‘Priest, if you please.’ Goth’s cold eyes flickered in the tortured, twitching flesh of his face.
Tor sensibly let it rest and closed the two doors softly behind those departing. He turned back to face Merkhud.
The old man’s voice was soft but accusing. ‘We’ve been searching for you for hours, Tor.’
‘Cloot found me, sir.’
‘A bird? What good is that?’ Merkhud was angry.
More good than you’ll ever know, Tor thought but not unkindly. How could he? He owed this man so much. More than that, he loved him. Merkhud’s agitation was palpable and Tor knew he must tread carefully. He became businesslike to disguise the guilt he was being made to feel.
‘Tell me what we know,’ he said firmly. It got the desired result.
Merkhud sighed. ‘Very little. It’s her heart of course. As you know, it’s fragile. Perhaps Cyrus should tell this. He was there.’
Tor looked towards Cyrus in the shadows. The Prime cleared his throat. He did not move but his voice was clear and he told his tale like a military debriefing.
‘Their majesties had enjoyed an uneventful ride and were on their way home. It was only when they stopped for a draught of wine that the Queen mentioned she felt weak. I believe King Lorys recalls that she used the word “breathless” to him. It passed quickly so we continued on but soon had to stop again. This time it was serious enough that the King listened to my advice. He and the small company we rode with remained with the Queen whilst I sent runners to find either Physic Merkhud or yourself.’ Cyrus fell silent.
Tor looked back at the old man. He was not surprised as much as distressed to hear the old man’s voice shaking whilst he told of his arrival on the scene. He knew Merkhud was extremely fond of the Queen—everyone did—but it was not until this moment that the thought kindled that perhaps the old man was actually a little in love with her. It seemed preposterous and yet, why not? She had been an elegant, engaging and attractive woman. Tor checked himself for thinking about her in the past tense.
He put his hand on Merkhud’s arm. ‘And then?’
Merkhud shook his head. ‘By the time I reached them Nyria had passed out and was beyond my reach. Now she lies here, beautiful and dying.’ He looked away quickly.
‘We won’t let her die, Merkhud…I promise.’
The old man’s voice was thick with emotion as he linked with Tor. He obviously didn’t want Cyrus to hear this exchange.
How can you promise me that, boy? We can’t breathe life into the dead or even the dying.
Tor took a deep breath and gestured at his Queen. ‘May I?’ he said aloud.
The old man nodded. He looked tired and resigned to the inevitable.
We should try anything we can…for the sake of Lorys.
Cyrus reached for the door. ‘Would you prefer me to leave?’
When both physics shook their heads, he let the latch drop silently and returned to the shadows.
‘We’ve lost her, Tor,’ Merkhud said sadly.
‘Allow me a few moments, Merkhud. Here, please…sit down.’
Tor was very respectful. This needed a delicate touch for what he was about to attempt would shock his mentor of the past few years.
Tor bent over Nyria. His hands moved over her body though not touching her; they hovered instead as close as was possible. Tor was lost. Suddenly Merkhud and Cyrus, the people outside, the Palace and all sound disappeared; all he could hear was his body’s senses communicating with Nyria’s.
Merkhud was right. It was her heart. There was a blockage. She would die. Hours at worst; maybe a day or two at best remaining of her life. He could see it all clearly. He could feel the failing pulse struggling to keep a rhythm. He could almost read her thoughts: muddled, frightened, scattered. And then the Colours roared up inside him. They took him completely; bright and pristine, they were so intensely distinct and so sublime when combined. He laid his hot hands against Nyria’s chest.
Merkhud and Cyrus were calling him but Tor did not hear. He heard nothing but Nyria’s body. The Colours passed from him into her; into her heart through his hands. There they weaved themselves about the troubled organ. His own pulse began to slow until it matched Nyria’s weak, irregular pace.
Gradually, so very gradually, Tor’s pulse forced the Queen’s heartbeat to gather momentum. It pulled her, faster, faster and more steady. It was matching him now, beat for beat, push for push. The Colours worked furiously, repairing what nature could not.
As Tor’s body rocked back and forth silently over his Queen, Merkhud watched, fascinated and almost demented by Tor’s defiance. He could not see the Colours which were blazing around the young man but he felt Tor’s power. Felt it like a massive pounding against his own senses. It was mighty and yet he sensed this was still hardly tapping the source.
