Blood and Memory (18 page)

Aremys moved swiftly, giving chase to the lad, but he never did find Jorn among the twisting, confusing hallways of huge Stoneheart. Instead he angrily navigated his way back to his room, packed his garb, and somewhere between stuffing things into his saddlebags and hearing the light knock at his door, decided to set off after her immediately. It was madness, he knew. She was trouble. What he did not know was where she had gone, although he had a hunch. He discarded all the sensible objections to pursuing Faryl.

He flung open the door, expecting a messenger. He found Jessom instead.

“Leaving us already?” the Chancellor asked, eyeing the bulging saddlebags.

“I can’t sleep,” Aremys offered flatly. “I thought I’d make myself useful—early start and all that.”

“And Leyen?” There was something sly in the voice.

He played it carefully. “What about her?”

“She’s gone, did you know?”

Aremys thought quickly. However he might feel about Faryl, he certainly did not need a king for an enemy. Jessom’s arrival and inquiry provided him the opportunity to appear loyal to both sides, although right now his loyalties, despite his reservations, were with the female assassin.

Aremys frowned deliberately. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve just been to her rooms,” the Chancellor said. “May I come in?”

Aremys stepped aside and Jessom entered his chamber.

“Close it,” the Chancellor suggested. After Aremys had done so, he continued. “I wanted to talk to her about why the King kept her back from us this evening. I don’t like secrets that I’m not in on and I’m a little intrigued at her behavior as she left. Are you not?”

Aremys said nothing. He raised an eyebrow, though, to show he was paying attention.

“And now I find she has gone. No sign of her in her rooms,” Jessom smoothly continued.

“When was this?”

“Moments ago.”

“I see,” Aremys replied, thanking Shar’s blessing that he had run out of Faryl’s rooms as fast as he did.

“Any ideas why she may have left you behind?”

He shook his head thoughtfully for the Chancellor’s benefit. “No, indeed. I thought we were supposed to leave at first light.”

“Yes, that was my understanding. I’m wondering if the King gave her another special task.”

Aremys shrugged this time. It was his notion too, but he certainly was not going to share this with the inquisitive Chancellor. “But why brief us on what seemed like an important task to the Crown, order us to undertake it immediately, and then turn around and give a counterorder?” he reasoned.

“My thoughts exactly,” Jessom said, “though there is never any accounting for the whims or moods of Celimus. He is thoroughly unpredictable.”

“I can’t help, I’m sorry.”

“So what will you do?”

“Carry on as instructed. I suppose I shall head off immediately, then.”

“Yes, why not, there’s no point in you remaining here.” He handed Aremys a pouch of coins. “This should do you for expenses. I have already made arrangements for payment the usual way with regard to your capture and delivery of Leyen. Monies for the Legionnaires and their delivery are now paid in full,” he said, handing a bigger sack—gold this time—to Aremys.

The mercenary grunted and nodded. Money was the last thing on his mind right now. He stepped with the Chancellor toward the door, eager for the man to leave.

“I shall get to the bottom of Leyen’s mysterious departure. I wonder who might have seen her leave,” Jessom mused.

Aremys held the door open, contriving a puzzled expression, eager for the man to be gone. “Well, start with the lad Jorn, perhaps. I think
Leyen mentioned he was attending to her.”

He knew it was a mistake the moment the words came out. He had just meant it as an offhand line, something to help the Chancellor on his way so he could grab his saddlebags and go. Aremys knew immediately from the clouded look on Jessom’s face that he had just stirred more trouble.

“Jorn! The King’s messenger?” the man said, aghast.

Aremys tried to recant quickly. “Oh, truly I have no idea. That’s probably not even his name. I thought I heard her say that name tonight, but come to think of it, she said that some noblewoman had sent a maid…” His voice trailed off. It was already too late to repair the damage, for Jessom’s expression had deepened in thought.

“You get going,” the Chancellor said distractedly. “I must find that boy.”

Aremys shrugged. Jorn probably knew less than he did anyway.

Jessom stopped him. “Report back to me, the usual way, as soon as you have news of Ylena Thirsk. We want her corpse in Stoneheart within weeks, although her head will do,” and he laughed drily.

