The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (59 page)

The Keeper was awaiting them at the door of the Rose Tower,
with Kel sitting at his feet, his grey paws primly together. The moment the
hedge parted to the word of command, the eyes of the companions had fallen on
the oddly assorted pair, standing expectantly as if they had known when their
guests would arrive, right to the very second. And although they were still
deep in the Forsaken Lands, strangely it felt like coming home –  at least, it
did to five of them. Gorm was not with them, for he had refused point-blank to
enter the tower.

 “Don’t like wizards,” he had whined, resorting to his
favourite mantra. “Not to be trusted. Might turn Gorm into a toadstool.”

 Refusing to be budged on the issue, he had retreated into
the golden woodlands, informing them that he would meet with them again when
they were leaving.

 So the Keeper and his cat greeted five travellers, all of
them a little weary from having journeyed throughout the night to reach the
tower an hour after sunrise. Their host looked his usual fragile self, his
slight form still exuding the sense of being dusted with cobwebs. Or as Eimer
irreverently put it to Bethro – “I hope no one sneezes, for it might do him
serious damage.”

 As they joined their host around the table in the circular
chamber, their reunion was a happy one. Their host had provided them with such
a munificent breakfast that even Bethro, eyes popping with delight, was
satisfied. While they breakfasted, they gave an account of their adventures
since they had departed from him, with everyone talking at once, and
interrupting to give their point of view. Only Vesarion kept his own counsel,
content to let others do the talking, but when Iska haltingly reached the part
of the story where she had to describe what had happened to him in Adamant, the
Keeper’s old eyes filled with tears and he looked towards the silent man across
the table from him.

 “I think, in your heart, Vesarion, you knew all along that
it would be you who would suffer so much to retrieve the sword.”

  Vesarion nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of the
words. “Yes, from the moment you said it, I knew. I just wasn’t sure if my
resolve was equal to the test.”

 “Then we differ in that,” the Keeper replied. “I knew you
would not fail, and yet I see before me a man changed by his experiences. It has
uncovered in you a strength of character that I think you had no idea you
possessed. This will stand you in good stead for all that is yet to come. To be
worthy of the sword, it was necessary that this quality be uncovered in you, because
the weapon that you have endured so much to retrieve will not obey every hand
that holds it. It knows those who have the right to command its allegiance. You
have it by your side, I assume. May I see it?”

 Vesarion rose to his feet and smoothly withdrew the weapon
from its scabbard and laid it on the table before the old man.

 “Ah! A magnificent weapon. I knew it would be beautiful. It
has a simple, almost austere grace that needs no ornament. It is one of the
very few swords made by the smiths of the Old Kingdom that still survives. It is
strange that there are so few, because the blades never rust, or break, neither
do they lose their edge, so there would be no occasion to throw one away. Yet as
surely and inevitably as snow melting in spring sunshine, the remaining swords
are vanishing. It’s almost as if they are aware that they were not intended for
the world in which they find themselves. The art of making them has long been
lost and when the last one is gone, their like will not be seen again.”

 Eimer spoke up. “Keeper, you talk as if the sword has a
will of its own.”

 “Not in the sense you mean, young man, but when the master
of the Order of the Flower blessed it at its making and caused the three
flowers you see before you to be incised into the blade, he gave it a latent
power that remains hidden, unreleased within it, until the moment for it to
appear arrives. Erren-dar, by his very touch on the hilt of this sword, caused
the blue flame to appear on the edges of the blade and unleashed that power.
Yet in the hands of those accounted unworthy, it is no more than a very fine
weapon. Have you used it in battle, Vesarion?”

 “No, not yet, so I do not know if it deems me worthy or not.
If I recall correctly, you said there is another way to release its power.”

 “Indeed. At the moment of greatest need, it will respond to
its name. Alas, such things were kept secret, even in the days of the Old
Kingdom. All I can tell you is that it must be the one who wields the sword who
must discover its name.” He ran his fingertips lightly, even reverently, over
the engraved chalice flowers. “Never fear, Vesarion, it will come to you when
you need it most, for somewhere, buried deep in the recesses of your mind, you
already know its name.”

