That was an error; he saw Tor’s body stiffen. He poked his bony finger at him. ‘And I forbid you further freedom to disappear into the brothels of our city. You will never again arrive late for your Palace rounds because you will not leave the Palace without my sanction. I forbid you to flaunt your skills and I forbid you to disobey me again.’
Merkhud knew as he looked into those disarming blue eyes that he had made a terrible mistake. The voice that spoke back to him was so cold it chilled the old man’s blood. It felt as if icy water was running through his veins.
‘You will not forbid me anything, ever again.’
Tor looked ten leagues tall and ten years older. His expression matched his voice. ‘I take my leave, sir.’
‘I won’t allow it!’ Merkhud spluttered.
Tor’s words fell like ice splinters. ‘And how will you stop me, old man?’
‘I’ll have you put under guard if necessary.’ Merkhud knew this was a ridiculous threat but he was clutching at fragile threads of authority. Tor was beyond him now. He had pushed the boy too far. He should never have mentioned the girl.
Tor’s finger twitched and he became invisible. A link opened in Merkhud’s mind and Tor whispered,
How will they find me?
Merkhud was shocked at the ease with which Tor performed a trick most wizards could not achieve in several lifetimes. He had not realised Tor had reached
such a level of competence. He composed himself quickly. ‘I can sense you, Tor. You forget, I am sentient too.’
But not this good, I fear,
said Tor, more unkindly than he meant. He shielded his presence with a magic Merkhud had never felt before; it sent a new wave of terror through him. Merkhud reached out with his powers but could no longer sense his apprentice. He scanned, confused and angry. This was not right. Merkhud knew he was the most powerful sentient alive in the land today. He had never doubted it for his magic had been deepened further by the gods. Yet his apprentice was making a fool of him.
Tor reappeared. He had surprised himself too; that was a wild trick he had tried for the first time in that moment and it had worked. He turned and made to leave.
Merkhud stretched out a trembling hand and grabbed his arm. This latest performance had shaken him to the very core. He must not lose the boy completely or the Trinity would be doomed to fail.
His voice sounded ancient. It was heavy with despair. ‘Tor, I…please…I’m sorry. I have no place talking to you like that. Forgive me, son, I’m so frightened for you.’
Tor turned back. He hated what he had done to the old man. He remembered what Alyssa used to say to him:
Showing off will always bring you grief
. His expression softened and he covered Merkhud’s hand with his own. Gone was the bitter chill; his voice was as gentle as soft summer rain now.
‘Merkhud, I love you but I must leave here now. I must find out more about who I am and what my purpose is. You’ve given me a privileged life but my heart tells me this is not what my life is about. I know you keep secrets from me. Why do I sense that you have a purpose for me; that it was no accident you found me?’
Merkhud had to stop himself from crying out. The boy must not know yet. It was not the right time.
Tor continued, his brow creasing into a frown as he searched his thoughts. ‘It’s been niggling me for as long as I can remember and I have only just put it into words, Merkhud. It’s as though you had been searching for me and then you found me. You took me from my parents—perhaps you even took away Alyssa—and you brought me here and made me a clever physic. But you have more in mind for me, don’t you?’
Merkhud pulled away from Tor’s hand. He dug his own nails into the arms he now crossed firmly and defensively in front of himself. He must not tell Tor anything…not yet.
‘You have a very high opinion of yourself, boy, if you think my life has been spent looking for you.’ His voice sounded hollow.
‘Then why have you never taken an apprentice before?’
‘I have not needed one before. Death is not far away from me now, I fear. The years have caught up with me and it is time to train a successor.’
Tor considered this. It was plausible. ‘Alyssa?’
‘What of her?’
‘Where is she?’
‘Why do you think I know?’ Merkhud said, avoiding Tor’s gaze.
‘Do you?’
‘No,’ he lied, offering no further explanation.
Tor stared hard at him. ‘Well,’ he said matter of factly, ‘it doesn’t change my decision. I am leaving here…today.’
‘But why?’
