Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1)

by Graham Diamond

  Stacy lowered her eyes. At her side Cicero stood frozen. “I told you. He was a friend,” she replied. “He once risked his life for me.”

  Sigried raised a hand to her mouth; her face whitened. “She is a sorceress! And the giant — he is a sorcerer! They must be dealt with at once.” She glared at her liege.

  “Be still, Rani!” the prince commanded. “This is not your father’s city! It is mine! And I will decide what is to be done!”

  Sigried bowed her head and crossed her arms. “As you will, Prince Sumavand. But know that my father shall hear of it.”

  Sumavand’s eyes narrowed. “I am certain of that, Rani. I give you permission to withdraw.” His tone was bitter.

  The girl stepped back a few paces, turned, then raised her head and strode into the crowd, two burly bodyguards behind her. The prince watched her leave, sighed, then turned back to the hawk-nosed minister.

  “What say you, Sebelius? Is the Rani right?”

  The man glanced at Stacy and the small band of captives. “I know not, my liege. But this I do know: it is better to let them speak for themselves before we speak for them, as Sigried does.”

  Sumavand leaned back and smiled. “Wise counsel,” he agreed. Then to Alryc: “I repeat my question. Do you lead among your companions?”

  “I lead,” said Stacy, boldly stepping forward but well aware of the blade pointed at her back.

  Sumavand raised his brows. “You?” He took a long hard look at her. “And may I ask your name?”

  Stacy stood proud and tall, head thrown back, eyes fixed on his. “Anastasia. Lady Anastasia of the Haven.”

  “And what is the Haven, Lady Anastasia?”

  “The capital city of the Empire,” she replied.

  “Oh? Forgive me, Anastasia, but what empire is that? You say you came from no shala”

  Stacy was taken aback. Again she said, “I don’t know what a shala is. Perhaps if you explain it to me...”

  “A mountain city,” offered Sebelius, the minister. “Here there are many, each ruled freely of others. I think you might call each one an empire of itself.”

  I see, thought Stacy, for the first time beginning to grasp something of the strange new world in which they found themselves.

  “We come from no shala, Prince Sumavand. Our Empire lies far away, five hundred leagues and more across the sea.”

  The prince and the minister exchanged dubious glances.

  “You sailed across the sea?” the minister asked, incredulous.

  Stacy nodded firmly. “And Alryc was our guide. From his star charts we found the way.”

  Loud murmuring rose from the court.

  “Is this possible, Minister?” Sumavand asked, clutching the carved arms of his throne.

  Sebelius shrugged. “Never in any shala have I seen garb such as theirs.” His fingers fondled Stacy’s tunic. “Our women weave not like this.”

  “Cloth can be cut in many ways,” observed Sumavand.

  Sebelius agreed. “True, my liege. But I think you should also see their weapons.” He snapped his fingers and from behind the curtains two soldiers came, briskly carrying a large woven basket. They placed the basket at Sumavand’s feet, then withdrew. The prince leaned forward and eyed the weapons carefully. He ran a finger along the side of Alryc’s sword, then picked up a crossbow and examined it. He loosened the winch and squeezed the hair trigger. At a glance Stacy could tell that he was no stranger to such weapons.

  “Whose is this?” he asked suddenly, looking up at their faces.

  Melinda stepped forward. “Mine, my lord,” she said with a polite but reserved curtsy.

  Sumavand smiled at her warmly. “You need not be frightened, girl. But tell me, where did you learn to use it?”

  “In the forests, sire.”

  The prince frowned. “It’s clumsy. Far too heavy when you have to move quickly and the enemy is close behind. Yet it is well designed. Where was it crafted?”

  “In the city called Rhonnda-by-the-Sea, my lord.”

  “An odd name. But, of course, the very fact that a woman uses a crossbow is odd to us. Are you, er, a...warrior?”

  “Not a warrior, my lord. A huntress. There’s a difference.” Melinda grinned.

  Sumavand laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Stacy noticed that for an instant the stern, hard look was gone, replaced instead by a gentle one that reminded her very much of Elias.

