14
Sylc the Thief

As the coronation feast and its entertainment drew to a close, Orlac kissed Lauryn’s hand and then held her gaze steadily. His strangely violet eyes—an almost impossible colour—said all that he needed to. She felt her throat go dry. The message which he conveyed in this look was unmistakable, even to a maiden.

‘Thank you for this evening,’ she said. She felt her cheeks burning.

‘I feel the pleasure was all mine,’ he offered graciously, not yet letting go of the hand he had so recently kissed. She could feel his cool skin against hers. What was happening here? ‘In fact I believe I may have been too greedy tonight…perhaps I have kept you from the other guests,’ he added.

Lauryn could not help it; the truth was she felt immensely flattered. When she had set out to teach Gyl a lesson earlier in the evening, she had had no idea that her flirtations might lead her to where she now found herself. She had to admit, in spite of deliberately provoking it for her own ends, that she had genuinely enjoyed Regent Sylc’s dashing company. Everything about him was cultured and sophisticated; any other woman would be falling into his arms. And yet there was something about the intensity of his interest in her; something curious about him she could not quite put her finger on. She felt sure her time spent with him this night had achieved her original goal—she could feel Gyl’s wrath and that was satisfying. But now she had the Ciprean all but tumbling her into bed. And what scared her more than anything this night was that his intentions did not shock her. In fact, she would have to show considerable willpower to resist him.

She decided to tell the truth, perhaps naively hoping it would help to work things out. ‘Actually, you have been something of a saviour tonight. I don’t know many of these people…none, in fact. The King —well, he is a friend—but he has been otherwise engaged.’

‘I noticed,’ he said, betraying no expression.

‘Yes…well, your company tonight has been extremely welcome and I have enjoyed myself.’ She hoped that might bring a gracious close to the evening’s proceedings and knew her inexperience with men was now glaring.

Orlac’s gaze intensified. In spite of the dozens of people milling around and saying their goodnights, Lauryn felt there was suddenly no one else in the room but the pair of them. It was as though the Regent had pulled her with him into some sort of private cocoon. She felt a sense of breathlessness within the powerful hold he suddenly had over her.

In her distraction, she tried to pinpoint what it was that bothered her about him. Staring into the curiously coloured eyes she was reminded for just an instant of her father. An odd comparison perhaps, but he too had eyes of such intense colour that if you had not looked upon them with your own, you would not have been able to picture their vibrancy nor, she believed, could one expect to see them ever repeated in any other face. Her father’s were of a colour to remark upon, and so was the colour of Sylc’s—a dark and yet somehow brilliant violet.

And in that moment of wonder she saw something in Sylc she had seen briefly in her own father. It was not merely the colour of the eyes which was similar—it was their vulnerability. There was a sorrow lurking behind those bright eyes, that brilliant smile and the smooth manners. The same sort of hurt she had seen in her father. His grief was over her mother—or so she thought—and she tried to imagine what had caused the same haunted look in Regent Sylc.

She faltered, drew back her hand, and the spell was broken. She was aware of all the people in the hall again, and particularly aware of a pair of royal eyes burning into the back of her head. It was time to make her exit.

‘I bid you farewell, Regent.’ She made a move to leave.

‘Not farewell I hope, Lady Lauryn, just goodnight perhaps.’

She nodded, smiled demurely and departed the hall as fast as she could, relief flooding through her.

In his chambers, as a small fire burned cheerily to warm the cool rooms, Orlac paced. He felt disturbed enough to unleash his powers now and bring this whole castle down around King Gyl of Wytton. The girl had unnerved him. What was it about her which tugged so strongly at him? Juno’s insight was keen. How had she phrased it? Your own idea of perfect—that’s right—and then she had gone on to describe none other than the Lady Lauryn, surely? Her description of petite, almost fragile looking fitted perfectly…he ticked off all the other points in his head, even the comment about her temper. He had noticed she was quick to fire, especially when she had felt slighted by the King and excused herself. Orlac was now certain Juno had seen a vision of this woman.

It was meant to be, then.

He had not realised he had been airing his thinking aloud and nearly cursed himself when Dorgryl joined his thoughts as though continuing a conversation.

Well claim her, then.

Orlac scowled. Throw her over my back and ride off into the night with her—is that what you mean?

Something like that. His uncle waited. When Orlac offered no further resistance but plonked himself heavily into a chair, he continued. It’s perfect, boy! Think about this. You had in mind razing Tallinor to the ground, when in fact you can be far more subtle and disable the Tallinese King by stealing the object of his desires. I do so enjoy sophisticated intrigue. To humble a proud man by so insightful a move as taking what he most wants is so much more brilliant than just beating him on the field, so to speak.

