The Seer And The Sword (25 page)

Michal glared. ‘Keep out of this, Dahmis. Go back to being morose. The fire is fit company for you.’

‘Can’t a man think in peace, without his friends calling him morose?’

‘Thinking! Is that what you call it? What are you thinking of?’

‘I can guess,’ Larseld answered.

‘The general speaks! He knows the thoughts of his opponents and friends! Thus he catches them when they least expect it.’

‘Larseld doesn’t know my thoughts,’ Dahmis growled.

‘He’s thinking about the Sword of Bellandra,’ Larseld said.

Startled, Dahmis turned in his chair. ‘Impressive, General.’

‘He’s wondering whether to use it to defend Glavenrell against the Sliviites.’

Dahmis sighed. ‘Almost, Larseld. You’re nearly there, but you have the wrong track.’

Michal laughed. ‘A flaw in the general’s expert stratagem?’

‘I’m only sorry, because I know the Sword of Bellandra is not for me.’

‘It’s supposed to be a powerful weapon,’ Larseld said.

‘It may be all that myth has told of it,’ Dahmis answered. ‘However, that doesn’t make it mine. If I brought it out to use in battle, I’d be taking the first step to corruption.’

‘Who does it belong to, if not to you?’ Michal asked.

‘The prince of Bellandra, wherever he may be.’

‘But he’s wanted for the murder of King Kareed,’ Larseld put in.

‘Wanted by Vesputo, who’s now conveniently king,’ Michal said.

‘Ever since Vesputo sent a man to overthrow me with poison, I’ve wondered if the prince of Bellandra might be innocent,’ Dahmis said. ‘The prince fled Archeld. No one ever heard that he died.’

‘And if he did?’ Larseld asked.

‘It wouldn’t make the Sword belong to me. I know this with my soul. No, my friends, the Sword stays locked away in that pyramid box, shut inside an ugly crate.’

In the middle of a howling winter storm, Torina’s cabin was snug and warm. The young woman cooked a simple evening meal and ate absently. She was healthy and strong from riding so much. Healthy, not happy. Letters in a hollow tree couldn’t sustain her need for companionship; looking into the crystal gave her glimpses of all the kingdoms, but not a single sight of Landen.

She listened to the wind moan. Gazing at snapping flames, she was reminded of her former self.
Once I was as luminous and full of motion as fire. Now I live cold as winter all year long, more alone than a hermit nun
.

She stared at her writing paper. One word, Dahmis had said. One word, and he would send for her, let her live under his protection.

Torina loved going where she wished, without escorts, guards, or permission. To mount Justina when the mood took her; ride as far and as lost as she wanted; come home when it suited her; all this she treasured.

What good is my independence without freedom to show my head?
She gripped the arms of her chair. She had made
up her mind. She would send the ‘one word’, and go to live in Glavenrell. The next time she saw Dahmis, she’d petition his help finding Landen. Between them, they could discover if he lived, and where.

She wrote the letter immediately.

Dear Cousin
,

How is your village? Though well, I am feeling the weather and wish I might join you in a warmer house
.

Vineda
.

She rolled the message, tying cords with practised fingers. She grabbed her worn jacket and opened the door. A gale-force wind greeted her, driving needles of snow into her face. Torina laughed and shut the door again. Of course, she would need to wait for the storm to pass.

She hung her coat, glowing and happy. Tomorrow, she and Justina would find their way through the drifts to the hollow tree. Even if it took a few weeks to move to Glavenrell, it would happen. Life! She felt ready to dance. Full of energy, she decided to make the most of the confining weather. She would consult her crystal for the high king, perhaps add an important postscript to her letter.

She unbraided her long, burnished hair, luxuriating in the feeling of having it hang free. She put another log on the fire.

Bringing out her seer’s eye, she let her eyes be drawn into its depths. First, she asked again for a vision of Landen. The obstinate globe showed her a circle of men sitting round a fire. She had the sense that it was a group of criminals. One of the men had a monstrous
scar on the side of his face. She shuddered. Was Landen in the company of such men? She peered anxiously, but he didn’t seem to be among them. The image faded.

Never mind. Soon the high king would be searching for him.

