The Seer and the Sword

  ‘Yes.’

  He dug in his pocket. ‘I’m the envoy for King Dahmis. He read your message and sends this ring as a token of his confidence in me.’

  He extended his hand, holding an ornate ring. Vineda stepped inside the cabin. He followed, reaching towards her with the ring. She shut the door, not taking his offering.

  ‘I understand the need for disguise while travelling, King Dahmis,’ she said. ‘But did you think to fool me with costumes?’

  He threw up his hands. ‘I thought I’d find a muttering crone. Instead, I find . . .’ He stopped, clamping his lips. She was looking at him as if she felt neither fear nor awe of his position. She had just called him King Dahmis. She must know he was the high king.

  ‘Why are you here?’ The direct question caught the king off-guard.

  ‘I received a message saying you know the future. If that’s true, you could be invaluable to me.’ And if it isn’t true, you’re still beautiful.

  ‘Please.’ She pointed to a chair. She sat opposite him, taking up a piece of embroidery, for all the world as if they were two equals. It was a pattern of flowers; she began stitching. Dahmis leaned forward.

  ‘Do you see the future?’

  ‘I see, yes. But only what is shown to me. Not everything.’

  The king felt more and more impressed with this unusual young woman. He almost believed she could do what she said. At least she wasn’t making claims to being all-knowing.

  ‘What do you see that concerns the realm?’

  Her hand paused in her needlework, eyes probing his face. ‘If I tell you, will you do something about it?’

  Dahmis cleared his throat. ‘If it benefits the realm. If it’s reasonable.’

  ‘Is the truth always reasonable?’ Her voice had a flat, cold sadness in it.

  The king was taken aback. ‘I don’t suppose so.’

  ‘It’s the unreasonable things that need to be fore-told. Because no one can know what they won’t look for. No one can prepare for what they don’t think of.’

  She didn’t address him as ‘sir’ or ‘my lord’. It was oddly refreshing coming from her, and seemed natural.

  Who is she?

  ‘I have no experience of your skill.’

  ‘Meaning you don’t wish to be tricked into taking an action that could be foolish?’

  He nodded. No point in denying it.

  ‘That’s only reasonable. You don’t know me. I could be a liar. So, I’ll give you one free prophecy. If you ignore it, it will be the last.’

  ‘Fair.’

  She put down her embroidery. ‘King Vesputo wants your kingdom and position.’

  Dahmis leaned back. ‘Vesputo has exchanged courtesies with me. He’s never disputed the borders.’

  ‘It’s not his way to declare his intentions openly.’

  Dahmis admitted to himself that Vesputo was said to be an unscrutable man. ‘And what is his way?’

  Her eyes turned inward, voice low. ‘He strikes at the heart, knowing that once the heart dies, the hands and feet will quickly lose life.’

  Dahmis’ rib cage suddenly felt too small. He tried to look in her eyes, which focused on some unknown point.

  ‘What is it you see? Please tell me.’

  King Dahmis sat in the private council chamber of Glavenrell’s fortress. The walls were thick, the door shut, and he was with the two men he trusted most in the world. Larseld, his best general, and Michal, his oldest friend.

  Tension gathered in Dahmis’ shoulders and pounded behind his eyes. He had sworn to Vineda not to reveal anything about her beyond her existence. Now he told his friends only that he’d consulted a seer.

  Michal, a rugged man with twinkling eyes, occupied a chair across from the king. They had grown up together and enjoyed the firmest of friendships. Larseld, tall, wiry, with serious dark eyes and black hair he kept tied back from his face, sat to the king’s left. The three men met together often, not standing on ceremony when they were alone.

  ‘An assassin sent by King Vesputo is supposed to arrive at this fortress by tomorrow evening?’ Michal looked incredulous.

  Larseld put the tips of his fingers together. ‘Did she give a description? Could we recognize the man?’

  ‘Oh yes. The description was thorough and detailed.’

  ‘If she’s right?’

  ‘If.’

  ‘Do you believe she tells the truth?’ Michal cut in.

  ‘How can I know?’

  ‘But do you believe it?’

  Dahmis thought about the young seer with the drab clothes and bewitching eyes. ‘I don’t want to believe,’ he answered gruffly. ‘Yet I do.’

