27
Valley of the Sentients

Goth had been awake for hours. He knew they would be followed—the falcon he presumed would keep them in sight. He was now convinced that the bird somehow communicated with Gynt. Every time he considered this concept it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Magic! How he hated it.

He recalled how the trees had claimed him. He could feel their hate; knew they wanted to tear him apart. And yet they had only broken him slightly and had deliberately preserved his life. He presumed they did this for Gynt…for retribution. Did Torkyn Gynt and the mysterious Great Forest work as one? They must, but why? And what was Gynt’s purpose? No matter how he considered that question he could never give himself an answer which satisfied him. He had learned to accept that where Gynt was concerned there were never satisfactory answers.

But Goth chuckled quietly to himself as he lifted the small vial he had discovered the previous night in the satchel stolen from Gynt. Arraq! No more pain. He took another sip and felt its familiar healing burn to the tips of his toes whilst the pain was just numbed away. He would be able to ride now, and swiftly. The arraq would protect him.

A new thought occurred to him. Until the arraq had begun to work he had not been able to think clearly. Now, after a deep sleep, his head felt clear again and all his guile was back. Why not escape?…not only from Gynt but from the man called Nord Jesper who was still sleeping nearby. No one in this party had stirred. They had all drunk heavily, having found some skins of liquor in the cart. He figured they might well sleep off their stupor for a while yet. It would give him sufficient time to steal away with one of the horses.

He decided that with the way his luck was running, anything now was worth a try. Goth got to his feet silently, slipping the arraq vial into a pocket, knowing he would need it later despite feeling strong at this moment and headed to where the animals were tied up. He realised the mare he had ridden was still saddled. She would be tired and cranky for that reason but it saved him the time—and the nuisance…and noise—of having to saddle a horse.

The mare nickered with reproach when he began to untie the reins. Goth was perspiring in the cool morning from the effort of remaining silent. He even stroked her muzzle—an action foreign to him—to keep the beast quiet. He noticed her ears suddenly prick up and forwards although he himself had heard no sound. He turned anyway.

‘Hello, Goth,’ Gynt said, the falcon on his shoulder. ‘Were you going somewhere?’

Goth wanted to scream his frustration. So close. If only he had thought to leave before first light.

Tor smirked. ‘I would have tracked you down, anyway,’ he said, as though he could read the man’s thoughts. ‘Shall we wake your friends?’

Goth noticed the mare still carried the bow. He was an excellent shot. As Tor turned to look at the slumbering figures, Goth reached for the bow, awkwardly sliding a single arrow from the nearby quiver.

You’ll be quite amused at what Goth’s up to behind your back, Cloot cautioned, as Tor walked towards the group of men.

Tor shielded casually for both himself and Cloot. Nothing from Goth could hurt them now.

He kicked the men, one by one. They came to slowly; everything a blur. Finally Tor turned back to Goth who barked a harsh laugh.

‘Shall I shoot the bird first, or you?’

Cloot tsk-tsked in Tor’s head. Trying, isn’t he?

The men beside them were fully awake now, confused, and slowly standing up.

‘What’s going on here?’ Jesper growled.

Goth let fly the arrow which pierced the chest of one of Jesper’s companions. The man dropped like a stone. Not bad, Goth thought to himself, although the heart would be a cleaner target next time. In a blink, Goth had nocked another arrow. His former travelling companions were suddenly wary.

‘We can rush you, Goth. You can only get one of us in the time it will take us to throw you to the ground,’ Jesper warned.

‘Yes, but which one?’ Goth asked gleefully, another arrow flying with horrible speed to its target. Jesper’s second companion joined his friend on the ground in death.

‘That was just stupid,’ Jesper said. ‘This gormless sod and I will now finish you. You’d better choose quickly which of us you like least.’

‘Well, that’s not an easy decision but I must admit, I don’t owe him money,’ Goth said, nodding towards Tor, still enjoying himself.

Tor turned to the sailor. ‘And I despise both of you and will certainly not join you in anything, Nord Jesper.’

The sailor looked stunned. ‘How do you know me?’

