In desperation, Landen showed the high king’s emblem.
‘If you allow me to go, you’ll be spared the high king’s wrath.’
It convinced the soldiers he was someone of importance, someone who should be seen by their king. They trussed him up.
Torina spent two idyllic days alone in the hidden high valley. She thought of nothing that might bring sorrow or worry, reflecting instead on the beauty of nature and her reunion with Landen. Love hummed in her heart, making her dance. The meagre food supplies at the hut tasted finer than any delicacy she’d eaten when living as a princess.
Sitting beside the spring, taking luxuriant breaths, it seemed the world was hardly big enough to hold her gratitude. She was almost ready to thank Vesputo for betraying her and driving her into the suffering of exile.
Each morning and evening she looked in the crystal, relieved to find it blank and quiet. She believed Dahmis would be spared the death Vesputo planned; Landen would recover the Sword of Bellandra and Vesputo’s time of power end. She told herself nothing more was needed from her. She’d won a second chance from fortune; now she could let others take the actions necessary.
So, it was a shock on the third day when she gazed at the crystal. She rubbed it against her skirt, trying to wipe away the image, gasping in horror as it held steadfast.
Landen. Bruised and bound, standing before Vesputo in the castle of Archeld.
Torina’s hand closed over the crystal. She jumped to her feet.
‘God help me!’
She dashed into the hut, searching in panic for her scarf. When she found it, her trembling fingers would hardly allow her to tie up her hair. Unable to think, she glanced round, forgetting food and water.
Racing out into the evergreens, she headed down the foothills.
Beron was getting close to Glavenrell’s fortress; its outlines were visible on the horizon. The day was pleasant as he jogged along at a steady pace, filled with anticipation. Vesputo had entrusted him with the paramount mission of assassinating the high king! The rewards would be enormous.
Beron remembered the day Vesputo enlisted him, and thought of all that had happened since. Vesputo’s rise to kingship; the riches he granted those who served him. What might he give in return for this undertaking? Beron’s imagination soared.
A weak voice nagged inside him, telling him Archeld was not at war with Glavenrell, had in fact pledged allegiance to the high king. He remembered Emid’s lessons: to kill an ally was a terrible deed. He could still get out of it, ride north into Emmendae and disappear. No. Vesputo would seek him through all the kingdoms, just as he did Princess Torina. Besides, Vesputo is my king. He’s a good king. Archeld is better off now than ever. Kings have always tried to extend their lands. It’s their right.
Beron rode up to the gates of Glavenrell’s fortress, sure of the welcome given emissaries of the allied kings. He reined in at the checkpoint, dismounted and stretched his legs.
‘Urgent message for King Dahmis’ ears alone,’ he told the captain of the guard. The man signalled for a groom, and Beron’s horse was led away to be tended. Waiting for his papers to be checked, Beron yawned.
The captain looked his seals over, said something to the soldiers standing nearby, and waved Beron through the gate.
Two soldiers escorted him inside the fortress. Beron tried not to look awestruck, but Glavenrell’s grand archways and marble corridors impressed him. At sight of all the watchful uniformed men patrolling, fear began in the small of his back, crawling inexorably towards his throat. Vesputo had promised that the tiny vials of poison he carried in his sleeves would be slow acting, giving him plenty of time to meet with King Dahmis and leave the fortress. Now he wondered if he’d ever come out alive.
He was conducted into a room and invited to wait in a rich chair. Wine was brought for him. He gulped it, nervously waiting. If there had only been a second goblet, he might have mixed the poison instantly. As it was, he sat for what seemed an age. He poured more wine, unable to keep himself from drinking more than he should.
When King Dahmis entered, General Larseld was with him. Beron rose, bowing formally.
‘I’m honoured to meet with you, my king.’
‘Your king? I thought you served Vesputo.’ Dahmis’ words had a discourteous edge.
‘Certainly. But you are High King. He acknowledges that.’
‘Does he indeed?’
‘Of course, my lord. And the message I have for you is only for your ears.’
