The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (3 page)

 Eimer raised his eyes heavenwards, the epitome of
innocence. “And which exploit would that be?”

 “I forget her name, but some day an irate father will catch
up with you and there will be the devil to pay.”

 Eimer grinned and warmly clasped Vesarion’s outstretched
hand. “I don’t know why I’m glad to see you, because you always read me a
lecture.”

 Vesarion was clearly moved by that tribute. “I’d be more
flattered by that, were it not for the fact that I am acquainted with the rest
of your family.”

 The Prince wheeled his horse to come alongside his
companion. “Boring lot, aren’t they? The problem is that not one of them, with
the exception of grandmother, has a sense of humour. My father says he despairs
of me. My saintly elder brother says I bring the family name into disrepute
and….well, I must confess I’ve even manged to get into grandmother’s bad books
recently.”

 “Oh? I thought Queen Triana found your exploits amusing?
What have you done to put her back up?”

 “Nothing you wouldn’t have done in my place,” he replied
saucily, then catching the disbelieving look in his companion’s eye, added a
little shamefacedly: “Well, nothing worth repeating, at any rate. Grandmother
is anxious to see you. You were always her favourite, you know.”

 They began to ascend the narrow cobbled streets that wound
up the hill. The palace guards fell in neatly behind them, irritating the
Ravenshold Brigands by going ahead of them.

 “I can’t think why,” Vesarion responded. “Grandmother and I
have crossed swords on occasion.”

 Eimer was impressed. “Wonderful, isn’t she? Well over
eighty years old, all of five foot nothing and has us all terrified of her –
even father. I think she likes you best because you are the only one she can’t
bully. Mind you, if you have the temerity to call her ‘grandmother’ to her
face, she’ll demolish you.”

 “I know. The last time I displeased her, she reminded me at
length and in unflattering terms that I am absolutely no relation of hers at
all.”

 “What was that all about?”

 “Merely the trifling matter of some ungrateful so-and-so
who disappears off to his mountain retreat and hasn’t the good manners to visit
Addania from time to time.”

 “Ha! I can hear her say it. I bet she ended up by telling
you she disowned you.”

 “Indeed. But I told her she couldn’t, as I had decided to
adopt her.”

 Eimer gasped. “You don’t lack for nerve, Vesarion. I’d
rather face the Destroyer himself than say something like that to her.”

 “You underestimate her. It made her laugh. You never know
how to deal with her. However, despite several vigorous attempts to cast you
off, I believe she has been forced to acknowledge that you are, in fact, her
legitimate grandson.”

 “Given that she describes her own son as a bore and her
eldest grandson as a prig, that’s nothing to celebrate. Apart from you, the
only one she likes is Sareth.”

 The Prince did not notice his companion stiffen a little at
the name. “Your sister is well, I trust?” he enquired, at his most formal. “She
returned a short while ago from Serendar, I believe.”

 Eimer, in blissful ignorance of the undercurrents, shrugged
dismissively. “Yes, empty-handed, much to Enrick’s displeasure. Apparently he
had decided that the best way of cementing our alliance with the King of
Serendar was to foist my sister onto him as a bride. However, he didn’t count on
the King’s finely attuned sense of self-preservation, so it all came to
nothing.” The Prince cast a speculative glance at his cousin. “Which brings me
to you, Vesarion. Apparently your own sense of self-preservation is somewhat less
acute. Do you not realise that you are, in fact, walking into a trap? That was why
I was so anxious to see you before my brother got his claws into you. Are you
not aware that he has now decided that the best way to secure your support
against the dissident barons is to marry you to Sareth? Have your wits gone a-begging?
Take the advice of an old hand when it comes to evading Enrick’s schemes, and
turn your horse around and ride back to your mountains as if all the demons in
hell were at your heels.”

 Vesarion appeared undaunted by the warning. “I thought you
liked your sister?”

 For the first time the younger man looked uncertain. “I do,”
he ventured hesitantly. “I mean, I did. But…well…something has changed in
Sareth recently – and not for the better. The big sister who was so much fun,
ready for any dare, has become so cold and distant. I don’t honestly know
whether she went to Serendar because she has an ambition to become a queen, or
whether my brother forced her to go. All I know is that having failed to secure
a king – and given that the only prince in the vicinity is me, and I’m her
brother, thank goodness – it has now been decided that she will marry the most
powerful of our barons in order to bind him to our cause.”

