prepare herself for the evening’s festivities. It was not that she was ungrateful for the people’s attentions—she felt honoured and humbled by it all—but she also felt it was undeserved.

She wiped her hands clean and hurried back to her chambers, where she met Gyl coming the other way.

‘Were you waiting for me?’ she asked, surprised.

He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Mother, no one seemed to know where you might be. Is this normal for the Queen of Tallinor? Is it also usual for her to walk around the palace covered in…what is that? Flour?’

‘Oh, stop fussing. Come back and share a cool ale with me.’

‘Ale!’ He burst out laughing.

She winked. ‘Don’t tell the King I’ve developed a passion for Tallinor’s light ale. He’s desperately trying to educate my palate with fine wines.’

‘Our secret, I promise,’ he said and followed her towards her suite of rooms.

Inside, she made him sit whilst she cleaned herself and ordered her favourite beverage. Gyl never failed to be surprised at her beauty when he studied her. Now, scrubbed and changed out of her working garments and into a soft shift, she looked like a young carefree girl. He knew Alyssa was still a relatively young woman at twenty-five summers; nevertheless, he also knew there were few women in the Kingdom, even those younger than her, who could hold a candle to her incredible looks.

He loved her very much and, although he would never forget the devotion of his beloved birth mother, Alyssa was now the woman he considered his mother. The first time he called her by that name, Alyssa had wept. It had just slipped out that first time but then it had stuck. He knew she loved to hear him call her mother and he cherished the fact that he could. Surprisingly, it had not been hard to think of her as his own parent.

Saxon understood and told Gyl to unburden himself of the guilt of loving another woman as a mother. The Kloek had assured him that the love between a mother and child was the purest of all loves and it mattered not whether they were of the same blood. That Alyssa accepted him as her son, and that he had not struggled to accept her as a mother, was proof enough that they had a special bond. What had helped most was Saxon’s reassurance that his birth mother would feel free of her own burden of guilt for leaving him and could move forward in the spiritual planes and find peace.

‘Anyway, who doesn’t love Alyssa?’ Saxon had laughed and slapped him on the back.

Gyl watched his mother now, curled up on her favourite sofa. That she was Queen seemed impossible to him at times, but the King was clearly lovestruck for his mother. They made a dashingly handsome pair and their laughter rang out often in the palace. They really were so happy and, after the grief following the previous Queen’s death, it had been good for the people to lift their spirits at the sight of Alyssa’s romance blossoming with the King.

‘What time does it all begin tonight?’ he asked, knowing the question would irritate her.

Alyssa pulled a face. ‘At the seventh bell. You know, Gyl, it’s going to take me years to get used to all this.’

‘Nonsense, Mother. You are already most regal.’ He bent to kiss the top of her head. ‘You just don’t know it.’

‘Now you sound just like the King.’

She winced at the truth behind her words. Gyl was increasingly becoming more and more like his father and he would need to know about his background very soon. Their avoidance of the subject was asking for trouble, for the truth would surely come out eventually. Already some canny palace watchers had commented that the Under Prime was spending too much time in the company of his sovereign. Not only does he walk and talk like him, but he even looks like him at times, was one comment Alyssa had overheard. Such remarks bothered Alyssa; not because they were true but because Gyl did not know the truth. He deserved better.

There were undoubtedly petty jealousies around the palace with regard to Gyl’s meteoric rise through the ranks to his position of Under Prime and the fact that such a young man was commanding so many older men. Thank the Light for Herek and his wisdom and guidance. The older soldier was solid and dependable but the best part was that Herek had agreed with the promotion. When she had questioned the Prime, he had surprised her with his candour that Gyl was the only man he would pick from the Legion right now to be groomed for the top job.

‘He’ll have to earn their respect the hard way, your majesty, but he’s got what it takes,’ he had told her. ‘I believe he’ll do the job well.’

‘I hope so, Herek, for his sake.’

‘Trust in him, my lady, as I trust your security to him as Queen’s Champion. It is wise for Gyl to learn young. Should anything happen to me, then—’

Alyssa had refused to let him finish. She liked Herek very much. He was a plainly spoken man who wasted no words on obsequious flattery or superfluous conversation. He was intensely committed to his job and his brevity and seriousness was often misinterpreted. But she knew him to be the kindest of men and one who had cared for her during those early months after Tor’s death. She also remembered how he had shown great compassion for Tor during his execution. Saxon held him in the highest regard too. She would not hear of Herek dying. Gyl would have years to grow into the top job.

The musicians, assembled under Sallementro’s careful eye, played their hearts out for the King and Queen of Tallinor, who, much to all the guests’ delight, generously led the boisterous dances. Sallementro slowed proceedings a little when he sang the special Name Day song he had written for her majesty; although it was a jolly tune with a rousing chorus which everyone quickly learned, Alyssa cried with pleasure at his beautiful lyrics. Now the music was gathering momentum again into a frantic Strip the Willow and the King and Queen had taken to the dance floor once more.

‘Not around again,’ Alyssa begged Lorys.

The King’s laugh thundered around the Great Hall. ‘You had better have bruises on those arms tonight, my beauty, or I shall order this all over again. You know the rules of Strip the Willow. No bruises means you’ve shirked your dance duties.’

‘You are a brute, Lorys,’ Alyssa called to her grinning husband as he mercilessly spun her around once more before letting her go to the next man in line. She made herself feel better by reminding herself that at least the balcony scene was done. The people of Tallinor had come, eaten, drunk, departed and were now making merry elsewhere. She had accepted their cheers and goodwill graciously.

Everyone was exhausted after the effort of Stripping the Willow so yet more mugs of ale and goblets of lightly chilled wine were brought out on huge trays for the royal guests. Gyl, whose men were peppered throughout the city to prevent the happy tavern festivities getting out of control, appeared in the Great Hall and walked over to his mother who was flopped in her chair.

