The Seer And The Sword (24 page)

And Queen Dreea? He rarely saw her. Whenever he did, he met her sad eyes and believed she shared with him the same secret hope, that her daughter was not buried in the grave that bore her name. They never spoke of it. After Dreea recovered from her illness she floated through the castle, pale and quiet, weaving, sewing, helping run the household. Emid noticed she preferred his arm to any other on state occasions when her presence was required.

A few weeks ago, when Vesputo was away, the queen had asked to observe Emid’s daily training exercises.
She sat on a bench with Mirandae, wrapped in warm shawls, watching the youngsters. She found reason to send Mirandae into the house. Then she smiled at the boys, asking Emid’s supporting arm so she could get back to her weaving. As they walked together, she slipped a scroll into his sleeve.

‘I’m giving you a death sentence for myself and you if anyone finds this,’ she told him, facing forward with serene expression. ‘I trust you, Emid, to get it to the high king. If you wish to read it, please do so. Study the knots on the binding; you must duplicate them exactly when you tie it again. They contain my personal code to King Dahmis.’

‘My dear Queen, you honour me. You can trust me with anything as long as I’m alive. Tell me what the letter says. I’m not practised with ribbons.’

‘It gives the location of the Sword of Bellandra, and urges him to take it from Vesputo.’

Then she had talked of the weather, while Emid’s head buzzed, his thoughts absorbed with the mythical Sword of Bellandra. Dreea knew where it was! She needed his help, protecting it from Vesputo.

The scroll had been sent by underground messenger.

On this night, Emid passed the guards with a sombre wave as usual, tramping round the grounds. He wished, as he had a thousand times, that he was a man with a political ear. He simply did not understand the tangled subterfuge of Vesputo’s reign.

If I knew for certain Torina was alive, I would proclaim it to anyone who would listen. But I know nothing. I cannot rally
the people round a ghost. Even if she lives, she might never return
.

There was no snow, but the air smelled like a storm might come soon. Moonlight glowed on the tree-surrounded walls of the south-side of the castle, where the doors had been bolted for winter.

As Emid paced on, he blinked at one of the walls. It seemed to be moving. He glanced round. No guards in sight. The trainer melted into thick shadows.

The wall moved again. A hidden door chinked and opened. Emid saw a hooded head appear and swivel round, checking the territory. The man, whoever he was, beckoned over his shoulder and emerged, carrying a large, pyramid-shaped box. Stealing out behind him, a huge fellow pressed the door closed. The moon shone on a seamless wall again.

Emid stood rooted as the two men hurried forward at a crouch. They quickly gained the trees. Emid’s mouth opened to call the guards, but he didn’t yell. There was something about the hooded man’s agile grace that was terribly familiar.

The men huddled not ten feet from where he was. He could hear them breathing.

‘Get some horses, using his ring.’ The hooded man spoke very low. ‘Grey stallions. This country is full of them. Meet me in the woods behind the stable.’

‘Why don’t
you
get the horses?’ the other man whispered.

‘Because I’m known here, remember?’

‘Which way?’ the big man asked.

His partner told him, punctuating the whispers with gestures. ‘And remember.’

‘I know. No killing.’ The larger man hustled towards the stables.

Alone in the trees with the thief, Emid regulated his breathing so as not to give himself away. He feared this familiar stranger would sense his presence.
Who was it? What was in the box?

The man knelt beside it. He looked back towards the castle and put his two hands over his heart as though grieving. His fingers came up, brushing the hood back from his face. The moon illuminated his features.

Landen! It was Landen! Whatever could he be doing here? Only that evening, there were rumours of his capture
.

The trainer looked hard at the profile chiselled in moonlight. The face was dirty and stubbled, older.

Did he kill King Kareed?
Studying Landen, Emid did not believe those sad, determined young features belonged to a killer. And what had the other man said?
No killing
. Would a murderer have such a standing order?

Emid wanted to rush forward, ask Landen a hundred questions. Where had he gone? What had he seen? Who was the grieving gesture for? Princess Torina, maybe – who else would Landen mourn?

But still he hung back.

Landen shouldered his burden and left with a tracker’s invisible steps.

The trainer came back to life. He started forward. His foot jingled into something. Bending to the ground, he picked up a great ring of keys.

The king’s keys! How did Landen get Vesputo’s keys?

