Bridge of Souls (34 page)

“Could you stand to? I mean, it’s not as direct as you probably want.”

Elspyth paused to consider his question. “No, but I’m not really well enough to be any good to anyone, and a couple of extra days will not make a difference to my journey.”

“Perfect. Can you ride?”

“Let’s take Ericson’s cart. He’s not going to be needing it,” she said, feeling ghoulish at her pragmatism. “You have a horse, don’t you?” He nodded. “Then we’re set. Let’s go do some damage to our king.”

R
ashlyn stepped back to admire the fruits of his toil. He was drenched in sweat; it beaded into his tangled beard and soaked the already soiled shirt he had worn for days. He chuckled. “Better, definitely better,” he muttered, and swallowed a cup of the rejuvenating brew he had made before he began his ugly work.

He knew from past experience that crafting this sort of magic was exhausting, but now he believed it actually drained the life from him. A measure of his essence had been used to create the spell. That was his sacrifice, the price he had to pay to manipulate this magic. But he was becoming stronger, more
proficient in his crafting. The dog stood on all fours before him, trembling so badly Rashlyn was sure it would collapse. It snarled, despite its obvious suffering.

“I suspect that was none too pleasant for you,” he said to the creature. “In fact, I imagine it was nothing short of excruciating. I’m surprised you lived through it…and rather pleased you did.”

Again the dog growled weakly, baring its teeth, pulling helplessly at the restraining chain that held it to a ring in the wall.

“How does it feel to be a dirty dog, le Gant? A filthy Morgravian dog?”

The dog leapt forward and managed to make the sorcerer flinch. But the chain dragged it back viciously and it fell over. It lay on the ground, panting hard, eyes glazed, its energy spent.

“Oh, don’t die on me so soon, le Gant. I do so want to show the King my handiwork. I’m going to give you to him so he can feed you the crumbs from his table, or perhaps break your ribs with his boot if that takes his fancy. I suggest you change your attitude. You are nothing now, you Morgravian dog. You never were.”

The dog snapped once, but so weakly that Rashlyn did not even hear its jaws come together. He was lost in admiration at his skill. The dog could hear and react. The horse Galapek seemed nothing more than a void, but le Gant the dog showed spirit. Very good.

He was so close to full control now. He could hardly wait to present his latest creation to Cailech. Together they would rule not only the men of the land but its creatures and birds as well. Cailech could go to war with the south with bears, wolves, wildcats, even a troop of zerkons under his command—it was more exciting than Rashlyn had ever dared to dream.

And while Cailech might be the most powerful man in the realm, Rashlyn believed he himself would be even stronger. Without knowing it, Rashlyn had come to the same conclusion as Elysius. He believed that Nature was the reflection of Shar,
and if he, Rashlyn, could exert control over Nature’s beasts, then surely he would achieve godlike stature himself.

The barshi left the semiconscious dog to lie in its own mess, slamming the door shut on yet another tomb. The dog, hurting deeply and wondering how it could bring about its own death, whined softly as it passed into unconsciousness.

W
YL SANK INTO A GLUM SILENCE AS THEIR PARTY NEARED THE HIGHER GROUND AND THE IN EVITABILITY OF THE FORTRESS
. T
HE TERRAIN WAS
familiar and once again he felt the weak but nevertheless sickening pull of Romen’s fears as what little was left of him recognized where they were.

Cailech had been generous enough to leave Ylena to herself during the journey. At night she was permitted to sleep alone in a tent made from animal skins that the warriors rigged up for her rest. Fresh water was always found for her ablutions and Cailech had even promised a dip in a hot spring where he insisted she would have privacy. He had been formal and courteous in all conversation and their only physical contact had been during the hours on horseback. Wyl realized that Cailech must be enjoying the feel of Ylena’s slim body pressed against his chest, and although he made a huge effort to sit as far forward as he could, ultimately by day’s end the journey would wear him down sufficiently that,
without meaning to, he would find himself leaning against the King’s broad, hard body. There were occasions when Cailech, wanting to show Ylena something, would win her attention by gently touching her arm or speaking quietly into her ear as he pointed out a soaring eagle or a particularly jagged series of peaks, so distinctive to the Razors. And each time Wyl would withdraw just a bit further within, to what was purely him.

