31
A Mother’s Ire

Xantia flinched. Alyssa!

Be very sure you want to meet me here, Xantia. There’s no turning back. It was Alyssa’s turn to taunt.

Xantia growled, as one possessed.

Dorgryl was shocked at Alyssa’s sudden interruption and he turned away from Lauryn, who had also heard her mother’s mocking words. She did not waste a moment in adding her own derision for the woman she hated.

‘Scared? I knew you would be, you cringing cowardly wretch.’

‘Xantia! Be still,’ Dorgryl commanded, not sure whether to grab his accomplice or strike the woman who jeered at her.

Lauryn pushed her luck. ‘Hide behind him, Xantia. My mother is too strong for you.’

That was all it took. Inflamed with fury, Dorgryl made the wrong decision. He cast his powers, letting out a roar, and Lauryn was hurled across the room. She crumpled in the same manner as Xantia once had at the end of Orlac’s anger. She lay still and unconscious and was no longer of any use to Dorgryl or his planned entertainment for the next hour or more. In that moment his attention was diverted to glance at Lauryn, Xantia screamed her own fury and, unsure whether she could do it but determined to meet the destined confrontation between herself and her long-time enemy, she lifted free of herself and sent her spirit travelling at speed to do away, once and for all, with Alyssa.

Dorgryl spun around at the sound of Xantia’s body collapsing to the floor and this time his fury bubbled over. He smashed the exquisitely plastered wall with his fist, breaking bones in Orlac’s beautiful hand.

One other mind had heard Alyssa’s taunts—hidden as he was in the deepest recesses of himself—and smiled. His silence these past three days had not only surprised Dorgryl but quietly troubled him. Nothing he said or did seemed to awaken the anger of Orlac and to Dorgryl this was a bad sign.

Had the young god given up? Or was he plotting something?

Orlac had indeed been plotting; waiting for a moment to strike. He desperately hoped Lauryn had heard his private communication—he knew Dorgryl had not, which meant he had a chance. And now this. Lauryn’s mother was indeed a courageous woman and although he could not imagine how she had achieved such a thing, he thanked his few blessings that somehow she had managed to pull off what was surely a masterstroke.

Orlac was not aware that Alyssa had the blood of a god running in her veins; it would have shocked him— as it would have Dorgryl—if he had known of her mother’s identity. Still, in his ignorance Orlac silently thanked her because he now had a slim chance of giving freedom to her daughter. That he loved Lauryn there was no doubt although he refused to allow his mind to listen to his heart. He had tried to convince himself that she was merely the bait for the father and when that had failed— when he found himself unable to tear his eyes from her or dismiss the lilt of her voice and her laugh from his mind—he had told himself that she was merely a diversion, nothing more. By keeping her close, the father was kept occupied too—defensive and scared for his child. Torkyn Gynt would never be able to mount any serious threat to Orlac as long as Lauryn was in his possession, or so he reminded himself when the mere thought of seeing her threatened to undermine his driving need to destroy her father.

What he had not counted on was Dorgryl’s sudden change in tolerance. He thought he might have sensed the older god’s power gathering to strike but he had not. Dorgryl had shielded himself superbly and when he had taken Orlac’s body from him, it was done with such speed and might, his nephew had been caught unawares. Worse, he realised it was because his mind had been lost in his thoughts about Lauryn.

Lauryn had paid shockingly for his mistake. Orlac had been forced to bear witness to her despair, humiliation and pain. Dorgryl had relished every moment but Orlac had made a promise he would make his uncle pay.

At some point during those three traumatic days, Orlac’s perception of his own destiny reshaped itself as he acknowledged that ridding himself of Dorgryl—and not of Torkyn Gynt—was his first priority. Gynt suddenly seemed to matter less, as did the razing of Tallinor and its people. Dorgryl had to be beaten.

Whatever it takes, he repeated time and again to himself as his body, without his permission, inflicted its terrible humiliations on the woman he just wanted to love. In her strength in not capitulating Orlac found renewed faith—a power to be still…to be silent…to outwit what he now believed was the darkest, most agile mind in the Host and thus in all the worlds.

He must destroy Dorgryl but he had no idea how. His only immediate thought was to free Lauryn from the god’s clutch and Alyssa had given him a tiny sliver of light which he saw as hope that he could succeed.

Inwardly, as he felt Dorgryl rage about him, he cheered his brother’s wife, begging any god who heard his private plea to help her succeed.

One did…and obliged.

Here! Xantia shrieked.

