The Seer And The Sword (14 page)

She kissed her hand to him, kneed Amber, and trotted away.

Vesputo stood beside the wooden frame of Torina’s bed, holding a cap with a red braid attached. Irene sat on the bed, head in her hands, groggy and weeping. She could feel spikes of hair sticking out wildly from her scalp. Beside her, Toban was shaking his head back and forth. Beron hung behind Toban.

‘She wore her dress. She had her hair!’ Toban said.

Irene sobbed.

‘What did she say to you?’ Vesputo’s voice clattered, like slivers of ice falling.

Toban thought. ‘Wait.’ He turned, waved two fingers, stopped. ‘That was it. She waved two fingers as Irene does. No words.’

Irene wailed, running her hands through her hapless hair.

‘Quiet!’ Vesputo snapped. She smothered her sobs. ‘Toban, who else knows of this?’

‘Only us, in this room.’

Vesputo paced, his two index fingers together. After a moment he turned back to Irene, grasping her shoulders.

‘Irene, you told me the wedding dress is ready.’

She sniffed. ‘Yes.’

‘You will wear it. We’ll have the wedding, as planned. You take the bride’s place and wear a veil. The red braid will convince witnesses.’

Irene stared, stunned. ‘A wedding?’

‘Yes, my love.’

‘What about Princess Torina?’

‘She’ll be found and brought back to be queen in name. But you’ll be the true queen. Beron, get me Mavell, the ageing priest, the one whose sight is failing. Then meet me at the stables. Toban, give a potion to the queen. Make her too sick to attend the ceremony. She would not be deceived.’

The two men left. Vesputo sat beside Irene on the bed. ‘I assume, my dear, that because you were drugged, you never took the crystal out into the moonlight last night?’

Irene quailed. ‘N-no, my lord.’

‘So it will be another cycle before you can dream of seeing the future?’

‘N-no, my lord.’ Her teeth chattered.

‘Why no?’

‘B-because the crystal was in my dress. I had it with m-me. Torina took my dress.’

‘Torina has the crystal?’

‘Y-yes.’

‘I see.’ His eyes appeared very dark.

He got up and went out, leaving her to cry.

Eric paced the night out, his mind stuttering over Torina’s words.

As long as she was there beside him, he thought only of how to ease her escape. Once she had gone, he staggered into the truth of what she left behind. And he was afraid. He guessed he was the only one who knew.

Who do I go to? Who will believe me? Who will act on my word? If I tell the wrong man, I’ll be killed. If I tell the right man, civil war will tear this land apart
.

As dawn broke, an old soldier named Ward relieved Eric’s watch. Ward had been in Kareed’s service since that king was a baby. Eric was tempted to tell him the events of the night and ask his advice, but thought better of it.

When Eric mentioned that Irene had taken Amber for Vesputo to ride, Ward shook his grey head. Eric went home to his soldier’s shack. He lay down, sweating with fear.

Far across the plains of Archeld, Amber trotted on. His coat blended with the high golden grasses of late fall.

‘With luck, we’ll seem to be only a small stubborn wind, blowing east,’ Torina muttered.

She searched the landscape for a stream. She’d been taught geography. Many narrow waterways edged towards the sea from the eastern mountains.

Beyond the mountains, Desante.

It had been a long, cold night. Torina drew the saddle blankets closer. Never in her life had she known what it meant to be cold or hungry. Always a fire as near as she wanted. Always warm, fleecy capes, the best in Archeld. Food in plenty. Now cloudy skies threatened rain, and even though she knew rain would wash away her tracks enough to hope for escape, she wanted to stay dry. She was too cold, too tired and too hungry.

They’d followed the old overgrown trail Eric advised, crossed the moonlit river, and gained the trees on the far banks. There, she’d reined Amber in and slid to the ground. With feverish haste, she undressed in the chilly night. She scrabbled in the dirt with her dagger and made a quick grave for Irene’s finery. As she tore the braided cap from her head and shook out her short, rough-cut hair, she cried. She found it strange; the tears that had dried into her soul for her murdered father flowed easily at the thought of her long hair, gone.

‘I
am
mad, as they say!’ She trampled Irene’s yellow braid. The rough cloth of the old stable rags felt harsh to her skin.

She looked at the crystal.
Just this once, can you show me my own future?

