Destiny (45 page)

They found themselves now on the fringe of the city. It was far quieter than Hela believed it should be.

‘How long will you give us?’ she asked, deliberately not looking at Cyrus—but in these strange and threatening days since she had woken up beside him, she felt that delicious warmth when he answered.

Even in this situation—so fraught with danger—she found herself admiring his voice, his steady gaze, the way in which he shifted his tall body onto one foot. Suddenly everything about this man seemed to outshine any other. She fully accepted it was her failing—her lovestruck heart seeing him as so perfect—but she could do nothing about it. His mere presence seemed to control her which was irritating because she was a strong, independent woman. She wondered vaguely if she was having the same effect on him. She doubted it. He had not referred to their night of passion once since that morning in Ildagarth, nor had he shown her any particular affection, although she felt she was searching for every nuance. Every smile felt like a thousand fragranced flowers dropping on her. If she was affecting him in any way, he certainly did not show it. And what annoyed her most of all was that it was this remote manner of his which most attracted her. His damaged soul he kept so private and yet she had tapped into it that night and truly believed she had offered some healing.

She turned towards his voice, trying to concentrate on the matter at hand.

Cyrus sensed extreme nervousness in this small group. All but Rubyn seemed to feel they were walking towards certain death.

‘Herek, remember the Shield song?’ he asked.

Herek frowned. ‘Yes, sir, of course.’

Cyrus grinned. ‘Then sing it and when it’s finished—all ten tedious verses, mind, and with the chorus between each—come after us.’

Herek smiled and Gyl joined him—he knew the song well too.

‘Oh, and Herek,’ Cyrus added, a note of irony touching his words. ‘I shall order you back to the ship if you don’t stop calling me sir.’

The Prime nodded. ‘Habits die hard,’ he admitted. ‘It’s good to have you back.’

The two men clasped hands in the Tallinese soldiers’ salute.

‘Go now,’ Herek said softly to the only man he had ever truly admired. ‘Make our way safe.’

Cyrus and Hela stole off into the night leaving Rubyn and Sarel with bemused expressions as the King and his Prime, comically, very softly, broke into song.

Orlac felt the oppressive presence of Dorgryl lift away from him without warning. He was momentarily disorientated but then he was rising, pushing himself upwards and outwards into his own body, claiming it back.

She did it!
he thought. Alyssa—may the gods bless her —had lured Dorgryl from his cosy spot. It was all he needed. Orlac turned back, searching for Lauryn with the blurry vision he was desperately trying to readjust. There she was, slumped pitifully in the corner, her robe disarrayed, showing her nakedness which seemed somehow shameful to him. He took no pleasure in seeing the gentle curves and soft skin.

He realised he was holding his breath as he softly pulled the satin robe around her neatly and retied the sash.

‘Come, beloved,’ he whispered. ‘You do not belong here amongst us.’

Orlac lifted Lauryn to cradle her in his arms. This was the most intimate moment he had experienced with her and he could not help but appreciate the irony that she should be unconscious as he laid his first soft kiss against her lips. She stirred and he pulled away, lingering a moment or two to gaze at her face.

Under normal circumstances to carry Lauryn would be effortless for Orlac but, still feeling awkward in his body, he swayed as if drunk as he hurried out of her chambers down the corridors. He broke into a run, realising Dorgryl could return at any moment, taking the marble steps three at a time. Where he was taking her he had no idea. He just had to get her out of the palace and beg someone to take the limp body from him and hide her away.

Cyrus and Hela did their best to walk casually but their hearts were pounding; Hela’s from fear and Cyrus’s from the thrill of action. Suddenly he felt like the Prime again and without thinking he took Hela’s hand, whispering, ‘I think we must hurry.’

She nodded, relieved to feel the reassurance of his grip and they increased their pace. ‘It’s just around here,’ she whispered back.

As they swung around a corner, they could see a group of the Ciprean guard walking towards them. They had not been spotted yet and although neither could think of a single reason to be worried, both felt instantly wary and guilty. Cyrus pulled Hela into a recess in the outer wall of the palace and immediately embraced her.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, confused.

‘What does it look like?’ he murmured, pushing his lips against hers.

A few moments later, the men passed by and several whistled. Hela pulled back and whispered so low even Cyrus had to strain to hear her.

‘Let me talk. Your accent is strongly Tallinese.’

He nodded.

Hela and the men spoke. She immediately adopted a coquettish pose, glancing towards Cyrus several times and then laughing with the men. He could not hear but he guessed it was at his expense. The men moved on and she returned.

‘What was that all about?’ he asked.

‘Information.’

‘And what have we learned?’

