The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (11 page)

 The woman gave a cry of surprise and dropped the basket.
Sareth met her on the steps to receive a hearty embrace.

 “My dear Sareth, you know you are always most welcome.” She
looked past the Princess to the group of riders and identified two other faces
that she knew. “Why! Prince Eimer, and Bethro! This is indeed a surprise” She
glanced uncertainly at Vesarion, putting Sareth in mind of her duty.

 “Lady Sorne, may I introduce you to my lord of Westrin.”

 Kelda smiled. “You are most welcome, my lord. Had I known
you were coming, you would not have received such a poor reception.”

 Vesarion, who prided himself on his good manners, bowed
slightly. “The fault is ours, Lady Sorne, I regret the suddenness of our visit
but there were circumstances that dictated haste. I trust Lord Pevorion is at
home?"

 “He is around somewhere,” she replied a little uncertainly,
looking around the courtyard as if she suddenly expected him to appear. “My
sons are off on a hunting trip but they promised faithfully that they would
return before sunset.” She laughed “A major crisis had broken out, you see! We
were short of venison. Any excuse to disappear into the forest and kill
something. Now, please come in and allow me to make up for my incivility by
offering you some refreshments.”

 The entire party dismounted but before they could even
reach the steps, the doors of the great Hall hurst asunder and Lord Pevorion strode
out, bellowing out a welcome, his face wreathed in smiles. He had changed
little since Vesarion had last seen him at the oath-taking almost a year
before. His fiery red hair had perhaps a little more grey in it and his
habitual stubble, which was either a nascent beard or a disinclination to
shave, bore the glisten of silver. His reputation as a good trencherman was
evidenced by a stomach that was in the process of steadily expanding over his
belt.

 It was the wonder of the Kingdom that his marriage had
lasted for so long, as no couple could have been so ill-assorted. They were
opposites in nearly everything. He was as large and noisy as his wife was
dainty and reserved. He was garrulous in the extreme, whereas she was a woman
of few words. To everyone’s surprise, not least her own, Kelda had presented
her boisterous husband with no less than seven strapping sons, not one of them
under six feet tall. Their respective methods of dealing with their offspring
was as diverse as everything else that they did. Whereas Pevorion expressed his
fondness for his progeny by shouting and swearing at them until he was red in
the face – a process they paid not the slightest heed to - one quiet word from
their mother was all it took to swiftly bring them to heel. They would stand
before her, towering over her tiny form, looking as guilty as a group of
despondent bears, their heads hanging in contrition. They usually had something
to be contrite about, for they all had red hair like their father and the passionate
temperament usually associated with that colouring, hence they constantly fought
with each other - that is, unless they could find an outsider to fight.
However, their animosity was a shallow affair, and after honour was appeased with
a few well-aimed punches, their usual amity was restored. Soon they would be
engaged in their favourite occupation of drinking mead and telling improbable
hunting tales, their fight forgotten as if it had never occurred. It was left
to their mother to reflect, without rancour, that the greatest intellectual
challenge they would ever conquer was learning to read. But she also saw in
them the same fine qualities that she had first seen in their father – their
honesty, generosity and kindness. Such things could not be acquired by learning
and were far more valuable.

 Pevorion descended on Vesarion, who, knowing from
experience that he was about to get his shoulder enthusiastically thumped,
stuck out his hand in a vain attempt at self-preservation. As a tactic, it was not
entirely successful because he found his fingers crushed in a powerful
handshake instead.

 “Right glad I am to see you, Vesarion,” declared his lordship,
not standing upon ceremony. “You find us stuck away in these back woods in the
middle of nowhere and mightily tired of our own company. I certainly don’t
count those idiot boys of mine fit company for anything better than a one-eyed
Turog. I’m glad to see that for once you haven’t hidden yourself away in that
mountain eyrie you call home, but are seeing something of the world.”

 He then turned to Eimer who was, unluckily, within range.
He got a slap on the back that, as he later informed Sareth, nearly made him
swallow his teeth.

