by Clare Smith
“You little liar!” exploded the maid, her frayed temper finally beyond control. “What you need is a good smacking to teach you some manners.”
The little girl’s lip quivered and tears came to her eyes as she clung to her mother.
“That’s enough!” snapped the queen, turning her full attention on the maid. “Nobody talks to my daughter in that manner. You are dismissed. You may find a place in the kitchens or leave the palace today, I care not which you choose to do so long as you never come near my daughter again.
With an imperious wave she sent the maid from the room and then bent to the serious charge of comforting her poor, maligned child. Daun allowed her mother a few minutes of doting and then pulled herself free from Althea’s embrace.
“Are there lots of people coming to my party today? Will they bring me lots of presents?”
Althea smiled indulgently at her daughter. “Yes, my dear, they will bring you lots and lots of lovely presents, everything you could ever want.”
“Oh good. Then I had better dress and see what they have brought for me.”
*
Queen Althea was not the only one having difficulties with an uncooperative child. In the guest wing, lodged in the grandest suite, King Porteous looked down at his youngest son with tenderness, affection and amusement. Although the boy was only fourteen he already stood at shoulder height to his rotund and jovial father. Another two summers of growth would see their places reversed with Pellum looking down on his father’s balding head. As it was the boy stood for inspection before his father, irritably pulling at the stiff collar of his embroidered tunic and pulling ineffectually at his new hose, threatening to cut off circulation to a very sensitive part of his developing body.
“Stand still, boy!” boomed his father. “What’s the matter with you, you’re squirming around like a squiggly in a squeaker trap.”
Pellum raised his eyes upwards in exasperation, wishing fervently that his father would stop talking to him in nursery talk and treat him like a man. If he let slip one mention of pollywoggles or gee gees whilst others were around he would brain the old fool. “It’s this cursed collar trying to strangle me and the damned hose so small and tight they’re crushing my bollocks.”
“Pellum! Mind your language! What would your dear departed mother say if she could be here today?”
“Probably get those stupid clothes off and wear something sensible,” replied the prince, remembering the smile of his eminently practical and down to earth mother. “Anyway, why do I have to get all dressed up for a soppy girl’s birthday party?”
“I’ve told you before, Pellum. Daun is the daughter of my closest friend and neighbour and when she grows up she will be heiress to this lovely little kingdom and will need a husband to be her king. With your elder brother being my heir you need to find yourself a comfortable place and Vinmore is ideal. Here you would be the ruler of a very wealthy land and have everything you want.”
“But she’s only six summers old and a girl.”
“She may be six now but one day she will be sixteen and ready to marry. If we don’t show an interest now and get our claim in someone else will. The Duke of Tamm is here with his two sons, even if they are babes in arms and the Duke of Remlon has three boys all of a suitable age, not to mention Lord Purk and his flock. We are very lucky that Prince Newn has red spot and cannot leave his bed. His is a better claim to the princess’s hand than yours. He’s just two summers older and is heir to the throne of Tarbis.” Porteous chuckled to himself. “I hear that he’s a spoilt, spiteful brat so it’s probably a bit of luck for the princess that he’s ill. No, boy, if we’re going to get you married off to Vinmore’s heiress we need to strike our claim now.”
“Do I have to?” groaned the boy. “What if I don’t like her or don’t want to get married, I would much rather go out hunting or fishing.”
“I know, I know but being married doesn’t have to get in the way of the finer things in life. In fact, if you get her as well trained as your mother was, she’ll take up the burden of running your house giving you lots of free time for more interesting pursuits. Now stop fidgeting and pick up your present, it’s time the two of you were introduced to each other.”