Making no move to dismiss General Larseld, the high king took a chair facing Beron.
‘But perhaps I already know your message.’ The king’s voice sounded ironic.
Beron shook his head slowly, feeling fogged, his fear mounting. Was this the way honoured envoys were treated? The memory of Toban’s face, hideously distorted in death, came to his mind.
‘I doubt that, sir,’ he said, smiling. His words seemed to hit the floor with a dusty sound.
‘Do you? The sentence for treason is death,’ Dahmis answered.
Beron flinched. ‘Treason? What are you talking of, my king?’
‘Turn out your sleeves. And don’t think to run. There are a hundred men within yards of me, each itching to test their weapons on you.’
Overcome by weakness, Beron slid down in his chair. How could Dahmis have known? The Princess Torina was dead. Or was she? Had someone else learned to use her stone? Who had told Dahmis? Who had undone his life?
As General Larseld stripped his shirt from him, shaking out the vials of poison, Beron wished his mouth would work so he could ask King Dahmis about Torina. But his tongue wouldn’t form words.
He watched as the poison was stirred into his wine. There was plenty there to kill several men his size.
General Larseld extended the goblet. ‘Drink it,’ he said.
Beron wavered. Should he dash the wine into the high king’s face? Strike down Larseld?
‘Those men outside are quite ready to force this down your throat,’ King Dahmis said. ‘Or, you could drink it yourself, and keep what dignity remains to you.’
Slow acting. Perhaps it will be quicker, since they’ve given it all to me.
Dully, Beron’s hand closed round the goblet. Without protest, he swallowed the wine.
Torina found a road. She wondered which direction to take, for it led north and south and she wanted to go west.
A horse was coming down the bend; a fine, well-groomed animal, stepping along at a leisurely amble. Riding him was a dapper young man, bow and arrows slung across his back. He ignored Torina until she stepped in front of his horse and held up her hand. He looked at her pointedly; she could feel him taking in her threadbare clothes, hot dusty face and drab scarf.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Do you know the way to Archeld?’ She stroked the horse’s mane, calming her desperate nerves.
The young man pointed back the way he had come. Torina steeled herself to his disdain. ‘My name is Vineda. Yours?’
‘Samed,’ he answered, as if he was used to his name being password to anything he wanted.
‘Will you let me borrow him?’ she asked, caressing the horse’s nose. ‘Please. It’s important.’
Samed sniffed. ‘You must be joking.’
‘Please. At least take me part of the distance I must go.’
Samed sneered in disbelief.
‘A fine bow, I see,’ Torina persisted. ‘Are you a fair shot?’
‘Better than fair.’
‘I can outshoot you.’
‘Ha!’
‘I can.’
The young man abruptly dismounted. He unslung his bow. ‘Show me.’
‘No, no. First, we place our bets. I bet you the horse and bow that I can outshoot you.’
‘High stakes, ma’am. What do you have to put up?’
What did she have? Dahmis’ emblem, which was probably priceless, but Samed wouldn’t know or believe its value and besides she could never sell it. Putting her hand in her
pocket, her fingers closed over the crystal. She brought it out and held it up. Sunlight flashed in its depths. She felt a sharp pain at the thought of giving it up. But it was all she had, and surely valuable enough.
Samed took a step towards her and stared at her body as if he were looking over goods he might buy. ‘No, ma’am. I have all the jewels I want. No.’ He came closer. ‘Drop your stakes or bet yourself,’ he said, leering.
Herself! Torina put the crystal away, heart thumping. He seemed very sure of himself. What if he was a great archer? She’d hardly set finger to bowstring in years.
‘High stakes,’ she quavered. ‘Please, reconsider. Take me to town out of the goodness of your heart.’
The young man smiled disagreeably.
Her face grew hotter. ‘Since you have no heart, you deserve to lose your horse,’ she flared. ‘Very well, I bet myself against your horse and bow.’
Chapter Thirteen
At a remote outpost garrison near the three corners of Desante, Glavenrell and Archeld, sentries played a game of cards. Equan, one of the new soldiers serving King Dahmis, held the best hand he’d been dealt in days. Scanning his cards, he did his best to keep the excitement from his face. This time, he’d win.