‘Because of this, Merkhud,’ he said, waving his hand slowly around the room. ‘This is not what I am meant to do. I know this now. I’m good at it because you are a good teacher. You say I have a high opinion of myself—that is not true. I have doubted myself and my abilities for too long. I have not trusted my powers; I have been scared of them for too many years of my life. I need to know what my destiny is now—and there
is
a destiny. I feel it.’
There, it was out and said, Tor thought with a sense of relief. He had finally admitted what had been gnawing at his mind for so long. He had crystallised the thought at last: destiny.
Merkhud sat down. He felt dizzy with fear and his mind raced towards controlling whatever damage had been created by this conversation. He needed time to think, to plot, but he did not have it. Tor was preparing to walk away. To walk away from all of Merkhud’s carefully laid plans.
‘Tor, would you fetch me a drink of wine, please?’ he asked.
Tor snapped out of his thoughts and realised how fragile Merkhud looked. He disappeared into the back room. It bought Merkhud a little precious time. His agile mind raced. An idea bloomed and he poked at it tentatively. It could work, he told himself.
A cup was held out to him and he drank unsteadily. This unnerved Tor who asked him if he could do anything else for him.
A chance. Grab it!
‘I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, I realise,’ said Merkhud, adding a tremble to his voice. ‘I think I must be faint with hunger…all this anxiety is taking its toll on an old man.’ He allowed his hands to shake too.
Tor felt like the young apprentice again, leaping to his master’s whim. He adored Merkhud and though he knew this was his time to seize now, his moment to define himself and choose his own path, he worried about the old man.
‘Can I go to the kitchens and fetch you something?’
‘Yes, my boy. I’m sorry but I will have to ask you to get me a small bowl of Cook’s soup, or whatever is going.’
Tor left. As soon as the door closed Merkhud was on his feet and pacing, tossing over and over in his mind the plan which was beginning to take shape. He opened a link and shielded it expertly. The acknowledgement was immediate.
Things are happening faster than we expected. The boy leaves today.
What? Are you going mad, old man?
Not yet, my love,
he said softly in her head.
How is she?
She is a wonderful child. A woman these days,
came the reply, full of warmth and fondness.
What can I tell you? She studies hard. She’s capable, talented, very beautiful. Keeps to herself. She has one special friend, another student.
Can we make this work do you think?
Merkhud asked. For the first time she heard him uncertain.
Of course.
She forced herself to sound confident but she had always taken her lead from him. It was unnerving to hear him confused about this terrible journey they had been on for so long.
We are in the hands of the gods now.
He shivered as her words came into his mind.
I suppose you’re right. What about the Kloek?
Same as before. Devoted.
Will that be a problem?
I won’t let it be one,
she said defiantly.
We’ve come too far now.
Merkhud could hear Tor’s tread on the stairs.
I must go, my love. We’ll talk again later.
He closed the link as Tor opened the door. He was carrying a tray with a bowl loosely covered by muslin. What Merkhud didn’t expect was Cook herself bursting in behind Tor.
‘Now what goes on here, old man?’ she boomed.
Cook’s answer to everything from a runny nose to aching limbs was food. She had a dish, she said, to ease every ailment in the land and most people,
including Merkhud, could not help but believe her. Her chicken soup was legendary in the Palace and he could smell its delicious aroma right now as Tor placed the tray on the table. The bowl steamed through the muslin and the tantalising smell of fresh bread combined with it to make a heavenly brew. Cook, the only person who could get away with such treatment, began to berate Merkhud.
‘Get this down you, you silly old fool, and if I catch you skipping my meals again I’ll beat your bony body myself.’ She thrust a napkin into his lap before gathering up her skirts and huffing back out of the doors.
They could hear her laboured breathing going down the narrow stone stairs. Tor laughed. Merkhud had to stifle one as well.
‘Remind you of anyone, Tor?’
‘My mother!’
‘She’s wonderful, isn’t she?’ Merkhud said as he heard the tower’s main door slam closed. He imagined Cook striding across the courtyard, slapping at young lads and scattering chickens. ‘What would we do without her?’ he added with reverence.
‘I’d suggest you hurry and eat up, or face her wrath.’
