Trinian

by Elizabeth Russell

  “Not her,” he said. “Lillian is our secret strength.”

  99

  The Red Walls of Drian

  Melcant had, on the evening of the second day, at great speed, crossed the River Rordan and arrived at Fort Saskatchan. It was heavily guarded, and the soldiers received Lavendier with all the grace that her royal name commanded. There was great curiosity about the nature of her return and the fate of her companions who had set forth with her. However, the General of the fort was currently at Jourinan, and no one else had rank or authority to address her unless she volunteered the information. So they only answered her questions about how matters had fared in Drian, and how her brother was, and where he was: of which for the last they could tell her little, except that he had gone east.

  Her brief presence led to speculation and crude jokes on the part of the men, for Dascerice was among the soldiers assigned to the fort, and he approached Lavendier with self-assured expectation. But though she greeted him politely, it was with such an alteration in her manner that it quenched any hopes of a renewal of their former intimacy. He had bragged before to his compatriots of his royal exploits, and so now, embarrassed, he spread rumors of the princess’s haughtiness and disdain for a simple soldier. “She didn’t know how good she had it,” he told them.

  Before dawn the next morning, Princess Lavendier left her tent and went to the stables, where Melcant feigned to the stable-boys that he was an ordinary dumb beast. She saddled him and they departed, with only the watchmen awake to see her thunder away over the horizon, and in no time at all, the great red city of Drian rose out of the iridescent ground and glistened in the mid-day sun. The round domes of Korem Palace gleamed with streaks of vermillion, and the city walls were pale red sand-stone, ruby spires and brick smokestacks peaking into the cobalt sky.

  She was home.

  Lavendier rode up to the great gate of Drian, with its teal paint pealed and tarnished, and the gate-keeper hailed her, his gray dwarfish head sticking up above the bulwark.

  “I am Princess Lavendier, ridden a great distance to bring tidings to her brother, King Trinian of Drian!”

  “Have you a pass to enter the city?” inquired Graybeard.

  “No, we have never needed one before. Why should I have one now?”

  “All t’citizens of Drian are required t’have passes t’exit and enter the city, by order of the steward. Withoutun, I canno let you in.”

  “But I am the Princess Lavendier. This is my home! I have an urgent message for my brother.”

  The dwarf, however, was firm and would not open the gate. Lavendier felt her weary heart swell with fear and panic.

  “Please! Go to my brother and tell him that I am here. He can come and look at me, and he will grant me entrance!”

  “The king istno here right now.”

  “I know that. I mean my brother Afias.”

  “He istno here right now.”

  Her panic grew, but then Melcant spoke quietly under his breath, so the man on the wall would not hear him. “Is there no one else in the city who would recognize you?” asked the horse. “No one besides your brothers in a seat of power?”

  “Astren. Astren would recognize me.” She raised her voice. “Is Lord Astren here?”

  “He is. He ist master of the city.”

  “Please send him this message, ‘The Princess Lavendier has arrived and requests entrance into the city with tidings of terrible weight.’”

  “I wilt tell him, but your answer mayno take a long while.”

  It did, in fact, take until the next morning. Lavendier and Melcant sat without the city gates within sight of her home, unable to enter or communicate with anyone. The importance of her message nearly drove the princess mad: to have sped with all haste, traversed the land in two days time, only to be thwarted by her own people! She spent all her time calling up to Graybeard and demanding to see Astren.

  Astren came out to her at mid-morning of the fourth day since they had ridden out from the oasis, when the sun was already high in the sky. He came out with a retinue of soldiers and servants, and even two of his hunting dogs. He was regally robed in red velvet and green satin, and a few servants preceded him to erect a tent for their meeting.

  He insisted she wait while everything was prepared by servants - “it’s protocol,” he told her – and Lavendier bit her tongue impatiently, reminding herself that he was ignorant of her message, and could not understand the urgency. Not until they were comfortably seated on cushions, and Astren had offered the princess a glass of wine, which she anxiously refused, did he allow her a moment to speak.

  “My lord,” she said, “you cannot know the distance I have traveled with all haste to bring you an urgent message from the Queen and her captain.”

  “Is this message, then, of a military nature?” asked Astren.

  “It is.”

  “Then such a matter must come before the council. I will escort you to the throne room myself.”

  She stopped him as he stood up from his portable chair to ask anxiously after her brothers. He told her of Trinian’s needless journey abroad to seek for allies, and how Afias was safely in South Drian, ruling the people there, and her chest relaxed, the tightness easing out of it. Her brothers were alive and well.

  Astren gave her his arm, and led her in state through the streets of Drian. Perhaps he expected her to compliment them on their fast recovery, or marvel at the majesty of the place after being absent so long, for he looked at her with an expectant, and then an aggrieved air, but Lavendier was only relieved to be home at last, and to hand off the importance of her communication to capable hands. She nearly pranced with impatience to meet the council.

  Melcant plodded patiently behind, guided by one of the stable hands.

  The aged council – men who had always sat around the table but whom she had never truly looked at before – sat about their business in the throne room, concluding their mid-morning meal and discussing the financial logistics of moving the Healory closer to the habitable regions of the city. They had just decided against such an extravagant policy in favor of the fact that the current location of the Healory was closer to the palace; “and after all,” they reflected, “why disrupt the system?”

