by Leah Swann
Yes, thought Andor, here's someone speaking sense!
‘Maybe the kings use that threat to keep us under control,’ said a gruff voice.
It was Radburn. Andor drew his head back into the hood of his cloak, hoping to remain unnoticed.
‘You try telling that nonsense to the mothers who lost their children to the Dragon,’ said the old innkeeper. ‘The Dragon will eat all our children if the Narrowlands army defeats ours.’
Andor had heard enough. Leaving his beer unfinished on the bench, he went outside and untied Langundo.
I'll ride home tonight, he thought. There's no time to be lost in sleep. My father will know what to do.
Although it was late in the day, the road was wide and Andor reckoned he could ride during the night, even though he hated the dark. Soon enough, his thoughts turned to the girl on her mare.
‘I’ve seen her before,’ the young Prince said to the trees as he passed. ‘Somewhere…’
The night was warm and silent. The only sound was Langundo's hoofs on the stones. Andor remembered the time he went hunting with his father and his men. He was only a boy, maybe seven or eight. He had seen something – or someone – that day, squatting behind a rock. He'd stopped, curious about the little creature, barely human and wearing only rags, with hair shooting from its head like bristling wild grasses. He thought of his father's stories and wondered if she were some kind of troll.
But maybe it was Irina. When she lived with the wolves. How could anyone survive such a thing and grow up to be a civilised human being, let alone a princess?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Irina's Return
Irina dismounted from the white mare and a stable boy came to lead the horse away.
‘This is Adriel,’ Irina said. ‘Please look after her.’
‘Yes, Your Highness,’ said the stable boy, bowing his head.
William watched this interaction with surprise, as he had when Irina had spoken so boldly to the crowd. She seemed so calm. Little did he know that she was dizzy from all the attention and was fighting to keep her composure. Turning away from the stable boy, she faced the flight of marble steps that led up to Ragnor Castle. They seemed to go on forever. She swallowed. Her mouth was as dry as the dusty roads they'd left behind.
She took the steps slowly, careful not to slide on the slippery marble. Her neck was damp under her thick hair. When they reached the top, the heavy doors were pulled inwards by servants, and the group entered. Out of the sunlight Irina felt suddenly cold. The corridor smelled of old stone and torch smoke. Amicus fluttered above her and came to land on her shoulder. She glanced back at William, who gave her a reassuring wink.
The little group made their way down the echoing hallway and stopped at another set of wooden doors. A vast sword was carved across them, inlaid with jewels. Irina read the words engraved underneath:
When the tyrant escapes his icy cave
and horizons teem with hail like boulders;
when of priestesses and kings a child brave,
comes wearing Jun's cape around her shoulders,
When Ragnors daughter rides the wild beast white;
the longed-for Age of Peace will have begun.
And from the edge of a battle-scarred night
out pours my answer, says the Shining One.
In the darkness of each heart waits a pyre
for Truth to ignite with her holy fire.
Two servants stepped forward to open the doors and Irina stood facing a vast room. At the far end were the King and Queen sitting on their tall thrones, and to one side of the Queen was a row of girls. The princesses. They seemed very far away. The floor was polished and there were rows of soaring columns, while the ceiling was a series of cupolas painted with scenes from Ragnor's history, hung with massive crystal chandeliers. Most beautiful of all were the windows. They contained glass, which Irina had never seen. Each window was a different colour and framed by carvings of winged creatures. As Irina stepped forward, the sunlight through the windows played over her skin, red and blue, gold and violet and emerald green.
‘Let me meet my destiny with courage,’ she said to herself. How dearly would she have loved to turn around and run all the way back to the safety of Stony Creek Farm. How strange and distant the royals looked, so tall and elegant on their thrones. Her prayer floated into the coloured light under the arched ceiling. Irina walked as boldly as she could towards the King and Queen. When she was within a few feet of them she stopped and knelt, bowing her head.
‘Rise,’ commanded King Harmon. ‘Who are you?’