‘That there is no guard for another hour on the western side. It is perfect. We can enter the main grounds from there. I know a way.’

‘What did you tell them?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Hela. You forget that I am a soldier. Guards are always posted around any palace. There’s no such thing as no guard for another hour.’

She looked at him but remained silent.

‘What did you tell them?’

‘That we are lovers and that I need somewhere nearby for us to lie undisturbed for a few minutes.’

‘And why would they do this for two lovers… strangers to them?’

‘Because I have promised something in return.’

He looked suddenly appalled as understanding dawned.

‘Cyrus, we have no time for this!’ she groaned beneath her breath. ‘We are trying to save lives!’

He blinked. She was right. Whatever it took, the destiny of the young woman they were trying to take away from Cipres and that of the young woman they were returning to Cipres, were far greater than any individual sacrifice.

Cyrus nodded sharply. ‘What now?’ he said, looking around.

‘I’ll show you how to get in. Then we go back for the others. Herek and I will take Sarel. You three somehow get the girl.’

The red mist had no form but Alyssa could feel its cold touch and hear the deep voice like a chill within her.

She is nothing,
it said.
But you should be heartily afraid of me.

Get away, demon,
she spat, the hard words firing her anger, helping her to remain brave.

It laughed; genuine amusement.
Welcome, Alyssa. Do you like where they put me for eternity?

She backed away from the mist which continued to drift towards her.

I am already dead, Dorgryl. Why do you waste your time with me?

I’m not sure.

Destroy her!
Xantia screamed from behind.

Why?
it asked.
Because you could not?

Give her to me, then. Let me try,
Xantia offered, her bravado increasing with his presence.

Shut up!
it said.
You bore me. You are no match for her.

Dorgryl! I was always stronger than her.

He laughed again. It was riddled with scorn.
Xantia, you have pitiful wild magic. Nothing more than circus tricks. Your companion here is so much more. Look at her. She is beautiful isn’t she? Shining and shimmering in her golden god’s light.

God?

Alyssa lifted her chin with defiance. She enjoyed watching the confusion on Xantia’s face.

You speak lies,
Xantia spat.

But I do not!
Dogryl countered angrily. And then he laughed again, lacing it with irony.
She is a clever woman isn’t she?
he said, as if to himself.

Of whom do you speak?
Alyssa replied, knowing the longer she could keep the red mist occupied, the greater chance her daughter had of escape—if she could gather her wits.

The red mist shimmered brightly.
I think you know.

Alyssa shook her head.

Now that you are here before me I realise your likeness to her is striking. I never knew. She kept a grand secret.

Move away from her, Dorgryl!
commanded a new voice.

Ah, I wondered when you might join us.

You were stupid to come back here. Now you are trapped.

Xantia felt her confusion and anger spill out.
Who is this?
she shrieked.

Can’t you tell?
Dorgryl said calmly.
This is Lys, the Custodian. Can you not see the resemblance? She is your friend’s mother. How about a deal, Lys?

No negotiation,
Lys replied, moving behind her daughter. Alyssa had not so much as glanced her way yet but Lys could tell she was shimmering with relief.

Oh, but I think you will this time. I can guess what your plan is. And I will not permit her to go.

You know nothing,
Lys said cautiously.

Choose,
he said, enjoying himself.
You can keep me here as your prisoner and thus imprison your daughter because I will never permit her to leave; or you can let me go back and you can do what you will.

Alyssa turned ferociously.
Don’t you dare,
she said, clapping eyes for the first time on her mother. She had no idea what they were talking about but it smacked of a bargain. Dorgryl was negotiating for his life back in Orlac, back to torment Lauryn, back to destroy Tor. It would make her own death pointless; make her a failure.

Lys knew it was she who was trapped. She turned sad grey-green eyes towards her daughter.
I cannot abandon you again. You must come with me.

Aha!
Dorgryl said, shimmering brightly.
You see, Alyssa. She gave you away once. She will not let it happen again.

No!
screamed Alyssa.

I can’t,
Lys said, her golden-honey hair shimmering in her golden light.

My children!
Alyssa wept and sank to her knees.
Save them, mother. Save Tor. I beg you.

Dorgryl giggled.
Touching, very touching. Farewell, Xantia. I must flee before she changes her mind. I can
do nothing for you. But I did warn you not to follow your petty hates. Live long,
he said.

Alyssa shouted her despair and her wails were accompanied by the cries of Xantia.

Xantia
, spoke Lys, her voice commanding now.
You are dead. Accept this. The Bleak is where you will dwell for ever. Your powers are not strong enough to escape its clutches. It is a fitting end for you and your bitterness.

No,
Xantia cried, still not understanding.

