The Seer And The Sword (6 page)

Inside the stables, a forlorn soldier, Bant, lolled on bales of hay. He jumped to his feet as she entered.

Torina spotted a long rope coiled on a high nail.

‘Bant! Fetch me that rope.’ She pointed. He stretched a pitchfork towards it.

Torina went to Amber, the king’s horse, opening his stall.

‘Help me saddle this horse.’

‘Is the king to ride then?’ Bant gaped at her.

‘Hurry!’ was her answer. Bant hefted an enormous saddle. He cinched it on the great stallion. Torina slung the coil of rope over the saddlehorn. She led Amber from the stable, calling thanks over her shoulder.

She leaped on the biggest horse her father owned and galloped away.

Beron ran through the trees as if the king’s dogs were after him. There seemed to be footsteps behind him, many footsteps, pursuing, gaining. His ears roared. He was consumed with only one thought. He had to get back to the festival before he was missed.

The branches of trees caught at him as he ran straight through raw undergrowth. Twigs whipped his face and arms and tore his clothes. He pounded on till he staggered, breath loud as a storm wind.

He could see the lighter air ahead where the clearing began. He aimed himself at it. That bright unshaded sun seemed like the assurance of salvation. He would make it. No one saw him leave, he made sure. No one had been there when he pushed Landen over the cliff. No one.

He stopped running just short of the clearing and hung on a sapling, gasping.

‘Training for the races tomorrow?’ A cool, deep voice, nearby, startled him.

There was Commander Vesputo, quiet and
unruffled, examining him as if Beron were an amusing, well-known toy. The young man tried vainly to slow his heartbeat and calm his lungs.

‘What’s wrong, champion? Did you run too hard and fast?’ Vesputo took a few steps towards him.

Beron tried to call back his ebbing strength. Vesputo had seen. He was sure of it. The commander had watched him leave, known what he meant to do. Now he would be brought to justice for breaking the first and last code of a soldier: he had killed a fellow soldier. Sweat poured down Beron’s face. He panted helplessly.

‘Come,’ Vesputo said. ‘Perhaps you stood too long in the sun today. Allow me to guide you.’

A strong grip steadied him. Perhaps Vesputo was not going to execute him. Beron stammered his thanks.

‘Not at all.’

They emerged into the clearing. Vesputo helped him through the crowds to the water barrel. Everyone seemed to be laughing, singing, or dancing. Vesputo dipped for Beron. The young man guzzled the water.

‘Beron, you’re nearly ready for a troop. I’m recruiting for mine. Will you serve with me? I like to have champions riding at my side.’

Beron turned a face of worship on the commander. Vesputo’s troop was second to none.

‘Yes, yes,’ he managed to croak. ‘Yes, I’ll serve with you.’

Landen squeezed his eyes shut, straining with every screaming muscle to embrace the cliff.

It was not enough. He would soon fall. His strength
was nearly gone, and only Beron knew where he was. Why not let go? The pain of hitting the rocks would be brief.

He opened his eyes. The beautiful sweep of sky, relentless wall of the cliff, insistent pounding of the surf, all seemed callous to his life.

How can it be, that I would end here, today?

The immediate sounds round him faded, replaced by a rushing in his ears. A spot in the sky thickened and swirled. It shaped itself into an image of his father, King Veldon, holding the Sword of Bellandra. Looking apprehensively at the vision, Landen was filled with the agony of failure. He had survived to live with the conqueror, and still knew nothing about where the Sword might be hidden. And now, he was going to die.

‘No,’ he heard. ‘Don’t let go.’

Landen clenched his teeth till his jaws spasmed. His legs shook.

‘Landen!’ A female voice this time, clear and childish, pierced the roaring in his head. He licked dry lips.

‘Here!’ he croaked, ready to break grip with the cliff, sure the voice he heard was supernatural.

‘Landen!’ The call came again, urgent and corporeal.

He cleared his throat. ‘Down here!’ he cried, and looked up.

High on the cliff, fifty yards up from where he clung, Princess Torina’s face peered down.

‘Hold on!’ Her face disappeared.

Landen’s whole body trembled. His breath rasped.

She reappeared above him. ‘I’m throwing down a rope.’

The rope, knotted into a loop at one end, hurtled towards him.

‘It’s tied to my horse,’ she called. ‘Can you get it round your chest?’

