The Seer and the Sword

  A thought struck the trainer. Living as a prince in Bellandra, Landen had probably not been taught to fear. Indeed, before Kareed’s bold attack, Bellandra was considered invincible. The reputation of its legendary Sword had deterred invaders for generations. What had it cost the boy to go undefended? Emid knew the answer. It had cost him everything but his life.

  How did these two come together? And what would come of it? It was innocent enough now, Landen teaching the young girl archery. But later, when they were no longer children? What about when they became man and woman?

  Emid watched the entire lesson, struck with the degree of their camaraderie, and amazed at the prowess displayed. They must have met many times for Torina to gain so much expertise, and for both children to treat the other with unguarded ease. How odd it was to watch Landen here in the woods, laughing and teasing like a normal youngster. Gone was the quiet reserve Emid had come to think of as Landen’s nature.

  The longer he observed, the more uncomfortable Emid became. He knew already, of course, that Torina often found comrades among the boys. Emid had encouraged this. These boys he trained would lead the fighting forces of Archeld. If their allegiance to Torina was personal as well as dutiful, so much the better.

  But this. This was a full-fledged friendship on an equal footing. Landen didn’t try to be a prince for a princess. He didn’t have to try.

  In less than an hour, it was Landen who remembered the time. Emid listened to them arrange another meeting. Both scampered off as if they had no cares.

  The trainer stretched his stiff muscles and made his way back to the practice field.

  What am I to do? King Kareed would never condone his daughter taking archery lessons, let alone from the son of a former enemy. If he learned about this, the boy would be sent away, perhaps killed. And Torina? She’d be restricted to the castle and her embroidery.

  Emid envisioned Torina, pale and listless, sitting by the hearth with her needle. Then came the memory of her standing in the trees, colour high, eyes bright as she bent the bow.

  Emid sent the boys back to the barracks and remained alone on the practice field, pacing distractedly. If I tell the king, I destroy this boy I’ve come to respect and like. And the princess will pine away. If I keep it from the king, do I forfeit my vow to serve the royal family?

  Back and forth, back and forth, Emid paced. He kept seeing Landen in his mind’s eye and found himself shaking his head in admiration and fear.

  Kareed had taken in an eaglet and had it carelessly fostered as if it were no more than a clipped chicken. Was it possible the king didn’t expect his captive’s heritage to show? It was said that when Kareed’s legions arrived in Bellandra, they were met by gentle soldiers, interested in negotiating rather than battling. Did Kareed so despise Bellandra’s weakness that he assumed the Bellandran prince would never be a fighter?

  To Emid, it was obvious every day from the way Landen spoke to his penchant for following his own course, that he was a king’s son. He was mastering every bit of information taught. He’d grow up to be a dangerous warrior.

  What was better for the house of Archeld? Send Landen away, kill him? Or try to make him a commander in Archeld’s army? The boy would not only be skilful in battle, but a brilliant strategist as well. But could he offer unquestioning loyalty to the land that had destroyed his own? Could anything truly bind Landen to Archeld?

  Again, Emid saw the glade in his inner vision. This time he focused on Landen looking at Torina, all the fervour of true friendship shining in his eyes.

  Landen would never feel loyalty to Kareed, but for Torina, he already felt it. Torina was the future of Archeld. The princess had unknowingly converted what could have been her country’s worst foe into an ally. How had it happened?

  Emid suspected he never would find out. He drew a long breath. He had made up his mind. The boy did not deserve to die for befriending Kareed’s daughter. His friendship was a protection on her future. Emid would say nothing.

  He knew it was possible someone else would discover them. He hoped they would be crafty.

  Chapter Five

  A few days after Torina’s twelfth birthday, Landen met her by the great pine. It was only the fourth time in three years they’d used that particular spot.

  Her ocean-coloured eyes were wet. ‘I escaped my chaperones, Landen. They say Gramere is too old to look after me. They’ll be guarding me always now. I pleaded with them, but they don’t care: “You are becoming a young woman and must conduct yourself as such.” They have no ears when I tell them I don’t want to conduct myself as such.’

