As he sped off down the hill towards the city, Tor threw his mind to Cloot, anxious of what he might find.
You’re awake!
I am now, thank you.
I’ve disturbed you? My apologies.
Not really, there’s a physic here. I gather his name is Freyberg.
Tor stopped.
Is he wondering over the miracle of your recovery?
he asked sheepishly.
No, not at all. We were actually discussing where the fish might be running today.
Tor heard Cloot chuckle deeply in his head and bristled with embarrassment. How was he going to explain this away to Freyberg?
I’ll be there shortly.
And I’ll be waiting
, Cloot said.
In the smallest room at The Empty Goblet, Doctor Freyberg was furious. He banged his monocle into his left eye.
‘And what are you smiling about, Mr Cloot?’ Freyberg demanded, knowing it was a pointless exercise. He probed, with no small wonder, at the healed limbs and once pulpy bruises which had paled almost to nothing.
The patient shook his ugly head and wiped the grin swiftly.
‘Ah, so you can hear?’
Cloot nodded.
‘Well, you have no need of my services any longer. It seems angels paid a visit here last night and did my work for me.’
They could hear someone taking the steps two at a time and moments later Tor clattered into the room, breathing deeply from his efforts. Freyberg snapped his case shut and swung around theatrically.
‘Welcome, Gynt. I have the most extraordinary tale to relate.’
He pushed his hands into his pockets so the boy wouldn’t see them shaking. Freyberg was not sure whether he felt unsteady from the miracle work he had witnessed or from the terror it evoked.
He had been a physic for thirty-three years and, like his father before him, had served Hatten for all of his professional years. Freyberg knew he was good. No, he knew that he was an exceptional doctor and yet, with all his experience and skills, he also knew that nothing was going to save Cloot’s life last night. Now, very much alive and healed, the mute sat before him, and damn him if a dopey grin was not spreading across his ugly face again.
Tor acknowledged the physic with a stiff bow. He looked over at Cloot, saw him sitting up on the bed and could not help but return the huge grin.
‘Doctor Freyberg, I’ll explain everything, I just need to talk to Cloot,’ he muttered as he closed the door. He was at Cloot’s side in two strides and gripped the man’s huge hand tightly.
‘Talk! How do you talk to a mute?’ Freyberg plonked himself into the only chair in the room. He stared angrily out the small window at the marketplace below, listening to the boy’s excited one-sided conversation.
‘I thought you were dead at one point, Cloot. I was so scared.’ Tor felt his eyes filling with hot tears. He’d done it. He had saved the man’s life.
Hush, boy. Don’t dig a deeper hole for yourself
,
Cloot murmured in Tor’s head and nodded slightly towards the doctor. He raised his other hand and tapped Tor’s head lightly.
There is much for me to share with you, but right now I must rest, and you must think of something very impressive to tell the doctor.
He sagged back onto the bed.
Tor let go of the man’s hand first and then his mind. He faced Freyberg, who was snatching nervously at his beard. This was a good man sitting in front of him. He did not want to lie but admitting he was sentient was as good as signing his own death warrant. Merkhud had gone to some pains to point this out before he left.
Do not use your powers on this journey at all. Don’t be tempted to show off. Don’t interfere with anyone or anything. Just mind your own business and get yourself quickly to Tal.
That’s all Merkhud had asked and had Tor done that? No. Goron, Corlin and his thugs, Eryn, Cyrus, Cloot, Doctor Freyberg: six or more lives he had already touched with his magic having barely spent sunrise to sunrise in this city.
Freyberg’s voice cut into his thoughts. ‘There’s absolutely no use trying to dream up a plausible excuse. Just tell me how in the name of Light this man is alive today.’
Tor stood. Cloot’s tired eyes followed him.
‘It was me…I did this.’ Tor’s voice was flat. He was genuinely scared now, for his very life depended on how the doctor felt about the use of the power.
‘You’re sentient.’
It was not a question but Tor answered anyway.
‘Yes. I couldn’t just let him die.’
‘What am I going to do with you now, boy? You realise I’m under royal oath to turn you over to the Inquisitors?’
Freyberg turned angrily towards him. Tor remained silent.
‘Barbarians that they are!’ the doctor spat. ‘And is Physic Merkhud aware of your power, young man?’
Tor hesitated as he stepped onto perilous ground. ‘He is.’ He held his breath.
