Fiona McIntosh - The Quickening - 03 - Bridge of Souls

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Bridge Of Souls
The Quickening Book Three
Fiona McIntosh
Perfectbound
GH…this one’s for you
Contents
Map
Prologue
It felt like an eternity to Fynch.
Chapter 1
The vineyard sprawled before them, the land suddenly sloping down…
Chapter 2
Myrt suggested a path via the lowlands surrounding the lake.
Chapter 3
Wyl’s progress along the Darkstream was slow as he traveled…
Chapter 4
Lost in bleak thoughts, Queen Valentyna leaned her elbows against…
Chapter 5
Maegryn met the riders and was alarmed to see the…
Chapter 6
Gueryn felt forgotten. It had been days since Myrt and…
Chapter 7
It was the first time since childhood that Celimus had…
Chapter 8
Liryk had personally escorted the woman who called herself Ylena…
Chapter 9
Fynch sat down hard on the small mound outside the…
Chapter 10
Using fresh horses at intervals, King Celimus had swept through…
Chapter 11
So how did this Aremys fellow end up in the…
Chapter 12
Valentyna broke her fast early and privately on the balcony…
Chapter 13
After leaving Werryl, Wyl made straight for a hide of…
Chapter 14
Valentyna crafted her letter to Celimus the afternoon of Crys…
Chapter 15
Fynch and Knave stood at the foot of the Razors…
Chapter 16
Rashlyn awoke from his stupor, Angry at feeling hands at…
Chapter 17
Crys admired the way the Briavellian Commander, despite his busy…
Chapter 18
Cailech was flanked by only two of his own men…
Chapter 19
Wyl heard the approaching footsteps but had anticipated soldiers arriving…
Chapter 20
They had traveled a short distance through the night using…
Chapter 21
Elspyth watched through her tears as the body of the…
Chapter 22
Wyl was brought back into the hall of the Donals…
Chapter 23
In the end, Wyl was given his own horse for…
Chapter 24
Valentyna looked at herself in the mirror and glumly permitted…
Chapter 25
Fynch lay still enough to be dead, curled on the…
Chapter 26
Wyl sank into a glum silence as their party neared…
Chapter 27
Knave whined softly, his great head on his paws, his…
Chapter 28
Lord and Lady Bench sat with Elspyth and Crys in…
Chapter 29
Lady Helyn bench reluctantly held her husband’s jacket as the…
Chapter 30
Wyl entered the same impressive chamber he had been escorted…
Chapter 31
Crys Donal rode Eryd Bench’s chestnut mare through the Pearlis…
Chapter 32
Fynch sat cross-legged, staring at the man who had brought…
Chapter 33
Obin had taken one look at the gray dog and…
Chapter 34
Wyl and Aremys set off from the fortress in the…
Chapter 35
Aremys thought that coming to Werryl was a stupid idea…
Chapter 36
Aremys had persuaded Wyl as far as the gates, hurrying…
Chapter 37
Valentyna descended the staircases to the main salon, feeling as…
Chapter 38
The journey across Briavel and into Morgravia passed uneventfully. In…
Chapter 39
Wyl sat on the cold floor of one of Stoneheart…
Chapter 40
Valentyna stood forlornly in a grand chamber at Stoneheart, her…
Chapter 41
The newlyweds emerged onto Stoneheart’s largest balcony, known as the…
Chapter 42
Wyl was led up onto a hastily built wooden stage…
Chapter 43
Chancellor Jessom was surprisingly tender with her, but Valentyna was…
Chapter 44
There was a knock at the door. “Chancellor Jessom?” a…
Chapter 45
A tall man clutching a child walked into a sunlit…
Epilogue
Cailech’s long arms reached around Valentyna and hugged her close.
About the Author
Also by Fiona McIntosh
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
It felt like an eternity to Fynch.
There was brightness, unbearably sharp, and combined with a hammering pain. He squeezed his lids
tightly but the dazzling gold light hurt his eyes all the same as he helplessly relinquished control of his small
body to the vast agony exploding through it. He believed he felt his body writhing uncontrollably, but in
truth he was rigidly still, his teeth bared in a grimace as the force of magic gifted from Elysius radiated
painfully into him.
At one point he thought he glimpsed the sorcerer passing through him to his death, like a distant memory
he could not quite bring into focus. Elysius appeared whole again and he was smiling. Fynch vaguely
sensed him offering thanks but was unable to lock on to it as the pain claimed all of his attention.
The sickening throb of power began to pulse through his body in time with his escalating heartbeat, each
push harder, each more breathless in its intensity, until he lost all sense of himself. He no longer knew
who he was or where he lay; he had to relinquish all to the excruciating pain until, finally, he glimpsed its
end. The agony ebbed gradually but steadily until he realized he was bearing it. His pulse was fast but his
heart no longer felt as though it might explode through his chest. The blinding light had dimmed to flashes
of gold, as if he had been staring at the sun too long, and his breath was no longer panicked and shallow
but came in deep, rhythmic drafts.
