The Seer And The Sword (32 page)

Samed took a step towards her and stared at her body as if he were looking over goods he might buy. ‘No, ma’am. I have all the jewels I want. No.’ He came closer. ‘Drop your stakes or bet yourself,’ he said, leering.

Herself! Torina put the crystal away, heart thumping. He seemed very sure of himself. What if he was a great archer? She’d hardly set finger to bowstring in years.

‘High stakes,’ she quavered. ‘Please, reconsider. Take me to town out of the goodness of your heart.’

The young man smiled disagreeably.

Her face grew hotter. ‘Since you have no heart, you deserve to lose your horse,’ she flared. ‘Very well, I bet myself against your horse and bow.’

At a remote outpost garrison near the three corners of Desante, Glavenrell and Archeld, sentries played a game of cards. Equan, one of the new soldiers serving King Dahmis, held the best hand he’d been dealt in days. Scanning his cards, he did his best to keep the excitement from his face. This time, he’d win.

One of his companions stood up.

‘Not so fast,’ Equan said.

‘Look there,’ the man said, pointing at the rocky trail they were posted to watch.

A horse was coming on at a furious pace, much too fast for the terrain. Equan put his cards face down.

The rider brought up short with expert handling and slid to the ground in one fluid motion. Equan stared. It was obviously a woman, though where she’d learned to ride like that he couldn’t guess. Her face, under a grimy kerchief, looked wild. Strangest of all, a bow was slung across her shoulder.

‘Where is this?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘Whoa, miss,’ Equan’s captain replied. ‘You’re at the three-corner border. Archeld, Desante, Glavenrell.’

‘You’re wearing brown,’ she panted. ‘You must serve the high king.’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Good. Then you can take a message to him for me.’

The senior sentry smiled. ‘A message to the high king. From you?’

Her hands shook as she pulled a red cord from round her neck. The captain touched it, handed it back, his face changing to bewildered respect.

‘Certainly, miss. Tell me what you need.’

‘First, some water. Then, writing materials, a fresh horse and men’s clothes.’

‘You shall have them.’

Andris sat on a stump, cleaning his immaculate knife, preparing to sharpen what was already well honed. The high king had let him know Bellanes was on a private rescue. It might be some time before he returned. The band was to stay where they were camped in Glavenrell. Andris was uneasy, though he wouldn’t admit it.

Life in camp was dull without Bellanes. The only thing of interest was training Cabis, the former Sliviite. The man was quickly learning all he could.

Andris was standing sentry duty. This task was tedious; no one came near the camp. He whistled softly, testing his blade on his thumbnail, so distracted he almost missed the rapid hoof-beats. Knife in hand, the big man called.

‘Who goes?’

Someone yelled back. ‘I seek Andris!’

Spring had done her work thoroughly, covering the
surrounding branches with thick leaves. Andris could see nothing.

‘Your password?’ he roared.

‘Peace awaits!’ came the reply, and King Dahmis burst into view.

‘My lord!’

The high king’s face was red with heat. ‘Bellanes is captured,’ he said. ‘Gather the band and join my troop. We must ride.’

Landen woke to the sound of doors clanging. He raised his aching head. He was in a cell. This one had a narrow slit of window showing Archeld’s courtyard; a single ray from the setting sun touched the floor with red light. He lay on bare dirt, hands tied behind him, ankles chained to the wall. They had stripped him of most of his clothes.

The Sword of Bellandra is surely my curse. I thought it would allow me to vanquish the sinister tyrant. Instead, it has brought me full circle. Prisoner of Vesputo, and further than ever from Bellandra’s magic
.

His body hurt. Thirst had become agony. They’d given him no water for days. But physical pain paled next to the torment of his heart when he thought of Torina. After years of separation, now that they were pledged in love, he was sentenced to leave her, would not see her again until she had finished all her days.

We will never walk together over the fields of earth

Never hear the birds in the morning
.

His tired eyes closed. In imagination, he danced with her, there in the hidden paradise they had made.
He could almost smell the wild flowers, feel the touch of her hand.

His door opened. He pretended to be senseless. Water was thrown in his face. His parched lips licked the precious drops.

Vesputo looked down on him. ‘Enjoying your accommodation?’

Landen thought of Torina by the little spring, smiling.

