The Seer And The Sword (3 page)

She took him back to the other room, and had food and water fetched. As he ate and drank, she watched quietly. The bath, and coming to a decision to stay in Archeld, had washed away his tremors. He was glad.

Torina went to get more food, and he felt himself slipping into sleep; only dreamily aware when she returned. He was never sure if he imagined it but, as sleep claimed him, he thought he felt her light finger tracing the features of his face.

In the bowels of the castle of Archeld stood an ancient door, cut in stone. Kareed, carrying a torch, fitted a key into the lock. Beside him, Vesputo held a long wooden box. The door opened with a creak of disuse.

The dank smell of close air greeted them as they entered the vault. A bare dirt floor and stone walls housed boxes covered with dusty cloths. In the centre of the room was a large, pyramid-shaped steel box. Kareed bent to open it. Taking the long box from Vesputo, Kareed set it down. He lifted its lid, revealing the Sword of Bellandra. The blade shimmered pale and sharp in the torchlight. It was so resplendent that a stab of reproach hit the king as he closed the Sword into the pyramid. He shot bolts and fastened locks on the pyramid’s sides.

‘Old Talsed counselled me that this pyramid of steel will disguise the Sword of Bellandra and mute its power,’ Kareed said. ‘And he knows more than he ought to about enchantments.’

‘Forgive me, my lord, but why not carry it yourself, as a token of your victory?’

‘Ah, my friend, I dare not. There’s said to be a mighty curse on anyone who lifts this Sword for conquest. Who knows if it’s true; it may not be. Certainly, the weapon turned out to be useless to Bellandra, for all its reputation of invincible magic. But there’s no call to invite a curse. I don’t have any need of this Sword, I’m strong enough without it.’

‘True indeed. If you don’t intend to wear it, why not get rid of it?’

‘My advisors tell me it cannot be destroyed. There
is
an enchantment on it, though of what sort I can’t tell. Perhaps it’s losing power. It hasn’t been raised in battle since King Landen the First fought off hundreds of invaders, all of them warriors of note, and that was many generations ago.’

‘Strange that Veldon never tried to use it.’

Kareed shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘Stupid. Stupid to remain complacent after the message I sent him. Stupid not to post scouts or send spies. And stupid to try to parley his way out of war when we arrived to do battle. After the warnings I gave, did he think I wouldn’t keep my word? He was a fool to ignore me.’

Vesputo nodded wryly. ‘Who can account for it?’

‘At any rate, this weapon holds the spirit of his people, and must not be set free.’

‘Ah. Then you want to keep the Sword in this vault so it doesn’t fall into anyone else’s hands?’

The king assented, making sure all the locks were secure. ‘You and I will keep this secret. If anyone asks what became of it, say the Sword was destroyed.’

* * *

Before she went to bed, Torina slipped into the small room where she had left the strange boy. He was still fast asleep. Should she wake him? Take him somewhere? Her father said he was now a member of the household. All the boys in training lived in a barracks on the far side of the king’s house, near the practice field. Zeon had told her about it; they slept in bunks, took their meals and practised the arts of war. All under the fierce eye of Emid, the trainer.

Should this boy be with them? If he woke up, would he wonder what to do? She would not like to be alone at night in a strange house in a far land. Her father had called him the son of a king. King Veldon ruled Bellandra, so King Veldon must be Landen’s father. What happened to kings who lost the war? His mother was Queen Anise. She had died before this. But what about his father? Where was his father now?

Torina went to Gramere with her problem. The sharp old eyes watched closely.

‘Veldon’s son, Landen,’ she murmured. ‘Sad those two men fought – your father and King Veldon. I always hoped they would keep the peace. Torina, my dear, my son takes no prisoners among rulers. Landen’s father is dead.’

Torina felt a cold shudder. How dreadful, that when kings fought, one of them must die.

‘What’ll I do, Gramere? No one else is helping him. I think they forgot him.’

‘Go to bed, child. I’ll send Maude to be with the boy. If he wakes up, she’ll let him know to stay in
the room. In the morning, come to me and we’ll take him to the barracks.’

Torina walked through the familiar halls of the castle, her mind sad. What would it mean to her, to sleep alone in a foreign country, with her parents dead? All those bruises and cuts she’d seen; why had the soldiers been so unkind?