 “I see,” replied Vesarion shortly. “You think she is in
league with Enrick? I thought, if memory serves me, that they couldn’t be in
the same room together without disagreeing. Has all that changed?”

 Eimer shook his head. “I don’t know. Nobody tells me
anything any more. All I know is that she is no longer the big sister I used to
know. She was such fun in the old days, always full of pluck, ready for an
adventure and to hell with the consequences.” His face brightened in
recollection. “Do you remember the day I dared her to ride her horse up the
guardroom staircase?” He laughed in recollection. “What a day that was!”

 “Perhaps. All I can remember is that she got a thundering
scold from Enrick on the subject of inappropriate behaviour for his sister, and
such a hiding from your father that she didn’t sit down for a week. You know,
Eimer, she couldn’t remain an irresponsible hoyden for ever. Everyone must
eventually grow up.”

 “Must they? It never looks much fun to me, that is why I’m
doing my best to avoid it.”

 “Does she…..does she confide in you?”

 “Not any more. If I question her, she just tells me to mind
my own business. The only one she talks to is grandmother. All I get from her
is a ticking off about my disreputable behaviour.” He snorted in annoyance. “I
might have to take that from my pompous brother because he is, after all, the
Crown Prince, but I don’t have to take it from someone who is only a year older
than me. To hear her talk, one would think that she was a matriarch and I a
schoolboy. Really, Vesarion, it’s too much. So I’m telling you, for your own
good, turn tail and go back to Ravenshold.”

 Vesarion chuckled. “You haven’t told me anything so very
bad. Beside, riding up the guardroom staircase is not exactly the sort of
behaviour one would expect from the Lady of Westrin.”

 They had reached the top of the hill by now and passed
through the wall surrounding the palace. While the guards filed off to the
left, they dismounted and handed their horses to a stable lad. Vesarion drew
off his long gauntlets and passing through another archway, entered the palace
gardens, just now a little bare apart from a few daffodils. On the grass, where
the wall cast a shadow, a slight dusting of frost glistened. Eimer fell into
step beside his tall friend.

 “I did my best to save you, you know. I told father that
your loyalty was not in question and that it did not need this marriage to
secure it, but he is completely under Enrick’s thumb. For weeks now, Enrick has
been pouring into his ears tales of insurrection and rebellion. He has been
telling father that if you proved false, our house would fall and you would
take the throne for yourself.”  He saw Westrin’s eyes flash with anger, and
hurried on: “I know, I know. Don’t eat me. In his heart, father knows it’s
nonsense but it has become habitual with him to defer to Enrick. You have been
away too long, my friend.”

 Vesarion stopped abruptly and faced him. “How bad is it?
Tell me frankly, Eimer. All I hear is rumour.”

 “I honestly don’t know. Enrick would have it that the
eastern baronies, led by my lord of Sorne, are on the brink of open rebellion
but all I can discover are some grumbles of dissatisfaction with this new land
tax Enrick has introduced. You were not as badly hit as some of the other
barons, because much of your income comes from the silver mines, but those
whose estates are mainly farmland were hit hard. If he was big enough to back
down and repeal it, I think the matter would be at an end, but you know Enrick,
he won’t do that. It has become a matter of pride.”

 “More of a petty squall than a full-blown gale, would you
guess?”

 “It’s hard to say. Enrick is anxious to keep me in
ignorance – you see, knowledge is power, so he keeps it all to himself. I am
excluded from all their earnest discussions, on the basis that I am too
immature and irresponsible to be of much use.” Vesarion could not fail to hear
the note of bitterness in the Prince’s voice.

  “I don’t know what sort of game he is playing,” Eimer
continued. “but I would have guessed that the last person he would have asked
for help was you. So be careful, my friend, all will not be as it is presented
to you. All you can be certain of, is that he is not promoting this match
between you and Sareth from a desire to secure your future happiness.”

 “Perhaps he thinks he can control me through Sareth,”
remarked Vesarion reflectively.

 The Prince laughed, his unaccustomed sobriety put to
flight. “Then he doesn’t know you very well, does he? He might was well try to
pin down the north wind.”

