The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (28 page)

 Slowly, like someone awakening from a trance, he climbed to
his feet and looked around a little uncertain of where he was, or how he had
got there. The sun was sinking, casting the long, languorous stripes of late
afternoon and he realised that he had been away much longer than he had
intended.

 Carefully, he retraced his steps until he emerged once more
in the infamous clearing. The log was still sitting in the centre of the glade,
is rough edges illuminated by the slanting light – but it was empty. The ring
had gone, and for some reason he could not quite fathom, he felt a sense of
relief. She must have relented and come back for it. Perhaps the breach was not
so serious after all.

 However, as he approached the thorn hedge, he found himself
accosted by Eimer, who had, in fact, been searching for him all afternoon.

 “Where have you been?” the Prince demanded irritably. “Iska
has had me looking for you everywhere.”

 “Why?”

 “Why? I’ll tell you why. Sareth stormed past me earlier
today looking like a thundercloud and has locked herself in her room and
refuses to speak to anyone. Iska thought that it might have something to do
with you.”

 “It has.” He hesitated for a fraction, then took the
plunge. “She…..we have broken off our engagement. You can now celebrate the
fact that you are not going to have me foisted upon you as a brother-in-law.”

 “Oh?” was all Eimer could think of to say.

 Vesarion looked at him more closely. “You don’t seem very
surprised. I take it that you, too, didn’t think it would last. According to
Sareth, I am cold, selfish and arrogant. I assume you agree with that
assessment.”

 “Well, no, but you can be a bit closed up inside yourself
at times and that can give the wrong impression.”

 “Tell me, Eimer, do you know why she agreed to my proposal
in the first place? I had assumed that she was tired of Enrick’s plotting and
wanted the peace and safety that being Lady of Westrin would have conferred,
but clearly I erred. Do you know the real reason she agreed?”

 “Em…she didn’t really take me into her confidence but she
did mention something – although, perhaps I shouldn’t repeat it.”

 “Eimer, I think it would help if I understood – but I won’t
press you.”

 The Prince glanced uneasily towards the tower as if he
expected his sister to be listening. When he returned his gaze to his
companion, he found a pair of disconcertingly piercing eyes bent upon him.

 Weakly giving in, he said: “It was something to do with
Enrick but I’m not sure exactly what. At first I thought he had threatened her
safety but I soon realised that such a move would hold very little water with
Sareth. On balance, I now think it was you that he threatened. She wouldn’t
tell me exactly what he said but I got the impression that she felt that she was
protecting you.”

 Vesarion frowned. “She must know that there is little he
can do against me as long as I command the Ravenshold Brigands.”

 “My friend, you are hampered by your own honesty. You are
thinking in terms of some sort of direct confrontation. That is not the way
Enrick operates. If he wanted rid of you for some reason, he is the sort of man
who would not be above such underhand tactics as slipping poison into your wine
– and well Sareth knows this.”

Vesarion looked thoughtfully at the ground. “So,” he
concluded quietly. “She saw it as a matter of duty.”

“Come to that, it seemed to me that it was a matter of duty
with both of you. The only thing that surprised me is that Sareth did not
choose to confide in you. I had thought recently that she had grown cold and
distant, but I now think that it was just that this matter was worrying her and
she didn’t know what to do. The one thing that this journey has shown me is
that my big sister is just as she has ever been – ready for any adventure and
not cold in the least.”

 Vesarion smiled ruefully. “Definitely not cold! You forget
that I have just been on the receiving-end of her temper. You say she has
locked herself in her room?”

 “Yes. Iska and I have both knocked on the door but she
won’t answer.”

 “Very well. I will see what I can do. We may not be engaged
anymore but I do not wish to be at daggers drawn with her, especially as we
have still a long journey ahead of us.”

 Eimer blew out his cheeks. “You don’t lack for courage,
I’ll give you that. Be thankful if you don’t get your ears boxed.”

