The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (15 page)

 “What now?” muttered Vesarion under his breath, not
entirely pleased at being reduced to subordinate status.  Then, raising his
voice, he asked: “What’s wrong? Have you lost the trail?”

 Ferron signalled to him to be quiet. He dismounted and
stood listening for a while, then treading softly, he approached Vesarion’s
horse.

 “The trail is still clear, my lord, and we are most
definitely gaining, but…….” his voice trailed off.

 “But?” prompted Vesarion.

 “Something is amiss. I feel it.”

 “What is it?”

 Ferron looked around him uncertainly. “I don’t know. It’s
just a feeling. The forest doesn’t sound right.”

 “Doesn’t s
ound
right?” repeated Vesarion
incredulously.

 “It’s hard to put my finger on, but even for this strange
place, something doesn’t feel right.”

 “Unless you can be more specific, I think we should press
on.”

 Ferron hesitated as if he would have liked to have disagreed,
then slowly nodded. “The sooner we catch this boy, the sooner we can get out of
this place. I think he is less than an hour ahead of us.”

 Re-mounting, Ferron led them on a slightly meandering path
between the trees that suggested that they were following someone who, if not
exactly lost, was giving the impression that they were not at all confident of
their route.

 The deeper the pursuit party penetrated into the Forsaken
Lands as the day wore on, the more they picked up Ferron’s sense of unease. Even
Bethro, usually immune to atmosphere, was subdued. It was, therefore, with
great relief a short while later that Ferron, in the act of guiding them around
a dense stand of holly trees blocking their path, came to such an abrupt halt,
that Eimer, hard on his tail, nearly rode into him.

 “There!” announced the huntsman with soft but unmistakeable
satisfaction, pointing through the trees.

 Following the direction of his finger, they could all see a
rider some distance away. His back was turned to them and he had stopped his
horse at a point where the forest was divided by a narrow, rocky ridge. The
dark head was turning to right and left as if unsure of which side of the ridge
to follow. The matter was soon decided for him, because Bethro’s horse, recognising
another of its own kind, let loose a piercing whinny. The fugitive’s head
snapped round in alarm, and the instant he saw the party of horsemen emerging
from the holly trees, he clapped his heels to his horse’s flanks and shot off
like an arrow.

  No one hesitated. In an instant, eight sets of hooves were
thundering after him. The pursuit party, by virtue of the dense trees, could
not follow en masse but was forced to fan out, each picking his own route,
weaving in an out between the trunks. This soon revealed their different levels
of horsemanship, for conducting such an exercise at full gallop over such
terrain required skill and nerve of no mean order. Bethro, for whom anything on
four legs was essentially foreign, was soon left far behind in their wake, as
the gap between the pursuing riders widened. Eimer and their guide were out in
front, both clearly instinctive riders, although Eimer had the advantage of a
fleeter horse. Sareth and Vesarion were not far behind, hotly pursued by the
guards.

 The boy bolted down a gully to the right of the ridge,
taking insane risks in the interests of speed, his reins lengthened, his hands stretched
forward, urging every last bit of speed from his mount. The trees flashed past
at truly terrifying speed. All it would have taken for disaster to have struck
would have been one low branch unobserved until too late, or one inconveniently
placed rabbit hole.

 Eimer drew ahead of the huntsman, the distance between him
and the boy closing rapidly. He caught a glimpse of a white, strained face flashing
a look back at him, which told him that his quarry knew he was losing ground
and was now desperate. The boy’s horse was tiring by now, sweat flecking its
flanks. Eimer crept closer, the nose of his mount reaching the leading horse’s
tail. A few more strides and the two were almost level, careering along side by
side. The boy tried swerving off to the left, but he could not shake the rider
beside him. Eimer stuck to him like glue until he was in a position to make a
snatch for his bridle. The boy, anticipating the tactic, swerved again, but
Eimer matched his course, leaning forward eagerly, the horse’s hooves pounding
on the dry, drum-like earth. One final lunge on the Prince’s part, got the
fugitive’s bridle into his hand and he started to draw both horses to a halt.
But if he expected his quarry to meekly give in, he was to be disappointed.
Before the horses had even come close to stopping, the boy leaped from the
saddle and tumbled to the ground, rolling over on one shoulder and onto his
feet again, and was off amongst the trees in an instant.