 They had entered the palace by an unobtrusive side door and
were now in a long corridor in the east wing.

 “You have been given your usual apartments,” Eimer advised.
“Father wants to see you as soon as you’ve changed, oh, and grandmother, too.”

 “I’m looking forward to seeing her.”

 “Ha!” exclaimed the Prince. “ Said with all the smugness of
a man with a clear conscience.”

In another part of the palace a diminutive elderly lady sat
staring thoughtfully into the bright fire burning within the confines of its
ornate hearth. Her faded blue eyes were distant, as her thoughts strayed from
the present, slipping easily into the past as if she were more at home there.
Her feet rested primly side by side on a velvet-covered footstool, just visible
under the voluminous skirts of her blue robe. Her hair was creamy-white, caught
up in a dignified bun on top of her head. Although her face was lined, her high
cheekbones and arching brows indicated the beauty that had been hers in her
youth.

  So absorbed was she in her reflections, that she did not
notice the clear spring day quietly fade beyond the leaded panes, nor did she
observe twilight creep stealthily into the room, until the daylight was almost
gone and the room lit only by the faint, rosy glow of the fire.

 An unwelcome tap at the door finally brought her back to
the present. However, she showed no irritation at the interruption, for long
years of royal duty had taught her to resign herself to constant demands upon
her time. A maid entered the room and bobbed a respectful curtsey.

 “Oh ma’am!” she exclaimed, “it’s got so dark in here. I’ll
light some candles for you. You shouldn’t be sitting here in the dark.”

 The Queen suppressed a sigh as the maid suited her actions
to her words and began to light candles in their tall silver holders. Their warm
light soon began to force the twilight to retreat back to the garden.

 “Not too many, if you please,” Triana objected. “You must
understand that at my age one finds the darkness restful.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” agreed the maid, who didn’t understand in the
least. Then in an apologetic tone, she added: “I’m afraid Bethro is here and
wishes to see you again. I told him I didn’t think you were available, but he
insisted. Do you want me to send him away?”

 “No, I’ll see him. If the Keeper of Antiquities is writing
an epic poem in one’s honour, the least one can do is to humour him.”

 “Are you sure, Ma’am? He tired you so much the last time
with all his ranting and raving.”

 The Queen smiled slightly at the protective tone. “ It’s
all right. I’ll see him. Oh, and if my Lord of Westrin stops by, show him in
immediately. I believe he arrived this morning but has been closeted with the
King since then.”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 The maid opened the door and with a roll of her eyes not lost
on her mistress, announced the Keeper of Antiquities.

 A rotund, middle-aged man with a head of woolly brown hair,
salted with grey, and the comfortable stomach of one who enjoys his ale,
bustled into the room, his arms filled with papers and scrolls which he
proceeded to drop all over the place. The maid, supressing a giggle, helped to
pick them up. By the time they had finished, the man’s face was flushed an
unbecoming red with the exertion and all attempt at a dignified entrance had
evaporated. Triana bit her lip in an attempt to repress her amusement.

 “Well, Bethro? How goes the great work?”

 He surged forward his round face beaming. “It progresses
well, ma’am, but as you know, a work of such heroic proportions cannot be
rushed. It is like a majestic river,” he declared grandiloquently, “it must
take its course. After all, the legend of Erren-dar is one of the greatest
events in the history of Eskendria.”

 “Legend? My dear Bethro, it is not legend, for I myself
witnessed the events.”

 “Indeed so, ma’am, that is why I find your help so
invaluable. Sadly, you are the last to have known Erren-dar well. To those of
us who were born after these events, they are so amazing as to be like one of
the fables from The Chronicles of the Old Kingdom. That is why my work is of
such importance to future generations of Eskendrians as yet unborn, for it is
vital that my epic has all the historical accuracy that can only be supplied by
an eye-witness. I must therefore finish it before….I mean…..just in case…..”

 “….in case the last relic of the old days cocks up her toes
you mean?” the Queen suggested wickedly, gaining a certain unholy satisfaction
from his discomfiture.

 He went even redder in the face and began to bluster. “No,
indeed, ma’am, that’s not what I…..I did not intend…..that is…..”

 “Never mind, Bethro. Now tell me, how can I help you?” she
enquired, gesturing him to the seat opposite her.

