He swept from the courtyard, striding so fast that Beron had trouble keeping up. He made his way to the king’s private room. There he flung the message on the floor and ground it under his heel.
‘Only one person could have warned the high king,’ he growled.
Beron stared, baffled.
‘Dahmis is not a suspicious man,’ Vesputo continued, the muscles in his neck taut with suppressed anger.
‘Who?’ Beron’s heavy eyebrows furrowed.
‘She’s alive.’ Vesputo almost shouted. ‘And somehow, she has Dahmis’ ear. She must be living in his court, with that cursed stone.’
‘Princess Torina?’ Beron gasped.
‘Never say her name out loud. Yes!’ Vesputo folded his arms, mastering himself. ‘You will find her,’ he said, ‘and the crystal she keeps.’ His voice was as cold as the wind he had felt in the courtyard.
Chapter Three
Dead, draggled leaves were wet under Justina’s hooves as Torina cantered into the small meadow by her cabin. A misty rain dampened her face. As usual, her head was completely covered. The horse had become her dearest companion. She often rode out, away from inhabited land, seeking hidden, wild places where huge trees grew. As she leaned against their ancient trunks, she could sometimes remember the singing of her soul. More often, she felt only the dissonant tide of bitter regret, seeing what might have been, if she had been wiser sooner. The seasons were turning on another year, leaving her still exiled.
When she visited Lindsa, her friend’s happiness soothed her troubled heart. The child, Antonia, loved Torina with dazzling persistence; toddled to her and held up chubby arms. Sometimes they went for slow rides through the village together. Torina knew the villagers wondered about her. In her mind’s eye, she could see the picture she made: beautiful horse, dull scarf, brown dress, unsmiling face. Yet, the people accepted her, perhaps because she’d been among them for nearly three years. Young men still asked to court her, though her answer was always the same. No.
And the high king? Dahmis had little time to devote to solitary trips in disguise. When he asked her to tell her visions to other trustworthy men, she refused. One evening in late spring, they had devised a coded system for messages. She wrote to him weekly now, hiding the carefully worded letters in a hollow tree deep in the forest. From there, Dahmis’ men picked them up. The soldiers never saw her, nor she them.
She saved King Dahmis quite a bit of struggle with her insight, as he told her in his coded, unsigned replies. The alliances multiplied, as more kings were won over to the value of mutual assistance and open trade. Mlaven and Endak, haughty rulers of mighty lands, had recently joined, pledging to give the required allegiance to the high king.
Dahmis paid her handsomely. Torina was rich, but her riches sat cold and forgotten in a basket behind her bellows. Money did nothing to thaw the frozen loneliness in her heart. She hadn’t seen Dahmis since their meeting before summer, and now autumn was in the air once more. She slid from Justina’s back dispiritedly.
‘Come, my beauty, I’ll rub you down,’ she said, leading the mare towards the stable Tesh had built.
King Dahmis, dressed again as a soldier, stepped in front of her.
‘Oh!’ Torina cried.
The king looked well. He wore his growing power like a well-tailored mantle.
‘Sorry I startled you.’ He grinned at her.
She was overwhelmed with happiness to see him.
‘I need to speak with you,’ he said. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Always.’ It was out before she thought.
The king put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. ‘You’re lonely.’
She turned away so he wouldn’t see the treacherous tears starting. Justina edged closer. The king stepped back.
‘Attend to your horse. I can wait.’
Torina rubbed Justina until her face was clear.
‘Shall we go in?’ she asked Dahmis.
She offered food and water. He said no, sitting in the chair he’d taken the afternoon of their first meeting. She laid a quick fire.
‘Vineda, this visit takes me away from urgent demands.’
She reached for her crystal. ‘What do you need to know?’
‘No crisis of state. It’s that I have reports of men enquiring about a seer.’
Torina sat up taller, breathing fast. ‘And?’
‘The description is very particular. A young woman, with red hair.’