This was the third morning and they had broken camp a couple of hours ago. Aremys dropped back to ride alongside Cailech. Wyl had been surprised to find that the mercenary had essentially ignored him these past two days, preferring to keep company with Myrt and a fellow called Byl. He guessed that his friend was anxious and embarrassed by the situation in which Wyl found himself.

“I imagine they’re restless to be home now,” Cailech commented, nodding toward the men Aremys had just been talking with.

“They are. I don’t think any of you Mountain People feel comfortable outside the fortress and its compounds.”

Cailech grinned. “That’s a good thing.” He inhaled the sharp mountain air. “Can you smell that, Ylena? Those are tiny white flowers called thawdrops that burst through at the first hint of spring and flourish toward midspring. The fragrance is being blown here from the valley just outside the fortress, which we’ll be passing soon. It’s quite a sight. I shall pick you some.”

Wyl remembered the valley—it had been bare the last time he had passed this way. His stomach clenched at the thought of reentering the Mountain Fortress.

“Your friend is very quiet, Aremys,” the King said, amused, as if Ylena were not encircled by his arms, the prisoner of his desire.

Aremys shrugged, not daring to look Wyl’s way. “I hardly know her, my lord, to pass judgment on her silences,” he said carefully.

“You have us baffled, Ylena, you see?” Cailech said. Wyl could feel the King’s face touching the back of Ylena’s head as
he leaned forward. “Are you not happy to have escaped Celimus again? Can you not share your pleasure with us?”

“I wanted to die, sire. You denied me my revenge.”

“How so?”

“I wanted the blood of both Thirsk heirs on his hands, your majesty. I wanted it mingling with that of the blood of the holy men of Rittylworth and the loyal souls of Felrawthy he had slaughtered.”

“And Koreldy’s,” Cailech said quietly.

“Yes, Romen’s too. And that of King Valor.”

“Do you think he will kill his bride?” Cailech suddenly asked.

Wyl flinched. “He is capable of it.”

The King nodded. “Is that his plan, though, do you think?”

“No,” Wyl admitted. “He wants heirs. Perhaps three, to sit each realm,” he added craftily.

It did not rattle Cailech as intended. “I have an heir, Ylena,” he replied. “His name is Aydrech, and I am hopeful you will give me more sons.”

Wyl felt a fresh wave of nausea, all his own. He fought back, unwisely. “I hear that Aydrech is not truly of your blood, sire.”

Cailech’s right hand left the reins and raised itself in the air. The men behind obediently slowed and stopped their horses, as did Cailech. Aremys looked uncertain, glancing between King and guest.

“What did you say?” Cailech said, his voice hard.

It was too late to retract it; besides, Wyl had nothing to lose. The threat of being touched by this man was coming closer by the minute.

“You heard what I said, your highness, and your very reaction proves its truth.”

Myrt had dropped back to Cailech’s side. “My king, is everything all right?”

“Move the men forward, Myrt. I have a private discussion to finish.”

The big warrior nodded and shot a surreptitious glance to
ward Aremys, who also felt the dangerous tingle in the air but hadn’t understood Wyl’s words. The other horsemen moved by, averting their eyes, and Aremys made to follow.

“Wait, Aremys,” the King commanded, leaping down from his horse with agile grace. He walked around to where he could look his bride-to-be directly in the eye. Wyl knew that stare well. “Now, Ylena. Finish what you have to say or I shall slit your throat here and now.”

Wyl remained silent. Aremys shifted uncomfortably on his horse.

“What do you know about my son?” Cailech said, and his tone was now edged with a fire that had not been directed at Ylena previously.

