The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (50 page)

 “He is not unconscious,” she told herself fiercely. “He is
only sleeping and a long, deep sleep is the best thing of all to restore him.”

 As the sun journeyed across the sky and the descending
shafts of light changed their angle, Sareth kept watch over him, only once briefly
leaving him to go out through the waterfall into the tangled woods to collect
firewood. At last the sun left the cave altogether, plunging it into a
mysterious indigo twilight, its quietude pierced only by the merry bubbling of
the springs and the homely noise of the horses placidly cropping the grass.

 Deciding it was now time to light a fire, Sareth shoved her
hand into the pocket of her breeches and withdrew the little silver box, and
for the first time, closely examined it. She read the words ‘may it prove
useful’ engraved inside the lid and remembered Gorm’s obsession with it.
Smiling slightly in amusement, she recollected his inability to resist its
lure. She could see in her mind Vesarion holding out his hand peremptorily. ‘
If
you please
’ he would say, and Gorm, faced with no alternative, would
surrender it with poor grace. Then her memory shifted and she saw it sitting on
the table outside his prison cell, the light from the candle gleaming upon it.
And somehow the spell of happy memories was broken and she sank to her knees,
holding it against her like a talisman. Tears streamed unchecked down her face
and with every fibre of her being, passionately she begged for him to be
spared.

 As night fell and tiny pin-pricks of stars became visible
through the great void in the roof, it seemed to Sareth that her only companion
was the little fire, its flames licking along the edges of the wood, creating a
tiny, intimate glow of light in the immensity of the cave. Although every few
minutes her eyes would seek Vesarion, she felt that he was not really present
with her. He was lost in some dark maze of suffering where she could not follow,
and all she could do was to hold on tightly to the hope that he would find his
way out of that labyrinth and return to her. So, for hour after hour of that endless
night, she sat by the fire, her eyes rarely leaving him. Sometimes she arose to
place fresh wood on the fire, oddly gripped by the conviction that at all costs
she must not let it go out. At others she crossed to him and placed her hand
over his, just to make sure it was still warm. She leaned close to him,
straining to hear his faint breathing, for he lay as still as one whose soul
has departed. She remembered the dream she had in the Storm Fortress, when she
saw him lying like this, pale as death, in her arms, but tried to reassure
herself that things were not the same as in her dream. He was not wearing
armour and most certainly was not in possession of the sword of Erren-dar. She
reflected that all their plans for the recovery of the sword had now gone awry.
Now, most likely, they would have to return to Eskendria empty-handed. Iska had
been so set on achieving their goal, even lying to them to prevent them turning
back. What would she do now? And where were Eimer and Bethro? She sorely wished
they were with her now, for never had she felt so alone. Never had she felt so
utterly helpless. As the night grew old and the flames on the fire died down to
a red glow, all these thoughts revolved in her head, until at last, head
reeling with tiredness, she lay down near Vesarion, resting her cheek on her
arm.

 “I’ll rest, just for a moment,” she murmured wearily to
herself. “Just for a moment.”

 When she awoke, the cavern was filled with sunlight. The
hour was so advanced that the sun had climbed high enough to plunge joyfully
into the pool again. The fire had gone completely out, and was now no more than
a mound of fine, grey ashes. She might even have slept longer, were it not for
the fact that her horse had awoken her by gently snorting in her ear and
lipping at her hair with its velvet muzzle. She sat up quickly, her heart suddenly
pounding and firmly pushing the horse away, swung round to look at Vesarion. He
had turned over in the night and was now facing her, and what was more, his
eyes were open. Not even taking the time to stand up, she crawled over to him.

 “How do you feel?” she managed to ask, as a wave of almost
unbearable relief washed over her.

 He started to speak, then had to clear his throat and try
again.

 “Marginally less dead than yesterday,” he croaked. Then in
a gallant attempt at humour, added: “I see you’ve managed to ruin yet another
of my shirts.”

 “Sorry. I couldn’t get it off you. You weigh about as much
as a horse, you know!”

 To her delight, that sally drew a pale smile from him.
“Where are we?” he asked.

 “Sirindria Eleth,” she replied. “Iska found it, apparently
by chance. The springs have healing properties and according to the
instructions Callis has given me, you are to bathe in them twice a day.”

 “I don’t remember much of how we got here. All I can recall
is clinging to that damned saddle like a drowning man.”

 “Are you hungry?”

