They nodded again.
‘Are you sure I cannot persuade you to remain, your majesty?’ he asked Gyl. ‘Your life is worth everything right now to the Tallinese people.’
‘Yes, and the woman who would give me its heir is in that palace. No, Cyrus. I will be at your side to claim back my betrothed.’
This shocked everyone. So far the women and Rubyn had been silent, although listening carefully. When everyone’s exclamations had died down, they saw that Gyl looked embarrassed.
‘Forgive me. No one knows of this yet; I pray you don’t speak of it outside of these ears.’
‘And does your intended bride know yet?’ It was Rubyn, posing his question with a deadpan face.
Gyl bristled but held his famous temper in check. ‘I understand she is your sister, Rubyn—’
‘Sire, I do not even know her. Feel no embarrassment on my behalf.’
‘I don’t, be sure of it. I just thought it polite to tell you that I am very much in love with Lauryn and I think I am right in saying she feels the same way about me. We just did not have a chance to make such a thing public before her capture.’
This is not helping,
Cyrus cautioned.
He’s just awfully cocksure of himself isn’t he?
I hope so, damn it! He’s the King of Tallinor and just a year or so older than you, lad. You have no idea what this young man is up against or has faced in recent weeks.
‘My apologies, your majesty. Lauryn is fortunate indeed.’
Gyl sensibly left it alone.
Later as they were mooring—everyone dressed in civilian clothes and Locky making his profuse apologies to the port’s master for arriving at such an hour—Cyrus took his chance to speak with the King privately.
‘Your majesty, I want to say I’m sorry for the lad’s curious manner.’
Gyl eyed Cyrus. He had liked him on first sight, recognising someone of similar ilk to himself and his father. Cyrus had continued to make an impression on the young King throughout the short voyage and he was much relieved for the older soldier’s wise head and counsel.
‘He is a strange sort.’
‘Rubyn has not led a normal life. He is very…disconnected from people. I think he needs to learn a great deal about social etiquette, particularly in the presence of his sovereign.’
Gyl smiled and Cyrus relaxed. He already recognised some of Lorys’s traits in the youngster—from his swaggering walk to his easy manner—he would make a good King with the right people around him.
‘No offence taken. I can’t say this to anyone around me, of course, but I’m learning this royal business as I go. Everyone, except Herek I have to say, seems to think that with the crown came instant wisdom and experience at being a king. I know nothing about this, Cyrus. I am a soldier, like you. I can fight and ride, I can drink and swear with the best of them. And I can lead men. I’m hoping it’s the latter which will get me through. It was thrust upon me—I didn’t ask for it, didn’t even wish for it, though I would be lying if I said I hadn’t entertained the notion that it would be perfect to have Lorys as a father. He and I were such good friends.’ Gyl sounded sad.
Cyrus nodded. ‘He had his failings but he was the best king our realm has ever seen. I don’t know you Gyl, but if you open your heart to the sentients and remember where you’ve come from, I think you’ll make an even better king than your father. Choose your counsel wisely…and keep Herek close. There is no more loyal subject than he.’ Flouting protocol, the soldier tapped the King on his shoulder in a fatherly gesture. Then he turned to join the others.
‘Cyrus!’ Gyl called him back. ‘Could I persuade you to be part of my counsel? I need men like you. Men who know battle as much as protocol and who especially know Tallinor inside and out. Will you join me?’
Cyrus smiled gently and kindly. ‘Perhaps we should have this conversation when you have your
bride back safely in your arms and I’m not buried on Ciprean soil.’
‘We’re all coming back to this ship, Cyrus. Alive!’ the King said, fiercely.
‘I pray you are right, sire.’
Xantia flinched. Alyssa!
Be very sure you want to meet me here, Xantia. There’s no turning back.
It was Alyssa’s turn to taunt.
Xantia growled, as one possessed.
Dorgryl was shocked at Alyssa’s sudden interruption and he turned away from Lauryn, who had also heard her mother’s mocking words. She did not waste a moment in adding her own derision for the woman she hated.