Cloot pretended to doze. Freyberg twisted his beard in a frenzy of troubled thoughts. The airless room was silent for a long time.
‘Right! If it’s good enough for the famous Merkhud, then who am I to interfere? I really have never appreciated what all the fuss is about the power and if you can do this for a broken man, just think of the good empowered people could do for the Kingdom!’
Dr Freyberg stood and stared hard at Tor. He felt almost sorry for the tall, handsome youth.
‘You mean you won’t be telling anyone about this?’
‘I will not.’
Tor took a step towards the doctor and awkwardly hugged the man his thanks.
Freyberg was solemn. ‘This is a wonderful but dangerous gift you have, son. You’ll have to be far more careful how you use it in future. The next person may not be as impressed as I.’
Tor nodded.
‘I must go, my boy. I have a long day of appointments but I’m worried about how you’ll explain away Mr Cloot’s miraculous recovery.’
‘I really hadn’t thought past trying to save his life but I’ll think of something,’ Tor said, raking his hair with his fingers.
‘Well, think quick, boy. The innkeeper here is a notorious gossip. It will be around this city like wildfire. My best advice is for you to get out of here immediately. Use the cover of night and get as far away from this town as you can.’
Freyberg left soon after and, as Cloot was asleep again, Tor headed downstairs and consumed an enormous breakfast. Whilst the woman laid out his food, she answered his query for directions to the famous Hatten public baths.
Feeling so much better for the food, and chewing on an apple, Tor meandered through the narrow lanes, enjoying the brightly painted colours of the tall walls and the bright washing hung on short poles from shuttered windows. He even kicked an inflated pig’s bladder around with some of the children and, just for a while, forgot he was anything more than a wide-eyed visitor to a big town.
Resuming his walk he continued until he came into a small square which he recognised from the ornate fountain the serving lass had described. He joined a short queue of men dropping coins into the hand of an old and bored-looking attendant, who duly handed them a piece of folded linen.
‘How much?’ Tor asked as he drew level with the attendant.
‘Well, handsome, for a peek at what hangs between your legs, I’ll let you in for free,’ cackled the crone. Tor noticed, with no little revulsion, she had not a tooth in her head. The hoots of laughter around them goaded her on.
‘Or come out the back wi’ me now, I’ll pay you instead!’ The hag found this especially amusing and Tor was again treated to a full view of her aged gums.
A young man pushed past him. ‘It’s two bits.’ He flashed a smile.
Tor dropped the coins into her grimy palm. He snatched the towel and followed the man, relieved to escape the woman’s horrible laugh.
He caught up. ‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it. She’s revolting but she does that to everyone she can, so don’t be flattered.’
‘I’m not. My name’s Tor Gynt, a traveller.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Tor. I’m Petyr, town slut.’
He took some delight in watching Tor’s shock.
‘Well, come on, Tor, don’t be such a prude. I need a bath; so do you by the look and smell of things.’ With a wrinkle of his nose he walked ahead.
The sounds of men’s voices increased in volume as Tor rounded a stone pillar behind the undressed Petyr. The bath was huge, surrounded by massive murals of naked people cavorting through forests which reached up high into the vaulted ceiling. He was staring. Petyr was saying something to him which he missed.
‘I said are you coming in, handsome, or do you
plan to stare at naked men instead?’ Petyr called as he floated on his back.
‘Don’t call me handsome.’ Tor was irritated.
‘Why ever not, you fool? When did you last look in the mirror? You are handsome and such a strong build! Ah, but I see you are not comfortable with it yet. Well, you will be, my friend, you will be.’ Petyr waded off, amused.
Tor took time to scrub himself properly using one of the gritty cubes of soap left in pots around the baths. He realised it had been days since he had last bathed. Tor relaxed into the warmth. When Petyr returned Tor mentioned the impressive architecture and concept of the public baths.
‘Do you want help washing your hair?’ Petyr’s green eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, had a roguish glint.
Mortified at Petyr’s suggestion, Tor threw several handfuls of water over his own head before striding to the steps and getting out. He grabbed his linen and wrapped it quickly around himself.
Petyr stepped out. ‘You seem very edgy, Gynt. I won’t bite.’
‘Look, thanks for your company. Perhaps we’ll see each other around.’ He sounded so polite he wanted to bite his tongue out.
