The Snowy Tower (4 page)

‘Ah, good,’ purred the governor. The soldier saluted smartly and left. Governor Lazlac opened the parchment, slicing the wax seal with his dagger.

The note read:

Quickly Governor Lazlac decoded the message, substituting letters for the numbers written there, with R being 1, S being 2, back to A being 10 and so on. He read the letter twice, his brain refusing to accept the message that was written there.

‘
Sea Dragon
attacked and sunk … four children and dog escaped … Moon Pearl and Star Diamonds lost without trace,’ Governor Lazlac muttered.

He pulled over his quill and a pile of paper, then turned back to the door. ‘You, get me Captain Malish immediately,’ he roared at the surprised soldiers guarding the door. ‘And you, stand by to take these orders to the city gates at once.’

After the guards had left, one to fetch Malish and the other laden with the sheaf of papers, Lord Lazlac strode over to the massive four-poster bed. He felt under the bottom mattress and pulled out something long and hard, swathed in a velvet cloth, which had been hidden there.

Lord Lazlac threw off the cloth, revealing a huge sword in an ornate gold scabbard. Grasping the sword by the hilt, he pulled it free from the casing, flourishing it over his head. Lord Lazlac felt a rush of power and strength surge through his arm. He held the Sun Sword – the sacred symbol of Tiregian royalty, reputed to have vast mystical powers.

Lord Lazlac studied it carefully. The tarnished blade flashed dully in the lamplight. The hilt was gold, carved with ornate designs of leaping sun rays, with tiny bejewelled flowers and plants
unfurling underneath. On the reverse side were engravings of waves and fish glimmering under a missing moon.

The sword had once been an object of immense beauty and craftsmanship. Now it was ruined, its hilt marred with ugly wounds where two large gems had been removed.

Lord Lazlac sighed with regret. His orders were clear – the Sun Sword must now be destroyed. Only then would it be impossible for the Sun Sword to be reunited with the Sun Gem and the Moon Pearl. The Sedahs did not believe the sword had magical powers but Emperor Raef was taking no more chances. Lazlac lowered the sword reluctantly. It seemed to have a strange pull on him.

Quickly the thought came to him that he could ignore his orders and conceal it again where only he knew where it was, perhaps up the chimney, or under the floorboards. Such a weapon should not be destroyed. Lord Lazlac was just hurrying across the room to find a new hiding place when Captain Malish knocked on the door and entered, his eyes immediately drawn to the massive sword in his commander’s hands.

‘Captain, I want you to … I want you to destroy this sword,’ ordered Lord Lazlac. ‘Burn it, snap it,
cast it into the deepest bowels of the earth, but just get rid of it.’

Captain Malish nodded his understanding, saluting as he went to take the sword. Governor Lazlac seemed strangely reluctant to let go, and held on to the hilt for just a few moments too long, until it was almost as if they were tussling over it. At last Governor Lazlac pushed the sword away from him with great force. Captain Malish gingerly wrapped it in his black cloak and hurried off to complete his task.

A few blocks from the eastern city gate, Saxon and Lily dropped back behind the others. Master Drummond adopted a new persona – a drunken innkeeper delivering ale. He wore a bright red velvet coat with half the brass buttons missing and a few gravy stains down the chest. A red felt hat was squashed on his head.

‘Hurry up, you lazy larrikins,’ he shouted, waving his whip around dangerously and slurring his words. ‘We’re late with this delivery. Rotten useless stableboys deserve a good whipping,’ he explained to the Sedah guards lounging at the gateway.

The guards were bored with weeks of checking old dames’ grocery baskets, and farmers’ cartloads of cabbages. It had been two months since the surprise Sedah invasion, and resistance had been sporadic and disorganised. The worst they had really faced had been the occasional old peasant spitting on them or calling them names. Once these troublemakers had been severely punished, the rest of the population had sullenly returned to their own business.

It was now late in the day. The two guards glanced disinterestedly into the cart, lifting up a square of canvas. They totally ignored the two browbeaten stableboys leading the packhorses.

‘You lads should come down to my inn some evening. I serve the best ale in Tira,’ Master Drummond boasted to the men. ‘The Merrow Maid, over near the north gate. Prettiest barmaids too. Everyone knows where it is.’

The guards nodded, a spark of interest finally lighting their faces. ‘Could do with a pot of ale, now,’ one said to the other. ‘All right, on your way, old man. Get all these animals out of the way before they clog up the gateway with horse dung.’

Obediently, Master Drummond cracked his whip and giddy-upped to Judy. The convoy moved across the gently arched bridge, which crossed the deep
chasm of the River Bryn. To the north they could hear the thundering of the Jigadee Falls and see the billowing mist rising in the air, fractured with tiny rainbows.