  At length Sumavand put down the crossbow and Melinda stepped back. Then the prince took out the silver dagger and eyed it admiringly.

  “Who claims the knife?” he asked, looking about.

  “The dagger is mine,” acknowledged Stacy.

  He grinned. “I should have known. It’s most handsome, Lady Anastasia. Forged from silver, I see.”

  “And steel, my lord. The blade is virtually invincible. My father gave it to me many years ago.”

  “Judging by your age, not too many years ago,” retorted the prince. “Can you use it?”

  “When I have to, yes.” She met his gaze evenly. “May I have it back?”

  He smiled thinly and shook his head. “I think not, Anastasia. I saw how easily you handled the Rani. Such a blade is far too dangerous to be in such skilled hands as your own. But enough of this. I see indeed that you are all from some far land, be it a shala or not. The Rani calls you out as spies — and that may very well be. How you came upon the nets or even the tunnels is no longer of any consequence. I ask you one simple question: What do you want here?”

  “We came across the sea in peace,” answered Alryc, now ready to speak, “to find out the lost city of which we were told.”

  Sumavand frowned. “A lost city? How came you here?”

  “Our ship lies anchored in an inlet some leagues away,” replied Stacy. “A hunting party was sent out to the hills to follow the herds of caribou. There we were caught in a blizzard. And during the storm we were attacked by what we call things. Baboon-like creatures with long fangs and an unquenchable thirst for blood.”

  Sumavand nodded knowingly. “We have a different name for them,” he said grimly. “But things will do. Their ghastly work remains the same under any name.”

  The girl continued. “Lost and weary, we sought shelter from the snow in the cave of your mountain. It was there that...that our first leader was snared by your trap. We spent the night and the next morning we followed the caverns, seeking food and a way out.”

  Sumavand sighed. “If this tale is true, then you are most fortunate merely to be alive. All of you. The caverns are infested with what you call things.”

  Stacy smiled grimly. “We found that out for ourselves, my lord. One of our own and a dozen of them are lying dead in darkness to prove it.”

  The prince said, “Tell me, all of you, what do you know of this land?”

  “Very little,” replied Stacy, answering for everyone.

  “The Ritual Wars are strange to you?” he marveled.

  A puzzled Stacy shrugged. “We don’t know what you mean.”

  Sumavand threw up his hands in exasperation. “You are all either fools or liars! Don’t you know, can’t you tell what happens here? Don’t you realize why we live beneath these mountains?”

  “We’re strangers here,” protested the girl. “How can we possibly know or understand what you’re telling me? As Alryc told you, we came here in peace, to seek out a lost city with which our Empire hoped to trade and exchange goodwill. Instead we’ve found ourselves beset by savage things, thrown in your cells and shackled like animals.”

  The prince searched her face with thoughtful eyes. “We know nothing of trade or goodwill. Only war — and how to survive. We designed the pits and the nets you stumbled upon for one purpose: to kill things before their armies gather in ritual to march upon us before summer. We also set traps along the mountain slopes to snare wild white wolves. Their packs run savage and free in summer; they attack our farms, our livestock. The forests harbor fearsome beasts that prowl upon us. The
shaleen try to band together for mutual protection. But often as not, we find ourselves at one another’s throats. This is the nature of the land into which you have come.”

  Stacy and the others stood breathless, glancing at each other and unable to speak.

  “Tell me, girl,” said the prince. “In your own land, do men revere the Fates?”

  Stacy nodded slowly. “We are a religious people.”

  “Then pray,” said Sumavand. “Pray for your life — and for mine. And for those helpless souls still aboard your ship. When the snows melt, war will come. Your companions will be slaughtered. The war will spread throughout our land, to every shala, across every river. Men against wolves, men against things. Sometimes men against other men, when the barbarians attack from the lowlands. Each year is the same — only worse than the one before. You say you believe in the Fates and in heaven. Then you must also know of the demons below. Here you have come, and here you must stay. Welcome to our shala, Lady Anastasia. Welcome to Satra. And welcome to Hel.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Back at the inlet, Elias was chopping wood when Ashcroft came to say that the patrol the captain had sent out was returning from the hills. Elias put down his axe, his heart beginning to pound. Perhaps this time they had success, he told himself. Perhaps this time Heather would have some answers.

