Trinian

by Elizabeth Russell

  She nodded. “I know. And what I told Lord Astren is true. Drian will fall if we do nothing.”

  “Can you not command the army?”

  Lavendier caught her breath. “Can I?”

  “I believe you outrank Lord Astren.”

  “This is why I need help. I need someone to advise me on the law. I am royalty, but with no idea how to be royal.”

  “I will help you, though I know no more than you. King Trinian left Lord Astren in command of the city, and you cannot simply undermine the command of the king. But perhaps we can get around that. I do have authority from Trinian, so we can use that if need be. But to take control of the army, I might have to stage a coup, and it seems that that would take too much time.” He thought for a moment. “Come with me.”

  Trigent led Lavendier to the Library of Korem, a chamber she had never visited in the five years she lived there, where they approached the scholar in the dark building who sat behind his desk.

  “We need the files on royal protocols,” said Trigent.

  “Those are in the deepest undercroft, where we keep the Scrolls of the Ages. No one needs those,” said the ancient scholar dismissively.

  “We do,” said Trigent, “This is the Princess Makopola of Drian, and she requests them.”

  It was the first time Lavendier had heard her full title used in an official capacity, and it awed her: the full importance of her position impressing itself upon her in its totality. ‘Makopola’ meant she was the eldest princess, and it had been used at her coronation. She had only ever thought of it as another proof of her pretty importance, but now she understood that it could bequeath her power and credibility, and that she was not merely another princess.

  The scholar was sufficiently impressed, and led them deep into the bowels of the undercroft where they obtained scrolls on royal law and protocol. Returning to the palace, they poured over them in detail, and eventually, after hours of searching, Lavendier found it. The law read, “If any member of the Royal family, sharing at that time in the grace of the Ruling Monarch, chooses to override an official of the Monarch’s appointment, he or she may do so, as long as the override is temporary and of monumental importance, and the Monarch is notified of the override as soon as possible. Without such deferments, the over-rider is subject to receive the full measure of the Monarch’s displeasure.”

  “Yes,” said Trigent, “we have found our answer, my lady.” Since the garden, the tone with which he addressed her was formal and deeply respectful. “You are a member of the Royal family, in the grace of the king, and this matter is of ‘monumental importance.’ And you have no intentions of keeping this from your brother.”

  “Well, I am not so sure,” said Lavendier guiltily.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When my brother sent me away, I used harsh words against him, and he chided me. We fought as no brother and sister should. I am not sure I am truly in his good grace.”

  Trigent smiled at her. “Your scrupulosity does you credit, and I cannot get over how different of a person you are. But, my princess, siblings often fight, and he sent you away for your own protection – not in banishment or public disfavor. You need have no fear regarding that stipulation of the document.”

  Lavendier smiled in relief, and took a deep breath. “Very well,” she said, “so then.”

  101

  Princess Makopola Lavendier of Drian

  Lavender appointed Trigent as her personal squire, and their first action was to dispatch a messenger, with one guard to accompany him, into the wilds of Drian to find Trinian and bring him home. Then Trigent advised her to place her faith in General Cartnol. “I have heard him in conference with Lord Astren. He is faithful to Trinian and seems to hold the safety of Drian as his closest interest.”

  When she sent for him – which was what Trigent instructed her to do, for he had said that “a princess must not walk amongst the barracks of boisterous soldiers. She must protect her reputation above all else to maintain respect from the men;” – the general came immediately.

  She received him in the palace sitting room, which had been only recently opened and aired-out for her use, and he knelt before her. “My Lady, your highness, my princess,” he stumbled over his words, out of his element in a fine sitting room before an elegant lady.

  “General,” she said, “there is an army approaching from Karaka to attempt, once more, to conquer Drian.”

  “My Lady?”

  “Lord Astren does not believe it and will not mobilize the army. But it is true and the army must be mobilized.”

  The general looked at her a long moment in confusion. “Your highness, if what you say is true…”

  “It is true.”

  “How do you know it?”

  “I have it on good authority. I have been through Karaka; I have crossed those watery plains and climbed the mountains beyond. I have been through terror, death, and life again to discover this news and bring it back to Drian. I did not know, when I left the city, why I was sent away, but I see now that all along greater powers guided my paths. And yet here I return miraculously, it seems, from beyond the realm of men, to deliver a message that can save our city, and I encounter doubt and disloyalty in the council. It is not to my liking that I must go over their heads, but it is my intention, for I am determined to save the city.”

  Suddenly Lord Astren, having heard that the princess had summoned the head general to her chambers, and fearing the consequences of her rash actions, burst into the room, his kindly face discomposed with helpless, raging alarm as he glared at her from beneath raised brows. “Princess Lavendier, have you no respect for the council?”

  “Lord Astren,” said Lavendier, “I have called General Cartnol here in order to protect–”

  “If you go against the council, you are battling forces with which you cannot reckon. This council has stood for two hundred years and a pretty girl with an ancient title is not going to upheave its authority in the space of two days.”

  “Authority is irrelevant if an enemy truly marches upon our city!”