 Vesarion laughed but was, nonetheless, aware of a certain
amount of trepidation as he ascended the stairs.

 He knocked softly on the door. “Sareth, it’s me. I want to
talk to you.”

 For a moment there was no answer, then a rather muffled voice
said: “Go away.”

 “No, Sareth, I will not go away. We have been friends since
were children and I do not want bad blood between us. So open the door,
please.”

 There was still no reply, so folding his arms determinedly,
he remarked pleasantly through the door: “If you sulk, I’ll  have no choice but
to break down this door – and you know that I will keep my word, especially if
you recall a certain incident when you sulked at me before.”

 After a tense moment of silence, there was a click as the
lock turned. Testing the handle, Vesarion found that the door swung open
easily.

 Sareth was sitting on the bed looking pale and tired but
calm. He closed the door and came and sat beside her with a sigh.

 “I have been thinking all afternoon about what you said to
me and although I am not sure that either of us was wise to embark on this
engagement in the first place, or whether our reasons were the correct ones,
what I do know is that we have been friends for a very long time and I do not
wish to be at odds with you. If I have been selfish and inconsiderate, believe
me, it was not intentional. For whatever reason, I see that I have gone about
this in the wrong way and if that has hurt you, I am truly sorry. I would never
deliberately cause you grief, Sareth, no matter what you might think of me.”

 She hung her head, refusing to meet his earnest look. “I
know,” she answered quietly. “I am sorry too. I said some things to you that I
regret….I….I got into a bit of a temper, you see.”

 He smiled faintly. “I did, indeed, see. But given that I
was equally in a temper, I can hardly blame you.”

 She managed to smile a little back. “You have always been
very fair-minded.”

 “Ah!” he exclaimed, in the manner of someone who has just
made a momentous discovery. “Progress! She has finally found a virtue in me!”

 Sareth, unable to resist, began to laugh. “You fiend! You
always do this to me when we fall out. You make me laugh and I just can’t be
angry with you any more.”

 But he looked directly into her grey eyes and said: “This
is a little more serious than our squabbles in the past, is it not? No, don’t
look away.” He crooked his finger gently under her chin and turned her face
towards him. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that even though we are not
betrothed any more,  you are still my friend.”

 Sareth, utterly incapable of resisting such an appeal,
nodded her head. “Yes, Vesarion, we are still friends.”

 He then did something that Sareth wished with all her heart
that he had done weeks ago. He took her in his arms and held her. Unable to
resist the temptation, fleetingly she rested her cheek against his shoulder,
wishing hopelessly that the moment might go on for ever, but he gently released
her and said: “Now, there are three very anxious people waiting for their
dinner downstairs. Shall we join them?”

 In actual fact, Vesarion was only partially correct. There
were indeed three people anxiously awaiting them, but for varying reasons. Two
were concerned to know if the quarrel had been resolved and the other was
worried that if he was kept waiting any longer for his dinner, it would spoil.

 Eimer had found a note sitting beside the fruit bowl on the
dining table, written in such shaky handwriting that it looked as if an
inebriated spider had fallen in an inkwell then staggered across the page.  It
informed them that the Keeper was unfortunately feeling his years and was too
tired to join them that evening.

When, much to Bethro’s relief, the absentees arrived, he was
so busy applying himself to his food that he was the only one not to notice
that the meal was a little strained at first. Everyone was trying just a little
too hard to make the conversation flow smoothly, however, the wine and food had
their usual mellowing affect and soon things grew more relaxed.

Under cover of Bethro telling one of his long and involved
stories, Eimer whispered to Iska: “You didn’t seem particularly surprised when
I told you that  the engagement was broken off.”

 “I wasn’t. In fact, it is the best thing that could have
happened. That betrothal was just a millstone around both their necks. Now they
can start afresh.”

 “Start what?” asked Eimer, not following her.

 Iska rolled her eyes comically. “Never mind, Eimer. Just go
back to sleep again.”