‘Scared? I knew you would be, you cringing cowardly wretch.’
‘Xantia! Be still,’ Dorgryl commanded, not sure whether to grab his accomplice or strike the woman who jeered at her.
Lauryn pushed her luck. ‘Hide behind him, Xantia. My mother is too strong for you.’
That was all it took. Inflamed with fury, Dorgryl made the wrong decision. He cast his powers, letting out a roar, and Lauryn was hurled across the room. She
crumpled in the same manner as Xantia once had at the end of Orlac’s anger. She lay still and unconscious and was no longer of any use to Dorgryl or his planned entertainment for the next hour or more. In that moment his attention was diverted to glance at Lauryn, Xantia screamed her own fury and, unsure whether she could do it but determined to meet the destined confrontation between herself and her long-time enemy, she lifted free of herself and sent her spirit travelling at speed to do away, once and for all, with Alyssa.
Dorgryl spun around at the sound of Xantia’s body collapsing to the floor and this time his fury bubbled over. He smashed the exquisitely plastered wall with his fist, breaking bones in Orlac’s beautiful hand.
One other mind had heard Alyssa’s taunts—hidden as he was in the deepest recesses of himself—and smiled. His silence these past three days had not only surprised Dorgryl but quietly troubled him. Nothing he said or did seemed to awaken the anger of Orlac and to Dorgryl this was a bad sign.
Had the young god given up? Or was he plotting something?
Orlac had indeed been plotting; waiting for a moment to strike. He desperately hoped Lauryn had heard his private communication—he knew Dorgryl had not, which meant he had a chance. And now this. Lauryn’s mother was indeed a courageous woman and although he could not imagine how she had achieved such a thing, he thanked his few blessings that somehow she had managed to pull off what was surely a masterstroke.
Orlac was not aware that Alyssa had the blood of a god running in her veins; it would have shocked him—
as it would have Dorgryl—if he had known of her mother’s identity. Still, in his ignorance Orlac silently thanked her because he now had a slim chance of giving freedom to her daughter. That he loved Lauryn there was no doubt although he refused to allow his mind to listen to his heart. He had tried to convince himself that she was merely the bait for the father and when that had failed— when he found himself unable to tear his eyes from her or dismiss the lilt of her voice and her laugh from his mind—he had told himself that she was merely a diversion, nothing more. By keeping her close, the father was kept occupied too—defensive and scared for his child. Torkyn Gynt would never be able to mount any serious threat to Orlac as long as Lauryn was in his possession, or so he reminded himself when the mere thought of seeing her threatened to undermine his driving need to destroy her father.
What he had not counted on was Dorgryl’s sudden change in tolerance. He thought he might have sensed the older god’s power gathering to strike but he had not. Dorgryl had shielded himself superbly and when he had taken Orlac’s body from him, it was done with such speed and might, his nephew had been caught unawares. Worse, he realised it was because his mind had been lost in his thoughts about Lauryn.
Lauryn had paid shockingly for his mistake. Orlac had been forced to bear witness to her despair, humiliation and pain. Dorgryl had relished every moment but Orlac had made a promise he would make his uncle pay.
At some point during those three traumatic days, Orlac’s perception of his own destiny reshaped itself as
he acknowledged that ridding himself of Dorgryl—and not of Torkyn Gynt—was his first priority. Gynt suddenly seemed to matter less, as did the razing of Tallinor and its people. Dorgryl had to be beaten.
Whatever it takes,
he repeated time and again to himself as his body, without his permission, inflicted its terrible humiliations on the woman he just wanted to love. In her strength in not capitulating Orlac found renewed faith—a power to be still…to be silent…to outwit what he now believed was the darkest, most agile mind in the Host and thus in all the worlds.
He must destroy Dorgryl but he had no idea how. His only immediate thought was to free Lauryn from the god’s clutch and Alyssa had given him a tiny sliver of light which he saw as hope that he could succeed.
Inwardly, as he felt Dorgryl rage about him, he cheered his brother’s wife, begging any god who heard his private plea to help her succeed.
