Myrren's Gift (20 page)

The King continued. “You will make him an offer.”

Now Wyl was intrigued. “What is my offer, sire?”

“An offer of marriage between myself and Valor’s daughter. Valentyna. He is an old man now and would see the sense of joining our two realms, for no young royal—especially one as flighty as I gather she is—would choose war over peace and prosperity. I alone can give her that security. Or I can bring her interminable grief as I will systematically wage war on her realm until it falls.” Celimus stopped talking and turned around, his dark gaze resting languidly on the General. Wyl felt strangely heartened. Was he really hearing right? He saw the King was patiently waiting for his response.

“Your majesty, your idea is inspired,” he admitted. “It would bring peace after centuries of war,” he added, hating that he was stating the obvious and yet still unable to contain his pleasure. “I will gladly take this mission and I will not fail you, sire.” Wyl stopped, realizing he was gabbling.

“I’m glad you like my plan,” Celimus replied, looking at one finely manicured hand.

Wyl’s brow creased again. “But why did you think you’d need to bind and subdue me to hear such a promise?”

Celimus glanced up. “Because I don’t trust you, Thirsk, that’s why.”

“And do you now?”

“Perhaps. I have assembled the company you will take with you.” He looked past Wyl’s shoulder and nodded. “You’ve already met Romen Koreldy. I have appointed him your second.” Wyl’s gaze fell again upon the tall stranger. The man had dark features although his eyes were of a particular silvery gray. They had a laughing quality to them. Hair dropped thickly to his shoulders and a closely trimmed moustache followed the line of his neat, wide mouth. When he spoke his salutation it had the same amused quality in its timber that his eyes held. This was a man who was clearly comfortable in his own skin; confidence and surety seemed to ooze from him.

Wyl stood. “Alyd Donal is my Captain, your majesty.” he said quietly, firmly, swinging back toward Celimus.

“Not on this sensitive mission, Wyl. In fact you’ll be taking none of the Legion with you.”

“You would send me into an enemy kingdom without my own men. sire?” Celimus opened the window. “Entering our enemy’s kingdom so boldly is precisely why we will not send Morgravians other than yourself. The mere presence of the Legion would be like a spark to kindling. I cannot risk it.”

“And you trust foreigners to the task?” Wyl said, looking again toward Romen Koreldy, who smiled back, his manner infuriatingly relaxed.

“You are no foreigner, Wyl—you are a proud son of Morgravia. The foreigners will be briefed and fat purses await each on their return from a successful mission.” Wyl wondered if it was his imagination that Celimus’s grin had a new wolfish quality to it.
Mercenaries
, Wyl thought, grimly.
Both our fathers will turn in their graves
.

He set his expression gravely, bracing himself for the repercussion of what he was about to say. “No, sire,” he said. “I regret but I cannot do this without the men I trust around me and I must recommend that you reconsider this plan.”

Celimus’s voice was now laced with a sharpness. “This is not about you or what you want.” he snapped.

“This is about achieving peace between two realms through a strategic marriage. You are its negotiator.” Wyl bristled. “I am a soldier, sire, not a politician. Perhaps I am the wrong man after all.” Celimus shook his head as though in the presence of a stubborn child. “Valor will trust no other name. He may be our enemy but his respect for your father is well known.”

“And yours too, sire.” Wyl countered. “It might be more appropriate for you to go in person and ask her hand.”

Celimus swung around from the window now. He could no longer disguise his anger. “Are you afraid.

Wyl?”

“No, sire. I’m just not stupid,” Wyl said, instantly regretting his choice of words and what they intimated.

He pressed on. “These men are strangers and I do not trust them with my life or anyone else’s.”

“And if I guaranteed your safety?” Celimus asked. Wyl opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again.

He knew now this was a trap. “I have, of course, sent a diplomatic messenger ahead to request Valor’s cooperation in entering into peaceful talks with my envoy.” the King added.

Wyl shook his head, determined not to show the shock he felt that Celimus had obviously begun orchestrating this plan when King Magnus was still alive. Trusting Celimus was laughable. He was as cold and as unpredictable as a snake. “I regret it. but no, your majesty. I will not head this mission for you under these circumstances and I would respectfully warn—”

“And this is your final answer?” Celimus interjected.

