Misthaven: The Complete Trilogy

by J Battle

  ‘Then leave this to those who do. Now, do as I say, and no more arguments from you. I will be back shortly and your work will be done. You understand me?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the soothnurse, as she fought the urge to curtsey.

  Meldon closed the door behind him, only to find some courtiers wandering aimlessly up and down the corridor.

  ‘Is he…?’

  ‘How is…?’

  ‘What will happen…?’

  ‘Who will be his heir?’

  Meldon ignored the questions and marched to the stairs that would take him to the prince’s private rooms. His heart raced with a mixture of exultation and relief. Exultation that he finally had control of the Stone. Relief, that he had thought to suggest that the arrow be coated with an extract from the Hell’s Nectar plant.

  He stopped when he reached the prince’s rooms, and he nodded at the guard.

  ‘His Majesty is mortally wounded, so stand aside for he needs the Magic of the Wellstone if he is to survive.’

  ‘The prince? But how?’

  ‘Move, man, for time is short!’

  The guard rushed away from the door and headed for the stairs.

  ‘There is nothing you can do, but stand guard outside the downstairs guest room. He is fighting for his life there and must not be disturbed.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ With that, he was gone.

  Meldon closed the door behind him and his eyes found the Stone, resting on an ornate golden table by the window. For a second, he didn’t move, fascinated by how dull and brown and banal the rock was.

  Then he shook his head and turned to the bookshelf. There was only one book on its shelves, for the prince had never been a reader. The book was ancient; as old as the town itself, and covered in brown leather, dulled by the years.

  He opened the old book to a page he’d marked days earlier.

  ‘Per did ostrum…’ he read, and then he smiled.

  Was it really going to happen? Could he take control of the Wellstone? Take control and be the new prince? Or, forget about being a prince. With the power of the Stone, why could he not be king? He could cross the water and teach that fool King Eron to bow to his better.

  Chapter 21 Lord Richard

  After a restful night in the tavern’s basic bedrooms they were up as early as a bright bird’s song, and ready to be off.

  ‘Will ye not take a breakfast, before ye go like, my Lord?’ said the landlord, all concerned that they might leave with empty bellies and stories of his poor hospitality.

  ‘Thank you for the offer, but we have business to be about, and we shall eat later when the need and opportunity arise.’

  ‘As it suits you, sir. As it suits you. Though my old ma, she always said ‘get a meal when you may, for you never know what will come your way,’ or something like that.’

  Lord Richard smiled, but he shook his head and guided Alice towards the door.

  On the road, she turned to her father, with half a smile.

  ‘You’re not normally one to miss your breakfast, father dearest.’

  ‘Ay, you’re right enough there, but I’ve eaten there before and, well, he serves a fine ale, I’ll give him that, but you’d be a fool to eat the food from his kitchen more than once.’

  They carried on and were soon at the top of the road, with the harbour a couple of hundred yards behind them.

  Alice smiled when she saw the tall wall of the dam blocking their path. It towered above them, built from great blocks of dark stone, and it stretched 50 yards to each side of her.

  Hesselton was a fine place to stay for a night, she thought, as she made her way to the steps that would take her to the top of the wall, but it wasn’t home.

  ‘Come on, father dearest,’ she said as she bounced up the steps, full of eagerness.

  ‘I’ll be there soon enough, my dear. Don’t worry about me.’

  He found her kneeling on the flat stone surface, her hands trailing back and forward in the cool water.

  Just a few inches from her hands, the white wall of mist began, reaching upwards into the sky as it hid Misthaven from the eyes of an unknowing world. It rippled and twisted in upon itself, but it never moved and it never weakened; held in place by the strength of the mage’s Magic.

  ‘Let us find a boat,’ he said, quickly, lest his daughter suggest her preferred method of crossing the reservoir, ‘I’d like to keep my boots dry.’

  Alice made no comment, but she followed him along the wall to the little dock, with a single rowing boat bobbing against its rope.