Pellum disdainfully picked up the carefully wrapped gift and stuck it under his arm. The present was a doll, hand carved and skilfully fitted together by the craftsmen of Essenland and dressed to exquisite perfection by the ladies of his father’s own court. It was an object of real beauty but it was still a doll and not the sort of thing a prince who loved hunting and swordcraft should be seen carrying. Reluctantly he followed his father along the pale stone corridors of the turreted palace, listening dutifully as his father pointed out the abundance of bright, hand sewn tapestries, woven silk rugs and sculptures in silver and bronze, alabaster and weiswald.
From the guest wing they crossed the sunlit courtyard, its square paving a myriad of bright colours and intricate patterns. A fountain splashed and played at its centre and the brilliant flags of the visiting households and the king’s own colours fluttered in the breeze. Soldiers in various bright liveries guarded the ramparts, the sunlight reflected dazzlingly from polished spear points which had never seen use. From the corner towers along the front wall, a line of orange and gold heralds appeared and with a fanfare which echoed across the city, down into the valley and to the Blue River far beyond, announced the princess was ready to receive her guests.
King Porteous increased his pace making his ample flesh wobble beneath his rich robes and perspiration bead his brow. It would not do to be presented last. It was a well known fact that females had poor memories and wouldn’t be able to recall any of those presented beyond the first two or three. He was determined his son would be one of those the child would remember. With almost indecent haste he made his way to the Great Hall, barging passed Lord Purk and his eight scrawny fledglings and barely acknowledging the Duke of Tamm. At the door of the Great Hall more heralds sounded their horns and the doors were thrown open. He’d done it, he’d arrived first.
Without waiting for the herald to announce his name, Porteous pushed his son forward and continued guiding the boy until he stood in front of the angelic looking child. Seated on a mound of cushions at the foot of the dais which held the throne, Daun looked too beautiful to be real. Pellum grimaced as Porteous gave him a final shove forward and turned to watch his father retreat in the direction of his old friend King Steppen. With a shrug of resignation he turned his attentions back to the girl and gave her a deep bow with a fancy flourish which he had been practising all week. Daun laughed at his efforts making Pellum blush with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to deliver the speech his father had taught him but before he could utter a word Daun interrupted.
“What have you brought for me?”
Pellum eyed her suspiciously and held out the bulky package he had tucked under his arm whilst he executed another bow. Without a word, Daun snatched the package from his hands and began tearing at the beautifully presented gift, oblivious to the shining wrapping or the abundance of satin bows and silk flowers. Pellum stepped back and watched the child at work. His father was right, as girls went there was no denying she was a beautiful child, with startling blue eyes and curly blond hair but she was only a child and a girl and of little interest to him.
Daun held the exquisite doll by the neck and gave it a cursory appraisal before carelessly dropping it at her side. She gave a swift glance towards her father and mother before giving Pellum an angelically innocent smile.
“Thank you for your gift, it is most acceptable and I shall treasure it always.” She glanced at her parents, saw they were busily talking to King Porteous and then pulled a face, sticking her tongue out at Pellum. “I hate dolls,” she said in a low menacing voice, “and any boy who would carry a doll under his arm, even for a a short time, must be a sissy.”
Pellum flushed bright red and would have made a sharp retort if the herald had not announced the Duke of Tam
m and his two sons. He stepped to the side as his father had instructed him and silently fumed to himself as one after another the kingdom’s noble families presented their gifts. He noted with some satisfaction that each gift was received with the same formal words of gratitude and then unceremoniously dropped on the floor. The numerous dolls, all sumptuously dressed, formed a forlorn heap on one side and an assortment of music boxes, puppets and games were stacked in some sort of order on the other side. The only object which seemed to gain her favour was an ornate riding whip with a carved bone handle and a lash of multi-coloured plaited leather which she kept on her lap and touched at regular intervals.
When the last of the gifts had been presented the adults retired leaving the children in the charge of Tavlon, the court minstrel. Musicians struck up lively music and footmen hurried to prepare chairs for the first of the afternoon’s games. Daun looked sullenly at the activity as if playing party games was too boring to contemplate and then with a sudden burst of temper scattered the pile of toys across the floor. The sudden clack of wooden puppets and the discordant sound of several music boxes playing in disharmony brought a hush to the room and all eyes turned towards the princess. Tavlon looked at her in trepidation knowing her temper would ruin his carefully planned games. He just wished he’d resigned his position as court minstrel after all when King Steppen had insisted on him being games master for the afternoon.