One of his companions stood up.
‘Not so fast,’ Equan said.
‘Look there,’ the man said, pointing at the rocky trail they were posted to watch.
A horse was coming on at a furious pace, much too fast for the terrain. Equan put his cards face down.
The rider brought up short with expert handling and slid to the ground in one fluid motion. Equan stared. It was obviously a woman, though where she’d learned to ride like that he couldn’t guess. Her face, under a grimy kerchief, looked wild. Strangest of all, a bow was slung across her shoulder.
‘Where is this?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Whoa, miss,’ Equan’s captain replied. ‘You’re at the three-corner border. Archeld, Desante, Glavenrell.’
‘You’re wearing brown,’ she panted. ‘You must serve the high king.’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Good. Then you can take a message to him for me.’
The senior sentry smiled. ‘A message to the high king. From you?’
Her hands shook as she pulled a red cord from round her neck. The captain touched it, handed it back, his face changing to bewildered respect.
‘Certainly, miss. Tell me what you need.’
‘First, some water. Then, writing materials, a fresh horse and men’s clothes.’
‘You shall have them.’
Andris sat on a stump, cleaning his immaculate knife, preparing to sharpen what was already well honed. The high king had let him know Bellanes was on a private rescue. It might be some time before he returned. The band was to stay where they were camped in Glavenrell. Andris was uneasy, though he wouldn’t admit it.
Life in camp was dull without Bellanes. The only thing of interest was training Cabis, the former Sliviite. The man was quickly learning all he could.
Andris was standing sentry duty. This task was tedious; no one came near the camp. He whistled softly, testing his blade on his thumbnail, so distracted he almost missed the rapid hoof-beats. Knife in hand, the big man called.
‘Who goes?’
Someone yelled back. ‘I seek Andris!’
Spring had done her work thoroughly, covering the surrounding branches with thick leaves. Andris could see nothing.
‘Your password?’ he roared.
‘Peace awaits!’ came the reply, and King Dahmis burst into view.
‘My lord!’
The high king’s face was red with heat. ‘Bellanes is captured,’ he said. ‘Gather the band and join my troop. We must ride.’
Landen woke to the sound of doors clanging. He raised his aching head. He was in a cell. This one had a narrow slit of window showing Archeld’s courtyard; a single ray from the setting sun touched the floor with red light. He lay on bare dirt, hands tied behind him, ankles chained to the wall. They had stripped him of most of his clothes.
The Sword of Bellandra is surely my curse. I thought it would allow me to vanquish the sinister tyrant. Instead, it has brought me full circle. Prisoner of Vesputo, and further than ever from Bellandra’s magic.
His body hurt. Thirst had become agony. They’d given him no water for days. But physical pain paled next to the torment of his heart when he thought of Torina. After years of separation, now that they were pledged in love, he was sentenced to leave her, would not see her again until she had finished all her days.
We will never walk together over the fields of earth
Never hear the birds in the morning.
His tired eyes closed. In imagination, he danced with her, there in the hidden paradise they had made. He could almost smell the wild flowers, feel the touch of her hand.
His door opened. He pretended to be senseless. Water was thrown in his face. His parched lips licked the precious drops.
Vesputo looked down on him. ‘Enjoying your accommodation?’
Landen thought of Torina by the little spring, smiling.
‘I would enjoy killing you,’ Vesputo said. ‘I’ll spare you if you tell me some things I want to know.’
Landen peered at his captor. ‘You won’t spare me, no matter what I tell you.’ His voice rasped with the effort to speak.
Vesputo opened his hand and put it into the path of dying light from the window. Torina’s little ring and Dahmis’ emblem lay there in his palm.
‘This volcanic stone is quite unusual,’ Vesputo said, swinging it between his fingers. ‘It’s rumoured there are only five of these, each giving the bearer immediate access to the high king.’
Landen was silent.