  Larseld stroked his chin. ‘Then we must arrive at a plan of action. We must treat it as real.’

  ‘I can’t arrest an envoy of Vesputo’s on sight! Vesputo would never let such an insult pass. If this is a hoax, it could create war!’

  Michal grinned. ‘I see your dilemma.’

  Larseld rubbed his forehead. ‘We must have guards standing by. If he draws this stiletto she spoke of, they can be ready.’

  ‘No, it would need only a prick to kill. Poison.’

  Larseld frowned. ‘Then we must devise a different strategy.’

  ‘I have it,’ Michal announced, smiling and spreading his hands. ‘I impersonate you, Dahmis! Forewarned is forearmed. I’m stronger than you and could block his wrist if he makes so much as a move. You and Larseld can be nearby, with a picked group of soldiers. We find out his intentions, and no one will be put at risk.’

  Dahmis shook his head. ‘No. That puts you at risk. We could easily carry out the same plan, using the real king, myself.’

  Michal laughed. ‘No. If you were killed, these lands would crumble, and all your alliances go for nothing. Besides, I am stronger.’ He winked.

  ‘Stronger than everyone,’ Dahmis smiled.

  Larseld leaned in. ‘People hear that the high king is a large man with brown hair.’ He pointed at Michal. ‘Michal could represent the king to someone who has never seen him. The hair could pass for yours, my lord, and your robes would fit him.’

  Dahmis set his jaw. ‘I’ll never agree to put you in jeopardy for an office you don’t hold, Michal.’

  ‘I’m more stubborn than you, King Mule,’ Michal answered.

  ‘This isn’t mock swordplay you talk of!’ Dahmis roared.

  Their voices were raised far into the night. At last, Dahmis agreed to allow Michal to wear the king’s robes and talk with the ‘envoy’ – if the envoy came.

  Vesputo had sent no advance messages.

  King Dahmis, wearing the togs of a low-ranking soldier, stood in an open field adjoining a wooded area not far from his fortress. Next to him, Michal looked convincingly royal. Michal’s powerful frame seemed made for the part. Dahmis smiled at the effect, feet shifting nervously. The sun was low. She had said the time was now.

  ‘If this turns out to be an elaborate ruse—’ he began, bending towards Michal.

  ‘Halt! Do not approach your common head so near!’ Michal’s eyes danced in pretended disgust.

  Dahmis laughed. ‘Scoundrel.’

  ‘If this fortune-teller of yours has any other visions, may I be a part of them.’

  ‘Remember, my friend, there’s great danger in this charade if it turns real.’

  ‘So you say. Look! Larseld, with a stranger who fits the description.’

  Both men stared as Larseld advanced across the field, escorting a tall, broad-chested man dressed in Archeldan clothes.

  ‘Now, Michal. Be king.’ Dahmis dropped back.

  Larseld led on, a sheen of sweat on his face. He stopped a few feet from Michal.

  ‘King Dahmis, this man is an envoy from King Vesputo,’ Larseld announced.

  Michal stepped forward. ‘Greetings. This is an unexpected honour.’

  ‘Greetings, sir. I bring urgent dispatches from King Vesputo, for your ears alone. Perhaps this evening we can meet privately.’

>   ‘I regret I received no word of your visit,’ Michal said. ‘I am not at liberty to meet with you this evening.’ He frowned, as though considering, then pointed at the nearby trees. ‘However, a few moments now, if you’re not too tired from your trip?’

  The Archeldan’s smile gleamed, and Dahmis’ heart sped. The fellow Vesputo had sent looked dangerous. When Michal volunteered for this duty, did he believe there was any real threat?

  Michal and his guest walked towards the wood. They disappeared behind the leaves, trailed by Dahmis and Larseld. All was quiet, except for the soft sounds of the breeze, and muffled, calm voices filtering through branches. Dahmis and Larseld stopped and waited.

  A shout. They rushed forward. Breaking through thick foliage, they found Michal and the Archeldan struggling for possession of a long stiletto. Vesputo’s man held it inches from Michal’s throat as Michal pushed it away. The arms of both were taut and shaking.

  When the stranger saw them, he jerked away and began to run. Five of Dahmis’ soldiers, planted in the wood, sprang out. They tackled the running man midstride. As he went down, they pinned him to the ground, carefully disarming him. King Dahmis signalled them, then hurried to Michal’s side.

