by R. J. Grieve
As he spoke, the door opened to admit Naldian and the truant. Relisar’s gown was liberally smudged with dust and ink and he bore the long-suffering expression of someone who had been dragged away from something interesting much against his will.
Naldian was the picture of tolerant amusement. “Apparently your companion here does not appreciate the honour conferred on him by an invitation to dine with the King.”
Relisar looked so disgruntled that they all laughed, but Celedorn, watching the old man closely, thought that beneath it all he looked troubled.
“There’s no time to spruce him up,” Naldian said. “He will have to come as he is. Fortunately this is not a formal dinner - just the King and the old Queen.”
As they followed the Captain along the endless, richly-embellished corridors, Celedorn fell into step beside Relisar, allowing the others to draw a little ahead.
“Something is troubling you?” he asked.
Relisar looked up, startled. “How did you know?”
“Instinct.”
“As usual, your intuition is correct. I have discovered something that troubles me greatly but I cannot speak of it now, not in front of Captain Naldian. We will discuss it later.”
Naldian ushered the guests into the long hall where they had first met the King. As the night was warm and sultry, the tall windows stood open to the terrace. Golden candlesticks shaped like coiled serpents, the candles resting on their hooded heads, cast a warm glow along the length of the dining table. The King arose to greet them, his hand held out to Andarion, a smile of pleasure on his face. When he greeted Triana, his eyes rested on her with a strange, predatory look that might have been hunger, before he lifted her hand to his lips. Triana flushed uncomfortably and chose the seat at the table furthest away from him, beside Celedorn.
The only other person present in the hall was the old Queen, who sat at the King’s right hand. Her silver hair, flowing over her black velvet gown, was held by a diadem studded with jet. Although there was a place set for dining in front of her, she touched nothing. Each course was removed untasted. Instead, she listened to their conversation, turning her sightless eyes towards each speaker in turn, saying nothing. One other person at the table also said nothing. Celedorn, too, watched all that went on but contributed not a syllable, content to keep his own counsel.
As the candles burnt low in their holders and the evening drew to a close, Andarion addressed the King. “Sire, your hospitality to us has been unmatched and on behalf of myself and my companions, I would like to thank you for your kindness and generosity. However, all good things come to an end and unfortunately my presence is urgently required in Eskendria. It is with regret that I must inform you that we intend to take our departure tomorrow. If ever the Turog are defeated and times change, I extend an invitation to you to come to Eskendria as my guest.”
Silence greeted his speech. One of the candles, caught in the soft breeze from the window, guttered, causing a bead of wax to run down the serpent’s back.
“Is this how you repay my hospitality?” the King asked coldly, his eyes as black as the night beyond the windows. “When you have no further need of it, you cast it aside.”
“No, not at all, Sire,” Relisar replied placatingly. “If time were not so pressing, nothing would delight us more than to linger, but the Prince has explained to you the threat facing Eskendria and he must return as quickly as possible. We have stayed here longer than we intended simply because you have been so kind.”
The King’s lip curled. “Eskendria? One petty little province of a once great kingdom, whose petty little governors have stolen the title of king. I attach very little importance to it.”
Andarion’s eyes flashed with anger but he was no fool and held his temper in check, aware that the speech had been intended to provoke. “As you wish. But Eskendria is important to me and I must return.”
A sinister expression crossed the King’s features and his hooded eyes became blacker and more reptilian. “There is perhaps something that you do not yet know about the Kingdom of Adamant,” he remarked silkily. “No one ever leaves it. The penalty for those who attempt to do so is death. In all its one thousand years of existence, no one has ever left and you will not be the first.” He looked around all the silent faces. “I present you all with a choice. You may remain here willingly as my guests, enjoying a life of privilege and ease, or you may stay unwillingly, as my prisoners - a life not quite so comfortable. Disabuse yourselves of any notion that you might have of deceiving me. No one can deceive me, or have you forgotten my mother’s very singular gift? If one of you even strays towards the curtain of adamant, you will all be executed, is that clear?”
When he received no reply he continued: “You have until midnight tomorrow to let me know your decision. Will it be a palace or a prison? The choice is yours.” His eyes came to rest on Triana. “Except for you. A prison is not the proper setting for such beauty. You will stay with me as long as it amuses me to keep you. For the moment you may return to your quarters with your friends but at midnight tomorrow you will move to ......ah......more fitting accommodation.”
Triana said nothing but her eyes dropped to the table before the King’s rapier look. She was trembling with fear. Unobtrusively, Celedorn gripped her hand under the table and for some reason she was comforted a little.
When still no one spoke, the King said: “You do not seem entirely surprised.”
Andarion lifted his chin imperiously. “A very wise woman recently told me not to trust that everything is as it appears to be. I have not your mother’s power to read minds but the revelation of your true nature comes not so much as a surprise to me as a disappointment.” He arose to his feet, realising that expostulation would be useless. Deliberately he did not bow to the King. “You will forgive me if your hospitality begins to taste a little sour. We will return to our quarters now. I bid you goodnight.”