 “How come I never know what’s going on?” he grumbled.

 Although the Keeper did not join them for the meal, he made
his presence felt in other ways. In the morning, when they awoke, each of the
companions found a pack sitting in their respective rooms, filled with
everything they could possibly need for the journey.

 After a brief breakfast that was attended by Kel but not
his owner, they repaired with their belongings to the stables to find that five
of the Keeper’s glossy horses had already been saddled. They led them round to
the door of the tower and were about to go in search of their benefactor, when
suddenly, in his own peculiar fashion, he was there, standing in the small
arched doorway with his cat at his feet. In the harsh light of day, he looked
even more frail and dusty than ever but his dark eyes were still as bright.

 Vesarion approached him. “Keeper, your kindness and
generosity to us has been overwhelming. We owe you a great debt of gratitude.”

 “You owe me nothing, Lord of Westrin,” he replied in his
fragile voice. “On the contrary, it is I who am in your debt and will be even
more so when we meet again.”

 Vesarion fixed his eyes on the old man in a curiously
intense fashion. “Shall we meet again?” he asked a little doubtfully.

 Something in his voice caught Sareth’s attention and once
more she saw that troubled look in his eyes that she had seen once before. And yet
again, it disturbed her that she did not understand it.

 The Keeper smiled slightly at him. “It is my greatest
desire that we should. Remember what I told you, heir of Erren-dar, trust in
yourself and in your companions and do not be afraid to follow the promptings
of your heart. In the moment of greatest need, should you doubt yourself,
consider that your great ancestor was but a man, just like you.”

 He then turned to Sareth. “You have great courage and a
warm heart, my dear. Never fear, these attributes will never fail you.”

 Transferring his attention to Eimer, he said: “Young
Prince, you have a destiny the shadow of which has not even fallen across your
mind. Those who have so lightly dismissed you, will one day learn the error of
their ways.”

 Then using his cane to descend unsteadily from the doorstep
onto the daisy-covered lawn, he crossed to Iska and placed one hand lightly on
her shoulder.

 “My child, remember what I said – goodness can be found
anywhere, even in the most unexpected places. It cannot be excluded from any
kingdom, or race, or clan.  When the time comes, listen to your instincts and
do not be daunted by what you see before you.”

 He lifted his gaze to encompass them all.

 “Now, my children, your journey and your most testing times
lie ahead of you. When you get to the Vale of Rithlin, remember to take the
right-hand fork.
Chalcoria Ferrenor
. May the blessing of the chalice
flower be upon you.”

 He remained standing beside the old tower, a slight, grey
figure, still strongly suggestive of cobwebs and old paper, watching as they
mounted their horses. Bethro turned his mount toward the hedge, concealing his
disappointment that the Keeper had no word for him but just as the hedge
opened, the Keeper called to him: “Take care of these children, Bethro.”

 Bethro raised his hand in acknowledgement, then the hedge
closed behind him and the Keeper of the Rose Tower was gone from sight.

 To Vesarion’s intense displeasure, they had gone only a
stone’s throw into the Golden Wood when they discovered that someone was
waiting for them. Gorm was sitting at his ease at the foot of a tree, arms
folded, pack beside him, yellow eyes alert. When he saw them, he scrambled to
his feet and slung his pack over his shoulder.

 “Hello, Gorm,” Sareth greeted him. “Where have you been?”

 Eimer leaned towards Vesarion and muttered under his breath:
“Off  killing something, no doubt.”

 “Probably. I was hoping he had taken himself off. I have no
idea how he knew exactly when we would be leaving.”

  “Black magic?” Eimer suggested.

Gorm, in the meantime, had bestowed on Sareth a toad-like
grin that he reserved just for her and was a mark of great affection.

 “All rested,” he announced. “Ready to go.”

“We have directions, Gorm,” said Bethro. “I’m afraid we
don’t need a guide any more.”