He was right to have chosen Tor. This young man was the Trinity. How and in what form was still
beyond Merkhud but he was secure that his role was almost over.
He tried talking again to Tor but the man seemingly heard nothing. He touched him and flinched at how hot he was. In all his years Merkhud had never witnessed anything like this.
The voices outside were restless. There was a gentle knock and the King whispered through the door. When Merkhud failed to reply—he struggled to know what to say—the King’s enquiry became more insistent.
Others joined in. The knocking turned to bangs, which turned to thuds and ultimately a determined thumping.
‘Merkhud, what in Light’s name do you do in there, man?’ Lorys asked, despair thick in his voice.
Merkhud felt helpless. Cyrus made to open the door but Merkhud knew Goth must not see this. He shook his head. Thank the Light the Prime was not on the side of the Inquisitors. Merkhud knew the soldier was as dedicated to Tor as Merkhud himself was. The old man never really understood why, could only guess that something must have happened during that time when Cyrus was captured in the Great Forest. He shook his head again. The air was crackling around the room, thick with a potent magic he himself did not understand, and the grumbling voices outside had risen in pitch.
‘Not long now, my King.’ He failed in keeping his voice natural. His words sounded contrived and they saw straight through them.
‘Open up, damn you!’ The King must have kicked the door.
‘Guards!’ It was Goth yelling. His high-pitched voice was laden with menace.
This time they must have put their shoulders to the tall, double doors. Merkhud heard the wood crack, then splinter. It would not take much more to smash them through. Cyrus yelled through the doors to his guards to stop but they had been whipped into a frightened frenzy. A direct order from their King overruled all other commands.
Merkhud opened a link in desperation and threw it hard at Tor to bind them. Suddenly he was suffused in such bright colours that he felt blinded, weakened. He had no idea what this was but he tasted such power as he had tasted only once previously. It so shocked him that he pulled away, slamming the link shut and staggered back to his seat.
As the door finally gave way and guards, followed by Goth and King Lorys, tumbled through the door, Tor lifted his hands away from his Queen. Merkhud sensed the magic dissipate to nothing in the blink of an eye.
‘You bastards!’ Lorys was beyond courtesies, even to his dearest friend and the apprentice he admired.
‘Your highness!’ Cyrus said, cutting off the King’s tirade.
All turned to see the Queen’s eyelids fluttering gently. They opened. Her gaze was as clear and brilliant as they all remembered it to be. A blush of
colour had returned to her cheeks and her face broke into a soft smile.
‘Lorys…my love. What occurs here?’ Her voice was strong. ‘Hello, Cyrus. Merkhud, my old friend? And Tor.’
The guards dropped as one to their knees. The ladies-in-waiting covered their mouths to stop themselves crying out and sank to the ground too. Merkhud pulled himself out of his seat, suddenly exhausted from his long, strange life. Then he too knelt.
‘Welcome back, your majesty,’ he whispered, relief and joy flooding his body. He hated himself for loving Tor for giving her back life and hated himself even more for the fury he felt towards the boy for using his powers so.
Tor collected himself and knelt beside Cyrus who looked at him with intense curiosity. Only Goth flouted protocol and remained on his feet. His face betrayed nothing by its incessant twitching but his darting, angry eyes told plenty about his disgust that this woman was alive. Worse, she looked healthier than ever.
The King hugged her close with the same disbelief that was visible on the faces of all the witnesses present.
Tor was slumped on a seat in Merkhud’s silent rooms. The West Wing of the castle was a lonely place which was how Merkhud liked it. Tor lifted his head from his hands and looked around at the dark
bottles, heavy jars and boxes, each with their own mysterious contents, which lined the shelves along the walls. Competing for space with them were dusty books and weighty tomes relating to ancient herbcraft. He had studied them all, knew their secrets intimately.
Only a small number of people ever ventured into the West Wing and barely a handful had been invited into Merkhud’s private quarters; the King and Queen amongst that privileged few. None of them, however, knew of the other books Merkhud kept hidden. Written centuries previous, these volumes concerned themselves with another sort of craft. The craft of magic and the wielding of the Power Arts.
In his five summers with Merkhud, Tor had viewed these special writings only on rare occasions, such was the old man’s anxiety that anyone should discover the talent he had kept secret for so long.