‘I doubt we move in the same circles, Gynt, but I’m told you didn’t finish the job you were picked for last night with Eryn. How disappointing.’
Petyr had finished drying himself and was stepping neatly into his clothes. Tor had stopped dancing on one foot to clamber into his breeches.
‘You know Eryn?’
‘Like a sister.’
‘Then you’d know where I can find her?’
‘I might.’
‘Petyr, please will you tell her I’m sorry. It was nothing to do with her.’ He finished dressing.
‘Farewell, Tor. Perhaps I’ll mention it, but then again, perhaps I won’t. Nice talking with you.’ He tossed his towel into a nearby basket and walked away.
‘Wait!’
Petyr turned back. Tor flipped his own towel into the basket.
‘I’m at The Empty Goblet.’
Petyr laughed. ‘That fits.’ Then he was lost in the crowd of men headed towards the main doors.
Tor sat down on the narrow stone ledge which ran the perimeter of the walls. Feeling gloomy he began to pull on his boots and it was only then that he saw the note which had fallen inside. His spirits lifted when he realised it was from Eryn. Her writing was atrocious but he managed to work out that she seriously wished she had stuck with the ardent, carrot-haired farmer last night.
He intended to make good with her if he could. But right now it was time to return to Cloot and find out more about his strange friend.
The Empty Goblet was a hive of activity as Cyrus and his company made preparations to depart Hatten. The men were eager to leave: they had been on routine patrols through the middle towns of the Kingdom for many weeks.
Cyrus was as popular with his soldiers as he was with the Tallinese who made him welcome wherever he travelled. Curiously though, despite women flocking to him, it was whispered that he never involved himself in liaisons. His wife, a beautiful, fragile creature, had died giving birth to his son a decade previous. When the infant had also died he had been so lost in grief that friends had feared for him. King Lorys had always liked the dashing young captain and when the old Prime died, Lorys did not hesitate to promote Cyrus over three more senior contenders. It was an honour for someone so young,
though Lorys had never regretted his choice for Prime of the Shield, and was glad that the security of Tallinor was in the hands of Kyt Cyrus.
‘You’ve settled the account with that rogue Doddy?’ Cyrus asked his captain.
Herek nodded. ‘I gave him only the agreed price we set last spring.’
‘Good, though I don’t doubt the slime watered the men’s ale.’
‘Do you want me to go back and—’
‘No,’ Cyrus cut in distractedly. ‘No, it just occurred to me he’d fleece us somehow. Innkeepers seem to think that because we wear the King’s crest we have access to his purse.’
The captain remained silent.
‘Herek, we leave at daybreak. Inform the men.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How many days?’
‘Two, sir—if we get a good trot around the Great Forest.’
‘We must move swiftly then. I’ll be with Mayor Reyme most of today if you need me. Otherwise, just get the men readied. You know what to do.’
The Prime nodded at Herek before looking towards the door. He was pleased to see Torkyn Gynt walk in, looking decidedly more chirpy after a bath and visit to the barber it seemed. Cyrus acknowledged Herek’s snap to attention yet was more interested in how the youngster had got on the previous night.
‘Ho, Gynt.’
‘Prime Cyrus. Still here?’ Tor was on his way to the stairs but walked back to where Cyrus was seated.
‘As you see.’ Cyrus nodded towards one of the stools at his table.
‘When do you make tracks?’ Tor asked, seating himself and briefly casting to Cloot. He discovered Cloot was awake and was about to speak with him but stopped himself.
‘What happened?’ Cyrus was grinning good-naturedly at him.
Tor came back to the conversation and was puzzled. ‘What happened when?’ Two ales had found their way to the table.
‘Just then. You asked me when we were making tracks; I replied but you seemed to be focused on something else. Surely I’m not that tiresome?’
‘Apologies.’ He had to do that better from now on. ‘It’s been a strange couple of days and my head is anywhere but where it should be.’
‘I don’t doubt it, Gynt, after last night. How did you perform anyway?’
‘All right, I think…didn’t hear any complaints.’
‘Ha!’ Cyrus liked this boy. Draining his mug he banged it down on the table. ‘I shall look forward to seeing how you get on in Tal, young Gynt. Until then, travel safely.’
Tor stood and took the Prime’s outstretched hand firmly in the Tallinor manner.
‘Oh, by the way, Gynt, good luck with Merkhud. If you ever have need, you can reach me through the
Palace Guard,’ Cyrus said, eyes shining with amusement.