  Landen’s heart squeezed in sudden pain. The secret meetings with Torina had put life into his exile. What had begun as archery lessons had become much more. Not only could Torina shoot remarkably well, she was his dearest companion. For years, at least once a week, they’d found a way to meet, playing and talking together as only equal friends can do.

  For she was his equal. Not because she was born and raised royal: in fact, he found her imperious bearing tiresome. It was something about Torina herself. Landen admired the girl’s vivacious flaming spirit, so like her hair. With him, she often forgot to be an arrogant princess, showing innate kindness and a keen sense of honour. Buoyantly, she shared confidences, trusting him with her many triumphs and defeats, telling him of her mischievous little rebellions. She was guileless. He felt able to ask her anything in the world.

  There was one thing, though, he’d never enquired of her, though he’d often thought of doing so. He hadn’t asked her to look in the crystal and find the Sword of Bellandra. Oh, how he wanted to know! He’d heard the rumours that it was destroyed, melted down in a careful ritual. But he didn’t know. Before he put it out of his mind for ever, he wanted to be sure.

  Torina could tell him. She’d made him the confidant of all her visions. He was amazed at the truth of her sight, the extent of her gift. Oh yes, she could tell him what had become of the Sword. A thousand times, the question was on his lips. Then he’d look into her innocent eyes, and something would stop him.

  ‘I hate being a princess!’ she stormed, sliding to the ground and covering her face to cry. Landen knelt beside her, whispering the only comfort he felt.

  ‘I’m glad I know you.’

  She nodded, making small, choked sounds.

  He stroked her hair. ‘Torina, I’ll always be your friend.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘My dearest friend.’

  What could be more precious than hearing her say that?

  ‘One day you’ll have the power to do as you please.’

  She gathered a handful of pine needles in one hand, large tears gliding over her flushed cheeks.

  ‘Yes, some day. And until then, I’ll remember you.’ She reached out to him.

  Embracing her was something he’d never done. It felt easy and right to hold her.

  ‘I must go,’ she said, after a few moments. ‘They’ll be looking for me.’

  He opened his arms. He could hear her muffled sniffs as she ran off. Landen sat propped against the huge pine, feeling a swift sense of loss. As he looked across his life, he saw Archeld again the way it had seemed when he first arrived: fearsome, barbaric, devoid of justice.

  His mind drifted back to Bellandra and images of boyhood. For years, he’d put such thoughts aside as too painful to bear. Now he remembered.

  His mother’s voice: Always be grateful for the light of your soul. It shines just as brightly, no matter where you are or what happens.

  Had she known? Those words, spoken before she died, seemed to say she suspected her child would encounter a different world from Bellandra.

  He recalled the way muted rainbows would touch the clouds at any hour of the day. The dazzling glint of sun on the surf of Bellan Bay. The bursting, creative joy of careful artistry practised everywhere. Farmers in love with the land. Musicians enthralled with their instruments. Inspired dancers. Healers: bloodless surgeons, herbal masters, touch healers, spirit wal
kers who guided the passage of death.

  Marla, the old one. Wise, sad eyes looking at him, not speaking.

  The peace that soothed and brightened the air of Bellandra – until Kareed tore it away. Here in Archeld, peace did not light the way. Instead, war and fighting were all the glory.

  And now I am a warrior. My training is nearly complete. If I found the Sword, I could lift it.

  Did the Sword still exist? If it wasn’t destroyed, was it somehow defiled? Could its magic, once desecrated, ever come back? If he found it, would any of its power be left? Or would it simply be a pretty toy of war?

  Landen sat, baffled and sorrowful. With the Sword hidden or gone, and Torina isolated from him, perhaps it was time for him to leave Archeld. He could do it. It would be easy to steal a horse by night. He was sixteen now, nearly a man. There were other kingdoms where he could make his way. Stories circulated about Glavenrell, the kingdom north of Archeld. Glavenrell’s new young king, Dahmis, was working to forge peaceful alliances with his neighbours.

