The Seer And The Sword (26 page)

‘It’s what I’d do if I had their navy,’ boomed King Mlaven.

‘What are our assembled numbers?’ Ardesen of Desante asked.

‘Fifty thousand troops among us,’ Dahmis answered. ‘We estimate the Sliviite invading force at thirty thousand strong, including mercenaries.’

‘How shall we distribute our soldiers?’ asked Endak, quiet king of Davia.

‘We cannot leave any country without protection, of course,’ Dahmis asserted.

‘If everyone agrees the brunt of the attack will fall at Bellan Bay, I advise we concentrate our forces there, and devise a way to send messages quickly so that if any surprises occur we can cover with reinforcements,’ Vesputo put forth.

The council was over, the kings returned to their home-lands. All had agreed to send their most seasoned soldiers, under a trusted general, to the coast of Archeld. Larseld would coordinate the other generals for concerted defence. Troops would be on the march within a week. Dahmis was elated with the progress of their cooperation. History was made: the collected kings had conferred together with only minor hostility, each submitting to the good of the alliance. It was a victory the high king savoured. It seemed to him the stars must be singing with happiness. The only sad note came when he thought of Vineda.

A message was sent with Ardesen to ask Bellanes and his band to visit Glavenrell. In a few days, Dahmis got word that the men were camped outside Glaven City. Bellanes, still shunning his spreading fame, thought it too risky to meet the king in public. He sent word of where to find his camp. Dahmis rode out with Larseld to see him.

They arrived in the evening and were halted by a man with a livid scar on his face.

‘Give the password.’

‘Peace awaits.’

The man led them to a campfire circle where Bellanes met them with a smile.

‘My lord.’ He swept the circle with his hand. ‘This is my band. Men! The high king, and General Larseld.’

Dahmis was amused at the sudden galvanism among them. Plainly, Bellanes had not prepared them. They stood as one. The guard who had asked for a password seemed stunned. ‘I— I, my lord!’

‘Bangor, the high king understands the need for passwords,’ Bellanes told the flustered man. ‘My lord, your time is short, I know. What is it you need?’

Dahmis addressed the entire band. ‘The council of kings met and decided the Sliviite attack will be focused on Archeld, at the coast near what used to be Bellandra. All the allied members are pledged to send troops there, agreed to work under Larseld’s direction. Larseld leaves in the morning. I want you to go with him. Your skills may be invaluable there. King Vesputo particularly requested your participation.’

Bellanes frowned. ‘Vesputo is now part of your alliance?’ His voice was hard.

‘Yes, he has joined us.’

‘So late?’ Bellanes folded strong arms.

Dahmis sighed. ‘He may be motivated by self-interest, since he believes his shores vulnerable. His spies report Bellan Bay as the first Sliviite target.’

Bellanes stood taut as a ready bowstring. ‘My lord, forgive me for what I have to say.’

‘Please, speak freely.’

‘I and my band won’t go to Archeld to defend Vesputo. I beg you not to weaken your forces in
Glavenrell. The Sliviites fight intelligently, and though Bellan Bay may be a likely access point, they must know Glavenrell and Emmendae have bays as well. What if they realize that by invading Glavenrell and smashing the high king, they would meet only disorganized resistance afterwards?’

Dahmis stepped closer to the fire. ‘You believe the Sliviites will aim at Glavenrell first?’

‘You are the central power among the kingdoms. They can’t be ignorant of that.’

‘What about the information from Vesputo’s spies? If we can blunt the first attack with the alliance, we stand a far better chance collectively.’

‘Have other sources confirmed it? Have your own spies told you this?’ Bellanes probed.

‘No, though all agree the Sliviites are prepared for war, and are even now launching their ships.’

‘If they land on your shores, and you’ve sent away your best troops, how will you fight?’ Bellanes’ clear voice beat at him.

‘I can’t forsake the alliance now. I’ve pledged my word. It would go against everything I’ve worked for.’

‘Then, my lord, I and my band will stay in Glavenrell, where we can help you if needed.’

Looking round at the attentive faces, Dahmis felt that this group of men was in absolute unity with their leader.

The high king bowed his head. ‘Thank you, Bellanes. Keep me informed of where you make camp.’

