by R. J. Grieve
“It was indeed fortunate that you did not decide to stay in Sirkris, my lord Prince.”
“Oh?” Premonition dug cold claws into the Prince’s heart.
Veldor’s eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and smouldering anger. “It fell, my lord, it fell. By the time warships from Kelendore fought their way through the blockade, all that was left of the town was a devastated ruin. Everyone, every man, woman and child had been put to the sword. After the slaughter was complete, the Turog, as is their custom, set fire to the town. The ships could see the pall of smoke from well out to sea and knew that they had come too late.”
Andarion’s head sank in his hands as he remembered the pleasant little town, the cosy Inn of the Grey Dolphin and Mother Sorna’s kindly face.
“No,” he groaned. But when he at last raised his head, Veldor saw a fierce light burning in his eyes - the light of battle.
“We cannot bring back Sirkris and all those who lost their lives, but by the Crown of Eskendria, I swear those vermin shall be made to pay.”
“Alas, my Lord Prince, we are in no position to exact vengeance upon them, because we are fighting for our very existence. They have been attempting to cross the Harnor for several months now, but always we managed to frustrate them. We carried out strikes across the river to burn the rafts they were making, we thwarted attempt after attempt to build a bridge, but a month ago they finally succeeded. Their army appeared to embark on building yet another bridge, to the west of here, where the river narrows before entering the Serpent’s Throat, but it was a ruse to distract us. While part of their army kept us busy, the others, further to the east, brought out from amongst the trees the rowing boats which they then strung across the river. The planking that formed the causeway had already been prepared in sections and was positioned with astonishing speed. By the time we realised what was happening, they had enough troops across to repulse our attempts to attack the Eskendrian end of the bridge. After that, thousands upon thousands of them poured across in an evil black stream. They have many Great-turog with them, driving on the others, organising them in a manner that the common kind are incapable of. There is even a demonic new species, never seen before, whose skins are red as sandstone - creatures more closely resembling a man than I have ever encountered. Why! They can even ride horses! Until now, it was well known that no horse would tolerate a Turog on its back. They are cunning fighters and can match even our best men in strength and skill. In short, we are sore beset.”
“Has no help come from Serendar?”
“None,” was the bleak response. “Once the Harnor was breached, your father sent his fastest messengers to King Orovin, begging for his help - but he would not come. He replied that Serendar had not been attacked, so therefore he had no quarrel with the Turog.” Veldor started to his feet, anger causing his fists to tighten. “He is a fool! A stupid, arrogant fool! Does he seriously think that if Eskendria falls, the Turog will stop there? Together we might have had a chance, but if our army is defeated, Serendar is no match for them on her own. All that fool can think about at the moment is his new bride.”
Andarion’s ears pricked up. “His new bride?”
“Indeed. He recently cemented an alliance with Kelendore by marrying the daughter of the Lord Protector. Much good may it do him. Kelendore has a strong navy but no army worth mentioning, and what is needed here is a strong army.”
“His bride....em....is she the youngest daughter of the Lord Protector?”
“No, the eldest. He was betrothed to the youngest but she drowned in the great storm on her way to Serendar.”
The Prince smiled inwardly to himself and said nothing, but any satisfaction he might have felt on a purely personal level soon evaporated when Veldor began to outline the current position.
“We fought them at the Harnor, trying to prevent the bridgehead being established, but it was no good. They beat us back with an immense loss of life on both sides. What made the difference, was the fact that the Turog just kept bringing more and more reinforcements across the Harnor, whereas we.....well, all our reserves were already committed. We had no more resources to call upon.” He drew a deep breath. “Ten thousand men were lost in the battle of the Harnor.” He saw the Prince turn pale with shock. “Aye, my lord Prince, ten thousand good men and there is no one to replace them. Since then we have fought three more battles, and each time, although we are not utterly defeated, we are driven back and weakened by the loss of more men. Foot by foot, relentlessly they are forcing us back on Addania. We are now only a day’s ride from the city. It is a question only of when, not if, Addania will have to stand siege. I suspect your brother was summoned back to the city to discuss plans for its defence - but between you and me, my Lord, there is little hope. Time is on the side of our enemy. Militarily speaking, Addania is a difficult nut to crack but they can afford to wait and starve us out.”
“Addania has long been provisioned against such an eventuality.”
“Aye, it has, but what does that do, other than to delay the inevitable?”
“You are telling me that we have run out of options,” said Andarion fatalistically.
“I am afraid so. We have no choices left. I would guess that when Prince Sarrick returns, his orders will be to retreat on Addania and save what forces we can for the defence of the city.”
The Prince stood up, hardly aware that he did so. “All these months, when I was travelling back across the Forsaken Lands, my fear was that I would arrive too late, that I would find Eskendria just a smoking ruin triumphed over by the Turog. Yet it seems that I have arrived just in time to witness such an event.”
Veldor looked at him with helpless compassion. “Do not yet despair, my lord, we are not beaten yet and while there is breath left in any of us we will fight them. Why, the very knowledge that you are alive will put new heart in the men. They have need of good news. Although your brother is a competent commander, he is not loved as you are loved. Our army would fight to the last man for you.”
