The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2)

by R. J. Grieve

  “No, Iska,” she replied, “it’s just a cat. Perhaps it belongs to the keeper - but where is he? Clearly this room has been recently occupied.” She looked up at the galleries encircling the room. “I can see doors opening off the galleries. Perhaps we should search them.”

  Gently setting down the cat, she was heading towards the stairs when Vesarion caught her arm.

  “None of us should go alone,” he cautioned. “You and I will take the first floor and the others can investigate the second.”

  As they mounted the stairs together, Vesarion with his sword still in his hand, Sareth asked: “Do you think this is all some sort of elaborate trick?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Surely the spirits would not mislead us?”

  He glanced at her, giving away nothing of his thoughts. “Again, perhaps.”

  However, upon reaching the gallery, Vesarion, who was a little ahead of Sareth, stopped so abruptly that he caused her to bump into him.

  Without thinking what he did, he reached out and clasped her hand.

  “Look!” he commanded, pointing to an arched wooden door that faced them at the top of the stairs.

  There, pinned to the door, was a small slip of white paper bearing one written word:- ‘Sareth’

  Hardly able to believe her eyes, she leaned closer, peering over Vesarion’s shoulder in case she had misread the word.

  “It appears we were expected,” remarked her companion in a characteristically dry manner.

  Sword at the ready, he pushed open the door. Beyond it lay a pleasant room with curved walls, the outer of which were deeply pierced by tiny, pointed windows that admitted the last rays of the dying sun. Between two of the windows sat a large wooden bed covered in a blue counterpane and banked up with many white, lace-edged pillows. Set out in orderly fashion on the cover were all of Sareth’s meagre belongings.

  She stared at this doubtfully. “I thought we left all our things in the stables?”

  “We did. This place gets more mysterious by the moment.”

  She looked around the sunlit room, probing the atmosphere with her senses and felt no presentiment of danger at all, in fact, quite the reverse. There was a certain peace, a certain benignity about the place which meant that although she did not understand what was happening, she felt strangely safe.

  She began to explore the room and opening at random the door to a large cupboard, discovered that it was full of clothes – shirts of finest linen, dresses of silk in various colours, riding breeches, boots – and all in exactly her size.

  She let out a breath. “I’m beginning to like this place more and more.”

  But Vesarion didn’t answer. He had been prowling around the farther side of the room and was now confronting suspiciously a curtain drawn across one corner. Slowly, he drew it back, using the tip of his sword, then almost laughed out loud at what he found.

  “Sareth,” he called, still chuckling. “It appears that a derogatory comment is being made about the state of your cleanliness.”

  He stood aside to reveal a copper bath full of hot water, with a towel and soap set primly to one side.

  At that moment Eimer burst in. “You’ll never guess what we’ve found, Vesarion. We all have rooms with our names on them – even you. Oh! I see Sareth got a bath, too. I was beginning to take it as a personal insult.”

  Vesarion, on whom the pleasant surroundings were finally having a mellowing effect, could not resist saying: “Did it not occur to you that there was a reason why everyone has been riding up-wind of you recently? Perhaps you should avail yourself of the offer before the water gets cold. I don’t know who has done this but it appears that they mean us no harm – so make the most of it.”

  Eimer raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Sometimes traps are baited with honey.”

  “I am aware of that, but for once I am prepared to take things as I find them. After all, if the Keeper of the Tower has power to do all this, he could have disposed of us with the greatest of ease any time he wished. It seems that we can either gratefully accept all this bounty or we can spend a cold, hungry night in the forest with the rodent – that is, if we can get the hedge open again. Personally, I feel like I haven’t slept in a proper bed in a million years.”

  Eimer, delighted to go along with all this, grabbed him enthusiastically by the arm. “Come and see your room,” he ordered, dragging his captive unceremoniously towards the door. “You’ve got a bed big enough to accommodate a Great-turog!”

  By the time Sareth had bathed and changed into one of the dresses she had found in the cupboard, a soft, intimate dusk had fallen as gently as a silken scarf around the old tower. When she emerged onto the landing, she discovered that all the candles in their elegant holders had been lit, illuminating her way down the staircase to the main chamber. Vesarion was there ahead of her, freshly shaved and dressed with his usual military neatness. He was seated in the large armchair by the fire with the grey cat ensconced on his knee.