Aremys strode away, the sound of Jessom’s amusement diminishing behind him. At the stable he roused a disgruntled horse master, whose temper was only marginally improved at the sight of silver. Here Aremys learned that Faryl barely had a couple of hours on him. At the gate he met the same guard she had.

“Lots of comings and goings tonight, then,” the man said wearily.

“Yes, I’m afraid we’re all on King’s business,” Aremys admitted. “In fact, I’ve been asked to catch up with the woman who left a little earlier.”

“Ah, yes, she took off in a real hurry…on royal business,” the man admitted, nonplussed.

“That’s her. Do you know where she was headed?”

“No, sir. I think young Jorn mentioned something about Felrawthy, but I couldn’t be sure. I just open and shut the gate on orders, sir.”

Aremys gave an expression of contrived sympathy and understanding. “Thanks, anyway,” and he tossed the man a silver coin.

He left the castle at full gallop.

The next morning Lady Helyn’s servant delivered the flask of sweetened wine as asked. “A delivery came for you, my lady,” he said as he poured.

“Oh? When?”

“In the early hours, madam. I thought it best not to disturb you.”

“How very odd. Whatever is it?”

“Of no consequence, my lady. Curiously it was a gown, cape, and item of jewelry, brought by one of the King’s pages, returned with thanks.”

Lady Helyn smiled. “Ah, yes. Intrigue over, Arnyld. I lent these to one of the King’s guests who was staying unexpectedly at Stoneheart without formal attire. Have the clothes cleaned, please, and returned to my daughter’s rooms.”

“Yes, my lady.” The man bowed and withdrew.

“Oh wait, Arnyld. Check the pockets before you have the gown cleaned. My daughter’s awfully forgetful.”

“At once, my lady.”

Lady Helyn had hardly taken a few sips of her sweet wine before the manservant was back and bowing before her.

“What is it?” she said, mildly irritated at the distraction.

“Apologies to disturb you, my lady. But I did find this in the cape. I checked as you asked and discovered this note addressed to you.”

“Oh?” she said, eagerly reaching for the small roll, hoping Leyen might be giving her some
tidbit of gossip. “Where is my glass?”

Arnyld reached toward a small table and handed a fat disk of glass to his mistress.

“Thank you, you may go,” she said.

After the servant’s departure, she hurriedly unfurled the slightly rumpled paper and placed the disk over the words to magnify them.

She read it several times. Lady Helyn finally looked up from Leyen’s note, her lips pursed, eyes reflecting her alarm. What she had read stunned her, and as she ran its contents over again in her mind, she crushed the note before throwing it into the nearby pond. She studiously watched its sodden mass drift gently toward the murky bottom, ensuring no other pair of eyes would ever read it contents.

The path she had been walking now for two days widened into a proper road and
Elspyth�s prayers were answered. People moved freely along this road and two carts, obviously traveling together, almost knocked her down as she emerged somewhat wildly from the adjoining track, desperate to stop them.

Stop them she did, although she was nearly crushed by one of the startled horses.

“Shar’s Wrath!” someone yelled.

She must have fainted with relief or fatigue, possibly hunger, but lost herself only for a short while. When she regained her wits, she was sitting beneath the canopy of a covered cart staring at several wide-eyed children.

“She’s awake!” one of them called.

A woman, obviously the mother of the brood, hove into view. “Better?”

Elspyth grimaced and nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“You gave us all a terrible fright,” the woman said, a small smile at her mouth. “I’m Ruth. This is my family.” She called to the front. “Ham, she’s awake. Stop now.”

The children grinned shyly and then lost interest in the wild woman.

Elspyth sat up as the cart lurched to a halt. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Ruth smiled warmly now. “Come. It’s time we broke our fast.”

The mention of food made Elspyth’s belly grind.

Ruth looked at her. “Time you broke yours too,” she said, frowning.

It was reassuring to be among fellow travelers again. Elspyth felt her fears subsiding at the merry voices and the sudden activity to get a fire lit, water heated, food laid out. It was a humble spread, but it was a feast to her.

“Eat,” Ruth encouraged. “How long since your last meal?”

“Days,” Elspyth admitted. “Is there enough for all?”

“Always,” the woman replied.

The men began to gather. There were two families. The second woman, Meg, had older children, two boys, old enough to sit up front with the fathers.

