Tor was worried, but more about what Merkhud would say to him showcasing his talents than about
how much fun the Inquisitors would have if a powerful sentient were revealed to them.
Cloot’s calm, confident manner reassured him.
Cyrus is part of the puzzle somehow, Tor. I feel he’s safe to trust.
Tor looked over now at the huddle of men who were watching him and the falcon with frightened eyes. The empowered boy with the mad-eyed bird sitting on his shoulder. Tor could imagine the stories—it almost made him smile. There was nothing for it: he would have to try. He crouched in the shadows beneath a large tree.
Well, come on then
, Cloot called impatiently from a few branches above.
Light! Give me a chance, I don’t know what I’m doing, you mad bird.
For some reason, calling Cloot a mad bird made both of them convulse with laughter and it was several moments before Tor reached any level of composure. He looked at the startled men, who were now fully convinced that not only was he dangerous but insane too, as was the violent bird hopping around in the branches close by.
Just trust yourself
, Cloot whispered.
Tor remembered Alyssa’s words again, closed his eyes and reached out to the forest, which smiled its own encouragement. Then he focused sharply on the men, weaving a potent enchantment. When he finally opened his own eyes, theirs were closed and they were all slumped in sleep.
What happened?
That’s it. One minute awake and terrified. The next, asleep. Do you think it worked?
Cloot dropped alongside Tor.
Tor stood.
Let’s see.
He walked to the men and nudged them awake with his boot. They were groggy but the fear had gone out of their eyes.
‘Goron, isn’t it?’ Tor said.
‘So what if it is?’ the huge man answered, pulling at his bonds. ‘Where’s Corlin?’
‘Dead.’
The conspirators appeared genuinely shocked.
‘Who killed him?’
‘Cyrus.’
‘Impossible,’ the man called Fyster said, shaking invisible cobwebs from his mind. ‘He was nailed to the trees.’
‘Well, he did it. And you fellows will be standing before the King’s justice soon for the execution of his four soldiers,’ Tor replied, deflecting their thoughts from Cyrus to their own necks. They groaned as one.
‘What possessed you men to do this?’ Tor was determined to know.
‘Money,’ Fyster said flatly. ‘Corlin paid each of us handsomely. Half in Hatten, half when the job was done—not that we knew what the job was. He gave us barrels of ale and kept us drunk most of the time. The only time we were sober was when we ambushed the Company, and that was easy because they were drugged. He killed the watches, not us.’ Fyster shook his head sadly.
‘And what about the Heartwood, were you not afraid to enter it?’ Tor said.
The man who was called Chirren piped up. ‘Oh, we were, but the money talked us into it and he gave us some confection to drink which he said would dull any panic. Tasted horrible but it worked. We drank it twice a day.’ He was the youngest of the gang and eager to tell the tale.
Tor was intrigued. ‘Where is this confection?’
‘He kept it in his pack—it’s in a blue bottle,’ Chirren offered happily, ignoring the scowls of the others.
‘We’re going to face the King’s justice for murder, you dope. Why don’t you help him a little more?’ growled Goron.
Tor was already rifling through Corlin’s belongings and soon found the bottle Chirren spoke of. He unstoppered it and recoiled at the smell. It certainly would taste terrible going by its pungency. He would show this to Merkhud.
‘I know you, don’t I?’ asked Goron.
‘I don’t think so,’ Tor said in an offhand manner. He hefted each man to his feet. ‘Now, gentlemen, I want you on your horses and no trouble. If it wasn’t for me arriving to stop the carnage, Prime Cyrus would have run you all through. He was in a blind rage and had the smell of blood in his nose.’
He heard Cloot chuckle sarcastically in his head.
‘So if you want some advice, co-operate and who knows how lenient the King may be when he learns
that although you participated in this heinous crime, none of you killed a man.’
They began agreeing with him. Tor got them up on their horses, which he had already saddled. Though they seemed keen to oblige now he did not trust them for a second, least of all Goron, so he tied each man to the other again so the horses would have to walk in a column. Next, he gently woke Cyrus and asked him if he could sit a horse and travel awhile.
The Prime was surprised to find he had slept, and even more surprised to find himself bandaged and feeling so alive.
‘When I killed Corlin, I thought that was the end of me too, Gynt. It was the very last of my strength.’ He shook his head in disbelief.
‘I thought so too. We just had to pray that if we cleaned and bandaged your wounds you might live long enough for us to get you to Physic Merkhud.’
Tor felt the full weight of the piercing glare which was legend with Cyrus’s men.
‘You lie so badly, Gynt,’ he snorted. ‘And this damn bird that hangs around you like a bad smell…Why do I get the feeling you are covering up some terrible secret?’
Tor felt the hairs rise on his arms.