 He seated himself and fell to ferreting around in his
papers making now-where-did-I-put-it noises. At last he triumphantly extracted
a large scroll and unrolled it, in the process, scattering the rest of the
papers over the floor again.

 “Ah! Here it is! Now, I have got to the part in the story
where Erren-dar has left Addania to accept the Great-turog’s challenge to fight
for the survival of the city.”

 “It would be incorrect to refer to him as Erren-dar at this
sage,” Triana objected. “At this stage, it was not known that he was the Wielder
of the Sword of Flame referred to in the Book of Light – in fact he didn’t even
know it himself. He was known to us simply as Celedorn.”

 “Ah yes, an excellent point,” agreed Bethro, making a
minute alteration to his manuscript.

 “Now, what I want to know is this - did the Great-turog
recognise him the moment he saw him?”

 “No. He had been told he was going to fight the Lord of
Westrin but he had no idea who that was, as he was convinced that he had slain
the entire Westrin family over twenty years before. He had no idea that the boy
he had left injured in the forest all those years ago had, in fact, survived
and would now be his opponent.”

 Bethro looked up. “He found that daunting, perhaps?”

 Triana laughed. “Not at all, perhaps a little
disconcerting, but you must remember that all the Great-turog were over seven
feet tall and none of them had ever been defeated by a man in single combat. He
had no doubt of his ability to win. Indeed, when he realised who Celedorn was, he
began to taunt him about that evil day so long ago, but in doing so, he made a
mistake for he inflamed his opponent’s anger, and Celedorn, when angry, was a
daunting proposition.”

 “Was it at this stage that it became clear that Celedorn
was in fact Erren-dar?”

 “Yes. Relisar, the last of the Sages, had several times
before conducted the summoning spell intended to make Erren-dar appear as
predicted in the Book of Light, but it had always failed. He came to realise
that he had to solve the riddle of the Champion’s names before he could summon
him, and he did indeed solve it - just in the nick of time - as the two armies
faced each other to watch their champions fight. When he called out the spell,
he ordered Celedorn to draw his sword, and as he did so, everyone could see
that along the edges of the blade there burned an intensely blue flame.” Triana
sighed, but her eyes were glowing at the recollection. “I have never seen
anything like it, Bethro, yet I still feared for him. My dear Andarion often
said that Celedorn was by far the most gifted swordsman that he had ever seen,
but standing there that day watching that creature tower above him with cruelty
in its yellow eyes, I feared for him.”

 “He did not flinch from his task?”

 “Indeed no. He had been searching for the Great-turog for
twenty years, consumed by the desire for vengeance and he knew he could not
rest until the issue had been faced. No, Celedorn was eager for the fight.”

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” exclaimed Bethro, obviously fired
with enthusiasm. “Now, I have gone through the fight scene with you before and
have it down tolerably well, but perhaps you could describe how Celedorn looked
in a little more detail for me? I know he was tall and dark but perhaps you
could be a little more precise?”

 “If you want to get some idea how he looked, study his
grandson. The present Lord of Westrin has something of the air of his
grandfather, although not as dark and not such an air of restrained violence
about him. Perhaps it is not unfair to say that he is like a more civilised
version of his grandfather.”

 “Celedorn was very good friends with King Andarion, I
believe?”

 “Indeed he was. For two men not at all alike in personality,
he and my dear Andarion were very close and remained so their entire lives –
just as I remained friends with Elorin. She changed Celedorn, once they were
married, you know. The harshness in him softened and the bitterness that had
been planted in him in his youth faded away. They made Ravenshold a home again
and Celedorn brought the Barony of Westrin back to a state of law and order.
The days when the brigands raided all those who passed through the mountains,
seemed a very long time ago. The days when bitterness had driven Celedorn to
such an occupation, even more so.”

 She lapsed into silence. Her mind, having stepped through
the portals of the past, was reluctant to return to the present. She stared
into the fire, deep in thought, having forgotten Bethro’s presence entirely.
The Keeper of Antiquities, with surprising sensitivity, sat quietly watching
her, refusing to break into her thoughts and force them where they did not wish
to go.

 Once again, it was the pert little maid who interrupted
them.

 “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but you did say that if My
Lord of Westrin called, I was to show him in.”