One did…and obliged.
Here!
Xantia shrieked.
Alyssa did not react immediately. Everyone she loved and had ever loved seemed to crystallise before her and she found herself mentally farewelling each one…for she knew this was her end. It was her destiny, she realised, to rid the Land of Xantia.
She had not realised she had any substance; had thought she was just some sort of spiritual presence but now that she actually looked she saw a softly shimmering gleam. She was an apparition of herself.
Alyssa turned and there stood Xantia, shimmering darkly and true to the form that Alyssa remembered; older, perhaps more voluptuous and even more beautiful in a sinister sort of way.
Hello, Xantia,
she said sweetly.
I’m surprised you came.
Do you think I fear you?
Not at all. I thought you were a slave to him…to Orlac.
Ha! Orlac?
I’ve seen you with him.
Your eyes deceive you.
It was Xantia’s turn to sound cloying.
You see only Orlac’s shell. You hear and witness the spirit of the greatest of all gods…his name is Dorgryl.
Dorgryl! Alyssa shuddered. She had read of the god in Nanak’s Writings: Darganoth’s brother, Dorgryl had unsuccessfully attempted to usurp the throne of the Host from its rightful King. He had been cast into the Bleak as eternal punishment. But now, it seemed, he had somehow escaped.
She realised, as Xantia’s face broke into a snarl which passed as her smile these days, that this was why her daughter had been calling to Orlac, imploring him to help her.
I shall have to kill you,
Xantia said.
Is that so? Perhaps you’re too late.
When I’m done with you, Alyssa, and I return—
Ah! So you don’t know. I did try to warn you.
Warn me?
Are you aware of where you are? I am no longer attached to Tallinor. I’ve made my choice and so have you.
Xantia faltered. It was the first trip of her confidence.
Alyssa shook her head as condescendingly as she could.
Let me enlighten you. We are in a place known as the Bleak. Have you not heard of it?
Xantia, in spite of herself, obediently shook her head.
Oh, then you will find this intriguing,
Alyssa said.
I have no time for this!
Xantia spat.
But you do… you have all the time in the world.
Xantia laughed but it was tinged with nervousness.
Where are we?
she yelled.
I’ve told you. The Bleak. From where there is no return…for either of us.
Alyssa took great relish in saying the final words.
You lie!
No need for lies now. Try to go back and you’ll see you cannot. This is a place of eternal death, Xantia.
Her enemy shimmered.
Alyssa continued.
I have already said my goodbyes. I’m not sure you had a chance but then it matters not to me.
You were never as strong in the darker Power Arts as I, Alyssa. You will be the one to suffer.
Xantia began to circle.
Alyssa remained still despite Xantia’s threatening movements. She laughed.
You don’t seem to understand. None of that matters now. Nothing between us matters any more. I have already destroyed you by luring you here.
And what about your husband?
Xantia sneered.
He will prevail.
It was Xantia’s turn to laugh.
Not against Dorgryl, I promise you.
Alyssa bluffed.
Oh no? Even now Dorgryl is weakened, without you. He made the wrong choice—his anger dulls his mind and he makes foolish decisions. Mark my words…it will be his undoing.
Xantia growled.
Whatever you do to me has no effect on what occurs in the Land. We are no longer of our world, Xantia. He should have stopped you coming. Instead he chose to hurt my daughter some more. He will pay the ultimate price. Enjoy the Bleak, Xantia. It’s perfect for you.
Xantia’s patience snapped and she cast out towards where she knew her body was…and felt nothing. Anger and hate spilled over as she hurled her magics towards her enemy. She expected to see Alyssa scream out in agony as the first powerful blow struck home. What Xantia did not know, could not know, was that her former friend did not possess a weak, wild magic like her own. She had no inkling that the spiritual person before her was part god, with powers she had not even begun to tap into. It was perhaps the greatest shock of Xantia’s young life to see the shimmering Alyssa suddenly flash to golden.
Is that it?
Alyssa asked, her voice hard.