 “A little, but if I’m going to bathe in these famous springs
of yours, I’d better do it before breakfast.”

 “Should you not rest?”

 Very slowly and stiffly, he managed to sit up. “I feel as
if I have slept for about a thousand years. Now I want to see more of this
place.”

 Sareth removed the two halves of his shirt, promising to
mend it, but for the first time, saw the heavy bruising across his chest and
stomach. She said nothing, however, and helped him over to the edge of the
pool.

 He stood swaying for a moment, gripping her shoulder to
steady himself, so enchanted that he ignored his pain. His eyes followed the
shaft of sunlight down from the heights of the roof to where they pierced the
blue-green waters.

 “This is beautiful,” he said in an awed voice. “I’m glad
you brought me here.”

 “Can you manage on your own? I mean, you’re not going to
drown yourself or anything, are you?”

 “I’ll try not to. Now, don’t fuss, I’m all right.”

 For Vesarion, the warm waters brought such relief, it was
little short of heaven. Although the minerals stung his back slightly at first,
their warmth soon began to penetrate every bruise and hurt with such soothing
relief that he was loath to get out again. Not feeling quite up to swimming, he
merely stood on the sandy bottom and sank into the healing waters up to his
chin, indeed, he even held his breath and ducked right under the surface so
that they could reach the damage to his face.

 He stayed in so long that Sareth, who was getting flustered
because she was on the point of burning breakfast, came to fetch him. She held
out the towel peremptorily.

 “Breakfast is rapidly getting beyond ready,” she informed
him. “I should warn you that I am not as good a cook as Bethro or Iska. In
fact,” she added in a burst of honesty, “the best you could say of anything I
make, is that it probably won’t kill you.”

 “Sareth,” he said, with the weary air of a martyr, “I have
known you all your life, you do not need to tell me that.”

 She gave a choke of laughter but before she could think of
a suitably witty reply, he flicked water at her.

 “Now, go away,” he ordered, “ and let me get out of here in
peace.”

 “I could always take the towel with me,” she replied
saucily. “That would bring you to heel.”

But she lost that round, too, for he merely shrugged
casually, and began to rise from the water causing her to drop the towel and
retreat discomfited.

 For Vesarion and Sareth, the next week was one of undiluted
happiness. They were each aware that embraced within the enchantment that was Sirindria
Eleth, they were growing closer to one another. For it seemed that the magic of
the springs healed not only physical hurts but those of the heart, and although
nothing directly was said between them, each sensed that all the
misunderstanding and awkwardness of the past was fading away.

 At first Vesarion slept for many hours, leaving Sareth to
keep watch over him as protectively as a cat with one kitten, but as the waters
of Sirindria Eleth began to do their work, they spent more time with each
other, talking together, or sitting side by side on the stone bench in
companionable silence, their shoulders touching. Sareth showed him Callis’
letter and its fascinating story of the spirit of the pool.

 “I think the spirit has found you worthy,” she told him one
day, as she applied the salve to his bruises. “You are healing so quickly that
it is little short of a miracle. Your lip is completely better and the swelling
has gone from your eye - although it’s still an interesting array of colours,
and every wound on your back has closed.”

 She was gently smoothing the salve on a bruise on his chest
and although he could have perfectly well have done it for himself, it had
become an intimate ritual between them. Not for the first time, he closed his
eyes and pretended that her touch was not one of healing but  of love. He
remembered his failure to speak that day at the inn and how it had been brought
home to him with a vengeance, how fragile life can be. He recalled sitting in
his prison cell, convinced he was about to die, bitterly regretting that he had
not seized the moment. And now, against all the odds, he had been given another
chance and he had no intention of letting it slip through his fingers. His
strength was returning, his injuries healing, and he knew the moment was very
near. During the last few days, for him the world had faded away. He was not
Lord of Westrin. Eskendria did not exist. And the city of Adamant was no more
than a dreadful dream. All he knew was that he and Sareth were alone together
in this wonderful place and he never wanted it to end.

 But as in every paradise, there was one tiny flaw. Although
he felt that a bond had grown between them, he could not rid himself of the
tiny, niggling doubt that Sareth’s affection might just be rooted in the
hero-worship of childhood, rather than the altogether deeper emotion he longed
for.

 That night, when his old friend the moon found its way into
the cave, it touched Vesarion’s face with its cold light, awakening him. For
some reason, he sat up and looked towards the place where Sareth slept. The
little fire had died low. Only a few red embers were left, but he could clearly
see that her blankets were empty.