 Triana looked up swiftly, as if a little disorientated to
realise where she was. “Yes, indeed. Please show him in.” She turned to her
companion. “We will finish this another time, if you please, Bethro.”

 He hastily gathered up his papers and prepared to bow his
way out of the room just as Westrin arrived.

 “My lord,” he said, executing another quick bow which
caused him to shed a few parchments. “I...er...trust you are well?” he asked,
frantically grabbing his belongings.

 Westrin smiled that rather superior smile that always
flustered the older man. “I am well, thank you, Bethro. How goes your
magnificent poem?”

 Suspecting him of irony but unable to do anything about it,
Bethro replied: “Oh, slowly but surely, my lord. Queen Triana’s help has been
invaluable to me.”

 He then bundled himself out the door before his rather
daunting interlocutor could say anything more.

 Triana wagged a finger at her visitor in admonition. “You
are not very kind to our poor Bethro,” she chided. “His poem honours your
grandfather, you know. You should be more appreciative.”

 Vesarion shrugged. “My grandfather? The brigand, you mean?”

 The Queen’s eyes narrowed at the tone but she decided to let
the comment pass. “Come into the light and let me look at you.” She studied him
from the crown of his dark brown hair to the toes of his boots. “A little older
and a little more set in your ways, I imagine,” was her verdict.

 He bent and kissed her cheek. “Whereas you have not changed
by a hairsbreadth,” he murmured.

 Her finger pointed at him accusingly again. “Don’t play
your tricks on me Vesarion. I’ve know you since you were born. Not changed by a
hairsbreadth indeed!” she snorted derisively. “I know what that means. It means
I’m still the cantankerous old lady I have always been.”

 He laughed and sat down opposite her. “ You wrong me, grandmother.
I simply mean that you do not age.”

 “Bah!” exclaimed the Queen, clearly unimpressed. “Practice your
flattery on someone a little younger. What age are you anyway, Vesarion?
Thirty-four? thirty-five?”

 He pulled down his mouth. “Thirty-six, ma’am.”

 “High time you were getting married, then. The House of
Westrin hovers perpetually on the brink of extinction. You are the last of the
Westrins, time you married and thought about another generation.”

 A muscle quivered in his cheek. “As always, I will do my
best to oblige you.”

 “Very pretty. But I well know you take no one’s counsel but
your own.” Suddenly embarking on another issue, she demanded: “What did that
horrible grandson of mine want to see you about?”

 “It was the King who summoned me, ma’am.”

 “I never thought to say this of my own son, but Meldorin is
a fool. Apart from his fair colouring, I see nothing of his father in him. He
is weak and lets himself be dominated by others.” Her eyes suddenly twinkled
mischievously. “Which was fine as long as he listened to me, but I’m too old
for politics now and he had fallen completely under the thumb of the….that….popinjay
who calls himself the Crown Prince.”

 “Don’t distress yourself, grandmother. In fact the King
wanted to see me about an issue that you, yourself, are always bringing up. He
too thinks that it is time that I should…er…settle down.”

 “Oh? I take it that he has someone in mind for you?”

 “Yes,” he replied laconically. “Sareth.”

 
“What!”

 “I thought you’d be pleased,” he replied urbanely.

 “Sareth! But…..”

 “She did not tell you?”

 The old woman looked astounded. “ No, not a word. She has
changed recently. She used to confide in me, but now she keeps to herself. She
has become quiet and withdrawn. I thought perhaps that it was her brother’s
attempts to marry her off to his advantage that was vexing her, but she must
know that he cannot force her to do such a thing.”

 “You are referring to the King of Serendar?”

 She nodded “Very subdued she was when she came back. What
does she say about all this?”

 “She is apparently agreeable.”

 “What do you mean ‘apparently’?”

 “The King informs me that she is willing to receive my
addresses.”

 Triana looked at him coldly. “You have not spoken to her
yourself?”

 “Not yet. I intend to see her this evening.”

 There was a tense pause, broken finally by the Queen. “You
don’t love her, do you? After all, how could you, you have barely seen her these
last number of years. When you went to Ravenshold to take up your inheritance,
she was but a child and you have seen little of her since. This smacks of a
political deal manoeuvred by Enrick. He is finding some of the barons something
of a handful to manage, so he thinks by marrying you to his sister, he will
secure your services against them.”