The new leader took back his sword and cleaned the blade, concealing sorrowful emotions without comment. Ardesen’s first condition was now fulfilled – the murderer’s life ended. Landen believed Sakor deserved death, but wished another justice could have delivered it. Saying a silent prayer to guide Sakor’s soul, he apologized for ending his life, thanking him for his part in the emancipation of the rest. Blood buys respect too often in this world. Andris could have killed me with the sword I loaned. Instead he returned it, and now this group is a band.
They gathered round him, ready to offer all the passionate loyalty of those who have been given another chance, when they believe their last is gone.
Torina leaned on a hoe in a patch of bare earth behind the Dirkson farmhouse. Close by, in a glade among the trees, Tesh was building her a cabin. She could hear the song of his hammer.
When she gave the family a ruby, Anna’s taciturn husband never said where he sold it, only that he travelled a distance to do so. The winter passed in relative luxury for Anna, Lindsa and Tesh Dirkson, for they were able to buy supplies whenever need came. Torina lived in their spare room, helping weave and sew, learning to bake and cook.
Before long, her weaving earned top prices at the town market. Torina took satisfaction in earning her way.
She dressed only in sombre colours, always wearing a plain kerchief to cover her hair. Her smile was rare. The Dirksons passed her off to their acquaintances as a cousin who had waited on a fine lady.
‘Would need to be fine, for you don’t speak like a common girl,’ Anna said.
Torina sewed a quilted jacket for herself. When it was done, she took frequent walks alone. She craved solitude.
When spring thawed the ground, Tesh started building her cabin. He was a careful, methodical worker. Soon she would have her own house, with no one to disturb her unless she wished it.
Welcome spring sunshine warmed her as she rested from turning the earth. It was Avril, the month of her birth. She was sixteen. No lustrous gowns or pretty minstrels marked the day; no loving parents at her side, smiling in celebration. Instead, she was planning a vegetable garden.
Setting the hoe down, Torina stretched her arms. She wanted with all her heart to live simply, to gain a normal, workaday existence. Here, basking in the mellow rays of light, it was easy to forget that her sleep often broke into nightmares. She tried to believe that her past could be put away, treating her former life in Archeld as if it belonged to a distant shore from which she had sailed.
She thanked God for Lindsa. The other girl’s even, straightforward nature was balm to Torina. The two were fast friends, though Torina went silent when Lindsa broached the past.
But now Lindsa was in love with Anton, a handsome, light-hearted soldier.
‘Aren’t his eyes the most lovely in all the world?’ Lindsa said, talking of Anton.
And an image of Landen’s eyes flashed across Torina’s inner vision: the glowing fires of a sun merging with cool depths of still water.
Now she stooped, filling her hands with dirt, desperately filling her soul with the earth’s peace. Lindsa planned to be married by summer. She’d move away to live with her husband, and be occupied with a thousand wifely interests.
Torina picked up her hoe and began chopping at the chunks of soil.
PART TWO
Chapter One
Wind filled the air with dead leaves. Torina swung an empty basket in the crook of her arm and tightened a shawl round her head as she turned into the path of the Dirkson farm. Rounding the house, she came upon Anna in the bean field, shunting pods into a half-full basket. She bent to help.
‘Ah, thank you, Vineda. At this season, I miss Lindsa.’
Torina smiled. ‘You miss her at every season, Anna.’
The older woman chuckled. ‘In a year, I should be used to it. Did you see her in town today?’
‘Yes. I stopped and played with the baby so Lindsa could put some pods away.’
‘Did you? I remember like yesterday when Lindsa was a babe in arms herself.’
‘She seems very happy.’
‘Aye. Beautiful child, married the right man. As you should do!’ Anna scrabbled among the dry vines. ‘There ’tis. When I mention marriage, you get that sadness in your face. All men ain’t the same, dear. Why not marry? Plenty men asking.’
‘I have no wish to marry.’ Torina shook crumbs of dirt from her skirt. ‘I must see to my weaving.’ She gave Anna a wan smile.