  His friend was breathing hard, pulling the king’s robes from his shoulders. ‘You can have your kingship, and welcome!’ Michal thrust the robes into Dahmis’ arms, cursing eloquently.

  ‘Did he prick you?’ Dahmis asked, sick with anxiety.

  ‘Not a scratch.’

  Dahmis clutched his pounding heart, which seemed to be galloping away without him.

  ‘My lord, whoever gave you news of this is very valuable.’

  ‘Yes. Evidence too strong to deny.’

  ‘Your life has been saved.’

  ‘And yours, thank God.’ Dahmis lifted his eyes to the sky. ‘It isn’t over, Michal. I have to decide what action to take.’

  ‘Yes, the burdens of the high king.’ Michal’s eyes were regaining their sparkle, but he asked seriously, ‘Will you ride against Vesputo?’

  ‘No. That would be a terrible waste, and could well destroy the balance of what I’ve built with the alliances. How could they trust a peacemaker who wars on his nearest neighbour?’

  ‘Will you allow it to go without even a warning, or a change in your offers of alliance?’

  ‘No.’ Dahmis hitched his burly shoulders into the king’s robes. ‘No. A warning must be sent.’

  The Archeldan stood in the field, closely guarded. His arms were tied, ankles bound. As Dahmis and Michal approached, Larseld handed the stiletto to his king.

  ‘This is poison-tipped, or I’m mistaken.’ Dahmis pointed the weapon at the prisoner. ‘A strange gift from a peaceful neighbour.’

  The man’s eyes went from him to Michal. ‘You are the king?’

  ‘I am.’ Dahmis turned to his general. ‘Larseld, did you search him?’

  ‘He had full papers on him, backing his claim to be an envoy of Vesputo. His name is Toban Avula.’

  ‘Toban.’ Dahmis examined the stiletto, keeping the tip away from his body. ‘King Vesputo sent you to kill me?’

  Toban looked wary. ‘No, my king. That imposter attacked me.’

  Dahmis raised his left hand. ‘Why did you bring this poisonous weapon into Glavenrell?’

  ‘A man travelling alone never knows when he may need protection. Your roads are not yet safe for a stranger.’

  ‘My roads not safe? Why did you try to kill the high king?’ Dahmis was stern.

  ‘That was not meant for you, my lord.’

  Dahmis considered the man in front of him. Hard, crafty eyes in a good-looking face. Vineda had said this man must never be trusted for even a moment. Dahmis believed her. He could almost read in the man’s face a long history of corruption and cruelty.

  The king felt bone-tired. He was reeling from the knowledge that his life had been snatched back from a death crossing. He shook with relief that his dearest friend had been spared. Now, he confronted a problem that would require all his diplomatic skill to contain.

  The witnesses to this strange event were a handful of men picked for their discretion. Airing the incident would serve no purpose. Imprisoning Toban could lead to unsavoury problems that might be terribly costly to the new alliances. Vesputo was certainly capable of using this to create a wedge for splitting the kingdoms again.

  Timing. Unthinkable to send Toban back to Vesputo now. Politically risky to imprison him.

  It was a thorny thing he held. Every way he picked it up, it stung. This one man could be the demise of countless plans. What to do?

  ‘You must think me a fool,’ the king said.

  ‘No, sir. And I am being detained improperly. I demand the consideration of courtesy.’

  Dahmis raged inwardly. So, they would play on his reputation for justice, using it against him.

  ‘This was not meant for me?’ Dahmis raised the stiletto a little higher.

  ‘No, my king.’

  Dahmis stepped nearer. ‘No?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Neither is this meant for you,’ the high king said and, with a quick lunge, he drove the thin point of the stiletto into Toban’s shoulder.

  ‘A message needs to be delivered to your king,’ Dahmis rumbled, withdrawing the blade. ‘And you are the very one to give it.’

  Within moments, the man began to writhe, screaming outraged pain and fury. King and soldiers drew back, watching as he died.

  ‘A man travelling alone never knows when he may need protection,’ the king muttered.

  Curled in a chair, Torina tried to drive away the ache in her heart. Her crystal was obstinate about Landen: though she asked daily to be given some sign of him, no vision came.

