Bridge of Souls (31 page)

“As you said,” Cailech replied. “Although I can put your mind at rest. Ylena Thirsk would not be permitted to leave the Razors. I make that pledge to you now.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“And as your queen, she would not be permitted to make any decisions that might affect Morgravia—or our treaty will be nullified and I will wage war on your people. Not just the Legion, Cailech, but the full might of the combined Morgravian and Briavellian armies.”

“She will be Queen in title only. I am the power in the Razors.”

“Done. Now how do we effect this?” Celimus asked, looking toward his chancellor.

Cailech took the lead. “I will take her with me now. Your men can escort us to the border and see that she is safely transported into the Razors, from where she will never emerge. Your chancellor here can draw up the paperwork and your delegates can talk with mine. I will sign whatever you need to effect our treaty and this new understanding regarding the Thirsk woman.”

Celimus shook his head. He could find no ruse; Cailech seemed earnest in his desire for Ylena. “All right, I agree. Ylena Thirsk is yours to take. She is my gift to you.”

“Thank you,” Cailech said, surprising himself by how delighted he felt. He turned to his companion. “Come, Aremys. Ready the Thirsk woman for travel. She rides with me.”

I
N THE END
, W
YL WAS GIVEN HIS OWN HORSE FOR THE FIRST PART OF THE JOURNEY
. H
E SAT SULLENLY ASTRIDE THE BAY NEXT TO
A
REMYS
,
A
thick and uncomfortable silence between them as the two Kings made their official farewells.

“You have no idea how angry I am by what’s happened tonight,” he finally said in a low voice to his companion.

Aremys bristled. “This was Cailech’s idea, not mine, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m not ready to kiss the ground he walks on because of it!”

Wyl glared at his friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Grenadyne cast a glance around to check that they were not being eavesdropped upon, particularly by the Chancellor. “It occurs to me,” he muttered, a bite in his tone, “that perhaps Myrren’s Gift only works when the killer is still in touch with you somehow.”

Wyl frowned. “I don’t get you,” he replied.

“Did Elysius explain how the gift works?”

Wyl shrugged. “What’s to know,” he said, bitterness underpinning his reply as he watched the sovereigns clasp hands and shoulders in the tradition of parley and peace.

Aremys sighed. He understood Wyl’s angry mood; it would be ludicrous even to pretend he could imagine what it felt like to be trapped as Wyl was, or how much courage it must have taken to welcome the agony of whatever form of death Celimus had wished upon Ylena Thirsk. “I began to wonder, back in that hall, whether whoever killed you had to be connected with you through the weapon.”

That won Wyl’s attention. He paused in thought. “I’ve never considered that. You mean if the arrow had been shot I might be fully dead, but if you’d slit my throat I would be you?”

“Exactly,” Aremys muttered beneath his breath. “You might truly have died and then all would be lost. That’s why I acted as I did.”

Ylena’s face looked newly distressed. “So I do owe Cailech my life.”

“Possibly, is all I’m saying. I don’t care to test my own theory,” Aremys admitted. “And I’d prefer it if you didn’t either.”

Wyl glanced at Aremys again and this time Ylena’s expression was chastened. “Thank you,” was all he had time to say before Cailech was striding back to their party.

“My lady,” the King of the Razors said. Wyl did not understand the soft tone or the gentle expression on Cailech’s face. All he could do was nod.

Aremys felt a new fear thrill through him. He had not had time to explain that although Cailech might have saved Wyl’s life, the new situation was just as dire. Although he knew Wyl had to be told, he was relieved that he had not had to give that explanation just yet or deal with its consequences.

When Cailech was seated on his horse Celimus strolled up. “Safe travels, my friend.” Cailech simply nodded. The Morgravian turned to his prisoner. “Another lucky escape, Ylena
Thirsk, but this time I fear it is your last. I won’t be seeing you again.”

“Oh, you’ll see me, Celimus,” Wyl promised, a determined, somewhat sly smile touching Ylena’s lips. “In a place I call hell.”

Celimus laughed. “Good luck with her, Cailech—as I understand it, her husband plowed the furrow only once. She’ll be nice and tight for you. Remember your promise to me.”

Celimus’s words shocked Wyl, but he put them aside in order to take his final opportunity to have the last word. He had never heard Ylena’s voice sound as cold and threatening as he made it now. “And you remember my promise to you, Celimus. When we meet again, you will die and I will bear witness to it. Just you and I, Celimus—as it should be.”

