The Seer And The Sword (20 page)

Dahmis, King of Glavenrell, High King, was enjoying himself. Dressed as a common soldier, riding a nondescript horse, he travelled a silent forest path with no escort, smiling to himself. It had been too long since he last blended anonymously with the countryside. As he listened to the sound of hooves on pine needles, he realized how deeply he’d been driven. Years of ceaseless negotiations with kings whose habits were hostile and suspicious, persuading them to the promise of unity.

He was at the end of a trail that promised him a fortune-teller. The king shook his head, chuckling. He didn’t believe any crone could help him strengthen the alliances he’d forged. But curiosity had won again. Larseld, his favourite general, insisted he read a letter. The man seemed bewitched by this fortune-teller’s messenger.

His map said her home was nearby. The king scanned the trees to right and left, rewarded with the sight of a well-built cabin. Dahmis swung out of the saddle and tapped on the door.

A young woman answered. Her hair was tied up, her dress simple and brown. The face matched Larseld’s description exactly. Vibrant, delicate, arresting features caught the king’s attention, especially her eyes; ocean-coloured pools of great depth.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said, remembering the character of common soldier. The young woman standing in the doorway stirred him. He wished he could stay and talk with her, walk with her, know her. No wonder Larseld had acted addled.

‘Afternoon,’ she replied. Her voice had a rich, cadent energy, the accent pure.

‘I’m looking for Vineda.’

‘You’ve found her.’

He peered past her, into an empty room. ‘
You
are Vineda?’

‘Yes.’

He dug in his pocket. ‘I’m the envoy for King Dahmis. He read your message and sends this ring as a token of his confidence in me.’

He extended his hand, holding an ornate ring. Vineda stepped inside the cabin. He followed, reaching towards her with the ring. She shut the door, not taking his offering.

‘I understand the need for disguise while travelling, King Dahmis,’ she said. ‘But did you think to fool me with costumes?’

He threw up his hands. ‘I thought I’d find a muttering crone. Instead, I find . . .’ He stopped, clamping his lips. She was looking at him as if she felt neither fear nor awe of his position. She had just called
him King Dahmis. She must know he was the high king.

‘Why are you here?’ The direct question caught the king off-guard.

‘I received a message saying you know the future. If that’s true, you could be invaluable to me.’
And if it isn’t true, you’re still beautiful
.

‘Please.’ She pointed to a chair. She sat opposite him, taking up a piece of embroidery, for all the world as if they were two equals. It was a pattern of flowers; she began stitching. Dahmis leaned forward.

‘Do you see the future?’

‘I see, yes. But only what is shown to me. Not everything.’

The king felt more and more impressed with this unusual young woman. He almost believed she could do what she said. At least she wasn’t making claims to being all-knowing.

‘What do you see that concerns the realm?’

Her hand paused in her needlework, eyes probing his face. ‘If I tell you, will you do something about it?’

Dahmis cleared his throat. ‘If it benefits the realm. If it’s reasonable.’

‘Is the truth always reasonable?’ Her voice had a flat, cold sadness in it.

The king was taken aback. ‘I don’t suppose so.’

‘It’s the unreasonable things that need to be fore-told. Because no one can know what they won’t look for. No one can prepare for what they don’t think of.’

She didn’t address him as ‘sir’ or ‘my lord’. It was
oddly refreshing coming from her, and seemed natural.

Who is she?

‘I have no experience of your skill.’

‘Meaning you don’t wish to be tricked into taking an action that could be foolish?’

He nodded. No point in denying it.

‘That’s only
reasonable
. You don’t know me. I could be a liar. So, I’ll give you one free prophecy. If you ignore it, it will be the last.’

‘Fair.’

She put down her embroidery. ‘King Vesputo wants your kingdom and position.’

Dahmis leaned back. ‘Vesputo has exchanged courtesies with me. He’s never disputed the borders.’

‘It’s not his way to declare his intentions openly.’

Dahmis admitted to himself that Vesputo was said to be an unscrutable man. ‘And what is his way?’

Her eyes turned inward, voice low. ‘He strikes at the heart, knowing that once the heart dies, the hands and feet will quickly lose life.’

Dahmis’ rib cage suddenly felt too small. He tried to look in her eyes, which focused on some unknown point.

‘What is it you see? Please tell me.’