  A light knock sounded at her door. The knock was unfamiliar. Torina recognized the differences between Tesh, Anna and Lindsa, her only regular visitors. She went to the window and peered at her step. A large man wrapped in a goatherd’s draggled clothes stood outside. She opened the door to Dahmis, High King. He smiled at her, a friendly light in his eyes.

  ‘Thank you for your vision, Vineda,’ he said, his deep voice gentle.

  She reached out to him with quick, unthought gladness. ‘You caught him?’

  He took her hand in a manly grip. ‘We caught him, and sent him back to his king.’

  ‘Sent him back?’ She dropped his hand.

  King Dahmis chuckled. ‘I see it’s true that not everything is shown to you.’ He gave her a keen glance. ‘He won’t trouble anyone again.’

  ‘H— he’s dead?’

  ‘He is dead.’

  ‘Oh!’ Her heart leaped. Toban, her former guard, Vesputo’s accomplice, gone!

  ‘Now for more cheerful matters. Come.’ He tugged at her arm. She followed him outside.

  Two magnificent horses, one white, one grey, stood by a tree, their reins looped over a branch. Dahmis unwound the reins of the white horse and put them in Torina’s hands.

  ‘For you. With thanks.’

  For a moment, Torina was a child again, a child in love with a beautiful creature. She put her arms round the silky white mare, blinking back tears. She rubbed her eyes on the soft coat.

  ‘She’s much too fine for a village girl,’ she said.

  ‘Plainly, you weren’t raised on a farm. Will you tell me where you come from?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ah.’ The king seemed to be biting back words. ‘Well.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Keep the horse. She’s yours. The villagers will get used to it. You can tell them you have rich relations. A cousin who fought in the Desan Games and won.’

  Torina twined slender fingers in the mare’s mane, shaking her head.

  ‘Please. As a favour to a king.’

  The mare nuzzled her shoulder. That settled it. ‘Yes, you beauty,’ she crooned to the horse, smiling at the king.

  Dahmis looked satisfied. ‘You agree she’s yours?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. I
’ll call her Justina.’

  ‘Justina.’

  They were quiet together, Torina stroking the mare, wondering how Amber was doing.

  ‘Vineda, what more can you tell me?’

  Her chest tightened. ‘First, remember you’ve never seen me. You know nothing of what I look like.’

  The king put a hand on her arm, turning her to face him fully. He grasped both her hands in his. Reflexively, she pulled away. He shoved his hands in the pockets of the old, patched coat he wore.

  ‘Don’t ever fear me,’ he told her.

  Vesputo stood in the courtyard, flanked by Beron, staring down at the training exercises Emid was holding. His mind was far away, in Glavenrell. Where was Toban? He should have reported back by this time.

  A commotion behind made him turn. He heard voices calling and the sound of horses reined in. Several of his soldiers were gathering round a contingent of men dressed in the brown uniforms of the high king. A soldier stepped forward, bowing.

  ‘My lord.’

  Vesputo inclined his head the minimum that courtesy dictated. The day was warm and mild, but he felt as if a cold wind blew on him. His hands were icy as Dahmis’ captain gave him a scroll.

  ‘The high king sends you this message, with his regrets.’

  The high king sends? Is Dahmis alive?

  The captain nodded to his men. Four brown-clad soldiers lifted a casket from a horse-drawn cart and carried it to Vesputo. They set it down on the stones of the courtyard. The captain bowed again, and made the sign of peaceful farewell.

  ‘Wait,’ Vesputo said. ‘Will you take some refreshment, rest here for the night?’

  He was answered with a bow. ‘No, my lord. Our thanks, but the high king requires us to return quickly.’

  The man mounted his horse with rapid ease, the contingent following his lead. In another few moments, Vesputo looked after their dust on the road.

  Slowly, he untied the strings on the scroll and read.

  It is with regret that I inform you of the untimely death of one of your envoys who had the misfortune to be set upon by bandits while in my dominions. There are still pockets of lawlessness within my kingdom. My condolences for your loss. Dahmis, High King.

  Vesputo ordered Beron to open the casket. Toban’s bloated face confronted him in death.

  ‘Bury him with honour,’ he said. His voice cracked, but that was all right. Let the men believe he would grieve for them if they died. ‘I’ll attend the funeral. Beron, come with me.’