  “Enemy! There is no enemy! We have heard nothing, we have seen nothing, and no army marches through a dead shadow land!” He was a confused old man, trying to ignore things he could not understand, and desperate to retain his grip on what he did. He was not insensible to the fear of an approaching army – on the contrary, that fear consumed and drove him, so that he refused to accept the truth of Lavendier’s warnings. If there really were an army approaching, it would be his duty to muster and send out forces against it, but he quaked before such a duty. He nestled into the fantasy that it was far more likely that no threat approached, and his anger and denial grew with each attempt to prove him wrong, so that he now felt as if there was a personal vendetta arranged against him. “We shall see how many people in this city believe you and listen. You will lead a skeleton of a contingent, and you will face nothing. And when your brother returns –”

  “He will applaud and praise you, your highness, for your circumspect foresight.” General Cartnol stood and faced the steward. “Lord Astren, you have ruled this country well for fifty years, and thus I am inclined to believe that you are not maliciously planning its downfall. Be that as it may, the royal family has first power in this land. And as general of the king’s army, I will personally see to it that every soldier of the land follows Princess Makapola Lavendier to war. You would do well not to stand in her way.”

  Lavendier shone with pride, gratitude, and hope, and said kindly, “I will keep the council apprised of my actions.”

  A broken, depressed man, shaken in his power yet unable to relinquish his stubborn perceptions, Lord Astren shuffled from the room. He had no practice in changing the way he saw the world, and it was too late for him now.

  As soon as he was gone, Lavendier turned to Cartnol. “I have already sent for Trinian, but he will not return in time.”

  “I am sure he will return as soon as possible.”

&nb
sp; “But will it be soon enough? Does anyone have news of Prince Afias?”

  “Only Astren would have that information, my lady.”

  “Then Trigent, you must get it. Follow him.” Trigent bowed, and hurried out.

  An hour later, her squire at last returned accompanied by a tall, thin companion with long legs. “My lady, this man Horans carries the news you seek. Lord Astren would not speak to me, but when this man arrived, he sent him to you.”

  Horans bowed deeply, impressed at being received by such a fair princess. “My lady, I carry a message from Prince Afias. It runs this: ‘I remain in South Drian, Lord Steward, for now, at your bidding. But my heart yearns to return home. Lady Adrea and I are engaged, and we await your blessing. Should you or my brother need us, we are at your disposal.’”

  Tears actually sprang to Lavendier’s eyes on hearing the words of her brother. She and Afias had always been bitter antagonists, their mutual stubbornness a flickering fire upon which they piled constant fuel, but nevertheless, he was her home. Despite her rebellion and ill-repute, he had always given her a rook to live under, and hearing his words, vicariously delivered, brought him so near she felt she could touch him. “When do you return to him?”

  “First thing in the morning, my lady, with your response.”

  She nodded, swallowing her tears. “Very well. You will say this: ‘Message from Princess Makopola Lavendier. I am returned to Drian to save her from a dire fate. Drian is about to be overrun by the enemy, and I have not the forces to drive him back alone. I have sent for Trinian, but still, it is not enough, and he is absent. Return, dear brother, and meet the enemy from the rear. They will not expect it. When you arrive, we will already be at war.”

  XVI

  TERROR

  “Do not be afraid; our fate

  Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.”

  - Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

  102

  The Third Battle for Drian

  The Army of Drian stood in the outer courtyard of the Palace of Korem between the barred, wooden, red gates of the Drinian city wall and the iron barred gates of the palace. They awaited the appearance of their general and wondered amongst themselves how a woman, the princess Lavendier, none the less, whom they all knew by ill-repute, could possibly lead them to victory.

  Suddenly, a great white horse appeared on the brow of the swell, climbing with slow and regal steps to the drawbridge, alone and flashing in the sunlight. A rider, clad in the gold of the fields and the blue of the sky, colored over with the blue and silver armor of Drian, and adorned with a silver crown of fourteen stars, sat astride him.

  “Behold!” cried the voice of Trigent, riding beside Lavendier as her squire, and holding aloft the blue, gold, and white banner of Drian, “the Maid of Drian! Princess Makapola Lavendier!”

  “Brothers!” cried the voice of Lavendier, carrying over the heads of the army, ringing in the ears of every man, stronger, braver, and nobler than they could have imagined any woman’s voice. “I call you here today to face an enemy you all know, you all have fought, and you all have cast down. I call you here today because once again he threatens our city, and once again, we must safeguard our homes and our families.” The army was bent forward, listening intently. “My brother our king returns here to lead us, but the enemy is swifter, and outdistances him. Who will lead you against these bloodthirsty, relentless hordes? Who but a member of the Royal Family of Drian? I, Princess Makopola Lavendier, claim today the right to defend my home, my people, my country, and to wage war against the evil god!”

  “Once…our city fell,” she said, with emotion, “but never again!” and here, at last, the men cheered. They cheered for their country, and they cheered for their homes, and they cheered for the heartache they determined never to feel again. “We won back our country, we will conquer again!” Cheers. “We will conquer for Drian, and for our king, and for our gods!” Cheers drowned any further speech. They were cheering their coming and past victories, their Royal Family, and somehow, the age-old concept of the gods broke through into their minds, and they cheered for that. They cheered for a victory for something greater than themselves.