Thoroughly puzzled, Emid turned the keys in his hand. Walking on with measured pace, he shoved the keys into his cape, following his course as if there had been no interruption, exchanging nods with guards along the way. He timed his steps so that when he reached the rear stairs of the courtyard, the guards had their backs turned. Then he laid the king’s keys in a shadowed part of the balustrade, where they would be sure to be found in daylight.

In the morning, when Vesputo asked him what he had seen, Emid knew what his answer would be. The moon shining on bare winter ground.

Just after dawn, on the rocky coast of Archeld, Landen and Andris guided two grey stallions. The thirsty horses stopped at a stream-bed. The riders dismounted.

‘How you found your way through to the sea in the dark and led us this far, I can’t know,’ Andris said.

‘I told you, I know this land.’ Landen looked out at the ocean. ‘We’ll be riding all day, my friend. Thieves don’t live long if they get caught.’ He grinned. ‘They should be holding their heads about now.’

‘Aye,’ Andris sniggered. ‘The party is about to wake up.’ He thrust his hand in front of Landen’s face. On his finger, Vesputo’s ring flashed. ‘Two horses, my man, and quickly,’ Andris ordered, parodying his actions from the night before. ‘Easiest horse-stealing I ever did!’

‘Vesputo will die of shame.’

‘Which is the proper death for such a man.’ Andris winked.

Snowflakes began swirling down out of the dim sky. Landen caught one on his tongue. ‘Andris, we’re saved.’

‘Saved? This will make for slow, cold riding, Bellanes.’

‘For our pursuers too. It will cover our tracks.’ Landen swung into the saddle. ‘We’ll ride northeast.’

‘Ain’t that out of our way?’

‘Some. They might track us to this point. Beyond that, they can whistle for our direction. Come, man! Vesputo won’t take this defeat kindly. He’ll have every soldier he can spare combing the countryside for Landen, vile murderer.’

By nightfall, the travellers were so cold and weary they had trouble setting up their tent. By scrounging a few sticks of dry wood from the soaking grass and bushes of the plains, they made a pitiful little blaze. They agreed to take turns feeding it. Andris took the first watch, sitting beside the faltering fire.

Sometime during the night, Landen woke shivering. It took a few moments to realize where he was. The tent was totally dark. Poking his head out, he found Andris wrapped head to toe in blankets, snoring next to the snow-covered remains of the fire. Shaking with cold, Landen wriggled out of the tent. Thick snow covered the ground and fell steadily round him. The air had the hushed, odd luminescence of night-snow. The temperature had dropped. Crouching beside Andris, he brushed snow from the big man’s blankets and tried to wake him. It was useless. Landen gave up,
covering the sleeper with another of his own blankets.

He searched for dry tinder. He lifted rocks, inspecting the ground underneath. Wind had driven the snow under and through everything. Hugging and slapping himself, teeth chattering, he tried to see which among the ghostly humps of the snowy plains might conceal something dry. The cold thickened round him.

He stumbled and fell headlong. He pulled himself up, rubbing his shin. Whatever tripped him had a hard edge. He bent to examine the snow. His gloved hands felt the outlines of the steel box they had stolen for the high king.

His palms tingled painfully where they rested on the box. There seemed to be heat emanating from it. Landen sat down next to the pyramid, leaning against it. No doubt about it, the treasure gave off warmth. He felt strangely comforted. Prodding himself to get up, to rouse Andris, he continued to be still.

There in the night on the frozen plains of northern Archeld, the softest fire stole across his life, burning away sorrow, anguish and regret. His heart felt light and free as it had in childhood. Dreamlike, he was lifted higher and higher on soothing flames, transported to another world, where love thrummed in the atmosphere like music. Floating in a timeless, humming ecstasy, Landen drifted into sleep.

Sunlight dazzled Landen’s eyes. Andris’ face, red with cold, was over him.

‘Whatever are you doing against that hard, cold box?’ The big man’s voice was hoarse.

‘Not cold,’ Landen insisted, then realized it
was
cold. He touched the box, testing its contours with his fingers. Cold. He shook his head. ‘I dreamed so well.’

‘You’re a strange one, Bellanes. I never saw a man look better after a night of freezing. Get up, man. I want to know your legs will hold you.’