A few minutes later Saxon and Lily stepped up to the guards, carrying a pile of empty, earthy sacks. Lily’s hair was hidden under a dirty kerchief. Both had filthy fingernails and hands, and sullen expressions on their faces.

‘Been to market, have you, sonny?’ asked one of the guards.

‘Yeah, to sell ’tatoes,’ Saxon replied gruffly.

‘Turn out your pockets,’ ordered the guard, tapping the sides of Saxon’s thighs with his stout wooden cudgel. Saxon muttered grumpily. Aisha growled deep and low, her hackles raised.

‘And control your dog, or I’ll slit its throat,’ added the guard. Lily slipped her hand under Aisha’s collar, quietening her immediately. Saxon emptied his pockets, displaying the contents on his half-curled palms – a length of twine, a homemade catapult, a round stone and a few silver coins. The guard snapped the catapult in two, throwing the broken twigs over the parapet into the chasm below. Then he scooped up the silver coins and dropped them in his own pocket.

‘That’s our market money,’ exclaimed Saxon indignantly. ‘I’ve gotta take that ’ome to Marm for the ’tatoes.’

‘Not any more it isn’t,’ sniggered the guard. ‘You’re lucky I don’t arrest you for carrying a dangerous weapon, so be grateful. On your way.’

At that moment, a young Sedah guard called Burgis elbowed his way enthusiastically through the queue, carrying urgent orders. The waiting peasants wrinkled their noses. This guard had a peculiar, cloying smell about him.

Lily and Saxon started eagerly across the bridge, but Aisha raised her hackles once more and growled fiercely. Lily whistled impatiently, and Aisha turned and followed.

‘Vicious dog! Should have finished it off,’ growled the guard. Burgis looked after the two children and the large muddy dog crossing the bridge. The dog somehow looked a bit familiar. He turned his mind back to the job at hand.

‘Important message from Governor Lazlac,’ he said, saluting smartly.

‘Yeah, right. What is it this time?’ replied the bored guard. ‘Do we need to look out for suspicious grannies wearing shawls? Or maybe old codgers with lethal walking sticks?’

Burgis handed over the sealed parchment. For some reason, his eyes were drawn once more to the two children and the dog at the far side of the bridge, but after a moment he turned and trotted back to the palace, his duty fulfilled.

The guard on the city gate snorted in disbelief, reading the opened note. ‘Looks like the governor’s worried about kids again. We have to look out for three boys and a blonde girl with long hair, travelling together with a dog and a
cat
. As if we haven’t got anything better to do than watch out for kids and their pets.’

‘This city is full of grotty kids, let alone mongrels and fleabags,’ retorted his colleague. ‘The governor must be losing his marbles if he thinks we’ll find the four he’s obsessed with. I wonder what they’ve done?’

The first guard lifted his eyebrows in derision. ‘They’re just kids. They probably forgot to say please and thank you to his precious lordship.’

A couple of kilometres from the city walls, Master Drummond pulled over into a sheltered copse by the side of the road. Here the five horses were transformed from scruffy packhorses to sleek, swift mounts, looking much more like the royal hunters they had been bred to be. Lily brushed them all
vigorously, removing the mud and twigs, until their coats glistened. The horses were in superb condition. Master Drummond had looked after them well while the children had been away sailing on the
Owl
– feeding them his finest oats and exercising them daily. All were newly shod, and the leather of the tack had been polished until it gleamed.

Master Drummond handed out the saddles and bridles. He had replaced Roana’s bejewelled lady’s sidesaddle with a more practical astride saddle.

‘All the horses have grown a bit fat in the stables of the White Horse Inn,’ Lily laughed, struggling to do up Nutmeg’s girth. ‘They’ll be very frisky for a few days.’

Saxon patted his own tummy. ‘A few more meals at the White Horse Inn and I’d be struggling to do up my girth too.’

Each horse carried a saddle bag, crammed with clothes and supplies, which was hung behind the saddle. Brimming water bottles were hung from the pommels. As usual, Saxon had to tickle Caramel’s pale chestnut tummy and walk her around until she blew out the air in her belly, so he could tighten the saddle girth properly.

Small coal-black Mischief was laden with extra saddle packs, as she would not be ridden on the
journey north. Mischief carried most of the food and the blankets, and was tied by a lead rein to Toffee. Mischief snorted and pranced. When Ethan walked past, hefting Toffee’s heavy saddle, Mischief butted the boy with her head, sending him flying.

‘Oh, Mischief,’ complained Ethan, brushing grass off his breeches. ‘Watch it.’

‘Why do you think she’s called Mischief?’ Lily laughed. ‘I think she has the most adorable, wicked face I’ve ever seen on a pony.’