  When it at last subsided, she continued, with Trigent lifting high the banner, “Remember, brothers. Today, I ask you to remember. Remember your wives and your children; remember your sisters and mothers. Remember your love of your city. Remember!” The thundering roar was deafening. “We will fight with the steadfastness of the midday sky; with the brilliance of the ripe golden fields; we will conquer and there will be the whiteness of victory upon that field today! We will conquer!” Forgotten then were any ill-thoughts of the princess, for who she had been no longer mattered to them, but only that she would lead them in victory against the enemy. And the cheers that erupted stormed the skies above, ringing and reverberating against the red walls, so that when the army of the enemy emerged from the land of shadows, it was greeted by a great, concerted roar that seemed to be the wails of a million blood-thirsty souls.

  * * *

  The soldiers of Kelta, weak and trembling from their journey, reared back at the noise. Their march through the land of ghosts had been harrowing, maddening, a veritable journey through hell, so that their nerves were driven to a pitch, and now they threw up their weapons in the brilliant sunlight before an invisible army.

  And that might have been the end, before there was even a beginning, so great was their superstition, had Farsooth not kept his head and retained his deep fear of Power, for he was afraid of no ghosts or ghouls – only the shadowy presence of Power, which consumed him and drove all his actions. Therefore, he seized his own weapon, and when the cries of the Drian soldiers lessened, he screamed at his men that what they heard was but the cries of flesh and blood, of an unseen but not unreachable army, an army that had revealed itself to its approaching enemy – revealed its numbers and intensity.

  “Pick up your swords, you cowards! Do you fear men – flesh and blood men? Do you fear spirits, when you are backed by the greatest spirit of all, filling you with power and strength beyond this world? You are cowards, you are women! We are faced with an army of great number, but we are fourteen hundred strong! Prove yourselves and nerve yourselves!”

  * * *

  Lavendier was determined that the battle take place nowhere near the homes of the city. She marched her army outside the city gates and to the plains of Drian. Her home had once been defiled with the carcasses of beasts – but never again. The city would remain safe and clean, a beacon beckoning the victorious men back into her waiting arms.

  The morning shone bright in her heart as she sent out the fist charge, protected from above by a rain of spears, and her men acquitted themselves beyond her wildest hopes. They decimated Farsooth’s first wave, rising victorious out of the first clash.

  Through it all, she attributed nothing to their own merit. She did not think, for even a second, that it was her passion which drove her men above and beyond, and when the second volley of the enemy soldiers raced toward them, and she released her own second wave, the Drinians again returned to her victorious. So it went on through the morning and afternoon of that first day.

  She observed all from the rear of the army, coordinating the soirees on a strategy board, and holding back most of the army for the final conflict, for Cartnol had warned her that eventually, Farsooth would launch an all-out attack.

  “He wants us to exhaust ourselves the first few days, my lady, but we cannot fall for such a cheap trick.”

  “I thought that in the first battle for Drian the entire army attacked at once?”

  He had nodded. “The enemy was confident of himself then – he thought Drian would be easy prey to his onslaught – and sadly, he was correct. For then, he had more soldiers than he does now, and besides that, they were gorgans. This – an army of almost equal size – is a different game, your highness.”

  * * *

  From their black seats in Power’s palace, the evil
gods noticed the princess’s advantage on the field, for they were watching all through an enchanted mirror on the wall. At the beginning of the conflict, they had rejoiced in an easy victory, but now, they sat forward nervously on their seats, biting their nails.

  “Is this how you train your warriors?” cried Terror, foaming at the mouth, his habitual grin turned to a sneer. Destruction kicked the wall, caved in a portion of the chamber, and screamed in fury.

  Power was white with rage, and he turned it against his brothers. “If I could cross that river, I’d show them how it is done. Ah!” he cried, clutching his chest as if he had a heart and it were wringing itself inside of him with impatience, “where is that demi-god? If I could but take his birthright, I would know how to control these petty Keltians!”

  “Why don’t you lead this fight yourself?” taunted Destruction. “Why are you so afraid of Rordan?”

  Power whirled on him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You feared him plenty when he was turned against you!”

  “Time is almost up, Power,” said Passion softly. “What have you to lose by facing a minor god? The Golden King is almost here, and you cannot prevent his coming unless you own Drian. You have dragged us all into your deadly bargain – if Trinian does not kill you first, I will. I swear I will. Face Rordan – put him in his place!”

  After one hate-filled glance at all of them, Power stormed from the chamber, draining himself as he dragged his heavy, half-mortal form through the air, pushing toward the river bordering Drian. The gods cheered and goaded and egged him on, and they followed to watch.

  103

  The Choice of Heaven

  Rordan was waiting for Power. He stood on the watery divide, his mighty bulk soaring to the skies, his thick legs taller than the trees, his beard rippling to meet the water that rushed at his feet.