‘Andris.’ Bellanes’ voice was stark. ‘Andris, turn round slowly.’
The big man shipped his oars and swivelled. ‘What?’
‘There, along the gunwale.’ Bellanes pointed.
Holding on to the rim of the boat, Andris caught a glimpse of human hands. They let go. There was a splash.
Bellanes leaned over the side. ‘Wait!’ he called. ‘Show yourself.’
The man swam. Bellanes lifted the oars on his end, rowing along with Andris. They soon overtook the swimmer. The stranger was clearly too tired even to dive away from them. Andris picked up a fishnet and threw it over him, yanking it tight, pulling him against the side of the boat.
‘Speak, and tell us who you are,’ Bellanes said.
No answer. Andris and Bellanes pulled him into the boat like a great fish. Once he was over the side, Bellanes opened the net. The motionless man’s skin was puckered and bluish. On his chest was a patterned scar, cut in the shape of a star.
‘Not one of the crew,’ Bellanes said.
‘Sliviite!’ Andris roared. He raised his oar, intending to bring it crashing down on the stranger’s head.
‘Stop!’ Bellanes commanded.
Andris checked himself in mid-air. The man fixed his eyes on Bellanes and put out his hand, palm up. On his wrist was a mark.
‘Sliviite slave or conscript,’ Bangor breathed.
‘Strong, brave man,’ Bellanes answered.
‘What shall I do with him?’ Andris glowered.
‘Teach him,’ Bellanes murmured, gripping the man’s hand and giving him a reassuring look.
‘Teach him what?’
‘How to be a free man and a brother. Andris, meet the newest member of our band.’
‘You can’t mean it!’
‘I can. This man has spirit and strength more than any of us. The kind of man we need.’ Bellanes chafed the man’s swollen fingers.
‘You’ve gone daft in the ocean! Bellanes, the band has no need of another man!’
But Bellanes was smiling as if all the weights on his soul had lifted. His eyes were lit with unreasonable happiness. ‘Andris, there’s always a need for good men.’
‘Look!’ Bangor grinned.
Lying swathed in folds of fishnet, drenched with rain, the Sliviite snored. Andris glared, while Bellanes chuckled.
‘He must have kept himself awake in the ocean, fought through the tide, then caught hold of our boat while we slept. He could have capsized us, Andris, but only held on. He’s not a man of war; just trying to save his life.’
Andris shook his head. ‘Well if you must, you must.’
Bellanes bent to the oars. ‘I must. Let’s take us home.’
When they reached the beach, the rain had lightened. The tired trio found a burned-out fire surrounded by dazed men hunched under sodden blankets. When roused, they gave no news. Perhaps a battle raged on the beaches of Castle Bay. Maybe Dahmis was killed. No messages. Nothing.
Bangor fell to the ground in dead sleep, while Andris and Bellanes tethered the boat with the last of their ebbing strength. Bellanes insisted on covering the Sliviite with a blanket before collapsing himself.
* * *
Landen woke to a clear sky softened by the hint of approaching dawn. He sat up. Something had wakened him.
The beach was strewn with men who looked as if thrown to the ground, sleeping next to a heap of ashes. They ought to have posted a sentry. He listened, unfurling his body from the rough sand. Warily, he moved towards a pile of huge black rocks that lined their camp.
Soft, crunching footsteps. He ran at a crouch towards the sound. A shadowy figure emerged from the boulders. The high king. Landen embraced him.
‘Bellanes. Thank God you’re safe.’
‘And you, my king. What happened at Castle Bay?’
‘First, tell me how it went with the crew.’
‘Seven soldiers never made the beach,’ Landen told him sadly. The king bowed his head. ‘All the rest came back.’
Dahmis put a hand on his shoulder. ‘The work done by you and those brave men made it possible for us to defeat the Sliviites. Your fires destroyed many of their vessels. We met what was left of their forces on the shore. Some arrived in longboats, and they were desperate fighters. Others came in nearly drowned, too tired to give battle. It’s over, Bellanes. Our world lives on, because of you.’
