Myrren's Gift (27 page)

He stared at his hands, eerie in the moonlight, and accepted that these were indeed the large, well-kept hands of Romen Koreldy. still wearing the small, elegant signet ring. Wyl tentatively reached those long fingers to the face he now wore. His touch told him the once-familiar roundish features were now angular.

He possessed a neat, clipped beard and moustache.

He could not help but enjoy the lustrous feel of his hair when he loosened the thong that bound it and it fell to his shoulders. He recalled admiring it when he was an orange-haired General with his own, coarse thatch. Wyl knew his eyes were now a clear silver-gray. He even allowed himself the rueful grimace that his features were no longer ordinary and forgettable but were now remarkably striking. A face to turn heads.

Romen’s smile had been bright and quick. He tested it now, daring to touch the smooth, even teeth he recalled grinning back at him from the mercenary’s generous mouth. And his legs! Now Wyl did make a sound. It was a nervous laugh but nonetheless genuine as he stared at the new length of his legs, which now surely stood him as tall as Valentyna—taller than Alyd—perhaps even taller than Gueryn.

He thought of these people now and the wave of grief he had kept at bay crashed against his mind. Both the men he loved were dead, or as good as. while both the women he loved were living through enormous fear and loss. Ylena, he imagined, was probably still unable to come to terms with what she had witnessed in the courtyard—perhaps she never would. Valentyna. his love, was no doubt wondering whether her father still lived as life’s strange turns threw her onto an unknown path. Loving her so immediately and with such intensity frightened Wyl but he knew his heart belonged only to her now.

He remembered how he had made Romen promise to protect her. swear that he would lay down his life for her. Romen had given that oath with blood. It would now be up to Wyl to keep it.

He considered the man he had known so briefly and wondered if there was anything left of him inside. He probed gingerly and was rewarded with a vague touch on memories and ideas, thoughts and inclinations.

It was not easy to reach and his instincts were to pull away and yet he glimpsed that the private nuances which made the man were still there, albeit dimly. It was similar to how a woman, walking past, leaves that faint, tantalizing waft of her scent after she has gone.

And yet the very essence of Romen was long gone. His soul had passed to Shar.

Wyl remembered it crossing to die in his shell as his own life force entered Romen’s body. Wyl decided to seal away what was Romen for now. He was not ready to delve into his life. In this shocking time of confusion he needed to sort out his own life first. He felt the first feathery touch of sleep and yawned, welcoming its escape.

It was a cold, hard bed tonight but he was alive. And he was angry. Angry and confused. He recalled the dream he’d had about dying, and yet not being dead—it seemed now to be a premonition rather than a nightmare.

Wyl pushed his confused thoughts aside. He had plenty to do in this new body, not the least of which was finding Valentyna and Fynch, but first there was unfinished business back in Morgravia. As his eyes closed he whispered a final farewell to Romen, an assassin Wyl could not help but like—and the man he had now become.

As he gave in to sleep, it was suddenly as clear to him as the sharpness of the moonlight that there was only one course of action he could pursue. He would take his own body back and present it triumphantly to Celimus, going through all the motions required of him. He would trick the King into believing the Crown was rid of Wyl Thirsk. And then as Romen he would collect his purse, make provision for Ylena—
please, Shar, let her live this long
—and then depart Morgravia to formulate a plan to make Celimus pay for his sins.

Its King slain. Its heir missing. Werryl was silent and stilled with shock.

Commander Liryk sat with Krell, the dead King’s Chancellor. Krell was a man of few words but when he spoke he made sense and people paid attention. He had been in Valor’s service for more than two decades and was the former sovereign’s most trusted counsel and confidant. He tried to comfort the old soldier, who sat now in his study with his head in his hands.

“I’ve lost her.” Liryk whispered repeatedly.

Krell had allowed the man his sorrow. They were all grieving, all shocked at the previous night’s events.

It was Krell who had had the presence of mind to contain the damage within the palace walls as best he could. As soon as Liryk and the main Briavellian Guard had returned from the hoax. Krell had insisted Liryk dismiss all but his most trusted men.

“I would appreciate your thoughts.” Krell said evenly into the silence.