‘Relax, Tor,’ Cyrus added kindly. ‘I have never been so relieved to see anyone in my life as I was to clap swollen eyes on you today. I am in your debt: the mere fact that I still breathe and will live to avenge the death of my men is because of you.’ He held up
his hand to stop Tor leaping in. ‘No, wait. You must know this. When they were beating me and I sank into the black hole of unconsciousness which seemed my only escape, a woman visited me. She did not tell me her name, and I never actually saw her, but she had a beautiful voice and she calmed me, returning again and again to urge me to hold on. And do you know what she told me to hold on for?’
Tor shook his head.
‘For you, Gynt. She told me you were coming and that you would save me. She said more in this black world we spoke in: she asked me to protect your secrets from all, including those I serve, and to protect you with my life. How’s that for dreaming, Tor? And then you appeared.’
He used Tor to lean on as he stood slowly.
‘Let’s say no more now. It’s all beyond my understanding anyway, other than I hope you have a damn good story for the inevitable army which will be bearing down on this region as we speak.’ He laughed. ‘Saying thank you seems too lame, Tor, so I won’t try to express my gratitude to you and your…er…bird over there.’
‘He’s a peregrine falcon,’ Tor said meekly.
The column set off at a slow pace: Cyrus led on Fleet, with the four prisoners in the middle, and Tor at the back on Bess and leading the extra horse. Cloot flew high above, instructing Tor on how to
navigate their way back through the Heartwood in the direction of Brewis.
The prisoners marvelled at Tor’s sense of direction, but the Prime looked up and saw the superb peregrine falcon flying very high ahead of them. He smiled and called back over his shoulder, ‘I have a very fine Morriet in my rooms, Gynt, which I’ve been saving. I hope you’ll share it with me on our return.’
The forty men of the Shield travelled in silence, their shock at hearing the news of their missing Prime still palpable.
Cyrus had two roles and was revered by his men in both. The first, and most important, was as Prime of the Shield—the small, private army of superior warriors who protected the monarch. The larger army, responsible for the security of the realm, was known as the Company and Cyrus was its head also. In the days of old King Mort there had been a man for each job but today Tallinor lived in peace and Cyrus easily handled both.
Whispered jibes from envious visiting nobles insinuated that Tal’s army would not know a real battle if it came up and bit it on the backside. Yet its
long history, unrivalled fighting capability, its famous Prime and intensely secret ways, made it worthy of respect.
Merkhud rode beside the King as requested. This was not work for a physic but the King needed his support. The physic felt deeply unsettled, not only because of the news of Cyrus—by his reckoning Tor should have presented himself two days ago. It was fortunate he had requested Miss Vylet’s aid, for through her he had learned of the boy’s safe passage into Hatten. She had kept Merkhud abreast of his whereabouts by virtue of her network of agents, but had communicated this morning that Tor had disappeared.
Merkhud had hoped with all his heart to receive word of the boy in Tal when he returned from Wytten, but no message awaited him. The meeting with Marrien, Tor’s disappearance and now the misadventure of Cyrus was too much for one day.
‘I said, old man, are you going deaf on me?’ the King boomed in his ear.
‘Light Lorys! My hearing is just fine, thank you. I was thinking, that’s all.’
‘Well, think on your own time, physic. I’m worried and I brought you along for your counsel, not this melancholy quiet.’
Merkhud remained stiffly silent.
The King continued, ‘Don’t sulk, Merkhud. You’re far too old. I was asking you about the new apprentice.’
‘Due any moment, I imagine, and you and the Queen will be the first people I introduce him to. You have my word.’
It was a courteous dismissal. Merkhud was not in the mood for conversation. Lorys, however, would have said more but one of his men had come abreast to tell him that the second six men would be breaking off here.
‘Good, Norrysh, thank you.’ The King acknowledged the salute and turned back to his friend. ‘Groups of six men are peeling off at each village within ten leagues of Brewis to search for any news. These are heading to Hobb.’
Merkhud nodded. It was only minutes later though, as the main unit rounded a bend, that they saw the dust of the Company ahead. Lorys sighed with relief and picked up the pace so his Shield might meet the column swiftly.
Herek, pale with worry, brought his men to a stop, jumped from his horse and bowed with deep respect to his King.
‘My Liege,’ he said, on his knee now, voice barely steady with emotion. ‘Did my rider reach Tal safely, sire?’
‘He did and delivered his baleful tidings,’ the King replied gently as he eased off his superb white stallion to stand in front of the lieutenant. ‘Be easy, man.’
Herek looked distraught. Lorys became businesslike: anything else and he felt sure Herek would simply collapse from grief. He understood very clearly how
the men felt about their Prime: save himself, no other person in the land had such influence over the soldiers.
‘No further news then, Captain Herek?’ he said.
‘No, your majesty. No sign of Prime Cyrus, and I thought it best to get the Company back to Tal as swiftly as possible.’