In the faint moonlight she looked for some vision, anything at all to help her. But her seer’s eye was closed, as she had known it would be. She mounted Amber and rode hard out of the trees, on to the dark plain, following the eastern stars.

Now, all about her, the wide rolling grasses stretched. This was the domain of herds, not people.
Beyond, tantalizingly near, the Cheldan Mountains, the border of Acheld and Desante. She guessed the mountains appeared much closer than they were. Guessed too, that if she didn’t cross them before being overtaken, she would lose her life.

The horse was tired. She guided him along seepage that turned into a trickling stream.

‘Drink,’ she told Amber, gliding from his back. ‘Drink and eat.’

Together the young woman and the stallion bent their heads to the soft shining water.

Loud pounding on his door made Eric’s heart stumble painfully. He prayed he looked like a man wakened from sleep, as he opened to Beron. His boyhood bane glared at him, sullen eyes narrowed.

‘What is it?’

‘Come with me to the stable. The king wants to talk to you.’

‘What time is it?’ Eric yawned.

‘I said come with me.’

‘Why?’

‘A horse is missing from your watch.’

Eric forced himself to grin. ‘I gave out one horse on my watch. Amber. For Vesputo. Are you telling me he stole a horse?’

‘Get dressed.’

At the stable, Vesputo stood under the cloudy sky, crisp and unruffled. Eric suppressed a shudder. Soldiers said that dust parted for Vesputo. His calm in battle was legendary. Now, it seemed horrible to Eric.

‘A horse is missing,’ Vesputo said.

Eric swallowed, trying to find moisture for his dry tongue. He wanted to blurt out everything; the princess, the murder . . .

‘Tell us about it,’ Vesputo commanded.

‘Well, Irene came and said—’

‘When was this?’

‘Just before the watch changed,’ Eric lied.

‘You’re certain?’

‘Yes, sir. She said she needed the king’s horse. That Vesputo commanded it.’

‘Irene came to you for my horse, and you gave it to her!’

Eric wanted to shout: not your horse! You are not the king! That stallion is with his rightful owner.

‘W-well, there was no reason to question her.’

‘There is always reason to question when you’re the guard on duty. I’d venture to say that questioning is your reason to be there. Why would I send a woman?’

‘I wondered on it, sir, but hated to refuse her, you being new to me as king.’

‘You’re certain it was Irene?’ Vesputo looked hard at him.

‘Blonde hair, sir, and the way she dresses.’ Eric hoped the fear in his voice would be natural at such a time.

‘You acted foolishly. You’re relieved of your watch and confined till I give you leave.’

‘Sorry, sir.’ Eric caught Beron’s malicious grin. ‘Sir, if I may ask, what happened to the horse?’

‘Irene has not returned him.’

A gloating Beron, who told him it was his bad luck he would miss the wedding ceremony that afternoon, escorted Eric back to his bed.

‘Wedding?’

‘Vesputo marries the Princess Torina today,’ taunted Beron.

Eric clutched the doorjamb. ‘Excuse me, I need to sleep.’

He went inside and heard pebbles crunching as Beron stomped off. He laid himself stiffly on his bunk, his thoughts jangling like a row of bells.

Had Torina been caught? If she was, where was Amber? Maybe in the excitement of the ceremony, he could talk to someone.

Emid! I must speak to Emid. He knows me, loves Torina. He’ll know where to begin. But how do I get to him?

Eric crawled to the window, peeking out. He saw a four-man guard from another division take places near his quarters.

In the woods beyond the stables, Vesputo knelt, examining the tracks of a large stallion. Beside him, Beron scratched his chin.

‘That girl is cleverer than I guessed,’ Vesputo said, swearing. ‘Can you track Amber?’

‘Yes, sir. I doubt she knows any avoidance tricks.’

‘And if she does?’

‘I can track her, sir.’

‘There’s no one else I can send. I need Toban here with me to deal with the queen. This secret is too important to share.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Then leave at once. Return only if you find her or lose her trail.’

‘And when I find her?’

‘Bring her back, alive. No one must see her but me. Saddle Engan. She’s the fastest mare, and easy to guide. Torina has a start of a few hours, but she must sleep sometime. Toban prepared a stimulant for you. Use it sparingly.’ Vesputo handed a small flask to the young captain.

Honoured guests crowded on to old stone benches in the castle’s ancient chapel, to see the wedding of their princess.