Her cabin, her refuge, welcomed her. Cosy furnishings cuddled her freezing heart. The tidy floor was covered with a thick rug. Colourful weavings decorated the walls. Torina knelt at the hearth and began a fire. She pulled off her scarf, and wound the red braid, grown long again, into a quick crown on top of her head. She sat in the sturdy chair Tesh had made, watching the fire.
Her mind moved haphazardly, like the flames over wood, while her throat clenched with the effort of swallowing tears. Two years since she’d seen her mother, her homeland, her friends in Archeld. Two years cloistered in a village too small to have a name; her fiery spirit banked to a chilly smoulder.
She had tried to put away the past, but lately she was haunted more than ever by spectres from her old life.
Dipping into her pocket, she shuddered as her hand touched the crystal. She still kept it near her always. The last time she’d looked into it, she’d almost thrown it away again. It had shown her Eric’s grave. She agonized over his death; sure that Vesputo had killed him for letting her have Amber. And with his passing, there was no one in Archeld to know that she lived.
Under her bed was a box of writing materials. She sometimes wrote letters to her mother, then laid them away. Snippets of news told her Dreea was alive. Torina yearned to hear that gentle voice again, especially at night when she woke pouring sweat from dreadful dreams. She would never risk her mother’s life, so the letters stayed under her mattress.
She stood and paced restlessly. It seemed impossible to live another day in such sad and hidden loneliness. She wondered what the people she had once known would say, if they could visit her. What would her mother tell her, or Gramere?
Gramere would want me to find a way past my troubles. And she would understand. My dear, tender mother? She would love me, love me, but she would not understand. My father? He’d fight his way through and stake his chances on victory. Landen? What does it matter? He’s gone.
Torina opened her door and looked into the thick trees she had somehow stumbled through during her escape from Vesputo.
Escape! That was what she had to do. She’d escaped Archeld, but never left it behind. She must create a future: live again.
The crystal felt cool and dangerous in her hand. Her fingers squeezed it tightly. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Show me something.’
It seemed only to reflect her own tired face, made tiny, floating inside tears that dropped on its surface. She waited, passionately beckoning the future.
Light began to swirl in the crystal’s depths. Brilliant light, round a magnificent sword. Torina frowned in puzzlement. Exquisite etchings of the moon and stars glimmered on the sword’s hilt. She studied it, lost to its meaning.
The vision changed, to the face of a king. She knew he was a king, though his clothes were simple and he was next to an outdoor fire. He seemed about thirty years old, his features strong and intelligent. A bushy head of brown hair lay in unruly waves to his shoulders. She could see a fortress in the distance behind him. He was reading a scroll. When he finished, he handed it to a man beside him, a tall, slim, black-haired fellow.
The king spoke. His voice was deep and powerful, through the soft thunder of the crystal.
‘One more for our alliance. We will make this coast so strong, none will dare invade. Those plundering Sliviites will find a different land when they come here to pillage again.’
‘You’ve done what no one else could do. Unite the factions to defend one another,’ said the black-haired man.
Torin
a caught her breath, peering closely at the kingly face in her seeing stone. She realized who it was.
‘Dahmis!’ she cried. ‘The high king.’
He kept speaking. ‘There are still many to persuade. Mlaven to the north, Endak far to the east, Vesputo to the south. What would I give to know what each of those kings will do!’
His brown eyes, full of energy and strength, seemed to look straight into Torina’s. A wave of warmth washed into her frozen heart.
‘What would you give, High King?’ she said.
The high king! Dahmis, king of Glavenrell, the uniter. The man whose name seemed on everyone’s lips. She had seen his face, and she wanted to become part of the future he was making.
The following week, Torina learned from Anton that Dahmis of Glavenrell would be visiting his ally, King Ardesen of Desante. Their meeting would take place in Desan, capital city of Desante. The two kings would discuss the details of the broader alliances Dahmis was forging with other kingdoms.
Torina resolved to travel to Desan and deliver a message to the high king.
