Revenge (28 page)

And Tor…
Cloot said firmly.

Tor stood straighter.
Yes?

Don’t forget that Alyssa is still your wife. Nothing has changed that.

It was as though a shaft of sunlight had just broken through the overcast day and shone directly into his heart. Cloot was right. Alyssa was his wife and that still stood.
I won’t forget it.

Good,
the bird said and flapped his wings.
Now take part in that picnic and go through the motions of the day. We must escape tonight. I sense our time is almost here. Be strong now.
Cloot flew off.

Tor turned to face Sylven. He could read a hundred apologies in her face but, before they could spill out, he put his hand to her mouth.

‘No, wait! It is good that I am given this news. Thank you, Sylven. And now, I believe we have a picnic to enjoy.’

There he was, in control again, she thought. The man was an enigma. One minute on his knees in shock and then, as though some magical guardian had made him see reason, composed and strong again. Sylven shook her head. They would not speak further on this subject.

‘My Queen?’ Tor said and gallantly offered her his arm, gritting his teeth to stem the flood of emotion he was experiencing.

She linked her arm through his and together they strolled to where Hela and the rest of the servants had set up the glorious feast prepared by Ryk. Sarel was waiting to join them.

They refused tables and chairs, preferring to lounge on cushions and a rug. The Queen dismissed most of the staff, leaving just a handful.

Tor, feeling more in control now, pushed Alyssa to that safe place in his heart, as he had done these past years, to be retrieved at another time when he was strong enough to confront her. He had the Queen laughing and even blushing within minutes of taking their first goblet of fine, chilled Ciprean wine. It was a pleasant scene and Sylven could almost forget the ugliness which had taken place just moments ago.

Tor kept the conversation on safe ground. ‘Why was your man Hume so grumpy when we arrived?’

The Queen wrapped a sliver of paper-thin meat around a fig and chewed. ‘He was, wasn’t he? Hardly the mood with which to greet one’s Queen. He had hired a new man to start this morning and was cross that he had not turned up for the great “showing” of this priceless new falcon we had to give away to a foreigner.’

Tor lifted his glass and grinned. A woman, veiled like her Queen and dressed in the full black of her retinue, came forward to top up his goblet. He thanked her and was momentarily arrested by her small, intense eyes, which were staring hard at him. They looked so menacing, he almost missed what the Queen was saying.

‘…yes, well, you can’t trust a Kloek, you know,’ Sylven finished, also holding out her goblet to the servant.

Tor’s attention was caught. ‘A Kloek? Surely you don’t get Kloeks this far north?’

The serving woman moved back to stand quietly at a polite distance from the sovereign and her guest.

Sylven sipped. ‘Oh, we get all sorts passing through Cipres. But you’re right, Kloeks are rare,’ she agreed. ‘Apparently he’s a hunting bird specialist and most lately from Tallinor. He only arrived last night and was very keen to see this great falcon—which we now know is yours,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘So Hume was understandably angry that the man did not turn up at the showing this morning.’

‘A Kloek with an interest in my falcon?’

‘Well, I’m sure he didn’t know it was yours, Tor. Do you know any Kloeks?’

Tor began to chew on a slice of delicious cold game pie. ‘As a matter of fact I do. His name is Saxon Fox. You would fall instantly in love with him, your majesty. He is as tall as you, with wild golden hair and the face of a warrior. He is as broad as an ox with a heart as big. He was once a famous trapeze artist.’

Sylven made a sound of appreciation. ‘Move over, Physic Gynt,’ she said, her eyes dazzling him from behind the veil. They shared more laughter and Sylven began to relax. Perhaps she could win his love after all.

Behind his veil, Goth’s face was a mask of hatred. He wished he could just pick up one of the sharp
knives the stupid boy chef had sent along and plunge it straight into Gynt’s chest.

He knew he had to calm himself. There he was; the enemy. Drinking and cackling with the Queen of Cipres and her acting like a bitch dog on heat.
Well, there will be no sport in the bedroom tonight, dear Queen
, Goth thought, and fingered the vial of poison deep in his pocket.
Your lover will be stone cold dead by then.

His tiny, sharp eyes watched Gynt drink again and again from his goblet; he must choose exactly the right time to serve the poisoned wine. He needed both of them in a merry enough mood that the goblets could be passed almost unnoticed into their hands.