Torina dug in her garden, wrestling stubborn chunks of cold soil. Cool air met her hot cheeks and wafted round her covered head. She was tired of the cumbersome kerchief and felt wretchedly warm. Sweating in the weak sunshine of early spring, she beat the resisting ground as if it could yield relief for her pent-up spirits.

She hadn’t looked at the crystal in weeks. When her heart reproached her for forsaking the alliance, she revived the image of Dahmis and Vesputo toasting each other.

Today, the crystal called her. Her arm tingled and throbbed. Torina threw down her shovel and slammed into her cabin. Wrapped in cloth on a shelf, her seer’s eye seemed to stare through the fabric into her mind. Dripping sweat, Torina reached for it, her hand pulsing and humming. But before touching the stone she drew back, clenching her fists.

‘No, no, no!’ She ran out of the cabin.

She rushed to saddle Justina. The horse seemed to catch her mood, running hard through the meadows.
Torina tried to lose herself in the flowing movement, not caring where they went.

It was late afternoon by the time she approached the village again. Exhausted, she noticed how much the temperature had dropped and how thin her dress was against the cold. When she realized Justina was making her way towards Lindsa’s house, she brought her up short.

Two local farmers plodded towards her, men she knew slightly. She pulled Justina aside to let them pass. As they drew abreast, they stopped, staring. Torina sat waiting for them to move on, caught in a vague sense of foreboding.

‘Vineda?’ one asked.

The sun was lowering, but there was still enough light to be able to tell who she was. Torina looked into the man’s lined face. ‘What is it?’

‘It is you, Vineda?’ he persisted.

‘Yes.’

‘Why, lass, you’re beautiful. Don’t believe I’ve ever seen you with your hair down.’

Raising her hand, Torina felt damp strands. No kerchief. When did she lose it? It must have been during the ride. Now they had seen her and, if anyone asked about a red-haired woman, they could answer. No use asking them to say nothing. This was news.

‘Thank you,’ she faltered, guiding Justina off the road. ‘I must be going.’ She plunged through the shadows, not looking back.

For years, she had hidden her head. Now, in a moment of carelessness, all that secrecy was undone.
It
doesn’t matter! After so long, Vesputo, along with everyone else, believes I’m dead
.

An ominous cloud followed her. She glanced nervously round, as drops began pelting her bare head. Swift, harsh lightning cut the air. Torina’s dress was soon drenched, while Justina bent to the whipping wind.

When they reached home, there was no solace in being there. As Torina rubbed Justina in the dark stable, everything she saw, all she did, seemed to belong to someone dead.

‘We’ll go away,’ she told her horse. ‘We can’t stay here, between worlds. We’ll go to Desan and live.’

Pushing out of the stall, she staggered to her cabin, hounded by the wailing storm. Inside, she stopped to light a fire, while rain and wind rattled the whole place. When she sank into her chair, her skin burned with fever.

Vesputo was resolved to unleash the Sword of Bellandra at last. Thanks to his careful efforts, the best of the allied forces from Dahmis’ coalition of kings were gathering in one spot, within his domains. Now would be the perfect time to strike, to master them all.

Kareed never used the Sword. He disdained Bellandra’s magic enough to brave it head on, but feared to tangle with the curse
.

Kareed’s warning, that the Sword would bring doom to anyone who used it for conquest, had struck Vesputo forcefully when he first heard it, the day they locked the Sword away in the vault. But that one glimpse of the magnificent weapon had been enough to stoke his
ambition for almost a decade. History and legend agreed that whoever wielded the Sword became invincible. The thought of the Sword’s curse was losing sway. The beautiful thing had lain untouched all this time. It must not have any power unless held by human hands.

Kareed lacked the courage to take up the Sword and use it. I have the strength. Destiny has delivered this weapon to me
.

Vesputo believed the only reason the pacifist fool, King Veldon, had been conquered, was because he never lifted the Sword to defend Bellandra, trusting in its reputation alone to ward off enemies. The Sword was last raised in battle during the time of Veldon’s great-great-grandfather, Landen the First. Ironic that his distant grandson and namesake had been dispossessed before coming of age.