Torina’s fingers flew to her kerchief, checking to be sure every hair was hidden. Dahmis got up with sudden speed. He yanked the scarf from her head in one swift jerk. Her hair tumbled down in thick waves, as the king stared. Torina scowled at him, her hands winding up the tell-tale red.
‘Who are you?’ he cried. ‘You’re so beautiful.’
‘Who is looking for me?’
He shook his head. ‘I haven’t been able to find out. If you could bring yourself to trust me, my task would be easier. Tell me at least the kingdom he comes from.’
She considered. ‘I trust you enough to tell you I never see visions of my own future, so I don’t know.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You can’t help yourself with your gift?’
She twisted her hands, regretting she had told him. ‘No.’
‘But can you guess? Someone from your past? Where do you come from?’
‘No. I won’t tell you.’
‘Vineda, I trust you with my life. Can’t you trust me with yours?’ His honest face was a trace impatient.
She wanted to pour everything out to him, lay down the burden of secrecy. And why not? Fate had led her to a position of trust with the most powerful man in the kingdoms. He would believe her.
But then, what about her beloved homeland? She had learned that Vesputo’s army was still as formidable as during her father’s time. She knew almost nothing of the political events shaping Archeld. What if her claim would lead to a devastating civil war? In the minds of her people, she was long dead.
‘Yes, with my life I trust you. But if you knew . . .’
‘It might lead me to war?’ he asked. At the look on his face, she shrank further from the thought of conquering Vesputo with Dahmis’ help. No one else must die for her. No one.
She nodded reluctantly.
‘I see,’ said the king.
They were silent together, Torina braiding her hair, Dahmis watching. Then, to her astonishment, the king knelt in front of her chair, eyes on a level with hers. She felt the force of his presence.
‘Vineda. Move to my fortress. There you’ll be safe.’
She flung up her hands, letting her rebellious hair escape. ‘There I’ll be killed! It’s what they will expect.’
‘Who will expect? You can’t ignore the danger!’ Dahmis enclosed her fluttering hands.
She shook him off. ‘I won’t live a prisoner in a king’s fortress.’
A sudden torrent of rain beat on the roof. The fire flared and sputtered as drops fell into it.
‘Let me protect you,’ the king urged. ‘If you won’t move to my fortress, allow me to guard you.’
‘If you send soldiers here, you’ll only draw attention to me. And I won’t go with you,’ she answered.
‘I am High King. You know this. Do you feel no awe?’
She met his gaze. ‘I feel awe. But not of kings.’
‘Vineda, on my knees, I ask you. Let me help you.’
‘I never wanted you to kneel to me. I won’t leave. If you want to help me, find the man who is looking for me, before he finds me and goes back to . . .’
‘Back to?’
‘Back to where he came from,’ she snapped.
Dahmis chuckled. The chuckle grew to a laugh. He got off his knees and bowed to her.
‘Forgive me. Keep your solitude. I’ll keep hunting these rumours.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled.
‘If you change your mind, one word will bring all the help you ask for.’ Dahmis put his hand in his p
ocket and drew out a glass-like black stone suspended from a red cord. It was carved with his crest.
‘This will gain you passage through my check-point, and open all doors to me. There are only five of these in the kingdoms. Please take it, and wear it. All guards are instructed to respect this, no matter who bears it.’
She took it, aware of the honour she was given. ‘Thank you, my king.’
He bowed a little awkwardly. Torina watched him ride away in the rain. She went inside and listened to the wild beating of her heart.
In the castle of Archeld, Vesputo met with Beron, just returned from several months of travel.
Beron rumpled his thick eyebrows. ‘My lord, I loosened tongues in every way I know,’ he said. ‘No one had heard of a crystal that could tell the future. I tracked down a few red-haired lassies living round the fortress of Glavenrell. She was not among them.’
‘If she lives, we must eventually find her,’ Vesputo declared. ‘You searched the neighbouring kingdoms?’
‘Yes, my lord. I rode as far north as Mlaven’s lands, and all the way east to Desante.’
‘How did you find Desante? What did you learn of the Band of Bellanes?’