His wits returned. He had survived.
Trembling from the chill that now gripped him, Fynch opened his eyes to slits. He registered a new layer
of pain and closed them again; this time it was a headache that prompted instant nausea. He felt like
crying. But where other youngsters might have had the comfort of a mother’s voice and love, there was
no such consolation for Fynch. He was alone. Wyl had gone.
Fynch hated the way they had parted. He knew Wyl had wanted him to leave the Wild immediately and
he had watched his friend battle his inclination to say as much. Ylena’s face was too expressive to mask
what her brother was thinking. And yet Wyl had said nothing, had permitted Fynch to make his own
decision and remain a little longer. Fynch felt a profound sadness for his friend who had suffered so much
loss already and would suffer more yet, he sensed. He wished he knew of a way to spare Wyl more
pain, or at least to share some of it with him.
He sighed. The nausea had passed. His eyes were still closed and he realized the pain had dimmed
considerably. But the loneliness remained. There would not even be Elysius to offer solace. No. The boy
suspected he was alone in the Wild, save for the four-legged beast who was his constant companion.
Full consciousness sifted through his shattered nerves and Fynch became aware of a pressing warmth at
his side. Having sensed he was alert again, the source of warmth moved and growled.
“Knave,” Fynch croaked through a parched throat.
Never far, a voice replied in his head. The unexpected sound made him flinch.
The boy turned toward the great black dog. “Did you speak to me?” he asked, tears welling. “Can I
finally hear you?”
Depthless eyes regarded him and again he heard Knave’s reply in his mind. I did. You can.
The friendly voice—one he had never thought to hear—was too overwhelming. Fynch managed to
command his reluctant arms to obey him. Slowly, painfully, he wrapped them around the big animal’s
neck and wept deeply and without shame.
Elysius? Fynch asked after a long time, testing his newly acquired power.
The dog’s response was instant. Dead. It was quick. And he was glad to go.
Where is his body?
Everywhere. He became dust. The massive transfer of power disintegrated his physical being and
then dispersed him.
Did he say anything before…before he passed on?
That you are the bravest of souls. He agonized that he might be wrong to force this burden upon
you, the dog admitted. He regretted the pain you would experience and the journey ahead, but he
believed there is no one else who can walk the path but you. The dog leaned closer and spoke very
gently. In this I know he is right.
Fynch pulled away from his friend, eyes still wet. There was so much yet to learn. Knave, I don’t know
how to use this power. I have no—
Hush, the dog soothed. That is why I am here.
The boy took the beast’s huge head between his tiny hands. Who are you?
I am your guide. You must trust me.
I do.
The dog said no more, but Fynch sensed that he was glad, even relieved.
But there is something I must know, he went on, his tone almost begging.
Ask it. Knave’s mental voice was so deep that Fynch suspected that if the dog could speak aloud, he,
Fynch, would feel the sound rumble through his own tiny chest.
Who is your true master? Where do you belong?
Fynch sensed Knave’s smile. I have no master as such. But I do belong.
Where? Please tell me.
I am of the Thicket.
Ah. Fynch’s tensed muscles relaxed as understanding flooded through him. The neatness of the dog’s
answer pleased him. Are there others like you?
I am unique, although there are other enchantments within the Thicket.
So Elysius didn’t send you to Myrren?
Elysius did not know me by flesh until we both came here, although he knew of me. And Myrren
was not the person I sought.
This was a revelation. Fynch pressed his hands against his eyes in an attempt to ease their soreness and
clear his swirling thoughts. Then why didn’t you just search out Wyl?
Because Wyl was not the one I sought either.
Fynch looked up sharply. Who, then? Who must we now search for?
The search is over. It was always you, Fynch.
What? The dog’s unerring gaze told Fynch Knave would never lie. But why?
You are the Progeny and I am the Guide.
I thought I was the Wielder, Fynch asked, confused.
That, and so much more, Knave said reverently. You are many things.
The Thicket sent you to find me?
The Thicket sent me to find the next Gate Wielder. It did not know that would be you.
But it must have known Elysius was dying in order to send you in search of his replacement?
Yes.
So your role has never been about Wyl or Myrren…or protecting Valentyna? Fynch sent
wonderingly.
Knave’s response was measured. My task is to protect you. When the magic of the Quickening
entered Wyl, the Thicket believed he was the next Wielder. Elysius wondered the same.
Are you saying that it was pure coincidence you came into Myrren’s life? Fynch asked, desperately
trying to piece the puzzle together.