Wyl nodded, fearful now of what his decision might promote, but he remained resolute. He would risk neither his office nor his family name conspiring with mercenaries.

Celimus sighed dramatically. “As I thought. So now we must find new ways to encourage your loyalty.” Throwing open the other window, he turned to the burly men standing near. “Bring him.” the new sovereign commanded.

Wyl was dragged to the window, his eyes helplessly drawn to what had previously held the rapt attention of Celimus. Kneeling at a block was a man. Above him stood an executioner, his hands on a large axe.

the blade resting menacingly between his feet.

The prisoner’s hair was grabbed, his head pulled back. Wyl felt his knees buckle. It was Alyd staring back at him pitifully from a shockingly swollen and bruised face. He recognized Wyl and through puffy, smashed-up lips he managed to scream Ylena’s name before one of his keepers cuffed him hard. The fight went out of the prisoner and he was dragged back from his prone position in the dust where he coughed out more teeth and blood. Once again Alyd’s head was forced to the block.

Not even the memory of Myrren, which came sharply back into his mind, could frighten Wyl as much as he felt at this moment.

“My King, please, I beg you—” Wyl cried.

“Too late, General Thirsk. I am not someone to be trifled with.” Celimus raised his hand.

“Celimus!” Wyl beseeched, forgetting protocol. “For the love of Shar, man! That’s the captain of the Legion out there. He is loyal to Morgravia. His father—think of his family, my King, I beg of you.

Felrawthy would give his life for you. Alyd must be spared.” He knew he was blathering.

A choked cry from Alyd calling Wyl’s name urged him on, his heart beating hard with panic.

“I gave you a task, you denied me your service,” Celimus explained, almost gently as one would to a child.

“My lord King, if you would allow me to take my own good men. then I—”

“I don’t make bargains with my General, Wyl. You forget that you serve me.” Wyl opened his mouth to say something. His mind was spinning with what he could possibly negotiate but it was already too late. Celimus had no intention of sparing Alyd’s life. This was all a ruse. He had meant to have him killed from as early as the moment he found out his intention to bed Ylena had been thwarted.

Wyl watched with horror as the King’s hand dropped, giving the signal. His eyes switched with terror toward the courtyard, where an axe rose and then fell. Wyl watched, mute and devastated as his friend’s life was cut tragically short. Even the use of the axe was an insult to his friend’s noble status.

A choked sob escaped him. “You evil bastard!” His voice broke as he shouted at Celimus, struggling against the men who held him and the chains that prevented him from striking out.

Celimus had barely batted an eyelid at what he had witnessed. “It’s your fault that he had to die, Wyl. If only you had followed your King’s instructions without question—isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?

Isn’t that what your father did for mine?”

“My father did not follow the orders of a lunatic.” Wyl spat, realizing too late how calamitous his words were as his mind raced toward how to keep his sister safe, how he might negotiate with this cruel, bloodthirsty man.

At Wyl’s insult. Celimus turned back to the window and gave another signal.

Only then did it occur to Wyl that his sister was no longer safe. “Where is Ylena, Celimus?” Wyl whispered, petrified.

“Right here.” the King replied, menace in his voice.

Wyl dared to look out again and despair wracked his body for the second time as he saw his distraught sister being pushed into the courtyard. She saw her husband’s headless body slumped against the block and she began to scream.

Fynch stopped running abruptly as his mind swam with a vision of blood.
We ‘re too late, Knave, too
late
! he screamed inwardly and slumped against Stoneheart’s cold walls, his distress too much for him to bear as he succumbed to a small boy’s tears. His four-legged companion seemed to understand and allowed Fynch to bury his head against him.

“Don’t do this. Celimus.” Wyl was begging now as he watched Ylena slipping in Alyd’s blood as they carelessly booted her husband’s body aside. Alyd’s corpse toppled to the dust and Ylena had to step around his legs before they pushed her face toward the wet block. He could see her body shaking as she stopped her screaming and began to wail.

“I’ve had her dressed in virginal white. An ironic touch, don’t you agree?” Celimus asked.

The King raised his hand to give the signal and Wyl begged harder, straining against the hands that restrained him. At a look from the King the men holding him loosened their grip to allow him to fall to his knees. He did not even notice the pain as he fell.