Slipping away from the other servants, Goth moved behind one of the carts which had carried all the provisions for today’s decadence. He pulled a flask of a special sweet wine from the supplies. It was made only in this region, produced from a small grape which grew in tiny amounts each season. Exorbitantly expensive, it was considered by Cipreans to be the nectar of the gods. The Queen and her guest would not be able to resist it. He also pulled out two narrow goblets. These were exquisitely made from delicate glass, stamped with her majesty’s personal crest. It was fitting that Gynt should die with his lips touching her crest as he sipped the poison.

Goth took the tiny curved vial from his pocket and broke the seal. He looked around furtively, but no one was watching…or so he thought.

Saxon was hidden behind a second cartload of provisions.

He blew out his cheeks. It was obvious the man was up to no good. He had to act. He could see the Queen and her guest reclining on some cushions not far away. They were laughing. The man looked familiar, but he had his back to Saxon and the Kloek’s view was partially obscured by trees and the cart Goth was hiding behind. Saxon had heard of Queen Sylven’s voracious appetite for men; he guessed this must be her current lover.

He watched as the impostor carefully placed the goblets of freshly poured wine onto a tray. Saxon moved closer. Now he could not see the guest at all, just the Queen. Goth tipped several drops of the poison into one of the glasses and Saxon made careful note of which one. He was preparing to rush the stranger in the veils to prevent him carrying out his evil task, but to his surprise the impostor moved back to the royal party, probably to ask the Queen’s permission to serve this new wine. This was his chance. He ran towards the tray.

Goth hated leaving the poisoned goblet unattended, but there was a strict protocol for serving wine which he had watched over and again at the Ciprean palace. He must not endanger his plan with haste.

He motioned to the head maid that he wished to approach the Queen. She nodded.

Goth bent low to address Sylven and spoke in a disguised voice. ‘Your majesty, I have some of your favourite Tolique to serve with the sweet course…if you please?’

‘Yes, bring it…er…?’

‘Sacha,’ Goth replied, unable to help looking towards Tor.

He realised Tor was watching him closely. Had he been recognised, Goth wondered? No, he decided, casting another furtive glance at Gynt. He cursed his foe silently before turning back to her majesty.

‘Sacha, where is Elma, my usual bearer?’

‘Your majesty, Elma has trained me to your precise needs. She is presently hunting down some special Mytal for you for tonight. She knows it is your favourite,’ Goth said sweetly.

The Queen hardly paid any attention to Goth’s explanation but Tor did.

‘You know, there’s something odd about that woman,’ he said.

‘I don’t know her, she must be new,’ Sylven said distractedly. She was plaiting Sarel’s hair. ‘My people are always training youngsters into specialist roles.’

‘That one is hardly young, your majesty.’

‘Hmm, true. But she seems to know everything that matters,’ Sylven said, tying two plaits together.

‘But who checks up on these people, Sylven?’

One of the plaits came undone, annoying the Queen, as did Tor’s persistence. ‘Oh, Tor, someone would have. Don’t be so suspicious. What’s wrong with her?’

‘Her eyes—there’s malice in them.’

‘Rubbish!’ Sylven dismissed the thought. ‘Ah, here comes my Tolique. Now, Tor, prepare yourself for an extraordinary treat.’

Saxon had managed to switch the wine goblets, which meant the Queen was unlikely to die. But it still left the stranger at risk. He was about to throw himself into the peaceful scene and warn the two lovers of the danger, when a strong arm clamped around his chest and a large hand covered his mouth.

‘You bastard!’

Saxon recognised the voice of one of the handlers from the royal aviaries.

‘You’re no falconer. I had my suspicions this morning and now here you are spying on our Queen!’

The man had a companion, who now came in front of Saxon and began to rough him up, punching him in the belly. As Saxon doubled over, winded from the punches, he caught a glimpse of the veiled servant handing the goblet containing the poison to the Queen.

No! That was wrong! Saxon had carefully switched the glasses. Why would the impostor have intended the poisoned goblet for the Queen’s guest?

Saxon’s panic lent him extra strength. With a mighty grunt he shook off both his captors and lurched out from the cover of the cart, yelling like a
mad man. He watched in horror as the Queen, still smiling at her companion, clinked glasses and then took one long gulp.