‘Not much, sir. Bellanes is almost as elusive as the princess, though his fame is spreading.’
‘I wonder who this Bellanes is,’ Vesputo said, stretching his legs to the fire.
‘He leads a band of criminals, sir, that much I learned. King Ardesen let him begin it as a lark, and liked it so well that now Bellanes is entrusted with the most secret missions.’
‘Indeed? What was Bellanes’ crime?’
‘They say all the men are thieves, sir. Bellanes too. Ardesen has them steal things for him. Weapons, treasure, secrets. They say Bellanes can get in anywhere, find anything and bring it back before it’s missed.’
‘Hmm.’ Vesputo’s eyes narrowed to slits.
‘King Ardesen allows Bellanes to come and go at will,’ Beron continued.
‘I wonder if this Bellanes could find and steal a fortune-teller for us? Or a fortune-teller’s stone?’
Beron stared. ‘Of course. He can steal anything.’
‘How would I get a message to this man?’ Vesputo tapped his fingers together. ‘I could do it through King Ardesen.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘If she’s alive, she’s hidden somewhere, and hidden well. You left spies?’
‘Yes, and promises of fortunes made if we get word. I passed out the seals that will bring letters direct to you.’
‘Thank you, Captain. You’ve done well.’
Beron swelled with pride.
* * *
King Dahmis watched the archery practice of his troops. All reports agreed the Sliviites were massing for an attack. The only thing unknown was where they would strike first. Vineda confirmed what his spies reported: hordes of Sliviite soldiers and mercenaries training together, and Sliviite wealth being poured into building new ships. Sliviia already boasted the finest navy in the world, but the new ships were staggeringly large: each one big enough to hold seven hundred men! Initially, Dahmis was inclined to believe his spies exaggerated: the sheer mass of a boat that big would surely sink it. However, he received more and more confirmation, and worried over the news. Sliviites had harried the coastlines for decades, making themselves hated and feared as pirates. But this. This indicated a full-scale invasion.
Nearly all the northern kingdoms had joined Dahmis now, and he believed those who held out would soon seek the protection of his alliance. Everyone knew the Sliviites were massing for war, and no kingdom wanted to try to fend them off alone. Even Vesputo had been sending conciliatory messages, sounding out Dahmis’ intentions.
Dahmis sighed. Should he let bygones be bygones; allow Vesputo a place in the alliance? After all, the might of Archeld’s army was nothing to treat lightly.
With enough soldiers and good fortifications, there were many ways to defend against an invader who hit from the sea. The question was, where would the Sliviites land? Which bay would receive the onslaught? Try as he might, Dahmis had been unable to get spies placed to find out. Until he knew, his forces and those of his allies would remain ineffectually scattered.
Vineda had looked, again and again, for a vision to help him. All she saw was a terrifying array of huge ships. She couldn’t determine where they would sail to. She thought the Sliviites must still be undecided.
The king bit his lips, wishing he had time to travel alone into Desante. Perhaps he and Vineda together could figure out the right questions to ask.
Autumn was beginning to flirt with winter, bringing lingering frosts. Dahmis believed he had until spring to prepare. Traditionally, the Sliviites waited until the thaw before sailing out to plunder.
At his elbow, Larseld handed him a message scroll. It carried no seal. Dahmis was surprised to receive it unopened.
‘What’s this?’ He turned it over casually.
‘Look closely, my lord.’
Dahmis examined the small, neatly bound scroll. His eyes widened. It was carefully tied in a series of knots. The binding was a code he’d nearly forgotten: his post had been alerted to watch for it, but no one knew its meaning besides himself.
Thank God for vigilant men!
He was receiving a direct message from Dreea, King Kareed’s widow.
The code was one she had initiated. She’d sent him a present of a lovely piece of weaving. There had been little fanfare attached to it; it was delivered, along with a few other courteous offerings from Vesputo, by a small coterie of soldiers. Remembering Vesputo’s poisoned stiletto, Dahmis had the gifts thoroughly searched. All had been found to be innocent. However, one of the soldiers in the coterie had arranged, through Larseld, for a brief meeting alone with the high king. There, Dahmis had been shown the knots – Queen Dreea’s method for reaching him secretly.
