Mikhail nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I agree.’ He looked round at the generals. ‘On your honour, my lords and ladies. You have seen all this.’
Clara shook her head. ‘You’re making a mistake,’ she said. ‘A really big and really stupid mistake.’
Mikhail smiled. ‘Wait and see.’
Emfil said, ‘I think it’s called choosing the best odds, Clara.’
‘Yeah? Well, I guess we really will have to wait and see,’ she said.
But the choice had been made and the deed was done. Conrad began to issue his orders. ‘Send messages back over the border. Tell the companies to march for the mountains and enter Varuz.’
Mikhail started. ‘This is not the whole of your force?’
‘This?’ Conrad smiled. ‘This is only the vanguard.’ He turned to Clara. ‘Aurelian does not lie. Guena does not lie. And nor do I, lady. When the battle is won, you will see that Conrad, for all his roughness, is as honourable a man as all the lords and ladies of Varuz.’
Chapter
9
In time, we came to the place where the river and the road diverged, and the ruin of the bridge prevented our journey from continuing southwards. Northwards, then, we travelled, on what was left of the road, into a rough wild country. The road was soon useless, and, with its broken stones and muddy potholes, soon became a barrier in itself and a trial to the horses. We rode to the side of it and, at last, abandoned it entirely, taking to the scrubland of the northern wastes.
Here, the passing of Varuz was clearly written on the land. Now and then, we saw some fragment of its former glory: an old villa, hidden behind a line of trees; the tumbling walls of what had been a thriving village; lines of apple trees that marked where an orchard had once been. But the villas were mouldering, their roofs gone and their halls open to the rain; the villages were empty and the fields they had once served untilled; the orchards overgrown and choked with weeds and ivy. The further we went, the more barren the land became. In some places it was blackened and scorched, as if some terrible and sorcerous fire had burned it, so that grass or any good thing could no longer grow there.
I saw the Doctor’s dismay on his face as we rode. Turning to me, he said, ‘How long has it been like this?’
‘All my life,’ I said, ‘and throughout my father’s life, too. Each year it becomes worse, too, almost as if the land sickens. Around the city we have been protected, so far, but it will come to us too, in the end.’
‘The people,’ said the Doctor. ‘Where are they?’
‘Gone,’ I said. ‘Long gone.’
‘Dead?’
‘Not all, although there has been hunger. Some took the mountain passes, and tried for Conrad’s country. But, even if they do cross over, there is not always a welcome for them there, and their lives are hard. Others left by sea, in little boats, and who knows where they have washed up? The Eastern Sea is vast. There might be lands beyond, or else perhaps one comes round the whole green world to land upon a shore only to discover that Conrad rules there. He believes he rules all the world – or nearly all the world.’ I shook my head. ‘I do not know the answer to this question, only that for some the risk of those open seas was better than to remain here, in Varuz. And now the exile has begun from the city. More leave, every year, and the houses stand empty.’
Throughout my speech, he had been sitting holding his metal device aloft. ‘There must be a reason,’ he said. ‘Something must be causing this…’ But if he had an answer, he did not tell me.
On we journeyed, and the Grail proved elusive. Sometimes, even this far out, we met a traveller, or even someone who had refused to leave their home, but struggled on, forcing a living from the bare land. From these people, we heard a glimmer of a tale, but each one turned out to be a false lead or a dead end. What we found were empty chapels, vain citadels, and a sad depleted land. Such failure, I thought, would surely come with a cost upon morale. I knew the men who had come with me from the city very well, having served alongside them in many border skirmishes against Conrad’s incursions, and as our quest meandered on, fruitlessly, I expected to hear from them complaints about our journey and the vagueness of its purpose. I listened to their conversation, as a good captain must, but to my surprise I heard nothing but admiration for Lancelot. More than that, each one of them had a story, it seemed, about how Lancelot had spoken to him, or looked his way, or had, by some small means, conveyed his appreciation. They told these tales again and again to each other, not in competition, but it wonder, as if they must repeat how Lancelot had acknowledged them. It was strange to hear them speak, like schoolboys in awe of a respected master.
