Blood and Memory (30 page)

“Mine’s Samm. Pleased to meet you, young Fynch.” Fynch nodded, unable to do much else with a spoonful of soup in his mouth. “Now to answer your clever question…the boats always find their way back.” He regarded his guest and smiled. “Upstream and against the current.”

Fynch was wide-eyed now. “Magic,” he said, with reverence.

“I’m not saying one way or another,” the Boatkeeper added. “My job is to record who sets off from here and charge the fee.”

“Taxes on death,” Fynch mused, taking the last spoonful.

“Hardly…more a formality really. Not much money to be made from here. The last person who took the Darkstream registered more than two decades ago—probably closer to a quarter of a century, if my memory serves me. A woman, it was, and her fee is the same as yours.”

It fired Fynch’s imagination to think of some lone, brave woman facing the Wild. “I wonder what or whom she sought.”

Samm cocked his head to one side in thought. “They never say—just like you. Oh, but she was lovely. Such a waste. I nearly talked myself hoarse trying to convince her to stay. But she would not be persuaded otherwise.”

“She obviously needed badly to go there.”

“Broken heart perhaps.”

“What happened?”

Samm sighed. “The pretty lady never returned, of course, but her boat did. Ah, here’s her name. Emil, that’s right. Never heard that name before. Her hair was as dark as the stream.”

The soup soured instantly in Fynch’s belly. “Did you say Emil?”

The Boatkeeper nodded. “Aye. Odd one, isn’t it?” He looked up. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” Fynch followed up hastily. He felt light-headed. Emil had been the name of Myrren’s mother…it could be coincidence, even though it was far from a common name.

“Was she from Morgravia?” he asked as casually as he could, setting down his spoon.

“Er…yes. Pearlis, it says here.”

Too much of a coincidence, then. Myrren’s mother had originally been from Pearlis and the timing fit too neatly. Myrren had been around eighteen years when she died. Her death had occurred six years ago. No, much too coincidental for his liking. So at least one person had returned from the Wild—Emil had made it back and raised her child. There was hope for him yet.

“Is something wrong, lad?”

“No. Your soup is delicious, sir. I was contemplating a second bowl,” he said honestly. “But I won’t, thank you.”

“You eat like a bird!”

He was glad to have thrown Samm off his scent. “So I’m told,” and he grinned. “Can I travel at night?”

“I wouldn’t advise it. Best leave at first light. It also gives you the night to think on it.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

Samm smiled kindly. “I understand. Have a good night’s rest. You’re most welcome to bunk down here with me. It will be dark in moments, anyway.”

“Can I pay you now?”

“Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

“I will be going, Samm,” Fynch said firmly.

The man grinned. “Is your dog all right out there?”

“Nothing bothers Knave. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Don’t mention it. I don’t get conversation often—no human company around here,” he admitted. “Settle yourself in then, lad.”

Fynch did not sleep well. He woke at first light, glad to be awake and moving, although his mind felt dull while his body fidgeted in nervous anticipation of the journey ahead. He roused Samm, put on a pot of water, and politely shared some porridge with his host. In answer to Samm’s gentle questions, none of which Fynch considered too pointed, he slid around the truth and gave the impression he was from Briavel and had on occasion worked at the castle.

“Will you give me no reason for your journey, son? It seems such a waste.”

“Maybe I’ll return, Samm,” Fynch said brightly, trying to avoid the question.

“I must ask again that you understand the terms of your departure. There is no rescue party once you step into the boat and leave the jetty.”

“Truly, I understand,” Fynch said, very seriously.

“Then you owe me a crown.”

Fynch handed over the coin. “I’m ready. Thank you again.”

Samm neatly recorded the details in his ledger. “I’ve put your home as Werryl—would that be right?”

Once again Fynch nodded, loath to speak a lie.

“I’ve put together a small sack of food for you and a rug for the cold. You look too scrawny to last a day,” Samm grunted, embarrassed. He pointed toward a small table by the door.

“Can I pay—”

“No. It’s nothing. I have plenty. Go on with you, then, boy. And may Shar and that black beast protect you.” Samm stood and Fynch followed suit, eager to be gone now. He took the sack and opened the door to where Knave awaited, stretching.

Together the three of them walked to the jetty.

“Take your pick,” Samm said, gesturing toward the boats.

Fynch climbed into the nearest one, Knave following. “Bye, Samm. I won’t forget your kindness.”

“Be safe, Fynch, lad,” the man said sadly, knowing the child would not return. He untied the rope. “Shar watch over you.”

And they were gone, the stream’s current pulling them toward the two huge willow trees whose branches intertwined to form a canopy. It looked like the archway into a dark tunnel. Fynch turned to wave as the willows gobbled up the boat into their shadows, but Samm had already gone.

As Fynch turned back to the willows, his fear of the unknown intensifying, Elspyth was doing her utmost to convince herself that Wyl had been right. She was not happy once again to be heading off on a journey toward a woman she did not know and was glad for Crys’s company, despite his sorrow.