The soldier looked up from his hands, face puffy from helpless tears shed intermittently these past hours.

Dawn was threatening and decisions needed to be made.

“What do we have thus far?” he replied.

“The diversion of the Guard was deliberate, we know that now. That and the drugging of the palace staff suggests this was a well-planned raid.”

“Which succeeded,” the old soldier said bitterly.

Krell nodded. “Or did it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Others know the truth, I suspect. There were two other men here this night past, the most important of our visitors, and their bodies are not among those dead.”

“So?”

“Who do you think killed all the mercenaries? Hardly our King, I’d suggest.” Liryk nodded. “Valor was a fine warrior in his time, but no, he could not have taken on ten men single-handedly.”

“Valor, aided by Thirsk and possibly Koreldy, despatched the foreigners.”

“Why would Thirsk travel with a mercenary?”

“That is a mystery. I can’t imagine that he would agree to come onto Briavellian soil with anyone but his own men.”

“A trap by the Morgravian King?”

“Possibly. I’m thinking that if Thirsk was forced to travel with mercenaries on his mission, it would account for the thanks I read in his eyes when I separated him from what to all intents and purposes looked like his captor.”

“But you think they fought alongside Valor.”

The Chancellor nodded. “I do. And I suspect they may well have helped Valentyna escape.” This shocked Liryk. “Was she inside with Thirsk and the King?” Krell smiled. It was the first reason to do so in many hours. “That headstrong young woman comes and goes as she pleases. She knows the secret passageways better than any. I know her father expected her to attend the supper so I suspect it’s highly likely she was present.”

“But surely Koreldy could have smashed through the door with the other mercenaries?”

“Yes, he could have. But there are three swords missing from the case.” Krell tapped his lip. “No. I’m guessing the King or Valentyna furnished the men with swords—Thirsk worked with Koreldy and they both fought with the King’s agreement.”

“Set aside their differences, you mean?”

The Chancellor shrugged again. “I’m guessing. Perhaps the new Morgravian King is more cunning than we give credit.”

“A double cross?”

“On Thirsk, for sure. I don’t think for a minute that Thirsk came here to take the life of Valor.”

“What was he here for then?”

The old man gave a slight shrug. “Perhaps he came for Valentyna,” he suggested carefully.

Liryk was startled. “Valentyna?”

“Rumor has it the new young monarch is ambitious. Perhaps he sent Thirsk here with a proposal.” He sat back, satisfied he had released the thought that had been gathering momentum in his mind for a few hours now.

Liryk looked stunned. “How can you be certain of all this?” he asked, impressed by the Chancellor’s confidence. And watched that confidence evaporate as his companion gave a wry smile.

“I can’t. It’s possible is all I’m saying.”

Liryk dismissed Krell’s uncertainty and stood. “Plausible. And so?” Krell shook his head. “Not much else. Thirsk and Koreldy kill the mercenaries, but let’s say the King is too injured, or perhaps he died before they could save him. The pair have no choice but to escape with Valentyna.”

Liryk rubbed his face distractedly as he paced the room. “But how…where?”

“A good question among too many that we still have to answer.” Krell sighed. “There is only one certainty here: Valentyna must be found—that is our priority. And when we find her we will convince her of the sense of a union with Kins Celimus.”

“What?!” Liryk swung around on Krell. They were of an age and had both served Valor faithfully over many years. Neither felt the other had rank. “Allow Celimus to get away with this?” The soldier’s voice was hard, barely more than a whisper.

“There is more to this than we know,” Krell appealed. “What we can safely assume, however, is that should Briavel start a war with Morgravia right now we are lost. Our Queen is young and incapable of waging a long conflict with our neighbor. She is in no position to withstand Celimus and, frankly, neither is Briavel. The marriage will save our people. We walk a tightrope of diplomacy now.” The old soldier nodded thoughtfully as the implication of Krell’s words sank in. “You play a frightening game, Chancellor.”

Krell held the old soldier’s gaze steadily. “We must find Valentyna before he does.” They did not have long to wait, for at that moment a small boy was escorted through the study doors.