The words sounded strangely prophetic to Chancellor Jessom. The threat felt so very real on this cold night in the north, and yet how could it be, coming from a helpless captive, a young woman at that? Nevertheless, a chill passed through him as he watched Ylena Thirsk stare at the Morgravian King. She was too confident, too unfazed by Celimus—she had demanded her own death, for pity’s sake. It did not make sense. He glanced at Aremys and was surprised to see the mercenary watching him. The clue sat between Aremys and Ylena; Jessom was convinced of it. He narrowed his gaze in thought and saw the Grenadyne nod toward him as the party, escorted by Legionnaires, moved out of Tenterdyn.

Jessom watched them depart in silence, seized by an unshakable notion that, despite what both Kings promised, they had not seen the last of the Thirsks.

T
he journey back to the border was uneventful and mostly silent. That suited Wyl; he was content to let his horse follow the party while he contemplated this new turn of
events. It was frustrating being pulled farther from Celimus, but then Fynch had warned him of the randomness of Myrren’s Gift. Perhaps this was one of those occasions. He expected to meet Celimus again—and next time, as he had promised, he would not fail. His mind turned to what the King of the Razors might have in mind for him. Why had Cailech stayed the hand of Ylena’s would-be murderer? He felt a sudden gratitude to the Mountain King, for perhaps Aremys was right; so far all his deaths had involved someone killing him with a weapon they held. He noticed Cailech beckon to Aremys, who nudged his horse to draw alongside the King, but he could not hear their conversation and lost himself in his thoughts again.

“What lies between you and the Thirsk woman?” Cailech asked Aremys, direct as usual.

“Sire?”

“Don’t play the innocent with me. I’m sure I deserve better.”

Aremys sighed. “It’s true, my lord. I did not want to see Ylena Thirsk murdered.”

“That much is obvious. But why?”

“She is innocent of all that Celimus lays at her feet.”

Cailech made a soft sound of exasperation. “I worked that out for myself, Grenadyne. Tell me something I don’t know, something that accounts for that look in your eyes that fairly begged me to step in and halt the proceedings.”

Aremys knew he would have to skirt the truth as carefully as possible. “When I was picked up unconscious in the eastern part of the Razors by Myrt and his companions,” Aremys began, “I had lost my memory, as you know.” The King nodded but said nothing. The horses slowed to a walk. They could see flaming torches being waved in welcome from a distance. It would not be long now before they were reunited with their men. “As my memory returned I remembered the task I was involved with at the time of being set upon by the thieves in northern Briavel.”

“I’d like to hear the end of this before we actually reach the others, Aremys,” Cailech admonished gently.

Aremys nodded and got to the point. “I was hired by King Celimus to track down and murder Ylena Thirsk.”

“Right. So I gathered.”

“Celimus has, as I understand it, my lord, designed the deaths of Wyl Thirsk, Romen Koreldy, King Valor of Briavel, perhaps even his own father, and no doubt countless others.”

“You knew about Romen?” Cailech interrupted.

“It only came back to me recently. I didn’t know him, my lord, only of him.”

“Why do you think you mentioned him when you awoke from your stupor?”

Aremys was reminded again that Cailech missed very little. “I suppose because Ylena Thirsk mentioned to me that he carried a blue sword.”

“So you did actually meet up with her?” Cailech said, his mind moving swiftly now.

“Yes, sire. I met with her at Felrawthy, but had no intention of killing her as instructed. We talked of Koreldy because she was so grateful for his help in saving her life the first time. Having learned all that had befallen the Thirsks, and realizing that the girl was obviously an innocent, I followed Koreldy’s lead and decided to help her. Mercenary I may be, sire; cold-blooded murderer I am not. It was I who took her into Briavel, where I felt she would be safe. We lost each other at Timpkenny when I wandered out for some air and got set upon.” His story sounded horribly thin. He continued quickly. “We’d already discussed her going to Werryl and throwing herself on the mercy of the Queen, so she must have followed the plan in my absence.”

“But the note to Valentyna of Briavel that you claimed to have sent was a ruse, correct? Despite what I told Celimus, I would never have permitted you to send a missive to Briavel, certainly not without knowing what you were sending.”

Aremys nodded. “Right. I had to lie—I was trapped. But who would have thought the Queen would give her up in the fashion she did? I had both your life and my own at stake, as well as Ylena’s. You’ll recall when I told you about my insur
ance that I said I had no idea how to deliver the Thirsk woman.”

Cailech nodded. “It does seem that Ylena Thirsk wishes to die. Do you think she forced the Queen’s hand?”

“Perhaps, and frankly, who could blame her?” Aremys offered, not wanting to say much more, cautiously grateful that he had gotten this far on lies.

“And your need to rub salt in the prisoner’s wounds was actually your way of warning Ylena—am I right?”