 “Ha! Young Prince Eimer. I swear you have grown since I last
saw you!”

 Eimer winced. Pevorion always treated him as if he was ten.

 When their host spotted Sareth, to Vesarion’s amusement, in
contrast to his forceful method of welcoming his male quests, Pevorion
delicately took her hand in his as if it were made of glass. “More beautiful
than ever” he sighed sentimentally, as always showing a tendency to flirt with
her. “What’s the matter with all those young bucks in Addania? Haven’t they any
red blood in their veins? A lovely young woman like you should have been
snapped up years ago!”

 “Em…..” began Sareth in a vain attempt to interrupt him.

 He leaned forwards conspiratorially, oblivious to her
embarrassment. “I’d offer you one of those great lummoxes of mine, but they
have all the intellectual capacity of retarded hens. No, we must find a prince
for you, nothing less will do.”

 “Em…..” tried Sareth again.

 A certain manic gleam had entered his eyes, warning his
wife that he was about to commit further indiscretions. Hastily she cut in.

 “Pevorion, dear, Sareth is trying to tell you something.”

 Sareth, finding all attention focused on her, suddenly
realised that she was about to usurp Vesarion’s privilege of announcing their
engagement. She turned an agonised glance upon him, only to discover that he
was well aware of her difficulty and was looking amused rather than offended.

He spoke up. “It is, perhaps, the appropriate time to tell
you that Sareth has done me the honour of agreeing to become my wife.”

 Pevorion looked stunned for a moment before recovering himself
and starting to bawl congratulations.

 His wife showed less outward emotion but she too was
surprised. “You said nothing of this to me when you last visited, Sareth,” she
said softly. “It must have been very sudden.”

 “Yes,” agreed Sareth uncommunicatively. “Very sudden.”

 By this stage they had all entered the great hall and were
looking around them with interest.

Even though the weather had turned warm, there was half a
tree trunk smouldering gently in the huge fireplace. An impressively long, oak
table flanked by ornately carved wooden chairs took up the dominant position
down the centre of the hall. To one side a beautiful and obviously very old,
staircase arose to the upper storey. Every spindle that supported the handrail
was carved like a long-stemmed chalice flower, the petals gilded with a dusting
of gold that gleamed subtly in subdued light. But what caught Bethro’s
attention, to the point that he gasped in surprise, was the arched roof beams
spanning the high interior of the steeply-pitched roof. For every beam was carved
with a crowd of human faces staring out of a writhing network of vines and
flower garlands. The faces stood proud of the flowers, some looking upward,
some staring down at humanity passing below them and others looked slyly at
each other. Each bore its own distinct expression. Some were clearly surprised,
staring into space, their mouths carved into a startled circle. Others were
slant-eyed, weighing up their neighbours, cunning or greed twisting their
features. A few were distorted in anger, brows drawn down in a heavy frown or
teeth bared in demonic glee.

 Catching the direction of Bethro’s gaze, Kelda explained:
“They are meant to represent the spirits of the forest. The beams were taken
from a building much older than this one, now destroyed, and are so ancient
that it is not known who carved the faces and gave them such animated
expressions. I remember when I first saw them, I found them rather frightening.
It took quite some time for me to accustom myself to them to a sufficient
degree to be willing to cross this hall after dark. Now forgive me, Bethro,  if
I leave you now, as I must prepare your rooms.”

 Pevorion, with unexpected shrewdness, had buttonholed
Vesarion. “I take it that I am correct in assuming that you didn’t ride all the
way out here from Addania just to inform me of your engagement? Your sudden
arrival suggests a matter of urgency. I presume that you would like to speak to
me in private?”

 Vesarion nodded, grateful for such ready understanding.

 “This way, then,” said Pevorion, leading him towards a side
door. Eimer, who had overheard this exchange, made to follow them, but with
something less than tact, Vesarion dismissed him.

 “I could be some time with Lord Sorne. Perhaps you would
keep Sareth company in the meantime.”