Come, child,
Lys said to Alyssa.
This is no place for you.

Alyssa looked up at her mother, shocked by the remarkable likeness the woman bore to herself.
How could you?

Easily,
came the reply.
I can save you.

And the others?
Alyssa dared ask.

I cannot interfere, child. We must believe they will prevail.

Alyssa shook her head.
But you could have saved them.

I made my choice,
her mother replied.
I should never have given you up. But I was given a chance to claim you back to your rightful position. I had no idea, Alyssa, that you would be brave enough to send yourself to this place. You have enormous courage, child, to give up all that you love including your own life.

Mother, it’s because I love them that I can. Why can’t you love me enough to help them?

Suddenly Alyssa felt a powerful shield close about her.

Xantia,
Lys said, regretfully.
It is no good. You cannot hurt her any more. Your magics are useless here.
Your magics always were. We leave you now to ponder your sad life.

I would rather be dead,
Xantia snarled.

I’m sure you would but this was your choice.

Where are you going?

To a place you will never see, can never reach.

Alyssa turned to the woman who had caused her so much harm. It was over then. Her destiny was to be separated from Tor and she had failed in giving her life to save his and those of her children.

Farewell, Xantia,
she called quietly and then she felt herself travelling.

Rubyn squeezed Sarel’s hand. ‘I will see you again.’

They were following Gyl and Herek as they made their way towards the Ciprean palace. There was no time to think, let alone for her to stop and acknowledge his words so seriously spoken. But she did now. She pushed caution aside. Her situation was perilous enough not to worry further.

Sarel pulled him to a stop, leant forward and kissed Rubyn. ‘And I will see you.’

He nodded, his face grave and his expression focused entirely on her as though he was unaware of the Prime moving back towards them, frustrated by this stoppage.

‘You will make a great queen,’ he whispered, bowing to kiss her hand.

‘Your majesty, please,’ urged a breathless Herek. ‘There is no time for this.’

‘There must always be time for love,’ she said, turning to gaze at the perplexed soldier. ‘Come!’ she added, grabbing Rubyn’s hand again and breaking into a run.

Gyl had already reached Cyrus and Hela. There was relief written over everyone’s face that they had made it this far.

Cyrus addressed his King. ‘All right now. We split up here. Your highness, if you would accompany Rubyn and me, we will leave Herek and Hela to get Queen Sarel to safety.’

Gyl nodded, turning to Herek. ‘You know what to do.’

Herek saluted. ‘I do, sire and…may I add that you are not to wait for my return at the ship. Once you have Lauryn, leave.’ He stared at Cyrus. ‘That’s an order.’

Cyrus saluted as well. ‘Go!’ His gaze moved swiftly towards Hela. He said nothing; no expression showing on his face.

Hela felt hollow. This no longer felt like a farewell. It felt like a final goodbye. Suddenly the full sense of their flight from danger came home to roost and the chirpiness and courage she had always been able to dig deep and find deserted her. And there was no time to linger. She let her sad eyes do the talking. His never left hers as Herek shook his hand and the King offered words of luck. Her throat was too dry and choked to say anything and she found herself being jostled away from him.

And then finally he whispered something towards her. She just caught it. ‘May the Light guide you safely.’

‘And may it guide you back to me,’ she whispered but knew he had not heard for he had already turned and was moving into the shadows towards a small, unguarded entrance on the western side of the Ciprean palace.

Orlac was running, Lauryn limp in his arms and oblivious to his bid for her freedom. He careened around a corner into one of the lesser used wings of the palace and startled a servant hurrying in the opposite direction. Recognising him she froze. All the palace staff—except Juno and Titus he realised—were terrified of him. He wondered briefly how Lauryn’s companions fared since Dorgryl had had them locked up and under guard in one of the dungeons.

When Dorgryl had stolen and then attacked Lauryn that first night, Orlac—even from his withdrawn place—had noticed that both had cast out anxiously. Dorgryl had noted it too.
So, we have two sentients amongst us
, Orlac recalled him saying scornfully.
You make an interesting pair. I shall find out more later
. And then he had stunned them with a bolt of his own magic, wisely choosing to keep them alive until he had time to find out exactly who they were. He had ordered the guards to keep them drugged until he returned. But Dorgryl had not returned, preferring his entertainment with Lauryn.

Orlac brought himself back to the present and the terrified maid. ‘Is there a way out down here?’ he hurled at her, hoping to frighten her into speaking.

She shrank back, looking around for an exit. ‘Sire?’

‘Answer me, damn you! Can I get into the gardens from here? Quick, woman, this is urgent.’

