The Seer And The Sword (17 page)

The sinking sun was turning the air colder. Lindsa strewed the last of the feed.

She caught a faint movement in the trees. She squinted through the early dusk. Sometimes animals made their way near, and Lindsa loved animals. She set her basket down and went closer to the woods.

A ragged boy staggered out of the trees. He wore odd shoes, and trousers that looked foreign. He was wrapped in old blankets. The amber light of sunset lit glazed eyes; his skin was flushed. He seemed to be trying to speak, but only a weak croak came from his cracked lips. He fell in front of Lindsa, crumpling completely.

Lindsa ran for the house, calling her mother. Anna hurried out, kneeling beside the stranger. He lay face down. Anna turned his body, putting her hand on his forehead.

‘Mercy! The poor thing’s burning up with fever!’ Her homely face was full of pity.

‘Where did he come from?’ Lindsa asked.

Anna was examining the thin figure. ‘This ain’t no boy,’ she said.

‘Not a boy?’

‘Help me get her inside. She’s near dead, poor love.’

Mother and daughter lifted the feather-light stranger and carried her into a bedroom. They removed her damp clothes, proving that indeed she was no boy. They dressed her in one of Lindsa’s shifts. Anna bustled about, feeding the fire and making warm broth. Then she gathered the wasted wanderer into her ample lap, spooning broth into the fevered mouth.

‘Rest easy now, rest easy,’ she crooned. ‘You’re safe.’

Lindsa took in the girl’s straggly, cropped red hair. Under it, her features were delicate but strong, her cheeks thin.

‘She doesn’t see us, Ma.’

‘No, poor child. Too far gone with fever.’

Anna tucked the stranger into bed, piling quilts round her.

‘Will she live?’ Lindsa asked anxiously.

‘Well, no one knows what God may do. I don’t believe she came to us only to die. But we must work to save her. She can do no more for herself, that much is plain. Look how starved she is. That ain’t the work of one day. We must feed her the broth every hour all night, and keep her warm. The fever’s hot, but she’s no more heat to spare.’

‘Where’s she from, Ma? Her clothes – why would she be dressed like a boy, with hair like that?’

‘You can see it’s only just cut. Must have been lovely. She’s on the run, and who would she be running from but some man?’

Lindsa took one of the girl’s hands. ‘Do you think so now? How romantic!’

‘Humph. Lucky to have found us.’

‘How long her fingers are.’ Lindsa chafed them, looking at the girl’s burning face.

‘This ain’t no common girl. This one has spirit.’ Anna sponged the hot head.

Lindsa picked up the foreign clothes. ‘Shall I wash them, Ma?’

‘May as well.’

Lindsa folded the rough trousers. There was a bulge in one of the legs. She put her hand in the pocket and pulled out a small purse of fine velvet.

‘Look, Ma!’ She held it out.

Anna clicked her tongue. ‘What did I say? This ain’t
no ordinary stray cat we have here. Well, open it, maybe it tells who she is.’

Lindsa felt inside the velvet. She pulled out a large crystal globe. It sparkled deep in the middle, like a diamond would. Lindsa put it in the strange girl’s hand. She held it close and sighed.

‘You see, I have the crystal again.’ Her accent was as pure as a fine lady.

Lindsa brought out a handful of polished red stones.

‘Ma?’ She poured them into Anna’s palm.

Anna stared at the brilliant jewels, running her thumb over their shining surfaces. ‘Rubies,’ she breathed. ‘Lindsa, each of these could feed us for years.’ She looked sharply at her daughter. Lindsa sat entranced, staring from the gems to the girl on the bed.

Early on a bitter morning, Captain Hadnell’s soldiers were summoned to the central tent of their barracks. As Landen walked across the adjoining field, freezing wind cut into his face. The young men assembled into rows.

‘I have news,’ Hadnell announced. ‘A new tragedy on our western neighbour, Archeld.’

Landen’s eyes fixed on the captain, his heart hurtling.

‘As you remember, Archeld’s King Kareed was murdered over two months ago.’ The captain’s voice rose across the heads of the soldiers. ‘Kareed had only one child, a daughter, Torina. She was betrothed to Commander Vesputo. After a period of mourning, she married him.’

Landen caught himself in a gasp. He tried to tame his wild breath. Torina married to Vesputo? Was it possible?