Landen breathed deeply, looking at the surf glinting in the faint predawn light. The same ocean he had watched the night before, when so much was unknown and dangerous, beat against the rocks now. They’d been granted victory, and life. It could have gone the other way. He sorrowed after the courageous men who’d perished and the cruel folly of war. And he savoured the sweetness of his breath moving in and out in rhythm with the waves. It was good to be alive: to feel the harsh grains beneath his feet and hear bird-calls heralding the dawn.
He stood talking with the high king until the sun rose.
Chapter Nine
As Vesputo and his followers converged with the other kings and their soldiers, they were met by worn-out men and women displaying the euphoria of victory. Most soldiers were sent home at once, relieved by the containment of the Sliviite menace; home to their families, home to help tend the fields and towns of their beloved countries. They would carry with them the story of how the great invasion had been staunched; how the Band of Bellanes, together with soldiers of the high king’s army, overcame a fearsome array of navy ships; how a small, determined group of fighters, led by King Dahmis, met the surviving invaders on the beaches of Castle Bay and put an end to their piracy.
That evening, the kings met in council in the biggest house in Castle Bay. Though they clamoured to hail Bellanes as a hero, he had disappeared without so much as a bow in their direction. It was a disappointment to Vesputo, to miss the famous thief again. Anger fuelled his eloquence as he argued that Dahmis’ seer must be responsible for the attack on Castle Bay. ‘How else would the Sliviites have redirected their fleet to the most unprotected outpost of Glavenrell?’ he demanded. ‘She’s the only one with both the knowledge and motivation to give such information to our enemies.’
Soon, the other kings took up the call to have her hunted down. Dahmis grew more and more serious as the seer was denounced, defending her staunchly. But his reasonable words couldn’t sway the haughty monarchs.
‘You admit she no longer helps you!’ Mlaven roared. ‘That means she knows too much. If not with you, she’s against you. With all she knows and can see, she’s dangerous!’
‘Think of the losses we might have sustained,’ Vesputo urged.
Dahmis stood, strong face hard as oak. ‘Very well,’ his deep voice rang. ‘Find her if you can. But her foresight may defeat you all.’
‘Where is she?’ called out Mlaven.
‘I’m sworn not to reveal that,’ Dahmis answered.
‘Of course, then, you must not,’ Vesputo jumped in to the babble of dissenting voices. When the assembled kings stopped, staring at him, he pressed on. ‘None of us would wish the high king to break a vow.’
Dahmis bowed stiffly to him.
‘There can be no objection to making another promise, my king,’ Vesputo continued. ‘Assure this company that you will not warn her. Then each of us can do our utmost to find her. Tracking her will be a fitting exercise for our soldiers. I myself have been able to determine she lives somewhere in Desante.’
Vesputo saw he carried the moment, as the collected kings raised glasses, toasting him. He knew enough of battle to understand that these men, who had been poised for war and denied a share in the fighting, were itching for action.
The high king set down his glass. ‘Allies,’ his voice reverberated round the room. ‘I’m sorry we’ve used this occasion, the celebration of peace, and our liberation from Sliviite piracy, to condemn one who has assisted many of us. Let us turn our thoughts to rejoicing. Our unity at this historic time is worthy of festivity. I invite you all to a feast tomorrow evening, t
o commemorate it.’ He paused, and they cheered him. ‘For tonight,’ he went on, ‘you must excuse me, for I am in need of rest.’
Anyone with half an eye could believe the great king was almost dead on his feet with fatigue. Rumour said he’d not slept for days.
Chiming in with the rest of the kings, Vesputo saluted as the high king turned away with a majesty remindful of Kareed in his prime.
Vesputo lost no time speaking to Beron. ‘All the kings are agreed. The seer must die.’
‘The prin—’
‘Yes. Everyone will seek her. We know where she is and what she looks like, so you can be first to reach her.’
‘Do you want her captured, my lord, and taken to you in Archeld?’
Vesputo stroked his chin. ‘I’ve decided it would be too troublesome to keep her under guard. No. All I need is the crystal. Another woman can be trained to use it. Irene told me how its secret can be unlocked.’
‘Kill her then, sir?’
