The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (61 page)

 She gripped his hand under the table. “I’m depending on
it.”

 But the day had not done with surprises. Bethro, who after
his initial assault on the food, had become a little withdrawn, finally arose
to his feet and to everyone’s astonishment, crossed to Vesarion and went down
on one knee before him.

 “Lord of Westrin, “ he began formally, “I feel that now, on
this your wedding day,  it is a propitious moment to ask a great boon of you.”

 Mystified as to what was coming next, Vesarion replied
equably: “I will do my best to oblige you, Bethro.”

 The librarian swallowed, feeling queasy with anxiety and
wishing he hadn’t eaten that last enormous piece of cake.

 “I….I want to beg your forgiveness for betraying you,” he
blurted out.

 “Betraying me?” Vesarion repeated in surprise. “Bethro, I
have no idea what you are talking about.”

 Bethro’s guilt at last spilled out in a torrent of words.
“It was me that brought upon you all that you suffered in Adamant. I was the
one who couldn’t control his greed and went to the bakery in direct contravention
of Iska’s orders. I was the one who was so careless that I handed the baker a
coin of Eskendrian mint. I brought the guards down upon us, which led to your
arrest and…and all you underwent at the hands of Prince Mordrian and that brute,
Ursor. My conscience has given me no peace ever since, and I hoped that, today
of all days, you might find it in your heart to forgive me.”

 Vesarion was looking utterly nonplussed. “There is nothing
to forgive, Bethro. I know that you did not intend any harm to me. I have never
held against you any of the things that happened, but if it would set your
conscience at rest, then I forgive you freely and without reserve.”

 Bethro looked up in wonderment, the tears pouring down his
plump cheeks. “You would do this for me?”

 “Of course I would. You see, I remember a man who once
belittled you and humiliated you with cutting remarks, so believe me, there is
no debt between us.”

 Bethro rose to his feet, as if a great weight had been
lifted off him, and pulling out his handkerchief, noisily blew his nose.

 “This journey has changed you,” he said in wonderment

 Sareth leaned forward. “It has changed us all, Bethro.”

 As the shadows of evening began to fall and the tall
candles in their silver holders were lit, Eimer folded his arms and fastened his
attention on his brother-in-law.

 “Cousin,” remarked the Prince dulcetly, “would you mind
telling me, in the name of all that’s holy, what you are still sitting there
for?”

 Sareth, catching his meaning, to everyone’s amusement,
suddenly went as pink as her dress.

 But Vesarion was unruffled. Rising to his feet, he held out
his hand to her. “For once, your irritating brother is quite right.”

 Still a little flushed, she placed her hand in his and allowed
him to lead her from the table.

 When they reached her room, they discovered that it was lit
by a single, tiny candle. Vesarion leaned back against the door and she turned
to discover that he was chuckling.

 “You never cease to amaze me,” he laughed. “I have seen you
tackle bands of screaming Turog, cut slices out of an aggressive bully and take
risks that would turn most people’s hair white, and yet when your brother makes
a slightly suggestive remark, you go the colour of a beetroot.”

 “Eimer is the outside of enough,” she declared.

 He reached behind him, and turned the key in the lock.
“Just in case he takes it into his head to come up here and give me some more
advice,” he explained.

 She drew closer to him and slid her arms round his neck.
“To think that when we arrived this morning, little did I realise that by the
time the sun went down, all I have ever wanted would be mine.” She then smiled mischievously.
“I will never again doubt your determination, for I have rarely seen anyone who
so clearly knows how to get his own way.”

 He returned her smile, but there was an intimacy in his
look as he drew her closer. “I am relying on that.”

 He gently brushed back a stray strand of her hair before
running his fingers deep into its softness. “You hair always has a mind of its
own,” he murmured.

 “A bit like its owner,” she agreed. “I can be pretty
determined, too, when I want something.”

 Their eyes met, and reading his mind, she drew down his
head and kissed him with such need, that desire ignited and he caught her hard
against him. He began to unfasten the tiny buttons of her dress but they were
fiddly and losing patience, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her
across the room. As he lowered her onto the bed, her hair fanned out across the
pillow, bringing to pass his dream which had foreshadowed this moment so long
ago.