“Your mother is marvelous, so resilient,” she said to him when she could no longer stand the awkward silence punctuated by polite conversation between them. Too much had occurred in the previous day and night for them to pretend otherwise, particularly as they would hit the Briavellian border within an hour.

“I never really think about it,” he replied. “I think we all take her strength for granted, particularly Father.”

She took the opportunity to touch on the hardest topic of all. “Crys, I haven’t had the chance to tell you how sorry I am about your brother. I feel so awkward, not knowing him and yet feeling like I do somehow through all of you.”

He smiled sadly at her. “Thank you. He was such a good lad—one of those rare people who can always see the positive side of life. Father had high hopes for him at Stoneheart—once Wyl made him his deputy, his future was secured.”

Elspyth understood. “Fourth son, you mean?” Crys nodded. “How did it happen that he left your home for the capital?”

Her companion shrugged. “Bit of a long tale, really. Let me see if I can simplify it. Father and Fergys Thirsk go back a long way; they always had a lot in common financially and shared similar outlooks on life. Also, like Fergys, my father was intensely loyal to King Magnus. So the family connection to Stoneheart and the Crown was already strong. The King made a trip north not long after General Thirsk died and naturally stopped by Tenterdyn. I think my father must have mentioned he was not sure what to do for Alyd and the King suggested he send him south—said he knew another young lad around the same age who could use the company.”

“Wyl?”

“That’s right—and my father couldn’t have been happier to keep the families close through another generation—although we didn’t bank on Alyd falling in love with Ylena.”

“I gather they were the perfect couple.”

He nodded. “We only knew of Ylena, but her glowing reputation was known throughout the realm.”

“I’m surprised the move to Stoneheart hadn’t been discussed earlier, then,” Elspyth mused.

“Well, Magnus and my parents hadn’t seen each other in a long time. He was a little in love with my mother in their early years, I think,” he said. “Perhaps father never trusted the King around my mother.” He winked.

“Truly?”

“No, I’m teasing. It’s true that the King had a terribly soft spot for my mother when they were all very young and to his death considered her with great affection, but he knew how much she loved my father. I think the reason for the length of time in their visits is that Felrawthy really holds the north for the Crown. Traditionally, Father had taken charge of the Legionnaires who guard the Razors.”

“I see. So that’s why Jeryb wasn’t there for the tournament.”

“Yes, and we were all furious. Mother desperately wanted to see Alyd and the tourney was a great excuse to pay a visit south. But the border in recent years has been threatened and Father would not risk it.”

“You know Cailech and his men slip into and out of the Razors regularly.”

He glanced at her. “We’ve suspected as much.”

“I’ve seen them. No one minds them much in Yentro. They keep to themselves. Trade a bit and disappear almost as fast as they arrive.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “They have excellent scouts. We can’t even catch them in Morgravia, let alone track them into the mountains.”

“You wouldn’t want to. They know them too well.” Elspyth frowned. “But why did our soldiers kill those children? It made Cailech furious. He’s vowed revenge of the most horrible kind. It’s why Gueryn le Gant was captured and tortured.”

Crys slowed his horse. “Elspyth. it wasn’t our men who killed those children, nor was it our men who traveled with Le Gant.”

She pursed her lips. “It’s always Celimus behind it.” she said bitterly.

“He orchestrated all of it—through his own henchmen, of course. I’ve never seen my father so angry as the day he received orders to send in Le Gant with that scrawny bunch of men. They weren’t even proper soldiers. Le Gant insisted my father stay out of it. He said in as many words that Celimus had planned to separate him from Wyl and that he suspected treachery somewhere.”

“So I heard.”

“Do you think he’s still alive?”

She shook her head. “Gueryn was nearly dead when we left him. If an arrow didn’t find its mark that night, then surely his fever would have killed him.”

“I gather Wyl doesn’t want to believe it?”

“It is the thought that Cailech saved Gueryn’s life as bait for Wyl that keeps Wyl determined to go back to the mountain fortress…that and for another brave man called Lothryn.”

“I’ve heard you mention him before. You always say his name tenderly.” He glanced shyly toward Elspyth, who blushed.

“Do I?”

“Mmm.” He nodded.

They rode in silence for a few moments.

She broke the quiet first. “I’m in love with Lothryn.”

“I worked it out.”

“Oh?”

“Most women can’t resist me,” he said archly, and then grinned.

“It must be your modesty,” she replied, but liked him all the same for it.

“He’s a lucky man, Elspyth.”

“He’s very special,” she admitted softly. “It’s taking all my courage to ride south and away from him.”

“And all of ours not to wage war on the Crown,” he added, bitterness strong in his tone.

“What will happen, do you think?”

“Wyl’s beseeched my father to keep up the pretense. I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“You must trust him…as I do,” she replied. “He needs to be able to rely on us.”

