by R. J. Grieve
The Prince began to circle his adversary, realising that he had made too little use of his greater flexibility and speed. Fast as lightning, his longer blade slashed in under his opponent’s, missing its arm by a fraction. It gave a snarl of rage but he thought he detected the first signs of wariness in its yellow eyes. It fought more cunningly now, twice almost deceiving him, twice parried by a desperate thrust delivered at the last moment. Andarion was in very real agony now. Perspiration trickled down his face under his helmet, getting in his eyes, but his determination never wavered. So absorbed in this dangerous encounter was he, that he expected no help from those around him, assuming that they too were fighting for their lives. But the tide of battle had turned against the Turog. The men fought fiercely and there were few of the Great-turog to hold the smaller ones together in the face of such stubborn opposition. Finally they broke and fled.
Sarrick wisely refused to allow his men to pursue them. It was then that he caught sight of Andarion’s plight. Gathering some men, he charged across to the clearing where the duel still continued. He instantly saw that there was something wrong with Andarion’s arm, for it hung loosely at his side now, and he was fighting only with his right hand. Sarrick hurled himself into the clearing and with a powerful double-handed blow, struck up the Turog’s sword. The creature, clearly caught by surprise, stepped back a pace, disengaging from the fight. When he saw Sarrick and the eager men at his back, he stepped back still further and turning to Andarion, he bowed ironically.
“We will fight again, my lord Prince,” he said in a deep, guttural voice and before anyone could stop him, he leapt back into the trees.
“Pursue him!” yelled Sarrick. The men needed no urging.
Wearily, Andarion removed his helmet revealing a face grey with pain and bathed with perspiration.
“Thank you, Sarrick,” he gasped, his chest still heaving.
“Let me see your arm,” Sarrick commanded and withdrawing a small knife from his belt, he slit the sleeve to the shoulder. Andarion’s forearm was swollen and an appalling array of lurid colours. Sarrick looked up grimly. “Your arm is broken, brother. How did you ever fight that animal with an arm in this state?”
Andarion did not reply but sank to his knees. Sarrick saw that unconsciousness was not far away, held only at bay by his will. He called to one of his men. “See if you can find that old fool Relisar. Tell him Prince Andarion has been injured.”
“It’s nothing,” said the Prince and quietly fainted.
Every day after her return to Ravenshold, Elorin had waited for retribution to descend, but the days passed and no punishment was visited upon her other than being confined to her room. She was surprised just how much she missed her visits to Dorgan’s kitchen. She even, in her loneliness, began to miss her occasional meals with Celedorn. She saw no one and spoke to no one - other than her guard. In him she had the misfortune to have acquired a taciturn individual who delivered her meals to her in silence, resisting all attempts to lure him into conversation. She began to wonder if Celedorn was tormenting her again, delaying punishment in order to heighten her fear and apprehension. But as she paced her room day after day, it occurred to her that he had perhaps forgotten her existence entirely. She resumed her old post by the window, watching the only sign of life she had access to - the comings and goings in the square below. It seemed to her that there was more than the usual activity. Large parties of armed men were despatched, only to return hours later weary and sometimes wounded. Occasionally she saw Celedorn’s dark form down in the courtyard, mounting his horse or giving last minute instructions to a band that was to leave without him. Only once did he glance up at the window in the tower. For a moment she imagined their eyes met but he gave no indication that he had seen her.
After some weeks of this solitude, she had reached the stage that she felt she would go completely insane if she didn’t talk to someone. She decided to swallow her pride and beg Celedorn to allow her a little freedom. She suspected that this was probably what he wanted - to see her beg and then have the pleasure of refusing her, but she had become so desperate that she scarcely cared any more.
When her guard brusquely thrust her evening meal at her with all his usual charm, she decided to seize her chance.
“Tell Celedorn that I wish to speak to him,” she said quickly before he could close the door.
The man raised his brows. “You do not tell Celedorn anything - you ask. Or perhaps in your case, you beg.”
She tensed, fearing a refusal. “Please. Ask him if he would see me.”
He shrugged. “I’ll deliver your message but I doubt that he has any time to waste on you.”
She hoped he might return that evening but he didn’t. The daylight faded in loneliness and despair and at last she sought refuge in sleep. She awoke late the following morning and did what she always did - crossed to the window to look at the sky. It was the most beautiful spring day. The sky was cerulean blue with tiny white clouds sailing across its expanse, driven by a gentle south-westerly breeze. She knew that a breeze from that direction came from Serendar, from the coast. In her imagination she tried to picture the sea. The whiteness of waves breaking on the shore, the call of gulls wheeling high above. It was too much for her. Tears started to well from her eyes at the thought that she might never see such things again, at the thought that she was condemned to crumble into dust in her forgotten prison. Just then, she heard a key rasping in the lock. Quickly she dashed away her tears and turned to face the sound. Her guard flung open the door.