As soon as dawn filtered in, Torina was awake. She bounced into her clothes. She found Gramere snoozing in the great carved bed of her ancestors. The old queen was instantly awake at Torina’s touch. Together they went to the small room where Landen lay. Ancilla dismissed her servant as the boy stirred. He stretched guardedly, looking at them with large, doubtful eyes.

‘I knew your father,’ Ancilla said. ‘Long ago. He was a fine man. None better.’

Landen sat up. He looked at the floor.

‘Come, young man, there’s no cause to be ashamed of grieving for a good man who died too soon.’

He gave her a darting glance. She sat beside him and spoke firmly.

‘I am Ancilla, mother to King Kareed. I say what I please in this house, though I may not choose to say it to everyone. You’ve lost your father, and your country. It will not be easy for you – not for a long time. But remember, you can still be the son your father would be proud of.’

Landen said nothing, but his shoulders relaxed.

‘You’ve met my grandchild, Princess Torina. We’ll
take you to the barracks now. That’s where you’ll live until you’re grown. Now help me up, and I’ll show you where to pass your water.’

Fascinated, Torina saw Landen get to his feet and bend to Ancilla. He lifted her grandmother with graceful ease. Torina realized, with awe, that this boy had been raised a prince in a fabled country. A little while ago, before her father went to Bellandra, Landen was going to be a king. King of Bellandra.

Torina had heard stories of that mystical land. Her mother had been there. Dreea had been friends with Queen Anise, years before. When Anise died, Dreea lit candles for her. Dreea said that in Bellandra people did the work they most loved. All the children wore bright colours. Every building was beautiful. The sky filled with rainbow sights whether it had been raining or not. And no wars . . .

No wars
.

Torina had learned to be proud that her father always won the wars. Now, looking at the bruised and haunted face of a dead man’s son, she was seized with shame. Her father should not have brought war to Bellandra. Why had he done it? There must have been a good reason. But what if there hadn’t? What if King Kareed only wanted to fight? What if he killed a good man (he must be good, Gramere had called him good), killed him just because he wanted his kingdom?

She wanted to curl up and never move. Gramere’s eyes bathed her with tenderness. The tightness in her stomach eased.

* * *

Outside, the world shimmered under a spell of dew. The upright figure of the old queen led the way over the grounds behind the castle. Close behind came the captive boy, with an expression in his eyes like a creature that cannot be tamed yet knows it has been snared.

Trees dripped on either side as they went, while gold rays of new sun shot through here and there. Torina wondered if she’d see inside the barracks at last. After hiking for perhaps a quarter-hour, a large wooden building sprang into view. It was built simply and sturdily, left unpainted.

Marching to the front door, Ancilla rapped sharply. They could hear boys inside. Eric, a tall young man, opened. He squinted at them. Torina spoke up eagerly.

‘Eric, would you fetch the trainer?’

Eric disappeared inside, while other boys grouped themselves in the doorway, the young ones staring.

Soon Emid, the trainer, stood there. Torina had seen Emid about the grounds since she could remember. His fierce face never scared her. She knew he was there to protect her.

Emid rotated his great shoulders. ‘You called, my queen?’

Ancilla gestured towards Landen. ‘Emid, the king has left word that this boy is to be brought up in his household.’

‘The prisoner from Bellandra?’ Emid made a sweep of his arm to scatter the gawking boys surrounding him, and stepped out of the barracks. The door shut behind him.

‘You are telling me to train this boy, madam?’

‘My dear Emid, the orders do not come from me. Keep in mind, this child should not be answerable for the actions of my warmongering son.’ She looked every bit as ferocious as the trainer. ‘Let him grow up here. In time, Archeld will become his home. He has no other now.’

Emid shook his head. ‘Child he may be, but he won’t forget.’

‘Give him something else to remember.’

Emid turned on Landen. ‘Boy—’

‘His name is Landen,’ Ancilla interrupted.

Emid sighed. ‘Landen. Can you live here in Archeld, forgetting the past? Obeying my orders?’

The boy’s voice was clear and ringing, without being loud. ‘You said yourself I wouldn’t forget,’ he answered.

‘I said it. I meant it.’

‘Then why do you ask if I’ll forget?’