“Again, yes, sire. I needed Ylena’s story to match mine, or I feared none of us would leave that hall alive.”

“The Chancellor knows nothing?”

“Nothing, my lord. He watched Ylena and me argue, nothing more. I was fortunate that a message came for him during that time in the outbuilding. I had but a few moments to brief Ylena.”

“I see,” Cailech replied. He fell silent. They were almost at the rendezvous point, could see Captain Bukanan and the other dignitaries being brought down to be exchanged. “One more thing, Aremys.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Why do you care about Ylena Thirsk? What hold does she have on you?”

And here we come to it,
Aremys thought, struck suddenly that he had no answer to this question. Cailech waited as the mercenary’s mind raced to find something to offer the King. The carefully constructed web of lies could all fall apart now if he said the wrong thing.

“What is it, Aremys? Why do you hesitate?” Cailech pressed, more pointedly. “Are you hiding something I should be concerned about?”

“No, my lord. It’s not that—”

“Then what!” Cailech demanded. Aremys saw Wyl glance behind at the disturbance of Cailech’s raised voice. “You will tell me, Grenadyne, before we meet our men…before I permit you to enter the Razors again, before I—”

It was Aremys’s turn to interrupt. “Because I love her!” he blurted, shocked by the vehemence in his voice. But the last thing he wanted was to be separated from Wyl again and this was the best reason he could manufacture. It was not so far from the truth: He had come to love Wyl Thirsk like a brother, regardless of the guise in which he walked.

Cailech looked at him, astonished. For a moment neither man spoke and Aremys knew he must hold the Mountain King’s hard gaze no matter what. To look away now would be interpreted as weakness or deception.

“You jest,” Cailech said eventually.

“I do not, sire,” Aremys said sadly.

“But—”

“Let us not speak of it anymore, my lord,” Aremys said, glad for the cover of darkness. “I have not yet expressed my deepest thanks for what you did today for Ylena. Let me do so now.”

“By Haldor’s arse, man, I didn’t do it for you,” Cailech said, still rocked by the Grenadyne’s admission. “I did it for purely selfish reasons. I would be lying if I did not admit here and now that I desire her more than I have desired any woman. I meant what I said.”

Myrt arrived. He took one look at his king and knew something was awry. He nodded to his sovereign. “Welcome back, sire.”

“Get rid of the Morgravian escort, Myrt, and make the official exchange,” Cailech said abruptly, turning back to Aremys.

Myrt accepted the salute of the Legion’s senior officer and the departure of the men. When he returned, he glanced uncertainly between Aremys and the King, sensing the new tension.

“We’ll be right with you, Myrt,” Cailech said. “Take good care of the noblewoman we’ve brought with us.”

Myrt took the reins of Ylena’s horse and led creature and woman into camp without another word.

“I mean to make her my wife, Aremys.”

“Without even knowing her,” the mercenary replied softly, careful not to sound judgmental.

Cailech looked toward the stars and gave Aremys the truth. “I’ve never been so affected by a woman and I’ve barely shared a word with her. She is disheveled, dirty, angry. She is magnificent. I want her.”

“She is certainly different from any woman I’ve ever known,” Aremys admitted, unable to help himself. “Be careful, sire.”

“Of what?”

“Of getting your heart broken.”

Aremys meant it sincerely. He knew Wyl would shout loud and long when he heard of the King’s intentions and Aremys only wondered how long Ylena would keep her life once Wyl set his mind to losing it again.

Cailech, however, took the mercenary’s meaning a completely different way. A dawning realization spread across his expression. “Oh, poor Aremys. The Lady Ylena has rejected your advances.”

“No, my lord,” Aremys corrected. “I have never made them.”

“She doesn’t know?” the King asked, aghast.

The Grenadyne shook his head. “I prefer it that way, sire.”

“Then what do you mean about getting my heart broken?”

“Only that she loved her husband, Alyd Donal of Felrawthy, passionately and completely. She will never love another.”

“We shall see,” Cailech said confidently, then: “We have cleared this between us, then?”

“My lord?”

“I can’t have you mooning around the woman while I’m wooing her, man! I don’t want us to fight over her.”

Aremys smiled for the first time in a long time. “Good luck to you if she will have you, Cailech.”

The King of the Razors grinned and held out his hand palm up in absolute sincerity. Aremys laid his own palm over it. Cailech grinned. “You constantly surprise me, Grenadyne.
Now, if you’d be so kind, I’ll ask you to introduce me to my bride-to-be.”

E
lspyth was laid out on a makeshift pallet on the ground, blankets piled over her small frame to keep out the bite of the cool spring night. A nearby torch lit her face a ghostly color.