‘Will you stay with me, Tor, whilst I eat? I have something to tell you.’
If Tor had looked at his three stones—those Merkhud had called the Stones of Ordolt—he would have seen them blazing into colour.
This time it was the colours of warning.
Merkhud was not hungry but he had to go through the masquerade of eating like a starving man. Besides, Cook’s chicken soup was not to be sniffed at. Tor joined him at the table and chewed on some dried fruit and nuts he’d grabbed from the kitchen.
‘Have you heard of a place called Ildagarth, Tor?’
‘Yes. The Queen has told me that her tapestries and bed canopy were embroidered by the craftsmen of Ildagarth. I know that it is famed for its artists and artisans.’
‘Very good,’ said Merkhud between mouthfuls. They had resumed teacher and apprentice status. ‘And have you heard of a place within Ildagarth called Caremboche?’
‘No, sir, I haven’t.’
Merkhud swallowed another mouthful of soup and took a bite from the bread. It was delicious.
‘Caremboche is a sort of convent, for want of a better word. Over centuries it has become a haven for women who show the slightest sign of possessing magical powers. It was set up to protect sentient women from the Inquisitors. Of course, most gifted women never make it to those secure, closeted halls. They are butchered by Goth and generations of torturers before him. Those that do, however, are protected from society.
‘They are treated with the highest of respect. It’s curious, Tor. They are no different from any sentient woman in a village but for the fact that Caremboche’s weighty and revered tradition through the ages has
resulted in its inhabitants being honoured like priests. Our own King, who would see a sentient woman bridled, would allow a Caremboche woman to eat at his table.’
‘So why don’t they all run away to this place?’ asked Tor, his interest piqued. He had not known what to expect from Merkhud but this conversation was certainly a surprise.
‘Well, exactly.’ Merkhud nodded. ‘But it’s not that accessible located as it is in the far north-west and many prefer to hide their talent and try to live a normal life with a husband and family rather than live a cloistered existence. Also, over centuries of Inquisitors, such gifts have gradually been bred out of our people. Fewer and fewer show the talent. Now I would say that most sentients possess only the wild magic, not the sort from times past which was passed through generations.’
‘Is that what I have then?’
‘Most probably. Neither of your parents have the power, do they?’ Merkhud looked suddenly aghast; perhaps he had missed this crucial point. But the Gynts had given no evidence of being sentient.
‘No,’ Tor said quickly. As his father had advised, he had never mentioned to Merkhud the tale of how he came to be with Jhon and Ailsa Gynt. He maintained the charade that he was their true son.
‘Then you are simply blessed, Torkyn Gynt.’
They exchanged glances acknowledging this was said with a certain amount of irony. Having magic at one’s disposal was not a blessing in these times.
‘Why are these women given such privilege if they are no different to other sentient women?’
‘Well, they embrace their time at Caremboche almost like a religion. They study, they teach, they practise very advanced herbcraft and pass on this knowledge to our communities and their physics with generosity. They become servants of the land; I can’t think of a better way to put it. They are not permitted to marry, not even permitted carnal knowledge. It’s a great pity, of course, because these are often very young women who flee there to escape persecution. Often they do not realise what they are giving up for their safety.’
‘What would happen if they were caught with a man?’
‘They would be crucified and stoned.’ Merkhud’s voice was harsh. Tor sensed there was a message there.
‘Fairly final then.’ He grinned.
Merkhud did not return it. ‘They have made their choice and must abide by the rules. This is why I began by telling you it was run almost like a convent. In the same way that some women give up their lives to the gods, these women give their lives in service to the land.’
Tor ate the last of the nuts. He nodded slowly. ‘All right, I understand. Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because you and I were meant to be going to Caremboche.’
‘What?’ Tor sat up.
‘Yes, it’s true,’ Merkhud lied. ‘Every ten-year cycle there is a special Festival held at Caremboche. It is a
marvellous event. Usually the royals attend but obviously that is out of the question now. I have been fortunate to be invited every year since I’ve served this family.’ Merkhud smiled as he recalled how long that had actually been.