Not exactly. She was Elysius’s daughter. Magic was part of her even though it was not strong in
her. It was she whom the Thicket decided to keep a watch over. When Myrren made such
connection with Wyl, we thought he might be the one. It was only when I met you that I realized it
was you we searched for.
How can you tell?
There is an aura about you, Fynch. Unmistakable, and invisible to all but those of the Thicket.
Fynch sighed. I was born with this aura?
Yes. Your destiny was set.
Elysius never mentioned it.
Elysius didn’t know. The Thicket told him who you are only as he died.
It talks!?
Communicates, the dog corrected.
Fynch held his head and groaned. These revelations were causing fresh gusts of pain to surge through his
already aching mind. It hurts, Knave. Will it always be so?
You must control the pain. Don’t allow yourself to become its slave. Master it, Fynch.
Is this how it will kill me?
The dog held a difficult silence between them.
I would know the truth, Fynch insisted. If you are my friend—my Guide, as you say—then tell me
honestly.
He sensed the dog’s discomfort as he began to explain. This is the beginning. You must use your
powers sparingly. Talk to me aloud whenever you can, although hearing my response in your
mind will not sap your energies. The pain and other weakenings will only occur if you send the
magic yourself
How long have I got, Knave?
The dog raised his head to look Fynch directly in the eye. I don’t know. It depends how strong you
are, how sparingly you use this power.
If Knave expected despair it did not come. Fynch wiped his eyes and, using his companion as support,
raised himself wearily on unsteady legs. I must rest, the little boy said gravely.
And then we must go to the Thicket, Knave said, equally somber. It awaits you.
Chapter 1
The vineyard sprawled before them, the land suddenly sloping down in the distance to a small shingle
beach and the channel of sea. The tang of salt in the air was invigorating and the bright day with its
cloudless sky and sharp light reminded Aremys of how much he had missed the north all these years. He
inhaled the air now and smiled. It felt good to be alive, despite the new and sudden complexities in his
life.
With his memory now blessedly returned, Aremys felt much better equipped to accept the King’s
invitation to “walk the rows” of vines at Racklaryon. The mercenary learned that it was one of Cailech’s
great pleasures to see his vineyard bursting with new life each spring, showing the spectacular results of
the savage pruning his vignerons insisted upon.
King and mercenary looked out now across the neat rows and Aremys could almost taste the wine this
field would produce at summer’s end. Bright green leaves, like the protective wings of a mother hen,
shaded their yet-to-mature babies, bunches of fruit that hung like tiny green jewels, fattening and ripening
daily as the plants sent out fresh tendrils to weave and curl their way along the special lines that supported
the vines. The Mountain People had pioneered this method of support. In the south, the vines were left to
themselves, to grow tall at first, stooping over when heavy with fruit. It made for a ragged, untidy
vineyard but, in truth, did not affect the quality of the wine. In the north, however, vine support lines had
been developed to air the fruit, as some months were humid and damp. It also looked more spectacular.
Cailech’s people took pride in the ordered appearance of their vineyards. Not only were the rows
straight but each vine was sung to as it was planted—a small prayer to Haldor that each new beginning
might yield life of its own. At each row’s end, the Mountain People planted a flower called a trineal. It
was beautiful but fragile, very susceptible to lack of water or other natural attacks. Cailech’s vignerons
maintained that if the trineal foundered, they would have but a few weeks to find the solution to prevent
the vines from following suit. It was an ancient tradition but one still faithfully adhered to. The bright
rainbow colors of the trineal bushes were an attractive feature in this, Cailech’s favorite vineyard, and
they stood proud, colorful, and healthy at the heads of the rows. It would be a bountiful harvest, the men
murmured.
The King was rarely alone; today he was flanked by Myrt and Byl. Aremys had come to know these
particular fellows well since his curious arrival in the Razors. He felt comfortable in their presence and
over the past few days had started to view them as companions as much as captors. Nevertheless, he
had chosen not to reveal that his memory was fully restored. It suited him that these Mountain Dwellers
knew only as much as he was prepared to share, until he could learn more about their intentions for him.
The small company had ridden to the vineyard beyond the lake and Aremys was sorry to see that the
King had not chosen to bring the intriguing black horse that had caused him such fright on their previous
ride. He mentioned his disappointment to Cailech.
“Ah yes, Galapek,” the King replied softly, and Aremys felt the weight of the green gaze upon him. “I had
the impression that he disturbed you somehow the last time we rode together.”
It was said without accusation but Aremys felt the scrutiny couched within. Wyl Thirsk’s warning burned
in his mind: Only a fool took any comment by Cailech at face value. Everything he says has a purpose,
Wyl had impressed upon Aremys during their journey together from Felrawthy. He misses nothing.
The mercenary thought back to the moment of disturbance the King spoke of. It had occurred only a few
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