‘Kill her. Before you do, take care to find out where she keeps the crystal. I want that stone.’
‘Of course, my lord. How do I—’
‘No poison.’ Vesputo jerked a finger across Beron’s throat. ‘Take the shortest route to Desan.’
‘Yes, my lord. I’ll leave now.’
‘Good. And wear a mask.’
As Dahmis emerged from the council house, eager towns-people crowded round him, offering comfortable beds, and anything else they had. Grateful for their goodwill, but filled with intolerable urgency, Dahmis caught Larseld’s eye. His general had arrived that afternoon.
Within minutes, Larseld manoeuvred matters so that Dahmis was escorted away, while polite assurances were delivered to the adoring populace: the high king thanked them all for their kindness; the high king had a bed waiting for him.
Dahmis and Larseld galloped south towards camp, leaving good-natured guards to soothe the people and keep them off-limits. The gibbous moon gave enough light to guide the two men. Sleep kept washing over Dahmis like waves at high tide. He forced the tide back.
When town was out of sight, the king reined in. ‘We aren’t going to camp,’ he panted. ‘We ride to Bellanes. I need to speak with him alone.’
‘Is he still nearby?’
‘About five miles.’ Dahmis told him where, then asked Larseld to lead his horse. The general wound the king’s reins together with his own.
* * *
Dahmis struggled out of dead sleep. Gentle hands, very strong, were lifting him off his horse. He opened his eyes to starry skies, wondering where he was; trying to recall the insistent worry that pounded at the edges of his mind.
‘Awake, sir?’ He knew the voice. Soft and ringing. Bellanes. Why was Bellanes beside him in the night? Then he remembered.
‘Yes, I’m awake.’
‘Larseld said there’s something important?’
Dahmis cleared his throat. ‘Again, I turn to you.’
‘Tell me.’ Bellanes sat across from him on the ground.
Dahmis rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It concerns a woman.’ At Bellanes’ expression, he raised a hand. ‘No, it’s not what you think. This woman has been of service to me for some time and, through me, helped some of the other kings as well.’ Dahmis’ heart ached as he called Vineda to mind; defiant intelligence, lovely eyes, shining hair he’d seen only once. ‘Have any rumours reached you, Bellanes, about a certain fortune-teller who has turned against me?’ Dahmis squeezed his eyes to focus them, looking at the quiet face in front of him.
Bellanes shook his head. ‘No, sir. A fortune-teller? Turned against you?’
‘It seems she has a hatred for King Vesputo. After he joined the alliance, she stopped helping me. Now it’s said she gave information to the Sliviites.’
Bellanes frowned. ‘Information? What sort?’
The high king looked up at the distant stars, feeling a cool wind in his hair. ‘She can see things that happen, even when she isn’t there. She sees it in her crystal. She can even see the future.’
Bellanes’ face in the moonlight went white as a beach shell. ‘A seer?’ He put his hands to the ground as if he needed the earth to hold him up. ‘I once knew someone . . .’
Dahmis peered hard at the young man. ‘You know this woman?’
‘No,’ Bellanes said hoarsely. ‘The one I knew has been dead for years.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Dahmis put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
‘Your seer’s name?’
‘Vineda.’
‘Forgive me. The mention of a seer – of course there are others. Where does she come from?’
‘Desante.’
‘What is it you need?’ Bellanes returned to the subject.
Rolling his burly shoulders, Dahmis tried to shake off the burden of weariness. ‘The kings want her killed. They say she knows too much, both by her gift, and by her counsels with kings.’
‘And you?’
‘I have . . . agreed.’
The young man’s shadowed eyes burned with revulsion. ‘You ask me here to be your assassin? To kill a woman?’
‘No, my friend. I only gave the appearance of agreement. It was necessary, to save her life. Though I suggested to the kings that her sight would prevent capture, it won’t. She doesn’t see her own future.’
‘Sir. Forgive me. I— what is it you want me to do?’
‘Give her safe escort into exile. Before you agree, Bellanes, you must know; she won’t come with you willingly. She’s very proud and disdains help. Also, each king will try to outdo the others in this, sending the most skilled assassins. Somehow, Vesputo has learned at least part of her location. I fear he may know exactly where she is.’