“Celedorn will see you now,” he announced disapprovingly. “Consider yourself privileged.”
She followed him down the stairs, aware that her heart-rate had gone up. She had not spoken to Celedorn since he had brought her back from the mountains and as always with him, one never knew what to expect.
However, when she arrived in his quarters she discovered he wasn’t there. She looked questioningly at the guard.
“Wait here. He’ll be along shortly.”
When he didn’t come immediately, she began to prowl around the room. It hadn’t changed since the day she remembered searching it in frantic haste. She remembered riffling the cabinet in the corner and hiding under the bed in the adjoining room. The long table was bare except for two candlesticks which had dripped wax onto its surface and his sword lying flat in its scabbard. She remembered taking it out of its sheath that day in his bedchamber. How easily it had slid from its scabbard. How heavy it had felt in her hand. Drawn to it irresistibly, she lifted it, feeling its weight once again. She tilted it a little and it began to slide of its own volition from its housing.
“Be careful, it’s very sharp.”
She started so much she almost dropped it and spun round to discover Celedorn standing in the doorway. He crossed to her and took the sword from her, setting it back in its place on the table.
He glanced keenly at her face, noting her pallor and the telltale streak that revealed that she had been crying.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Er.....yes.....I....” Suddenly, to her horror, all the bottled-up emotions threatened to overwhelm her. All her fear, frustration, anger, depression rose up like a wave approaching the shore and she knew when it broke she would sob without reserve. It must not happen in front of him. He would despise it as weakness. Why, oh why, did he have to startle her like that? She turned from him, unable to speak, desperately trying to hide her feelings from him. She crossed to the window and stared out, seeing nothing, aware only that she was behaving like a fool. She expected him to demand an explanation, to tell her to stop wasting his time but strangely he said nothing. Grimly she battled her emotions as the silence stretched behind her. At last she risked a glance over her shoulder. He was sitting on the edge of the table with his arms folded, watching her with uncharacteristic patience.
Finally she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, all pretence gone. Surprisingly, he made no comment.
“Y
ou wanted to see me?” he repeated.
“I....I was wondering if it might be possible for me to leave my room occasionally.”
“It might be possible,” he conceded. “In fact I had something in mind before you spoke to me.”
She looked up in astonishment. He was still watching her, his arms crossed, his expression inscrutable. “The Turog have found some means of penetrating these mountains in large numbers and it must be stopped. I have a suspicion that they have found some way of crossing the Serpent’s Throat and intend to take a large party of men to investigate.” He smiled slightly. “As obviously you cannot be left in Dorgan’s charge without taking an unauthorised tour of the countryside, I intend to take you with me. I underestimated your resourcefulness once before and I do not make the same mistake twice. You will come with me where I can keep an eye on you.”
“Is it far?”
“About three days ride to get there. I am uncertain how long our investigation will take, perhaps three or four days.”
“Almost two weeks away from Ravenshold,” she breathed, her spirits lifting.
“Unfortunately you will be taking the worst of Ravenshold with you, for you will be stuck with my company. If I remember what you told me correctly, your main aim and object in your bid for freedom was to get away from me.”
She looked at him doubtfully. “That wasn’t very tactful of me.”
A look of amusement crossed his face. “No, but entirely understandable.”
Then with one of his sudden changes of mood, his humour faded and grey eyes grew cold and hard. A mountain glacier would have seemed more humane. When he continued, his tone of voice brooked no argument.
“However, before you stir a foot from Ravenshold, I wish to make a few things plain to you. You will not attempt to use this as an opportunity to escape. You will do as you are told at all times and will obey my orders instantly and without question. Apart from curtailing your freedom, you got off very lightly following your last excursion. Such leniency is not at all usual with me and you cannot expect the same again. If you break any of the rules I have just mentioned, in even the smallest degree, I will punish you in a way that makes your present solitude seem like paradise. Is that clear?”
She nodded. His manner was so implacable that disobedience was out of the question and all her old fear of him returned, redoubled. To her disgust she dropped her eyes before that piercing gaze and looked at the floor. But he wasn’t satisfied with her response.
“I did not hear your reply,” he said coldly.
She cleared her throat but before she could speak, he crossed to her and caught her roughly by the arm.
“Twice you have made a fool of me,” he hissed. “You are the only person on the face of this earth that can say as much. A third time will be the last thing you ever do. Now give me your word.”
He was so close to her now that she was forced to look at him. His scars were flushed a revealing purple, a sure indication of strong emotion. Yet even now she sensed that she saw but a tiny portion of his anger, the rest he held under terrifying restraint.
“I promise,” she whispered.
Abruptly he let her go and equally abruptly his flash of anger appeared to vanish.
She sank into a chair.