 When she raised her hand to his shoulder, the soft glow of
the candle caught the diamond on the ring he had given her that day for the
second time, and he realised that his state of mind and heart could not have
been more different to the first. Their betrothal in Addania had been a cool
matter of logic, but this time, he simply couldn’t contemplate life without
her. For a heartbeat, that might have been eternity, their eyes met and held.

 “I once promised that I would love you to my very last
breath,” he said quietly, leaning over her. “Those words were not part of our
vows but I make that promise again to you now.”

 Then he reached across and snuffed out the candle. A soft,
intimate darkness descended and in a moment, they were lost to everything else
in the world except each other.

 The morning sun, peeping shyly in at the little windows of
the Tower of Teltherion, awoke Sareth by touching her face. Slowly, with a deep
sense of well-being, she opened her eyes to discover she was laying on her side
facing the room. The window was open and the sweet fragrance of the rose hedge
was being wafted towards her, borne on a soft breath of air. The breeze also
carried with it the pleasant sound of birds calling to one another in the
golden forest beyond. Although Vesarion was not touching her, Sareth sensed
that she was not alone by the comforting feeling of warmth creeping across the
bed. A tingle of remembered pleasure passed through her like a sudden ripple of
wind across a wheat field, as she relived the previous night. Turning over, she
discovered that he was still asleep, lying face down with one arm thrust up
beneath the pillow. Propping herself up on her elbow, she looked down at him
tenderly, remembering the gentle touch of his hands and lips, knowing that he
had allowed her to glimpse a depth of emotion in him that was hidden from the rest
of the world.

 Unable to resist, as softly as descending thistledown, she
touched her lips to the nape of his neck. He stirred slightly in response, but
did not wake. Slowly, she drew down the sheet a little to reveal his back and
marvelled, yet again, that his wounds had healed so well. There was scarcely a
mark on his skin, barring a few small scars on his side where the steel tip of
the Scorpion’s Sting had bitten deep. Little visible evidence remained of all
that he had undergone, and she hoped that all it had done within him had also
healed so completely. She recalled the blaze of white-hot anger she had seen in
his eyes that day in the swamp when Prince Mordrian had come so close to them.
The line of Westrin had a tendency towards vengeance, and although she had
thought that Vesarion lacked the emotion, the look in his eyes had proved her
wrong. She understood how he must feel towards his tormentor, but could not rid
herself of a niggling feeling at the back of her mind that no good would come
of pursuing such a course. Hastily she dismissed the thought, banishing the
tiny cloud impinging onto the brightness of the sunny morning.

 Giving in willingly to temptation, she pressed her lips to
his back and slowly began to move down his spine, placing lingering kisses as
she went.

 He sighed contentedly and rolled over. “I would like to
wake up like this every morning,” he said sleepily.

 She smiled down at him. “I don’t see why you can’t.”

 “It’s just possible I might never get out of bed.”

 “That’s Eimer’s philosophy – except that he’s not so picky
about his company.”

 He laughed and catching her in his arms, rolled her over.
“Picky, am I? It just so happens that I have always had a preference for
tomboys with unruly hair.”

 Her lips twitched. “Well, I suppose there’s no accounting
for taste.”

 “I wish we didn’t have to leave today,” he said
regretfully, “but we must. It is our misfortune to live in perilous times.”

 But in response to this dampening statement, she looked up
at him mischievously. “I think Eskendria can spare us a few more minutes, don’t
you?”

 When they emerged some while later from the tower, they
found the others in the stable saddling their horses. Vesarion’s mare, now
fully rested, had not forgotten him and the instant she heard his voice, began
to whinny and push against the stable door in an attempt to reach him.

 Both the Keeper and Kel had been absent at breakfast and it
was assumed that the old man was tired from all the festivities of the day
before. But when they had loaded all their belongings onto the horses and led
them round to the tiny door of the tower, there the two of them were, awaiting
them on the doorstep.

 “Kel and I are going to miss you,” he said in his usual
faint voice. “This old tower will seem very empty without all you young people.
Perhaps, if all goes well, you will return and stay for a longer visit. Kel and
I would like that. But for now, I know that time is pressing and you must make
haste to return. I wish you a safe and speedy journey.”

 Fastening his wise old eyes on Vesarion, he said: “My
blessing on you, heir of Erren-dar. No longer do you stand in the shadow of
your great ancestor. Remember, in the time of greatest peril, all that you need
is within you.”