 Gorm gave him a baleful look. “Never mind,” he replied
dismissively. “Come to protect Sareth.”

 “Why is he so keen on coming with us?” Bethro asked the
others.

“Probably nothing better to do,” was the Prince’s opinion.

Gorm’s brow drew down into a ferocious scowl at this.

 “Protect Sareth,” he repeated. “Time to leave.”

 The Prince opened his mouth again but before he could utter
a word, he was pre-empted by his short companion.

 “Chatter, chatter. Too much talk. Let’s go,” he commanded
imperiously.

Even Vesarion couldn’t suppress a smile at that one.

 Gorm, clearly in something of a huff that his services were
no longer considered essential, led them at a fast trot along the winding paths
of the Wood of Ammerith until the ground began to rise again. Up they ascended
at a gentle gradient through the dense ranks of trees, until quite suddenly
they emerged above the golden canopy onto a grassy ridge that marked the rim of
the valley. After spending so much time in the enclosed confines of the dale,
the view before them was liberating in its openness. There, stretching into
almost infinite distance, was a rolling plain covered in long, lush grasses
that shivered like fur when stroked by the boisterous breeze. The seclusion of
the forest was behind them. Not a tree was in sight as far as the eye could see
into the violet-smudged distance. A huge, azure sky vaulted over the grassland,
scattered with towering white clouds driven along swiftly by the wind like
great sailing ships.

 They all drew a deep breath, as if what lay before them was
the physical manifestation of freedom.

 “This is wonderful,” cried Sareth and tapped Vesarion
peremptorily on the shoulder. “What do you say to a gallop? These horses are so
fresh that they could do with it. The first one to reach that rise is the
winner.”

 Without waiting for a reply, she clapped her heels to her
horse’s flanks and shot off, with Vesarion in hot pursuit.

 Eimer gave a whoop of delight and was about to follow suit,
when he found himself hauled back by someone unceremoniously grabbing a fistful
of his shirt.

 “Let them go,” ordered Iska, “It will do them good to be
carefree for a while.”

 He frowned, then suddenly comprehension finally dawned on
him. “Oh, so you think that they……”

 “Never mind, Eimer,” she cut in, casting a warning glance
at Bethro. “Let’s just say that the air has now been cleared, so we shall see
what happens.”

 “Well, I want a gallop. So come on, Madam
I-know-all-about-everything, and see if you can beat me. Remember, the last
time we raced, I won!”

 Eimer careered off down the slope followed by a shriek of:
“
Cheat!
You started first!”

She tore after him, leaving Bethro and Gorm looking in
perplexity at one another.

 “Sometimes I feel like I am the only adult on this
expedition,” remarked Bethro grandly.

 “Me too,” said Gorm, inadvertently demolishing him.

 They travelled all that day beneath the immense sky, the
horses seeming to wade through the ocean of shining grasses. The wind conspired
with the sun to chase flocks of cloud-shadows across the plain, causing the
light to change swiftly back and forth with great suddenness from sunshine so
bright that it almost hurt the eyes, to dull, gelid shade.

 Only the Turog did not find his surroundings enjoyable. His
short stature made it tiring to be constantly fighting his way through the long
strands. Moreover, the very openness that so pleased the others, made him
uneasy, for there was nowhere to hide on the exposed plain and this went
against all his woodlander’s instincts.

 By late afternoon, a low, ephemeral, grey-green feature
began to appear to the north , which turned out, as they drew closer, to be a
line of  slender willow trees. The reason for their sudden appearance on the
otherwise treeless plain soon became apparent – they marked the course of a
deep river, sunk between grassy banks, that formed a barrier across their path.
It was not as big as the Harnor but it was wide and deep and most definitely not
fordable at the place they had reached it. Vesarion and Eimer split up and
began to search for a crossing place, but when they rejoined the party, wending
their way through the shivering willows, they were forced to admit defeat.