Irina stood. ‘I am Irina, the daughter who was stolen from you in infancy by the executioner's son, Vilmos. I was raised by a she-wolf, Sheka, until a bear came to the wolves’ den. Terrified, I ran from the forest to the meadows and fell in exhaustion by a river. There I was found by a farmer, the good William you see by my side. He and his wife Octavia made me human again, raising me among decent folk, until the wise-woman Raizel discovered me and sent word to you that I lived.’
Irina felt the eyes of the Queen on her, full of longing. The youngest Princess was barely more than a baby, tottering on chubby legs; Irina noticed how firmly the Queen held the little girl's hand. Next to the Queen were the other five princesses. How like them she was, in the shape of her face, the colour of her eyes and hair. One or two of them smiled at Irina uncertainly.
‘What proof do you bring?’ asked King Harmon. His voice was sharp, his brow furrowed, his hands clenched in his lap.
‘I come empty-handed, Your Majesty.’
‘There is the sylvan,’ said Queen Chloe.
‘A sylvan! That proves she is my daughter, does it?’ demanded the King.
Irina flinched at his harshness.
‘Tell me, Queen, is a bird to be the proof that the child we thought was dead, the child we've spent years grieving over, actually lives? Any trickster could hear the Irina legends and train a sylvan.’
‘Amicus is no proof,’ said Irina. Her voice faltered. ‘All…all I can say is that there is no trickery. Look at my face. Do you not recognise me? Ask your heart, as I have asked mine.’
With a dismissive gesture, Harmon banished everyone but his family from the court. The crowd turned and made their way out through the huge carved doors. Irina also turned to go.
‘Not you,’ said King Harmon. ‘You stay here.’
Irina waited. She stared at the polished floor, at the scuffed boots poking out from under her homemade dress. Even though she knew she had nothing to be ashamed of, her cheeks burned.
‘Look at me,’ barked the King once they were alone.
Irina looked at the King and saw courage and intelligence alongside a fierce strength. His brow was high and noble; his eyes the colour of a sword's blade. Her skin prickled with fear. What if he thought she was lying? What would he do to her, or worse, to Octavia and William?
‘I shall ask you one thing,’ the King said. ‘And don't try to deceive me, because I can smell a liar a league away.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘You called the sylvan by the name of Amicus, is that correct?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘That is his name, Your Majesty.’
The King shifted restlessly on his throne. ‘Did you give him that name?’
‘No. That has always been his name.’
‘What do you mean that has always been his name?’ thundered the King. ‘Explain yourself!’
‘Harmon,’ whispered Queen Chloe, ‘you’re frightening her.’
Harmon ignored her.
‘I know the sylvan's name from the sylvan,’ said Irina. Seeing the King scowl she continued, ‘The sylvan speaks to me. He's been with me since before I can remember. Growing up with forest creatures gave me the gift of understanding them; I've always known this was his name.’
‘No one knew the bird's name,’ said the King. His face relaxed a little and he shook his head as if in wonder.<
br />
‘The sylvan had no name,’ said Chloe. ‘What are you talking about, Harmon?’
‘The sylvan was given to us by Raizel as a gift,’ said Harmon to Irina. ‘When she told us that baby Irina might be stolen, I was angry and suspicious. Everyone seemed to be a possible enemy.
‘One morning, I saw the sylvan perched over the baby's crib, like a guardian. I said to him: You are my daughter's amicus. The name “Amicus” means beloved friend.’
In shocked silence, the King's wife and daughters saw the tears in his eyes before he bowed his head.
Chloe held out her arms. ‘Come to me, Irina.’
Irina stepped forward into the Queen's warm embrace. Somewhere, in the Queen's softness, voice and fragrance, Irina recognised a love she had forgotten, a vague and dreamy warmth from her babyhood.
Irina turned and knelt beside the King, pressing her cheek against his hand. Again the Queen and princesses looked on in surprise. Rarely did even Chloe show such familiarity.
‘You did not fail me,’ whispered Irina, understanding what was in his heart. ‘I’ve had the life I was meant to have.’
Gripping Irina's hand firmly, it was some moments before Harmon could speak.
‘A feast!’ he said finally, turning to his wife. ‘A feast to celebrate the return of the Princess. A day of celebration for everyone in Ragnor!’