  Once they were settled, Richard took the oars and began to row into the mist. The last thing he saw before they were hidden in its cotton-wool embrace was the smile on his daughter’s face, and it pleased him.

  The resilience of youth, he thought, and wished that he could find the same somewhere for himself. But all he could find to sustain himself was the hate that was rising in his belly; more and more each day.

  No more than a shadow to his daughter, he allowed the tears to fall for a moment, but he choked back the sob that seemed never far from expression.

  When the king sends his men, he let the thought run through his mind, when they come, we shall have justice and the Trytor will be no more.

  ‘Father?’ Her voice was hesitant.

  ‘Yes, my dear?’

  ‘Why have we stopped?’

  ‘Oh, my mind must have wondered off on its own somewhere and forgotten to tell me to keep rowing.’

  He moved the oars in the water and the boat began to move.

  Moments later, they emerged into the sunshine and the little boat bumped against the far wall of the reservoir.

  Alice remained still as her father tied up the boat. Her eyes scanned the clear blue sky and she breathed in deeply, gratified by the scent of Misthaven; of grass and flowers, of rich moist soil, of trees resplendent in their spring-wear. She smiled as a light breeze began to play with her hair, and a yellow bird hopped onto the wall before her.

  ‘We’re home, father,’ she whispered.

  ‘Ay, my dear. We are that.’ He grunted as he climbed from the boat onto the steps that led to the top of the low wall.

  He turned and helped his daughter, though she hardly needed his assistance.

  ‘Let’s us pay a quick visit to Mage Evens and see what can be done about your arm.’

  ‘It feels much better already.’

  ‘Still, he can fix it properly for you so you won’t feel the pain again.’

  ‘Do you think that Anders will be there?’

  ‘Well, he studies with the mage, so I expect he will be.’

  ‘He looks at me, in a…strange way.’

  Richard frowned.

  ‘We can’t be having that, can we? It may well be the way a boy looks at a girl in the normal course of events, but he’s a strange one, and he can look elsewhere.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, father dearest. He’s only a boy, and I can make him blush with a word if I like. I dare say I could make him cry, with a different word, if he irritates me too much.’

  He put a hand on her good shoulder.

  ‘Beware, my dear. He may seem weak and silly, but I reckon he is clever. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was filled with spite and bitterness. So, take good care. When the time is right, we’ll have to find you a nice young man.’

  ‘Father!’ She found that she herself was in fact blushing.

  ‘Plenty of time for that, I’d say.’

  With the reservoir behind them they took the winding road between fields of green and gold, with the wide river making its own leisurely progress a hundred yards to their left.

  They walked in silence for a while, each deep amongst their own thoughts.

  The mage’s palace was an old building, three stories high, with a wide strip of garden encircling the grey stone walls. It had a welcoming aspect despite its age and Alice always enjoyed her visits.

  ‘My dear, come in, come in, and you sir, come along, if you
will.’ The mage was already at the door and beckoning them inside. He was short and lean and gray, and he could have been 60 or 80 for all that Alice could tell.

  Inside, they sat in comfortable chairs and drank a cup of tealeaf as the mage fussed around them.

  ‘Could you aid Alice with her arm? She took a fall from her horse.’

  The mage frowned and nodded and gently placed his hand on her elbow. He muttered words and phrases like ‘Per id’ and ‘nostrum’, and then he sighed.

  ‘There you are my dear,’ he said, with a smile.

  Alice stretched out her damaged arm and joined him in the smile. ‘It doesn’t hurt at all, father. Thank you, mage.’

  ‘Will you leave us alone now, for a while, Alice?’ said Richard, with a nod to the door. ‘I need to have words with the mage.’

  ‘Yes, father,’ said Alice, quickly, as she stood up. She didn’t want to be there when her father told the mage what had occurred.

  ‘I’ll take a walk around the gardens,’ she said, as she left the room.