Tor’s voice was hard. ‘I only know of you but that’s enough to welcome your death, either by his hand or mine. I care not.’ He lied. He would prefer it to be by Goth’s bow.

Jesper looked between his two would-be killers. ‘What have I done to either of you?’

Tor felt his anger rise in concert with the man’s whimpering tone. ‘Apart from felling two of my companions you mean?…one of them my wife.’

Goth stepped closer. His wife? He could only mean Alyssa. ‘Is she dead?’ he asked.

‘She lives,’ Tor replied, not even looking Goth’s way. ‘Apart from them, you killed a friend of mine. His name was Petyr Gylbyt.’

Nord Jesper scratched his head nervously. ‘I don’t recall.’

‘No, I don’t suppose you do because that’s how much his life was worth to you.’ He turned to the former chief inquisitor. ‘Kill him, Goth. I see your strength has curiously returned.’

Goth smiled. ‘Yes, I do appreciate the healing properties of your arraq. Well, well…whoever thought we’d be on the same side, Gynt.’

‘Only this once,’ Tor said and again the wolfish grin crossed his face as though he knew something the others did not.

Jesper had begun to beg for his life and Tor turned away, walked a few steps and sat down. ‘I shall wait here for you,’ he said to the man brandishing the bow.

‘Your arrogance amazes me you know, Gynt,’ Goth said, shaking his head. ‘Yes, wait for me and the arrow I have reserved especially for you. Then I’ll go back to where Alyssa is and finish off what my travelling companions failed to do.’

The Colours flashed. Tor could kill him here and now but he remembered the wise counsel of Cyrus. Justice must be done. He was not the person to administer it.

Go Cloot. To the trees. The falcon obeyed. Goth did not notice the bird lift silently from Gynt’s shoulder.

In his fright at imminent death Jesper had emptied his full morning bladder.

‘Oh dear,’ Goth said with fake sympathy. ‘That is a shame. What an untidy way to go to your gods.’

Tor looked at the grass. He heard Jesper make one more plea and then the terrifying sound of an arrow as it left the bow and thudded home. A wet, gurgling sound was quickly replaced by silence. Goth had done the dirty work for him; Nord Jesper was dead. Eryn’s promise to avenge Petyr’s death had been kept.

He lifted his bright blue eyes to rest on Goth who had taken several more steps towards him. In the bow was nocked one final arrow. Tor noticed the quiver was empty.

‘I suppose I had better make this one count,’ Goth said, knowing his enemy had seen this arrow was his last.

Tor nodded sombrely, his gaze not leaving Goth’s twitching face.

‘Is there anything you want to say?’ Goth asked, slightly perturbed by his victim’s calm countenance.

‘Hurry up, perhaps?’

‘Oh, you’re in a rush to die, then?’

‘No. I must make haste for your judgement.’

Now Goth was hugely amused. He laughed heartily. ‘I might almost miss you, Gynt. I just wish I could get you and your hideous bird with one arrow.’

‘You can hurt neither of us,’ Tor said softly.

‘Shut up, Gynt. And now you die. Lift your chin and I’ll make sure it goes straight through your throat.’

Tor obliged.

‘Farewell,’ Goth said and loosed the arrow which whizzed through the air with a sickening sound.

Tor made a small motion with his hand and the arrow followed that path, sliding past him to land harmlessly in the ground behind.

The tic on Goth’s face intensified wildly.

Tor regained his feet. He spoke in a measured tone. ‘There are several ways we can handle this now—’

Goth had started running. Once again, Tor was amazed at the man’s speed and agility. The arraq had certainly worked its wonders.

Cloot flew down again to his shoulder. How far will you let him go?

Until he reaches the top of that hill he’s making for. I think we should wear him out first.

He heard the falcon laugh in his head as they watched Goth’s pumping legs carry him nimbly but less swiftly up the steep incline.

Goth was reacting on pure instinct now. He knew Gynt would catch up with him. Still he must try. He made a desperate lunge towards the top of the hill, knowing that if he could just get over the other side, then he might have the chance to put some space between his pursuer and himself. Perhaps Gynt’s magic only worked over a short distance?