‘Tragically,’ his captain went on, ‘she died by her own hand soon after the wedding, having never recovered her senses after the loss of her father. Vesputo is now king of Archeld without her.’

Landen clutched the hilt of his sword as if it could support him.
Died by her own hand? Never recovered her senses!

Captain Hadnell droned on, but the young man in the second row did not hear him.
Died. Dead? She was dead?
His heart battled with the news; denying, denying.

No, she would never kill herself. She wouldn’t marry her father’s killer.
It’s all wrong, a false story, a political lie
. Vesputo must have forced her to marry him, then killed her.

But that meant she was dead.
She was dead!
Landen stood shaking in his place, fighting for air. He’d never known with such indelible certainty that he loved Torina. He realized that he’d hoped with eternal, groundless faith, that someday their futures would join.

He struggled to believe she must be still alive, imprisoned or even escaped. The girl he knew had the capacity to outdo Vesputo. But then he remembered her wan, lost look at their last meeting. Since then, she’d endured the murder of her father and an odious marriage. Landen shuddered. If she saw no way out, would it be like her to take her own life?

His arms went rigid. He was seized with the urge to ride to Archeld, find Vesputo, demand the real story. He must know. He must.

‘. . . the chaos of a new king and shocked population has changed our relations with Archeld,’ Captain Hadnell was saying. ‘The borders will be heavily guarded and patrolled.’

For the first time in Landen’s life, he wanted to tear into someone, anyone. He looked straight ahead, sure that if he met a man’s eyes he would strike.

Dead
. He knew Archeldan customs. A thousand people must have seen her married; thousands more witnessed her burial. Despicable deceiver though he was, Vesputo could never stage such a thing without her body. She was surely dead.

Landen’s breath took forever to draw in and out. A light-headed tingle rang in his ears. He concentrated hard on breathing, watching as if from far off as his body strove to keep upright.

Somehow he managed to stay in formation until the men were dismissed to their duties. From a dazed, freezing distance, he went through the motions of his tasks. When others spoke to him, their words floated in on a slow, lifeless tide. His speech back to them was borne off by the same dull current. He didn’t know if his mates noticed; did not care. By evening, his arms and legs felt impossibly heavy. He turned in as early as allowed, lying exhausted on his bunk.

In the night, he woke with tears on his cheeks. He stumbled outside without a coat. As he looked up, it seemed to him the stars ought to fall out of the sky. But there they were, serene and quiet, bright points in the quilt of darkness.

He stayed out for a long while, until the tears froze on his face.

The next day he sought out Captain Hadnell to find what was required to participate in the Desan Games, where soldiers fought criminals to the death.

Torina heard soft words. Her lids opened. She knew at once she had lost some time. Where was she? How did she get off the cold mountainside, into this warm place?

Two women stood near, talking in low voices. Torina raised one of her hands. It was little more than bone within skin.

‘Where am I?’ she asked.

The older woman, the one with a face as comforting as the quilts that cosied Torina’s body, gave her an eager look.

‘Is it you? Are you talking?’

Torina pulled against her pillows, trying to sit up. ‘Where is this?’

‘Lindsa, she knows her mind!’ exclaimed the motherly woman. The younger sat down beside the bed.

‘This is our farmhouse,’ the dark-haired girl answered, taking one of Torina’s thin hands.

‘Is this Desante?’

The women exchanged glances. They smiled and nodded. Torina heaved a relieved sigh.

‘I’m Anna Dirkson, and this is my daughter, Lindsa.’

Trying to smile, Torina found to her surprise that it was an effort.

‘Could you eat something?’ Anna asked.

The princess put her hand under the quilt and felt her stomach. Bone. She was all bone! Alarmed, she clasped her hands together. ‘How long have I been here?’

‘Day and a half,’ Anna answered.

Torina remembered nothing after entering the trees beyond the summit of the pass.

‘But who, and how?’

‘We took care of you, my dear.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘You were feverish and sick.’

‘How did I get here?’

‘Came walking out of the woods one evening.’ The woman’s speech had an odd, pleasant slur.

‘Did anyone follow me?’

‘No, dear. No one knows but us and my husband, Tesh, and he’ll never say a word.’

Torina looked down at her scrawny hands. ‘Why? Why help me?’

