The Seer And The Sword (8 page)

His mother’s voice:
Always be grateful for the light of your soul. It shines just as brightly, no matter where you are or what happens
.

Had she known? Those words, spoken before she died, seemed to say she suspected her child would encounter a different world from Bellandra.

He recalled the way muted rainbows would touch the clouds at any hour of the day. The dazzling glint of sun on the surf of Bellan Bay. The bursting, creative joy of careful artistry practised everywhere. Farmers in love with the land. Musicians enthralled with their instruments. Inspired dancers. Healers: bloodless surgeons, herbal masters, touch healers, spirit walkers who guided the passage of death.

Marla, the old one. Wise, sad eyes looking at him, not speaking.

The peace that soothed and brightened the air of Bellandra – until Kareed tore it away. Here in Archeld, peace did not light the way. Instead, war and fighting were all the glory.

And now I am a warrior. My training is nearly complete. If I found the Sword, I could lift it
.

Did the Sword still exist? If it wasn’t destroyed, was it somehow defiled? Could its magic, once desecrated, ever come back? If he found it, would any of its power be left? Or would it simply be a pretty toy of war?

Landen sat, baffled and sorrowful. With the Sword hidden or gone, and Torina isolated from him, perhaps it was time for him to leave Archeld. He could do it. It would be easy to steal a horse by night. He was sixteen now, nearly a man. There were other kingdoms where he could make his way. Stories circulated about Glavenrell, the kingdom north of Archeld. Glavenrell’s new young king, Dahmis, was working to forge peaceful alliances with his neighbours.

Perhaps that’s where I belong
.

The boy closed his eyes. He yearned to be part of an effort for strengthening peaceful ties among countries. How weary he was of the sparse, stringent life of a soldier in training. The only chance he got to be artistic was in making bows from time to time. His weapons were sought for their quality.

Like the rest of Bellandran craft, he thought bitterly. Everyone said Bellandra, swallowed into a province of Archeld, had descended into a land of
greedy merchants, selling off their heritage of beauty.

How tempting it was, the thought of going away!

But then he thought of Torina.
My dearest friend
, she’d said. Landen was overwhelmed with tenderness for her. Would a best friend abandon her? Once he left, returning would be difficult. He might never see her again, and that would be unbearable.

Landen arrived late for the mid-afternoon training session, feeling years older than he’d been in the morning. When Emid barked at him, the words didn’t penetrate his gloom. He expected harsh punishment, but none came. Instead, Emid looked at him compassionately, as if the trainer knew his sorrow. On his bunk that night, Landen lay sleepless. He resolved to stay in Archeld a while longer.

After that day, Landen found it impossible to get near Torina. His time was almost entirely taken up with advanced training, and she didn’t come near the practice fields. Though he haunted her periphery whenever he found a spare moment, not once did he get close enough to speak a private word to her. Surrounded by attendants wherever she went, her life was more and more taken up with royal functions. She was being groomed to be a king’s wife. Landen chafed at the barriers of protocol, wondering how Torina, who adored adventure and prized freedom above all things, could bear her virtual imprisonment.

Sometimes, when he went on solitary rides, he met chagrined soldiers who would ask him if he’d seen the
princess, for she’d escaped her attendants. Then Landen would look for her, hoping to snatch a conversation. But her bouts of freedom were few and short, and he never chanced to share them.

Gradually, elapsing time wedged itself between them. At the beginning of their separation, if she saw him hovering outside her circle, Torina gave Landen a glowing smile. But when six months had come and gone, she stopped meeting his eyes with any special recognition. After the first year, her manner towards him became one of friendly courtesy, the same stance she took with everyone.

She was young. To her, a year must be a long while. But to Landen, it was not. His affection for her lay bright and shining in his heart, untarnished by distance, time, or neglect.

Landen didn’t like large groups or gatherings, but forced himself to endure them in order to get glimpses of Torina. He soon discovered that he was not alone – someone else was trying to get close to the princess.

At first it seemed a wicked coincidence that each time Landen sought out Torina, he saw Vesputo. Soon, however, it was plain to him that Vesputo was trying to snare the king’s daughter. The thought of such a courtship horrified Landen.