With the corpse slung again over the second horse and a quick glance toward the sweet-natured mule, Wyl ignored his hunger and set off towards Pearlis. They had met several curious onlookers along the way over the past two days and now as they drew into its outlying villages he gave none sufficient eye contact to invite questions about the shrouded body. It was nearing evening when he finally drew near to the magnificent stone arch that welcomed visitors to Stoneheart.

The guards eyed him suspiciously and he could hardly blame them, considering his odd company: a mule and what was obviously a corpse. Wyl felt a pang of sorrow upon recognizing a couple of his own men as they held up their hands to stop his progress.

“Ho. there. You. man. what is this?”

Wyl had to remind himself of who he was. “A dead body. I think you’ll recognize him if you take a look.” He pulled back some of the shroud from the head.

The men stepped closer and Wyl read the dismay on their faces as they noted the flame-colored hair first.

“It can’t be,” one spluttered. “No!”

“I’m afraid so.” Wyl said in Romen’s wry manner. But he was glad of their pain. It reassured him that his men knew nothing and were not in on Celimus’s elaborate intrigue.

Suddenly their swords were drawn and pointed at this throat.

“Who are you?” one of the guards demanded. Wyl saw dampness in the man’s eyes.

This is it
, he told himself.
Remember who you are
. In that moment of hesitation, he realized he had held himself too tightly within this stranger’s body. He knew he must loosen himself and embrace it; must own it if he was ever going to avenge his own murder. Wyl opened himself up to what was left of Romen and felt all that was Wyl Thirsk flow into the lithe and graceful stature that Romen had once possessed. Now the voice, the easy style, and even his mannerisms came effortlessly to Wyl.

“I am Romen Koreldy of Grenadyn. You can see which son of Morgravia I am returning home. I think you’ll find King Celimus is expecting me.” he said confidently.

An urgent runner was sent with a message. More soldiers had gathered, most in silent shock, just to lay their hands on the beloved General. Wyl was touched by their grief.

“What happened?” one asked, not at all shamed by his wet cheeks.

Wyl was ready for this question and intended to make it difficult for Celimus to squirm out of endorsing the explanation. “The palace at Briavel was attacked by mercenaries posing as soldiers from the Morgravian Legion.”

New shock claimed each face around him.

“But what was he doing in Briavel?” more than one cried.

Wyl shrugged. “I gather he was on business there for your King and became helplessly embroiled in the problem.”

The soldiers muttered among themselves.

“He gave no word—he just left. It’s had the whole company baffled,” someone said.

Wyl nodded. “Probably on a secret mission then, for Morgravia.”

“How do you know they were mercenaries?” one wily campaigner asked him.

“There was no mistaking them.” he said and then embellished with: “I was there on private business myself but when the attack occurred I found myself fighting on this man’s side. What is his name again?” They answered as one grief-stricken chorus.

And then for good measure and a chance to escape further scrutiny he grimaced, adding. “I was wounded and am in need of some aid.”

Hands rushed to help.

“My mule—well, she is not truly mine—is exhausted. The beast has run all day to keep up with the horses.”

“We’ll take care of her. sir. don’t you worry now,” a kindly voice offered.

A messenger appeared. “Sir. the King will see you immediately.”

“Could someone put his body on my shoulder, please?” Wyl asked. He had. in truth, not realized his own wound had re-opened until he had drawn attention to it.

“We’ll bring him,” a guard said, a tremor in his voice.

“No. I’ve carried him since Briavel. I’ll deliver him to his King as I promised him just before he died,” Wyl lied, hating himself for it.

A look of reverence crossed their faces now. The man who seemed most senior nodded. “Do it,” he said and once again hands clamored to assist.

Wyl settled the body and followed the messenger, as did several of the guards.

“Was Captain Donal with him, may I ask, sir?” one said.

“A fair-haired fellow, always smiling?”

“That’s him,” the man said eagerly.

“Dead,” Wyl replied. “I’m sorry, I just could not bring the both of them back,” he added, truly despising himself.

More pain and sorrow, but he needed to craft this tale perfectly. He must trap Celimus into supporting the story and he also did not want the Legion rising up yet or doing anything rash.