She kept looking in the crystal. This time she saw Vesputo and Dahmis standing together. The high king shook Vesputo’s hand. His voice rumbled in Torina’s mind, like an ocean storm. ‘
We are now allies
.’ And the hated voice of her former betrothed: ‘
Count on me to honour the terms of the alliance
.’

She stared in disbelief, but the odious sight persisted, the two kings in smiling agreement.

‘It can’t be. No, no, no. Say it isn’t so!’ she chanted, wanting to throw the crystal into the fire and watch it heat until it cracked. ‘No, no, please,’ she moaned, as the high king and her father’s murderer toasted each other with glad faces.

Torina jumped up, tossing the crystal away, as if it would burn her. Grabbing the scroll she’d written earlier, she unwound its cords, crumpled the message into a ball and slung it at the fire. As the flames took hold, she sank back in her chair, rigid with anger and loss. While winter raged outside her cabin, she felt as if all the ice of the world was packed round her heart.

Dahmis watched his soldiers train, forehead wrinkled with worry. Spies daily brought him reports of Sliviite might: thousands of mercenaries sharpening their blades behind the Sliviite banner; droves of Sliviite slaves learning to man the enormous navy ships;
swaggering Sliviite soldiers drilling from dawn till dusk.

Still no word of where they would make their onslaught. More troubling, Vineda had sent no messages in three weeks. That was not like her. What if the men hunting her had been successful? What if she was abducted or killed?

Dahmis didn’t like to admit to himself how much the lovely seer occupied his thoughts. Now, when his mind should be on his troops, his allies, strategies for war, he spent time he couldn’t spare wondering about Vineda. Tempted to send a trusted spy to find out if she still lived in the Desantian forest, he was annoyed with himself for having promised her he wouldn’t tell anyone where or who she was.

As if he knew who she was. Did anyone know? Why was she so secretive? With her gifts, she would be welcome, sought after, celebrated, in any court she chose. Instead she lived hidden away, as though she’d committed some terrible crime and feared discovery.

I would have thought she was too young to be willing to give up all the splendours her beauty would earn. But even that beauty she hides under ugly clothes and disguising scarves. Is public adoration so loathsome to her?
He remembered her angry words: ‘
I cannot live a prisoner in a king’s fortress
’. What young woman could believe that life in the high king’s fortress, surrounded by awed attendants, would be imprisonment? And what about that other statement, spoken with such bald, scornful sadness: ‘
I feel awe, but not of kings
’.

Dahmis shook his head in exasperation and called for Larseld. When his general was at his side, the king explained that he would be gone for several days.

‘My lord, the council of kings?’

‘I’ll return in time for the council.’

‘I thought we would prepare.’

‘We will. Just not in the same room. This errand is necessary, though inconvenient to everything.’

‘Pardon me, sir. Can no one else do this . . . errand?’

‘No, Larseld, no one else. Come, we’ll talk with Michal and settle all pressing business before I leave in the morning.’

Dahmis, dressed as a messenger, took a swift horse and rode in the direction of Desante. He figured the disguise was best for excusing the fact that he was mounted on one of the best animals in the kingdom. As he galloped down the main roads, no one seeing him questioned his speed; urgent messages were growing commonplace among the allied kings.

As he neared Vineda’s cabin, the king’s fatigue was acute. He half expected to find the place deserted. The thoughts that had driven him on the long ride clamoured in his head. Was she safe?

He dismounted in her clearing beside a dark, silent cabin. Peering inside, he saw embers in the hearth; checking the stable, he found Justina munching straw. Dahmis decided to wait for Vineda. If she didn’t come back soon, he would ask at the farmhouse for news of her.

Weary as he was, the king rubbed down his horse and gave him food.

As he left the stable, Torina walked into the meadow. It was now full night, though a bright moon lit
the snow to a pale likeness of day. Her usual scarf wrapped her head, a threadbare jacket covering her body. Wonderfully relieved to see her, Dahmis wondered again why she would conceal so much beauty.

‘Vineda,’ he said, all his tiredness forgotten. He touched her shoulder affectionately, then stepped back, nonplussed by the utter coldness in her face.

‘Vineda? What is it?’

Her eyes looked opaque in the moonlight. ‘You have allied yourself with Vesputo,’ she said, as if he’d done something unforgivable.

Dahmis gritted his teeth. ‘So I have. It was necessary. Vineda, there are times when this sight of yours is a curse. I wanted to tell you myself.’