  The wise council leaned back in their seats, filled with good food and calm complacency, and they were very pleased to see such a pretty, fresh face enter the room, even if it was muddy and tousled. They received her with a blend of grandfatherly affection and royal grace, hardly recognizing the proud woman who used, in extravagant dress, makeup, and coronets, to disrupt their meetings.

  They put her in her former seat but she did not sit down. With a force of passion and relief, she let out the entire story, bequeathing it into their capable hands.

  100

  In the Grace of the Monarch

  Lavendier erupted in anger from the throne room and fled to the royal gardens, where she stormed up and down the large lawn. According to her wishes, the stable boy had left Melcant tied up there, and he lay in repose beneath an apple tree, watching her.

  She whirled on him. “What can I do?” she demanded. “They’re idiots. They don’t believe me.” Her heart tightened: saying it aloud did not make their complacency any more understandable, and she growled between clenched teeth, looking like a tiger about to bite off the head of a complacent rabbit.

  Melcant stood slowly, wearily, and in self-chastisement, she noticed for the first time how utterly exhausted he was. His sweat had dried upon him in lathers and his whole underside was caked with mud. Through the entire journey, he had never slept, and now the fatigue was washing over him. He came over and gently caressed her cheek.

  “Bathe,” he said, “rest. I can hardly look at you but my heart breaks. In all the time I have known you, you have never looked so tired. When you are yourself again, you will think of a way.”

  Now her heart warmed and she wrapped her arms around him. “And you look no better. Come, I will set you up in the stables
first. You deserve a good rubbing down.”

  When they arrived in the warm, fragrant stalls, Lavendier had a moment of difficulty with the stable master, who did not recognize her without any of her royal finery, but when she gave the new password, which Astren had graciously communicated to her, he apologized profusely and offered to take Melcant to his stall and rub him down personally. Lavendier, who would have preferred to care for her friend herself, saw in his eyes that he wanted her to rest, for he knew she would not have been able to even lift the brush, let alone wipe him down to comfort.

  So the princess made her tired way to her own chambers, which she found closed up and inaccessible. This caused another moment of intense annoyance, but she curbed it, and looking round for a maid, found the housekeeper, who did immediately recognize her, and had a moment of intense panic, believing that the entire royal family had returned without warning. But when Lavendier put her mind to rest on that point, the good woman immediately began preparing the princess’s room. As Lavendier was very patient, which pleasantly surprised the housekeeper and warmed her toward the princess who had before been so selfish and demanding, she lost no time in laying out the bed, and soon had Lavendier washed, fed, and sound asleep between soft covers.

  * * *

  Lavendier awakened sweetly to the trilling of birds, and for a moment, believed she was lying on the plains of paradise. Then reality returned, and she arose in a panic, but it is difficult to startle upright in a lush and comfortable bed, so that she felt like a lost sailor struggling to shore as she thrashed about between the sheets. The maid heard her and entered.

  “Are you alright, my lady?”

  “Oh yes!” said Lavendier blushing, and sitting down, defeated, on the edge, “just out of my element, I suppose.”

  The maid smiled, and taking her hand, helped her down. “First things first,” she said, in a wholesome, practical way, “we must get you clothed and fed, and dressed to face the day.”

  Lavendier felt relief as she looked into those friendly brown eyes. She had never before appreciated this joyful, round-faced maid who had waited cheerfully on her for years, but now she valued the outlook that she must take each moment as it comes. She would dress and eat, and then she would go back to the steward and this time, convince him of the impending threat. With new resolution, she donned one of her favorite gowns – which was less elaborately fancy than she once used to wear, but still be-decked with floral patterns and a sweeping train – and the finery made her feel a little better, more confident, and more herself.

  As she ate her breakfast, pondering the problem of how to make Astren believe her, Lavendier went out onto her balcony that overlooked the city, and in the light of the new day, she suddenly noticed the terrible desolation of the siege. Piles of untended rubble stood sentry over the roads, spires and towers she remembered standing proud against the sky were nowhere to be seen, and the very road beneath her feet was riddled with pits. To her virgin sight, she noticed nothing of the steps that had already been taken to restore the beauty she so fondly remembered, but saw and mourned for the brokenness and ugliness.

  A figure on the road below her, climbing up the incline toward the palace, caught her attention, and she looked twice, doubting her sight. Trinian’s former best friend, Trigent, was making his way to the palace, and surprised, she called out to him, and he pulled up short in astonishment.

  “Wait there a moment,” she commanded. “I will come down to you.”

  “Princess Lavendier,” the words rolled with difficulty from his lips when she met him on the road, and he gave an awkward bow. In their youth, he had always known her as Laven, and in those days, he never enjoyed speaking her name. Now, trapped before her, it was clear he was courteous to her only as a princess and a lady, and that he yearned to brush past and hurry on.

  She stood awkwardly before him, not sure what to say, but he was a familiar face, and a link to her family, and she desperately wished to speak with him. “How are you?” she said.

