by R. J. Grieve
A single bridge provided access to the city, spanning the river in one audacious leap. The bridge was the only part of the city that was not ancient, for it was no older than sixty years, having been built to replace the original one that had been destroyed when the city had last been besieged by the Turog, the inhuman servants of the Destroyer.
The events of a mere generation ago seemed very distant that calm spring morning. Looking around the well-ordered plain, with its neat, tilled fields and snug farmhouses, and the city so lofty and proud, the Lord of Westrin found it difficult to imagine the plain crawling with the foul creatures of the Destroyer. It seemed impossible that the city had once been surrounded by the might of their black forces, with catapults and siege engines ready to breach even the mightiest walls. Yet their army had been defeated - not by the Eskendrian forces, but by one man. Now that too was fading into the stuff of legends. Now that too was melting into forgetfulness. For a generation Eskendria had lived at peace. Children had been born and grown to adulthood without ever having seen a Turog. They knew them not as a dangerous enemy but merely as a minor nuisance - renegades who raided the outlying farmsteads of those foolish enough to try to scratch a living across the river Harnor in the Great Forest. Peace and security had left the Eskendrians a little complacent about their safety, taking for granted what had been hard-won by the blood of generations now gone.
But now unrest in a different form was making itself felt. Lacking any threat from beyond their borders, those within Eskendria now murmured against each other. The situation was such that King Meldorin had summoned his most powerful baron to leave his fortress at Ravenshold, high in the Westrin Mountains, and bring with him all of the elite cavalry division garrisoned there. Even in his remote mountain fastness, away from the political machinations of the capital, Westrin had heard rumours of dissention. There were murmurings in the eastern baronies. Dissatisfaction with rule from Addania and the Crown Prince’s high-handed ways. Resentment against his new stratagems for raising revenue. Until now, he had dismissed most of it as scaremongering, the result of idle gossip and over-active imaginations, but the King’s summons, particularly accompanied by the order to bring the full compliment of Ravenshold Brigands, lent alarming credence to them. Being no fool, Westrin also suspected that the summons was a test of his loyalty. A refusal to comply would have put him in the position of outright revolt against the crown – something that none of the other barons had as yet done. On the other hand, obedience was a demonstration to the disaffected that the King could still command the loyalty of the most powerful of his barons, a man that others would not lightly disregard. It would make plain to any who might consider rising against the King, that they would provoke a daunting enemy, enough, at any rate, to give the smaller baronies pause for thought.
In actual fact, nothing could have been further from Westrin’s thoughts than revolt against the crown. His house had been strongly attached to the royal line ever since his grandfather and the old king, Andarion, had been such close friends. But Andarion had been dead these twenty years and his son was not of the calibre one would have expected from such a sire. A kind man, but weak, dominated by others, at first, for good, by his wife, and after her death, for ill, by the Crown Prince. Westrin knew well that the test of his loyalties came not from the King but from Prince Enrick and felt his hackles instinctively rise. Although he and the Prince were much of an age, and indeed had grown up together when Westrin’s parents had died and he had been brought to Addania by the King, they had always been rivals, disliking each other from the moment they had met at the tender age of ten. The King had been kind to the young lad who had so suddenly been left alone in the world, and had brought him up as his own son, but Enrick lost no opportunity to torment. Unfortunately, his maliciousness was not quite matched by physical prowess and the result was many a well-earned black eye.
In latter years, in fact, ever since he had taken control of his inheritance at the youthful age of eighteen, Westrin had shunned Addania, contemptuous of Enrick’s plots and schemes and weary of having to control his somewhat imperious temper in order to show the expected deference to the Prince. He retired to his mountain retreat and occupied himself in governing it well. Addania saw no more of him than was strictly necessary, but now the Prince was once more trying to make him dance to his tune. The frown deepened as the thought crossed his mind, and the blue eyes became a little hard. The Prince, had he been present to have seen the look, would, with long years of experience, have had little doubt as to its meaning.
The King’s letter had also contained another proposal intended to bind the house of Westrin ever closer to the crown. Westrin had thought long and deeply concerning it, uncertain as to whether it was wise or not, and more than a little irritated because he guessed that the proposal originated not from the King, but from his manipulative elder son. But now he approached Addania, his mind made up.
At that moment his reverie was interrupted by one of the riders who detached his horse from the column and drew alongside.
“My lord, do you wish me to send a messenger ahead to warn of your arrival?”