 “The Keeper didn’t mention a river,” complained Eimer, “
but surely he would not have sent us in this direction if it could not be crossed.”

 Vesarion turned to Gorm, who had been suspiciously quiet.
“Do you know a way across?”

 Gorm looked sideways at him. “Yes,” he admitted sullenly.

 Vesarion threw up his hands in his habitual gesture when
exasperated. “Well why didn’t you tell us?”

 “Didn’t ask,” was the annoying reply. He cast a look of
dislike towards Bethro. “Got directions,” he mimicked. “Don’t need Gorm.”

 Seeing that he was likely to sulk indefinitely, Sareth
intervened.

 “Please, Gorm, of course we need your help. We wouldn’t
have got this far without you. I, for one, always value your advice.”

 Eimer leaned confidentially towards Vesarion. “As nice a
piece of female manipulation as I have seen, “ he whispered knowledgeably.

 Gorm’s frown lightened, proving that he was not immune to
flattery.

 “Help Sareth,” he offered. “Stone bridge that way.” He
pointed westwards with one thick finger. “But best camp here tonight. Not cross
bridge in the dark.”

 “Why not?” Sareth asked.

 “Have to go past dead people.”

 “Dead people?” Eimer repeated blankly.

 “Many stones for dead people,” Gorm elucidated.

 “I think he means a burial place,” Sareth suggested.

 Gorm nodded vigorously. “Very old. Very scary. Go through
in daylight. Don’t like dead people.”

 Bethro, a little tired of the Turog being the centre of
attention, remarked superciliously: “We are getting to know a great deal about
what you don’t like. You don’t like magic hedges, or buildings, or wizards.
It’s getting to be quite a list.”

 Gorm, casting him a slit-eyed look loaded with venom,
decided to complete the list for him.

 “Don’t like fat Bethro,” he snapped, causing three of his
audience to choke and one to turn away, her shoulders shaking.

 Although there was still an hour or two of daylight left, Gorm
would not be budged in his determination to give the graveyard a wide berth
during the hours of darkness, so they camped amongst the willows within earshot
of the soft swish and gurgle of the deep river.

 When they were sitting round the fire that evening, Sareth
asked Gorm how he had discovered the bridge.

 “Many years ago, in days of Erren-dar, the Destroyer send
his army south, through the Forsaken Lands to make war on Eskendria. Many
Turog. Many waggons. Only place river can be crossed is old bridge. Bridge not
made by Destroyer but by ancient people long ago.”

 “You mean the Old Kingdom?”

 “Yes. Made by men of Old Kingdom. Made many beautiful
things in Old Kingdom but all gone to dust now. Gorm once found fallen city….”

 “Korem?” Iska asked. “The capital?”

 “Don’t know. All in ruins,” he said sadly. “All destroyed.
Beautiful things all gone.” His hand inadvertently strayed to the little pouch
attached to his belt as if to reassure himself that his own beautiful treasures
were still safe.

 “When Gorm crossed bridge with army, he drop pack in river.
Great-turog punish him with long whip. Beat him sore.” He brooded on this for a
moment before saying simply. “No one beat Gorm ever again, because now he is
free.”

 For once even Bethro, who was developing a taste for
indulging in verbal combat with the Turog, had nothing to say. The few halting
words had conveyed more of a sense of desolation and destruction than all the
librarian’s flowery stanzas. A silence fell as everyone stared into the fire,
touched by a tragedy that had taken place a thousand years before, as if it
were but yesterday.

 The impression that they were trespassing into the domain
of a Kingdom that had recently fallen instead of a millennium ago, increased
the following day as they followed Gorm westwards along the river bank. Upon
rounding a wide, placid bend of the river, they saw ahead of them, spanning the
deep, swift-flowing water, a long bridge of great elegance. It was constructed
of dark stone and traversed the river by means of many substantial stone piers,
their feet sunk in the dark depths. Above the water-level, they were fringed
with a thick beard of some brown, trailing weed that indicated that the river
was low. Between the piers sprang beautiful pointed arches, their undersides
illuminated by sunlight glancing off the water. From a distance it looked
intact, but as they drew closer its ancientness became apparent. The stone
blocks, though solid, were much eroded and worn and the joints between them,
once so precise as to be almost invisible, were now widened by the frosts of
many winters.