Tor felt tired. A combination of the night’s activities with Cassandra and then the healing of Queen Nyria had left him weary. A sound at the open window would have startled anyone else but Tor knew it was Cloot. The falcon shook his handsome feathers and fixed his friend with yellow eyes.
Embarrassment twitched at the side of Tor’s mouth.
You’ve heard?
Cloot made a clicking sound before replying. It was his way of showing the irritation that parents reserve for children who keep repeating the same mistakes.
I didn’t have to. I felt it.
Really? I didn’t feel you with me,
Tor said, genuinely surprised.
No? Too busy perhaps. Bringing queens back from death can be demanding, I imagine.
Don’t, Cloot. Not you as well.
What do you think, Tor? Do you reckon that Goth is going to let this pass? The whole Palace is buzzing. Everyone knew she was dying. The King knew it; he’d even begun his grieving. Even the old man had accepted it. Why couldn’t you?
The falcon hopped around the sill in agitation. What Tor had done was miraculous but stupid. How in the name of Light could this be explained away?
Goth’s had you marked for years. Now you’ve given him the excuse he wants to—
To what? Accuse me of magic? What proof will he bring? He has nothing on me—nothing! His stupid orb doesn’t even flicker around me, much as he’d love it to. How many times do I have to tell you and Merkhud—he does not frighten me.
Cloot sighed.
All right. Calm down. I know you are correct in what you say. But you court danger, I fear. He will find some way to hurt you, Tor, I just know it and you had better start to watch your back. How is she anyway?
The Queen?
No, Peggy Weltsit and her ripe carbuncle! Who do you think?
Their laughter halted as Merkhud re-entered the room.
‘Ah, I see the bird has found you again, Tor. He’s quite remarkable at seeking you out.’
Tor had already decided he would not be goaded by Merkhud. He knew the old man would be spoiling for a fight after this morning’s performance. He remained quiet. Cloot knew when he was not wanted and dropped off the ledge to glide gracefully into the woodland at the bottom of the royal gardens.
‘Wretched creature seems to know exactly what we’re talking about,’ Merkhud muttered in exasperation. ‘Here. Drink this.’ He held out a cup.
Tor’s nose wrinkled. ‘What is it?’
‘Do you want the complete recipe or would me saying something to relieve the effects of too little sleep and too much activity suffice?’
Once again Tor ignored the barb. He took the cup and drained it. Nettle, larkspur and a pinch of orris root he ticked off in his head. Merkhud had trained him well.
He put the cup down. ‘Thank you.’
Merkhud sat at his table. ‘Let’s talk.’
When Tor did not respond but chose instead to stare out of the window Merkhud spoke again. ‘Let’s talk about what you did today.’
‘I healed her.’
‘I want to know how.’
‘I don’t know how I do it.’
‘This suggests you’ve done it before. Ah, yes, there was the boy…the one with green fever. I remember now. Was it the same then?’
Tor shifted uncomfortably. ‘Similar.’ He had never mentioned Cloot or Cyrus.
‘And can you breathe life into the dead?’ There was sarcasm in Merkhud’s voice but also a tinge of awe.
‘I have never tried, sir.’
Before Merkhud could respond Tor stood. He wanted to get this confrontation done with.
‘I thought you would be happy. I know how much you love Lorys and Nyria. I thought everyone would be pleased.’
It was not the right move. It gave Merkhud the chance he needed to vent his anger. He seized it.
‘Pleased because they now know we have a warlock in the Palace? Pleased because we can now torture and bridle you and send you off to some work camp in the middle of nowhere to live the rest of your wretched life as a maimed, pathetic outcast?’
Spittle flew from Merkhud’s lips he was so angry. He too stood now and strode around the room, his steps punctuating his angry words.
‘I have forbidden you to use your power on the sick. I have forbidden you to show that power at any time outside of these four walls. Is that not so?’ he bellowed but did not wait for Tor’s response.
‘I have forbidden you to welcome any undue interest from that butcher Goth and his merry band of halfwits. He is just looking for an opportunity to get you, Tor. He hates you. You don’t need magical powers to know that. You could slice up his hate for you and serve it on a plate, it’s so real. And if he can’t get you,
he’ll get to others—those who love you. What about your parents? Your friends? Your damn bird? Alyssa?’