Ham, Ruth’s husband, introduced himself first and then the others. Elspyth nodded, smiling at all.

“Again my apologies for startling everyone. I was so keen to speak to another person. It has been so long.”

“Well, while you eat, let us tell you about ourselves. We always eat heartily at this time of the day,” Ruth said, her kind eyes encouraging Elspyth to slice off some meat from the haunch that had been set out.

Elspyth did as bid. As she ate she learned that the families were Briavellians, providores returning home after a successful trip into Morgravia.

“What do you sell?” she asked through her contented chewing.

One of the lads spoke up. “We are honeymakers.”

She looked confused now as she swallowed. “But surely Morgravia makes its own honey?”

They all grinned as though this was a regular question. The lad enlightened her. “Ah, but our bees are special. They have not been crossbred with any others. They’re of the purest strain of Magurian bee from Magur, a tiny island off the southeast coast of Briavel.”

Elspyth was intrigued. “But how do you stop the bees from crossbreeding?”

The honeymaker family was impressed that she was taking so much interest. The father answered this time. “Well, my family has been in honey making for generations. But I’m the third son. There was not enough income in Magur for me to make a livelihood. So I moved to Briavel as soon as I was old enough to leave the nest and settled on the mainland.” He sucked at a pipe now as he recalled those early days. “I fell in love with a beautiful Briavellian maiden, but I hated the honey on the mainland, of course, preferring the richer lavender-and-clover flavors of the Magur gold.”

His wife smiled indulgently at his words.

He continued. “And so I suggested to my father that I might import some of our honeycomb—we had more than enough produce.”

“I’ll bet the Briavellians loved it!” Elspyth said, enjoying the tale.

“It helps that our dear King Valor, rest his soul, took a fancy to it, having tried it once while passing through our region,” the wife said softly.

“And do you now supply your lovely young queen?” Elspyth asked.

Their son was eager to take up the story. “Yes. Apparently she eats it each day and attaches much to its health properties.”

Elspyth nodded. “She is very beautiful, I hear.”

The lad blushed. “She is magnificent. No one can hold a candle to her looks.”

Elspyth grinned. “Then I must taste this honey of yours, for it must be her secret.”

Her companions laughed and offered around more food and tea.

“And you?” Elspyth said to Ruth. “Tell me about your family.”

“Ham can tell you,” she said, nodding at her husband as she began to clear away some of the debris of their meal.

He obliged. “Well, we are grapegrowers and winemakers, but not just any old grapes, mind. Our vines produce the special frostfruit, harvested very late in the year when the first bite of winter is being felt. They are exquisitely sweet, very small, and produce the most lush, rich wine—”

“Also favored by royalty, no doubt,” Elspyth chimed in, amusing the families.

“By your own royalty, in fact,” Ham admitted, liking her cheek. “We recently made a delivery to the court of King Celimus and we’ve traveled in the north for a while. My son’s first vintage, and a fine one it is,” he said proudly, looking toward his boy, who shrugged self-consciously. “Don’t be bashful,” he added. “You’ve a better palate and nose than any member of our family I can remember.”

“And so Briavellian honey and wine finds it way across the border into Morgravia regularly now?” Elspyth asked, and the adults nodded.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she said, meaning it. “Trade overcoming politics.”

Ham nodded. “Yes, but only because our two products have found favor with the royals.”

Ruth sighed. “It will be a lot easier when your Celimus marries our Valentyna. We can all trade more freely. Worry less.”

“Do you think it will happen?” Elspyth asked, thinking of Wyl.

“It has to,” said the honey maker, taking a long puff on his pipe. “It is the only way our two realms can become profitable. All these wars have achieved is to beggar each realm’s producers. If they marry we can forget war and our children can look forward to a better life.”

Sounds of agreement came from those around her and Elspyth felt a surge of sadness for her trapped friend. Wyl loved Valentyna, but it seemed her duty to her realm would weigh heavier than their desire.

“You said you lived in the southeast of Briavel. Do you ever get to the capital?” she asked, chewing on a fat fig.

Ham nodded. “Yes, indeed. My eldest son and I travel there regularly. We were there very recently, in fact.”