‘I would enjoy killing you,’ Vesputo said. ‘I’ll spare you if you tell me some things I want to know.’

Landen peered at his captor. ‘You won’t spare me, no matter what I tell you.’ His voice rasped with the effort to speak.

Vesputo opened his hand and put it into the path of dying light from the window. Torina’s little ring and Dahmis’ emblem lay there in his palm.

‘This volcanic stone is quite unusual,’ Vesputo said, swinging it between his fingers. ‘It’s rumoured there are only five of these, each giving the bearer immediate access to the high king.’

Landen was silent.

‘Now that I have one . . .’ Vesputo clasped the stone in a tight fist.

Landen’s spirits fell lower. Was his capture to be the means to the high king’s entrapment?

‘Where did you get this stone?’

When Landen didn’t answer, Vesputo continued in a mockingly pleasant tone. ‘Sworn to secrecy? Of course. There’s only one place this could come from. I didn’t know you were on such terms with Dahmis.’

‘There are many things you don’t know, Vesputo.’

‘I know this ring,’ Vesputo said harshly, fingering the gold band set with a small, shining crystal. ‘Where is she now?’

Landen feared his voice would break. ‘She was the seer – not I.’

‘Clever. But I ask you: what do you know of her?’

‘I heard long ago that she died here in Archeld.’

‘Where did you get the ring?’

‘She gave it to me when we were children.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’ Landen wanted to shout his defiance, yell out that he knew who killed Kareed. But if he did, Vesputo would try to compel him to explain. The only person who’d witnessed the killing was Torina. Landen’s life was done. He must protect hers.

Vesputo’s lip curled. ‘A man of surprises. Very well. Since you won’t tell what I want to know, let me tell you. Torina is as alive as you will be tomorrow.’

Landen’s mind tossed.
No, he doesn’t have Torina. She stayed in the high valley. She’s there now. He’s only torturing me
.

Vesputo folded his arms. ‘Tell me where you hid the Sword of Bellandra,’ he said.

Landen’s heart sped till the pulsing blood filled his body with terrible heat. ‘The Sword?’ he gasped.

Vesputo’s eyes narrowed. ‘The Sword. You stole it from me.’

‘If I had the Sword, would I be here now?’ Landen asked incredulously.

He could see Vesputo struggling with some strong
emotion. Confusion? Anger? There was a long pause, while Vesputo stood over him, the muscles in his jaw clenching. Landen wondered, wearily, if Vesputo would simply kill him now.

But Vesputo whirled, striding from the cell without another word.

The Sword of Bellandra! I put myself in Vesputo’s path to find it. But he would never ask me about the Sword if he knew where it was. Why did he think I stole it?

Then Landen recalled that his last trip to Archeld had been for the purpose of stealing a valuable treasure hidden inside a pyramid box.

Lying on the hard-packed dirt of a prison cell, Landen remembered the peace that had come to him during the night, on the wintry plains of Archeld, leaning against the box he’d risked so much to gain. Then he knew what he had done. Tears gathered, trickling across his bruised face.

I had it. I had the Sword
.

He heard in his mind the high king’s words. ‘
It belongs to someone else, who is away.
’ Dahmis had asked Bellanes to steal the Sword on behalf of the exiled prince of Bellandra, never knowing who he was.
And because I thought of the Sword as a mighty weapon, I failed to recognize it when it came to me robed in peace
.

Torina woke with a shuddering start. She was on the ground. A bow lay next to her. A sea of new grass surrounded her.

She tried to remember. When had she fallen asleep? The last she knew, it was night and she was riding
through the Archeldan plains, flying down a narrow road in the dark.

Now it was bright day. The sun had travelled half its course. Her horse was nowhere to be seen. The endless grasses of the plains stretched round her, rustling.

Her horse must have wandered off the road to feed. She’d slipped from his back in a stupor brought on by days without sleep. Precious hours were lost. Landen could be dead.

She got to her feet. The ridge of the Cheldan Mountains rose to the east. She was in the middle of the wild plains of Archeld, where almost no one lived. Animals roved here and, in the spring, as now, people didn’t hunt them, letting them breed. This was the region she’d crossed during her escape from Vesputo. It had been hard then, riding Amber, the king’s horse. Now she was alone.