  She was bending over a flower that was responding to the early spring sunshine with an extravagant display of red and orange, when she heard a heavy step and a rustle of clothing just behind her.

  She didn’t look up.

  ‘Good morning, Anders,’ she said, brightly.

  ‘Oh…hello there, A…Alice, I hardly noticed you there.’

  She moved along the row of flowers, still without looking up.

  ‘Can I…Will you…would you like a drink?’

  ‘Thank you kindly, but the mage has already provided refreshments.’

  ‘You’ve been away, haven’t you? To the king’s celebrations? I didn’t expect you back so soon.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Just…no.’

  ‘Oh…I…’

  Alice had had enough. She didn’t want to talk about their journey. She didn’t want to talk about her mother and sister, and their terrible deaths. And, if she had wanted to discuss these things, she wouldn’t have chosen Anders to confide in.

  ‘Tell my father that I’ve decided to go home,’ she said, as she strode off full of determination.

  ‘Oh, I…I will.’

  Anders watched her go. His eyes drinking in the way her hair flowed behind her, and her elegant wrist, that seemed to flick out to the left as she walked.

  ‘One day,’ he whispered, with a nod and a smile. ’One day, when I gain my powers, when the Stone is mine, then you will lift your head and look me in the eyes, and you will know your duty, Alice. You will.’

  He turned away from the last sight of her, and he looked north. Towards God’s Saddle, the great glacier that loomed above the valley. ‘Soon,’ he whispered, his voice filled with awe at the prospect. ‘Soon.’

  Then he looked back to the place where Alice had been standing just a few minutes earlier. He reached out to the flower that had fascinated her so, and he crushed it within his fist.

  Chapter 22 Jumba

  Jumba stopped at the river to work out his path through the busy and complicated town. It had been many years since he’d last come to Royal Leigh, and he’d never been a frequent visitor, even then.

  If he took the north bridge, his path to the palace would be straightforward, but longer. The south bridge was nearer to the palace, but he risked getting himself lost in the narrow, twisting streets.

  With a nod to the common sense of his decision, he stepped on to the broad stone arch that was the north bridge and walked quickly across. He’d never liked bridges, because sometime in the future of all bridges was the point where they would collapse, and he’d never counted himself a man lucky enough to ignore that fact.

  Safely on dry land once more, he turned onto the thoroughfare that wound lazily through the town until it came to the great square that contained the palace.

  The road was busy with carriages and walkers, and more horses that you’d see in a month of blessed Sundays.

  There was a Giant, dressed in all his finery, with a black, rippling cloak that reached near to the ground.

  Here was a band of men from the north, with deer-skin clothes and woolens too warm for the mild weather, and beards that could house a nest of sparrows.

  There were soldiers marching here and there, and clergy scowling hither and thither.

  Children ran about in their finest clothes, with scrubbed faces and beribboned hair, yelling and screaming, to the consternation of their equally well dressed parents.

  Jumba smiled at the children, and let his mind dwell for a moment on the children Ellen would bear him, if he was ever so lucky. When he returned to Hesselton, he’d take her hand and he’d kiss it gently, all respectful like, he thought. And, when she smiled, as she surely would, he would cup her round cheeks in his hands and place a lover’s kiss on her lips, and all would be well.

  He sighed and shook his head and said, ‘You’ve business to attend to, you have, you old silly fool. So you’d best be about it now.’

  He walked briskly through the crowded streets and soon found himself in the square. Rising above the heads of the hundreds of people milling around was the palace, curved and white and seeming to glow in the spring sunshine.

  ‘My,’ said Jumba, ’ain’t that just something?’

  With bows and beg your pardons, he worked his way through the crowd until he reached the palace gate.

  There were six guards standing before it, with armour and blades, and helmets that were far too tall to be of any use in battle.

  They each watched the boisterous crowd with stern, mistrustful eyes, as if certain that some danger would suddenly emerge from the massed populace.