Alyssa did not react immediately. Everyone she loved and had ever loved seemed to crystallise before her and she found herself mentally farewelling each one…for she knew this was her end. It was her destiny, she realised, to rid the Land of Xantia.

She had not realised she had any substance; had thought she was just some sort of spiritual presence but now that she actually looked she saw a softly shimmering gleam. She was an apparition of herself. Alyssa turned and there stood Xantia, shimmering darkly and true to the form that Alyssa remembered; older, perhaps more voluptuous and even more beautiful in a sinister sort of way.

Hello, Xantia, she said sweetly. I’m surprised you came.

Do you think I fear you?

Not at all. I thought you were a slave to him…to Orlac.

Ha! Orlac?

I’ve seen you with him.

Your eyes deceive you. It was Xantia’s turn to sound cloying. You see only Orlac’s shell. You hear and witness the spirit of the greatest of all gods…his name is Dorgryl.

Dorgryl! Alyssa shuddered. She had read of the god in Nanak’s Writings: Darganoth’s brother, Dorgryl had unsuccessfully attempted to usurp the throne of the Host from its rightful King. He had been cast into the Bleak as eternal punishment. But now, it seemed, he had somehow escaped.

She realised, as Xantia’s face broke into a snarl which passed as her smile these days, that this was why her daughter had been calling to Orlac, imploring him to help her.

I shall have to kill you, Xantia said.

Is that so? Perhaps you’re too late.

When I’m done with you, Alyssa, and I return—

Ah! So you don’t know. I did try to warn you.

Warn me?

Are you aware of where you are? I am no longer attached to Tallinor. I’ve made my choice and so have you.

Xantia faltered. It was the first trip of her confidence.

Alyssa shook her head as condescendingly as she could. Let me enlighten you. We are in a place known as the Bleak. Have you not heard of it?

Xantia, in spite of herself, obediently shook her head.

Oh, then you will find this intriguing, Alyssa said.

I have no time for this! Xantia spat.

But you do… you have all the time in the world.

Xantia laughed but it was tinged with nervousness. Where are we? she yelled.

I’ve told you. The Bleak. From where there is no return…for either of us. Alyssa took great relish in saying the final words.

You lie!

No need for lies now. Try to go back and you’ll see you cannot. This is a place of eternal death, Xantia.

Her enemy shimmered.

Alyssa continued. I have already said my goodbyes. I’m not sure you had a chance but then it matters not to me.

You were never as strong in the darker Power Arts as I, Alyssa. You will be the one to suffer. Xantia began to circle.

Alyssa remained still despite Xantia’s threatening movements. She laughed. You don’t seem to understand. None of that matters now. Nothing between us matters any more. I have already destroyed you by luring you here.

And what about your husband? Xantia sneered.

He will prevail.

It was Xantia’s turn to laugh.

Not against Dorgryl, I promise you.

Alyssa bluffed. Oh no? Even now Dorgryl is weakened, without you. He made the wrong choice—his anger dulls his mind and he makes foolish decisions. Mark my words…it will be his undoing.

Xantia growled.

Whatever you do to me has no effect on what occurs in the Land. We are no longer of our world, Xantia. He should have stopped you coming. Instead he chose to hurt my daughter some more. He will pay the ultimate price. Enjoy the Bleak, Xantia. It’s perfect for you.

Xantia’s patience snapped and she cast out towards where she knew her body was…and felt nothing. Anger and hate spilled over as she hurled her magics towards her enemy. She expected to see Alyssa scream out in agony as the first powerful blow struck home. What Xantia did not know, could not know, was that her former friend did not possess a weak, wild magic like her own. She had no inkling that the spiritual person before her was part god, with powers she had not even begun to tap into. It was perhaps the greatest shock of Xantia’s young life to see the shimmering Alyssa suddenly flash to golden.

Is that it? Alyssa asked, her voice hard.

Xantia’s shimmering presence threw herself towards the woman who taunted her, biting, scratching, tearing Alyssa again and again, having no effect on the golden woman, blazing with power.

What are you? Xantia whispered through her sobs.

She is a god, said a new and terrifying voice, but Xantia, in her excitement at the arrival of an ally, did not hear the warning. She ran towards the red, shimmering mist. Dorgryl! I knew you would come for me.

Alyssa’s spiritual heart sank.

Dorgryl ignored the cringing woman. Instead he addressed Alyssa directly. Very impressive. I had no idea a god’s blood ran in your veins.

The red mist moved threateningly towards her and Alyssa knew her fight was lost.

She had failed her own destiny.