The others arose and followed him from the room without a backward glance. When they had gone, the old Queen laid a fragile hand on her son’s arm. “He has made you angry, my son, but don’t be. He is not the real danger - it is the old man. He has discovered our secret. I can see it in his mind. Without a doubt they will attempt to flee, but only he has the power to open the curtain of adamant. He must die, my son, they all must.”
She sensed him open his lips to speak and forestalled him. “Keep the golden-haired girl if you wish but the others must not be allowed to live. I will be glad to see the dark one die, for he broods on my mind like a black cloud.”
“You still cannot read him?”
“No, I tried again tonight, but his thoughts are closed, however, without the old Sage, even he is helpless to leave this kingdom. Seize the old man and you render them powerless.”
In another part of the palace a council of war was being held.
The Prince was not convinced he had handled the interview well. “I should not have so naively declared our intention of leaving,” he said bitterly. “If we had led him to believe that we were content to stay longer, then it would have been easier to have slipped away unnoticed.”
Elorin disagreed. “None of us could have predicted such an extreme reaction. He always seemed reluctant to see us go, but it never entered my mind that he would threaten us with death.”
They were in Triana’s room. She had remained aloof from the discussion and was sitting on the bed shivering. “I will not go to him,” she asserted vehemently. “I would rather die with all of you in an escape attempt, than face such a fate. I will not. I will take my own life.”
The Prince crossed to her and clasped her hand. “Don’t be afraid, Triana, the King thinks he has us in a trap but we have several advantages he does not know about. Celedorn has horses ready for us in the city and Relisar can open the curtain of adamant. Don’t forget that we never explained to him how we got through it. He will learn that he cannot hold us against our will.”
But Relisar was not so confident. “The old woma
n was again probing my mind tonight. She tried to creep into it by stealth, like a thief, but I detected her presence. However, I do not think I have quite Celedorn’s talent for denying her. I am not exactly sure what she learned.”
“We should assume that she discovered your abilities with the curtain of adamant,” said Celedorn.
“I tried my best to deny my mind to her but I am not sure I succeeded. I was particularly anxious that she should not read my thoughts in view of what I discovered today.” Relisar paused and looked at all the expectant faces. “As usual, when I repaired to the library this morning I began to discuss with the librarian - a capital fellow, by the way - all the areas of knowledge I was interested in. I told him that I was particularly keen to find out anything the library contained about the three Orders. He led me to a side chamber where some ancient scrolls were kept in an old cabinet. The room was very dusty because it is hardly ever used any more - interest in the Orders being somewhat slight here. He gave me a manuscript which suggested that a remnant of the Order of the Flower had established a monastery in the woods to the south of here, but a page seemed to be missing and rather than disturbing my friend, I looked in the cabinet myself to see if I could find it - but I found something totally unexpected instead. At the bottom of the cabinet, hidden behind many old books, mouldy and rotten with age, obviously not read for centuries, I found a journal - a diary.” He drew his breath shakily. “It was the journal of Tissro the Wanderer and contained his personal account of his last journey. In it he recounted how he had left the city of Korem and travelled northwards until he came to the lands in the lordship of the House of Parth. There he was received with honour and all at first seemed well, until quite by chance, he discovered something that was to cost him his life. The house had made a pact with the Destroyer that if they used their black arts to spiritually attack and weaken the Brotherhood of the Sword, in order to pave the way for the Destroyer’s invasion of the Old Kingdom, their house would be spared.”
The Prince’s face was pale with shock. “They betrayed us,” he whispered. “The House of Parth betrayed their own kind to the Destroyer.”
“Yes,” confirmed Relisar sadly. “While the Brotherhood of the Sword was weakened and distracted, fighting the demons conjured up by the traitors, the Destroyer attacked and the Old Kingdom fell - all except Eskendria. Tissro found out about this dreadful plot and intended to warn the High King, but even in those days the women of Parth had the power to penetrate minds and he was discovered.”
“Do you realise what you are saying?” said Celedorn sharply.
“I am saying that King Morthren is of the House of Parth. I am saying that the Kingdom of Adamant exists with the leave of the Destroyer. I am saying that the traitors survived while all else fell.” He stood up agitatedly and began to pace the room. “I should have seen it before. The winged serpent, symbol of the House of Parth, is everywhere in this kingdom - even to the very candlesticks that were on the table tonight. I should have realised it sooner. And yes, before you ask, the old woman has inherited the power of her ancestors.” He steadied himself for a moment before continuing. “Tissro’s journal broke off suddenly, in fact, in mid-sentence. The last page was blotted with something that might have been ink, or might have been blood. I sat long, staring at that journal, deeply disturbed by what I had discovered, as the day around me grew old and the shadows began to fall like ghosts. Finally I must have dozed off because Tissro came to me in a dream. “My blood was spilled by the House of Parth,” he told me. “Treachery and murder are tools that fit easily in their hands, but they must not succeed again. Save my kin, Relisar. I lay it upon you, save my kin.”
“What did he mean?” Triana asked.
“I must save all of you. You are his kin because you are of the light as he was. Somehow, I must save you.”