She found her wits. ‘Yes, sire. But don’t go that way. There are three strangers…armed, sire. I—I just happened to be taking a short cut into the palace and saw them. I must raise the alarm.’

‘Who are they?’ he demanded, reaching for her arm then thinking better of it when she looked as though she would start screaming.

‘Tallinese, sire. One wears the crimson!’ She took off like a frightened bird, fluttering down the corridor.

Orlac’s mind raced. Tallinese? Luck was with him tonight. He ran straight towards them.

Herek and Hela flanked Sarel as they moved stealthily into the city itself. In any other circumstances the soldier might have found himself intimidated by the magnificence of this city, so beautiful in every way. Yet curiously, in his tension, he found himself admiring even the exquisite manner of the way its artisans had fashioned everything, from doorknockers to drains. Tal was an imposing city but it had none of this elegance or grace.

Hela was speaking and he dragged his mind from some admirable ironwork.

‘…his house is not far.’

‘Sorry, Hela. Whose?’

She had not noticed his vagueness and repeated herself without pausing. ‘Councillor Heyn. He is the most senior of the Elders. He will recognise me, if not his Queen.’

‘How do you know he will help?’ Sarel asked.

‘Because he owes me a few favours,’ Hela quipped and winked at Herek, who decided he would not press for any further information.

Cyrus put his finger to his lips. He pointed towards a small, fairly inconsequential doorway through which he
had seen the maid scurrying. The soldier knew they had been spotted but they were far too committed to this cause now to turn away. She would surely raise an alarm. So be it. He motioned for Gyl to draw his blade. They both did so together, silently.

Rubyn grimaced knowing how inconsequential a blade was against what lay behind those doors but he realised that to these men, a weapon felt safe. He shielded for all of them. His thoughts drifted once, briefly, to Sarel, the incredible sensation of her mouth so fleetingly against his lips. He would taste those lips again, he promised himself.

Cyrus nodded. They stepped out of the shadows towards the doorway and faltered with alarm as an incredibly tall, golden-haired man suddenly appeared in it.

‘Where are you?’ the man demanded. ‘Show yourself.’

In his arms was a woman, barely covered by a satin robe.

Without thinking Gyl rushed forward. ‘Lauryn!’

The tall man turned at the sound of the man’s voice. He recognised one as the King which impressed him. Most sovereigns would not risk their life in such a foolhardy manner. Blades were drawn and pointed at him. But his attention was snared by the calm countenance of the slim, fair-haired young man. The powers swirling about him were immense and Orlac could sense he had built a strong shield about them. It was an impressive show—this was no ordinary sentient.

He cast towards the young man.
She lives but not for long. Take her. Get her to safety. Dorgryl comes. He will kill you all.

The other two were unbalanced by his lack of movement or even eye contact towards them.

‘Give her to me, Sylc,’ Gyl demanded.

‘Welcome, your majesty,’ Orlac said, his voice betraying no emotion.

This politeness only served to unbalance his enemies further. He handed Lauryn gently into Gyl’s arms. The King had to drop his sword to take her and Cyrus, baffled as to what was going on, bent cautiously to pick it up.

It was a shock to see Orlac again, so alive, so much larger than life. He felt his gut twist at the sight of him, wondering whether the god would recognise him. Of course he would not, but it did nothing to comfort his sudden fear of the mighty power which stood before him.

Rubyn spoke, unable to tear his gaze from the golden man. ‘He says we are all in danger from someone called Dorgryl, especially Lauryn.’

‘You must run,’ Orlac added to the warning. ‘He will try and recapture her and in the process will kill all you. Every second you waste here threatens your life.’ He gazed at Lauryn. ‘And hers.’ He looked straight at Gyl. ‘Get her to safety.’

‘Why do you help us?’ Cyrus asked. The question was loaded.

The god shook his head and answered the most obvious. ‘She deserves her life. She is braver than all of us. Tell her father to await me. I come soon. Now go! Dorgryl will already be searching.’

Gyl and Cyrus began running but Rubyn lingered.

He nodded at the golden man. ‘You are more noble than we anticipated.’

Orlac smiled ruefully. ‘Don’t pass your judgement so soon.’

‘I am Rubyn. One of the Three.’

‘The Three?’

‘We will destroy you.’

‘You can try.’

‘We will meet again in the Heartwood.’

‘Appropriate. Are you her brother?’

‘I am Torkyn Gynt’s son, yes.’

‘Her puppy is somewhere about these gardens. If you see it, you must take him. His name’s Pelyss. She would miss him sorely.’

Rubyn looked at the golden man with curiosity.

Orlac suddenly felt the touch of Dorgryl on his mind. He flinched. He knew Dorgryl felt it.