‘Now that I have one . . .’ Vesputo clasped the stone in a tight fist.
Landen’s spirits fell lower. Was his capture to be the means to the high king’s entrapment?
‘Where did you get this stone?’
When Landen didn’t answer, Vesputo continued in a mockingly pleasant tone. ‘Sworn to secrecy? Of course. There’s only one place this could come from. I didn’t know you were on such terms with Dahmis.’
‘There are many things you don’t know, Vesputo.’
‘I know this ring,’ Vesputo said harshly, fingering the gold band set with a small, shining crystal. ‘Where is she now?’
Landen feared his voice would break. ‘She was the seer – not I.’
‘Clever. But I ask you: what do you know of her?’
‘I heard long ago that she died here in Archeld.’
‘Where did you get the ring?’
‘She gave it to me when we were children.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ Landen wanted to shout his defiance, yell out that he knew who killed Kareed. But if he did, Vesputo would try to compel him to explain. The only person who’d witnessed the killing was Torina. Landen’s life was done. He must protect hers.
Vesputo’s lip curled. ‘A man of surprises. Very well. Since you won’t tell what I want to know, let me tell you. Torina is as alive as you will be tomorrow.’
Landen’s mind tossed. No, he doesn’t have Torina. She stayed in the high valley. She’s there now. He’s only torturing me.
Vesputo folded his arms. ‘Tell me where you hid the Sword of Bellandra,’ he said.
Landen’s heart sped till the pulsing blood filled his body with terrible heat. ‘The Sword?’ he gasped.
Vesputo’s eyes narrowed. ‘The Sword. You stole it from me.’
‘If I had the Sword, would I be here now?’ Landen asked incredulously.
He could see Vesputo struggling with some strong emotion. Confusion? Anger? There was a long pause, while Vesputo stood over him, the muscles in his jaw clenching. Landen wondered, wearily, if Vesputo would simply kill him now.
But Vesputo whirled, striding from the cell without another word.
The Sword of Bellandra! I put myself in Vesputo’s path
to find it. But he would never ask me about the Sword if he knew where it was. Why did he think I stole it?
Then Landen recalled that his last trip to Archeld had been for the purpose of stealing a valuable treasure hidden inside a pyramid box.
Lying on the hard-packed dirt of a prison cell, Landen remembered the peace that had come to him during the night, on the wintry plains of Archeld, leaning against the box he’d risked so much to gain. Then he knew what he had done. Tears gathered, trickling across his bruised face.
I had it. I had the Sword.
He heard in his mind the high king’s words. ‘It belongs to someone else, who is away.’ Dahmis had asked Bellanes to steal the Sword on behalf of the exiled prince of Bellandra, never knowing who he was. And because I thought of the Sword as a mighty weapon, I failed to recognize it when it came to me robed in peace.
Torina woke with a shuddering start. She was on the ground. A bow lay next to her. A sea of new grass surrounded her.
She tried to remember. When had she fallen asleep? The last she knew, it was night and she was riding through the Archeldan plains, flying down a narrow road in the dark.
Now it was bright day. The sun had travelled half its course. Her horse was nowhere to be seen. The endless grasses of the plains stretched round her, rustling.
Her horse must have wandered off the road to feed. She’d slipped from his back in a stupor brought on by days without sleep. Precious hours were lost. Landen could be dead.
She got to her feet. The ridge of the Cheldan Mountains rose to the east. She was in the middle of the wild plains of Archeld, where almost no one lived. Animals roved here and, in the spring, as now, people didn’t hunt them, letting them breed. This was the region she’d crossed during her escape from Vesputo. It had been hard then, riding Amber, the king’s horse. Now she was alone.
Torina ordered herself to move. She pointed herself at the western sky. Her tears salted the ground as she began to run.
Chapter Fourteen
Emid sat alone in his room in the training barracks of Archeld, contemplating the formal uniform he was about to put on. He and all his charges were summoned to witness the execution of Landen, for the crime of murdering King Kareed. The public beheading was to be in the early hours of evening. The courtyard would be packed with soldiers.