His hopes were short-lived. As he crested the hill, he felt his body lurch to a stop. It was not his choice to halt even though he felt tired. His legs simply would not move. Next he was thrown to the ground, which winded him. Goth lay there gasping for breath and wondering what horrible death was in store. Now he was being dragged backwards down the hill, his arms and head banging hard against the ground. Nothing gripped him; it was the most eerie sensation—of being pulled against one’s will by something all-powerful.

Tor sat through the rest of that day in a stony silence. Goth tried to engage him, first cajoling and then insulting him, but nothing induced him to pass a word with his enemy who was battered and bleeding from his humiliating journey down the hill. Tor maintained a gentle flow of his Colours which pinned Goth against a tree.

Goth detested the feel of the enchantment wielded against him. He despised all magics and realised Gynt had been using such powers in his presence all the time they had known each other. He snarled as he recalled the miraculous recovery of Queen Nyria; one minute about to step through the gate towards the Light, the next sitting up against her pillows, colour returning to her face. This had been achieved with Gynt’s ministrations, he now realised. Then there was that amazing disappearance from Caremboche by Gynt and Alyssa, when he had certainly had them cornered and cringing. He recalled how a rainbow of blinding colours had appeared and the pair of lovers vanished.

He tried to shake his head clear of these useless thoughts but they nibbled away, reminding him again and again of Gynt’s arrogant use of magic in his presence. How about the execution? Goth barked a laugh but Gynt did not so much as stir at the sound. He remembered how he had witnessed the corpse hanging from the timbers. How could life ever be breathed back into a broken, dead body?…And yet here he was. Despicable magic was the only way. Other events roared through his mind now…the coincidence of being on The Wasp; Blackhand’s death; the ship’s sinking; Gynt’s escape from the pirates; and his turning up in the arms of the Ciprean Queen. Goth had to marvel at it all—even the saving of that wretched Locky Gylbyt from the Maiden’s Kiss must have been Gynt at work.

Goth watched the despised falcon arrive. He noticed the way it cocked its head to one side as though listening to Gynt. He was sure of it now…they communicated through magic. He hated them both more than ever.

The hours passed slowly and his constant companion was pain. It would not kill him but it drained his energy and his resolve to survive this and destroy Gynt once and for all. The sun began to lower and day slipped into dusk and still the pressure of Gynt’s silent magics kept him pinned and motionless against the tree which also spoke its hate to him, over and over.

Finally the sun’s glow deepened in the west and darkness arrived quickly. Not long after Gynt stood. He seemed to have heard something but Goth could only pick up the scampering of tiny creatures and insects. Gynt strode off deeper into the Forest and before long Goth could hear several voices.

Five other people emerged with Gynt into a brightly moonlit clearing by the track. There was Alyssa who refused to even look at him—he could see she favoured one side and he took some delight that the injury was obviously paining her. And yet how beautiful she seemed…pale and ethereal. The bastard Kloek, as always at her side, was looking none the worse for his arrow wound, he noticed. And there was the initial shock of seeing a dwarf and what surely had to be a giant within a couple of strides of each other. Goth was astonished; these races died out centuries ago, surely? Still, not even the sight of these two people could spare him the genuine cold shock of clapping eyes on someone who resembled his enemy so closely that Goth could swear even in this light that they were identical. However, when the young man stepped forward to glare at him, he could see this was the Gynt he remembered from many years ago. So, Goth thought, a son. How perfect.

They all ignored him, talking quietly amongst themselves for a while after an initial flurry of hugs at seeing each other again.

As the others rested and watered their horses, Tor and Alyssa stole some time alone. Gidyon, who was digging out dried fruits and cheese so everyone could snatch a hasty meal, saw his parents move away from the main party. He wished he could share what they talked about but respected their privacy.

Tor put his arm gently around his wife. ‘I’m so relieved to have you back with me. How are you feeling?’

‘Oh, now don’t you start, Tor. Your son has been worrying away at me for hours on the same subject. I’m fine, as you can see.’