Orlac nodded. ‘It is a privilege to meet you, nephew, but I suggest you leave right now.’

Rubyn stared at him for just a moment longer. He bowed once to his uncle. When he looked back he saw Orlac’s eyes had turned red.

The King had thrown Lauryn over his shoulder. It was not one of the most respectful ways to carry one of the three people on whom the Land’s survival counted, but he accepted it was the only way he could move quickly and efficiently and still keep his weapon arm free.

They were approaching the docks when suddenly Cyrus stopped.

Gyl turned. ‘What! What’s wrong?’

Cyrus looked stricken. ‘Oh Light! Oh no.’

Rubyn caught up with the two men. ‘What’s happened?’

Cyrus looked towards the palace and then back towards the docks. ‘How could I have overlooked them? I have to go back.’

‘Don’t talk madness, man. Why? Who are you talking about?’

Cyrus smiled sadly at the King. ‘Take her. Get the ship moving. Take my boy with you,’ he said, looking at Rubyn with love. ‘Do not wait.’

‘Cyrus! Where do you go?’ demanded Rubyn.

The soldier turned back to them, regarding their shocked faces. He took Rubyn into his arms and hugged the young man fiercely. Then he looked at the King. ‘I’m sorry, your majesty. I have left behind friends. In my anxiety I had forgotten they were here. Adongo and Juno…they are Lauryn’s Paladin. We cannot leave them behind.’

Gyl was out of his depth here but he could tell it had something to do with his mother’s magical friends, having heard the name Paladin before. ‘Cyrus. You cannot be serious. They must be injured or perhaps dead if they are not with her. You must come now.’

Cyrus was already moving away from them. ‘I would know if they were not alive. Get
The Raven
sailing. Rubyn…somehow get yourself and Lauryn to the Heartwood. Don’t wait for Herek either.’

He turned and ran back up the hill towards a place where angry gods lurked.

Dorgryl fled from the Bleak, gloating over how he had rid himself of Xantia and cleverly entrapped Lys. He
had known she would not fail to choose Alyssa over him—she had to let him go to save her daughter. And Lys’s powers so well matched his own there would be no point in her trying to fight him to hold him in the Bleak and risk hurting Alyssa. No, he had given her the best option even though she did not like it.

Throughout his time in the Bleak, Lys had been there for every tedious moment. It was the only way she could maintain another god’s imprisonment. The only break in that power had come at the precise second Torkyn Gynt had accidentally blundered into the Bleak. Dorgryl laughed. Lys had faltered at the unexpected arrival and Dorgryl had taken his chance. And now she had faltered again. To save her daughter she had to leave the Bleak but in doing so relinquished her hold over him.

Oh how he loved it! Arrogant, stupendously confident Lys…thwarted not once but twice.

And where had Orlac got to, he wondered. He congratulated himself on not giving up his hold on the god’s trace. If he had done, Orlac might have been able to escape his sensing.

Suspended between the Bleak and arrival back in Orlac’s body he linked.
You cannot escape me yet, nephew.

He reached out for his host and made contact. Orlac flinched.

Ah, there you are
, he whispered and travelled urgently, arriving just in time to see a young man running away.
Who was that?

No one special,
Orlac said. With Dorgryl’s presence inside him, he felt ugly and abused again.

I was extremely impressed by your trick.

Which one was that?

The one where you go very quiet and pretend not to hear me. The one where you wait—oh so patiently—for a moment when my guard is down.

Oh, that one.

It will never work again.

Then I shall have to devise a new trick.

I presume she is hidden then?

You are right.

I think I had finished with her anyway,
Dorgryl said, casually.
Nice body, your Lauryn has, but she never joined in.

Orlac deliberately kept his emotions under control. He took a deep breath.
Dorgryl. I am finished with Cipres. I am finished with you. I now travel to finish Torkyn Gynt and fulfil my promise to Tallinor…whether you care for it or not.

Dorgryl did not so much as hesitate, speaking smoothly with a tone suggesting he was surprised Orlac had ever doubted him.
Oh but I do, nephew. It was always our plan wasn’t it? And I do believe I owe you an apology. My behaviour has been abominable in taking over your body so completely. I don’t know what came over me.

Orlac knew he had one of two ways to go. He steadied himself, remembering Lauryn’s sweet smile and that he had won her freedom— which not so long ago had suddenly seemed all that counted—and he forced his voice to neutral; forbade his body to show in any way its fury. He lied just as smoothly as his uncle.
You were right. I had lost my way for a while and you were correct to remind me that we show no mercy.

Oh?
Dorgryl was not that easily fooled. He probed deeper, searching for any sign of guile and came up wanting.