“Only what I said, sire.”

“And how do you come by such information?”

Wyl considered his options. Romen could be the scapegoat; no one could hurt him anymore.

“It was Koreldy.”

The King looked shocked. “How could he know?”

Aremys wanted to know as well, although he feared Wyl’s answer and feared even more this nest of vipers Wyl had seemed to deliberately uncover.

“Did anyone mention to you the love between Romen Koreldy and Queen Valentyna, my lord?” Wyl asked, enjoying watching the surprise flit across Cailech’s face, to be immediately masked.

“You jest, of course.”

“I have no reason to, your majesty. You heard Celimus tell you that Romen was at Werryl Palace, acting as champion to Queen Valentyna.”

Cailech nodded. “She fell for his charms,” he said, smiling at an old memory of Romen’s flirtatious manner.

“She fell in love, your highness,” Wyl corrected. “He was not charming her—he was wooing her.”

“It sounds like Koreldy,” Cailech said disparagingly. “So what?”

“So he told her things—things he would normally have kept
to himself. A man truly enraptured can have no secrets from the woman he loves.”

“He told her about my son,” the King finished.

“He told her about a man called Lothryn whose wife bore a new son, sire.”

“Aydrech is of my flesh, Ylena.”

“She knew that, my lord, and mentioned as much. Lothryn explained to Koreldy about the boy. I gather it shocked Romen, as it does me, to learn that you would take another man’s wife purely to produce an heir.”

At this the King found his lazy grin again, infuriating Wyl. “As I am doing with you. Now I understand, Ylena. You were married to Alyd Donal. I’m sure he won’t mind if I bed you, although I am sorry that you see me in such a harsh light. I am genuinely intrigued by you. You have kindled a fire in me I have never before felt burn so bright.”

“And I’m supposed to be flattered by that?” Wyl asked incredulously. “What about how I feel? You are treating me with the same contempt that Celimus treats Valentyna.”

Cailech did not react to Ylena’s stinging words but changed the topic adroitly, frustrating Wyl. Cailech was too wise to fall for his baiting. “You sound as if you admire the Queen, Ylena.”

Wyl shook Ylena’s head in annoyance. He glanced at Aremys, who looked as anxious as he had looked in the hall at Felrawthy. “I do, more than any other woman I’ve ever met, sire.”

Cailech made a sound of disgust. “This is the same woman who sold you out to Celimus, knowing full well he was determined to kill you.”

Wyl’s anger flared. “And if you believe that, your highness, you are even more ignorant than the southerners believe you to be.”

It happened fast. Wyl felt Ylena’s body being wrenched from the saddle. Cailech’s strength was immense and her body hung from his hand like a rag doll, the tips of her boots only just touching the unforgiving rock they stood on. Aremys was off his horse in a blink, unsure of what to do.

Cailech dragged Ylena even closer. “Don’t you dare use that
high-handed Morgravian tone with me, Lady Ylena. Remember, you breathe only because I allow it.”

“Then disallow it, sire,” Wyl taunted. “Kill me now as you threaten. I don’t wish to marry you. I would sooner die. Why can’t you understand that I went to Celimus to lose my life?”

The light green gaze narrowed and studied her hard. “You went to Celimus? Willingly?”

Wyl nodded as best he could.

The King let go of Ylena and Wyl explained. “Valentyna was as determined not to release me from her protection as I was to leave it. She could not help me, sire. But I could help her. Presenting myself to Celimus as if I had been sent by his bride-to-be meant I could probably get the Legion called away from Briavel’s borders. Celimus is unpredictable and Valentyna is headstrong; their engagement has been threatened by Morgravia’s aggression. So I made the sacrifice.”

“Why? Why do you owe her anything?”

Wyl had no ready answer to that question. “Because Wyl died trying to save her, to save her father. My brother must have had good reason to swap his allegiance to Briavel, sire. Can you imagine a Thirsk doing that without cause?”