All four stood silent a moment, while Emid gnawed his lip.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I want to know if you can live here and obey my orders.’

‘I can.’

Emid shook the boy’s hand. ‘Very well. Landen, come inside and we’ll find a place for you.’

That was all. Landen disappeared through the doorway, and Torina walked away with Ancilla.

Dreea returned to her weaving, very pale, even quieter than before. Sometimes the king sat beside her and they talked, apart from everyone. Then Dreea’s eyes glowed and her movements quickened.

Torina hovered near her mother till Dreea begged her to walk outside and amuse herself.

In the courtyard, Torina climbed the low wall and sat with legs dangling. Below she could see the training field. She decided to watch the boys go through their exercises.

Emid was conducting seltec, the tests that determined the level of warriorship for each boy. During the test, every soldier in training paired with someone near his size and fought with a variety of weapons. When they had done seltec for a few weeks in practice, the final championships would be public games, with crowds gathered to watch. Those who excelled in any field would receive the most comprehensive training – they would become members of Archeld’s warrior elite.

Today they were practising hand-to-hand combat. Torina saw Zeon best another boy and strut to the
sidelines. She picked out Landen, off to one side, away from the clot of boys and young men. The trainer called out two names, and Eric and Beron came to the centre.

Torina was fond of Eric and disliked Beron, a large young man who often used his size to bully the younger children. She watched avidly as the boys circled each other, throwing punches. They seemed well matched, and neither could land a hit. Then Beron said something. Eric looked behind him. Beron’s fist was swift and vicious. Eric spun round and lunged for Beron, catching him a blow that sent Beron to his knees. Eric followed up with a brutal chop to the back. Emid pushed in to declare Eric the victor.

Torina squealed with satisfaction. Feeling a light weight on her shoulder, she turned to see Ancilla’s hand. Impulsively, she pulled her grandmother to the stairway from the courtyard that led to the practice field.

When the field was in close view, they could see Landen and Jelton fighting. Landen was easily beaten.

‘Gramere, he’s a prince! He should be best of all,’ Torina protested, not happy to see Landen thrown in the dust.

‘Ah, child, war was never something King Veldon planned for his son. Landen was raised to be a fair man and a gentle-minded king.’

‘But everyone knows kings have to fight if they want to keep their lands.’

‘Not everyone.’

The combat test closed. Emid gave the call for archery. The old queen and young princess sat on
a nearby boulder as the boys took turns aiming for a target thirty yards away.

Torina watched anxiously as Landen took his place. It seemed to her he was as bruised as when he arrived. Yes, those were fresh marks on his face and arms. When he stepped up to shoot, scattered gibes were heard. No one spoke up for him.

Each boy was allowed four arrows. As Landen lifted the bow and pulled it taut, Torina called out, ‘Hit the centre!’

Landen glanced at her and released the arrow. It went wide, grazing the outer rim of the target. Jeers sounded as he fitted another arrow. He shot quickly. The shaft lodged in the bull’s-eye. The shouting died away as Landen repeated this feat twice more. A few boys grinned. Most stared open-mouthed. Torina tried to smile at Landen but he didn’t look her way as he walked to the sidelines.

Clearly, there had been one art of war Veldon’s son had been trained to do well.

The older boys shot, and though some surpassed Landen because his first arrow counted, none but Beron were better archers.

Emid ordered regular target practice. Six lines of boys ranged in front of straw-backed targets. Torina had often watched archery from the courtyard, but never this near. She hurried to Emid.

‘I want to learn to shoot a bow.’

Emid met Ancilla’s gaze. The old queen shrugged.

‘Zeon, let the princess have your bow. You shot well today. Teach her how to pull a bowstring.’

Zeon, puffed with pride, demonstrated. Torina tried the bow and found it awkward. The string was tight, hard to pull. The arrow landed two feet to the left of her target. She fitted another shaft and this time the arrow fell to the other side. As she reached for another arrow, the bow was seized from her hand. Turning, she saw her father. His colour was high. Green eyes blazed.

‘Papa,’ she faltered.

‘A practice field is no place for a princess.’

She wanted to tell him she could shoot as well as any of them if he would let her practise. Wanted to yell out loud that, because of men like him, she must learn to defend her kingdom.