Torina ordered herself to move. She pointed herself at the western sky. Her tears salted the ground as she began to run.

Emid sat alone in his room in the training barracks of Archeld, contemplating the formal uniform he was about to put on. He and all his charges were summoned to witness the execution of Landen, for the crime of murdering King Kareed. The public beheading was to be in the early hours of evening. The courtyard would be packed with soldiers.

Once again, Emid was under orders to do something he despised. The lines in his face had grown deeper and deeper in service to Vesputo. He often told himself he did his duty for Queen Dreea’s sake, and for the absent Torina. If Vesputo’s soldiers must be trained, at least he gave them a living memory of their princess. But the years passed by, and word of Torina never came. Perhaps he was wrong to believe she lived. A man like Vesputo would make sure.

Dreea still haunted the halls of the castle, more pious than ever, rarely seen except on charitable missions or state occasions. Soon, it was rumoured, Vesputo would marry again and begin a new dynasty.

For over three years Emid had wrestled with his
conscience. His inner voice cried out over and over as he witnessed inroads into the liberties of the citizens of Archeld. The country was prosperous, yes, but the hardworking people were afraid. Sometimes they disappeared, without explanation.

I do what I’ve always done – train boys to soldier for the king. As if it were still the same land and still the right thing as I know it
.

Now, an execution on display.

No one saw Landen commit this killing. Yes, he had motive enough. Kareed killed his father, took away his kingdom, stole the Sword.
But I believe in my soul that he is innocent
.

Emid moved like an old man as he dressed. Sheathing his short dagger, he contemplated turning the blade on himself.

Dreea submitted to Amile’s gentle hands as they arranged her white hair. The queen’s request to miss the execution had been denied. She would be seated on the platform just behind the king when Landen lost his life.

Dreea didn’t want to be reminded again of her husband’s murder. When Kareed died, Torina stopped all contact with her mother. Those two devastations still hurt acutely; not to hold Kareed in her arms ever again; not to speak with or see her daughter.

She believed with tenacity that Torina was alive. Somehow, somewhere, her wild-hearted child came and went.

And today? Today the young man Kareed had
wronged so deeply waited for death. Dreea wished she could avoid such a sight, but Vesputo was adamant. She was queen. She must attend.

Dreea folded her hands in prayer. She remained in communion with God until a soldier came to escort her. The young man with reserved bearing seemed familiar, though she couldn’t place his name.

‘Zeon,’ he told her. She recalled the boisterous youngster who had been one of Torina’s childhood companions. Could this grave, controlled man be him? The queen sighed.

She was grateful for his support as he walked beside her. They passed out of the castle, into the courtyard jammed with soldiers. The clamour of voices sounded. Clear skies glowed luminous blue above. The bright sun hovered over the horizon.

The crowd parted smoothly for them and Zeon took Dreea up the steps of a platform. He helped her into a chair and stood next to her. Vesputo was nowhere to be seen.

Dreea looked out at the sea of male faces topping dark green uniforms. They stood grouped in battalions, a formidable sight. She saw Emid, surrounded by boys, close to the front of the mass of men. Beyond the wide walls, curious citizens gathered, not daring to enter the courtyard but wanting a glimpse of the famous outlaw, Landen.

The queen’s sight drifted over to where a scaffold had been constructed. To her horror, the prisoner was there, shackled and bound. Dark, curly hair hung unkempt round his haggard face. His guards had naked
weapons in their hands. In miserable fascination, Dreea stared at the man who was said to have killed her husband.

He seemed to feel her glance, turning haunted eyes to her. He licked cracked lips. He seemed to be straining to speak. Dreea guessed he was so thirsty he was unable to.

‘Zeon,’ Dreea said. ‘Fetch Emid to me.’

Zeon went down the steps of the platform and found the trainer, leading him forward.

‘Emid. That man is suffering of thirst.’

‘Madam?’

‘I order you to give the prisoner water to drink.’

‘Certainly.’

Emid directed one of his charges. Dreea’s own throat burned as she waited. The trainer advanced to the scaffold. She saw him get a guard’s attention, saw the guard scowl. Emid pointed to her, and the queen gave a royal nod. Emid climbed the scaffold steps. He lifted the water to Landen’s lips.