It was only then his noise grabbed their attention and they turned towards him in confusion: the Queen, the impostor and…Suddenly Saxon felt as though his heart had stopped its beating. The man turning towards him was Torkyn Gynt. Hale, smiling brilliantly at some jest and bursting with life. Time seemed to stand still for Saxon as everything ordered about his world fell apart.

Then he heard himself screaming, ‘Poison!’ He saw Tor throw down his glass and turn to the Queen. No one paid any attention to the impostor servant, who crept stealthily from the scene and then began to run.

Tor kneeled alongside Sylven, calling to her, trying to hold her attention. She was in agony, moaning and shrieking.

Sarel began to scream and suddenly people were running from all directions towards their Queen. Saxon arrived first.

Tor looked up, his brilliant blue eyes wild now. Saxon shook his head slowly. He was in shock; his mind in absolute turmoil. ‘It can’t be you.’

Sylven’s body began to jerk and flail in its death throes. She screamed one last time before her eyes rolled back into her head and her lips turned purple. Tor ripped away the Queen’s veils but it was too late. Sylven’s body arched in one last horrific convulsion and a painful guttural groan came from her throat; her face flushed with the blood that was carrying
death around her body. She bared her teeth through foaming spittle to form one final angry sound at the world and then she fell back, lifeless. The poison had done its work.

Tor also fell back, into Saxon’s arms. He was breathing hard; he had tried to use his powers to save her but to no avail.

Hela kneeled beside him, almost rigid with shock. She grabbed the child, Sarel, and held her close.

Tor shook his head. ‘I…went inside. She was dead before I could do anything.’

Saxon held him firmly but could not believe it was Tor in his arms, warm and alive. The Torkyn Gynt he knew was dead, like the Queen now lying in front of them.

‘I was too late, Saxon. Too late!’

The Queen’s staff keened with despair, uselessly clutching at one another. It was impossible for them to believe that their Queen was dead.

Tor recovered first. ‘Saxon, the servant—she’s getting away!’

The Kloek was still in a state of shock and wonder. He had watched this man die by the executioner’s stones. He had seen his body taken down from the cross and his broken face washed clear of the blood. The corpse had been wrapped in muslin and then Merkhud had driven away with it on an old cart to only he knew where. He was dead.

Torkyn Gynt’s bright blue, very alive eyes communicated the need for urgency. Saxon pulled his scrambled thoughts together.

‘That’s no woman, Tor. Let’s go—he’ll head for the woods,’ Saxon replied and then he was running; running alongside his old friend after the impostor who had tried to kill a man already dead, but instead had assassinated a sovereign.

Goth’s speed carried him into the cover of the forest before his pursuers had even begun to give chase. As he ran he went over events again and again in his mind. How could Sylven have got the poisoned goblet? He had been so careful to hand Gynt the doctored wine. It did not make sense.

He could hear yelling now behind him. He knew it would be Gynt but the idiot did not know to whom he gave chase. The robe was slowing him down and Goth realised he needed to dispense with it. He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, instantly realising that he had forgotten to remove the arraq in its pocket.

He sneaked a look behind and felt his hatred instantly boil up. Pursuing him grimly was Gynt and his old sidekick, that once blinded but now all-seeing bastard Kloek. So that’s what had happened! The Kloek must have swapped the goblets to
protect Gynt. Yes…he understood now. His anger helped him to find new speed and he pulled away from the pair.

‘Who is it?’ Tor called breathlessly to Saxon, who was slightly behind.

It was Cloot who answered from up ahead.
It’s Goth.

Tor stopped in his tracks and Saxon caught up. ‘What are you stopping for?’

‘Cloot’s just told me who we’re chasing.’

Saxon looked immediately into the sky. Cloot had been found? He felt a fierce wave of joy pass through him. Tor and Cloot had been returned to him. The Paladin would not fail again; the Heartwood would prevail and the Trinity would be found.

‘I’ve not seen the man’s face,’ Saxon said, returning to the conversation. ‘Do we know him?’

‘Goth,’ Tor snarled and opened himself up to the Colours. This time he would kill him.

They picked up their pace again. In the distance, they saw the small figure halfway up a hill; Goth miraculously scaled its height with ease and speed. Tor remembered that night at Caremboche, when Goth had almost caught him and Alyssa; he recalled how fast the Inquisitor had run then, fuelled by his anger and his determination to stop their escape.