 As they wound amongst the willows, sometimes losing sight
of it, they discovered that the bend in the river had hidden something else
from view. An extensive burial ground, almost engulfed by greenery, was set in
low-lying meadows at the southern end of the bridge. At first only the
occasional stone could be found, its inscription worn away by the relentless
passage of time, leaning at a drunken angle amongst the warm grasses and clovers.
But as they advanced deeper into the burial ground, the memorials became more
and more elaborate. Tall pillars and obelisks, still faintly incised with the
chalice flower, lay shattered on their sides, spotted with lichens, their stumps,
like broken teeth, still projecting from the earth. Tombs like caskets, topped
with what had once been carved figures, now eroded into indistinct lumps,
became more frequent. Finally, near the foot of the bridge, they stopped before
the most remarkable monument of all. There, standing on a pedestal, was a
life-sized statue of a woman in white stone, so untouched by the passage of
time that they all stopped before it in amazement. Her arms were outstretched
towards them as if in supplication. Her garments flowed out behind her as
though she faced into a strong wind and behind her shoulders, were outspread
wings like a swan’s. But what should have been beautiful was rendered almost hideous
by the fact that its head was missing. The slender stone neck was severed just
above the shoulders, giving the figure a macabre air.

 “Great-turog did this,” whispered Gorm. “Saw him. Took a
battle axe and smashed head.
Tulthak
!” He turned and spat contemptuously
into the grasses. “Stone lady won in the end. Great-turog all dead now.”

 “If I am not mistaken,” began Bethro, in the tone of voice
that did not admit such a possibility, “this bridge is what was once known as a
Bridge of Tears. It is quite astonishing that it is still standing after all
this time, for no other one is known to have survived. In the days of the Old
Kingdom there was a belief that the dead must cross water before they were
buried, to prevent their spirits attempting to return to the land of the
living. Every city had such a bridge. I wonder where the city is now?”

 “No city here,” contradicted Gorm. “Sad place. Cross bridge
now.”

 He was preparing to start up the slope to the bridge, when
suddenly he whirled round to face the burial ground again, whipping his sword
from its scabbard behind his shoulder. In a flash the two younger men had done
likewise, steadying their horses, which had started to sidle uneasily, picking
up the Turog’s fear.

Gorm stood, every sinew tense, sword extended, surveying the
graveyard with suspicious eyes.

“What is it, Gorm?” Sareth asked, her eyes also probing
between the monuments.

 He held up his hand to signal silence and continued to scan
his surroundings.

  Sareth’s horse began to nervously back towards the bridge
until restrained by its rider.

 After a few tense moments, Gorm finally sheathed his sword
and turned once more to the bridge.

 “Did you see something?” Vesarion asked, his sword still
drawn.

 “No. Heard something. Maybe nothing.”

 Bethro gave a superior smile. “Perhaps it was a ghost,
Gorm?”

 The Turog gave a snarl and was about to turn on the hapless
librarian, when Sareth intervened on her protégé’s behalf.

 “Gorm has very sharp hearing, sharper than a human’s, so I
would not dismiss his concerns so lightly, if I were you, Bethro.”

 Eimer, in contrast, was clearly taking matters seriously.
“I think we should investigate, just to make sure.”

 “No!” cried Iska. “We should get out of here! I don’t like
this place in the least!”

 “Iska is right,” agreed Vesarion. “This place is the
perfect spot for an ambush. A whole regiment of Turog could be hiding amongst
those sepulchres - and I doubt you could take them on all by yourself, Eimer.”