As for Lancelot’s own men…a grimmer company it would be hard to imagine. Amongst my own people, as we rode, a song might every so often begin and carry us forward for a few more miles. These occasions lessened as time wore on, but from Lancelot and his knights, from the very beginning, there was nothing: no speech, no enthusiasm, and certainly no joy. They were silent, their eyes always looking forwards as if they barely saw the land through which we were passing, and it seemed to me that they begrudged every minute that we spent at rest or sleep, and would rather have ridden on, and on, beyond exhaustion. They seemed inhuman to me, like the tales of mechanical men that had come down to us from the past.
In our third week out from the city, we rode into a distant lonely country, which I had never seen before and did not know. Reaching a narrow cleft between high walls of rock, we rode through in single file, coming out into a deep valley in which lay a great lake, black and wild. On the far side, we saw an old hall, barely more than a ruin, its walls green and overgrown, and, following Lancelot’s instruction, we rode round to explore.
The place, when we drew closer, had plainly been long abandoned. The roof was in tatters; the walls were barely standing. Whichever lord had lived here had departed, and the people over whom he had ruled were long gone too. Only the birds made their homes here now, and the quiet soft-footed creatures of the woods and the wild. There would be no news here of the Grail, unless carried to us upon the wind.
Here, in the poor shelter of these tumbledown walls, we made our camp. Lancelot’s knights, as ever, took themselves away, and I prepared myself for sleep, but the Doctor, ever curious, wished to explore more of the hall, and at his request I went with him. And in a damp, green room without a roof, where the hangings and tapestries had been replaced by moss and ivy, we found the knight.
He was not a stranger, but one of Lancelot’s men. I wondered what had brought him away from his company, for they were closely knit and tended not to be found far from each other. Even more strangely, this one had removed his helmet and gloves – we rarely saw their faces – and his long hair, grey and wild, straggled down his back. He was standing beside the shell of a high arched window and, high above his head he was holding aloft some kind of little box. What it was I could not quite see, but lights flashed from it, and strange sounds emerged. The Doctor, however, seemed to recognise what it was, and the sight certainly surprised him.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I have to say that I wasn’t expecting that. I suppose I’d assumed that you would be, well, mediaeval.’
The knight turned to us, but only for a moment, before turning back to whatever task that he was performing.
‘Doctor,’ I said, ‘explain this to me.’
‘Our friend here,’ said the Doctor, ‘is using some pretty advanced tracking technology. Not as advanced as some I’ve seen, but advanced enough that I’d be happy to use it myself.’ He moved towards the knight. ‘Knights, and horses, and riding on Grail quests – it’s all a performance, isn’t it? What are you all about, really?’
The man did not reply, and the Doctor tapped him on the arm.
‘I said, what are you all about?’
He turned to look at us properly then, and I wished that he had not for, looking into his eyes, I was filled with great grief. This man, it seemed to me, was very old, and very weary.
&n
bsp; ‘Where are you from?’ said the Doctor. ‘Come on, tell me!’
‘Doctor,’ I said. ‘Be gentle.’
‘I don’t remember,’ said the knight. His voice rasped, as if rusty from disuse.
‘Come on, man! Your name, at least. What’s your name?’
‘Doctor,’ I said softly, for it seemed to me that we were tormenting a man who was already in a great deal of pain.
‘I do not remember my name,’ said the knight. He did not sound sorrowful, or regretful, or anything at all. He was merely stating a fact. That seemed terrible to me.
‘You can’t remember your name?’ said the Doctor. ‘Do you remember anything about yourself? Where you come from? Where you’re heading?’
‘The Quest,’ said the knight, quickly, as if glad to be able to answer a question at last. ‘I am on the Quest.’