They had lost sight of him now. Breathing hard, they climbed higher and higher into the hills, with Cloot flying overhead and telling Tor which direction to take.

He’s trapped!
Cloot suddenly said.

Tor stopped; Saxon followed suit.
What do you mean?
Tor asked.

He’s reached a waterfall. There’s no way out for him, Tor. If he retraces his steps, he’ll meet you.
He heard the falcon chuckle.
He’s all yours.

Tor began to lope ahead again. ‘Come on, Sax. We’ve got him trapped apparently.’

They climbed further; they could hear the rushing of water now as it hurtled over the edge of a precipice and crashed below. The air was damp with the mist from the waterfall.

Tor stepped through a narrow pass between two tall hills and came out on a high crag. There he finally recognised Goth; the man was standing at the edge, looking down.

‘Goth!’ he screamed, and the face he hated turned and sneered at him.

The former Chief Inquisitor certainly looked different; the once solid frame was slim now and gaunt. But he could not disguise his eyes and Tor was angry he had not made the connection when he first stared into those small, mean eyes at the picnic. He put it all quickly together in his mind as he watched the man’s sneer overwhelmed by the prominent twitching of one side of his horribly scarred face.

The poison had been meant for him but it had mistakenly found Sylven.
Oh, Sylven, what have I done to you?
Tor’s Colours burned inside, they wanted him to unleash them. But he had Goth cornered now. He could take his time.

Saxon rounded the crag and stopped, sucking in gulps of air. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked, triumphant at finally having this man at their mercy.

Tor’s own chest was heaving, more from hatred for Goth than exertion. ‘I’m going to finish it here. He’s killed enough people in his useless life.’

‘Then do it, Tor. Finish it now.’

‘He can’t hurt us, Saxon. There is nothing he can do,’ Tor said, walking forwards slowly. ‘Do not fear him.’

Goth hurled a stream of abuse at him as he approached. Tor had to admire his courage.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Saxon called from the crag. He had no desire to look Goth in the eyes again. This was the man who had once taken his sight and beaten him savagely, leaving him for dead. He despised the man and could never forgive him for what he had done to Alyssa either. Saxon did not care if Goth suffered now—all he wanted was to see his life extinguished once and for all.

Goth fixed Tor with a look of scorn. He had never feared death. Now that it stared at him, he did not exactly welcome it but neither did he turn away, terrified. His clever mind wrapped itself around several options, none of them feasible. He was trapped. He could even see the falcon up there, circling, waiting for his death. He refused to give them the satisfaction of dancing around his corpse with glee. He could deny them that much at least.

Tor prepared to unleash the Colours and finally kill his enemy, but he faltered as a vision of Jhon Gynt suddenly entered his mind. He recalled how his
father had abhorred all violence and had raised his son to show compassion to others.

‘Killing is not my place,’ Tor said, hesitantly.

‘Then I’ll do it,’ Saxon said, pushing past him. ‘And I’ll enjoy it. I’ll crush the last breath from him with my bare hands.’

Goth laughed and the girlish sound incensed Saxon. The man was remorseless. Even when facing obvious death, he did not plea for mercy. He simply laughed at them.

Then, to the disbelief of them both, Goth leaped off the crag into the roaring torrent of water. ‘Give my love to Alyssa!’ he called and was gone. They could hear him howling, as if with joy, as he descended.

‘No!’ Tor yelled but it was too late; the man had disappeared from sight.

He and Saxon ran to the edge and looked over. It was high and Saxon felt momentarily dizzy. The height did not bother Tor. He stared intently at the churning waters below. How deep was it? Could Goth survive this? It was a mighty drop.

They watched and waited for any sign of his body to float up. Tor’s keen eyes looked further down the rushing river, roving across the scenery below for any movement, any sign at all that Goth lived. There was nothing.

‘What do you think’ Saxon asked, finally.

‘I think I should not have hesitated,’ Tor replied angrily, turning away.

‘You think he could survive that? He’s dead, Tor. By your hand or not, it no longer matters.’

Tor did not share Saxon’s optimism. He cast to the falcon.
Cloot, can you fly over and see if there’s any sign.

The falcon silently obeyed.

‘Goth seems to survive all adversity which comes his way,’ Tor said to Saxon. ‘I should have dealt with him the minute we arrived. He stood there and laughed at us and still I hesitated.’

