But Cailech wanted more. He was ambitious still. Although he was now in his fourth decade, none of the fire in his belly had dimmed. Without knowing they shared a similar dream, he and Celimus could both imagine a sprawling empire beyond their own realm’s borders. Cailech’s would ideally have stretched from the north throughout the south of the continent spreading east and west to encompass the pompous Morgravians and the naive Briavellians, who paid scant attention to their northern border. Neither realm had ever been more vulnerable. Both had young heirs recently taken to their thrones. It was good sense that Celimus would make an offer of marriage to Valentyna and she would accept, binding their nations, combining their armies’ strengths.
Rashlyn was right. If Cailech wanted to claim some of the fertile, easy-to-farm lands south of the Razors and if he wanted some of his people to migrate toward an easier lifestyle in a softer climate, then he must make his move swiftly.
Do I want this
? he asked himself.
Do I really want our people to soften
? If he was honest—which he was not on this occasion—then he would admit what he truly wanted was to humiliate and dominate the new King of Morgravia. Celimus was a menace to everyone’s peace and prosperity and Cailech knew that if the southern King got his way and married Valentyna then he would not be content until he had tamed the people of the far north. Celimus was ambitious by all reports and not a coward. Inexperienced but certainly avaricious and of a mind to build his own empire; have his own son sit across not just the southern realms but perhaps the Mountain throne as well.
Into his ruminations came Koreldy, who had made such a curiosity of himself, beseeching indulgence on behalf of the Morgravian prisoners—people he did not care about supposedly, owed nothing. And then the business of offering his services to Valentyna.
“All very generous and righteous,” the King muttered to himself. “But what are you hiding, Koreldy?” Cailech was convinced Koreldy was not telling him the truth. The man struck him as different. He granted many years had passed since they had seen each other but there were very real inconsistencies in this new Koreldy. The old Romen was selfish to the point of distraction and tremendously self-assured. The death of his sister had exacted its toll but the character remained the same. The Romen he now met was far less arrogant. The swaggering personality was there but there was a hesitancy now. even a remoteness that Cailech could not fathom. Besides—and this was the greatest curiosity of all—Koreldy had not even challenged him to game of agrolo and no amount of maturity would change the competitive streak between the two for this game of skill played on a board with stones for pieces. When they were younger men Cailech had taught Romen the game and he had embraced it with a fierce passion. It took high concentration and an inclination to take risks—only those prepared to lose everything they wagered stood the true chance of winning.
Romen was a man who liked to win at everything and he would not have forgotten their last encounter, when Cailech had trounced him. Won his whole purse, damn it even his lands back home in Grenadyn!
Not that they were ever claimed.
No. the King mused. Koreldy had either undergone some extraordinary change in character or they were dealing with an impostor. He had not realised he had voiced this thought aloud.
“Not an impostor, my King,” a voice spoke from the shadows. “I have searched him. This is Koreldy.”
“You’re quite sure?”
“How can it be otherwise? Are you suggesting a glamor?”
“Is it possible?”
“No. A glamor requires immense skill, Cailech,” the voice said, no longer quite so subservient. “Who do you imagine could wield such talent?”
The King shrugged. “Just a thought.”
“An impossible one. There is only one other person I know who might possess such ability and he is dead.”
“Elysius.”
A dark shape melted out of the shadows now and Rashlyn’s face was lit from the glow of the fire. “Who else?” he said with finality. “And you forget that I am as familiar with Koreldy as you.”
“You never really knew him, though, did you?”
“No. I observed him from a distance. But I would know if this was not the same man in the flesh.”
“Is it the same man, Rashlyn? I agree with you that I too would know him if he were outwardly different.
There is something else, though. But I do not possess your sentience—I cannot determine it.” Cailech said, frustrated.
“I sense nothing except that he will bring trouble, my King.”
“He can do nothing. He is locked in my dungeon.”
“And Lothryn, Cailech? Can you trust him?”
Cailech looked at his barshi for the first time since they had spoken. It was a fierce glare and said much.
“Forgive, my lord.” the sorcerer said and bowed contritely to take his leave.