‘Don’t you dare, Gyl,’ she warned.

‘The next dance is mine, your majesty. Surely you would not refuse your son, a simple soldier, in front of all these people?’ he said and bowed low.

‘I hate you both, you know that, don’t you?’ Alyssa said, murderously eyeing both Lorys and Gyl, co-conspirators; their smiles unmistakably born of the same blood.

‘Last one, Alyssa, I promise,’ Lorys whispered. ‘Then I shall rescue you from this scene, take you upstairs and—’

‘Come, Gyl.’ Alyssa cut across Lorys, then whispered in his ear, ‘I am not sure which is more exhausting, my lord, the dancing or thinking about what comes after.’

She stepped down from the dais, glaring at Sallementro who, clearly part of the conspiracy, had whipped up the music into another feisty village jig.

‘Ah, the Dashing Demon. My favourite,’ Gyl said, enjoying his mother’s groan.

‘I shall have Sallementro beheaded for this,’ she replied, as her handsome son twirled her around in a series of nauseating spins. She had always considered this dance unfair on the women, who seemed to do all the spinning and none of the twirling.

At first Alyssa thought she had just spun once too many times, but the dizziness was quickly followed by crushing pain in her head. She must have stopped moving; she could not be sure. Had the music stopped too? Perhaps. Gyl was looking at her, concerned, offering a steadying arm. She could see his lips moving but no sound was reaching her. In fact, there was no sound at all, just a sinister drumming in her ears.

Alyssa, panic rising, searched for Lorys, who was already striding towards them, bewilderment on his face.

And then the drumming in her head stopped and she heard them: sounds which would live in her soul for the rest of her life. The heartwrenching shout of a man, followed by a horrible silence, and then a brief whispering between two men, but she could not make out any of the words. Then a terrible shrieking which tore at her mind; she had a vision of the Heartwood screaming. A far more intense pain hit her and she dropped unconscious into the arms of the King.

Pandemonium broke out in the Great Hall. All music and gaiety was abandoned as the Under Prime blasted orders to servants and pages to find Physic Kelvyn immediately. The King was stunned. He sat on the cool, stone floor of the Hall and shook his head with disbelief. She could not be dead, surely? He looked at Gyl, who shook his head briefly to show he did not know what had happened.

‘Your highness, she breathes,’ he reassured the King. ‘Let us get her to her chambers.’

‘You were both dancing and then she just stopped and went rigid,’ the King whispered.

‘I know. Come, sire, please,’ Gyl urged, aware of all the courtiers, guests and gossip-mongers drinking in the scene. ‘My lord…’ He bent to release Alyssa from Lorys’s grip. ‘Allow me to pick up her majesty so you can escort her to her chambers.’

A shout from the back of the Great Hall broke the spell that seemed to have fallen upon the King. ‘Yes…of course,’ Lorys said and allowed the Under Prime to take the small, light body of his wife into his arms. ‘Lead the way,’ he said.

As they moved off, Lorys looked back to see where the shout had come from. He could just make out the twitching body of Sallementro lying on the ground, surrounded by horrified onlookers.

Gyl had seen the musician too; knew this man was almost as close to his mother as he himself was. He signalled to Caerys, the King’s competent squire. ‘Quickly, Caerys, find some helpers and follow us with Sallementro. They must have both taken some bad wine or something,’ he offered hopefully.

Tor was showing Gidyon how to cast a glamour over himself. Lauryn was laughing. ‘You’re just blurring, Gid. Try harder,’ she said.

‘This is harder,’ he complained.

‘It’s not really difficult once you know how,’ his father encouraged. ‘Just let go inside. Can you see the Colours?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let them swell. Allow them to consume you within but don’t lose control.’

Gidyon was holding his breath in his effort to control the surge of power within.

‘Relax into the power, Gidyon. You control it; not the other way around. Don’t clench your teeth. Breathe.’

Gidyon let out all the air he was holding.

‘Good,’ his father said. ‘Now, go through the steps I’ve taught you…take it slowly.’

He sensed Gidyon cast out superbly and, as he watched, his son changed into an old man. He heard Lauryn squeal with delight that her brother had finally mastered the complex spell and in the same instant felt a monstrous pain thump into his head. He was sitting cross-legged opposite his son; now he fell back, rigid, breathless from the pain.

Gidyon was writhing on the forest floor nearby. Lauryn had both hands to her head and was grimacing in silent agony, her eyes wide and begging her father to stop the pain.

Tor did not want to lose consciousness; he fought it, somehow opening a link to his falcon. Cloot! he screamed.

Themesius! was all he heard before Cloot fell off the branch where he had been perched and joined the other bodies on the soft turf.

Suddenly Tor felt the link slam shut and the most exquisite pain wrenched from his body, which lay contorted on the ground near his children. Now his spirit was soaring; freed from the agony of his body but bewildered—and afraid.

Cloot had called out Themesius’s name. It could only mean that the giant had fallen. Orlac was finally free.

Saxon had felt the blast of pain and the shriek of a man in his head. Immediately he began to run back towards Figgis, now healed and whole again, who had decided to accompany him on this walk through the Heartwood. But Saxon only made a few steps before he collapsed. It was all he could do to drag in enough air to keep breathing. He lay on the ground, fighting the agony, begging for it to pass.

In another part of the Heartwood, Solyana and Arabella were also suffering.

Figgis was admiring an enormous oak, craning back his head to look to its very top, when the pain came. He fell backwards and lay there in an agony greater than that he had ever experienced during his battle with Orlac, but one which he recognised immediately. He wept as he imagined his great friend, Themesius, finally falling to the vengeful young god.