  “I see you’ve found a friend,” she laughed.

  He looked up to see her standing on the bottom step, clad in a dress of deep pink silk. She wore her brown hair in a loose cascade over her shoulders and the candlelight picked out streaks of honeyed-gold that he had never noticed before. For a long moment he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

  Misinterpreting his expression, she explained: “I found the dress in my room and, like Gorm, I’m not stealing it, just keeping it safe.”

  He smiled a little in response to this sally but keeping his thoughts to himself, merely remarked: “Would you mind taking this cat? It jumped up on my knee without so much as a by-your-leave and I can’t persuade it to get down.”

  However, when she crossed to him to comply with his request, the cat leaped down of its own accord and sat in front of the fire, staring into its glowing depths enigmatically. Vesarion then drew Sareth’s attention to something she had not noticed before. The dining table was set with places for six diners and was fairly groaning under the weight of a magnificent banquet. Roast meats, vegetables in silver dishes, bread, fragrant from the oven, puddings, nuts and fruit all vied for space.

  She stared at it, unable to take in such bounty and in the end could think of only one thing to say.

  “I know someone who will be very happy to see this.”

  “I have no idea who you could mean,” he remarked with aplomb, and they both laughed.

  When the others joined them, the object of their joke showed no hesitation in fulfilling their prophesy.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “This is more like it. For the first time since we embarked on this venture, I think I am going to enjoy myself.”

  It was left to Iska to point out that the table was set for six diners.

  “Perhaps the Keeper of the Tower thought that Gorm was coming with us?” Eimer suggested.

  “There was no room allocated to Gorm,” Vesarion reminded him. “Not that he’d know what to do with one even if there was. Also, if the Keeper knows such details as the size of boots I wear, he knows very well that there are only five of us – so it appears that someone else is expected.”

  At this juncture, the cat got up from the fire, yawned, stretched and padded its way across the room to the table. Without hesitation, it jumped up on one of the chairs and began to wash its face, indifferent to the gaze of five pairs of eyes.

  Suddenly, with a crash, one of the tall candelabras fell over, putting out all its candles and scattering pieces of broken wax across the floor. Every head snapped round in alarm, but as soon as they realised that it was nothing sinister, they began to repair the damage, righting the fallen stand and re-lighting the stumps of the candles. When all was in order again and they turned back to the table, there, sitting in the chair where the cat had been, was a very old man, dressed entirely in dusty grey. He had fine, wispy white hair and a straggly beard that brushed his thin chest. His frame bore all the fragility of very grea
t age and although he was seated, he was clutching a walking stick of agate. His whole appearance gave the impression of ancient dust and cobwebs, like an old book left forgotten on a top shelf for too long. He had the air of things long disintegrated with time, by the passing of many winters, the fading of many suns, worn away by the attrition of millions of forgotten raindrops. The only things that were sharp and clear about him were his eyes which were dark and deep and bore the sorrow of great wisdom

  “You were the cat!” exclaimed Iska.

  But he shook his head slightly and pointed with a feeble hand to the chair by the fire where the smug feline was back in residence again.

  In a thin, reedy voice, he said: “I bid you all welcome to the Tower of Teltherion. I am its keeper and within these walls, protected by my power, you have nothing to fear.”

  “What is your name?” Eimer asked respectfully.

  “My name?” repeated the old man blankly. “Young Prince, it has been so long since I used my name that I have all but forgotten it.” He strained to penetrate the fog of disuse “I think once, in the days of the Old Kingdom, I was known as Inniar. Yes, that’s it. I was called Inniar, but the name comes strangely to my tongue, for in recent years I have been known only as the Keeper of the Tower – to those few who know of my existence at all.”

  “You knew we were coming?”

  “Yes, indeed. For a long time I have been expecting you, never thinking that you would come only at the eleventh hour when the fate of the Kingdom of Eskendria hangs in the balance. Now, be seated and join me in the meal I have prepared for you.”