‘You made the right decision, Captain—precisely what the Prime would expect of you. Get your men safely back to Tal now, there’s nothing more you can do for Cyrus at the moment. The Shield is searching the immediate area and will search the Kingdom, if necessary, to find him.’ Lorys put his hand on Herek’s sagging shoulder. ‘You and these men need rest and some good food inside you. You’ve been away a sizeable part of the summer and it’s time you went home to your women and families.’
‘May I request permission to join the men of the Shield, my liege?’ Herek pleaded.
The King smiled kindly. ‘Permission denied, Captain. My orders are that you escort these men to Tal and remain there until you receive further direct orders from myself. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, your majesty, forgive me.’
‘Nothing to forgive, Herek. You’re an excellent soldier. Back on your horse, son. The Shield will find him.’
As the column began to move off, Lorys walked slowly down the line. He smiled reassuringly, talking to the men, acknowledging their show of respect. In those few minutes he managed to lift the spirits of all around him and Merkhud had no doubt that the
soldiers fully believed their King would keep his word and find their beloved Prime.
Once back on his own stallion and cantering briskly, Lorys and Merkhud fell into a comfortable silence. The next six men left the main group at the entrance to Chigley and another six followed—they would go on to Perswich, Lorys explained. And so it went, until the King, Merkhud, Norrysh and eight remaining soldiers galloped into Brewis.
‘With your permission, your majesty, we’ll conduct a cursory search of the village and then go on to where the Company camped.’
Norrysh waited out of respect. The King nodded his agreement.
The soldier continued. ‘If Physic Merkhud and yourself would make yourselves comfortable, I’ll have some refreshment brought to you, sire.’
He waited for no answer this time and one of the men disappeared into The Horse and Cart Inn in search of ale to suit a monarch. The remaining soldiers questioned the villagers. Merkhud could see them shaking their heads. He, like Norrysh, felt little hope of any leads from Brewis. Cool ale arrived with a giggling, curtsying serving girl and the two men drank deeply to quench their thirst.
The King wiped his beard. ‘Something on your mind, Merkhud?’
There was no point in hedging, Merkhud decided. ‘I met with the girl today, Lorys.’
‘Oh, and which girl is that?’ the King replied as he lifted his cup to his mouth.
‘The girl from Wytten,’ Merkhud replied flatly.
Lorys swung around, ale forgotten, attention keen on his physic now. ‘She is well?’ His voice was just above a whisper.
‘She is.’
‘The child?’ Lorys put his cup down on the grass for fear his shaking hand might spill the contents.
‘He is very hearty.’ Merkhud knew it was a dagger into the heart of his King.
‘A son.’ Those two words spoke a lifetime of longing. A tragic look swept across the face of the sovereign.
‘Indeed, my lord. He is fit and strong and very well cared for.’ Merkhud was soft of speech, to ensure eavesdropping was impossible. ‘I have taken care of everything and Marrien will be comfortable, as will her boy.’ He stopped abruptly and waited.
‘Well, that’s that then,’ said the King.
‘It is, your majesty. I will not presume to tell you anything further on this matter.’
‘And will you speak with Marrien frequently?’ Lorys sounded embarrassed by his own enquiry.
Merkhud lied. ‘No, Lorys.’ He drained the last of his ale, the despair beside him unbearable.
‘Done,’ came the reply with finality and Merkhud felt relief sweep through him.
He knew the King was as good as his word. Neither Marrien nor their son would be discussed again and the Queen would continue to live in blissful ignorance of this blot on her husband’s
otherwise unblemished fidelity. Norrysh was back and Merkhud was grateful for it.
‘We’ll head on to the camp site now, your majesty—there’s no information of any consequence here.’
The King pulled himself swiftly together. His voice was steady and firm again. ‘As you wish, Norrysh. Lead on.’
The site of the previous night’s camp was barely half a league away, and from it stretched the Heartwood.
‘I know our people fear this place, Merkhud, but I, strangely, always feel reassured by it,’ Lorys said climbing down from his horse.
The horse shook its head and, trailing its reins, drifted off to graze, not too close to the fringe of the wood. The other horses followed suit: these were magnificently trained steeds and would rarely wander more than a few paces from their riders. Stygian, Merkhud’s mount, however, was a different beast. He kept his own lofty company and had no reservations about stepping up to and grazing calmly beneath one of the great oaks skirting the wood as soon as Merkhud had climbed down.
‘All right, what are we looking for?’ the physic asked.
‘Cyrus has a supreme soldier’s brain. He may have left us some sort of clue,’ Lorys suggested, shrugging his shoulders. They began a meticulous search of the area but, as particular as they were, they all felt it was a hopeless, almost desperate measure. It was just as Merkhud was about to give up his part in this hollow activity that he thought he heard voices.