Westrin shook his head. “No, Captain, they are well aware that I am coming and will be watching from the citadel. Our presence will have been reported to the King the moment we came within sight of the city.”
The Captain, presuming on long acquaintanceship, added: “Right glad I am to see the city, my lord, for a cold a difficult journey it has been.”
But Westrin merely nodded in reply, refusing to be drawn into conversation. Captain Seldro, accustomed to his master’s reticence, let the matter go and resumed his place in the column, tacitly accepting that information as to the purpose of their journey would not be had until he immersed himself in the gossip of the guardroom at Addania. Rumours had abounded at Ravenshold, once it was known that the King had summoned them to Addania a mere month before their lord was due to go anyway, to take the annual oath of loyalty. It was whispered that Westrin was needed to crush rebellion against the King in the eastern baronies. It was even suggested that the old King feared a plot against his life by his ambitious elder son and had begged his most trusted baron to protect him. However, consumed as he was by curiosity, Seldro knew well that to persist would only earn him a sharp rebuke. Westrin was notorious for keeping his own counsel – a trait that Seldro normally would have approved of, but which this time he was finding unusually frustrating.
Westrin’s prediction proved to be surprisingly accurate. As the city drew near, a detachment of palace guards in full ceremonial armour could be seen awaiting their arrival on the crest of the bridge. They were led by an athletic young man whose cloak of royal crimson proclaimed his lineage. Although his chin bore the makings of a beard in an ill-advised attempt at maturity, his youthful figure, curling dark hair and laughing eyes, detracted from this attempt at gravitas and revealed a young man who had not quite left the boy behind. His attempt at dignity was also somewhat undermined by a ludicrously overdone look of longsuffering. Nonetheless, when the approaching cavalcade halted before him, he greeted its leader with flawless courtesy.
“Welcome, Lord of Westrin.”
With commendable gravity, Westrin bowed slightly, his expression inscrutable. “Prince Eimer.”
Their eyes met and locked. It was the Prince’s stern demeanour that was the first to crack.
“I was beginning to think you must have taken the scenic route by the length of time it took you to get here,” he announced airily. “Or have they moved those god-forsaken mountains of yours a little closer to Serendar when I wasn’t looking?”
Westrin’s lips twitched in response. “Young pup,” he murmured.
Eimer’s ready laugh broke out in response and all the men within earshot grinned. “I knew it! I knew your first words to me would be ‘young pup’! A year in that eagle’s nest you call home, cut off from all civilisation, has not improved your manners, Vesarion.”
Westrin tried unsuccessfu
lly to look stern. “Speak respectfully to your elders, pup. Remember I am ten years your senior and am to be given the reverence commanded by my advanced age. Besides, Ravenshold may be remote but even in such outlandish places, tales of your latest exploit have filtered through.”
Eimer raised his eyes heavenwards, the epitome of innocence. “And which exploit would that be?”
“I forget her name, but some day an irate father will catch up with you and there will be the devil to pay.”
Eimer grinned and warmly clasped Vesarion’s outstretched hand. “I don’t know why I’m glad to see you, because you always read me a lecture.”
Vesarion was clearly moved by that tribute. “I’d be more flattered by that, were it not for the fact that I am acquainted with the rest of your family.”
The Prince wheeled his horse to come alongside his companion. “Boring lot, aren’t they? The problem is that not one of them, with the exception of grandmother, has a sense of humour. My father says he despairs of me. My saintly elder brother says I bring the family name into disrepute and….well, I must confess I’ve even manged to get into grandmother’s bad books recently.”
“Oh? I thought Queen Triana found your exploits amusing? What have you done to put her back up?”
“Nothing you wouldn’t have done in my place,” he replied saucily, then catching the disbelieving look in his companion’s eye, added a little shamefacedly: “Well, nothing worth repeating, at any rate. Grandmother is anxious to see you. You were always her favourite, you know.”
They began to ascend the narrow cobbled streets that wound up the hill. The palace guards fell in neatly behind them, irritating the Ravenshold Brigands by going ahead of them.
“I can’t think why,” Vesarion responded. “Grandmother and I have crossed swords on occasion.”
Eimer was impressed. “Wonderful, isn’t she? Well over eighty years old, all of five foot nothing and has us all terrified of her – even father. I think she likes you best because you are the only one she can’t bully. Mind you, if you have the temerity to call her ‘grandmother’ to her face, she’ll demolish you.”