He grasped the rope with one hand. ‘I’ll climb it!’

‘No!’ she yelled. ‘That way you’ll die. Let the horse pull you!’

With the dregs of his strength he pushed first one shoulder and then the other through the loop. The slipknot tightened round his chest as his feet swung free of their toeholds. He grabbed for the rope but his hands flexed convulsively and slid off the coarse fibres to hang slack at his sides.

The rope cut into his chest and dragged him up the cliff. His body scraped and banged against the rock wall. At last he was over the top. Looking ahead, he could see Torina’s small figure leading a great stallion. Landen began to be pulled along level ground.

‘Stop!’ he called. Torina whirled round, checking the horse. She walked back to where Landen lay. She knelt beside him as he tried to loosen the biting knot. Together they tugged at the stubborn rope until it came free.

‘There.’ She sat back on her heels, looking at his shredded clothes, which seeped blood from the cuts and scrapes the cliff had made. ‘I’m sorry you got scraped. I didn’t know what else to do.’

‘I’m alive. That’s more than I expected.’ Landen
raised himself painfully on one elbow. ‘How did you happen to be here, with this horse – the king’s horse?’

‘I saw you,’ she said.

He sat up. ‘You saw me?’

She nodded.

‘How did you see me?’

She pulled something out of her pocket. A round crystal of exceptional purity. ‘I saw you in this.’

He touched the crystal with a frozen finger and remembered Marla, the old one. It had been said she might live for ever. What became of her when Bellandra fell?

‘This crystal reminds me of one like it I’ve seen before,’ he said. ‘With a very old seer in Bellandra.’ He stroked the smooth globe. ‘Wait. You saw me in this? Where were you?’

‘At the seltec festival.’

‘You saw me, from the festival, in this?’ He tapped the crystal.

‘Yes. I see things whenever I look at it.’

‘Things?’

‘Things that have happened. Things that are going to happen.’ She touched his cheek softly. ‘This is the first time it hasn’t come true.’

He frowned. ‘You said you saw me.’

‘I did. But I saw you fall.’

He stared at her, all the horror of the previous hour returning. He had been going to die. Somehow, this child had intervened. Strange that she would be
his
daughter.

‘A seer,’ he breathed, his mind reeling. ‘You’re a seer.’
Yet I never knew of a seer who changed the future
.

‘Is a seer someone who sees what will happen?’

‘Yes. Don’t you have seers in Archeld?’

She shook her head. ‘I never heard of any.’

He caught himself panting. What wild absurdity, that this gifted child had no inkling of the enormity of her gift, and that he, a foreigner, would be the one to enlighten her. He remembered the great Bellandran School of Sight, where seers were sent to develop their art. ‘In Bellandra there were many. Marla, the old one, told me a great seer is born once every fifth generation, and only one for all the kingdoms.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Marla was our great seer. She tried to warn my father . . .’ He stopped, seeing her eyes.

The silence was painful.

Finally she spoke. ‘How long did you hang there?’

‘For ever,’ Landen sighed. ‘Why didn’t you send men?’

‘I didn’t want to tell them about the crystal. And if they didn’t believe me . . .’

‘I see.’ He touched the crystal again. ‘Who else knows you can see?’

‘My grandmother knows.’

He stretched his arms. They still worked. He was beginning to feel the sting of all the cuts and scrapes.

‘Perhaps,’ he said gently, ‘it would be best to keep it a secret.’ Even in Bellandra, seers lived in protected seclusion, for if they didn’t, they were hounded endlessly by people desperate for knowledge of the future.

She nodded. ‘Then you won’t tell?’

‘I won’t tell.’

‘How did this happen?’ she asked, looking pointedly at the nearby cliff.

Landen shrugged. ‘I lost my footing.’

Her face went still and took on a listening look as she bent a little over her lap. Landen watched, fascinated, feeling as if he observed something that shouldn’t be seen. Seers kept their visions private.

Torina’s silence was short. Her eyes narrowed as she put the crystal back in her pocket.

‘Beron.’

Landen looked closely at this girl, thinking of how she had known it was wrong for him to be given to her as a slave. She’d used spirit and wit to save his life just now. Untrained, she could accurately see the past as well as the future, which he knew was extremely rare, even among the greatest of seers.

