The Seer And The Sword (30 page)

Beside her, Lindsa and Anna smiled, while Antonia played in the soft evening air just outside the open door.

‘I planned to be long gone by now,’ Torina said.

‘You couldn’t have left any sooner, with that sickness,’ Anna soothed.

Torina wrapped her arms round her middle. Anxiety hovered near, as it had ever since the day she’d resisted the crystal, shown her hair, fallen sick. She knew in her heart that something was wrong; knew she’d made a mistake, strayed from the path of goodness.

‘Eat something,’ Anna urged.

A prickly feeling crawled up Torina’s spine. She felt as if she were forgetting something important that was right in front of her.

Sounds outside signalled a rider approaching. Then Antonia began to cry.

Lindsa ran to lift her child. Torina’s heart lurched like a lame horse, as a tall, masked man burst in on them. The slits of his eyes fastened on her as he lunged, catching hold of her arms. Frightened shrieks erupted from Anna and Lindsa as a great fist slammed into Torina’s head.

She saw bright silver stars drifting round her and fell with them into blackness.

Torina woke lying on the ground, covered with a rough blanket. Pine needles under her told her it was high country. A cold breeze brushed her aching head. Dark trees greeted her, and a swath of stars was visible. Moonlight filtered in, silhouetting the black shape of a tethered horse.

Torina propped herself on an elbow. A few feet away, the masked man leaned against a tree trunk, chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep.

He hadn’t bothered to tie her! She crawled forward, feeling for roots or stones, moving slowly, while her body screamed at her to run. Her hand touched something. A leather pouch. She stopped.

Run away!
her body cried.

But she had to know. Who had kidnapped her? She slid her hand inside the pouch. Heart grappling with her chest wall, Torina drew out a little bag and explored it with quivering fingers. Some large, heavy coins. In the corner, a ring! Perhaps a signet ring. If so, she could learn the identity of the sleeping man.

She pulled the ring out, examining it in the dim
moonlight. A simple band set with a round stone.

I know this ring! It once belonged to me
.

A miniature crystal, set in gold. The last time she’d seen it was the day that her father was killed.

Torina was on her feet, dizzy and crying, moving towards the sleeping man. Instantly awake, he leaped to her side as she swayed and tottered. His arms circled her, holding her up. Great sobs wrung her body, years of pent-up tears washing over her cheeks. He took off his mask. The shadowed face, dearly familiar, was revealed.

‘Landen,’ she whispered.

‘Hello, Princess.’ His voice was hoarse and shaking.

‘You.’ She took his face in both her hands, stroking his features, not knowing what she did, barely aware that he was doing the same with her, his hands warm and dry on her skin.

Her hands fell. ‘But— I don’t understand.’

His hands dropped to her shoulders. ‘Sorry about the blow. It was necessary.’

‘Why?’

‘Now the other assassins will think I got there first.’

She looked round. It was night. Was she in a dream?

‘Other assassins? Are you one of them?’

‘No. But we want them to think I am.’

‘Wait.’ She pulled back, to see his face. ‘I’m to be killed?’

‘Yes, Torina, you’re marked for death.’

‘Death? Who sent you?’

‘The high king.’

In a daze, she shook her head. ‘Dahmis sent you to kill me?’

‘No. To give you safe escort out of danger.’

‘The high king knows our history?’ Her mind reeled.

There was moisture in his eyes. ‘No. Torina, I thought you were dead.’

She blinked sadly. ‘And I knew nothing of you.’

He leaned closer. ‘Nothing?’

‘My crystal never showed me your face, all this time. I looked, Landen. I looked every day for—’ Her throat closed over the memory of that long, futile search.

‘Princess, if I . . . Torina, my. . .’ He swallowed. ‘Come, we must keep moving.’

He boosted her into the saddle, and swung on in front of her. ‘Hang on.’

Wrapping her arms round him felt better than anything she’d done in her life. As they rode higher through the night, she laid her head against his back. Tears of peace dampened his shirt.

Landen marvelled to look down and see Torina’s slender fingers interlocked at his waist. They rode into a sheltered, high valley just as dawn broke. It was situated so that it was invisible unless one stumbled upon it or knew where it was.

Fatigue was working on him. Awake for days and nights except for his nap in the forest, he cherished the thought of sleep. The poor, tired horse must feel the same. Landen drew rein with profound relief, helping Torina down.