‘My eyes never lie, Alyssa. You look extremely pale, you favour one side; your expression tells a different story from what you would have us believe.’

She softened her gaze. It was not fair to take out her bitterness on him. She knew she should tell him. But not yet. Not until she understood it better herself. ‘Fret not, my love. Your herbals worked, but not on my anger, I’m afraid. That will only be sated when justice is meted to Goth.’ Alyssa hated feeling like this. Goth brought out all the bad in her. All her scorn, resentment and rage over so many years, always brimmed up where he was concerned. She tried to pretend that the new fear was just that…a fear—and not something tangible—because there was no proof. It was a dream, that was all. She hurriedly changed the subject. ‘Saxon says you carry a special liquid fire which will heal anything.’

Tor smiled. ‘Arraq. It is incredible. You will take some before we set out.’

‘What now?’ she asked, her head nodding towards Goth but still her eyes not touching him.

‘We waste no further time. I know everyone is weary but we push on. I just feel that we must get everyone back into the Heartwood as fast as we possibly can.’

She nodded. ‘I agree. But we need to give the horses a proper rest. I’ve suggested to Gidyon we eat something, however paltry, even if just to kill some time for the beasts.’

Tor took her arm. ‘Come then,’ and led her to where her son had laid out food.

Later, when everyone was resaddling the horses and Goth had been placed back in the cart, it was Gidyon’s turn to take his mother aside.

‘Did you tell my father what ails you?’

She gave him a firm look of admonishment. He had seen her give Gyl this similar look. It meant she would brook no further discussion on a subject. He refused to be cowed by it.

‘Tell me.’

She sighed. ‘It is nothing, son.’

‘Please.’

Alyssa looked at Gidyon’s earnest expression and was transported back to that day at Minstead Green. He truly was a copy of his father. Something about that happy memory of dancing with the other spinsters and laughing as Tor caught her posy cut through her resolve not to share the reason for her troubled mood with anyone.

‘I am dreaming too much.’

He moved his head to one side. ‘Lys?’

Her brow creased. ‘No. Xantia.’

‘The woman from the Academie?’

Alyssa nodded. ‘She keeps baiting me…laughing at me.’

‘About what?’

‘Lauryn.’

Gidyon took her hand. ‘Mother, for the time being we know that Lauryn is about as safe as she can be.’

They heard Tor call them. Gidyon looked over and motioned that they were coming.

‘In the arms of a mad god. Safe?’ The fear which crossed his face stopped her saying more. ‘It’s a dream, Gidyon. I told you it was nothing.’

‘Tell me what frightens you in it.’

She took a long breath and looked back towards the loaded cart. ‘Coming,’ she called, before answering his question. ‘That I believe I will be forced to face her again and fight her to save my daughter.’

‘Tell the others.’ He saw her baulk. ‘At least tell him. Let Father help you,’ he all but begged, now feeling her fright although not really understanding it.

‘Not yet. I will await Lys, first.’ She put her finger to her mouth to show him she would not say any more on this. ‘Come. Your father wants us to make haste. We must travel.’

Gidyon and his Paladin had made the journey east from Brittelbury in surprisingly fast time, thanks mostly to the trees which guided them. Most Tallinese had to travel around the Great Forest because of their fear of it but the trio were able to cut straight through and were welcomed by its tall, leafy sentries which opened up new paths, ensuring their swift arrival at where Alyssa and Saxon waited.

Alyssa was overjoyed to see them, if not a little overwhelmed by Themesius who towered above her.

Saxon too was still clearly hurting but he refused any fuss being made of his wound—in fact he seemed embarrassed by it. His emotional reunion with Themesius also created some sorely needed amusement as the huge man tried to hug the Kloek gently so as not to make his wound bleed again.

The tender reunion between Paladin was being repeated now, as Themesius wept at the sight of the magnificent falcon—his great friend and fellow warrior…was this really brave Cloot? And when Cloot travelled on his tall shoulders no one believed the grin of pleasure would ever leave the giant’s face.

Reunited, the group let the Forest guide them on their way, rapidly shortening their journey to hours rather than days, until they could sense the mysterious Rork’yel Mountains closing in around them. The trees began to thin as daylight broke over the vast northern finger of the Great Forest.