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Traitor
With a heavy heart, King Niklas stroked Seeley's head. He had just received the disturbing news that the people of Ber were planning to rise up against him. And there was something wrong with his wolf. Niklas wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but it seemed as though Seeley had grown larger. He was slow and tired and no longer any use as a bodyguard. He needed to be caged, or put to death, but Niklas didn't have the heart to do that. He wondered if Seeley was suffering an illness that had caused his body to swell and his brain to soften.
The doors of Pavel Hall opened noisily and in came Trayton, bearing his crystal ball as requested.
‘I have just received news about the Ber villagers,’ said Niklas. ‘Someone has betrayed me.’
‘Truly, my lord? Do you wish me to look into the crystal ball?’
‘Yes, Trayton. Let's have a look.’
The magician unfolded a velvet cloth and placed the crystal ball upon it. He uttered an incantation, waved his jewelled hands over the sphere and stood back.
The ball clouded. Swirling mists filled the crystal before revealing a rider on a horse, galloping fast through the countryside at night. It was Prince Andor.
‘I’m sorry to say – it is your son, Your Majesty.’
‘I can see perfectly well who it is,’ snapped Niklas.
Trayton looked up sharply. ‘He was at the meeting with King Harmon.’
‘What do you imply, Trayton? Spell it out.’
‘What if your son seeks to overthrow you? He wouldn't be the first prince to think he'd make a better ruler than his father. Why else would he ride away in secret?’
Niklas looked at Trayton and saw cruelty in the man's eyes, unable to be disguised by any glamour or magic arts. Why hadn't he noticed this before?
‘Don’t distress yourself,’ Trayton went on. ‘We’ll overpower him easily if he starts any trouble. He's only a child.’
‘Kill him, do you mean?’ said Niklas.
‘If necessary – ’
In a swift motion, the King drew his sword from its scabbard and thrust it against Trayton's neck. The magician stumbled backward at its ice-cold touch. ‘Only a fool or a villain would talk of me killing my own son. Which are you, Trayton, fool or villain?’
‘Neither, my king. I'll find proof of Andor's treachery, if that's what you need!’
Niklas pressed the blade harder against the magician's neck. ‘Fool and villain both then! You forgot to ask how I received news from Ber. My son galloped on his horse over many leagues to warn me. It is not his treachery, but yours.’
The magician clasped his hands together. His glamour was slipping from him, his true face peeking through the veil of prettiness. Niklas watched in awe. He'd never before seen a face slide off like a mask, revealing an uglier one underneath. Using all his magic, Trayton managed to call back his disguise, but it was too late. Niklas had recognised him.
‘It cannot be. Is it? Vilmos!’
The magician, up against a wall, uttered a strange, low sound. ‘Oooooooooooow.’
There was a thump as a chair overturned, the savage sound of a wolf's snarl and before Niklas knew what was happening, Seeley was snapping at his throat, his paws pushing on his shoulders. The wolf's teeth gnashed at his ear. He ducked his head to one side, but he wasn't quick enough; Seeley's powerful jaw seized his neck and bit into it.
‘Andor!’ yelled the King.
Andor leapt out from his hiding place behind the royal banner, his sword drawn. He slashed it downwards and the wolf sprang back, only just dodging the blade.
‘Arrrgh!’ groaned Niklas, feeling blood trickling down his neck. ‘By Knartesc's demons I'll have you slaughtered –’
Vilmos snatched the King's sword and in that moment his glamour fell away entirely. His mouth was curved into a cruel hook, his eyes narrow. With a swift blow he smashed Andor's blade from his hand and Andor dropped to his knees, next to where his father lay dazed and bleeding on the floor.
‘Father!’ cried Andor, bending over him. ‘Are you all right?’
He'd never seen his father collapse like this. Frantic, he tore a piece of cloth from the banner. He was staunching the wound on his father's neck when he felt the steel blade at his throat.
‘Get up,’ said Vilmos, ‘or I'll get the wolf to finish the job.’