Commander Vesputo’s authority had steadily risen, till it was second only to King Kareed’s. Archeld was enjoying a period of peace: the provinces had ceased challenging Kareed’s right to rule. Prosperity governed. Vesputo was a rich, privileged man. When he wasn’t fulfilling administrative duties assigned by his king, his
time was his own, and he chose to spend it being very charming, especially to the princess.

Of course. He wants the crown, and she’s the way to get it
.

Sometimes, Vesputo was the one to review Emid’s training exercises. He’d stand watching the boys, relaxed and collected, while Landen shuddered, remembering the cruelty just beneath Vesputo’s surface.
He would have kept me a slave, and taken pleasure in it
.

How dreadful to see Vesputo’s charming smile bent on Torina! To watch him act deferential and considerate, as if he cared. Landen prayed that Torina would be wise enough to see through Vesputo. But what could she know of his vicious, inhuman side? She’d never ridden with him to war; never been his captive. To the soldiers of Archeld, Vesputo was a legend. It was said dust parted for him. He never lost a battle. He was treated with the utmost respect, and people vied for his attention. How was she to know his real character?

Landen redoubled his efforts to get near enough to talk with Torina. But the months passed, and she was always out of range. He thought of sending her a note. But a note in the wrong hands could get him killed.

He began to spy on Vesputo, putting himself in danger to do so. Several times, he was nearly caught, but managed to elude his pursuers. Over time, Landen became inordinately stealthy, able to come and go noiselessly and unseen. While others confided in him, he kept all his own secrets with unbending resolve. And he discovered Vesputo’s weakness: women. The commander always kept at least one lady, secretly. Deceit was something he readily engaged in. And still men
followed him with zealous allegiance, many of them never guessing what sort of man he was. It was as if a dark enchantment allowed Vesputo to dupe men and women while he constantly ascended in power and prestige.

Late in the afternoon on a clear day, Torina sat on her horse at a favourite lookout among the high rocks, gazing down into the valley. She was now fifteen years old. The simple lines of her soft green dress set off the curves of her body; its colour brought out highlights in her eyes and hair. The hair, still rebellious to bonds, straggled out in curling streams.

Though she tried continually to find new ways of being alone, she wasn’t often successful. But today she’d given her attendants the slip and ridden up the ridge by herself.

She recognized Vesputo’s helmet from far away and hugged herself at the prospect of seeing him again. So strong, noble, handsome and adoring! His cool eyes always warmed when she was near. And his kiss! How he thrilled her. Torina was happy to be in love with the one man capable of ruling after her father. The king often remarked on how indispensable Vesputo had become. He could be trusted, Kareed said, with the most precious secrets and valuable objects in the realm. And, just as important, he could be counted on
to wage victorious campaigns whenever needed.

At first, when the charming commander smiled on her, Torina thought he was only being kind.

Slowly, with steady devotion and a hundred considerate attentions, Vesputo took hold of her heart. His love was powerful and devoted. In a private moment, he confessed that he’d loved her since she was twelve.

His unwavering ardour honoured her. With all he’d seen and done, and with all the women in Archeld making eyes at him, he’d chosen her. Whenever she came near, his handsome face lit with gladness. And he was still young enough: not yet thirty. When he kissed her, she never thought of his years.

Now they were betrothed. As promised, he was bringing horses laden with rare Bellandran goods, for a token of his faith in their love.

Torina kneed her horse to turn into the adjacent trees, ready to take the trail down to the castle. As she turned from the lookout, another horse blocked her way. A big, grey stallion, with Landen on his back.

Landen. Their paths hardly ever crossed. When they did meet, it was always in the presence of many other people, with no chance to really speak. Her memories of their friendship had grown hazy. Sometimes she envied him when she caught glimpses of his solitary rides. He’d grown tall and broad-shouldered, and earned a reputation as an unbeatable fighter. Emid had recommended him for command training when he left the barracks. Now he sat on his horse with easy grace.

‘Afternoon, Landen.’

‘Hello, Princess. Out alone?’