Tor was shocked. ‘How do you know?’ he stammered, sure he had told no one but Doctor Freyberg.
‘It’s my job to know.’ Cyrus tapped his nose.
‘The Light guide your way home, Prime Cyrus.’
‘It always does, Gynt.’ A slight nod of his head and the master of swift departures left the inn.
A powerful friend to have at the Palace, Tor thought as he ascended the two flights of stairs and walked into his small room.
You look well, Cloot
, he remarked and settled himself in his spot by the window.
Cloot, seated and relaxed on Tor’s bed, had obviously gone to some trouble to clean himself up. From somewhere in his small sack of belongings he had produced a clean shirt.
I am well.
His voice had a rich timbre in Tor’s head.
Tor took a deep breath as he turned slightly to gaze out at the buildings across the marketplace.
How do you know my name?
he asked quietly, not turning from the window.
I have known it all of my life.
Tor was alarmed but he forced himself to continue.
Who told you about me?
Lys.
A woman?
Yes.
And who is she?
I have no idea
, Cloot replied flatly.
Well, how does she know me?
You would have to ask her, Tor.
Cloot shrugged apologetically.
And, what is your purpose?
Cloot shook his head slightly.
Of my ultimate purpose, I am not advised but I—
Tor turned sharply to eye Cloot whose large, ugly face was softened by compassionate understanding. He put his hand up to stop the boy’s frustration.
Tor, let me tell you what I do know rather than what I do not, and perhaps we can put together some of the pieces of this curious puzzle.
He continued after Tor nodded with resignation.
I come from an almost unknown region in the far northeast of the Kingdom which my people call Rork’yel but I’ve heard it referred to as Rock Isle by some of the oldest northerners, which is odd because it’s certainly not an island.
He noticed Tor blink with irritation and cleared his throat.
Ever since I was old enough to be aware of dreams, I have been visited by a woman who calls herself Lys. She never shows herself but she is always there. For all of my life she has told me of a person—Torkyn Gynt his name—to whom I am bonded.
Tor interrupted.
What do you mean, bonded?
I’ll explain but first, have you ever heard of the Paladin?
Tor shook his head.
Well, what I’m about to tell you will mystify you as much as it did me for many, many years, until Lys
wore me down into acceptance of my life’s charter. I have never discussed this with anyone—not even my own family, who may never forgive me for leaving them several weeks ago.
Cloot sounded strained when he mentioned his family.
Go on, Cloot.
The man sighed.
There are ten members of the Paladin. One is chosen from each of the Kingdom’s ancient peoples. Mine, the Brocken, have lived in our region for hundreds of years. Since I was old enough to understand her words, Lys has told me that I am one of the ten.
He fell into a heavy silence.
But what does this have to do with me?
The Paladin are guardians, Tor.
Cloot spoke now with gravity.
There are two of us who will protect you with our magic and our lives.
But why?
Tor could suddenly hear his own heart beating. His tongue was dry, his hands wet with perspiration. He really did not want this answer.
Because you are He. You were given to save our world and I was bonded to you as one of your protectors as soon as I was born, probably long before you were born.
Tor’s barely controlled anger slammed into Cloot’s mind.
It doesn’t make sense Cloot—just listen to me. I’m a simple scribe’s son. I’ve led an ordinary life in a small ordinary village where nothing more exciting happens than the Twyfford fair!
Cloot remained calm and spoke gently.
And yet
here you are, that simple scribe’s son, on his way to the royal Palace, apprenticed to the most famous physician our land has known and who just happens to be a powerful sentient.
But that’s got nothing to do with it!
Tor snapped, secretly shocked that Cloot knew of Merkhud’s powers.
The Light it hasn’t! What about the powerful magic you wield? Do you think that doesn’t interest him? Look at what it has done for me and you’ve barely tapped it, Tor. Think about it. What did it feel like to heal me? Once you understood what was required, it was like eating one of Goody Batt’s pastries—simple and irresistible!
Fine. I’ve saved you
, Tor spat.
Next the world, but what am I saving us from?
Cloot shook his head.
That I don’t know, boy. Perhaps Lys will tell us.
Tor poured himself a mug of water from a pitcher. He drank, calmed himself, refilled the mug and handed it to Cloot.
All right. Tell me what else you know
, he said, resuming his seat.