Daun stood up, grabbing the largest doll by the ankle and stalked across the room to where Pellum stood, thrusting the doll into his arms. She turned to the minstrel with contempt.
“I hate party games and he’s too old to play them so we’re going to the stables to look at the present Sarrat sent me, the rest of you can stay here and do what you like.” She turned back to Pellum, “You, come with me and I’ll show you the best birthday present you’ve ever seen.”
Pellum followed with mixed feelings, she was only a child and a rude one at that but anything was better than playing stupid party games. He looked down at the doll and cringed and wondered if he could drop it somewhere without Daun noticing. She spun on him suddenly as if she had read his mind.
“If that’s the best present you could think to bring me then it’s your own fault if you have to carry it.” Pellum scowled. “Anyway we are only taking it as far as the kennels.”
She turned around and skipped down the corridors with Pellum trotting behind, trying to hide the wretched doll beneath his tight fitting tunic but with no success. He was surprised when Daun led him through the kitchens with servants bowing and curtsying on either side. From there she led him out into the yard where buckets of left over’s from the last meal waited to be sorted and taken to the pig pens. Daun stopped and snatched the doll from Pellum’s grasp and then dunked the expensive gift, head first, into the bucket of slops. Pellum looked on, dumbfounded, whilst the princess lifted the doll in and out of the mess until it was coated in slime and then handed it back by its one clean foot.
Not bothering to explain, she skipped across the yard and disappeared down a flight of steps. Intrigued, Pellum followed behind, holding the doll away from him to avoid being splattered by the dripping swill. When they reached the long line of metal bars with sharp points on the top, Daun stopped and waited for him to catch up. As soon as he was by her side she gave a piercing whistle and stepped back. Pellum was a little slow and was nearly bowled over by the force of six giant, shaggy hounds throwing themselves against the constraining bars of their kennel.
Daun clapped her hands and laughed in delight. “They’re my father’s hunting hounds and really savage. Throw it over the bars and see what they do,” she commanded, pointing at the dripping doll.
Pellum suddenly realised what she had in mind and gave her a conspiratorial grin. With an easy lob he threw the doll to the hounds and together they watched in raptures as the savage hounds tore the doll apart.
“If I were queen that wouldn’t have been just a doll in there.”
“If I were king I wouldn’t stop you.”
Pellum and Daun smiled at each other in understanding.
“Come on, let me show you my horses.”
She took hold of his hand and retraced their steps until they came to the stable yard. Rows of brightly painted stalls opened onto the cobbled yard, many with horses heads leaning over the half doors. Several whickered a greeting to Daun and Pellum. Immediately the Stablemaster arrived and bowed to his two royal visitors. He was a man of advancing years who had put both Daun and her father before her on their first horses, treating Steppen like his own child, even when he became an adult and king. The Stablemaster loved the little princess but like everyone else was wary of her temper and spite so he obeyed her instantly when she commanded the presence of her two birthday presents.
A tall boy with slick-backed hair and hard features led the two animals forward, holding his head as proudly as if the horses had been his own. He smiled down at the princess who smiled back.
“The brown one is from my father,” said the princess, pointing to a well bred mare with a look of speed about her. “King Sarrat of Leersland sent me the silver stallion.”
“He’s magnificent,” said Pellum in awe, as he stood back to admire the grey colt. “I’ve never seen anything like him.”