The Prince was deeply touched, for he knew Veldor was not prone to flattery and he turned his face away to hide his emotion. His companion, looking at his tense shoulders and hands balled into fists, knew that the Turog had a fight on their hands. They would pay in blood for every foot of Eskendria they gained.
“If they want Addania,” said the Prince with quiet savagery, “it will cost them dearly.”
It was still dark when Celedorn felt a hand shake his shoulder. Although he had been deeply asleep, his mind instantly sprang to alertness, as was his habit. He was already reaching for the hilt of his sword, when he recognised Andarion’s voice in the darkness.
“No need to reach for your sword, it’s only me. I have much to tell you, but we must speak quietly as I have no wish to wake Relisar.”
A gentle but rhythmic snoring issued from across the tent, informing the Prince that his consideration was superfluous.
“Bad news, I take it?” said Celedorn softly.
“It could hardly be worse. Or army is retreating on Addania. A siege is inevitable.”
“That is bad news indeed, but Addania is strong. It will hold out until help comes from Serendar.”
Andarion ground his teeth. “No help is coming from Serendar. King Orovin has decided to leave us to our fate.”
A soft growl of anger broke from Celedorn. “I always knew he was a fool and a coward - I just never knew how much.”
“He played games with me the whole time I was in Serendar trying to get his help. It is just as Varinia said, he stands on his sandcastle as the tide comes in - but it is of little comfort to me that Serendar will not long survive Eskendria. The future suddenly seems so very fragile.”
Celedorn seemed to agree, for he said: “My affairs are somewhat irrelevant now. Do you still wish me to come with you to Addania?”
“Yes. I still want to go through with what I have in mind. I feel, somehow, despite the circumstances, that it is important.”
“Very
well, if you wish it, I will come.”
Andarion stretched wearily. “I’d better get a couple of hours sleep, for we ride for Addania at dawn.”
“You can take my bed, if you like.”
The Prince managed a tired smile. “Oh no, cousin, I wouldn’t hear of it. I have accommodation in another tent.” A stertorous snort issued from the blissfully unconscious Relisar, causing the Prince to add: “Where the silence is unbroken.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Celedorn, as one discovering treachery. “Now I know why I got to share a tent with him.”
At first light, they left the camp behind and started on the final stage of the journey to Addania. The Prince was tormented with urgency to reach their goal and barely allowed his companions time to snatch a bite to eat in the morning. He also refused Veldor’s offer of an escort, fearing that Celedorn’s identity might be compromised. However, he gladly accepted the loan of fresh horses, as they would have to ride hard to reach the city by nightfall.
As they travelled, he explained the situation to the others and found himself amused by the fact that in the midst of all the news of doom and disaster, Triana fastened on to one rather trivial point.
“King Orovin did what?” she demanded in outraged accents.
“He married your eldest.......”
“I heard you! Well I don’t think much of him! So much for faithfulness!”
“But Triana,” Elorin objected, highly entertained. “He thought you had drowned.”
“Well how long did he wait before marrying my sister? A whole hour was it?”
“But you didn’t want to marry him.”
“That is beside the point,” said Triana with dignity. “He could have waited a decent length of time before running off to get someone else. I wish my sister joy of him.”
“Surely the point is that you are now free to.......” Elorin halted abruptly when she received a repressive frown from Celedorn.
A short while later, when she was riding beside him, she said: “Why did you scowl at me?”
“You know very well why, madam innocent. You were about to be indiscreet. The barrier between them has now been removed. Kindly allow them to manage the rest themselves.”
An irrepressibly roguish dimple peeped out. “You are a much better person than me,” she observed dulcetly.
“Only intermittently,” he flashed back.
Predictably, and somewhat infuriatingly, Celedorn proved to be right, for when they stopped briefly for something to eat at noon, Triana and Andarion wandered off a little distance by themselves and were seen to be in earnest conversation. However, to Elorin’s disappointment, when they returned, they did not make the expected announcement. Instead the Prince renewed his demands that they make haste and their onward journey continued at the same relentless pace.
Darkness had already fallen when they arrived at the city, so Triana was denied her first glimpse of its beauty. The first check that they encountered was the guard at the bridge across the river. Flambeaux burned in the cool night air, mounted on two pillars at the end of the bridge. They cast their flickering light over a strong detachment of guards armed with bows and swords. They were obviously highly alert, for the instant the party came into sight, they fairly bristled with aggression. Swords were drawn and bows made ready, so that by the time the companions reached the bridge, the slightest untoward movement on their part would have resulted in instant death.
Andarion drew rein in front of them, his horse’s breath misting in the chill air. He rapidly scanned the faces before him until he found one that he recognised.
“Do you not know me, Nendorth? Has it been so long since we last met that you have forgotten? A few months only have passed, and yet it appears that already I am a stranger in my own land.”
One of the guards stepped forward and peered suspiciously at the Prince in the uncertain light.
“It can’t be,” he breathed.
Andarion slid out of the saddle and faced the man. “I ask you again, Nendorth, do you not know me?”