‘Yes, yes, for the Grail,’ said the Doctor. ‘Except that we both know that’s not true.’
And indeed the old knight was shaking his head. ‘Not the Grail,’ he said, slowly, as if some memory was returning to him. ‘No, not that. Something older than that, and much more precious. The greatest treasure in the universe – and the most deadly.’
‘I see,’ said the Doctor. ‘Of course. I’ve been a fool. Not the Grail. The Glamour.’
I did not know what he meant. But his tone of voice filled me with fear.
—
Since the Quest had left, a great quiet had fallen upon the city, and a strange calm, as if the people had surrendered themselves to some purpose that they did not understand, and now were waiting to see if their gamble would be successful. The city-folk kept to their homes, on the whole, and, when they did come out, they gathered on corners in small groups of threes or fours to trade what information they had, and then hurried home and locked their doors.
No news came from the Quest and, after a while, it seemed to people that all that had happened was no more than a dream: that Lancelot and his company had been something they had all imagined together. But their own knights were gone – that could not be denied – and the city felt empty and unguarded without them.
At last, late one afternoon when the sun was sinking slowly into the sea, a messenger was seen heading up the road towards the city. He had plainly ridden in haste, but he did not stop to rest, and went straight to the palace and to the Great Hall, where the Duke and Duchess of Varuz sat and listened to his news. Conrad’s army had been seen, far to the south, but within the borders of Varuz.
‘So much for his embassy,’ said Aurelian to his wife. ‘His plan was always to invade, whatever message we might have sent in return. Do you see now that it was pointless to try to speak to him?’
‘Maybe,’ said Guena. ‘But I am not the one who, believing that invasion was imminent and unavoidable, sent away the knights on a foolish errand. Aurelian, I must ask you – do you really believe that this Grail exists? That it can be found?’
Aurelian reached out to take his wife’s hand. ‘What else could I do? Bernhardt carries the hearts of my knights with him – and Bernhardt is loyal to you. Whatever you may think, Guena, I am no fool. Whether this Grail exists or not, I do not know. But the search for it may bring us together again.’
‘Or in its failure divide us once and for all.’
‘Aye,’ said Aurelian, ‘that might happen too.’
Guena studied him thoughtfully. ‘Forgive me, Aurelian, but you seem very different from when you called upon your lords to take on this quest.’
‘How so?’ he said.
‘You seem less enamoured of Lancelot, for one thing.’
‘I will admit that when he spoke, his words swayed my heart,’ Aurelian said. ‘With him gone…I doubt myself.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘As I have always doubted myself.’
Guena squeezed his hand. ‘Do not let doubt assail you any longer,’ she said. ‘The end is coming. Recall the knights – recall Bernhardt. Bring them back for the defence of the city.’
Aurelian shook his head. ‘How can I do that?’ he said. ‘Who knows where the Quest has taken them? I have had no reports of them at all. All that I know is that Conrad marches for the city. We would recall Bernhardt only to have him arrive and find a city in ruins—’
‘I can speak to him,’ said Guena.
Aurelian looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The secrets of my ancestors are not all lost, Aurelian,’ she said. ‘I have the means to speak to Bernhardt at great range, whenever I desire.’
Aurelian sat in silence for a while, considering this news.
‘You live in a city lit by means that you cannot explain, where the knights and guards carry swords that can cut through rock,’ said Guena. ‘Did you not think that other devices of other kinds might yet exist, left to us from my ancestors, out of happier, stronger times?’
Aurelian shifted in his seat. ‘And these devices work? Have you used them?’
‘Many times. There are people of ours in Conrad’s country – people who are sympathetic to Varuz. I have spoken to them often, and given them instructions. They have struck blows on our behalf now and again, struck against Conrad’s cities. From them I hear more news about Conrad’s intentions than he might like.’
‘What else exists?’ Aurelian said, urgently. ‘Are there weapons?’
‘Not that I know of. Many secrets have been lost.’