 Eimer looked at Vesarion speculatively but received only an
abrupt shake of the head in denial. Addressing the old man, who was still
staring at the sword as if mesmerised, he asked: “And what about the black
sword, Keeper?”

 “From Iska’s description of its forging, it would appear to
be a foul copy of the original. Do not underestimate it, for it was made by a
Demon of Darkness, one of the Destroyer’s most powerful servants. The demon
will have put into it all that is within itself – all the cruelty, the malice
and the desire to enslave. As such, it represents a very real danger.”

 Eimer blew out his cheeks. “You don’t need to tell me. I
fought Prince Mordrian when he was using the black sword and it cut such deep
notches into the steel of my blade, that it was all but useless against it. If
Iska had not thrown a lighted oil lamp at him at the critical moment, it is
entirely likely that yours truly would not be sitting here enjoying this
magnificent repast.”

 “The Prince will not wait long before launching his attack
on Eskendria,” advised the Keeper. “From what you have told me, he is not a
patient man and even if he were, he would find himself ruthlessly driven on by
the will of the Destroyer. He may think that he may meddle with such things and
bend them to his will with impunity, but there is always a price to be paid.
The House of Parth may have survived the fall of the Old Kingdom by selling
themselves to the Destroyer, but now he possesses them and pours darkness into
their souls. The young princesses that you found entombed in the mountain bear
witness to that. They refused to bow to evil, and so dark had the souls of
their fathers and brothers become, that they slew them and buried them in
secret. Yet as the world turns and the stars grow old, all secrets will be
exposed and all that is hidden will be made plain. I know that you, my dear
Iska, have mourned your whole life that you failed to please your father, but
mourn no longer, for you have something better than power – a kind and honest heart.
Such a thing should never be underestimated.” He sighed. “And now, my children,
you go to warn your kingdom of its peril, and to fight for the last remnant of
all that was once glorious. Like this sword, if Eskendria is lost, its like
will not be seen again. Should the last tiny fragment of the glory that was
once the Golden Kingdom fall, there will be none left amongst mankind with the
strength or will to defeat the servants of the Destroyer. Then his power, like
a black cloud, will overshadow all lands and peoples and light will be extinguished
in darkness. In my youth, I would not have hesitated to stand with you and use
my gifts as a Brother of the Sword to defend you from this demon, but my
strength is gone now and although I have extended my life long beyond the span
of nature, that too, is coming to an end. I feel a weariness upon me and I
think that Kel and I will soon take the path up over the rain-washed hills,
amongst the purple heather, where the golden sky seems to go on for ever. It is
the path, that we all, in the end, must take.”

 A silence descended on the table as he finished speaking.
Each face was pensive, even a little sad, for there was a sense of parting, a
sense that so much that was good and beautiful was on the point of leaving the
world. Bethro, ever the romantic, wept in his heart at the thought that when
this, the last of the ancient Order of Sages, had gone, then truly wonders and enchantment
would desert the face of the earth, leaving nothing but greyness behind.

 The Keeper struggled to rise to his feet, clearly exhausted
by so much conversation. Vesarion swiftly stood up and placed a supporting hand
under his elbow.

“Thank you, Vesarion. You are ever courteous. I must rest
now for a little while, but I have already prepared your rooms and hope you
have all you need. Come, Kel, it is time for our nap.”

 Sareth, upon ascending the stairs, found the same little
note pinned to her door with her name on it. The room too, was unchanged. The
deep windows still overlooked the sunny, daisy-speckled lawn. The bed still
bore the same lace-edged pillows and soft eiderdown. Even the rose-coloured
dress still hung in the cupboard.  When she drew back the curtain that
concealed the copper bath, she found, to her delight, that it was once more full
of hot water. Not since the springs of Sirindria Eleth had she known such a
luxury and she sank gratefully into the heat, staying in it until the water
started to grow cold. Once she was dressed again, the sight of the comfortable
bed enticed her and she lay down. A delightful lassitude stole upon her and in
an instant she was asleep.