 He stood up, unaccountably a little alarmed, his eyes
searching the darkness for her, and as he did so, his gaze fell on the pool.

 A shaft of silver light descended from the night sky
directly to touch the waters. Where it did so, it turned them to the deepest, translucent
sapphire blue. Little gauzy tendrils of mist, drifting close to the surface of
the water, glowed ethereally in the pure light, imparting a mystical quality to
the scene. To add the last, perfect touch to complete the enchantment, there,
swimming languidly in the ray of argent light, was a female form. It might
almost have been the spirit of the pool, lit by the descending beam, but he
realised that it was Sareth. She had pinned her hair on the top of her head,
but a few strands had come loose and floated on the water beside her. She swam
smoothly in the sapphire-blue water, barely creating a ripple, the moon gilding
her arms and shoulders with its radiant light. To the man who stood beside the
willow tree, holding his breath, unable to look away, she was indeed the spirit
of the pool, for she had healed him and brought him hope. He knew that never again
in all his life would he see anything so lovely, and he vowed that before the
moon looked into the waters of Sirindria Eleth again, he would tell her what
was in his heart.

The soldier advanced further into the room, his eyes
narrowing.

 “Who are you?” he demanded again. “Answer me!”

 Bethro merely sat gawping at him, his mouth open in an
attitude of mental vacancy.

 It was Callis whose quick thinking saved the day. “He is a
patient of mine and I’m afraid he cannot answer you, Captain. He is a deaf-mute
and has been unable to speak all his life. He lives in a remote region but
comes to me now and again for treatment.”

 “How did he get that injury to his forehead?”

 “Alas, there are some who think that when he does not
respond to them, he is being insolent, and tempers flare. Such ignorance is
lamentable but it is human nature, after all.”

 The soldier studied Bethro with interest. “Well, you must
admit that he does look a bit slow- witted.”

 Bethro was quite content to be attributed with the
inability to speak, but the inability to hear was another matter. His
indignation at being referred to as ‘slow-witted’ was such that it threatened
to overcome his judgement. As he was supposed to have no idea what was going
on, he was obliged to hide his annoyance behind a large handkerchief by
pretending to blow his nose.

 “You wished to speak with me, Captain?” Callis prompted.

 “Er….yes, you are wanted at the palace. The King has taken
a turn for the worse.”

 “I’ll be along in a moment,” Callis replied, unperturbed.
“I have some things I need to collect, so go ahead and tell them I shall be there
shortly.

 When the soldier had gone, he turned to find the librarian
fuming.

“Slow-witted, indeed!”  he raged, showing all the signs of
someone about to embark on a lengthy diatribe.

 Callis nipped it in the bud. “I must go now. I’ll try to
get word to Iska. In the meantime, stay here and lock the door behind me.”

 Iska was, in fact, still combing the streets looking for
her missing charges and was becoming more and more worried by their total
absence. She would have been quite incensed to have known that all her anxiety,
at least as far as Eimer was concerned, was quite wasted.

 Eimer had, in fact, spent a very pleasant night hidden in
the little garret room of his rescuer. In the morning he had awoken early, full
of the virtuous intention of going to find his friends but circumstances had
intervened to change his plans. It was the maid’s day off and so enamoured had
she become with her unexpected find in the garden, that she had every intention
of spending the day with him. When he tried to insist that he had to leave, she
did everything in her power to dissuade him, finally resorting to a woman’s
most powerful weapon – a bout of tears. Of course, Eimer felt obliged to
comfort her and what with one thing leading to another, it was almost noon before
he found himself walking along the busy street in the direction of the library,
an assignation already made for the evening.

 The Prince, being a young man not much prone to worrying,
sauntered along with delightful insouciance, his jerkin flung carelessly over
one shoulder and his shirt buttoned up the wrong way. He looked as if he hadn’t
a care on the world, and was blissfully oblivious to the fact that half the
guards in the city were still searching for him.

 However, a bird flying over the streets would have seen
that his fate was fast closing upon him. A cross and disgruntled Iska was
approaching from a side street, having begun to surmise, fairly accurately,
what had happened to him. They met abruptly at the corner.

 “Iska!”

 “Eimer! Where have you been?” she demanded with a certain
edge to her voice that alerted the Prince to the fact that he was in disgrace.