  Casting each other mystified glances, the companions took their places around the table. Bethro, appointing himself to a role he relished, took up position to serve them.

  “I eat little myself, these days,” continued the Keeper, “but it does my heart good to see you young people enjoying your meal. It is so long now since I have had any other company than Kel, that it is a treat for me to share my table with visitors once more.”

  “Kel?” Iska queried.

  “My cat,” he explained. “He is an excellent judge of character and will not tolerate those who are mean-hearted or false. Once, a long time ago, he was one of the lesser spirits. He rarely took corporeal form and, alas, when he changed into a cat, he forgot how to change back again. He becomes more feline in nature with every passing day. I even caught him hunting mice in the stables a few days ago but he still retains much of his wisdom and rescues me from loneliness.”

  “Keeper,” began Bethro, looking up from the delicate task of making a selection from the fruit bowl. “We call this place the Rose Tower, but you called it the Tower of Teltherion – why is that?”

  “Both names are correct. You know the legend, do you not, Bethro? Teltherion was the name of the spirit of the woods who fell in love with a mortal woman. He built this tower in the forest and set around it a hedge that bloomed with roses every day of the year as a mark of his love. Together they lived happily here for many a long year but although he used his powers to extend her life, he could not hold death at bay for ever. The day she died, so too died every rose in the hedge and it has borne not a single bloom ever since. Legend has it that the rose hedge will only bloom again when a true and abiding love returns to the tower.”

  After a moment’s silence, Eimer said: “Keeper, you referred to being known as Inniar in the days of the Old Kingdom but, with the greatest of respect, the Old Kingdom fell over a thousand years ago. Are you telling us that you, too, are a spirit, immune to mortal decay?”

  The old man chuckled, a faint, rather musical sound that made everyone smile.

  “I am no spirit, young man, but a human being like yourself, with one minor difference – I am of the Order of Sages.”

  Bethro gulped and dropped the apple he had been inspecting. “But…..but there are no Sages left since Relisar died. And, in any event, you could not possibly be…..I mean, you couldn’t be…..”

  “Over a thousand years old?” the Keeper finished for him. “Ah! Relisar, the last of the noble Order of the Book. You will remember from your studies, Master Bethro, that there were three Orders of Sages - the Orders of the Book, the Sword and the Flower. The latter was the greatest of the three Orders and was sometimes also known as the White Brotherhood. When the Old Kingdom was under attack from the forces of the Destroyer, the members of the Orders were hunted down ruthlessly by creatures of the enemy in both the physical and spiritual realms. Only a few of the Order of the Book, including its Master, made it safely across the Harnor into Eskendria. Of the other Orders, the remnant of the White Brotherhood remained hidden from the enemy in their sanctuary deep in the forest, but I was not of their order. I was of the Order of the Sword…..”

  “But I thought the entire Order was wiped out!” interrupted Bethro.

  Before the Keeper could reply, Iska intervened. “The Order of the Sword?” she repeated, fascinated. “Does that mean you were once a great warrior?”

  Once again, the Keeper laughed softly. “No, my dear, not in the sense you mean. My Order fought evil with spiritual weapons, using our gifts to protect the Kingdom from the demons and other wicked creatures of the immortal realm that the Destroyer used to further his ends. We did not use physical swords but the weapons of power that are contained in the minds of those who are born with our unique abilities.”

  “You alone survived of your Order, is that not so?” Vesarion asked.

  The dark eyes turned towards Vesarion. “Yes, Lord of Westrin, I alone survived. Wounded and alone, relentlessly pursued by a band of Red Turog, led by a demon who was by far too strong for me in my weakened state, I found myself by the Lonely Lake, virtually at the point of death. I was discovered by the spirits of the lake, who took pity on me and helped me reach this old tower where my powers, as a Brother of the Sword, healed me. I knew in my heart that all the rest of my Order had gone and that I was alone. I also knew that alone I could not defeat the Destroyer and turn back the tide of evil that had engulfed the Kingdom. Even when my Order was intact, in the last days we were too few and too weak, and the forces ranged against us were many. Many of my kind were brought down by the women of the House of Parth, who used their dark arts to invade the minds of the Brothers and distract them long enough for their enemies to overcome them.”