Shadows moved stealthily from the Ciprean docks. Against his better judgement, but trusting the instincts of the former prime, Gyl agreed for only a handful of them to make their way to the palace.

The King, a soldier at heart, saw safety in numbers and might. They were six, two of whom were women and one a lad who could no more lift a sword than fly. Although he quickly reassessed that opinion—he had no idea of what Rubyn was capable of in terms of his sentient ability. Nevertheless, how could three fighting men hold off a city if it chose to rise against them? He permitted himself no further fearful thoughts. At the end of this journey was Lauryn and his mind followed only that single track, not for a second allowing himself to consider whether she was still alive.

Herek meanwhile was permitting his mind to wander down all of its terrifying paths, the worst of which being that he and his Prime—he could think of the brilliant Kyt Cyrus as nothing less—were now defending two monarchs, both of whom were putting themselves into the most dangerous of situations. That he would give his life for his King was not in question but his life was not enough to save Gyl if things went badly here. He followed in a grim silence, stuck in gloomy thoughts of how to save his monarch.

For several hours Rubyn had been casting towards Lauryn. He did not know her trace but he used the familiar trace of Cyrus and hoped one of her Paladin, if not she herself, would hear and respond. So far there was only a bleak silence. He understood that Lauryn perhaps might have shielded but he had no reason to believe Juno nor Adongo would.

With Cyrus’s encouragement he kept trying, finally suggesting that he believed Orlac might have somehow cut off the Link to Lauryn’s Paladin.

Their plan was simple, if audacious. Hela and Cyrus would go first, testing the way was clear and assuring safe entry into one of the palace’s secret passageways. The others would follow, then Gyl, Rubyn and Cyrus, once inside the palace, would find Lauryn. They made it no more complicated than that. That was their one task—to get her and bring her out safely and back to the waiting ship. If necessary, they would cast off without the others. All were in agreement with this.

Meanwhile, Herek, Cyrus and Hela would get Sarel to the elders of the city. When Herek had asked how they could prove her birthright, Sarel produced a ring.

‘This is my mother’s…and her mother’s before her. It belonged to all of my grandmothers down the ages. It is the great seal of Cipres.’

Even Hela had been surprised. ‘I told you to bring nothing,’ she had admonished.

‘I am the rightful Queen of Cipres, Hela. This ring only left my mother at her death. I have hated keeping it secreted away. And from this night on,’ she said, slipping it onto her finger, ‘it will only leave my hand in death too.’ Then she had lifted her face in defiance, daring any of them to argue it with her.

Gyl had wrapped his own large hand around hers. Those present sensed the strong symbolism of this gesture. ‘You will wear it for many decades, Sarel, I promise. And if you ever need Tallinor’s help to defend your crown, I pledge it now.’

All were moved by his powerful words. Cyrus had quietly shaken his head. Lorys would never have thought to create a union between these two realms and yet his son had achieved it in a simple, proud statement. Great things might yet come of this strange wheel which was turning.

For his part, Gyl had been impressed with Sarel from their first meeting. She was so terribly young and yet her grooming for sovereignty was not only impeccable, but her composure and inherent royalty were so strong that he envied her all those years of knowing her destiny. If only he had known his destiny; if only he had known his father from birth, he would already be a far better King to Tallinor. He could not dwell on that now but he took heart from the faces around him who appreciated the wisdom of his pledge.

They found themselves now on the fringe of the city. It was far quieter than Hela believed it should be.

‘How long will you give us?’ she asked, deliberately not looking at Cyrus—but in these strange and threatening days since she had woken up beside him, she felt that delicious warmth when he answered.

Even in this situation—so fraught with danger—she found herself admiring his voice, his steady gaze, the way in which he shifted his tall body onto one foot. Suddenly everything about this man seemed to outshine any other. She fully accepted it was her failing—her lovestruck heart seeing him as so perfect—but she could do nothing about it. His mere presence seemed to control her which was irritating because she was a strong, independent woman. She wondered vaguely if she was having the same effect on him. She doubted it. He had not referred to their night of passion once since that morning in Ildagarth, nor had he shown her any particular affection, although she felt she was searching for every nuance. Every smile felt like a thousand fragranced flowers dropping on her. If she was affecting him in any way, he certainly did not show it. And what annoyed her most of all was that it was this remote manner of his which most attracted her. His damaged soul he kept so private and yet she had tapped into it that night and truly believed she had offered some healing.

She turned towards his voice, trying to concentrate on the matter at hand.

Cyrus sensed extreme nervousness in this small group. All but Rubyn seemed to feel they were walking towards certain death.

‘Herek, remember the Shield song?’ he asked.