‘It was plain you were in trouble. Who else would help, if not us?’

‘I feel so weak.’

‘You’ll get well. You have a strong body, as anyone may see. Put yourself through a strain, but you’ll be well as ever.’

‘You saved my life. Thank you.’

Lindsa touched Torina’s hair. Anna brought a warm slice of bread.

‘Try to eat.’

The bread was taken obediently, broken in small pieces. Lindsa brought a mug of cider.

‘I can never thank you enough.’

‘No need. We must all help one another. Now, tell us your name, and where you come from.’

‘I can’t tell you that. It could put you in danger.’

Lindsa’s eyes gleamed. ‘Danger?’

‘Terrible danger. You must forget you ever saw me.’

‘Not likely!’

Torina smiled sadly. ‘As soon as I’m well, I’ll leave.’

Anna put an arm round Torina’s shoulders. ‘Where will you go? Can we help you find kin?’

Torina felt tears beginning. ‘I have no people,’ she said. Landen’s face flowed in front of her. She banished him. ‘Please believe me. I’ve done nothing wrong, but I can’t go back.’

‘Back where?’

‘No, I must not tell you.’

Anna’s head wagged back and forth. ‘My dear, I may look like a simple farmer’s wife, and I am. But I’ve eyes in my head and wasn’t born yesterday. My Lindsa may have her faults, same as everyone else. But she ain’t no talker when there’s secrets to be kept. We’ve had a look at your clothes, and found the little bag of jewels.’ She paused for breath.

‘No need to be afraid of me or my daughter. We
looked after you and listened to you when the fever talked.’

‘I talked?’ Torina felt heartsick.

‘Yes, my dear. You come from Archeld. And, sweet God only knows how, you walked across the Cheldan Mountains alone and lived. And some man wants you back.’

‘Did I say his name?’

‘No, love.’ Anna’s guileless face looked disappointed. ‘And you can keep that secret. You can stay here as long as you need.’

‘I can pay you.’

‘That I know. We didn’t help you to be paid. Now, you’re tired. Rest.’ Anna folded the quilts round her securely. Lindsa said a soft goodnight. They took the candle away.

Torina lay and looked at the dancing fire, struggling to think. Her mind felt hazy and worn. Her eyes closed.

Rays of morning sun woke Torina. The fire had burned down to coals, the chilly air kept away by quilts. She dragged herself to a sitting position, draping her legs over the edge of the bed. A thick rag-rug lay under feet. She tried her weight, and stood, wobbling like a toddler.

The room was comfortably furnished with homemade furniture. She was wearing a rumpled cotton shift. The seams were well stitched.

‘Industrious people,’ she murmured. She staggered to the window. A small, cleared space outside ended in forest. She stared awestruck at its thick, tall trees. She looked down at her feet, valiantly gripping the floor.

‘You did it,’ she told herself.

A comb lay on the dresser. When Anna and Lindsa came in, Torina was combing her short, dirty hair.

The women helped her bathe, the first wish of her heart. Then they took her to the room where they did weaving. When she saw the looms, her heart contracted at the thought of her mother, still in Vesputo’s clutches.

Anna set to work. ‘My dear, we must at least know your name, or what will we call you?’

Torina considered. ‘Vineda. Call me Vineda.’

‘Lindsa, tell Vineda what you heard.’ Anna smiled. ‘News of Archeld!’

Lindsa leaned forward. ‘You left your country just as great changes happened. You must have heard, the king was murdered? That was before you left.’ Lindsa waited for a nod. ‘That king had a daughter, who was supposed to marry the commander of his army. She did, and he got to be king. But she killed herself right after. Everyone said she was mad.’

‘Hush, Lindsa!’ Anna ran to her patient. ‘My dear, we only meant to give you some news of home.’

Torina felt the hard frozen spot in her heart harden and freeze still more. Vesputo! Somehow he had tricked her people. Married him! And now dead.

‘Lindsa, get her some water. She must have known the poor lady. Is that it, Vineda? Did you know her?’

Torina closed burning eyes. The room seemed far away. She tossed on the sea of her thoughts. She’d come to Desante with a half-formed idea of seeking out King Ardesen, living under his protection. But now that all
the world knew of her as dead, and Vesputo was king with an army at his command . . .