‘Sssh!’ he called to the group. No one else had heard anything out of the ordinary and they looked up alarmed. Merkhud cast out widely. Voices, definitely voices. Everyone was staring at him expectantly. ‘I hear people coming,’ he warned.
The soldiers drew their swords and reached for their horses’ reins; the King followed their lead. Lorys became indignant as they all strained to hear whatever it was that Merkhud had.
‘Can’t hear anything but the birds, old man. Why are you startling us?’
‘Because there is a small group approaching. I jest not, my King,’ Merkhud snarled in a whisper.
‘From where? I hear nothing.’ It was Norrysh, calm as ever.
‘From the wood. Trust me.’
‘Our own?’ suggested Lorys.
‘No, your majesty, Shield men would not approach from within the Heartwood,’ Norrysh said.
As the unit began to feel edgy with anticipation, Prime Cyrus emerged from the dark copse of trees at their left, blinking his eyes in the afternoon sun. Behind him came four horses with sagging riders who were gagged and bound. To Merkhud’s astonishment, Torkyn Gynt appeared last, looking quite ridiculous with a falcon sitting atop one shoulder.
‘The Light strike me down!’ was all Merkhud could say but his exclamation was drowned amongst yells of happy disbelief from his companions.
If Merkhud was shocked to see his new apprentice, it was small in comparison to Tor’s alarm at recognising the familiar figure in black.
Oh, bollocks!
he muttered across the mindlink as the column stopped.
Cloot spied the old man.
Merkhud?
The one and only
, Tor replied as he saw Cyrus lift his hand to wave.
And the others?
Your guess is as good as mine.
Cloot’s voice dropped its humour.
A word of caution, my friend.
Make it quick, Cloot—I’m working on my dazzling excuse as to what I’m doing here.
Don’t tell anyone, especially the old man, about me.
The bird became silent and still.
What? Why?
Cloot did not answer. Instead he leapt from Tor’s shoulder into the air.
A man with a closely shaved beard and fine clothes was upon them, dragging Cyrus down from his horse. Tor climbed down from his and watched the bird fly to the safety of the trees.
Don’t leave me again Cloot,
Tor cried across the link
.
I’m not far. Heed my warning. I must remain anonymous.
Tor turned and stared into the eyes of a grim-faced Merkhud who had caught up with the younger men. They were shaking fists with their captain—as was the Shield’s way—relief mixed with confusion written across their faces.
‘Light, man! I thought I’d never see your face again,’ Tor heard the well-clothed leader say to the Prime.
He was speechless when Cyrus replied, ‘My liege,’ and tried to drop to one tired knee. Tor avoided Merkhud’s icy stare and instead watched the man Cyrus addressed pull the protesting Prime to his feet.
‘My King…there is so much to tell.’
‘Later, Cyrus. These men?’ asked the King, his chin jutting towards Goron and his companions.
‘Scum, sire. Awaiting your pleasure,’ Cyrus replied with genuine relish.
Norrysh and his men were pulling the four captives down from their horses. ‘On your knees in front of your King!’
The prisoners looked terrified. The effects of the drug which Corlin had plied so plentifully had deserted them. Now they faced the reality of their deeds. They began jabbering their excuses as one.
‘Take them away,’ Norrysh ordered. ‘We can hear their story after they have enjoyed the hospitality of the dungeon.’
Merkhud was still to utter a single word. Tor plucked up the courage to look at him again, keeping his expression contrite and full of appeal.
‘Did I, perchance, see a bird of prey sitting on your shoulder?’ the old man finally asked.
‘Er…yes, sir,’ Tor replied.
‘I see. And what do you call your pet hawk?’
Tor wanted to explain that Cloot was a falcon but held his words. ‘He is named Cloot.’
The old man flinched; he looked as though Tor had just slapped him. ‘Did you say Cloot?’ He seemed genuinely startled.
‘Yes, er…he took off towards the woods when all of you approached.’
‘Who named him?’ the old man asked urgently.
Tor couldn’t understand the interrogation over a name but recalled Cloot’s warning. ‘Well, ah…my mother used to sing a humorous song to me when I was very small about a character called Cloot. I took it from that song.’ He hoped the lie had worked.
Merkhud held his eyes for a long pause then nodded.
‘Lorys, may I—with no small amount of astonishment—present Torkyn Gynt, my new apprentice? Torkyn, your King,’ he offered in a tight voice.
Tor bowed deeply as he had seen the others do and then dropped to one knee. ‘Your majesty.’
‘Hell’s fire! How many more surprises today? The long-awaited Gynt, eh? And you two obviously know one another?’ the King said, looking between the bowed boy and Cyrus.
‘Why, yes, my King,’ Cyrus replied. ‘Without Torkyn Gynt my blood would be warming the grasses in the Heartwood.’