He’d built himself a rustic hut here in the evergreens, for a refuge in Desante. Now it looked like a palace.

He led the horse to a nearby spring and rubbed his coat. Torina followed, helping care for the stallion. Watching Torina’s quick, knowing movements, Landen wanted to weep with gratitude for her safety. Her life.

Torina bent to the spring and took a long drink. Landen knelt beside her, reviving himself with water.
She cried over me last night. What does she feel today?

‘Come inside?’ he said, and she trailed after him.

Makeshift chairs and a bed were the only furnishings. Landen sat on the bed, taking off his boots.

‘Thank you,’ Torina said.

He reached a hand to her. ‘Sit by me?’

She moved beside him.

‘Let me look at you.’ He tugged at her scarf. ‘Dahmis told me to pull this off in order to know you. As soon as he said that, I knew it was you, that you weren’t dead.’

He wondered what the years had done to his face, as he traced the effects on hers. Eyes the same blue-lit green, but where mischievous joy once danced, now he saw sadness, deep as the ocean. Her cheeks were thinner. There was something else too: the arrogant pride of a princess seemed to be gone. Yet, the indefinable, untamed quality of her spirit remained. Yes, it was Torina. Love flowed through his heart with great power.

Large tears fell from her eyes.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s that I’m so ashamed. Can you ever forgive me?’

‘Forgive you, Princess?’

‘Landen, you know I was a fool. I can hardly bring
myself to remember how foolish I was. Thoughtless, superior, spoiled!’

He took her hands and kissed them. ‘Please, Torina. If you’re crying for my forgiveness, you don’t have to cry.’

‘Landen, you have the wisest heart in the world. When you lost everything, you made a new beginning. I buried myself so far I may as well have been dead.’

‘From what the high king tells me, that’s not so.’ He gathered her into his arms. Holding her felt wonderfully right. Landen’s body and soul relaxed immeasurably. Sleep took him so fast, he didn’t have time to think about the tense look of guilt that crept into her face when he mentioned the high king.

Beron rode up to Archeld’s castle spattered with mud. He received with disdain the eager help of soldiers on duty. Of course they treated him with respect, he was important to King Vesputo.

People made way for him to go straight to Vesputo. The king rose, giving him a steady hand in welcome. As soon as they were alone, Beron blurted his news.

‘She is certainly dead, my lord.’

‘By your hand?’

‘No, sir. When I arrived at her cabin, she was gone. The people there told me a masked man had knocked her senseless and ridden off with her only an hour before.’

‘Ridden off with her! Did you search where she lived? Did you find the crystal?’

‘I searched, sir. Turned it inside out. She was packed for a move. I went through everything. There wasn’t much there. The crystal was gone.’

Vesputo pounded his desk, swearing. ‘Did you track the rider?’

‘I – no, sir. I spent the time searching her cabin. By
then, night had fallen. No one seemed to know which way he’d gone. The farm peasants were scared out of their wits and wanted to know what she’d done and who she was.’

‘You didn’t tell them!’

‘No, sir. Torina’s been dead for years. Now she’s buried.’

‘You travelled as fast as possible?’

‘Yes, sir. I hardly rested.’

‘Odd that someone would get there before you. I thought King Dahmis was the only one who knew where she was.’

‘Perhaps others have hunted her as we have, sir, with more to go on from the high king.’

‘Perhaps. I wonder who has that stone? Not King Dahmis. The fool would never break his word. He pledged not to warn her.’

Vesputo paced, his handsome face controlled and shut. Beron wanted to rub the exhaustion out of his eyes, but thought better of it.

‘Now that she’s dead, my lord—’

‘If she’s really dead, Dahmis has been his own undoing. He was extremely fortunate to fend off the Sliviite attack but he won’t be so lucky this time. He has no one to warn him now.’

Torina scooped water into her hands. The day was clear and fresh as a new flower. Her soul seemed washed. She savoured the purity of her surroundings. Stately pines towered above, reaching for an azure sky. Wild flowers carpeted the ground. She wanted to embrace the world.
What ecstatic relief to be herself again, a young woman called Torina, who let her hair out.