Cailech said nothing, only continued to stare at Ylena. Wyl looked toward Aremys, whose expression begged him to win back Cailech’s trust. “I decided to give what little I had to my brother’s cause, my lord. I have no reason to live. Queen Valentyna has every reason to. Don’t be misled, my king, Valentyna alone is what stands between Celimus and the Razor Kingdom.”

“How so?”

“I think she can influence him. If she handles this right, Valentyna might just guide him from the path of war.”

“I don’t know her but I agree,” Cailech admitted. “Although something happened back there at Felrawthy. I can’t be sure but my instincts usually serve me true. I believe Celimus might hold to the promise we made to each other.”

“And you, my lord?”

“I have no reason to start a war, my lady, or I would not have wasted my own time or breath in meeting with Celimus.”

“I would be lying if I said I was not impressed.”

“Perhaps we can build on that, then?”

Wyl looked sharply up at Cailech. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Ylena, that I understand your reluctance to be here and your fear of the Mountain Kingdom, its people, and its sovereign. But perhaps my determination to forge a lasting peace with the south is a place from which we can build this new relationship. Your life is forfeit anywhere outside of the Razors—you do understand that, don’t you?”

Wyl nodded.

“Good. Then take my protection. It is mine to bestow on whom I please. I will not rush you, my lady, but I will make you my wife. I have given my word to our neighbor. It is on that understanding that he released you.”

Cailech watched Ylena take a breath to interrupt, and hurried on: “I know you wished for death. I could see it in your eyes. But I will not permit such beauty to be wasted, nor such a feisty spirit. You are the last of the great Thirsk family, Ylena. Surely you wish to see its name flourish again?”

Wyl was ill-prepared for Cailech to touch on the very topic that was closest to his heart, one that provoked a storm of emotion and pain in him. He felt Ylena’s eyes water and turned away. It was in that moment of despair that he caught sight of a dark shadow that disappeared almost the instant he saw it. Knave! That meant Fynch was here too. Why?

New fears and confusion erupted. He was cold and he was tired. Ylena’s fragile body needed rest and it was obvious he could not provoke Cailech into a swift killing. Despite his private anxieties, he could not help but feel his spirits lift at the thought that his friends were close. He would have to go along with Cailech’s plan for now and rethink his options once he was inside the fortress.

And so he gave Cailech a response he knew would please
the King. “I wish that more than anything in the world, sire. I just cannot see how the Thirsk name can survive.”

“Through me, Ylena,” Cailech said gently, greatly relieved by her answer and beguiled by her sorrowful beauty. “I give you this pledge: Any child of ours will bear the name of Thirsk. That would also infuriate Celimus, of course, which is really rather satisfying. Does that please you, my lady? I would allow you to call him Fergys or even Wyl to honor your dead.”

“It pleases me, sire,” Wyl replied, taken aback by Cailech’s generosity.

“Then come, my lady. Let me take you to your new home and allow me to show you off to your new people. I will make you a queen, Ylena.”

Wyl sighed and dredged up a wan smile for Ylena’s face. “You honor me, sire,” he said, his mind racing for a way to escape the Razors again, and quickly.

F
ynch could barely raise his head when Knave returned.

It is Wyl, as you warned. I think he is with King Cailech
, the dog said.

The news roused Fynch, although he was too weak to sit up. He squinted his eyes. “How do you know it’s the Mountain King?”

I heard them talking and I saw the men defer to him. Ylena shares his horse and his cloak is far grander than any of the other men who travel with him.

“How in Shar’s name could this have occurred?”

From what I could gather, Wyl was at Briavel but somehow convinced Valentyna to hand him over to Celimus.

“Celimus! Where is he?”

I couldn’t tell from their conversation. But I do know Wyl tried to get himself killed.

“He cannot invite death!” Fynch exclaimed, coughing.
Knave saw blood on the boy’s hand when he took it away from his mouth. “Elysius mentioned it to us, remember—after Wyl stormed out of the cottage in the Wild?”