  At this point Iska hung her head, deeply ashamed.

  The movement caught the Keeper’s attention, and he spoke to her gently. “Iska, my dear child, you are not responsible for things that happened long before your birth. Nor are you responsible for every wicked act carried out by the House of Parth. Each person bears their own burden in this life and none other - and it is right that it should be so, for who has the strength to carry the past? There is no such thing as inherited evil. Each child that is born is a blank sheet, and it is the choices they come to make that either saves or condemns them. The day the Old Kingdom fell, the Destroyer gave your house the Ring of Haleb to be its domain, encircled by the curtain of Adamant, cutting it off from the rest of humanity, but he could not exclude goodness, and goodness has a strange way of turning up in unexpected places.”

  Iska lifted her head, a light shining in her eyes. “Thank you, Keeper,” she said, with real gratitude in her voice. “How did you survive after you came to the Tower?”

  “The spirits of the lake used their arts to confuse and mislead my pursuers, luring them away in the wrong direction and when I was well again, I stayed within my refuge and shunned the world. I used my powers to extend my life for one reason and one alone. I had been permitted to know that some day, far in my future, I would be of service in mankind’s struggle to survive against the hatred and malevolence of the Destroyer – and now, at last, I feel that day is near.”

  He halted, looking worn and exhausted by his narrative. Sareth, who had noticed that he had eaten nothing, poured him a glass of wine and offered it to him.

  “Bless you, Sareth,” he said, accepting it gratefully. “It has
been a long time since I talked so much and one grows unaccustomed. Kel and I don’t need to talk to understand one another, do we Kel?”

  The cat paused in its ablutions and gave him a long stare.

  “Quite right, my friend. Kel has told me to get to the point.”

  “Which is?” prompted Vesarion.

  “Which is that I know of your quest to recover the sword of Erren-dar. Iska is correct in suspecting that it has been brought to the Kingdom of Adamant, but I have been permitted also to know that one of you will endure great suffering in order to find it.”

  They all looked anxiously at one another, wondering to whom he referred.

  Eimer, less reticent than the rest, said: “ Can you tell us who it is?”

  “No. That is not allowed. Glimpses of the future are rare and given to very few, for the balance of destiny is very fragile and easily upset by meddling, well-intentioned or otherwise.” He turned his sharp old eyes to Iska again. “Daughter of Parth, throughout this journey you have felt that time is pressing, that you must return to Adamant without delay, and I tell you that your instincts are true. The time draws closer when the Demon of Darkness will use the sword to further its master’s purposes, so you must make haste to Haleb Lor, across the high passes of the Mountains of Discelion in order to prevent this.”

  “We are uncertain of the way, Keeper,” Iska replied. “A Turog has been guiding us but….”

  “Ah yes, the redoubtable Gorm.”

  “Yes, but Gorm has only seen the mountains from a distance and has never tried to cross them. I crossed the eastern tail of them on my way to Addania by way of the pass of Ogron but I’m not sure I can find it again without a map.”

  Bethro spoke up, looking puzzled. “When Queen Triana described her journey with Erren-dar from Adamant, I do not recall her mentioning a mountain range to the south of the Kingdom.”

  “That is because Erren-dar took the westerly route, near the sea, which avoids them. Iska’s route was far to the east and this old tower stands somewhere roughly in the middle where the mountains are at their highest. To go towards the Pass of Ogron would mean a long detour to avoid the Morass of Engorin and would take too much time. No, you must travel directly northwards from here, out through the far side of the Wood of Ammerith and onto the open plains. Beyond the plains you will see the mountains rising in the distance. Take your bearings on three sharp peaks known as The Cousins of Discelion and you will come to the Vale of Rithlin – a long valley that wends its way up into the heights. As the valley narrows, it divides in two. You must take the right hand fork which will lead you to a hidden path that crosses the mountains between two of the Cousins. Do not take the left fork, for that way, although it also crosses between the peaks, is dangerous.”