“The exercise will do you good,” he remarked in a more normal tone of voice. “Your guard tells me that you have not been eating. Disabuse yourself of any idea you might have of starving yourself to death.”
“I....I didn’t. I just wasn’t hungry.”
“You may stay and eat with me this evening.” He saw her draw breath to speak and forestalled her. “No, you may not return to your room. You will dine with me and eat a proper meal. We embark on a long ride to the Serpent’s Throat tomorrow and you will need your strength.”
“Tomorrow!”
He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Does that inconvenience you? Perhaps you have to rearrange your social appointments to fit it in?”
Suddenly she began to laugh, unable to hold it back, unable to resist the incongruous. He smiled reluctantly in response, not entirely proof against such genuine amusement. Finally she halted, precariously balanced between laughter and fear.
“Has anyone ever dared to tell you just how disconcerting you can be? You have put me through the full gamut of emotions in the space of half an hour.”
But he raised a caveat. “Not the full range by any means.”
Chapter Twelve
The Serpent’s Throat
Andarion opened a pair of dazed blue eyes to find Relisar’s face anxiously suspended above him.
“He’s coming round,” Sarrick’s voice remarked.
The Prince tried to sit up, only to discover that his left arm was in a splint. Carefully, he raised himself on his right elbow to find that he was still lying on the forest floor where he had fallen.
“What happened?” he asked, with all the confusion of someone who feels that he has just misplaced a portion of his life.
“You fought a Great-turog using an arm broken so badly that you should not have been using it at all, that’s what happened,” Sarrick remarked dryly. “Relisar set the arm while you were unconscious and has said a healing spell over it. Your luck is in today, brother, for he appears to have got the spell right, at least your arm didn’t turn into something unexpected.”
Relisar, who was secretly proud that the spell had worked so well, cast him a reproachful glance.
Sarrick ignored him. “I sent some men in pursuit of your slit-eyed adversary but he escaped. I’m afraid they have just returned empty-handed. The rest of the Turog have scattered into the forest, but I have not given the order for a general chase as it is an old tactic of theirs to allow themselves to be pursued into the forest and then turn on their pursuers when they have them fragmented and scattered. No, we will be satisfied with what we have. Given the fact that we were ambushed, I think we did well to triumph over them. Well over half of them are dead, whereas we took surprisingly few fatalities. Quite a few men were wounded by arrows but most should recover. All in all, it could have been a lot worse.”
“Prince Andarion should rest now,” said Relisar. “We must get him back to the camp.” But to his consternation this announcement appeared to have the opposite effect on the Prince, because he rose a little unsteadily to his feet.
“I’m fine now.”
For once Sarrick and Relisar were in complete agreement. “Go back to the camp, Andarion, you need to get well again as quickly as possible because our victory here means that you have an important diplomatic mission to undertake in the near future. I can finish here, this sort of thing I can do well, but diplomacy is beyond me; I have neither the tact nor the patience for it. So you must prepare yourself to go to Serendar and find out just how amenable King Orovin is prepared to be.”
“You will not be coming with me?” Andarion asked, clearly surprised. “Come, brother, surely two princes are better than one.”
Sarrick grinned. “A tempting invitation but I think I should stay where I can do the most good. Relisar can go with you to tend to your arm and I will send an escort of five hundred men so that you can arrive in proper style. King Orovin must not think we beg. However, it will be a long journey for you, as you cannot go the most direct route through the mountains thanks to that black devil Celedorn.”
“Skirting the mountains to the south would take days longer, surely I could risk it.....”
Sarrick cut him short. “Father knew you would say such a thing and gave me a direct order to prevent you. We have learnt to our cost that Celedorn is not to be trifled with, moreover, he knows every time a mouse stirs in those mountains much less the presence of five hundred men. No, I’m afraid it is the longer route for you, but look on the bright side, it will give your arm a chance to heal. I am sure you are not keen to appear before the King of Serendar with your arm in a splint. Relisar assures me that his spell has greatly accelerated the healing process and all should be well by
the time you arrive.”
Andarion nodded, unable to argue with the sense in his brother’s words.
“I’ll leave tomorrow, if the escort can be made ready in time.”
“It will be ready. Just prepare your speeches well for the King, for what we have achieved here today is a mere drop in the ocean. I only hope it is enough to convince the King that those infernal creatures can be beaten. I leave the rest to your powers of persuasion. If anyone can convince him to re-forge to old alliance, you will.”
Andarion drew a difficult breath. “A heavy burden.”
“Heavy indeed. A fracas like today bears no comparison with it. If you fail, Eskendria must stand alone, but she will not fall alone, for once she is gone all the other kingdoms will fall like little trees brought down by a mighty one.” Andarion turned to go but his brother’s voice called him back. “By the way, accept my compliments on the fact that you managed to hold off that creature notwithstanding your broken arm. I must remember to be more civil to you in future.”