King Dahmis sat in the private council chamber of Glavenrell’s fortress. The walls were thick, the door shut, and he was with the two men he trusted most in the world. Larseld, his best general, and Michal, his oldest friend.

Tension gathered in Dahmis’ shoulders and
pounded behind his eyes. He had sworn to Vineda not to reveal anything about her beyond her existence. Now he told his friends only that he’d consulted a seer.

Michal, a rugged man with twinkling eyes, occupied a chair across from the king. They had grown up together and enjoyed the firmest of friendships. Larseld, tall, wiry, with serious dark eyes and black hair he kept tied back from his face, sat to the king’s left. The three men met together often, not standing on ceremony when they were alone.

‘An assassin sent by King Vesputo is supposed to arrive at this fortress by tomorrow evening?’ Michal looked incredulous.

Larseld put the tips of his fingers together. ‘Did she give a description? Could we recognize the man?’

‘Oh yes. The description was thorough and detailed.’

‘If she’s right?’

‘If.’

‘Do you believe she tells the truth?’ Michal cut in.

‘How can I know?’

‘But do you believe it?’

Dahmis thought about the young seer with the drab clothes and bewitching eyes. ‘I don’t want to believe,’ he answered gruffly. ‘Yet I do.’

Larseld stroked his chin. ‘Then we must arrive at a plan of action. We must treat it as real.’

‘I can’t arrest an envoy of Vesputo’s on sight! Vesputo would never let such an insult pass. If this is a hoax, it could create war!’

Michal grinned. ‘I see your dilemma.’

Larseld rubbed his forehead. ‘We must have guards standing by. If he draws this stiletto she spoke of, they can be ready.’

‘No, it would need only a prick to kill. Poison.’

Larseld frowned. ‘Then we must devise a different strategy.’

‘I have it,’ Michal announced, smiling and spreading his hands. ‘I impersonate you, Dahmis! Forewarned is forearmed. I’m stronger than you and could block his wrist if he makes so much as a move. You and Larseld can be nearby, with a picked group of soldiers. We find out his intentions, and no one will be put at risk.’

Dahmis shook his head. ‘No. That puts
you
at risk. We could easily carry out the same plan, using the real king, myself.’

Michal laughed. ‘No. If you were killed, these lands would crumble, and all your alliances go for nothing. Besides, I
am
stronger.’ He winked.

‘Stronger than everyone,’ Dahmis smiled.

Larseld leaned in. ‘People hear that the high king is a large man with brown hair.’ He pointed at Michal. ‘Michal could represent the king to someone who has never seen him. The hair could pass for yours, my lord, and your robes would fit him.’

Dahmis set his jaw. ‘I’ll never agree to put you in jeopardy for an office you don’t hold, Michal.’

‘I’m more stubborn than you, King Mule,’ Michal answered.

‘This isn’t mock swordplay you talk of!’ Dahmis roared.

Their voices were raised far into the night. At last, Dahmis agreed to allow Michal to wear the king’s robes and talk with the ‘envoy’ – if the envoy came.

Vesputo had sent no advance messages.

King Dahmis, wearing the togs of a low-ranking soldier, stood in an open field adjoining a wooded area not far from his fortress. Next to him, Michal looked convincingly royal. Michal’s powerful frame seemed made for the part. Dahmis smiled at the effect, feet shifting nervously. The sun was low. She had said the time was now.

‘If this turns out to be an elaborate ruse—’ he began, bending towards Michal.

‘Halt! Do not approach your common head so near!’ Michal’s eyes danced in pretended disgust.

Dahmis laughed. ‘Scoundrel.’

‘If this fortune-teller of yours has any other visions, may I be a part of them.’

‘Remember, my friend, there’s great danger in this charade if it turns real.’

‘So you say. Look! Larseld, with a stranger who fits the description.’

Both men stared as Larseld advanced across the field, escorting a tall, broad-chested man dressed in Archeldan clothes.

‘Now, Michal. Be king.’ Dahmis dropped back.

Larseld led on, a sheen of sweat on his face. He stopped a few feet from Michal.

‘King Dahmis, this man is an envoy from King Vesputo,’ Larseld announced.

Michal stepped forward. ‘Greetings. This is an unexpected honour.’

‘Greetings, sir. I bring urgent dispatches from King Vesputo, for your ears alone. Perhaps this evening we can meet privately.’