Home, Cloot sighed softly across the Link. Everyone but Goth heard.

They settled at the fringe of the Forest. The horses could be taken no further and were safest there.

Rest everyone, Cloot said. Let me scout and get our bearings.

The falcon’s wings beat powerfully and Cloot very swiftly disappeared over the first tall ridge. Themesius immediately began to tend to the horses having noticed how weary Saxon appeared. When the Kloek moved to help, he waved him away, suggesting he tend to Alyssa who looked exhausted. Tor had noticed it too but had not said anything. He would keep his worries to himself for now. They left Figgis in charge of their captive.

Don’t let him speak to Alyssa, Tor cautioned. He will do his best to unsettle her. She is ailing enough without his mischief-making.

Figgis nodded. I’ll see to it he speaks to no one.

Tor and Gidyon set off in search of the water they could hear not far away and firewood, in case.

Alyssa watched her two precious men disappear into the Forest. She knew all too well what would be discussed during their private time together.

Are you worried for her?

Is it that obvious? Tor asked.

Only because I am too.

Has she said anything to you?

Perhaps you should urge her to speak with you about all that troubles her.

Tor stopped walking. He knew they were out of earshot of the others. ‘What do you know, son?’

‘She won’t tell me much.’

Two pairs of remarkably blue eyes regarded one another. Tor realised his wife and son had entered into a confidence. He was mindful of not breaching their trust in each other. ‘Is there anything you believe I can do to help her?’

Gidyon shrugged, started to walk again and was relieved his father followed suit.

‘I think the arrow has injured her more than we realise.’

‘No. I have seen to that wound. It is clean. Painful, certainly, but healing. That is not what troubles your mother.’

Gidyon stayed quiet.

Tor tried another approach. ‘Ah, there’s our stream. Let’s fill these skins first.’

As they bent to their toil, he added, ‘I keep wondering if Lys is visiting her dreams and troubling her.’

‘Oh no, it’s not Lys, it’s Xa—’ Gidyon stopped, angry with himself.

Having got closer to the truth Tor covered the mistake expertly, talking over his son as though he hadn’t heard him. ‘It’s just that when Lys visited her for the first and only time, she upset your mother so badly, Alyssa became remote and untouchable…just like now.’ He dropped a full bladder on the ground and cupped his face to his hands. ‘Ah, that water’s chill and delicious.’ He smiled at his son. ‘Thirsty?’

Gidyon took a drink as well, glad to have glided over his error with such ease.

‘Is she a secretive person?’ he asked his father.

‘Light, no. Alyssa is very open, very direct. I don’t understand her reluctance to share her worries. Perhaps she has spoken to Saxon?’

Gidyon shrugged again. ‘Perhaps.’

They stood and collected kindling and some larger branches in their sack, Tor talking softly all the while to his son, searching gently for the right way to ask the hard question he needed answering in full.

He watched Gidyon’s expression change from troubled to one of relief, as though he had made a decision. ‘Father…’

Just when he thought Gidyon might yield he felt the cold slice of the Link open and recognised Cloot’s distinctive cast.

I’ve found it!

They spoke no more of Alyssa; instead gathered their load and hurried back to the others.

Goth’s time had come.

It was as though they were stepping into a new world. Led by Cloot, they went on foot. Goth walked slowly in pain; his arms tied and tethered to Themesius in front, his every move scrutinised from behind by Gidyon, who had taken an intense dislike to this vile man with the twitching face and permanent sneer. Figgis led with Saxon. Tor brought up the rear with Alyssa, who pretended she needed no help and yet gladly accepted his hand to clamber over most of the ridges. They had to trust the falcon for none of his suggested twists, turns and periods of what felt like walking back on themselves seemed to make any sense. He insisted they follow his instructions precisely.

A few know these mountain passes. But only a Brocken can find the one we move towards. Trust me.