Now this. Dahmis headed up ‘King’s Hill’ – a small, high rise of ground near his training fields. The high king used it when he wanted to be alone. From its promontories, he could see anyone coming a long way off.
At the top, he leaned against a pile of boulders and read.
My Dear King Dahmis. I write to you because everything I hear tells me you are a good and honourable man. I think you should know that the Sword of Bellandra was not destroyed, and remains in Archeld. It should not stay in Vesputo’s hands. I can do nothing except let you know where it is, which my husband told me before his death.
There was no signature, but Dahmis shuddered at her bravery. If the message had been intercepted, everything would point to Dreea.
‘The Sword of Bellandra,’ he breathed, hands shaking as he drew out a neat map of Archeld castle’s floor-plan. ‘So, it really was stolen when Kareed conquered Bellandra.’ Kareed had quelled all rumours of the Sword, saying it had been destroyed.
Dahmis wiped sweat from his face, realizing the risks Dreea had taken. This was an act of supreme courage. Dahmis rolled the scroll tight and put it in his pocket. He turned his face to the sky, talking out loud.
‘How I am to take Bellandra’s Sword from Vesputo is hard to see.’
When the grim-faced king returned to the archery field, he and Larseld stood apart, conferring. An hour later, a royal messenger was riding hard in the direction of Desante.
Chapter Four
King Ardesen waited for Bellanes. He looked forward to the meeting, as he would fine entertainment. Bellanes was everything he had hoped: ingenious, unpredictable, effective.
The young man came forward with his trademark quick grace. Ardesen studied him as he bowed and took a chair opposite the king. The restive, exotic face with its peculiar ice-fire eyes, greeted him with a brief smile.
‘You sent for me, sir.’
The king handed a scroll to his guest. Bellanes’ eyes darted across it. Ardesen saw a tensing of shoulders; movement as if the young man wanted to crumple it in his fist.
‘No, sir.’ Bellanes handed it back.
‘No?
’ The king squinted in pretended disbelief.
‘No. That letter is from King Vesputo.’
‘He wants to meet you. Invites you to his kingdom for a job he believes only you can do. Promises to pay you richly.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Yes, that is what it says.’
‘I know what it says, sir,’ Bellanes told him. Ardesen felt singed by the burning in the fighter’s eyes.
‘Well? Aren’t you tempted to find out what King Vesputo wants?’
Bellanes shrugged. ‘No, sir, not in the least tempted.’
‘What shall I tell Vesputo?’
‘Whatever you like, sir.’
Ardesen glared ferociously to hide his amusement as he considered Vesputo’s discomfiture. ‘You surprise me.’
‘Will that be all, sir?’
‘No. I have another letter for you.’
With great satisfaction, Ardesen reached into his robes for a second scroll. Bellanes scanned it. This time was different. The young man seemed filled with surging force.
‘I can be gone within the hour.’
‘So, serving the high king is not a matter of indifference to you?’
‘No, sir. Do you know what he wants me to do?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll start off today.’ Bellanes bounded from his chair. ‘Thank you, sir. Contact Andris if you need anything in my absence.’
He bowed and was gone. Ardesen thumped his fist on his knee in solitary enjoyment, then pounded his forehead because he had not asked why Bellanes did not care to meet Vesputo.
‘He would never have told me, even if I asked,’ the king declared.
* * *
Dahmis’ breath smoked in the air as he looked out from his favourite spot. He could see Larseld walking up King’s Hill, followed by a tall man dressed in a quilted jacket. The stranger moved easily along the steep incline.
‘Here is Bellanes, sir,’ Larseld said.
Dahmis reached out a hand. Bellanes shook it firmly.
‘Thank you, Larseld.’ Dahmis smiled at his general. Larseld nodded and began descending the hill.
The Seer and the Sword Page 17