‘I regret I received no word of your visit,’ Michal said. ‘I am not at liberty to meet with you this evening.’ He frowned, as though considering, then pointed at the nearby trees. ‘However, a few moments now, if you’re not too tired from your trip?’

The Archeldan’s smile gleamed, and Dahmis’ heart sped. The fellow Vesputo had sent looked dangerous. When Michal volunteered for this duty, did he believe there was any real threat?

Michal and his guest walked towards the wood. They disappeared behind the leaves, trailed by Dahmis and Larseld. All was quiet, except for the soft sounds of the breeze, and muffled, calm voices filtering through branches. Dahmis and Larseld stopped and waited.

A shout. They rushed forward. Breaking through thick foliage, they found Michal and the Archeldan struggling for possession of a long stiletto. Vesputo’s man held it inches from Michal’s throat as Michal pushed it away. The arms of both were taut and shaking.

When the stranger saw them, he jerked away and began to run. Five of Dahmis’ soldiers, planted in the wood, sprang out. They tackled the running man midstride. As he went down, they pinned him to the ground, carefully disarming him. King Dahmis signalled them, then hurried to Michal’s side.

His friend was breathing hard, pulling the king’s robes from his shoulders. ‘You can have your kingship, and welcome!’ Michal thrust the robes into Dahmis’ arms, cursing eloquently.

‘Did he prick you?’ Dahmis asked, sick with anxiety.

‘Not a scratch.’

Dahmis clutched his pounding heart, which seemed to be galloping away without him.

‘My lord, whoever gave you news of this is very valuable.’

‘Yes. Evidence too strong to deny.’

‘Your life has been saved.’

‘And yours, thank God.’ Dahmis lifted his eyes to the sky. ‘It isn’t over, Michal. I have to decide what action to take.’

‘Yes, the burdens of the high king.’ Michal’s eyes were regaining their sparkle, but he asked seriously, ‘Will you ride against Vesputo?’

‘No. That would be a terrible waste, and could well destroy the balance of what I’ve built with the alliances. How could they trust a peacemaker who wars on his nearest neighbour?’

‘Will you allow it to go without even a warning, or a change in your offers of alliance?’

‘No.’ Dahmis hitched his burly shoulders into the king’s robes. ‘No. A warning must be sent.’

The Archeldan stood in the field, closely guarded. His arms were tied, ankles bound. As Dahmis and Michal approached, Larseld handed the stiletto to his king.

‘This is poison-tipped, or I’m mistaken.’ Dahmis
pointed the weapon at the prisoner. ‘A strange gift from a peaceful neighbour.’

The man’s eyes went from him to Michal. ‘
You
are the king?’

‘I am.’ Dahmis turned to his general. ‘Larseld, did you search him?’

‘He had full papers on him, backing his claim to be an envoy of Vesputo. His name is Toban Avula.’

‘Toban.’ Dahmis examined the stiletto, keeping the tip away from his body. ‘King Vesputo sent you to kill me?’

Toban looked wary. ‘No, my king. That imposter attacked me.’

Dahmis raised his left hand. ‘Why did you bring this poisonous weapon into Glavenrell?’

‘A man travelling alone never knows when he may need protection. Your roads are not yet safe for a stranger.’

‘My roads not safe? Why did you try to kill the high king?’ Dahmis was stern.

‘That was not meant for you, my lord.’

Dahmis considered the man in front of him. Hard, crafty eyes in a good-looking face. Vineda had said this man must never be trusted for even a moment. Dahmis believed her. He could almost read in the man’s face a long history of corruption and cruelty.

The king felt bone-tired. He was reeling from the knowledge that his life had been snatched back from a death crossing. He shook with relief that his dearest friend had been spared. Now, he confronted a problem that would require all his diplomatic skill to contain.

The witnesses to this strange event were a handful of men picked for their discretion. Airing the incident would serve no purpose. Imprisoning Toban could lead to unsavoury problems that might be terribly costly to the new alliances. Vesputo was certainly capable of using this to create a wedge for splitting the kingdoms again.

Timing
. Unthinkable to send Toban back to Vesputo now. Politically risky to imprison him.

It was a thorny thing he held. Every way he picked it up, it stung. This one man could be the demise of countless plans. What to do?

‘You must think me a fool,’ the king said.

‘No, sir. And I am being detained improperly. I demand the consideration of courtesy.’

Dahmis raged inwardly. So, they would play on his reputation for justice, using it against him.