They had been trekking for several hours now, glad that the sun was not yet high in the sky and of having set out at dawn. If Cloot had not flown down to Tor specifically to direct their gaze to an exact spot, they would certainly have missed the narrowest of passes. It had a cunningly concealed entrance and the track ahead was overhung by branches from either side which formed a cool and dark canopy for several hundred steps.

Goth could not fathom what was to be done with him. It was as though they all knew something which he was not privy to. Could they all speak without sound, using some sort of magic? He dismissed the thought as soon as it bubbled up and yet he had already convinced himself of the same between the falcon and Gynt. Why he was being led here baffled him. If Gynt wanted him dead, then why not kill him now…or even yesterday, when he had Goth at his mercy…or indeed long before that when he was first captured by the trees? It was as though Gynt did not want to dirty his hands.

Goth smiled to himself. Perhaps he could survive this after all. And yet Gynt doggedly pushed him towards something. What was he doing here?

His question was partly answered as one by one they emerged into a sun-drenched valley surrounded by soaring rockface on all sides, including the slim precipice upon which they all now stood. Below them they could see people moving about. There were not just a few either—a population as thick as that of any big village seemed to be roaming down there.

Cloot arrived on Tor’s shoulder. No one said anything. Even the Link which was open between them all remained eerily quiet.

It was Goth who broke the awed silence. ‘Why am I here, Gynt?’

‘For justice,’ Tor replied, his voice cold. ‘Look more closely. I suspect I have better eyesight than you, Goth, but as we get nearer pay attention to some of the children whose faces you took great delight in disfiguring with your branding iron.’

They all turned to look at Goth, who felt as though his blood had turned to ice. ‘The sentient ones?’ he whispered.

For the first time since clapping eyes on him again, Alyssa addressed the man she hated most in the world. ‘They alone are qualified to judge you.’

‘But they’re dead!’ he screamed. ‘I was told they all died for their sins and from my punishment.’ His voice lifted higher, drawing attention from below as it echoed around the walls of rock.

Alyssa poured all her years of hate into her scorn. ‘You were given false information, Goth. At King Lorys’s behest, the ones who could survive were treated and then brought here to live in secrecy and peace, away from your cruel horde.’

The tic on the side of his face was jumping again to the point where Alyssa became blurry. His fury was such that he could not respond in his usual articulate manner and it came as a relief when he felt Themesius roughly tug him and shove him forwards.

‘Walk!’ the giant said.

It took them an hour, following Cloot’s instructions, to wind their way down to the valley floor via precarious tracks and unexpected openings, which included a short trip via a cave. And all of this time the sentient ones below were gathering, a hush falling over them as they watched the strangers descend. None of them had seen people from the outside world since their arrival. They believed the Tallinese inquisitors were finally back to kill them.

Tor could feel their magics pooling, culminating in the more aggressive amongst them organising some sort of retaliation. He understood why but nevertheless he allowed the Colours to rise up. The others sensed it too and stopped walking.

Are we in danger? Alyssa asked first.

I imagine they would consider us enemies. Inquisitors even, he answered.

Saxon halted everyone. Shall I go out first? Talk to them?

Tor smiled. No, we should not fear them. Then he grinned. As a precaution I shall shield for all of us. They cannot hurt us.

Not even combined? Figgis asked.

Tor shook his head.

Goth watched these strange and silent proceedings. He noticed their eyes moved constantly as though communicating. Some nodded or smiled. He saw Gynt shake his head. They were talking! Their evil magic allowed them to talk to one another without speaking. It offended him so deeply that he could feel his anger returning. The shock of knowing that many of those whom he had thought dispatched to their gods were alive and living in this valley had passed. Now fury replaced it. He had been lied to by the cowardly king he had served. A king who had loved his pathetic subjects more than that which his crown had stood for. His predecessors had done their best to rid the land of sentients and Goth thought Lorys had been following suit. Clearly not. His blood boiled.

Themesius pushed him again. He trudged on with his bleak, angry thoughts. They finally emerged from the cave into sharp sunlight. The sentients had obviously expected them to appear from the direction in which they had first spotted them. But Cloot’s clever design had brought them through an opening which allowed them to get used to the brightness and gather their wits.