What makes you think he’ll care a hoot?

Oh, I think he will. I think our King of Tallinor has set his heart on making Lauryn his Queen. I believe he will give chase and we can lead him and his soldiers a merry dance. We can belittle him and humiliate him and if it still pleases, we let you go about systematically destroying the Kingdom behind his back.

He paused, giving Orlac time to think about this.

You mean literally steal her?

Well, I don’t believe she’ll leave willingly.

I want her.

More than Tallinor?

It was a clever shift. Orlac felt trapped. No, he could not say he wanted her more than the demise of Tallinor, but if he was honest, Tallinor’s destruction did not intrigue him as much as this woman.

No. Tallinor can wait. My desires cannot.

Then she shall be yours, nephew. We can take her back to Cipres and you can make her the slave to your every desire, if you so choose.

What of Xantia?

What of Xantia! She is a pawn…nothing more. But she is cruel too; she will enjoy the intrigue as much as you.

Orlac’s thoughts refocused. There’s something about Lauryn, the god mused. Irrespective of how much I desire her, there is another factor I can’t pinpoint.

I think I can, his uncle said, the slyness back in his voice.

Tell me.

The deep chuckle made him feel anger and the Colours within him pulsed.

Steady, boy. I will tell you what I suspect. He laughed again and Orlac hated him. I’m guessing now because I have no proof other than what I can see through your eyes. You have never seen Alyssa Qyn but let me assure you that the Lady Lauryn you wish for yourself is the spitting image of Gynt’s Alyssa.

You lie!

I have nothing to gain by lying to you on this. It was when you kissed her hand, and looked deep into her eyes. He sensed Orlac was about to fly into a rage. Wait! Now listen to me. Lauryn mentioned Flat Meadows. Even you picked that up. I suspect that she could be the daughter of Torkyn Gynt and Alyssa Qyn. I can’t confirm it but I know he has children and that they have returned to Tallinor. Lauryn resembles Alyssa too much not to be related.

My niece! Orlac roared.

Hush…let’s not wake the palace. I too need convincing. Call for a messenger now. Where is that servant of ours?

Orlac walked to the door and pulled it open. Outside, a man, clearly from the Exotic Isles, wearing the colourful costume of the nomadic tribes, bowed low. ‘How may I serve, Regent Sylc?’

‘Ah, Titus, fetch a palace page immediately.’

‘At once, sir,’ Adongo said, bowing low again.

Orlac closed the door and waited.

Where did you find him? Dorgryl asked, thinking of the dark man outside.

He was amongst the palace servants. Juno picked him for me; said he was discreet and obedient. Perfect for this trip.

He looks at us strangely—as though he knows something.

You imagine things, Dorgryl.

There was a soft knock and Orlac admitted a young page, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Fortunately he had the presence of mind to bow, despite his fatigue.

‘Sir, my name is Ypek, I am a messenger. How can I help you?’

‘I wish you to take a message to the Lady Lauryn’s rooms.’

‘Yes, sir. Shall I wait outside whilst you write it?’

‘No, that won’t be necessary.’

Orlac moved to a very beautiful carved desk and picked up a quill. He dipped it into the inkpot and appeared to scrawl something on a parchment. Then he looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.

‘The Lady Lauryn…what is her family name? I wish to address her correctly.’

The lad was caught unexpectedly and found himself halfway through a yawn when the Ciprean made this query. He quickly composed himself. ‘Her family name is Gynt, sir.’

‘Ah good, as I thought,’ Orlac said, amazed at how angry he suddenly felt.

And rising on the crest of that anger was a red mist which overtook Orlac without warning. Suddenly it was Dorgryl’s voice which spoke.

‘Come here, boy.’

Ypek obediently walked over to the Regent and felt the cold, hard blade puncture his throat. He died without even the chance to cry out his surprise.

Dorgryl disappeared and Orlac was left panting and breathless from the sensation but also from his own rage.

Wrap him in the rug before his blood stains the room, Dorgryl commanded.

In a silent fury, Orlac bent and rolled the corpse as instructed. Then he stood and breathed deeply before speaking. If you ever do that again, Dorgryl, I will end my life. I will not give you this warning again. You will be forced to live within a mortal’s body for eternity —I’m sure that would only marginally improve on life in the Bleak. Hear my words, and heed them.

Now Dorgryl sounded sulky. Well, you wouldn’t have done it, and the messenger would have become a liability.