“He’s special too,” explained Daun proudly. “Sansun has been blessed by a magician so he understands every word I say.” Pellum looked at her in disbelief. “Sansun, would you like an apple?” The colt snorted and shook its head up and down in answer. “See I told you so. Tarris, give Fiola to Pellum and walk Sansun around so he can see his paces.” Tarris smiled and walked the colt in a wide circle. “Tarris is my friend, he looks after Sansun for me and he gave me a riding whip for my birthday.” Tarris looked even more pleased with himself and gave a nod of acknowledgement.
“The horse is wonderful, said Pellum in a dream. “I wish it were mine.”
“Then you can have him,” announced Daun, “I don’t need two horses.”
Pellum looked at her in disbelief. “Do you mean it? Can I really have him?”
“Of course, otherwise I wouldn’t have said it.”
“Yer can’t do that miss,” blurted out Tarris in alarm. “’E was a present to yer from King Sarrat an’ ‘e would be right upset if yer gave ‘im away.”
Daun scowled, making the smirk disappear from Tarris’s face. “It’s mine and I can do with it as I want. If I want to give it to my best friend then it’s nothing to do with you. you’re just a servant.” She turned back and smiled sweetly at Pellum. “You’re my best friend aren’t you?”
“Oh yes,” said Pellum, knowing at that moment he would have agreed to anything for a chance of owning the silver horse.
“An’ what about me miss, are yer goin’ ter give me away too?”
Daun frowned in consternation. “Damn, I had forgotten about you. Sorry, Pellum, I can’t give Sansun away because I’d have to give Tarris away as well and he’s my friend too, so you’ll just have to take Fiola instead, you don’t mind do you?”
“No,” said Pellum, disappointed.
“But you must come and visit me very, very often and then you can ride Sansun whenever you want.”
Pellum nodded in agreement, his arms around the mare’s neck and his face buried in its silky chestnut mane to hide his feelings from view. His father was going to be delighted. Not only had he become best friends with the girl his father viewed as a potential bride but he’d an open invitation to visit her at any time he wanted. More than that he’d gained a splendid horse, albeit not the one he wanted but undoubtedly a racer. This had to be the best afternoon he’d ever had.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
CHAPTER SEVEN
A Price to Pay
Jonderill sat very still and concentrated as hard as he could on the white stone placed carefully between his crossed legs. The afternoon sun prickled the back of his neck and a fly buzzed irritatingly around his ear but he was determined to ignore every distraction and con
centrate on the stone until it moved. For a moment his eyes wandered and caught a glimpse of the panorama spread like a patchwork quilt at the foot of the great tower. From his grassy bank the view was truly beautiful, a mixture of green and gold fading into dusky yellow where the desert far beyond met the edge of the fertile land.
Losing his concentration completely he looked up at the pinnacle of the great tower with its grey slate, conical roof. The tower was protected by the mightiest of all demons, the flying dragon, carved into stone and entwined around its topmost reaches. From up there the view would be awe inspiring, right across the desert to the stone hills and northward perhaps as far as the sea. He would have liked to have seen the panorama from up there and imagined himself on the dragon’s scaled back, winging swiftly above the earth on a secret mission of incalculable importance and returning triumphant to a grateful king.
With a jolt the practical side of his mind brought him back to earth. He had no real idea of what the view from the top of the tower was like as he had never been up there. It was the magician’s room where those who served the goddess Federa met in conclave, whatever that was. At least they were supposed to but Garrin had told him that there’d been no call to meet since Maladran had become King Sarrat’s magician and taken up residence in the tower. The fourth floor was empty but the living rooms, including his small bedroom, took up the other three storeys below Maladran’s room. Beneath the tower there were vast caverns but like the top room those deep chambers were forbidden to any but master magicians.
Sometime’s though, Maladran took special guests down there and entertained them for King Sarrat. Strangely he’d seen most of those guests come but he’d never seen any leave. However, he knew when one was staying because Maladran would be absent for most of the day and sometimes far into the night as well. Jonderill sighed, he would really like to see what was below the tower but the most interesting parts of the tower were warded and some parts not even Maladran could enter. The way things were going they would always be closed to him.