 He smiled smugly in a manner that made her long to box his
ears. “Oh! You know, here and there.”

 The statement merely confirmed Iska’s suspicions. “I take
it ‘here and there’ wasn’t on your own? Barmaid or dairymaid?”

 Eimer laughed, caught a little off balance.
“Er…chambermaid, if you must know.”

 Iska gave vent to her annoyance. “For a Prince, you have
all the morals of an alley cat,” she pronounced roundly.

 But Eimer was unabashed. “That’s what Enrick always says.”

 “He begins to grow on me,” replied Iska sourly. “Do you not
know that you have driven us all half crazy with worry? Also, you disappeared
just when we most needed your help. Have you not heard that Vesarion has been
captured?”

 The words wiped the smile from his face. “
What?
They’ve caught Vesarion? What happened? Where is he?”

 She glanced cautiously around her, for the Prince had not
been speaking quietly. “We can’t talk here. Come with me to the bell tower, and
I’ll explain on the way.”

 By the time they reached the tower, she had finished her
recital, leaving Eimer looking as worried as it was possible for Eimer to look.
He stood in numbed silence as she ran her hand around the door frame, looking
for the key. She found more than the key, for her hand touched a little rolled
up note bearing Callis’ distinctive handwriting.

 Ascending the stairs behind her, Eimer looked around the
tower with interest before announcing: “You’d have to be really keen on pigeons
to like this place.”

 A lugubrious voice from the shadows said: “Don’t like
pigeons.”

 “Gorm!” cried the Prince, genuinely delighted to see him.
“How are you, old fellow? Still grumpy?”

 Gorm merely snorted in reply.

 But the Prince’s smile faded when he peered out through the
broken slats at the square below.

 “Is that the pillar?” he asked Iska grimly.

 She looked up from reading Callis’ note. “Yes. It was the
worst thing I have ever had to witness in my life. Yet, I was proud of him, too.
Mordrian offered to spare him if he would betray us, and he looked him in the
eye and told him to go to hell.”

 “I can almost hear him say it,” said Eimer quietly. “I’m
glad you got them both out of the city. I’m just so sorry I wasn’t there to
help you.” Then shaking off the unusually chastened mood, he indicated the note
still in her hand. “What has Callis got to say for himself?”

 “Good news, for once. He has found Bethro and will bring
him here as soon as it is dark.”

 A grunt of disgust issued from the Turog at that
pronouncement and he began to mutter darkly to himself in his own uncouth
language.

 Eimer ignored him and eyed Iska thoughtfully. “I presume,
once the dust settles, you are still going to try for the sword?” he asked
perceptively, revealing a better understanding of her than anyone.

 Her eyes twinkled in response. “You presume correctly, your
Royal Highness.” She then smiled cheekily. “Want to tag along?”

 Eimer grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world – but I
think we need to get rid of Bethro first. I would guess that we are going to
have to make a very hasty exit from this city and speed isn’t his strong
point.”

 “Agreed.”

 “Also, I was wondering if by any chance, you would know
where I could get a sword? I feel sort of naked without one.”

 “I might just know where one is available.”

 “Excellent. In that case I’m yours to command. Now, what’s
the plan?”

 The cavern of Sirindria Eleth was beautiful even when it
rained. The blue skies, reliably visible for the last week through the apertures
in the roof, had been replaced by soft pewter-grey clouds, and earlier that day
a few drops had descended from the distant roof to plop into the pool below.
Vesarion had found Sareth to be a little quiet and withdrawn that morning, and
now understood her well enough to know that it meant she was troubled about
something.

 He had only come to recognise the trait recently and
wondered at his blindness. Unlike her brother, when Sareth was worried or
upset, she withdrew into herself, still outwardly pleasant and friendly, but at
the same time a little remote. A paradox that he now realised accounted for her
behaviour in Addania. The coolness and correctness that he had once so
foolishly approved of, were not the real Sareth, but just the manifestation of inner
turmoil.

 She was standing by the edge of the pool, looking upwards
at the patch of sky visible above.  The rocks that ringed the void were mossy
and fringed with delicate little saplings that had somehow found a foothold on
the bare stone and were now peering curiously into the cave below. As she
watched, the rain began again, gently at first but growing heavier. It fell
steadily in a crystal curtain, illuminated by the light from above, straight
into the waiting pool below. She stood listening to the hypnotically beautiful
sound of water falling into water.