What does it matter? I don’t care how many come after us. They can die at one push of my mind. Don’t interfere again.

Orlac opened the door. Once again Adongo bowed as his orders were given. ‘I want three horses saddled. We leave immediately.’

Adongo showed nothing on his face. ‘Your belongings, sir…the rest of our staff—should I stir them?’

‘No, I wish to leave immediately. Our stuff can be brought with the rest of our people who can leave tomorrow. I will meet you in the bailey.’

‘May I ask about the need for a third horse?’

‘No, you may not—go about your business.’

‘At once, sir.’

Lauryn heard the tap at her door. She felt relieved. At last. Gyl had come and they could straighten out their gripes. She knew once he kissed her she would forgive everything and surely he could not hold a grudge when he discovered it was only his love she sought. She pulled on a silken robe, smiling that her night attire was rather sheer, which Gyl would find more than just amusing. Lauryn opened the door a crack and was shocked to see Sylc standing by it.

‘Regent! It is late…you cannot visit me now.’

‘I must talk with you. Please.’

Orlac was still burning with the anger of Dorgryl’s recent killing of the lad and the discovery of who this woman was—it made little difference to his need, of course, he still wanted her…and he was suddenly in no mood to be resisted.

‘No sir, I cannot permit you to enter my room at this hour. What would people think?’

She looked deliciously tousled from her bed but clearly she had not slept…perhaps had even been hoping for a late-night visitor and with regret Orlac realised it was not he she had hoped might come calling. He melted through the door and appeared behind her. She noticed him disappear from her limited gaze through the crack in the door and opened it further to see where he could have got to.

‘Lauryn,’ he called.

She swung around in shock, slamming the door closed in her movement. ‘How…how in the Light did you do that?’ Her face was pale and scared now.

‘Things are not always as they seem,’ he said, sagely. ‘I have come for you.’

‘Come for me? What are you talking about? How did you get into my room?’

‘Magic,’ he said, and used a spike of it now, directed towards her.

She collapsed and he caught her before she hit the floor unconscious. He smiled as he threw her over his shoulder, recalling his conversation with Dorgryl, who was mercifully silent throughout these proceedings. And then he flung open her wardrobe and grabbed a few items, including a stout pair of boots, which he tossed into a cloth bag and also shouldered.

He pushed with his Colours and Lauryn, still slung, a dead weight, became invisible. Orlac left her room and made his way from the southern tower towards the bailey. He encountered only two guards during this journey as the palace slept, and claimed to their expected enquiry that he was peckish. The guards said he’d always find something simmering in the pot in Cook’s kitchen. He thanked them and moved swiftly on, trying not to give the appearance of being burdened.

Outside, Adongo waited with three horses.

‘Take this bag and tie it onto one,’ Orlac said, slinging Lauryn’s bag towards his man.

Adongo deftly caught it. He could feel the thrum of magic but could not work out what was going on. He could also feel Lauryn’s presence close. Was she in trouble? He did not want to leave her but he had no idea what his master had in mind tonight, and the nagging feeling that Lauryn was somehow with him would not leave. He spent the next few moments trying to absorb his sense of her being nearby. How could this be? She was sleeping in her chambers. But he could not linger. Adongo made the decision that for the purposes of his disguise he must go along with his master’s wishes for now. If he found they were travelling too far from Lauryn this night, he would contrive a way to make his escape and get back to her.

She did not know him yet—had not even made eye contact, but he was now bonded to her and would not leave her side if he could help it.

With Juno’s help he had manipulated himself into the service of Orlac. It was unnerving to be in his presence again but Juno had warned him of this and he had taken care not to show anything in his face. She, fortunately, had come back in a youthful form and thus unrecognisable to Orlac, but Adongo had returned with the same appearance and so with Juno’s assistance they had set about changing it.

His long hair had been shaved. Now his darkish skin was oiled, his head shiny. And he had grown a moustache and beard, both kept trimmed short, but the transformation was so dramatic that even he could not recognise himself. It was no Moruk chieftain staring back at him from the glass. Juno had giggled, warning that they could not use magic around Orlac; he would sense it in an instant. This would do. He would never recognise the Fifth of the Paladin.

And Orlac had not. Nor had Dorgryl, who was infinitely more suspicious. Adongo had passed the test and been accepted as Titus, who was now climbing onto the back of his horse. He had not seen Orlac throw an invisible burden across the back of the third horse, but he did think it strange that his master insisted on attaching the reins of the spare horse to his own, rather than his servant’s.