  Perhaps that’s where I belong.

  The boy closed his eyes. He yearned to be part of an effort for strengthening peaceful ties among countries. How weary he was of the sparse, stringent life of a soldier in training. The only chance he got to be artistic was in making bows from time to time. His weapons were sought for their quality.

  Like the rest of Bellandran craft, he thought bitterly. Everyone said Bellandra, swallowed into a province of Archeld, had descended into a land of greedy merchants, selling off their heritage of beauty.

  How tempting it was, the thought of going away!

  But then he thought of Torina. My dearest friend, she’d said. Landen was overwhelmed with tenderness for her. Would a best friend abandon her? Once he left, returning would be difficult. He might never see her again, and that would be unbearable.

  Landen arrived late for the mid-afternoon training session, feeling years older than he’d been in the morning. When Emid barked at him, the words didn’t penetrate his gloom. He expected harsh punishment, but none came. Instead, Emid looked at him compassionately, as if the trainer knew his sorrow. On his bunk that night, Landen lay sleepless. He resolved to stay in Archeld a while longer.

  After that day, Landen found it impossible to get near Torina. His time was almost entirely taken up with advanced training, and she didn’t come near the practice fields. Though he haunted her periphery whenever he found a spare moment, not once did he get close enough to speak a private word to her. Surrounded by attendants wherever she went, her life was more and more taken up with royal functions. She was being groomed to be a king’s wife. Landen chafed at the barriers of protocol, wondering how Torina, who adored adventure and prized freedom above all things, could bear her virtual imprisonment.

  Sometimes, when he went on solitary rides, he met chagrined soldiers who would ask him if he’d seen the princess, for she’d escaped her attendants. Then Landen would look for her, hoping to snatch a conversation. But her bouts of freedom were few and short, and he never chanced to share them.

  Gradually, elapsing time wedged itself between them. At the beginning of their separation, if she saw him hovering outside her circle, Torina gave Landen a glowing smile. But when six months had come and gone, she stopped meeting his eyes with any special recognition. After the first year, her manner towards him became one of friendly courtesy, the same stance she took with everyone.

  She was young. To her, a year must be a long while. But to Landen, it was not. His affection for her lay bright and shining in his heart, untarnished by distance, time, or neglect.

  Landen didn’t like large groups or gatherings, but forced himself to endure them in order to get glimpses of Torina. He soon discovered that he was not alone – someone else was trying to get close to the princess.

  At first it seemed a wicked coincidence that each time Landen sought out Torina, he saw Vesputo. Soon, however, it was plain to him that Vesputo was trying to snare the king’s daughter. The thought of such a courtship horrified Landen.

  Commander Vesputo’s authority had steadily risen, till it was second only to King Kareed’s. Archeld was enjoying a period of peace: the provinces had ceased challenging Kareed’s right to rule. Prosperity governed. Vesputo was a rich, privileged man. When he wasn’t fulfilling administrative duties assigned by his king, his time was his own, and he chose to spend it being very charming, especially to the princess.

  Of course. He wants the crown, and she’s the way to get it.

  Sometimes, Vesputo was the one to review Emid’s training exercises. He’d stand watching the boys, relaxed and collected, while Landen shuddered, remembering the cruelty just beneath Vesputo’s surface. He would have kept me a slave, and taken pleasure in it.

  How dreadful to see Vesputo’s charming smile bent on Torina! To watch him act deferential and considerate, as if he cared. Landen prayed that Torina would be wise enough to see through Vesputo. But what could she know of his vicious, inhuman side? She’d never ridden with him to war; never been his captive. To the soldiers of Archeld, Vesputo was a legend. It was said dust parted for him. He never lost a battle. He was treated with the utmost respect, and people vied for his attention. How was she to know his real character?

  Landen redoubled his efforts to get near enough to talk with Torina. But the months passed, and she was always out of range. He thought of sending her a note. But a note in the wrong hands could get him killed.