The barrels were stowed back in the cart and covered with a tarpaulin. Ethan strung the bows ready for action and checked the quivers were full of freshly fletched arrows. Master Drummond changed from his easily recognisable red velvet jacket and felt hat into a sedate tweed coat and cap.

Nutmeg, with her three white socks and long white blaze down her nose, gently nuzzled Lily’s ear, blowing air through her nostrils.

‘Stop it, Nutmeg. That tickles,’ giggled Lily. Nutmeg whinnied softly in reply, pawing the ground eagerly with one hoof, anxious to be off.

At last everything was ready. Farewells were exchanged with Master Drummond and everyone mounted, excited to be back in the saddle again.
Soon they were off cantering to the north, waving wildly, Aisha loping at their heels.

Master Drummond watched them go, hope glowing in his heart, then turned Judy’s head and headed back to Tira.

‘I think we should cover as much ground as we can this afternoon,’ called Ethan. ‘The horses are fresh and well fed, and so are we. We’ll ride until it’s dark and we simply can’t stay in the saddle any more.’

The others agreed, and so they alternated cantering, trotting and walking, keeping the setting sun always to their left. It had been a month since any of them had ridden, so after a couple of hours their muscles were screaming in distress. They slowed down to a steady walk and shifted their positions in the saddle to get more comfortable.

The sun set to the west in a riot of flame colours.

In Tira, as the sun set, Burgis saw Sniffer crossing the courtyard of the palace. Burgis remembered the events of two nights before, when he and Sniffer had laid in ambush for the Tiregian children who Sniffer was so keen to track down. He remembered the
embarrassing shemozzle of the fugitives galloping off on their night-black ponies, which slipped under the hand like melted butter, and the ferocious dog that had attacked Burgis and Sniffer.

A flicker of recognition darted through his mind, then eluded him. The dog. Where had he seen that dog? Another memory leapt out, of two children and a dog crossing a bridge. This time he was quicker and caught the memory before it disappeared. The eastern bridge of Tira today – children and a dog.

‘Sniffer. Sniffer!’ he called eagerly. ‘I think I know where the children are.’

Captain Malish tried to snap the Sun Sword. The steel was strong and amazingly resilient. It bent and curved but refused to snap, even with dozens of hammer blows. He tried to melt the metal, taking it to the palace forge and subjecting it to white-hot coals. In the end he decided on option three – the bowels of the earth.

After the captain had been handling the sword for a while, the rebellious thought came to him that perhaps he should not destroy the sword but keep it
somewhere hidden, where he could take it out and admire it occasionally. It would be an impressive souvenir of this Tiregian campaign. Captain Malish repressed this thought. He
must
destroy the sword, on his emperor’s orders.

It was dark and long past curfew when Captain Malish slipped out through the palace gates with a bulky parcel under his cloak. The guards took no notice of his passing. Captain Malish crept through the empty streets to the south. He had no lamp or lantern to light his way, and he stumbled occasionally on uneven cobbles or potholes.

He did not see a slight figure, wrapped in a black cloak, hiding in the shadows of a doorway, with a clear view of the main palace gate and the long carriageway. Captain Malish strode past, his eyes, accustomed to the palace lamplight, struggled to see in the darkened streets. The figure waited a few minutes then, unseen, slid silently from gateway to shadow to alley to doorpost following the Sedah soldier. Captain Malish stopped once or twice to check behind him or down a side street, but he did not see anyone.

Captain Malish came to the poorest part of Tira, just inside the city walls, where the streets were narrow and twisty, and the houses were dark and
mean. There was a pervading odour of decay, damp and slime. The captain paused several times, unsure of his way, and each time the shadow trailing him paused too.

At last, Captain Malish came to a dusty courtyard. By the faint light of the stars he could see the darker outline of a decrepit well in its centre. Captain Malish looked around carefully, but there were no lights and no-one about. He darted across the square to the well, fumbling in the darkness with the lid, making a loud clatter. He stopped immediately, cursing softly to himself and glancing about to the shadows behind him. There was no movement, no other sound. He tried again and lifted the lid off. A terrible stench rose from the well, as though something had died down there.

Captain Malish gasped, then held his breath against the smell. From under his cloak he pulled out the long, thin package. He prepared to throw it down the well, but could not resist having one last look. He unwrapped the object, holding it up carefully. The starlight glimmered softly on gold and silver metal – the massive sword of kings. Captain Malish held the weapon above his head, feeling its weight, its strength, its power. It was a truly beautiful weapon.

Captain Malish sighed, then held the sword over the well and let it go. He waited for a few moments, waiting to hear a thud as it hit the bottom. There was no sound. The sword was gone, lost in the abyss. Captain Malish heaved a sigh of relief, tinged with regret.