 Vesarion, opening her door some time later, peeped in to
discover her deep in slumber, lying at an odd angle on top of the bed. Not
wishing to disturb her, he was on the point of withdrawing, when, as if at some
deep level aware of his presence, she opened her eyes.

 He smiled. “You’re awake, are you? I looked in an hour ago
and you were so deeply asleep, I could have blown a trumpet to no avail.”

 She stretched and sat up. “I didn’t mean to sleep so long.
There’s just something about this place that is so peaceful and safe. It’s as
if nothing bad could ever happen here.”

 “I feel it too. It has a homely quality, but for all of it,
this is not our home, Sareth, and I’m afraid we cannot linger but must press on
with our journey in the morning. Perhaps we could come back in happier times
and spend a longer visit with the Keeper, but for the present, we must make all
haste back to your father. I do not know exactly when Prince Mordrian intends
to make his move, but like the Keeper, I feel it in my bones that it will be
soon. He will want to attack before winter sets in and already the summer grows
old and the smell of autumn is in the air. Every day that we delay, is a day
less for Eskendria to prepare. There is so much that needs to be done to bring
it to a state of readiness for war, that I do not know how we are going to
achieve it in time. Sixty years of peace has made us complacent. The standing
army is too small to even begin to stem Prince Mordrian’s aggression, never
mind deal with the Black Warriors. We must levy recruits from all the baronies
and they must be armed and trained. Emissaries must be sent to our neighbours
in Serendar to ask for help. Although they did not aid us the last time we were
attacked, we now have a treaty of alliance with them that surely they must
honour.” He looked at her ruefully. “As for us, I know I spoke blandly about my
powers of persuasion, but I confess, with so little time to spare, I think it
unlikely that I will be able to convince your father that it is the appropriate
time for a wedding. If only I could….” Suddenly he broke off, a certain rapt
expression stealing over his face.

 “What is it?” asked Sareth, aware that something of
importance was brewing.

 “Of course!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands in
frustration. “Of course, you fool! Why didn’t you think of it sooner?”

 Sareth was lost. “Why didn’t I think of what?”

 “Not you. I was talking to myself.
I’m
the fool!” He
gripped her shoulders in excitement. “I’ve just had an idea!” he exclaimed, refusing
to resort to coherence.

 Her eyes were dancing in amusement. “Excellent,” she
commended warmly. “That puts you one ahead of Eimer.”

 If she expected an explanation, she was to be disappointed,
for he was possessed by urgency.

 “Stay here!” he commanded, but he had taken no more than
two strides towards the door when he spun round and grabbed her by the hand.
“No, on second thoughts, come with me.”

 Paying no heed to Sareth’s protests, he dragged her
willy-nilly out the door and down the stairs to the main chamber. It was
deserted, all signs of their repast having vanished from the table in the usual
disconcerting manner.

 “What fiend has seized you?” she asked laughingly.

 “Where is the Keeper?” He demanded, scanning the room. “I
was hoping he would be here.”

He stepped backwards and his heel descended on something
that unfortunately felt like someone else’s foot.

“Oh, sorry, Keeper. I didn’t see you there.”

“Quite all right, young man. No permanent damage done, I
think,” the old man replied, valiantly blinking to stop his eyes watering.

 Without further preamble, Vesarion plunged right in.
“Keeper, am I right in saying that in the old days, the Sages had the power to
conduct marriage ceremonies?”

Enlightenment dawned on Sareth.

 The Keeper looking a little taken aback admitted it was
true. “Well, yes, but…..”

 “Good,” declared Vesarion determinedly. “Then I want you to
marry me – us – that is, Sareth and me.”

 His betrothed was by now enjoying herself immensely.
“Elegantly handled,” she teased.

The Keeper was still trying to fend off Vesarion’s
insistence. “Yes, but….but I haven’t done such a thing since….since….actually,
I can’t remember the last time. I don’t think I can even remember how!”