  He began to spy on Vesputo, putting himself in danger to do so. Several times, he was nearly caught, but managed to elude his pursuers. Over time, Landen became inordinately stealthy, able to come and go noiselessly and unseen. While others confided in him, he kept all his own secrets with unbending resolve. And he discovered Vesputo’s weakness: women. The commander always kept at least one lady, secretly. Deceit was something he readily engaged in. And still men followed him with zealous allegiance, many of them never guessing what sort of man he was. It was as if a dark enchantment allowed Vesputo to dupe men and women while he constantly ascended in power and prestige.

  Chapter Six

  Late in the afternoon on a clear day, Torina sat on her horse at a favourite lookout among the high rocks, gazing down into the valley. She was now fifteen years old. The simple lines of her soft green dress set off the curves of her body; its colour brought out highlights in her eyes and hair. The hair, still rebellious to bonds, straggled out in curling streams.

  Though she tried continually to find new ways of being alone, she wasn’t often successful. But today she’d given her attendants the slip and ridden up the ridge by herself.

  She recognized Vesputo’s helmet from far away and hugged herself at the prospect of seeing him again. So strong, noble, handsome and adoring! His cool eyes always warmed when she was near. And his kiss! How he thrilled her. Torina was happy to be in love with the one man capable of ruling after her father. The king often remarked on how indispensable Vesputo had become. He could be trusted, Kareed said, with the most precious secrets and valuable objects in the realm. And, just as important, he could be counted on to wage victorious campaigns whenever needed.

  At first, when the charming commander smiled on her, Torina thought he was only being kind.

  Slowly, with steady devotion and a hundred considerate attentions, Vesputo took hold of her heart. His love was powerful and devoted. In a private moment, he confessed that he’d loved her since she was twelve.

  His unwavering ardour honoured her. With all he’d seen and done, and with all the women in Archeld making eyes at him, he’d chosen her. Whenever she came near, his handsome face lit with gladness. And he was still young enough: not yet thirty. When he kissed her, she never thought of his years.

  Now they were betrothed. As promised, he was bringing horses laden with rare Bellandran goods, for a token of his faith in their love.

  Torina kneed her horse to turn into the adjacent trees, ready to take the trail down to the castle. As she turned from the lookout,
another horse blocked her way. A big, grey stallion, with Landen on his back.

  Landen. Their paths hardly ever crossed. When they did meet, it was always in the presence of many other people, with no chance to really speak. Her memories of their friendship had grown hazy. Sometimes she envied him when she caught glimpses of his solitary rides. He’d grown tall and broad-shouldered, and earned a reputation as an unbeatable fighter. Emid had recommended him for command training when he left the barracks. Now he sat on his horse with easy grace.

  ‘Afternoon, Landen.’

  ‘Hello, Princess. Out alone?’

  She smiled happily. There was no answering smile as he gestured at the plain.

  ‘Vesputo has returned.’

  Torina let her joy show. ‘Yes.’ With a flick of the reins, she let him know she was ready to head down the narrow track.

  He continued to block her.

  ‘Please,’ she told him, still smiling, ‘let me by.’

  ‘What a noble plunderer he is.’ Landen ignored her request. ‘Are you to be sold for what a few horses can carry?’

  She laughed in surprise. ‘The horses mean nothing to me! I love him.’

  Landen leaned in. ‘You love him?’

  ‘Yes. Of course I love him. We’re to be married! I’ve known for a while that he will be king. I have seen it.’

  She urged her horse forward. Landen manoeuvred so as not to give ground.

  ‘Did you tell him about the crystal?’

  Torina blushed, recalling that as a child she’d told this young man many secrets. Why was he asking her about it now? But then, when had she last seen him alone? She tried to remember.

  ‘No. No one knows about the crystal, except my grandmother, and . . .’ She felt uneasy and wondered why.

  ‘I see. You haven’t told him. Then perhaps you know.’

  ‘Know? Know what?’

  ‘He’s not the man you think him.’

  ‘Let me pass. I want to join my betrothed.’