 To Sareth, he said: “Have faith, my dear, for in the end
the only thing left to fear, is fear itself. Always remember, even in the
darkest hour, that love has the power to overcome anything.”

 Eimer, listening with unusual solemnity, was surprised to
find that the Keeper had a word for him also. “Young Prince, no longer in
bitterness play the role that others have assigned to you. Have the courage to
be yourself and the results may surprise you.”

 Eimer nodded, not trusting himself to speak, for some deep
emotion had closed his throat.

 “Bethro, my dear fellow, you are always too hard on
yourself. You have weaknesses, like all of us, but you have strengths, too.
Perhaps your desire to be part of one of the great stories of romance told in
the Chronicles of the Old Kingdom, is closer to fulfilment than you realise.”

 The Keeper passed on to Iska, and here he lingered longest,
looking at her with his deep, dark eyes. “You have lost much, my child, in your
pursuit of that which is good and true, but you have also gained much. Let that
which is past be done with, and hurt you no more. In the time of greatest need,
trust your instincts, Iska, for they will not lead you astray.”

 Gorm, standing awkwardly at the end of the line, hung his
head and shifted from one foot to the other as the old man approached him. Even
when the Keeper addressed him, he refused to look up but remained staring
uncomfortably at the daisies on the lawn.

 “I once said that goodness is to be found in the
unlikeliest of places, and you are living proof of that. I never thought to
give my blessing to a Turog, but I give it to you – true and faithful Gorm.”

 For a brief moment, the sulphurous eyes flickered upwards.

 In silence they mounted their horses and as they passed
through the rose hedge, still covered in flowers, Vesarion looked back at the
frail old man and his cat standing on the doorstep of the tower, and in some
sad corner of his heart, felt he would never see them again.

 The wooden bridge that crossed the Harnor into Sorne,
looked even more rickety than the last time they had seen it and was viewed by
the five riders with a certain amount of disquiet. Although it was late
afternoon, there was no one about – a fact for which they were grateful, for
they had a Turog amongst their company.

 “Back where it all began,” observed Eimer a little
wistfully. “We have been away only three months, yet it seems to me like an
age. I wonder where everyone is?”

 Vesarion, watched by the others, dismounted and approached
the only member of the company who had completed the entire journey on foot.

 “Gorm,” he said gently, “I’m afraid you can come no
further. Your kind are seen in Eskendria as our deadliest enemies and I fear I
could not protect you from so many who would wish to kill you.”

 “Don’t want to leave Sareth,” Gorm objected.

 “I know, but you must realise that Sareth does not wish any
harm to come to you and neither do the rest of us. Perhaps some day, when I
tell our king all that you have done, there may be a place for you across the
Harnor but in the meantime, you must go no further.”

 Gorm looked a little uncertainly at Sareth. She nodded her
agreement and slid out of the saddle. “He’s right, Gorm. We could not protect
you, especially now, with war imminent.”

 “However,” continued Vesarion, “I have a favour to ask of
you, if you are willing?”

 Gorm’s ears pricked up. “What?”

 “I need you to find out the route that Mordrian’s army takes
through the Forsaken Lands. I want you to keep watch upon the army without
being seen and report to me when you know which part of our border it is
heading for.”

 Sareth bent towards her small admirer. “I know your
woodcraft is excellent, Gorm, but you must be especially careful not to get
caught.”

 He nodded importantly. “Gorm can do this. Very stealthy. Very
good spy. But how will I tell Vesarion?” he asked, looking up at the tall man
beside him.

 “Do you know the stone bridge with twelve arches that
crosses the Harnor near the border with Westrin?”

 Gorm nodded.

 “When you have information you want to give me, place a
white stone on the pillar at the end of the bridge in the Forsaken Lands. I
will meet you in the Great Forest a short distance beyond the bridge just as
soon as I can. Don’t attempt to cross into Eskendria. I will come to you.”

 Sareth met the yellow eyes looking up at her so earnestly
and smiled. “And make sure you avoid all those other Turog who used to
persecute you, won’t you, Gorm?” Then to everyone’s astonishment, not least the
Turog’s, she gave him a quick hug. A huge grin gradually spread across his
unprepossessing features, as if life could offer him nothing more. Then briefly
raising his hand in farewell, he disappeared like a shadow into the forest.