They were locked into the same cell. It was large but with nothing in it save a bucket. A vent offered vague but nonetheless welcome air and the walls dripped with a slimy damp. A single candle had been lit by Lothryn as a small mercy; he had said nothing, refused to answer Elspyth’s pleas, but Wyl could sense the big man was deeply unhappy at the turn of events.
Guards had bound their hands and, although Lothryn had left the two men tied, he had undone the rope around Elspyth’s wrists, even lingering just long enough to rub them. Then he had left, but not before a final glance towards Koreldy that, for all his intuition and experience. Wyl could not fathom.
The heavy oaken door had slammed with a chilling finality.
“Untie me.” he said to Elspyth, then looked anxiously over at Gueryn.
She began worrying at the knots. “I suppose your rib has broken again?” He nodded. “Don’t fuss.”
She bristled. “That was particularly stupid of you to incense the King. What was in your head?”
“Love, loyalty, friendship,” he replied.
Elspyth heard the sadness in his voice. “Love! For whom?”
“Him.” His hands came free and he put a finger to his lips to ask Elspyth to keep silent. “Gueryn?” he whispered.
The man did not flinch. Wyl tried again but with no success.
Elspyth. never one to remain silent for long, decided to intervene. “It’s Elspyth here, Gueryn. We’re alone for now. The man speaking to you is—”
She was not permitted to finish. “It’s me, Gueryn. It’s Wyl.” Elspyth sat back astonished. Romen ignored her. He was intent on watching Gueryn’s reaction, which was immediate. The man turned his swollen face toward the voice.
“Wyl?”
“I’m here.”
“When…how…your voice…it is—”
“I know. I have much to explain but you must trust me now.”
“How can I?”
Wyl thought hard. “You gave Ylena a white kitten when my father died but you gave me a long hug of comfort in my father’s study that I have never forgotten. You hated not being with my father in the field but you loved our family…loved me enough to give up your career in order to raise me and train me in my father’s absence. I have loved you for it. I think you might have admired my mother just a little more than duty required, and I think she knew this. She—”
“Stop!” Gueryn said. “Enough…enough,” he added in a voice that hurt Wyl more than the old soldier could know. “Did he injure you?”
“Not nearly as much as you, old friend.”
Gueryn. amazingly, croaked a laugh. “Wyl…my boy…I never thought I would see you again.”
“And I was told you were as good as dead.”
“Celimus?”
“Yes.”
“It figures.” He began coughing.
“Cover him with your jacket. He is sick.” Elspyth admonished in a stiff whisper, still trying to fathom this conversation.
“No escape, Wyl. I’ve tried. It’s secure,” Gueryn warned as he felt the comforting touch of Wyl’s jacket.
Wyl ignored that fact for now. “Why did they sew your eyes shut?”
“Because Cailech didn’t like the way I looked at him. He said he could see nothing but contempt in them.
He was right.”
“I suppose you’re fortunate he didn’t have them poked out,” Wyl offered glumly.
“He’s saving that for tomorrow night. He will do only one apparently. Says I should not miss out on watching myself being eaten.” He rocked back and forth. “What have we come to, Wyl? Fodder for the barbarians.”
“Tell me everything,” Wyl asked.
Gueryn began his tale from the moment Celimus ordered him north to his capture. “I was set up for it.
Celimus intended for this to happen.”
Wyl nodded knowingly.
“By Shar’s Name. I swear it. He deliberately had me ordered to lead a reconnaissance into Razors territory with men I was not familiar with. Felrawthy would have been furious had he known but it was all done behind his back. We all know you only send the very best trackers and experienced soldiers on such a dangerous mission. These men were clearly expendable, with little soldiering experience. Fresh from the fields, I’d say. They made much noise and were useless at coping with the mountain terrain. It was not a case of whether we would be picked up but simply when. I realized as much as soon as the orders were given. The woman was probably a special sweetener from Celimus. I learned she was paid to follow us.”
Wyl squeezed Gueryn’s shoulder in sympathy and his friend reached up to cover his hand with his own.
It was an emotional moment for both of them as they realized how low Celimus was forcing his proud Legion. Bound to the King, they had no choice but to do his ugly bidding.
“And Elspyth with the lovely voice…who are you. my dear?”
“Entangled in your friend Koreldy’s web. I’m afraid.” she answered. “Not that I know who he is these days.”
“Have you taken a guise, Wyl?”