  The band of warmly bundled Rangers and Valley soldiers moved slowly, dragging behind them makeshift sleds laden with carcasses. Casca slunk along at Heather’s side. A great cheer went up from the camp. Tools were cast aside, and everyone gathered in front of the roughly built sled, knee-deep in snow.

  “They’re dragging fresh meat,” cried an astounded Ashcroft. “This time they must have found Trevor’s camp!”

  There was a glum sort of smile from Elias because he hoped against hope that the Rangers had found more than just the camp.

  Heather came on ahead as eager sailors raced to help her companions pull the sleds down to the ridge. Elias, face masked with a scarf, greeted her halfway up the slope. “What happened? Any luck?”

  The Ranger shook her head. “It took us better than a day to find Trevor’s tents. There were no tracks anywhere; everything was obliterated in the blizzard. We found some fresh meat, wrapped and bundled, ready to be carted away, and a small stock of their own provisions.”

  “But didn’t you find them?”

  Heather lowered her eyes. “Nothing. We searched everywhere. Knowing how Stacy and Melinda think, the next morning we followed the path of a stream toward the mountains.”

  “And?” Elias clenched his fists, clinging onto any hope.

  The girl shuddered, but not from the cold. “Beneath a drift we found the body of one of Trevor’s lads. Frozen solid.”

  Elias winced. “He died of the cold?”

  “Not of cold,” whispered Heather, meeting the captain’s forlorn eyes. “The soldier’s face had been clawed. His throat was cut.” Again she shivered, the memory all too vivid.

  “What did it?” asked Elias. “Were there bears in the hills? Big cats?”

  “I don’t know what it was, Elias. But it was frightful. I’ve fought against grizzly bears in the Free Lands, but I never saw slashes and cuts as vicious as that.”

  Elias’s face turned sour with alarm. “Then they must have been under attack,” he said flatly.

  Heather shook her head ruefully. “They never made it back to their camp, that’s for certain.”

  “Were there markers around?” he asked. “Stacy would do that. Leave signs for us.”

  Again Heather shook her head. “No markers, Elias. Not even signs from Cicero. Casca searched high and low. There was nothing. Only fresh snow.”

  “And bodies buried under it,” muttered Elias.

  The girl sighed. “We can’t know for certain before the snows melt. Sending another search party now is futile. We’ve done all we could.” She burst into tears. Elias put his arm around her and let her sink her head against his chest.

  “We’re not ready to give up yet,” he told her softly. “Stacy’s too smart to let herself get trapped out in the open like that. Maybe they reached some sort of shelter.”

  Heather looked at him through wet, large eyes. “If that’s true, then why haven’t they come back? The blizzard ended days ago. I keep thinking that they’re dead.” Again she began to cry. Elias comforted her quietly and led her down the slope.

  “You did well, Heather. Fates know, better than I could have done. But I’m still not ready to give up. If they’re dead, I want proof of it. We’re going to stay put here on this ridge, carry on as usual and get the Brora fit and trim. And the day, the very first day, that the snows begin to melt I’m going out there. Alone if I have to. We’ll turn this blasted land upside down.”

  They walked for a while, Heather with her head low. The sun had paled and from beyond the mountains she could see more snow clouds racing. “They might have fled to the mountains,” she mumbled hopefully.

  In his gloom Elias’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Could they have, Heather? I mean, could they have gone that far? Even in a storm?”

  “It’s possible.”

  He bit his lip and stared up at the snow-capped peaks. And in them he saw a glimmer of hope. “There might be shelter up there,” he conjectured.

  Heather nodded. “There might. Caves, perhaps. But there’d also be white wolves. I heard their cries while we searched.”