 When he had gone, Bethro was heard to sniff audibly. “I
hope the little rodent stays safe.” Catching the amazed stares directed at him,
he added huffily: “I don’t know what you are all gawping at!”

 The five travellers reached the town of Sorne just as the
sun was lounging on the horizon, reluctantly surrendering to the embrace of
evening. The wooden houses, with their ornate carvings, nestled drowsily
between the broad trunks, where the violet shadows were broken here and there
by freckles of golden light. One of these last touches of sun, filtering
between the trees, splashed across the moss-covered walls of Forestfleet,
unfortunately highlighting the castle’s mouldering state of decay. The light also
fell on the owner of the castle, who was looking in something the same state as
his neglected keep. Pevorion’s red hair was on end, his chin bristled with the
makings of a beard and his shirt was askew. He was contemplating, in melancholy
fashion, the buttercups growing abundantly in the moat, remembering the days of
his youth when it had been full of water, serving the defensive purpose for
which it had been designed. The moment he detected the sound of several horses
approaching at a fast trot, he looked up curiously, squinting against the low
sun. At first he could make out nothing of the five riders, as they were silhouetted
against the light, but all at once he stiffened, like a hound that has spotted
game. Raising his hand to better shield his eyes, he stared harder.

 “It can’t be,” he breathed. “It simply can’t be.”

 As they drew closer, he became more and more joyously
certain of what he saw, and gripped by excitement that he could not contain, he
ran back to the gate, and taking a deep lungful of air, bellowed for his wife.
“Kelda!” he roared, “come quickly! You are not going to believe this!”

 He rushed back just as the travellers dismounted at the
drawbridge.

 “What miracle is this?” he cried. “You were all given up
for lost. What miracle is it that has restored you to us?”

 Vesarion was barely out of the saddle when he found his
hand gripped in an enthusiastic manner calculated to cause serious damage.
Questions, to which he did not wait for an answer, began to tumble out of the
older man.

 “Vesarion! Damn my eyes! Is it really you? How can this be?
Where have you been all this time?”

 Not content with a handshake, Pevorion, not standing on
ceremony, tugged his unprepared victim into a bear hug of such proportions that
Vesarion was unable to take in enough breath to answer him. “Where did you disappear
to all this time?” he asked again.

 “Let’s just say that our mission to catch the thief took
longer than expected.”

 Kelda, running out of  the gate with the speed of someone
expecting to put out a fire, suddenly skidded to a halt when she saw them. The
poise that she had acquired by being the mother of seven sons likely to bring
chaos on the household at any moment, deserted her and she stood transfixed,
unable to utter a single word.

 Sareth, escaping Pevorion’s boisterous clutches, ran to
embrace her. “We’re not ghosts, Kelda!” she cried merrily. “We really have come
home.”

 Pevorion by this stage had subjected not only Eimer, but
more surprisingly, Bethro, to the rib-crushing process. However, when he
encountered Iska, he suffered a check.

 “Who is this young lady?” he asked uncertainly.

 Eimer, determined to get some revenge for the mangling he
had endured, said impishly: “This is the boy, the thief, that we pursued into
the Great Forest all those months ago.”

Pevorion’s eyes bulged. “But…but?”

 “ ‘He’ turned out to be a ‘she’, but I can assure you, she
is no thief.”

 Sareth still smiling gaily at Kelda, said: “How is everyone
at home? I’m sure Enrick will be simply
thrilled
to hear that we are
back again.”

 Suddenly, as if her question was an icy winter’s wind
intruding upon a summer’s day, the joy drained from their hosts’ faces and they
exchanged charged glances not lost on anyone.

 “You don’t know, then?” Kelda asked timidly.

 Eimer was suddenly seized by a dark premonition. “Know
what?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”

 “Princess Sareth….Prince Eimer,” began Pevorion in the
hesitant fashion of a man unwilling, or unable, to proceed. “I fear that I must
be the one to darken the joy of your homecoming by being the bearer of bad
news. Since you have left, much has happened in Eskendria and precious little
of it has been good.” Looking around him uneasily at the grooms waiting to take
their horses, he snatched at the chance to give himself a moment’s respite to
collect his thoughts. “This is not the place to discuss such matters. Come with
me to the great hall.”