There was a long pause. ‘You should have told me about this,’ Aurelian said. ‘I am the Duke—’
‘In name, yes. But you do not have royal blood—’
Aurelian gave a bitter laugh. ‘I know, I know. Mikhail—’
‘Mikhail?’ Now it was Guena’s turn to laugh bitterly. ‘No,’ she said, ‘you never truly understood. You can rest assured that I have done all that I can for Varuz – and I shall continue to do so for as long as I am able. But time is running out. Conrad is coming, at last, and he carries with him the anger of centuries. Our forefathers were not kindly masters—’
‘And I would guess that your secret assaults within his cities have not helped soften his heart towards us,’ Aurelian said.
‘Or perhaps they have kept him away longer, for fear of what else we might use against him,’ Guena said. ‘But whatever he has believed thus far, it is clear that something has happened to make him believe that he can now defeat us. He is coming. We are defenceless. We must recall the knights, and we must recall them now.’ She stood, in a rustle of silk and jewels. ‘I shall speak to Bernhardt and tell him to return.’
Aurelian stood. Proudly, he said, ‘I would prefer that you did not speak to Bernhardt—’
‘Bernhardt is the only one who can persuade those men to return,’ said Guena. ‘And I am the only one who can persuade him to ask. What is your preference, Aurelian? To sit and wait until Conrad arrives? Or to swallow your pride, and let me call Bernhardt home?’
They stood facing each other, face-to-face, Duke and Duchess, in opposition.
‘What shall we do, Aurelian?’ Guena said. ‘Shall we stand here until Conrad comes, and the city burns around us? What use will our pride be to us then?’ She saw him falter, and she went on in a gentler tone of voice. ‘This is not the country that either of us wished to rule. How much better for us both if we could have ruled in glory over a Varuz as great as it was in its greatest days! But we were not born to those times, and we have harder, heavier choices. Perhaps the best that we can hope is that we face our end bravely. But we must not let pride stand in our way. We must call home the knights. The end is coming, and we must save whatever we can.’
‘Guena,’ Aurelian said, and he reached out to hold his wife’s hand in his. ‘You know, don’t you, that I did not marry you to become Duke? That if you had been cast out of Varuz, in exile, on the road, without a chance of ever returning home, I would have loved you still. For your courage, Guena, I love you and I have always loved you.’ He smiled. ‘Bernhardt is wise to love you, Guena, and I know he will do whatever you ask. You love Varuz, a
nd you are Varuz. So let us do as you wish. And when the end comes, I hope that we will all – all three of us – find peace.’
—
And it was not only the Doctor’s voice that alarmed me, but the sight of that knight, so old, so weary, filled me with foreboding. ‘Doctor,’ I said, ‘I do not understand this. We were chasing the Grail. But now you speak of “the Glamour”? What is this? What does it mean?’
‘The Glamour is another myth, another legend.’
‘But is this legend is true?’
‘Sadly,’ said the Doctor, ‘it is, yes.’ He looked at the knight, who had put away his little box and, as if some great weariness had overcome his limbs, was now sitting on the stone windowsill, his head bowed and his hands clasped before him.
‘So what is it?’ I said. ‘Is it something that we should fear?’
‘A wise man fears the Glamour,’ said the Doctor, ‘and he turns away from the chase for it. An object so powerful, so entrancing that people will kill in order to have it.’
I shuddered. ‘Then it seems to me that we should follow your advice and keep well away. How will we know it when we see it? What must we watch for?’
The Doctor frowned. ‘There’s the difficult part, Bernhardt – the Glamour is not easy to spot. Part of its power comes from the fact that it changes depending on who is looking. And it takes on the form of their heart’s desire. For one person, this might be gold, or jewels, or a painting, or a statue. For another kind of person, it might be completely different.’ He looked at me slyly. ‘It might, for example, appear to you as the love of your life.’
Doctor Who: Royal Blood (Glamour Chronicles, Book 1) Page 11