Anna and Tesh kept only one horse. Torina had grown used to walking most of the time. Borrowing their farm animal for several days would never do, and Desan was many miles away.
She asked Tesh to hire a horse for her. ‘A good mare. I’ll use the old, beaten saddle.’
He brought her a sturdy mare and told her the way. Grateful for the chilly weather, Torina braided her long flaming hair and pinned it into a drab scarf. She put on one of her usual plain dresses, hiding her body in a brown cape.
She rode off into the morning. A light mist covered the ground, and the sky was grey and cool. Excited to begin an adventure she was choosing herself, she skirted the village and headed towards the main road.
By noon, she had gained the wide track leading into the city of Desan. Throngs of people were ahead of her. She quailed at the thought that they had all come to get a glimpse of the high king. How would she make her way, among so many? The stream of humanity slowed to a crawl near the city gates. Some travellers were stopped and questioned by the sentries. Her heart beat a tempo of fear as the line moved closer. After two years, would anyone be looking for her? She knew Vesputo’s tenacity. Whatever he had made others believe, he must know she had a chance of surviving her escape.
At the entrance gate, she gave the guard a tentative smile. He waved her through with a wink. Torina followed the crowds down the main street of Desan.
She wasn’t used to the crush of people, but her mare seemed to be. The steady animal responded to her guidance, stepping neatly even when jostled by passers-by. Like a sluggish river, everyone flowed towards the city square, which was backed by King Ardesen’s fortress.
In the square, the press of men, women and children was so dense that Torina pushed to the outskirts, wondering what to do. Everyone but herself seemed to know what was going on. She tried to listen for individual voices in the hubbub, but the noise was a great blur. She could hardly think.
Turning the mare into an alley, she rode aimlessly till she found a quiet street. She gave the mare her head, sagging despondently in the saddle. How had she ever believed she could meet the high king and hand him a note?
The thirsty mare discovered a public trough. She bent and drank, while Torina stretched her legs.
Beside her, a quality stallion nosed in for a place at the water. Torina grinned as he nudged her aside.
‘Sorry,’ said his rider, a man in brown uniform. He swung down from his mount.
Brown. Ardesen’s soldiers wear red. This man must serve Glavenrell, and the high king.
Torina recognized him with a start. It was the man from her vision who had spoken with King Dahmis. She stared at him.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he was saying. ‘My horse has better manners when he isn’t thirsty. The crowd . . .’ He stopped. ‘Are you all right, miss?’
‘Yes. Oh, your horse didn’t hurt me in the least. It’s, that is—’
‘Yes?’ He waited with courteous, sombre eyes.
‘Excuse me, you must think me a simpleton. My mistress asked me to deliver a message to the high king. I had decided it could never be done today, but you – you serve King Dahmis?’
‘I do.’
‘Oh, sir, would it be possible for me to give you my message for him?’
‘Certainly.’ He smiled.
‘Will you be sure he reads it while he’s here in Desan?’
She seemed to have caught his interest. ‘I’ll do all I can.’
Something about this man reassured her. She believed he would deliver her message. She gave him a rolled scroll. He placed it in an inside pocket of his coat.
‘May I ask your name, sir?’
‘I am Larseld.’
She saw he expected her to say her name. She turned away, mounting the mare hastily.
‘Thank you, again and again,’ she told him. ‘Goodbye.’
She clattered off through the alley, dizzy with hope. To meet one of the men close to King Dahmis! It seemed miraculous. Elated, Torina let the mare move without guidance, not caring which direction she went.
When she looked round some time later, she wondered what part of the city she had come to. There were rows of shops, though everyone had shut up to see the great king. She looked idly in the grates and windows. It was apparent from the number of lettered signs that many city-dwellers could read.
On a shop-wall littered with notices, she felt a sudden chill as she caught the word ‘bounty’. She stopped and read.