Xantia’s shimmering presence threw herself towards the woman who taunted her, biting, scratching, tearing Alyssa again and again, having no effect on the golden woman, blazing with power.
What are you?
Xantia whispered through her sobs.
She is a god,
said a new and terrifying voice, but Xantia, in her excitement at the arrival of an ally, did not
hear the warning. She ran towards the red, shimmering mist.
Dorgryl! I knew you would come for me.
Alyssa’s spiritual heart sank.
Dorgryl ignored the cringing woman. Instead he addressed Alyssa directly.
Very impressive. I had no idea a god’s blood ran in your veins.
The red mist moved threateningly towards her and Alyssa knew her fight was lost.
She had failed her own destiny.
Shadows moved stealthily from the Ciprean docks. Against his better judgement, but trusting the instincts of the former prime, Gyl agreed for only a handful of them to make their way to the palace.
The King, a soldier at heart, saw safety in numbers and might. They were six, two of whom were women and one a lad who could no more lift a sword than fly. Although he quickly reassessed that opinion—he had no idea of what Rubyn was capable of in terms of his sentient ability. Nevertheless, how could three fighting men hold off a city if it chose to rise against them? He permitted himself no further fearful thoughts. At the end of this journey was Lauryn and his mind followed only that single track, not for a second allowing himself to consider whether she was still alive.
Herek meanwhile was permitting his mind to wander down all of its terrifying paths, the worst of which being that he and his Prime—he could think of the brilliant Kyt Cyrus as nothing less—were now defending two monarchs, both of whom were putting
themselves into the most dangerous of situations. That he would give his life for his King was not in question but his life was not enough to save Gyl if things went badly here. He followed in a grim silence, stuck in gloomy thoughts of how to save his monarch.
For several hours Rubyn had been casting towards Lauryn. He did not know her trace but he used the familiar trace of Cyrus and hoped one of her Paladin, if not she herself, would hear and respond. So far there was only a bleak silence. He understood that Lauryn perhaps might have shielded but he had no reason to believe Juno nor Adongo would.
With Cyrus’s encouragement he kept trying, finally suggesting that he believed Orlac might have somehow cut off the Link to Lauryn’s Paladin.
Their plan was simple, if audacious. Hela and Cyrus would go first, testing the way was clear and assuring safe entry into one of the palace’s secret passageways. The others would follow, then Gyl, Rubyn and Cyrus, once inside the palace, would find Lauryn. They made it no more complicated than that. That was their one task—to get her and bring her out safely and back to the waiting ship. If necessary, they would cast off without the others. All were in agreement with this.
Meanwhile, Herek, Cyrus and Hela would get Sarel to the elders of the city. When Herek had asked how they could prove her birthright, Sarel produced a ring.
‘This is my mother’s…and her mother’s before her. It belonged to all of my grandmothers down the ages. It is the great seal of Cipres.’
Even Hela had been surprised. ‘I told you to bring nothing,’ she had admonished.
‘I am the rightful Queen of Cipres, Hela. This ring only left my mother at her death. I have hated keeping it secreted away. And from this night on,’ she said, slipping it onto her finger, ‘it will only leave my hand in death too.’ Then she had lifted her face in defiance, daring any of them to argue it with her.
Gyl had wrapped his own large hand around hers. Those present sensed the strong symbolism of this gesture. ‘You will wear it for many decades, Sarel, I promise. And if you ever need Tallinor’s help to defend your crown, I pledge it now.’
All were moved by his powerful words. Cyrus had quietly shaken his head. Lorys would never have thought to create a union between these two realms and yet his son had achieved it in a simple, proud statement. Great things might yet come of this strange wheel which was turning.
For his part, Gyl had been impressed with Sarel from their first meeting. She was so terribly young and yet her grooming for sovereignty was not only impeccable, but her composure and inherent royalty were so strong that he envied her all those years of knowing her destiny. If only he had known his destiny; if only he had known his father from birth, he would already be a far better King to Tallinor. He could not dwell on that now but he took heart from the faces around him who appreciated the wisdom of his pledge.