The man gave an incredulous gasp and sank on one knee before the Prince. “My lord Prince,” He looked over his shoulder at his comrades. “Do you not know who this is, you fools? It is Prince Andarion. Our Prince has returned to us from the dead.”
They all clustered around him, pushing and shoving each other in order to get a glimpse of him. Then, all at once, as if they had suddenly confirmed that what they saw was real and not some vision, a cheer went up. It was taken up by more and more of the guards. One ran back across the bridge shouting the news to those stationed within the gate. Soon the news began to spread like fire through a dry forest. More and more people began to come out of their houses, asking what was going on, wondering what all the cheering was about.
The Prince remounted his horse, and entered the city as if coming home in triumph after a great victory. By the time he reached the streets, a throng of soldiers and citizens lined the way, cheering and shouting for joy.
The others followed discreetly behind the Prince, Celedorn with his hood drawn up, glad that in all the excitement they were being ignored.
“It appears our Prince is well loved,” murmured the dark figure in the cloak to Elorin. It was not lost upon her the use of the possessive word and the faint note of pride in his voice.
High up, in the palace at the top of the hill, candles still burned in the council chamber. The King, Prince Sarrick and some of the army commanders still pored over a table strewn with maps and plans. Yet although the chamber was cheerful and brightly lit, the expression on every face was sombre, for however much they planned and schemed there was little hope to be found.
During a lull in their discussions, as they stood staring in silence at the maps of the city, Sarrick suddenly stiffened to attention.
“I hear cheering,” he remarked in a surprised voice. “What can it be?”
The cheering swelled in volume as it drew closer.
“Find out what is going on,” the King ordered one of his aides.
The man turned smartly on his heel to obey, but just as he reached the tall double doors, they were flung open and a confused crowd of people was seen outside. When they suddenly became aware of the presence of their King, they stopped short of entering the chamber and the cheering died away.
From the crowd, a tall, fair-haired figure stepped forward. Every particle of colour drained from the King’s face.
“Have you nothing to say to me, father?” Andarion asked.
Chapter Thirty-four
The Oath of Loyalty
For the space of a heartbeat, the King was absolutely speechless. Then the most utter joy began to spread over his countenance.
“My son, they told me you had drowned,” said he in a voice trembling with emotion. “How can this be?”
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped forward, stretching out his hands toward Andarion in a gesture that pleaded for reassurance.
Andarion, his face charged with his feelings, took the King’s hands and sank on one knee before him.
“Sire,” he said in a voice as unsteady as the King’s. “I have journeyed long and far to come home to you.”
“I thought that life could offer me no further joy,” said the King, drawing his eldest son to his feet and warmly embracing him.
But Celedorn, watching events closely from beneath his hood, saw one face that was not entirely overjoyed.
Sarrick stepped forward to greet his brother. “So, the sea could not hold you, Andarion.”
Andarion took his hand but his eyes searched beyond him. “Where is Illiana?”
“She is in Sar-es-Marn. With a siege pending, it was thought best.” Sarrick signalled to the guards to close the doors, shutting the curious crowds outside. “And you, Relisar, it appears that you too have come back from the dead.”
The King finally tore his eyes away from Andarion, and for the first time, noticed the four people standing quietly at the back of the chamber.
&nb
sp; “Relisar too? Another face I thought I would never see again,” he said.
“A bad penny always turns up,” muttered Sarrick, but his father heard him and rounded on him. “Let me not hear from you such a discourteous speech concerning a man so much your senior.”
Sarrick bowed stiffly in reply. “My apologies, Relisar.”
“One other face I recognise,” observed the King thoughtfully. “Surely this is the girl with no name.”
“She has a name now,” said Andarion. “She is Lissoreth - a direct descendant of Tissro the Wanderer, but she has honoured me by choosing to continue to use the name I bestowed upon her.” He turned to her and smiled. “Elorin - autumn.”
“And this other child?”
The Prince took a deep breath and taking Triana by the hand, led her forward. “May I present Triana, youngest daughter of the Lord Protector of Kelendore - and your future daughter-in-law.”
To his relief, the King was puzzled rather than shocked. “You are betrothed to this lady? How can this be?”
“When our ship sank off Sirkris, my companions and I decided that the only way to return home, was to cross the Forsaken Lands. Our path led us past Kerrian-tohr, where Triana herself had been shipwrecked by the same storm. Since then, she has travelled in our company and I have grown to love her. Nothing could be said between us, however, because her father had arranged her betrothal to King Orovin in order to cement an alliance, and it was only yesterday that I heard that the King, believing her drowned, had married her sister. Our betrothal, therefore, only dates from today. I have come to ask your blessing, Sire.”
The King leaned towards Triana, a faint smile hovering on his lips. “My son has always had excellent taste,” he said graciously. “You are indeed a pretty child. Your father, no doubt, will be pleased to make an alliance with Eskendria after this.”
She dropped a curtsey to him. “Let us hope so, Sire.”
But to Andarion’s dismay, the King’s attention then fastened on Celedorn.