“But what’s his plan?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. He’s trying to find the father of the woman who cursed him with this magical life.”

“It’s all too strange—how bizarre to become a woman.”

“Imagine how he feels! He was Romen Koreldy when I met him, then he became this Faryl woman, and now look at him.” Elspyth shook her head. “His poor sister.”

“What can he hope to achieve as a woman?” Crys wondered aloud.

“Don’t be so sure!” she cautioned. “Women are far more cunning than you give credit. Wyl’s new facade means different doors may well open that were closed to himself or Koreldy.”

“You forget that Celimus is familiar with Ylena. If he has been chasing her. then he’ll have her killed on sight.”

“I’m sure Wyl’s aware of that, which would explain why he’s so determined to find Myrren’s father. Perhaps he can demystify this gift of hers.”

He interrupted their conversation by holding his hand up. “We’ve reached the border,” Crys said, pointing to a sign.

“So I just guide my horse across the imaginary line?”

“Yes. Security between the realms has been stepped up since the death of Valor—they’ll soon pick you up. There are guards everywhere.”

“And not before?” she queried, referring to life prior to Valor’s demise.

“Well, merchants could come and go fairly freely. But these days you need permits for trade or good reason for the crossing if you’re not a merchant.”

“And what’s my reason?” she asked, worried now.

He grinned. “I can always get you past the guard from Morgravia’s side. You just have to hope that letter from Wyl gets you through Briavel’s scrutiny.”

“Or?”

“You’ll be coming back with me, and nothing would give me greater pleasure.” He grinned at the innuendo in his own words.

Elspyth found his wit infectious. If not for Lothryn, she might well have fallen prey to this man’s obvious charm. “You’ve been very kind to me, Crys. I hope I can repay you someday.”

“Well, marry me, then,” he jested, and pulled a face at her scolding expression. “All right, my apologies. Come now, let me get you safely across.”

As he gestured for Elspyth to follow, he heard the sound of a rider coming toward them at a breakneck gallop. “Wait!” he hissed to her. “I can see my father’s standard. Something’s wrong.”

The rider came into view. They could see the lather flying off the animal.

“It’s Pil!” Crys exclaimed, jumping down from his horse.

Elspyth felt the chill of fear crawl up her spine and ooze throughout her body until every hair felt as though it were standing on end. No one rode this fast unless there was danger. She could see the wild look in both man and beast’s eyes as they bore down.

Pil pulled the horse up too sharply and in pain and panic it reared, throwing him to the ground. As he gingerly stood up, the horse ran away into the nearby trees, terrified and exhausted.

Elspyth followed Crys, leaping from her own mount and running to Pil. “Shall I go after the horse?” she asked, knowing how the Donal family prized their animals.

“Leave it,” Crys ordered through gritted teeth. “Pil, what madness is this?”

She could see the strength and leadership of the Duke now in his eldest son. It was an attractive quality. Its reassurance cut through her fear. “Take a deep breath, Pil,” she urged.

His eyes were wide and scared. He rubbed at his newly bruised elbow. “Shar’s Blessing, I found you.”

“What’s happened?” Crys demanded.

“They’re all dead,” the novice blurted. “Your family.”

Elspyth felt Crys’s body go rigid next to hers. “What are you talking about?” he growled.

Pil looked toward Elspyth. His words came out now in a rush, tripping over one another in his terrified eagerness to explain. “Brother Tewk wanted to pay his respects to the Duke and Duchess. I said I’d take him back to the estate. When we arrived—” His voice broke.

“Tell me it all,” Crys said, pain spreading from his heart through his body.

According to the novice, Aleda had heard the sound of galloping horses first. She had wondered aloud to Pil and Brother Tewk if the men at arms her husband had promised to raise had arrived. It was not they, but by then it was too late—the men had entered the grounds. Aleda had admitted to Pil and Brother Tewk that she was afraid of these men, who were not of the Legion but seemed to be traveling under the King’s authority.

“‘Go upstairs now. Hide!’ she said to us,” Pil said. “She was determined to hide all trace of any guests, especially after Daryn had come in to warn us that the men were looking for the woman resembling Faryl or any woman fitting the description of Ylena.”

Pil explained that Aleda was angered by their audacity and had swept out of the house and across the courtyard to where her husband was talking with the leader.

“The man didn’t even step off his mount,” Pil recalled for his terrified listeners. “He just addressed your father from the saddle.”

The young novice told them how from their hiding spot in the attic, he and Brother Tewk had watched as heated words flared up between the two men.

“The rider kept pointing at the Duke, issuing orders it looked like, but the Duke stayed calm. He must have invited them to search the house, but that’s when it all went wrong. I have no idea what happened, but I suspect the man said something that your brother Daryn could not tolerate being said to your father,” he said to Crys, whose stony expression did not flinch. “He bravely, or perhaps unwisely, reached up and grabbed the leader, pulling him down off his horse.”