“Yes,” he replied, glad to use that excuse.
“What about your story? Are you going to enlighten me?”
“In good time. Gueryn. Right now you must rest. Your breath comes hard. Please, sleep.”
“He’s right,” Elspyth echoed to the older man. “You’re shivering with fever, sir.”
“Good. I hope I have plague and make fine eating for tomorrow—infecting all of the Mountain scum.” Wyl had pretended to sleep. He did not feel much like talking or, more to the point, explaining himself to Elspyth. She left him alone, although he could feel her disgruntled stare for some time until she too realized that rest was a good idea. It seemed many hours had already passed since the door had closed on them.
Then came the sound.
A soft thud. Wyl listened intently. There it was again, this time louder and accompanied by a grunt. He heard the jangle of keys and then in the thin, dying candlelight noticed the ring handle on the door move.
Wyl silently got to his feet, anxiously looking around for something with which to hit whatever head came around that piece of oak. Barring his own fist for a weapon, he could only see the bucket, which was mercifully empty. He grabbed it, blew out the candle, and stood behind the door as the key turned in the lock.
A large shape, outlined in ghostly light from the torch in the corridor, entered the room as the door swung back. It was such a wide door that Wyl had to step out and around it and he thanked the reach of Romen’s long arms as he swung the bucket toward the head. The weapon connected and shattered, accompanied by loud swearing. Elspyth screamed.
“Haldor’s Balls, Koreldy! Did you have to do that?” Lothryn whispered angrily, rubbing at his head.
“What did you expect me to do?” Wyl replied, unprepared for the familiar voice. “Walk meekly to the ovens without a fight?”
“Well, before you hit me again, consider why I’m whispering.” Elspyth had already worked it out, leaping to her feet and into Lothryn’s arms.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me perish,” she said.
“How could I?” he said, voice suddenly gentle. “I couldn’t bear for you to be hurt.”
“I know,” Elspyth replied, her gaze searching his as if no one else in the room mattered.
“Lothryn, this is all very touching but what in Shar’s Name is going on?” Wyl hissed.
“I’m getting you out,” the man whispered. “Hurry, rouse your friend. I’ve brought warm clothes.” Wyl wanted to shake his head and think it through. Lothryn, betrayer of Cailech! Surely not?
The Mountain Man seemed to guess what he was thinking. “I don’t agree with Cailech. I grieve too for our dead but butchering our enemies to make a point is heading back to our darkest days.” Wyl gently shook Gueryn, who now awoke bewildered and groggy, the fever still claiming his body.
“Loth, it’s suicide for you to do this.”
“I know. Here’s a key to unshackle him. Now help him dress; you need to climb into these clothes to look like we’re all from the tribes, and hurry. I’ve drugged the guards but you never know how luck will hold.”
“Who is the man who helps us?” Gueryn wondered aloud.
“Lothryn,” Elspyth answered, just a little too proudly. Wyl thought.
“You were the one who tried to break me?” Gueryn said.
“And I failed. I’m glad to say. Your loyalty is stronger than mine.” Lothryn replied.
“I bow to you all the same for your courage.”
“You can thank me later if we still have our lives,” he said grimly.
“Can we help the others?” Gueryn asked, teeth rattling.
“It is too late. We would risk everyone’s lives to save them.”
“We can’t let him eat them!”
Lothryn sighed. “In truth. I don’t think he will. Tonight he was fired up, angry. You’ve seen him like that before. Koreldy.” Wyl nodded. “But he will end their lives. Escape with me is your only hope. Is everyone ready?”
His companions nodded, although Gueryn was definitely confused now, knowing full well that Wyl had never met Cailech before.
“Weapons?” Wyl asked.
“None, other than mine. There will be no killing. We either get out without harm to any of my people or we die in the process. Here is your pack.”
Wyl could only nod. “Then we’re ready.”
“Did you bring my cloth bag?” Elspyth inquired of their rescuer. Wyl laughed. What a typically womanly thing to ask. Elspyth understood his smirk. “It occurs to me, Romen Koreldy—or whoever in Shar’s world you are—that you may need pain relief. Feel free to go without, though. I will lose no sleep.” Wyl meekly muttered an apology, which she chose to ignore as Lothryn, who had indeed brought her bag, tossed it toward her.