His friend smiled.
Lys told me to wait. Each visit she would insist on my patience. I spent fifty summers waiting.
You what? You’re fifty summers old?
Tor spluttered.
But…but…
Yes. I am old in your terms but we Brocken are a strange race, Tor. We live long and I am still very young in the minds of my elders.
Your parents are alive?
Why, of course, and my older brothers and sisters and even my grandparents, and they are all livid that I’ve left Rork’yel.
A brilliant smile lit his ugly face.
Tor couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
Cloot, have you any idea how strange this all is for me? A few days ago I was spilling ink and being scolded by my father. Now I’m under the protection of a strange, very ancient…Brocken, is it? And being told it’s up to me to save our land from who knows what.
Believe it, Tor. You must accept as I have. Consider how strange it is to hear about some child yet to be born and then, fifty summers on, you’re told to leave your home and your family to find and protect him.
They sat in silence for a while, thinking about how their lives had been thrown together.
Has Lys told you what she wants from me?
Tor wondered.
No, but she has suggested we just follow our instincts and events will unfold.
Cloot shrugged.
Unfold? Light! What am I getting myself into? Is there anything else I should know? Er, wait a moment, you said you were sent to find me. How did you know where to look?
Cloot swallowed the contents of the mug and stretched.
Lys came to me in a dream last full moon and said it was time. She said I was to leave before dawn and when I asked her where I should go, she told me I would know when I woke. She was right. When I woke just before dawn I could sense you. It
was as though I was gathering in a length of luminous colours as I travelled across Tallinor. That’s how I recognised you: your colours are blindingly strong.
You see me in colours?
No, I followed the colours I sensed and they were connected to you, and if I hadn’t been accused by that loutish corporal of—what was it…peeping?
Cloot snorted,
I would have reached you outside of Hatten rather than under such dangerous circumstances.
What were you planning to say to me? Here I am, the great—and very old—Cloot, your protector?
Well, no, I had in mind to wrestle you from your horse and challenge you to a power struggle, so infused was I with this new magic. Why should a scrawny lad like you get to save the world? Why should not a noble and, dare I say, handsome Brocken have the honour?
Cloot was being theatrical, waving his arms in the air and Tor’s nervous mirth bubbled over. It was reassuring for both of them to hear him laugh.
To tell you the truth, Tor, I had no idea what I would say—or was supposed to do—once I found you. I was simply following my nose, as Lys instructed. As it turned out, you found me.
This magic you say you now have…why didn’t you use it?
Well, that would have been intelligent, would it not, to ensure attracting attention to myself? I hear they bridle anyone who shows the slightest trace of the power. No, Lys warned me to not draw any undue
notice to myself. She said my looks alone do enough…not that I know what she meant by that! So I took her advice and made sure I got my ear nailed to a post and every soul for miles around clustered to look at me and jeer at me and throw nasty things at me. Yes, I went to great pains to go unnoticed.
Tor enjoyed Cloot’s humour; he felt genuine warmth for his new friend.
What magic do you possess?
Cloot shrugged in his habitual way.
I honestly don’t know because I haven’t tried to do anything. I surprised myself when I reached out to you yesterday and spoke without anyone else realising I was doing it. If I hadn’t been in such a difficult position, I would have done a jig of glee on the spot!
There was a light knock at the door. Tor crossed the room in two easy strides to answer. It was the young serving girl, bringing up fresh candles and water. Tor allowed her to enter and noticed her petrified glances towards Cloot, who was sensibly pretending to sleep. If the girl’s tongue got wagging that he was up and healed, then new dangers would present themselves. Initially impressed at his friend’s presence of mind, Tor did not appreciate Cloot suddenly dropping his jaw open and snoring menacingly. The girl let out a terrified squeak and hurried out of the room.
Busybody!
Tor sighed.
So, what now, O my protector?
I go where you go, Torkyn. We’re bonded, remember? Not that I want to do this, mind. I can
think of any number of things I’d rather be doing in my homeland. Right now I’d like to be strolling down to Goody Batt’s to see what’s cooking in her kitchen.
Cloot’s voice trailed off dreamily in Tor’s head.
Right then—if you don’t have one, here’s my plan. Tomorrow night we leave for Tal…and in secret. I’ll need to get a horse for you and beyond that we’ll just have to see what happens. And who in the name of Light is Goody Batt?!