Staying with Landen these last few days, she felt transported from a land of bitter hardship to a place of innocence and renewal. They walked, talked and breathed a companionship as fragrant as the pines. Often it seemed they were back at the secret meeting spots of childhood. The easy closeness of former days held them, giving a ground to stand on as they caught up to the present.

He told her of his doings as Bellanes, and how he had travelled to Archeld for King Dahmis, believing her dead. She related her daring escape, and the years spent half-mad with restless loneliness. They discovered that out of five of the high king’s obsidian emblems, they had two between them.

She drank his presence in, like the sparkling water of their spring, unwilling to be sad that they’d both spent so much time in Desante, ignorant of each other. How lovely to turn and see him near; not to have to plead with her seer’s eye to show him to her. She gloried in watching him move, hearing him speak, seeing the way his dark hair curled.

Every now and then, she felt the edges of the world gathering round them, and knew this time would have to end. At night, she was often wakeful; listening to his cherished breathing, feeling pursued by the dark fate her heart told her she deserved.
Gramere warned me always to benefit others. Did she know I was stupid and heartless enough to let my anger stand between me and my conscience?

Landen seemed too good for her. He would never allow bitterness to corrupt his actions. She wanted to pour out love to him, kiss him, ask him what he felt for her. She felt unworthy of this wise and wonderful man.

Since that first morning when she’d apologized, he’d seldom touched her. When he did, it was with affection – stroking her hair or squeezing her shoulder. Affection yes, but love?

Torina sighed. She heard Landen behind her and turned.

‘Landen?’

‘Princess?’ He smiled at her in the way that made her heart catch with love.

‘How odd it is to hear “princess” again. I’m not a princess any more, you know.’

‘Always, to me.’

‘Landen, you say not even Dahmis knows where we are?’

‘True.’

‘You haven’t told me why I was to be killed.’

He sat beside her, clasping his knees. ‘It was said you informed the Sliviites of the location of the allied troops, so they’d be able to invade us successfully.’

‘What? It was said—’

‘There was a surprise attack on Castle Bay, in Glavenrell. Most of the troops were posted elsewhere, many of them in Archeld.’

‘Archeld!’ She shivered. ‘The high king sent troops to Vesputo?’

‘Yes.’

‘What then?’

‘We were able to stop the invasion,’ he said.

‘We?’ His head was lowered. ‘Landen, look at me. Landen, who is this “we”?’ She bent to his face and saw the deep shadows in his eyes, the burden of what he’d witnessed. ‘I never gave information to the Sliviites.’

‘I know, Torina.’

‘But what I did— Oh! What I did
not
do.’ Her eyes stung, as if a desert wind blew into them. ‘I knew all along it was wrong. Landen, I was so angry over the alliance with Vesputo that when Dahmis asked for my help with the Sliviites, I refused. I’ve never looked in the crystal since that day. I was furious with the crystal, too, for it wouldn’t show me anything of you. To think I could have prevented you from being in a battle! I can never make it up to you.’ She shrank into herself.

‘Torina. It wasn’t your fault. It was war.’

‘War should be fought by men of war!’

‘Yes, it should. But most often, that isn’t how it happens.’

She beat a fist against her forehead. Landen restrained her arm. ‘Torina. You’re not to blame for the war. It was won with as little loss of life as there could possibly be for such a large-scale attack.’

‘How?’

He ignored her question. ‘When the high king ordered me to Archeld, I defied him, too.’

‘Did you? But you never turned your back.’

‘You could still help him. Perhaps his greatest danger is yet to come.’ He picked up two stones and knocked them together.

‘Of course!’

She fumbled in her pocket, finding the lump of cloth that wrapped her stone. The crystal glinted sharply in the sun. Torina let her eyes go soft, asking for a vision.

She saw Vesputo in her father’s study, his handsome face calm. Next to him, Beron. Vesputo murmured orders and plans.

‘Dahmis!’ She gasped. ‘Oh, we must warn him!’

‘What is it?’

The sight in the crystal faded and changed, speeding up. She saw Beron’s triumphant grin. ‘It’s Beron. He’s become Vesputo’s right-hand man. He’s killing the high king!’

Landen’s face clouded. ‘When? Is there time?’

‘Then,’ she rushed on, ‘with the high king gone, chaos falls. In the aftermath, Vesputo means to topple the other kings. He wants to do it by using –’ she looked up at Landen, stunned – ‘the Sword of Bellandra!’