 Eimer shrugged and turned away, concealing from his
imperious companion just how much his words had hurt him. But not everyone was
oblivious to the undercurrents. Sareth had both seen and understood her
brother’s expression. She stepped forwards and tucked her hand through his arm
conspiratorially.

 “He didn’t invite me either, brother.”

 Eimer glanced around to establish that they were alone,
apart from Bethro who was at the other end of the hall engrossed in inspecting
the carvings.

 “No. I get a little tired of being treated as of no
account. I mean, I am next in line to the throne after Enrick – not Vesarion,
please note – even though from his behaviour you’d never think it. Father cares
more for him that he does for either of us. I think that were it not for Enrick,
he’d be quite happy to leave his kingdom to Vesarion. Don’t misunderstand me.
In many ways I like Vesarion, it’s just that he always manages to make me feel
like an immature young fool – and the worst of it, is that he doesn’t even
realise he’s doing it.” He shrugged carelessly in a manner that did not deceive
his sister. “Perhaps I have little choice but to play the role that everyone
assigns to me.”

 “Perhaps we all get stuck with the roles that others assign
to us,” she conceded. “Remember the old days, Eimer, when we were children? Enrick
was always using the fact that he was so much older than us as an excuse to
boss us around and even though Vesarion gave him the occasional black eye
because of it, it didn’t stop him. In the end the only thing we could do was to
form our defensive pact against him. Do you remember? You were nine and I was
ten and we got hold of an old parchment and some red ink and drafted what we
thought was a very grand treaty establishing an alliance of mutual defence. I
came across it the other day in an old chest. Very flowery and grandiose it
was, too - if a shade creative when it came to the spelling. So maybe life has
come full circle and it’s just the two of us against the world again.”

 She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze and looked up to
discover that he was studying  her with an oddly wistful expression on his
face.

 “You’re more like your old self again, now that we are away
from Addania and Enrick. I’ve often thought that his intrigues to marry you off
to his advantage vexed you to your soul, but you would never tell me about it.
You haven’t confided in me in a long time.”

 “Enrick would vex anyone,” she replied obliquely.

 But he stood looking down at her, his youthful face
unusually serious.

 “Why are you marrying Vesarion? I mean, I can see the
advantages in it. You get away from Enrick and have someone on your side who
can really protect you from him. He’s also not a complete stranger – unlike the
King of Serendar, and you will still be living close enough to see grandmother
and me from time to time, but this is not a decision you should make for strictly
logical reasons. That is Vesarion’s way of approaching things, but it is not
yours. I thought that you had changed to become distant and ambitious, but
these last few days have shown me that I was wrong. You are still the big
sister I have always known, who used to beat me at fencing, who was ready for
any adventure and would accept any dare, and who, most definitely, was not
cold. So why are you doing this?”

 When she remained silent, looking troubled, he added: “I
can only assume that Enrick found some way of forcing you. Is that it?”

 Without looking up, she nodded, still saying nothing.

 “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

 Her eyes flew to his in astonishment and she realised that
she, too, had been guilty of underestimating him. Then suddenly he did
something that he had not done since the day long ago when they were children
and Enrick had tormented her beyond bearing. He drew her into his arms and held
her tightly.

 “You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” he murmured

 She returned his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder
with the sigh that suggested pain a little eased.

 He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “I know we’ve grown
apart in recent years, Sarry, and I know it has partly been my fault for acting
the fool but I want you to know that you can rely on me, no matter what.”

 He could feel her smile against his shoulder. “You haven’t
called me ‘Sarry’ in ages.”

 Laughing, he released her and turned to Bethro who had
sensitively been lurking in a corner trying to make himself inconspicuous.

 “Bethro, my friend,” he called. “I noticed some welcoming
taverns as we passed through the town when we arrived. They tell me that the
mead is second to none here, not to mention the ale. What say you to the notion
that we sally forth and sample their wares?”

 Bethro’s round face split into a grin of undiluted delight.
“An excellent idea, Your Highness.”