‘We come in peace,’ Tor cried and they all turned swiftly, looking around to see where the voice had come from.

They were spotted and many cried out in awe at the sight of Themesius, standing so much taller and broader than Tor or Gidyon. An older, strong-looking man pushed to the front. One whole side of his face had been melted and fused by the branding iron. He regarded them silently with his one eye, taking in the fact that they carried no weapons— nothing, in fact. They were a motley collection—hardly soldiers or the strutting peacocks of the inquisition.

‘I am Lyam. Name yourselves,’ he commanded.

Tor stepped forward and offered his hand. The man called Lyam refused it but Tor smoothly continued.

‘I am Torkyn Gynt, former physic to their majesties, King Lorys and Queen Nyria, but I am more famously known as the treacherous sentient who seduced an Untouchable from Caremboche.’

‘Sentient?’

Tor nodded. ‘This is Alyssa Qyn of Mallee Marsh.’

The man stopped him. ‘Are you of Lam Qyn’s family?’

Alyssa bowed graciously. ‘I am, sir. I am his daughter.’ She smiled.

‘Well, I’ll be…’

‘Have a care, Lyam. Alyssa Qyn now goes by the title of Her Majesty, the King’s Mother.’

People had shuffled closer. Some reacted with surprise at this comment.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, man. Lorys is fifty summers if he’s a day. This girl can be no more than—’

‘Not Lorys,’ Tor interjected, softly. ‘King Lorys is dead. His son…Alyssa’s son,’ he glanced towards her and she appreciated the graciousness of his words, ‘Gyl, is the newly crowned King of Tallinor.’

Loud murmurings broke out amongst the crowd. Fear had been replaced by confusion.

Lyam found himself bowing. He was not sure whether he could believe this tale but the woman had a certain bearing.

Tor continued. ‘This is Saxon. He is a brave Kloek whose heart is with Tallinor. He serves King Gyl and is a Protector of the King’s Mother.’

Saxon stepped forward and offered his hand. This time Lyam reacted favourably and took it, responding in Tallinese style.

‘We come in peace,’ Saxon repeated.

‘My son, Gidyon,’ Tor said, walking a step back to touch his son on the shoulder.

The man nodded. ‘Yes, I can see that.’

Gidyon nodded back at him. ‘We mean no harm, sir,’ he reassured the listeners.

‘That is my falcon up there. His name is Cloot. And over here is Figgis.’

Lyam frowned, perplexed by the small man. ‘Dwarf?’

Tor nodded. ‘He is a Rock Dweller. A fine race. And to his right is Themesius.’

‘The giant,’ Lyam concluded, no little awe in his voice.

‘Yes,’ Tor said. ‘He is friend to you and your people, as all of us here are.’

Lyam pointed. ‘All except that one scowling, who is tied to your giant, I see.’

‘Ah yes, indeed,’ Tor responded smoothly. ‘Which brings us to why we are here. May we talk in private with the elders of the community?’

The man stared at him for a moment or two. ‘Yes. Follow me.’

Tor realised that the people close enough to see the features of Goth were not comprehending the prisoner’s identity. He was not meant to be there. He was out of his accustomed context and it was true that he no longer looked like the proud, strutting Chief Inquisitor of Tallinor. He was a thin, snarling wretch with a terrible affliction of the face. Perhaps closer inspection might reveal him soon enough, Tor decided, and he began to follow Lyam.

Themesius asked whether they had a post or rail anywhere nearby.

‘Over there,’ Lyam pointed. ‘We keep our few donkeys tethered when required. For the most part, they graze wild in the small pastures beyond here. We have no reason to leave, you see.’

Themesius nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘Why?’ Lyam could not help but ask the question. ‘Surely you won’t tie your man there?’

Themesius strode to where the post was, Goth struggling to keep up with the huge man’s strides. Now everyone, intrigued, turned to watch this vignette play itself out. They saw the giant firmly tie the bound man to the hitching rail and leave him there. The man, who possessed the most dreadful of faces, began to shriek and curse his captors.

‘Don’t mind him,’ Themesius said. ‘All will be revealed.’