  ‘Beg your pardon, Sir,’ said Jumba, in his politest tone, with a bow to support it. ’I represent Lord Richard Ellendel of Hesselton, and I seek audience with the king, if you would be so kind as to let me through.’

  ‘The king?’ asked the closest guard, with a sneer.

  ‘If you would be so kind.’

  ‘How do we know you are who you say you are? You could be anybody.’ The guard had his hand on the hilt of his sword, and he stuck out his bottom lip somewhat.

  Jumba took a deep breath to calm himself.

  ‘Pardon me, sir, but I ain’t told you who I am, have I? If you want to know, my name is Jumba, Jumba Desee if you need it all. I can’t prove that to you, because no-one knows me here. But I do have this from Lord Richard, by way of assurance, if you like.’

  He held up Lord Richard’s broach.

  The guard reached out for it, but Jumba pulled his hand away.

  ‘This is Lord Richard’s and I’m not to give to anyone but the king. See here, on the back.’ He turned the broach around. ‘That figure there, that’s an ‘E’, and that’s for Ellendel. And this little fellow, he’s an ‘H’, and that’s how you start Hesselton.’

  ‘You’ll have to let me look at it, to be sure it’s not a replica.’

  Jumba smiled and put the broach back in his pocket.

  ‘No, sir, if it suits you well enough, I’ll be keeping it safe and sound until I see the king. Now, will you let me pass?’

  The guard frowned, and then he glanced at his fellow guards.

  ‘I could let you pass, I could. But there is a…fee, if you like. A license, you might say, to allow someone who is common to pass through and walk inside with their betters.’

  Jumba shook his head. Lord Richard hadn’t given him any money, and he had precious little of his own, and he’d been hoping to buy Ellen a little present, just to see her smile.

  He pulled out his purse and offered it to the guard.

  The guard smiled and grasped it, but Jumba kept a firm grip on the purse.

  ‘Open the gate, if you would be so kind, and then you can have the purse.’

  For a moment, it seemed that the guard wouldn’t give in, and Jumba wondered for a moment if he’d have a chance to pull his own blade before he was struck down.

  Then the guard snorted and
jerked the purse free.

  ‘Feels a little light,’ he said, with a sneer.

  ‘It’s all I have, and it’s all you’ll get, so open the gate, and be quick about it, or your superiors will find out about your little ‘license’ arrangement.’ Jumba stepped closer, until he was nose to nose with the guard.

  There was a long moment when he thought that maybe his mother had raised a fool, and then the guard laughed and took a step back, and opened the gate.

  ‘Have a fine day, sir,’ he said, as he pocketed Jumba’s purse, ‘and mayhap we’ll be seeing you again when you leave, sir.’

  Jumba made no response and simply walked past him into the palace grounds.

  Moments later, he was standing before another set of guards, at the entrance to the palace itself.

  These were dressed in the finest of armour, gleaming in the sun, with red cloaks and a ring of red flowers encircling each of their helmets.

  ‘Lord Richard Ellendel of Hesselton to see the king if you please.’

  One guard moved down from the palace steps. He made a point of looking Jumba up and down, from his well-worn boots to his father’s floppy hat.

  ‘Pardon me for saying, sir, but you don’t look much like a Lord to me.’

  Jumba sighed. This really should be much easier, he thought.

  ‘Well, of course I ain’t Lord Richard, but I am his representative, and I should be treated with respect, I should.’

  He studied the guard for a moment; he seemed altogether a different class of soldier than the first he’d had to deal with. He handed over Lord Richard’s broach.

  The guard examined it closely for a moment.

  ‘I recognise this crest, though it has been some years since I last saw it. Very well, sir. Please come with me and I will request an audience for you with the king. I’ll need your full name and title, so that you can be properly announced, and…do you have any clothes that…do not suffer so from your travels?’

  ‘Sorry, Sir, these are all I have. I left my Sunday clothes at home.’

  ‘Come in and we’ll see what we can find for you. The king doesn’t like to see anyone improperly dressed.