“Then we must leave now,” said the Prince decisively. “We cannot delay another hour. We must get down to the tavern where the horses are stabled and ride like the wind for the border. Once there, Relisar will indeed save us by opening the curtain of adamant.” He noticed the look on Celedorn’s face. “You do not agree?”
“What troubles me is that we do not appear to be watched or restrained in any way. I would at the very least have expected a guard to be placed on our rooms, but there is no sign of one. I do not find this reassuring, for it suggests that the King has some other method in mind to prevent us leaving. He is not a fool and must be expecting us to attempt to escape. So why are we being left alone like this?”
“Are you suggesting that we sit around waiting to find out what he has in mind?” asked Andarion with some asperity.
“No. An attempt must be made and by reacting so quickly, we might just catch him off balance. We should pack up our belongings and meet back here in a few minutes.”
They all nodded agreement and departed to their respective rooms. When they assembled a short time later in Triana’s room, Relisar, as usual, was missing.
The Prince threw up his hands in despair. “He is probably sitting in his room with one shoe on and the other shoe off and his nose stuck in a book, having forgotten completely the reason why he was in the room in the first place,” he declared, in a masterly summary of Relisar’s character. “I’ll go and fetch him.”
However, when he returned a few moments later he looked alarmed. “He’s gone. His room is empty. His belongings are all there but - well, it’s difficult to tell because his room is always in chaos - but there appear to be signs of a struggle. A table has been knocked over and a lamp is lying broken on the floor.”
Celedorn let out a breath. “So now we know. That is why we are not being guarded. The old woman must have read his mind and knows that we cannot open the curtain of adamant without him. With Relisar in the King’s power, we are trapped here.”
“He acted quickly,” Andarion said between his teeth.
Triana had not quite been keeping pace with events. “You’re not actually suggesting that the King has abducted Relisar, are you?”
“You are too civilised, Triana,” Elorin advised her. “The King has no scruples. He will have Relisar securely locked away in prison by now, that is, if he has not already......” she halted, shocked by what she had been going to say.
“Until we know otherwise,” said the Prince, “we must work on the assumption that he is still alive but incarcerated somewhere. The question is where? I have no idea where to begin - and I can hardly ask the King.”
Celedorn, who had been standing to one side, deep in thought, spoke up: “I think I know someone who might be persuaded to help us but I cannot contact him until morning.” He glanced towards the darkened window. “Dawn is not far away. We have no choice but to wait.”
“If you are thinking of asking Naldian.....” began the Prince, but Celedorn shook his head.
“I wasn’t. I know he is loyal to the King, I was thinking more of a friend of Relisar’s.”
“The librarian! Of course! I will go with you.”
“No, leave this to me.”
Celedorn entered the library so early in the morning that it was deserted. He peered down the aisles that separated row after row of bookshelves but there was no one in sight. At last he ran the librarian to earth in one of the side rooms.
The librarian, who had met Celedorn before, greeted him cordially. “Good morning to you. A fine morning is it not? And where is my learned friend today? Not over-indulged with the wine last night, I trust?”
But his joviality disappeared when he heard Celedorn’s brutally direct reply. “He is in prison.”
“Oh dear, you tried to leave didn’t you? No one is ever allowed to leave this place.”
“Relisar was seized in his room last night and we have no idea where he has been taken. I was hoping you could help us.”
The librarian clutched distractedly at his sparse grey locks, making them stick out at all angles. “Oh dear, oh dear, I dare not. You are strangers and can have no idea how fearsome th
e King’s anger can be.” His voice sank. “They say that nothing, not even the most secret of thoughts, can be hidden from that old witch in the palace. I used to be the King’s personal librarian, you know, with access to his most treasured volumes but I was suspected of taking some of his books home to read. I denied it, of course, but the witch-queen knew. She knew, and I was sent out here.”
“She cannot read my mind,” Celedorn declared. “She has tried and failed. If you give me the information I need, no one will ever know it came from you.”
“I don’t know,” fretted the old man, wringing his hands. “It is a terrible risk.”
“If you don’t help, Relisar will be executed. Do you want that on your conscience?”
The librarian gazed at him like a trapped rabbit. “Swear to me, swear that she cannot read your mind.”
“I swear it.”
“Very well. There is a prison in the city for petty thieves and those who drink too much wine and make a nuisance of themselves, but he will not be held there. He will be held somewhere secret, somewhere within the palace walls. It was rumoured that the King had converted one of his wine cellars into a prison where he can hold those who particularly displease him.” He glanced around the library to make sure they were alone, then leaned conspiratorially towards Celedorn. “I know where the cellar is. During my years at the palace I got to know the buildings very well. I will draw you a plan that you must promise to destroy if you are caught.”
“I promise.”
“The map will not help with the fact that the prison will be guarded.”
Celedorn smiled in a manner that made the librarian glad that he was not a palace guard. “I will deal with such matters. All you have to do is show me how to get there.”
The librarian had been busily scribbling on a piece of paper as they spoke and passed it to Celedorn. “One other thing, if you succeed in getting away, there was a rumour circulating a while ago of the existence of a monastery of the White Brotherhood in the forest south of here. It may not be true, but if it is, the brothers would offer you shelter.”