  Trigent’s eyebrows went up, and in confusion, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and boyishly balanced himself on one leg. Then, realizing how he must appear, quickly erected himself. “I am fine. Thank you. Your highness. I am on my way to see Lord Astren. We have an appointment.”

  She blinked in surprise, but carefully did not show it in her expression. “Oh. I am on my way there now. Would you care to accompany me?”

  He bowed his head and extended his arm, and they walked down the path together. But Lavendier’s courage failed her after that, for he was so quiet, and she blushed to realize how he must remember her. So she turned her mind to think how she would convince Astren.

  The steward was busy concluding another appointment before his meeting with Trigent, and he had no room in his schedule that morning for Lavendier. But she was a princess, and he could not turn her away, so he only ignored her presence as she entered the chamber. None of the other councilors were in the room.

  The steward was meeting with Cartnol, the general in command of Drian’s army during Phestite’s absence, and the general and steward spoke in moderated tones, only the vague echoes of their speech reverberating from the walls and columns of the room; when at last they parted, Cartnol strode from the chamber with a brisk, hasty step and Astren made a gesture for Trigent to approach. But Lavendier, not caring how rude or hasty she appeared, leapt up and preceded the farmer.

  Confused and uncomfortable, Trigent stood back waiting, and Astren listened to her with a resigned sigh. She put her case before him as she had the day before, detailing the coming attack, warning him of the enemy’s quick approach, and chastising him that even if she were wrong, it were criminal not to be prepared. But Astren was immovable. He told her he did not believe in Drakans, and furthermore, he did not believe the enemy had gorgans left to take the city. Lavendier explained how she had heard the voices of men – that perhaps Kelta had emptied itself to raid Drian. But he only shook his head. Why would Kelta attack through Drakans, when they might descend straight down the Rordan? It was unthinkable, he insisted, and he did not have time to listen to such talk. His tone angered her, for it implied that she was a petty child who had ridden all that way under the delusion of a fantasy. Realizing that he was only listening to her to humor her, and nothing she could say would convince him, she returned to the long table and sat wringing her hands and furrowing her brow, ready to weep with frustration.

  Now Trigent approached Astren who, being more irritated than usual, smiled all the more brightly, and made Trigent uncomfortable. The young man shuffled his feet, and looked back at Lavendier.

  “Well,” said Astren, “Let us talk about farming. Have you better news for me than the princess?”

  Trigent turned at the steward, well knowing his love of gossip, and inquired, “What was the princess’s news? Nothing too serious, I hope?”

  It was such that, since Trinian had departed, Trigent had gained access to the throne room by telling the steward he was there to advise him about the outlying farms, per Trinian’s request. Since Astren loved bureaucracy and all things procedural, he had been happy to listen to anything Trigent wanted to ask his opinions about. But Astren loved gossip even better than protocol, and Trigent had learned many things in their discussions together.

  “She thinks the enemy is sending soldiers through Drakans, if you can believe it. She thinks we will be under attack within the week.”

  “I thought she was sent far away,” ventured Trigent. “How far did she ride to deliver this news?”

  “I do not know. But she was always rather spoiled, so she is not to be taken seriously.” Then they talked about crops, livestock, and farmland. When at last the tedious, pointless conversation ended, Trigent approached Lavendier.

  “My Lady,” he said, and she looked up in surprise. “Can we speak?”

  Her face brightened. Yes, she very much wanted to speak to someone, anyone, who would listen. Stuck inside her own thoughts, she was only going roun
d in circles. She led him to the Royal Gardens, and there they followed the winding paths.

  “You brother wanted me to keep an eye on matters of state in his absence,” said Trigent after a moment.

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “He did? That makes me feel better. Astren will not listen to me, and I am at a loss what to do. Are you authorized to command an army? Did my brother appoint you for that?”

  “I am not sure,” he said sheepishly. “My appointment is more of a secret than not.” He felt like he was in a dream, having this conversation with the empty-headed sister of Trinian. But she was not simpering or batting her eyelashes now, and he found himself ready to believe her story.

  She let out a quick breath. “Oh, we need the army! Or this city will fall.”

  She stopped suddenly and faced him, taking him aback with the seriousness of her gaze. “The god of Karaka is going to attack again, but Drian has had no warning of the army’s approach, so they have made no preparations. Lord Astren will not believe me that they are coming. But they are coming, and if they do, Drian will suffer even more than she has already.” Her sincerity was both genuine and gripping, and it drew him in. “Our people will all die, and our leaders, all unprepared, will have no choice but to stand by, watch, and be slaughtered themselves.”

  His face was impassive, and he said, “Alright. Go on. How do you know they will attack?”

  “I have traveled through the enemy’s lands, and I have heard it straight from his soldiers.”

  “You – what?”

  “Yes, it is true. They will travel through the shadowlands.”

  “Well, I…I see why Lord Astren did not believe you.”

  Lavendier sighed and turned angrily away, chastising herself for not finding a more convincing way to tell the tale.

  “No, no! You misunderstand: I believe you.” She looked at him in surprise, her brown eyes flooded with hope. He was surprised too, and looked at her quizzically. “You are so different now. Not at all as you were before.”