The bright day reflected Landen’s mood; renewed and strong. He grinned at his companion, getting to his feet easily. He knelt beside the box, swishing snow away from its planes so as to inspect the locks.

‘Andris, this time I wish I hadn’t given my word.’

‘You want to see the treasure?’

‘Aye.’ He patted the pyramid. ‘Well, my friend, let’s load up and ride. When we get to the forest, we can try for a fire.’

‘Bellanes!’ The high king pumped his hand. ‘I confess I’m surprised to see you here. I expected to get a message instead, saying you were delayed, or telling me to take the treasure to hell. And here you are, telling me you have the pyramid box. What you’ve done is next to impossible!’

Andris and Bellanes had carried the steel box across the plains of Archeld, into the forests of Glavenrell. There, Bellanes insisted on stopping at a collapsing, deserted shack; the appointed meeting place for his rendezvous with the high king. Andris had wondered, right up to the moment King Dahmis and General Larseld rode up disguised as farmers, if such a spot could be the one they wanted. But so it was. The flash of gold when the farmer took off his gloves convinced Andris that the king was real. And the high king’s horse, under shabby trappings, was among the finest Andris had ever seen. General Larseld drove a rickety farmer’s cart, packed with straw and drawn by two more horses. King Dahmis led a magnificent brown stallion behind the one he rode.

The big man stood silent, overcome by awe to be in the presence of the high king dressed in a patched coat.

The men were meeting outside, for the half-fallen shack offered little protection. It had stopped snowing, though drifts surrounded them.

Bellanes laughed, a carefree sound Andris had never heard. ‘I’d say what
you
have done is impossible. The coalition of kings, the peaceful trade . . .’

Dahmis smiled. ‘Good to see you.’

Bowing, Bellanes handed the signet ring of Archeld to the high king.

‘Vesputo’s ring.’

‘How did you do it?’ King Dahmis demanded, taking the ring.

Again, Bellanes gave a free laugh. ‘No, my lord, I never agreed to reveal my secrets. It’s enough that I deliver the treasure, unopened.’

Andris was amazed to see the high king bow respectfully to the man who had just told him no.

Bellanes turned to a heap of snow beside them, digging out the pyramid box. King Dahmis bent to it, putting his hands on it.

‘This is the box.’ He shook his head in admiration. ‘Name your reward, Bellanes.’

Andris watched as his leader shifted feet. ‘We agreed on a fee.’

‘Yes. That was when I didn’t believe you could do what you’ve done.’

Bellanes stared at his boots.

‘Come, man,’ General Larseld spoke up. ‘You’ve
done a priceless service. You have the right to ask for a reward.’

‘The reward I wish for is priceless too.’

‘Name it.’

Bellanes swallowed. Andris could see water filming his eyes. ‘Your friendship,’ he said hoarsely.

The king put a hand on Bellanes’ shoulder. ‘I’m high king over thousands. People seek me out for favours, for protection, for aid in resolving strife. I count my friends on two hands. Each of them is more precious than all the kingdoms.’ He paused. ‘It would be an honour to call you friend.’

Andris saw his leader’s glistening smile, General Larseld nodding approval, the high king beaming. As he watched Bellanes moving with ease among these great men, Andris felt himself to be witnessing events of mighty consequence.

The pyramid box was packed inside a crate with straw, and laid in the farmer’s cart. The high king agreed to arrange that Vesputo’s grey stallions be hidden for, of course, they would be missed and looked for.

‘Now for your fee,’ King Dahmis said, handing the reins of the two brown stallions to Bellanes. ‘No other man in the kingdoms, Bellanes, has ever made me part with such fine horses.’

When Andris understood that he was to have his own wonderful horse, he brimmed over with gratitude, thankful for the day he had lost in the Desan Games.

* * *

King Dahmis sat silent, staring into a roaring blaze. Beside him, Larseld and Michal played chess.

‘Ha!’ Michal said, gloating. ‘I have you now, General.’

‘Indeed?’ Larseld countered. ‘I’m always at your service, of course, Michal. But this time, it’s I who have you. Checkmate.’

Michal gaped at the board, protesting that Larseld had an unfair advantage because he was a general. ‘One more move and you would have been mine!’

Dahmis chuckled. ‘That’s why Larseld controls my troops, Michal. Because his last move comes before the enemy’s.’