“Celimus. I beseech you. Spare her. I will do whatever you ask.”

“Whatever I ask, eh?”

Wyl nodded mutely, blood from where he had bitten his own lips mingling with the helpless tears streaming down his face.

“Dear me. look at the state of you. General. One item of sorrow in your life and you fall apart. I wonder what your father would think of you?” Celimus said, deliberately rubbing salt into the wound. “How can I possibly believe you are the man to watch out for the security of Morgravia?” Wyl could not focus on anything but winning a reprieve for his beloved Ylena. If Celimus asked him to chew off his own hand, he would try—anything but bear witness to her being hurt again.

“I am. sire,” he beseeched. “I am the right man. I will do this job. I accept your mission.” He broke down again as he spoke the words.

“On your sister’s life, yes, you will!” Celimus said viciously. He turned back to the executioner. “Take her back!”

Ylena was roughly pulled back to her feet, her face and gown soaked with Alyd’s blood. She was alternating between shrieks and whimpers now. Celimus laughed.

Wyl gathered himself and took a risk by calling out to her. “Remember who you are, Ylena. As one!” She did not even look up at the family motto being called.

Celimus was highly amused by her state. “Wait! Make her carry her husband’s head back to the dungeons. He can keep her company, and tell her if she drops it, she’ll be flogged.” He turned back to Wyl. “I’m glad you saw reason. Ylena will remain in the special accommodation I have chosen for her until you complete the mission we have discussed. Is this clear?”

“Yes” was all Wyl could trust himself to say as tears began to dry on his cheeks. He made himself remember the sensation of the salty rivulets hardening on his face. It would remind him of Alyd. One day Wyl would avenge his death by killing Celimus.

Magnus had alarmed him just hours ago by echoing his own conviction that Celimus must die if Morgravia was to be saved. Wyl looked at the new King now with renewed hate and knew he alone would be the one who must do it.

“Excellent.” Celimus replied. “I have already taken the liberty of briefing the men. and have sent a messenger to Briavel to advise of your impending arrival. You leave immediately. Romen will accompany you to the stables. Don’t worry about packing, it has already been arranged.”

“May I see Ylena?”

“No. You will see her when you return. Until then, she remains a guest of Stoneheart’s dungeons.

Questions?”

“What if Briavel is not disposed to your proposal, sire?”

“Then you will have failed me, General, and not only yours but Ylena’s life will be forfeit, as will your wealth and landownings.”

All that mattered was saving Ylena.

“Anything else?” Celimus asked politely.

“Yes,” Wyl said, trying to think straight. He gritted his teeth before he spoke.

“Gueryn. I will need to get word—”

“Ah.” Celimus said with a hint of regret. “I should have mentioned this before, Thirsk. My father asked your friend, le Gant. to go on a special mission deep into the Razors. A task requiring experience but also. I suspect, involving certain death. Le Gant, to his credit, accepted the mission without hesitation—a brave man indeed.”

It was the final crushing blow and Wyl could not hold in his gasp. “This is surely a jest,” he said, eyes wide with disbelief “What special mission? Why was I not told about it?” he demanded.

“A secret mission,” Celimus repeated. “Not
everything
, General, is cleared through your office.” His voice was filled with sarcasm.

“Gueryn is
not
dead,” Wyl affirmed.

“Not yet,” the new King said, and Wyl knew now that Celimus had him completely. Once more he recalled Celimus’s threat at the tourney and realized now that it had been a true warning.

Magnus was dead. Alyd was dead. His sister had been imprisoned and, Shar forbid, his beloved Gueryn had been sent on a death mission.

Wyl’s world fell apart. He nodded and bowed his head, refusing to bear witness to the King’s glee.

Chapter 11

The company moved out of stoneheart’s eastern gate in a frigid silence. Celimus had masterminded his plan with brilliance and all news of Alyd Donal’s death. Ylena’s imprisonment, and the coercing of General Wyl Thirsk was contained. Meanwhile, the city bells continued to mourn the death of a monarch and Morgravia’s proud flag was being lowered in respect for the passing of a great man. Five official days of mourning prior to the King’s full ceremonial burial would now take place. This would include the closure of all drinking houses, eateries, brothels, and indeed any establishments of entertainment.