And she was still just a child, with a child’s innocent face. Beautiful sea-coloured eyes, flushed cheeks and hair like an amber fire.

‘Princess,’ he said. ‘Thank you for saving my life. Please, as a favour to me, say nothing to anyone.’

A bewildered frown puckered her forehead. ‘But—!’

Landen managed to grin at her. ‘When he sees me alive, let him wonder.’

‘What if he tries to kill you again?’

‘I’ll be on my guard.’

‘I’m glad you’re not dead.’

‘Me too.’

‘Can you get on Amber now?’

He shook his head, amused. ‘It wouldn’t do for me
to be seen on the king’s horse and they could be looking for you by now. No, Princess, I’ll walk.’

‘But you can’t even stand up!’

He summoned his will and stood. He looked into her guileless eyes and thought of how, only one short season ago, he too had been innocent and unafraid. Stiff and sore, he bent and coiled the rope, hanging it over the saddlehorn. ‘Time for you to be on your way.’

‘You can get home alone?’

‘Yes.’

She climbed on to Amber. ‘Then I’ll go back, before they miss me.’

He watched her canter into the trees. When she was out of sight, he collapsed on the ground, shaking in every muscle.

Torina returned the horse without comment. She made her way back to the festival and sat beside Ancilla. She was grateful that her grandmother neither questioned nor scolded. She fingered the crystal in her pocket, thinking of Landen’s lost kingdom.

A seer, he had said. So, this happened to other people too. But why not here, in Archeld?
I’ve never heard of a seer, yet I am one. How did I get to be one? Why did I have the vision of Landen? Would he really have died if I hadn’t gone to him?

What about the old seer he had talked about? Where was she now? Landen said the crystal reminded him of one he saw in Bellandra, and Papa had brought this from Bellandra. Was it stolen? Should she give
it to Landen, tell him it belonged to him and not to her?

She shivered at the idea of giving it up. Inside her pocket, it fitted smoothly in her palm, pulsing in cadence with her heart. She took it out and gazed.

The curving sides turned gold as a picture swam into view. An ancient woman, with more wrinkles than Gramere, long snowy hair and eyes that seemed to go on for ever. She was holding the crystal and kissing it. An eerie certainty crept on Torina, that the woman was Marla, and the crystal the same one she now held.

Her father appeared, dressed in armour and looking ferocious. He came close to the woman. She held the crystal up to him. ‘For your red-haired daughter,’ Torina heard her whisper.

Gradually the old face washed from the crystal till it was clear as water. Torina sat clasping it, filled with joy and heartache. Joy that it was hers: Marla had given it to her father for her. She could keep it and not worry about it belonging to someone else. Pain, as she had glimpsed through Marla’s eyes the great world of struggling futures and the end of peace for Bellandra.

The yearly seltec competition ended with Landen watching events from the stands. Emid had declared him exempt from the competition, due to injuries sustained in a bad fall. He had the satisfaction of seeing Eric named champion in hand combat, and Phillt for footraces. Landen believed he could have carried off the horsemanship, but cheered the winner wholeheartedly. In the ensuing months, the tensions that had divided the barracks dissipated as Beron strictly avoided
the captive prince, looking at him sideways through superstitious shudders.

Landen imparted to Eric all he knew of archery, the one martial art Bellandra hadn’t forgotten. Their friendship flourished as Eric returned the favour with coaching in hand combat.

Landen wanted to do something for Torina, to thank her for saving his life. He wanted it to be special; a thing no one else could give her. He knew it wouldn’t be easy because, being a princess and an only child, she was rather spoiled. He pondered the question in his bunk at night, and finally came up with an idea.

All Bellandrans, princes included, were expected to practise at least one form of art. Some chose painting, singing, dancing; some weaving or dying, jewellery-making, carpentry or poetry. Landen loved wood, and was good with his hands. He’d been taught how to make things. His favourite art was crafting elegant bows.

Torina wanted to learn archery, but her father had forbidden it. Good. Landen would make her a bow. He’d give her something exciting and secret, defying Kareed in the process.

Landen went to Emid and told him he could make weapons. Did the trainer have need for any new bows? Emid gruffly assented, and Landen was given use of all the tools he asked for. He turned out several well-made bows, working at odd hours in a shed, sometimes watched by a herd of smaller boys, often alone. Soon, no one questioned his comings and goings with wood.