‘He will betray the alliance.’

‘His soldiers fight well. His coastal borders are vulnerable to Sliviite attack!’

With set face, she began walking to her cabin. ‘He
will
betray you,’ she said over her shoulder.

Dahmis pursued her. ‘Have you seen this? If you have, why no message?’

She whirled to face him. ‘I don’t need a vision where Vesputo is concerned!’

‘So, you have
not
seen it.’ He stared at her face, whitened by moonlight. Again, he reached for her. She shrank from him.

‘Vesputo knows his interests, Vineda,’ he said, trying to talk reasonably. ‘The Sliviites are a far greater threat to him than anything he’s ever faced. And a greater threat to me than one king with a lust for power. Only a complete alliance can stave off the Sliviite forces.
All reports agree they’re massing for the greatest invasion we’ve ever endured. It’s only what you know yourself.’

The lovely young woman balled her fists. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Two reasons. Foremost, I came to see if anything had happened to you. Second, if I ever needed your help, I do now.’

She shivered. ‘You won’t get it.’

‘Please, Vineda. The alliance is important. Vesputo commands a sizeable army. As soon as the ice melts, everyone in the kingdoms is in danger, including him.’

‘Have you forgotten? He plotted against your life.’

‘The high king cannot afford to hold grudges. I need Vesputo. His position is key. To overthrow him would exhaust my forces when they are needed most. The alliance is the only good choice!’ His voice rose, blowing clouds in the frosty air.

‘Then may it profit you,’ she answered.

‘Will you help me?’

She lifted her chin, lips trembling. She turned her back.

‘Vineda. Please. Help us!’

She went inside, and closed the door. The high king stood alone, lifting his eyes to the starry sky. He wanted to beat down her door, force her to serve him. He wondered where and when she had learned to hate Vesputo with such passion. She must be ignorant of kings if she could not overlook the chessboard moves they often made against one another. Vesputo wasn’t the only one who’d tried to take Dahmis’ place. Early in his
kingship, Dahmis had been challenged in every possible way: some overt, many covert.

Now, Vesputo had provided the missing piece for Dahmis. His spies had been able to discover where the Sliviite invasion would land. He’d allowed Dahmis to interview several men and one woman, all of whom had made the dangerous journey to Sliviia. Each had intercepted the same intelligence: the Sliviites would sail to Bellan Bay, one of the largest bays on the whole coast. It made sense that such an immense navy would seek the waters of a place like Bellan Bay.

Dahmis realized how much he’d grown to rely on Vineda’s skill. He didn’t like moving ahead without it. He’d ridden so hard to be next to her. Now, in front of him, her cabin was dark. She might as well be across the ocean.

‘God help us,’ he prayed. Moonlight fell round him, not answering.

Vesputo arrived early for the joint council of kings. He wanted a chance to observe all the rulers as they walked in. The room chosen for this historic meeting was spacious and well furnished. Every smooth surface was polished till it shone, the thick Glaven rugs brushed soft. After greeting Dahmis with deference, Vesputo stood to the back, face set in regal reserve. He controlled his fear that Torina had warned the high king. He would need to watch carefully, gauge his actions accordingly.

Ardesen, king of Desante, swept in, frowning, treating Dahmis to a curt bow, his grey head taller than
the high king’s. Fierce Mlaven, ruler of Emmendae, the harsh land north of Glavenrell, embraced Dahmis.

‘So, my friend,’ Vesputo heard Mlaven say. ‘What does your fortune-teller advise?’

A muscle jumped in the high king’s cheek. ‘She has ceased to help me,’ he replied softly.

‘No prophecies! That is hard news. You must find out her price, my lord.’

‘She doesn’t respond to those inducements,’ Dahmis answered.

Vesputo clenched his jaw with the effort not to break into victorious laughter. Torina had broken with the high king! Now the fool would have only his own starry-eyed visions to guide him.

Once the council was under way, Dahmis encouraged Vesputo to tell the others what his spies had learned: that the main thrust of the Sliviite attack would be Archeld, in what was formerly Bellandra.

‘Bellan Bay is more accessible than anywhere south of Emmendae,’ he said. ‘The waters will be warm within a week. From there, they can pillage Archeld and make their way in force to Glavenrell.’