  Elias took both of the Ranger’s hands and clasped them in his own. “They won’t frighten Stacy,” he said. “Nor Cicero. Take heart, Heather. Common sense tells me they should all be dead, but I’ve always been short on common sense.”

  Heather laughed, a sparkle returning to her eyes. “None of us have any. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

  “Stacy’s alive, Heather. I know it,” he insisted. “I feel it. I believe it. And so are the others. If they don’t find us, we’ll find them. Until we do, the Brora stays put. We’re all in this together, and I’m not going to give up — no matter what the dangers.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  This time the room was well lighted. Thick rugs were scattered across the floor. There were no windows, and Stacy wondered if there were any at all in this bedazzling shala called Satra. In lieu of chairs the room was peppered with plush pillows of gold and maroon, comfortable and soft. Again there were no beds, only cots hugging the walls, held in place by sturdy chains. At the center of the room was a low oblong table made of heavy oak. Atop it stood a copper pitcher, filled to the brim with sweet, honeyed wine.

  Stacy sat cross-legged on a circular laced pillow and sipped slowly from a small goblet. Beside her, lying across the dark pelted rug, was a tunic, a new one, brought in to her minutes before by a fair-haired Satrian girl who served as both companion and guard. The dress was magnificent, a sheer pale green that seemed to darken as it turned from light. On her cot the girl had also placed a vanity case — small, leather-crafted, with brushes, combs and perfumes. The sight of it delighted Stacy and already she had spent her time running the brush through her hair, frowning at the tangle of knots.

  From the tiny vents that criss-crossed the smooth rock ceiling came the soft, constant sound of bells. The same sounds she had heard in the cavern, ethereal and harp-like. The bells were found virtually everywhere, a constant in the day-to-day life of Satra, but she didn’t know what purpose they were intended to serve.

  She smiled, leaned back on the floor and reflected upon these past few days. No longer were she and her companions kept in cells, no longer were there chains or shackles. Save for the fact they were prisoners, they were now being treated like honored guests. Guests with locked doors and a guard posted outside every one. This difference in attitude puzzled and disturbed her. At times they were given complete freedom to wander — at least through the carefully guarded palace corridors. They ate the best food, drank the finest wine. Except for questioning by the minister, no one bothered them. And even his questions had not been har
sh, merely understandable curiosity about who they were, why they came, and what they expected from Satra.

  Also, Trevor had been well cared for. Stacy had seen him only once and then but for a fleeting moment, but she realized that the Satrian physicians were doing all they could to reduce his fever and save his infected leg.

  So far, though, none of them had yet to see the city itself. And another thing bothered her: Not once had they been allowed to gather together. At times she had been able to speak with Melinda, once with Alryc, once with Robin. But only briefly and even then with their guards looking suspicious and apprehensive. What caused even more concern was what Prince Sumavand had said about danger to those aboard the Brora. And what else was it that Sumavand had said? Here you have come, and here you must stay.

  Was that a threat? Or was it his way of warning of the dangers to those who leave his shala?

  A brisk knock on the door broke into her thoughts.

  “May I come in, my lady?”

  At once she recognized the soft voice of Shaina, her guard-companion. “You have the key, Shaina. Open the door whenever you like. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Fingers fumbled with the lock. There was a dull click and the slim-waisted hazel-eyed girl with long-braided hair slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

  Shaina looked at the tunic and frowned. “Your dress, my lady! Why haven’t you put it on? It was chosen especially for you. Don’t you like it?”

  “I like it fine. It’s lovely. But who can I show it off to? I’m still your prisoner, remember?”

  Shaina sighed and casually plopped herself onto the large cushion opposite Stacy. The hilt of a dagger showed from behind the folds of her colorful robe. “A poor choice of words, my lady,” she said. “You are to be watched, even guarded. But is that so strange? Consider: If you were spies sent here from some distant shala, could you expect us to act otherwise?”

  “But we’re not spies, Shaina. You know that.”

  “I believe you, Anastasia. But still we must be careful. There are those here who do not trust you.”