She smiled happily. There was no answering smile as he gestured at the plain.

‘Vesputo has returned.’

Torina let her joy show. ‘Yes.’ With a flick of the reins, she let him know she was ready to head down the narrow track.

He continued to block her.

‘Please,’ she told him, still smiling, ‘let me by.’

‘What a noble plunderer he is.’ Landen ignored her request. ‘Are you to be sold for what a few horses can carry?’

She laughed in surprise. ‘The horses mean nothing to me! I love him.’

Landen leaned in. ‘You love him?’

‘Yes. Of course I love him. We’re to be married! I’ve known for a while that he will be king. I have seen it.’

She urged her horse forward. Landen manoeuvred so as not to give ground.

‘Did you tell him about the crystal?’

Torina blushed, recalling that as a child she’d told this young man many secrets. Why was he asking her about it now? But then, when had she last seen him alone? She tried to remember.

‘No. No one knows about the crystal, except my grandmother, and . . .’ She felt uneasy and wondered why.

‘I see. You haven’t told him. Then perhaps you know.’

‘Know? Know what?’

‘He’s not the man you think him.’

‘Let me pass. I want to join my betrothed.’

Landen’s intensive stare cut into her happy glow, like harsh sunlight wakening a dreamer. ‘He’s not who you think he is.’

Heat flooded her body. ‘You know his heart better than I?’ she flared.

‘I see more than you.’

‘This is hardly gallant, sir.’ She took refuge in cold courtesy.

‘He cares nothing for you, Princess,’ the relentless voice continued.

‘He loves me!’

‘He loves the crown you will one day wear.’

‘How dare you! Be off!’

Landen grabbed her bridle. ‘King Kareed will never have a son. Whoever marries you will be the king!’

‘I told you – I know Vesputo will be king. I saw it. Now get away from me. I want to meet my love.’

‘He has another.’

‘Liar! My crystal would have told me.’

‘Your crystal might not tell you what you can see with your own eyes if you would open them!’

Torina felt suddenly weak. How could Landen have guessed that she never saw her own future?

‘There’s nothing to see.’ She was desperate for him to be gone.

‘It’s Irene.’

The words thudded into her chest. She clutched the saddlehorn like a novice rider, dizzy with anguish.

‘You lie.’ She fumbled for her dagger, brandishing it
with shaking hands. Landen dropped her bridle and backed away.

‘If I wanted to tell lies, they wouldn’t be the kind to earn your anger, Princess.’

He wheeled his horse, leaving Torina looking at the dagger trembling in her fist.

‘I won’t believe it,’ she whispered to the trees.

Torina stayed sheltered until the sky was streaked with rose. When she emerged, she took the direct path home, knowing they’d be looking for her; probably searching everywhere but the common trails she never used. By riding openly, she managed to avoid the servants out beating the woods for a glimpse of her.

She left her horse near the stable and decided to go in one of the back entrances. The one she chose was reached through a long, open walkway of stone, with small intimate benches set in pillared recesses looking out on the formal gardens. When the season cooled, as now, it was rarely used and the rosebushes stood drooping and brown. Ornamental lanterns, kept lit in warmer months, hung empty and dark, the walkway very dim. Torina walked with the rapid, silent step practised since childhood during play with Landen. She went past dusty benches that a few weeks earlier had held laughing couples, remembering the times Vesputo had met her here. The way he looked at her then, the words he spoke, surely they were true? What man could
pretend
such devotion?

Soft sighs of lovers nearby caught her ears. She
shrank into a recess, not wanting to be discovered here now, with her face tear-streaked.

‘I couldn’t wait to see you alone,’ someone whispered.

‘But we must be careful, my love.’ A strong, quiet voice, and Torina’s heart thudded like galloping hooves on the plains.

It was Vesputo.

She cowered where she was, afraid. She forced herself to breathe shallow and quiet, though her lungs wanted to explode in screams.
My love!
Who was he calling his love? Hidden huddled against a cold stone pillar, Torina listened to their kisses.

‘You’re the queen of my heart,’ she heard.

‘What about her?’ A female voice floated down the walkway.

Sickened, Torina knew it was Irene.