“Oh, so I wonder if you’ve heard of a nobleman called Romen Koreldy. I know him quite well and the last time we met he was on his way to Werryl. I hear through the grapevine from fellow travelers that there was some sort of duel between him and King Celimus at the Queen’s tourney.” It was true. She had heard as much.

“We were there,” the eldest son said. “It was more than a duel.”

“It felt like a fight to the death,” Ham admitted. “Our queen stepped in to stop the bloodshed.”

Elspyth was shocked. This was fresh news to her. She knew Wyl had many reasons to hate the King. “What happened?”

“Nothing much more there,” Ham said, “although…I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, young Elspyth, but Koreldy is no longer with us.”

She shook her head. “No, I imagine not. He would leave Briavel after that, though I wonder where he has headed. I—”

Meg took her hand. “No, you don’t understand.”

Everyone looked suddenly embarrassed.

Elspyth turned to Ham.

“He’s dead, child,” the man said.

To her it felt like several long minutes passed before she took another breath. It was, in fact, only a few heartbeats, but the silence was painful for all of them.

“You must be mistaken,” she stammered, feeling a chill pass through her.

Ham shook his head. “It happened at Crowyll. We were there the day after it took place. The town rumor has it that a whore killed him, although the Briavellian Guard is saying different. What was her name, son? Someone did tell us.”

The boy stuck his chin in the air and closed his eyes. “Hilda was it?”

“No. Hildyth, that’s right. According to the gossips, she’s quite a striking woman. Unmistakable. Tall with golden-brown hair and feline eyes.”

Elspyth began to tremble, her whole world crumbling about her. “Why?”

“No idea,” Ham admitted. “The story goes that her majesty banished Koreldy from Briavel. He was being escorted to a border of his choice and he and the guard accompanying him stopped at a place in Crowyll for a smoothing and suchlike.” He cleared his throat self consciously, glad that the youngsters had already cleared off to play.

“And?” Elspyth asked, distraught now.

Ham shrugged. “It happened.”

“But there’s no reason for it!” she cried. “Why was he banished? Why killed?”

Ruth put her arms about her. “Oh, Elspyth, I’m so sorry it is us to break the news. He must have been a good friend.” She scowled at her husband. “Ham, tell her everything you know.”

Her husband blushed, distressed to be seen as the villain. “Rumors were rife while we were there. They say the whore worked for Celimus and that the King ordered Koreldy’s death. No one knows the truth of it, though. And now with our own soldiers saying it was one of them who killed him, a renegade or something, it’s all a bit baffling.”

“The body, who saw it?” Elspyth demanded.

“I’m sorry to say that a close friend of ours helped to clean up Koreldy’s corpse. His…his heart had been punctured.” Ham stammered over the words, unsure of how much detail his wife meant for him to tell. “Um…my friend’s from the morgue and he was called in to deal with the body before it was transported to Werryl. Very trustworthy fellow. He only told me because he was so shocked at the manner of death. He says it is the style used by a professional assassin. Apparently everything was hushed over quickly by the Queen’s guard, and my friend was ordered to remain silent. I’m sure he didn’t mean to tell me as much as he did. Oh, and she’d cut off his finger too—that’s another indication it was a paid killing.”

“What do you mean?” Elspyth said, confounded.

“The finger is proof of death. Apparently he wore a bloodred stone in a ring marked with a special family insignia.”

At that Elspyth broke down. It was true, then. She knew the ring. Knew it was Wyl they spoke of. Dead. Now Lothryn would never be rescued from the dark magic and the pain.

The others moved away silently. Ham put his large, meaty hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, lass.”

She said nothing but cried harder against Ruth’s shoulder.

“Travel with us, Elspyth. You’re in no state to be alone just now,” the woman whispered.

Elspyth did not know how long they sat there together or at what point her sobs subsided and the tears dried against her cheeks. She could not remember when Meg and Ruth helped her back into the cart and laid her down, covering her with a blanket. But she welcomed the escape from her exhaustion and pain.

This time she dreamed of a tall woman with dark gold hair and catlike eyes who had destroyed her dream. Lothryn would never be rescued by Wyl. It was up to her, then. She would rescue the man she loved just as soon as she had delivered her message to Felrawthy and kept her promise to the dead friend who had once walked in the guise of Romen Koreldy.