Wanted ALIVE, for the murder of KING KAREED of ARCHELD, the man LANDEN. DESCRIPTION: Tall, dark hair, skilled archer and swordsman, good with horses, makes his own bows. PAYMENT OF 20 RASHOES FOR INFORMATION. PAYMENT OF 50 RASHOES FOR CAPTURE. Enquire within.
Torina’s heart thudded. They were hunting him! She sat immobilized in the saddle, her mind filled with memories of Landen. She saw him fall, bound and bruised, the first day they met. Clinging to the face of a cliff; giving her a hand-made bow; meeting her in secret friendship; warning her of Vesputo.
She had tried not to think of him, shutting him from her heart, telling herself he had left too soon, said too little, ought to have done more. Staring at the fluttering notice, she saw things from another point of view. The world was a different place from an exile’s perspective. She remembered with searing clarity her cavalier question, ‘You’re willing to live exiled?’ and his dry response. ‘I’ve lived exiled since I was a boy.’
Torina’s head drooped. How heartless and senseless her question now seemed. Knowing that her father had killed Landen’s father, slaughtered the peace of his country, and destroyed his culture, she had not seen fit to pursue justice for the boy who had befriended her. She’d treated with casual carelessness a precious and rare comrade, even forgotten him for months on end, absorbed in the courtship of a man like Vesputo. Landen had sought her out, taken risks to warn her, told her and no one else of his plans to leave Archeld. And how had she answered him? ‘You’re willing to live exiled?’ The question tormented her.
Then, when her father was killed by his own right-hand man, she had blamed Landen for leaving too soon. Too soon? He had probably waited almost too long.
But this notice proved he was alive! Vesputo would never pay for a man already found. Hunted throughout the kingdoms, was Landen living in seclusion, perhaps somewhere in Desante? If so, how might she find him? Forgetting everything else, Torina drew out the crystal and gazed, praying for a vision of her childhood friend.
Nothing. Her seer’s eye stared back, serene and clear. No matter how she strained to see, it stayed blank. With quivering lips, she pleaded for something, anything, that might tell her where he lived. The crystal sat in her palm, cool and lifeless. She shook herself, pale with frustration.
Another thought seized her. If Vesputo still sought Landen, he might be looking for her too. Of course, he couldn’t post bounties on her. She almost laughed at the thought: Wanted, DEAD, the ghost of
Princess Torina Archelda. But Vesputo had other methods.
She grabbed the reins and listened for the distant roar of a crowd, heading towards it. When she found it, she moved against the tide of people till she reached the city gates. A different soldier waved her out with a yawn. Torina, tired and heart-sore, guided the mare home.
Chapter Two
Dahmis, King of Glavenrell, High King, was enjoying himself. Dressed as a common soldier, riding a nondescript horse, he travelled a silent forest path with no escort, smiling to himself. It had been too long since he last blended anonymously with the countryside. As he listened to the sound of hooves on pine needles, he realized how deeply he’d been driven. Years of ceaseless negotiations with kings whose habits were hostile and suspicious, persuading them to the promise of unity.
He was at the end of a trail that promised him a fortune-teller. The king shook his head, chuckling. He didn’t believe any crone could help him strengthen the alliances he’d forged. But curiosity had won again. Larseld, his favourite general, insisted he read a letter. The man seemed bewitched by this fortune-teller’s messenger.
His map said her home was nearby. The king scanned the trees to right and left, rewarded with the sight of a well-built cabin. Dahmis swung out of the saddle and tapped on the door.
A young woman answered. Her hair was tied up, her dress simple and brown. The face matched Larseld’s description exactly. Vibrant, delicate, arresting features caught the king’s attention, especially her eyes; ocean-coloured pools of great depth.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said, remembering the character of common soldier. The young woman standing in the doorway stirred him. He wished he could stay and talk with her, walk with her, know her. No wonder Larseld had acted addled.
‘Afternoon,’ she replied. Her voice had a rich, cadent energy, the accent pure.
‘I’m looking for Vineda.’
‘You’ve found her.’
He peered past her, into an empty room. ‘You are Vineda?’
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