 Eimer brought the horses to a halt just as Sareth and
Vesarion caught up with him. He tossed them the reins and in a moment he, too,
was on foot, ducking and weaving through the forest in hot pursuit.
Unfortunately for the boy, Eimer was built for speed. Although of no more than
average height, he had long legs and was of a light, athletic build. The ground
fairly flew beneath his feet and any hope his quarry might have had of escape, soon
vanished. Eimer gained steadily, despite being a little hampered by his sword,
and finally leaping onto a fallen log, launched himself at his victim and
brought him down in a crashing fall. The two rolled over amongst last year’s
leaves, struggling for mastery, but the Prince managed to grasp the boy’s wrist
in a vice-like grip and forcing him onto his face, twisted his arm up his back,
effectively immobilising him.

 The others arrived, leading the two abandoned horses, in time
to see Eimer hoist his captive to his feet. The boy let out a cry of pain.

 “You’re hurting me! Let go!”

 But instead of obeying this command, Eimer merely tightened
his grip on the wrist and marched the captive over to where the others were
dismounting.

 At that moment, Bethro came trotting up, jogging up and
down gracelessly, looking jaded by the exercise. Vesarion turned to him. “Is
this him? You are the only one amongst us who can identify him.”

 Bethro looked down into the amber eyes regarding him so apprehensively,
and nodded sheepishly.

 Vesarion transferred his attention to the young captive and
remarked acerbically: “If you have been hurt, you have no one to blame but
yourself. You have led me a merry dance for nearly a week and now I want some
answers – and I want the truth, do you understand, boy?”

 But it was Eimer who answered. “If it’s the truth you are
after, I can tell you one thing.” He released his grip on the fugitive’s wrist
and instead transferred it to his shoulder. “This is no boy we have been
pursuing. This is, in fact, a girl.”

 There was a gasp of surprise from everyone present, except
the subject of this assertion, who merely looked at the ground sullenly.

 “Are you sure?” Vesarion asked.

 Eimer rolled his eyes. “I have just struggled with her on
the ground, so of course I am sure – and please, Vesarion, do not be so inane
as to ask me how I know.”

 Vesarion turned to the captive. “Is this true? Look at me!”
he commanded sharply. A pair of resentful dark eyes met his and suddenly he took
in the fine features and the slender build and knew that Eimer was correct.
“Why did you disguise yourself as a boy?”

 “It was safer,” was the laconic response, delivered in a
slightly foreign accent.

 Sareth, feeling that a sympathetic approach might be more
effective, said: “You need not be afraid. We don’t intend to hurt you. I’m
sorry if my brother was a bit rough with you, but you gave him very little
alternative. Perhaps you should come over here to this tree trunk and sit down
and tell us your story. We have no idea who you are or where you come from but
we do know that you were showing great interest in the sword of Erren-dar just
before it was stolen.”

 The girl, who had relaxed her defensive posture a little
and had allowed herself to be seated on the log, suddenly leaped to her feet at
the last words.

 “
Stolen!
” She grasped Sareth’s hands in alarm. “It
can’t be! Then it has all been in vain and I am too late.”

 “Too late for what?” demanded Vesarion.

 She turned to him, her face a mask of grief. “You do not
understand. I came to Eskendria to
prevent
the sword from being stolen,
and now……” her voice trailed off and she sat down on the trunk again and buried
her face in her hands as if in despair. “Now it has all been for nothing,” she
groaned from behind her hands.

 Sareth looked at Vesarion and shrugged helplessly,
indicating that she was unsure what to make of it.

 Sensing they were getting close to the crux of the matter
and suddenly realising that they had an unnecessarily large audience for these
disclosures, Vesarion ordered Ferron and the guards to go to the far side of
the clearing to wait with the horses. When they had obeyed him, he sat down on
the fallen trunk beside the girl.

 “I think it’s time for the truth. I shall know if you attempt
to mislead me, so please rid yourself of any notion you might have trying to
lie to me. You may start by telling us who you are.”

 She stared at him in silence for a long moment as if
uncertain what to do. Slowly she raised her eyes and scanned the faces of the
four people watching her, before returning to her questioner.