Herek frowned. ‘Yes, sir, of course.’

Cyrus grinned. ‘Then sing it and when it’s finished—all ten tedious verses, mind, and with the chorus between each—come after us.’

Herek smiled and Gyl joined him—he knew the song well too.

‘Oh, and Herek,’ Cyrus added, a note of irony touching his words. ‘I shall order you back to the ship if you don’t stop calling me sir.’

The Prime nodded. ‘Habits die hard,’ he admitted. ‘It’s good to have you back.’

The two men clasped hands in the Tallinese soldiers’ salute.

‘Go now,’ Herek said softly to the only man he had ever truly admired. ‘Make our way safe.’

Cyrus and Hela stole off into the night leaving Rubyn and Sarel with bemused expressions as the King and his Prime, comically, very softly, broke into song.

Orlac felt the oppressive presence of Dorgryl lift away from him without warning. He was momentarily disorientated but then he was rising, pushing himself upwards and outwards into his own body, claiming it back.

She did it! he thought. Alyssa—may the gods bless her —had lured Dorgryl from his cosy spot. It was all he needed. Orlac turned back, searching for Lauryn with the blurry vision he was desperately trying to readjust. There she was, slumped pitifully in the corner, her robe disarrayed, showing her nakedness which seemed somehow shameful to him. He took no pleasure in seeing the gentle curves and soft skin.

He realised he was holding his breath as he softly pulled the satin robe around her neatly and retied the sash.

‘Come, beloved,’ he whispered. ‘You do not belong here amongst us.’

Orlac lifted Lauryn to cradle her in his arms. This was the most intimate moment he had experienced with her and he could not help but appreciate the irony that she should be unconscious as he laid his first soft kiss against her lips. She stirred and he pulled away, lingering a moment or two to gaze at her face.

Under normal circumstances to carry Lauryn would be effortless for Orlac but, still feeling awkward in his body, he swayed as if drunk as he hurried out of her chambers down the corridors. He broke into a run, realising Dorgryl could return at any moment, taking the marble steps three at a time. Where he was taking her he had no idea. He just had to get her out of the palace and beg someone to take the limp body from him and hide her away.

Cyrus and Hela did their best to walk casually but their hearts were pounding; Hela’s from fear and Cyrus’s from the thrill of action. Suddenly he felt like the Prime again and without thinking he took Hela’s hand, whispering, ‘I think we must hurry.’

She nodded, relieved to feel the reassurance of his grip and they increased their pace. ‘It’s just around here,’ she whispered back.

As they swung around a corner, they could see a group of the Ciprean guard walking towards them. They had not been spotted yet and although neither could think of a single reason to be worried, both felt instantly wary and guilty. Cyrus pulled Hela into a recess in the outer wall of the palace and immediately embraced her.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, confused.

‘What does it look like?’ he murmured, pushing his lips against hers.

A few moments later, the men passed by and several whistled. Hela pulled back and whispered so low even Cyrus had to strain to hear her.

‘Let me talk. Your accent is strongly Tallinese.’

He nodded.

Hela and the men spoke. She immediately adopted a coquettish pose, glancing towards Cyrus several times and then laughing with the men. He could not hear but he guessed it was at his expense. The men moved on and she returned.

‘What was that all about?’ he asked.

‘Information.’

‘And what have we learned?’

‘That there is no guard for another hour on the western side. It is perfect. We can enter the main grounds from there. I know a way.’

‘What did you tell them?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Hela. You forget that I am a soldier. Guards are always posted around any palace. There’s no such thing as no guard for another hour.’

She looked at him but remained silent.

‘What did you tell them?’

‘That we are lovers and that I need somewhere nearby for us to lie undisturbed for a few minutes.’

‘And why would they do this for two lovers… strangers to them?’

‘Because I have promised something in return.’

He looked suddenly appalled as understanding dawned.

‘Cyrus, we have no time for this!’ she groaned beneath her breath. ‘We are trying to save lives!’

He blinked. She was right. Whatever it took, the destiny of the young woman they were trying to take away from Cipres and that of the young woman they were returning to Cipres, were far greater than any individual sacrifice.

Cyrus nodded sharply. ‘What now?’ he said, looking around.

‘I’ll show you how to get in. Then we go back for the others. Herek and I will take Sarel. You three somehow get the girl.’

The red mist had no form but Alyssa could feel its cold touch and hear the deep voice like a chill within her.

She is nothing, it said. But you should be heartily afraid of me.

Get away, demon, she spat, the hard words firing her anger, helping her to remain brave.