Emid shouldered his way to the front bench and made deep obeisance to God before taking his seat on the aisle. Servants had gone to a great deal of trouble to fill the chapel with a mood of festivity. Large vases filled with dried flowers stood by the walls. Garlands of bright leaves were hung. But to Emid, the musicians’ flutes sounded like cheerful whistles at a funeral – out of place.

Mavell, oldest priest in Archeld, shuffled to the altar, his failing eyes wandering to some inner sanctum. Dark green robes fell round his frail shoulders in deep folds as he raised his hands.

‘The queen is too ill to view the wedding. She sends her blessing,’ he announced in a quavering voice.

Emid frowned.
Too ill! Why not hold off the ceremony till she recovers?

The trainer was filled with foreboding. He shifted anxiously on the hard seat.

From a side entrance, Vesputo appeared, dressed in traditional bridegroom’s green. He looked unusually handsome and strong. Too strong. The man was a rock, unmoved by the waves of lives beating round him. There he was, thrust early into kingship, not turning a hair.

If Landen killed King Kareed as they say, then I’m to blame
. Emid sat rigid, remembering.
That day in the meadow, did I make the wrong decision?

He saw the shining memory of two royal children, playing at archery and filled with friendship. What had happened to that secret alliance?

Emid sighed. He didn’t know. Had never used his knowledge or position to learn more. And now the king was dead.

Did Landen kill Kareed? I don’t believe he did. The bright, keen blade of Landen’s soul is too sharp and clean for murder
.

But if he didn’t? Who then?

A chilly current ran over Emid. He shook it off, turning his head with the others, to see Torina walking towards the altar.

Dressed in a pale-green bride’s gown, face hidden behind an opaque veil, she walked slowly. The thick red hair, hanging beneath a green satin cap in a single braid, was all that identified the once high-spirited girl. Her gloved hands were clenched.

As the soft skirts moved by him, the trainer felt a pressing sense of unease. There was something alien about that faceless female figure. Throughout the brief ceremony, she didn’t lift her veil. He gazed at her, straining to catch the whispered syllables that pronounced
her Vesputo’s wife. He was filled with agonized nostalgia for the unruly princess who seemed to have died along with her father. Sitting straight and stern on the bench, the ageing warrior had tears in his eyes.

As the wedding finished, the priest led the gathering in a short prayer. When Emid’s head came up, he saw Vesputo lead his bride out through the side entrance. The door shut behind them.

Emid moved quickly to Mavell, grasping the old priest’s arm.

‘Mavell.’

Clouded eyes looked past him. ‘Emid?’

‘Yes, Emid. Mavell, you spoke with the princess?’

‘I spoke with the young lady.’ Gently, Mavell disengaged his arm and turned to the altar. He began chanting one of the long prayers of blessing.

Emid strode from the chapel.

Torina guessed it was close to evening, though low clouds shut out the sun. The air was colder again, grey light changing to duller grey. They were in the foothills. She had ridden all day with no food, taking only a few stops for water and to allow Amber to graze. The stallion trotted more slowly, tired and drooping. Torina grappled with the fatigue that begged her to rest. Soon sleep would take her, no matter what she did.

They came to a wide, bubbling stream. As Amber stooped his head, Torina collapsed on the ground. She crawled to the water’s edge to drink heaving gulps. Lying on the stream bank, she never wanted to move again. The beautiful stallion lapped the water, then
nudged her. She pulled herself up on his back and urged him into the water, across the stream, where trees grew near.

She could go no further. Spreading her blankets under a great willow, she mumbled a prayer. Girl and horse slept deeply in the twilight.

Torina woke confused, believing herself in bed, a prisoner of Vesputo. A mist seemed to creep round her. How did fog get into her room?

The horse beside her stirred, and she remembered. Her escape, flight, the day on the plains. She was free, and hungry, in the foothills of the Cheldan Mountains. Stiffly, she stood and faced the day.

Mist curled round them, the kind that would soon become fine rain. Torina went to the stream to drink, feeling lightheaded. In the soft mud of the bank were the prints of Amber’s hooves, unmistakable. She looked across the quick water and sighed.

‘Amber, my friend. You and I must separate.’

She drank as much as she could. Amber came up beside her to quench his thirst too. When he finished, she hugged his dripping nose.