 “My name is Iska and I am the daughter of Elvorn, king of
the land that you call Adamant.”

 Vesarion’s eyes narrowed. “What nonsense is this? The Kingdom
of Adamant does not exist.”

 “But it does,” interrupted Bethro. “Queen Triana has been
there in her youth. When she and Erren-dar and the others were crossing the
Forsaken Lands on their journey home from the Island of Sirkris, they stumbled
upon it by accident. It was protected by enchantment, a force called a Curtain
of Adamant – from which the Kingdom gets its name. The curtain acted like an
invisible barrier that could not be crossed by man or Turog and kept the Kingdom
hidden, sealed off from the outside world. Relisar used his powers to create a
small tear in the curtain that enabled them to get through it.”

 “You believe all that?” Vesarion asked. “How is it that no
one since then has ever been able to find this supposed kingdom? How is it that
this is the first person in all these years who has ever claimed to have come
from there?”

 “Ah, yes, my lord, but you must remember that Relisar found
documents in the great library in the City of Adamant that showed that the
ruling house of Parth had betrayed humanity to the Destroyer at the time of the
fall of the Old Kingdom. They used their dark arts to distract the Brotherhood
of Sages and weaken them, so that the Destroyer could send his black spirits
against them. Alas, the Brotherhood was defeated and, as you know, the Old
Kingdom fell. Now all that remains of it is Eskendria. In return for their
help, the Destroyer allowed the House of Parth to exist, hidden by the curtain
of adamant deep in the Forsaken Lands, cut off from the rest of human kind by
the evil deeds of the ruling house. Ever their clan has practiced these arts
which ultimately derive their power from the Destroyer, for he is the master of
such evil. Always, even in the days of the Old Kingdom, they followed their own
course and would not accept the teachings of the Book of Light.” His eyes
descended doubtfully to Iska. “I now know why you disguised yourself as a boy,
for always the power to practice this black enchantment was found in the women
of the House of Parth, never in the men.”

 Eimer laughed disbelievingly. “Are you trying to say that
she is a witch?”

 “More likely she’s a liar,” said Vesarion sardonically.

 “I am no liar!” declared the girl hotly. “I risked my life
coming here to try to prevent the sword from being stolen and I find that not
only has it already been taken but that you waste time pursuing me when you
should be moving heaven and earth to get it back.” She turned to Eimer. “As for
you, I will have you know that not only am I no witch but I have no powers
whatsoever – a source of bitter disappointment to my father. He had two sons
from his first marriage, my half-brothers, but he had no daughters, and a
daughter he desperately wanted, for the women of the house of Parth have the
ability to read minds and manipulate the thoughts of others and this ability has
long been the source of the power of the Kings of Parth. No one dare rise
against a king who can command access to their thoughts. So when his first wife
died and he married my mother, who was the daughter of a noble family, my
father more than anything wished for a daughter – and he got one, though it cost
him my mother’s life. He thought finally that the means through which every one
of his predecessors had secured their reign was now in his hands, but alas he
was wrong. I have no power. In thirteen generations of my house, I am the first
female of the blood royal to have no more ability in that direction that a
peasant girl. As you can imagine, this was a bitter blow to him. I took the
first test of ability when I was ten and failed it miserably. Apparently I
showed not even the tiniest flicker of promise. Nevertheless, my father refused
to contemplate such failure and made me proceed with the second test two years
later. Suffice it to say that I failed that too, and my father was forced to
face the fact that I was going to be of no use to him. So….so he cast me off
entirely. From being the apple of his eye, I descended to being clothed and fed
but otherwise ignored as if I didn’t exist. In the eight years since then, he has
never spoken to me again or in any way acknowledged my existence. My schooling
stopped and I was allowed to run wild and do as I pleased. I became like an
untamed animal, like a rat in the city sewers. I spent my days roaming the
city, finding my way into every nook and cranny, every hidden passage. It
became a game with me to find my way into places that were forbidden and to do
so unseen. I delighted in eavesdropping on conversations – sometimes to my
detriment. As I grew older, my field of activity widened and I began to explore
the surrounding countryside. I took, without permission, horses from the King’s
stable and explored every forest, every hill, every stream within the Ring of
Haleb.”