It laughed; genuine amusement. Welcome, Alyssa. Do you like where they put me for eternity?

She backed away from the mist which continued to drift towards her.

I am already dead, Dorgryl. Why do you waste your time with me?

I’m not sure.

Destroy her! Xantia screamed from behind.

Why? it asked. Because you could not?

Give her to me, then. Let me try, Xantia offered, her bravado increasing with his presence.

Shut up! it said. You bore me. You are no match for her.

Dorgryl! I was always stronger than her.

He laughed again. It was riddled with scorn. Xantia, you have pitiful wild magic. Nothing more than circus tricks. Your companion here is so much more. Look at her. She is beautiful isn’t she? Shining and shimmering in her golden god’s light.

God?

Alyssa lifted her chin with defiance. She enjoyed watching the confusion on Xantia’s face.

You speak lies, Xantia spat.

But I do not! Dogryl countered angrily. And then he laughed again, lacing it with irony. She is a clever woman isn’t she? he said, as if to himself.

Of whom do you speak? Alyssa replied, knowing the longer she could keep the red mist occupied, the greater chance her daughter had of escape—if she could gather her wits.

The red mist shimmered brightly. I think you know.

Alyssa shook her head.

Now that you are here before me I realise your likeness to her is striking. I never knew. She kept a grand secret.

Move away from her, Dorgryl! commanded a new voice.

Ah, I wondered when you might join us.

You were stupid to come back here. Now you are trapped.

Xantia felt her confusion and anger spill out. Who is this? she shrieked.

Can’t you tell? Dorgryl said calmly. This is Lys, the Custodian. Can you not see the resemblance? She is your friend’s mother. How about a deal, Lys?

No negotiation, Lys replied, moving behind her daughter. Alyssa had not so much as glanced her way yet but Lys could tell she was shimmering with relief.

Oh, but I think you will this time. I can guess what your plan is. And I will not permit her to go.

You know nothing, Lys said cautiously.

Choose, he said, enjoying himself. You can keep me here as your prisoner and thus imprison your daughter because I will never permit her to leave; or you can let me go back and you can do what you will.

Alyssa turned ferociously. Don’t you dare, she said, clapping eyes for the first time on her mother. She had no idea what they were talking about but it smacked of a bargain. Dorgryl was negotiating for his life back in Orlac, back to torment Lauryn, back to destroy Tor. It would make her own death pointless; make her a failure.

Lys knew it was she who was trapped. She turned sad grey-green eyes towards her daughter. I cannot abandon you again. You must come with me.

Aha! Dorgryl said, shimmering brightly. You see, Alyssa. She gave you away once. She will not let it happen again.

No! screamed Alyssa.

I can’t, Lys said, her golden-honey hair shimmering in her golden light.

My children! Alyssa wept and sank to her knees. Save them, mother. Save Tor. I beg you.

Dorgryl giggled. Touching, very touching. Farewell, Xantia. I must flee before she changes her mind. I can do nothing for you. But I did warn you not to follow your petty hates. Live long, he said.

Alyssa shouted her despair and her wails were accompanied by the cries of Xantia.

Xantia, spoke Lys, her voice commanding now. You are dead. Accept this. The Bleak is where you will dwell for ever. Your powers are not strong enough to escape its clutches. It is a fitting end for you and your bitterness.

No, Xantia cried, still not understanding.

Come, child, Lys said to Alyssa. This is no place for you.

Alyssa looked up at her mother, shocked by the remarkable likeness the woman bore to herself. How could you?

Easily, came the reply. I can save you.

And the others? Alyssa dared ask.

I cannot interfere, child. We must believe they will prevail.

Alyssa shook her head. But you could have saved them.

I made my choice, her mother replied. I should never have given you up. But I was given a chance to claim you back to your rightful position. I had no idea, Alyssa, that you would be brave enough to send yourself to this place. You have enormous courage, child, to give up all that you love including your own life.

Mother, it’s because I love them that I can. Why can’t you love me enough to help them?

Suddenly Alyssa felt a powerful shield close about her.

Xantia, Lys said, regretfully. It is no good. You cannot hurt her any more. Your magics are useless here. Your magics always were. We leave you now to ponder your sad life.

I would rather be dead, Xantia snarled.

I’m sure you would but this was your choice.

Where are you going?

To a place you will never see, can never reach.

Alyssa turned to the woman who had caused her so much harm. It was over then. Her destiny was to be separated from Tor and she had failed in giving her life to save his and those of her children.

Farewell, Xantia, she called quietly and then she felt herself travelling.