It was true. Saxon could offer no consolation. Instead he spat on the ground in his unique Kloek way. ‘I haven’t formally welcomed you back from the dead yet, Tor.’

Tor felt awkward. ‘It’s…er…it’s good to be back, Saxon.’ He felt the familiar bearlike hug of the Kloek and returned the affection.

Cloot swooped down and landed on the crag. ‘Hello, old friend,’ Saxon said. ‘I’ve travelled a long way to see you again.’

The falcon flew to sit on Saxon’s shoulder, which brought the Kloek enormous satisfaction, whilst he gave Tor the bad news.
Nothing down the river that I can see. But there’s pandemonium still at the picnic site, Tor. I think you should make plans to get away from here as quickly as possible. Accusations will soon begin to find their way to you.

Tor nodded. ‘How long has it been?’ he said to Saxon.

‘Since I left Tallinor, you mean? I set off the day after Queen Nyria died.’ Then he looked mortified. ‘Oh, Tor, I’m sorry. Had you heard this news?’

‘And far worse,’ Tor said, his face grim. ‘Do you know about Alyssa?’

Saxon had never imagined he would ever have to consider Tor and Alyssa in the same sentence again. ‘Know about her? Yes, she is safe; running her school at the palace and keeping up her duties to the sovereign, though I left her grieving for Nyria. Why? Is something wrong?’

Tor smiled ruefully. ‘Well, she’s certainly kept up her duty to the King in your absence.’

Saxon shook his head. ‘What am I missing here, Tor? What’s happened to Alyssa? And how could you know of it before I do?’

Tor sighed. ‘Whilst you were travelling here, Alyssa became Queen of Tallinor. Sylven told me this morning after receiving formal notification between the realms.’

Saxon looked dumbstruck. It was obvious Alyssa’s Paladin had not known of a relationship between Lorys and Alyssa, Tor decided.

The Kloek shook his head. ‘There must be some mistake. Alyssa and Lorys? No. She’s been working with him, and the last time we spoke she mentioned that she had finally begun to look forward rather then dwelling on the past. Your death…’ He cleared his throat, embarrassed. ‘Your death was a terrible shock for all of us, Tor. Alyssa was lost for many years; she only began to come out of that grief and anger when Gyl came along.’

‘Gyl?’

Saxon shook his head. ‘So much to tell you. Gyl is an orphan whom the Queen took under her wing
some years back. She put him in the care of Alyssa. It was as good for Alyssa as it was for the child—as you can imagine…since losing her own son,’ he said, haltingly.

Tor said nothing; his face betrayed no emotion.

Saxon continued, keen to fill the awkward pause. ‘Nyria asked her to form a school. Alyssa excelled with her teaching of the children and in her work for the Queen. And then, after a year or so, the King’s private secretary died and Nyria thought it would be a good idea if she gave him Alyssa.’ His last few words sounded ill chosen even to his ear.

‘And she accepted?’ Tor couldn’t believe it.

‘She fought it, Tor. Fought it hard. I have not been around the palace as much these last few years, but I know she was terribly unhappy about this new turn of events. She has done so well though. You would be proud of how she has really made something of her life at the palace. And everyone loves her.’

‘Including Lorys, obviously,’ Tor said with disgust.

‘I know nothing of this. As I said, the last time we spoke was when I returned from Caradoon to tell her about Goth and how I had seen Cloot again. All she said was that she was trying hard to bury the hatred and move on. You were dead. It took so much of her energy to continue to hate Lorys. What was the point?’

‘No point at all,’ Tor agreed, standing. ‘I just can’t imagine how she made the leap from “I must try not to hate him” to “I want to marry you, Lorys.”’

Tor walked back to the edge of the rock and looked again into the raging waters, ostensibly to see
if Goth’s body had surfaced, but in reality to turn away from the pain of his last sentence.

Saxon joined him. He put his arm on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Don’t be too hard on her, Tor. You can’t begin to imagine how much she suffered at your expense.’

It was true and Tor knew it.

‘How long afterwards was it?’ he heard Saxon ask.

He knew what Saxon meant but chose not to understand. ‘What do you mean?’

‘After the execution. How long was it before you returned?’

Tor felt again the full weight of despair and guilt he had suffered for so many years since that day he had reopened his eyes in the Heartwood.

‘Almost immediately, Sax. Come, we must move fast—we must get back to the Heartwood. And I have a long story to tell you as we travel.’