At the guardhouse, Orlac turned on the charm. ‘Can’t sleep. I’ve got my man with me…thought we’d go into Tal and see what action is afoot.’ He winked.

‘Is that why you need the third horse?’ the guard said, smiling.

‘Well, you never know your luck,’ Orlac played along, flashing a grin. ‘Actually, I thought if I picked up some gifts for the ladies of the court of Cipres at your famous night markets, I might need help carrying them back to the palace.’

‘It won’t be enough. Women always want more, sir,’ the guard replied, shaking his head. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

‘We will,’ Orlac said over his shoulder as he cast one last glance towards the palace. ‘Sleep tight, King Gyl,’ he offered silently. ‘I shall enjoy taunting you before I erase your Kingdom from this world.’

It was later—at dawn—several hours’ ride from the capital and deep into the countryside of Tallinor’s northwest, that Orlac cast aside the invisibility glamour and revealed the body of Lauryn slumped across the third horse.

Adongo’s sound of despair escaped him before he could prevent it.

Orlac seemed unperturbed, gracefully dismounting and then coming around his horse to lock stares with the man from the Exotic Isles.

‘I’m afraid I shall have to kill you, Titus, now that you know my secret.’

Adongo knelt. He had to react swiftly now and somehow keep Lauryn safe. Finally he understood the strange sensation that she was near he had carried with him all these hours.

‘My lord, you are the one!’ he cried.

‘What?’ asked Orlac, faintly amused.

‘I saw you in a dream. I watched you descend from the heavens and alight in this world. I was told I was to be your servant…that I must follow you.’

Orlac felt himself chill at the man’s words. ‘Who told you this?’

Adongo had to be very careful now. ‘I did not see who spoke. But I saw you. That’s why I came to Cipres to find you, my lord. I had no choice. We Moruks are spiritual people and my destiny was shaped. I had to find you and be your servant. I have been waiting for a sign of your powers. And now you have revealed them, I am in awe of you. You do not have to kill me. I am already enslaved to you and will do your bidding obediently.’

I told you he watched us knowingly. He could be useful, Dorgryl whispered.

I thought you didn’t appreciate witnesses.

Well, when she wakes up, there’s going to be a lot of commotion, I can assure you. He can help. Let him win her trust and then through him we can make her cooperate…as far as Cipres anyway. He can even promise to help her escape but all the while have our ear.

You never fail to surprise me, Dorgryl.

I have my uses, the elder god said.

‘Stand,’ Orlac commanded.

Adongo felt the relief loosen his tensed body. Orlac had accepted him. He arranged his expression to one of awe and supplication. Now he must protect Lauryn as best he could. It would not be easy for her. It did not take much to conclude that she now faced an emotional and probably physical challenge which she must survive. He must guide her through both challenges and help her heal both types of scar until the true One came for her.

As he humbly stood to meet the violet gaze of the god, he took a risk and cast out strongly towards the Heartwood…where Torkyn Gynt would hear his plea for help. He prayed the Heartwood, with its special magics, might somehow cloak his message.

Dorgryl shimmered. What was that!

I sensed it but could not make out the content, Orlac admitted. He addressed his manservant. You are sentient?

I am, oh great one. I cast out my thanks to the gods who watch over me and brought me to you. He knew it meant certain death if Orlac did not accept his story.

‘Never do that again or I will kill you.’

Adongo bowed, covering his smile. No, we will kill you, Orlac, he thought. ‘Humblest of apologies, my lord.’

They heard Lauryn groan loudly as she sat up, terrified. Her terror snapped to anger as her memory brought back what had happened.

‘You’ll not get away with this, Sylc.’

Orlac laughed. ‘I already have.’

‘The King will follow…and he will kill you.’

‘Well…he may try.’

She dropped from her horse to her feet, feeling the tempting surge of Colours but pushing them back. Her father had once advised her not to strike out with her powers until she knew exactly what she was dealing with. She took his advice now. She would bide her time and for now would allow her anger to do the talking.

‘Whatever it is that you want, I’ll not give it. Not ever. You might as well kill me now.’

King Gyl had just received the grave news that the Lady Lauryn was not answering her door because she was no longer in her room. Nor was Regent Sylc…but they had found the body of the messenger, Ypek, his throat slashed, his corpse rolled in a carpet on the floor of Sylc’s room.

‘Search the grounds! And bring me the guard who allowed Regent Sylc to depart the palace during the night.’

Gyl felt his own throat close. The first official day of his reign was destined to be a bad one.

And so it was.