Landen. Every time Vesputo thought of him, it rankled more. The man had been locked in the deepest recesses of the castle, and escaped. The bounty hunter disappeared along with him, and Vesputo still wondered what role the mysterious Corbin played. Was he in league with Landen? It was the only sound explanation. But why would Landen allow himself to be imprisoned, only to vanish? Aside from Vesputo’s ring nothing had been taken except a pair of grey stallions – surely not enough to risk freedom and life for.

Did Landen come out of hiding just to laugh in my face? In his place, I would have killed
.

Yes, the time had come. Vesputo’s destiny had arrived. He would take up the Sword, and take his rightful place in history.

Filled with suppressed excitement, Vesputo dismissed his guards and descended the stairs to the secret vault alone. His torch flickered on dim walls. With rising anticipation, he entered the vault.

Thrusting the torch ahead, his first thought was that the pyramid box had been moved: it wasn’t in his line of sight. Hands turning to ice, Vesputo searched the four walls. All he saw were scattered shadows of covered boxes too small to hold the Sword. Fighting panic and rage, he examined the musty room, casting about with the smoking light. Nothing.

It had to be there. Setting the torch in a sconce on the wall, he uncovered each box in the dank space. There were few, and he was soon done. The Sword of Bellandra was gone. All that was left to him was dust. Sitting on a mouldering wooden case, he beat his fist into his palm.

How? Vesputo wasn’t superstitious, had always felt master of his fate. It never occurred to him to explain this disappearance as a conspiracy of magic. No, this was the work of a human being.

Who?

He sat fingering his ring of keys, counting them over till he touched the one to this vault.

Only the king has this key
.

Suddenly, he was gripping the engraved metal so hard it cut him. Blood dripped on the floor and he never noticed.

He remembered how he got back his missing keys. A group of frightened young soldiers had approached him in a body, each too afraid to get near him alone.
They swore the king’s keys were found on the courtyard steps, the morning of Landen’s disappearance.

Landen. The keys. He locked his cell again when he left, so people would think Bellandran magic spirited him away, but I know he had the keys. That would explain his coming. That would account for him putting himself in my power. To gain the Sword of Bellandra
.

Vesputo grasped the torch again, holding it close to the floor. His own footprints were clear, trampling the dirt. Everywhere else, the floor had been swept, showing no trace of trespassers.

They were here. I know it. Landen and Corbin. But if he took it, why hasn’t he used it? And how did he know where to find it? The greatest secret in my kingdom. I’ve told no one, no one at all. Kareed must have revealed the place to someone else
.

Who?

Was it Torina again? Had she discovered where Landen had gone? Seen the Sword in that stone of hers, and told him where it was?

However it happened, the Sword was gone, and with it Vesputo’s cherished plans to master the allied armies immediately. Without the legendary weapon, only a fool would try an attack now; he’d be outnumbered and outfought. And Vesputo had never been a fool: no, he would simply have to bide his time a while longer.

The angry king arranged his face for public scrutiny and left the vault. He would never tell what he knew about the Sword of Bellandra. Let it remain as it had been, a mystery enhancing his power.

If Landen has it, I’ll find a way to take it back
.

Above ground, Vesputo strode through the halls,
wishing he could find some object to vent his fury on.

Beron came running to meet him, waving letters. ‘My lord!’

Vesputo longed to kick the man, as he would an annoying hound. ‘What is it?’

Beron looked right and left. ‘Private, sir.’

They went to the council room. Beron handed him two messages. Vesputo read them, then sat back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, feet up. He let Beron wait a few minutes, till he could sense the man’s overbearing agitation.

‘She is found.’

‘The pr—’

‘Yes. Just across the mountains in Desante. Both messages agree. A quiet, sheltered country village.’ Vesputo spoke with clipped satisfaction.

‘Why did no one tell us before, sir?’ Beron’s eyebrows met in a single line.

‘She always kept her hair hidden, until now. She must believe she’s out of danger.’

Vesputo closed his eyes and let this news spread like balm over the wound of the Sword’s loss.

‘Shall I ride for Desante, sir?’ Beron was like an attack dog straining at the leash.

Vesputo smiled. ‘Not yet, Captain. You’re needed here now, until the war is finished. I want that crystal, and I want that woman, but I want them in my own time and way.’