Bellanes smiled darkly. ‘How much time do I have?’
‘The council met last evening.’
‘Then I’ll be on my way. Dawn will come soon.’
‘Bellanes, whatever you need or wish for, name it.’
‘There is something, sir. Where is she and what does she look like?’
Dahmis chuckled. He drew a map in the dirt. Bellanes committed it to memory.
‘As for her looks, they’re very distinctive. She keeps most of herself hidden in drab dresses and ugly kerchiefs.’
Bellanes grinned. ‘How am I to know her from any other old woman in Desante?’
‘Ah, my friend. She isn’t old. Young, with lovely features and eyes the colour of the ocean. To be certain, pull off her kerchief. If the hair beneath is flaming red, you have the right one.’
The high king stopped, amazed to see the young man shaking from head to foot, his face bone white again, breath coming in gusty pants.
‘What is it?’ Dahmis cried.
Bellanes leaped to his feet. He jumped on his horse.
‘Bellanes! Where are you going?’
‘Desante, my king,’ the voice rasped. ‘I will find her, or . . .’
Dahmis didn’t catch those final words. He heard only the sound of retreating hoof-beats.
Torina looked round at her neatly swept cabin. On the chairs, a few tightly packed bundles rested; everything she would take with her to Desan. Most of the high king’s gold was stashed in the storage cellar of the Dirkson farm. She had burned the letters to her mother one by one, rereading each one before consigning them to fire. The crystal, still wrapped, nestled in her pocket. Beneath her faded dress hung the red cord holding Dahmis’ emblem: it would be useful if anyone tried to delay her.
Beside her, Lindsa and Anna smiled, while Antonia played in the soft evening air just outside the open door.
‘I planned to be long gone by now,’ Torina said.
‘You couldn’t have left any sooner, with that sickness,’ Anna soothed.
Torina wrapped her arms round her middle. Anxiety hovered near, as it had ever since the day she’d resisted the crystal, shown her hair, fallen sick. She knew in her heart that something was wrong; knew she’d made a mistake, strayed from the path of goodness.
‘E
at something,’ Anna urged.
A prickly feeling crawled up Torina’s spine. She felt as if she were forgetting something important that was right in front of her.
Sounds outside signalled a rider approaching. Then Antonia began to cry.
Lindsa ran to lift her child. Torina’s heart lurched like a lame horse, as a tall, masked man burst in on them. The slits of his eyes fastened on her as he lunged, catching hold of her arms. Frightened shrieks erupted from Anna and Lindsa as a great fist slammed into Torina’s head.
She saw bright silver stars drifting round her and fell with them into blackness.
Chapter Ten
Torina woke lying on the ground, covered with a rough blanket. Pine needles under her told her it was high country. A cold breeze brushed her aching head. Dark trees greeted her, and a swath of stars was visible. Moonlight filtered in, silhouetting the black shape of a tethered horse.
Torina propped herself on an elbow. A few feet away, the masked man leaned against a tree trunk, chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep.
He hadn’t bothered to tie her! She crawled forward, feeling for roots or stones, moving slowly, while her body screamed at her to run. Her hand touched something. A leather pouch. She stopped.
Run away! her body cried.
But she had to know. Who had kidnapped her? She slid her hand inside the pouch. Heart grappling with her chest wall, Torina drew out a little bag and explored it with quivering fingers. Some large, heavy coins. In the corner, a ring! Perhaps a signet ring. If so, she could learn the identity of the sleeping man.
She pulled the ring out, examining it in the dim moonlight. A simple band set with a round stone.
I know this ring! It once belonged to me.
A miniature crystal, set in gold. The last time she’d seen it was the day that her father was killed.
Torina was on her feet, dizzy and crying, moving towards the sleeping man. Instantly awake, he leaped to her side as she swayed and tottered. His arms circled her, holding her up. Great sobs wrung her body, years of pent-up tears washing over her cheeks. He took off his mask. The shadowed face, dearly familiar, was revealed.
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