 Vesarion came to her side, breathing in the fresh smell of
new rain and wet vegetation.

 At last, as if she had only just become aware of his presence,
she said: “I love this place in all its moods. In sun and in rain, at midday,
or even in the depths of the night. I wish I could stay here for ever.”

 “It has an enchantment all of its own,” he agreed. “The
presence of the Old Kingdom lingers on here. Certainly, it has bestowed on me
such a remarkable recovery that I can no longer insist that miracles do not
exist.”

 “Iska would be astonished if she could see you now,” agreed
Sareth. “When we parted from her, I think she was not even certain that I could
get you here in one piece.” She fell silent for a moment, then added: “I was
thinking about Iska. I wish I knew that she was safe. I wish I knew if she has
found Eimer and Bethro. We have been over a week here and have received no
word.”

 “She told you that they would have to lie low for a while,
so they may be some time. What concerns me is that the time-limit placed upon
her by her brother to leave the city has expired. He may not be aware that she
has helped us, but she is still in great danger from him.”

 Sareth sighed. “I suppose our quest for the sword will have
to be abandoned?”

 To her surprise, he shook his head. “No. I intend to take
it back, no matter what. If Iska does not show up within the next few days, I
am going back to the city alone.”

 The effect these word had on Sareth was dramatic. She
whirled round to face him, and caught him hard by the shoulders.

 “
No
!” she cried. “Are you
mad
, Vesarion? You
must never go back! You barely escaped with your life the last time. Let the
sword go! It’s not worth the price. Just look what it has already cost you.”

 She abruptly released him and turned back to the pool to
hide her distress from him.

He now knew what had been troubling her so much.

 “Sareth,” he said gently. “I must recover the sword.
Eskendria’s future depends on it. We are up against forces that are too
powerful for us without its help. If we faced only an army of men, then perhaps
I would agree with you, but we face powers that draw their strength directly
from the Destroyer and we have nothing with which to counter them. In days of
old, the Brotherhood of Sages would have stood against such creatures as Iska’s
demon, and fought it at a spiritual level, but they have all gone. The only one
left is the Keeper and he will not leave his tower. So we must obtain every
advantage we can get. To do otherwise, to let it go, would be a betrayal of all
we hold dear.”

 She was standing stiffly, holding herself tense with a
mixture of fear and anger. Without turning, in a brittle voice, she said: “I
don’t care about Eskendria. I don’t even want to go back there.” She turned to
reveal a stormy countenance, with a hint of tears. “Why would I want to return
to Addania? There is nothing for me there. I don’t think there ever was.”

 And somehow he knew that the moment had come. Now, at last,
he must speak.

 “Do you remember the day in Addania that I asked you to
marry me?” he asked.

She didn’t reply for a moment, and they both stood listening
to the sound of the rain falling into the pool. “Yes,” she said at last, in a
subdued voice. “I remember.”

 “To me that day now seems a very long time ago, almost a
lifetime, because so much has happened, so much has changed. But there is something
that I have wanted to ask you for a very long time about that day.”

 She raised her eyes to his, and he saw that the expression
in them had completely changed. She was looking at his very steadily, with
something of that fascinating intensity that he had seen the day at the inn.

 “Why did you agree to marry me, Sareth? And don’t give me
any stories about being afraid of Enrick’s threats. Tell me the truth, even if
you think it will hurt me.”

 The rain had eased a little and the faintest glimmer of
sunlight was beginning to descend from above. Some angle of sun and water cast
the light upwards into their faces and she noticed that his eyes were the same
colour as the pool when the moon shone into it, an unfathomable blue, and just
as deep. Eyes that looked down at her with such clear perception that she knew
that the truth could no longer be denied.

 “I agreed to marry you because it was the only way I could
think of to be with you.” she replied a little brokenly. “I had waited so long
for you, and you never came for me. You were lost to me in that mountain
fortress of yours and all I got to see of you was two or three brief visits
during the year. I knew you didn’t love me, but being parted from you was more
than I could bear. I….I don’t suppose you understand that. Enrick’s plans to
marry me off to his advantage were not what was vexing me. It was the thought
that I would be parted from you for ever; that I would be another man’s wife
and never see you again. When he arranged for us to marry, I convinced myself I
was protecting you, that I was doing my duty. Oh, I had a thousand logical
reasons, but none of them were true. I just wanted to be with you, that’s all.”