Vilmos bound Niklas and Andor back to back with thick ropes while Seeley paced and growled. When he was confident they were secure, he opened the trapdoor that led to the dungeons below and pushed them inside. They fell painfully to the stony floor. Vilmos slammed the trapdoor shut, leaving them in total darkness. They heard the click of the lock and the rumbling, dragging sound of something being pulled over the trapdoor.
Vilmos wasn't leaving anything to chance.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Captain Symon
Vilmos no longer bothered with his fancy disguise. When he met the Captain of the Guard in the courtyard with the King's swollen wolf beside him, the Captain was startled at the magician's changed appearance. He wouldn't have recognised him at all if it weren't for the blond hair, familiar cloak and the snake ring on his finger.
‘Trayton?’ the Captain asked, wrinkling his brow in distaste.
‘Captain Symon,’ said Vilmos, bowing respectfully. ‘I am afraid I have terrible news. It has aged me, as you can see by my face. But I've come to ask for your assistance.’
‘Where is the King?’ demanded the Captain, noticing Seeley. Something strange is happening, he thought. But what?
‘Prince Andor has kidnapped him,’ said Vilmos. ‘Niklas sent word to me through the crystal ball.’
‘Andor? Kidnapped his own father? Nonsense.’ The Captain folded his arms.
‘If you recall, Andor left without his father's permission. Now why would he do that, if he wasn't up to something?’
‘What you're saying is ridiculous. I've known that boy for years.’
‘But he is young, and so easily influenced. Easily guided.’ Vilmos watched the Captain's face closely. ‘He’s been plotting with King Harmon, who wants to combine the realms of Ragnor and Pavel. You know this has always been Harmon's dream. It's no secret.’
The Captain said nothing.
‘Harmon wants Andor to be king in his father's stead,’ said Vilmos. ‘Andor will marry one of Harmon's daughters and the realms will be united.’
‘But the kings are friends!’
‘Things are not as they seem, Captain,’ said Vilmos, with a stricken look. ‘King Niklas trusts me. You can ride to Ragnor to find out the truth, but by that time, your beloved King Niklas w
ill be dead.’
The Captain stopped shaking his head.
Vilmos hurried on, ‘Harmon’s army will support Andor in overthrowing Niklas. We must fight Harmon. For the moment, I am the King's regent.’
Captain Symon's mind was spinning with this new information. It seemed incredible; but Vilmos was so serious it was hard not to believe him.
‘The alliance between Ragnor and Pavel is strong,’ said the Captain. ‘King Harmon would not break it.’
‘Andor has fed Harmon lies,’ said Vilmos. ‘You can win over anyone with lies – if you lie well enough.’ Had the Captain looked up at that moment he would have seen the cunning in the magician's eyes; but he was so distracted he didn't notice.
‘Andor’s not a man of the Junsong,’ said Vilmos. ‘He told Harmon that King Niklas had no intention of giving him Ber in exchange for Ralston. And then the sly youngster stirred up so much gossip and fear in Ber that they feel betrayed by their kings and are ready to fight. As we speak, Andor gathers forces in Ragnor.’
‘I can't believe I am to take orders from you, Trayton.’
‘King Niklas has always said that whoever commands the wolf Seeley has his confidence,’ said Vilmos. ‘Why don't you try?’
Captain Symon stepped forward warily. Should he try to command the wolf? What would King Niklas want him to do?
‘Come, Seeley, stand by me,’ he said.
The wolf's hackles rose, and he bared his teeth.
‘You have to earn the wolf's trust,’ said Vilmos.
‘Step away, Trayton,’ said the Captain. ‘Let’s see if the wolf will come to me, then.’
Vilmos took a few swift strides towards the door. Immediately the wolf followed him, circling the magician and turning to face Captain Symon.
‘Come to me, beast,’ said the Captain, trying to make his voice deep, like the King's. He didn't like the way the magician was watching him. ‘Come.’
This time the wolf leapt and his forelegs landed heavily on Captain Symon's chest. Surprised, the Captain staggered sideways, trying to keep his balance. The wolf's teeth snapped at his neck without touching his skin, making a gruesome sound in his ear.