“I know. The last time I displeased her, she reminded me at length and in unflattering terms that I am absolutely no relation of hers at all.”
“What was that all about?”
“Merely the trifling matter of some ungrateful so-and-so who disappears off to his mountain retreat and hasn’t the good manners to visit Addania from time to time.”
“Ha! I can hear her say it. I bet she ended up by telling you she disowned you.”
“Indeed. But I told her she couldn’t, as I had decided to adopt her.”
Eimer gasped. “You don’t lack for nerve, Vesarion. I’d rather face the Destroyer himself than say something like that to her.”
“You underestimate her. It made her laugh. You never know how to deal with her. However, despite several vigorous attempts to cast you off, I believe she has been forced to acknowledge that you are, in fact, her legitimate grandson.”
“Given that she describes her own son as a bore and her eldest grandson as a prig, that’s nothing to celebrate. Apart from you, the only one she likes is Sareth.”
The Prince did not notice his companion stiffen a little at the name. “Your sister is well, I trust?” he enquired, at his most formal. “She returned a short while ago from Serendar, I believe.”
Eimer, in blissful ignorance of the undercurrents, shrugged dismissively. “Yes, empty-handed, much to Enrick’s displeasure. Apparently he had decided that the best way of cementing our alliance with the King of Serendar was to foist my sister onto him as a bride. However, he didn’t count on the King’s finely attuned sense of self-preservation, so it all came to nothing.” The Prince cast a speculative glance at his cousin. “Which brings me to you, Vesarion. Apparently your own sense of self-preservation is somewhat less acute. Do you not realise that you are, in fact, walking into a trap? That was why I was so anxious to see you before my brother got his claws into you. Are you not aware that he has now decided that the best way to secure your support against the dissident barons is to marry you to Sareth? Have your wits gone a-begging? Take the advice of an old hand when it comes to evading Enrick’s schemes, and turn your horse around and ride back to your mountains as if all the demons in hell were at your heels.”
Vesarion appeared undaunted by the warning. “I thought you liked your sister?”
For the first time the younger man looked uncertain. “I do,” he ventured hesitantly. “I mean, I did. But…well…something has changed in Sareth recently – and not for the better. The big sister who was so much fun, ready for any dare, has become so cold and distant. I don’t honestly know whether she went to Serendar because she has an ambition to become a queen, or whether my brother forced her to go. All I know is that having failed to secure a king – and given that the only prince in the vicinity is me, and I’m her brother, thank goodness – it has now been decided that she will marry the most powerful of our barons in order to bind him to our cause.”
“I see,” replied Vesarion shortly. “You think she is in league with Enrick? I thought, if memory serves me, that they couldn’t be in the same room together without disagreeing. Has all that changed?”
Eimer shook his head. “I don’t know. Nobody tells me anything any more. All I know is that she is no longer the big sister I used to know. She was such fun in the old days, always full of pluck, ready for an adventure and to hell with the consequences.” His face brightened in recollection. “Do you remember the day I dared her to ride her horse up the guardroom staircase?” He laughed in recollection. “What a day that was!”
“Perhaps. All I can remember is that she got a thundering scold from Enrick on the subject of inappropriate behaviour for his sister, and such a hiding from your father that she didn’t sit down for a week. You know, Eimer, she couldn’t remain an irresponsible hoyden for ever. Everyone must eventually grow up.”
“Must they? It never looks much fun to me, that is why I’m doing my best to avoid it.”
“Does she…..does she confide in you?”
“Not any more. If I question her, she just tells me to mind my own business. The only one she talks to is grandmother. All I get from her is a ticking off about my disreputable behaviour.” He snorted in annoyance. “I might have to take that from my pompous brother because he is, after all, the Crown Prince, but I don’t have to take it from someone who is only a year older than me. To hear her talk, one would think that she was a matriarch and I a schoolboy. Really, Vesarion, it’s too much. So I’m telling you, for your own good, turn tail and go back to Ravenshold.”
Vesarion chuckled. “You haven’t told me anything so very bad. Beside, riding up the guardroom staircase is not exactly the sort of behaviour one would expect from the Lady of Westrin.”
They had reached the top of the hill by now and passed through the wall surrounding the palace. While the guards filed off to the left, they dismounted and handed their horses to a stable lad. Vesarion drew off his long gauntlets and passing through another archway, entered the palace gardens, just now a little bare apart from a few daffodils. On the grass, where the wall cast a shadow, a slight dusting of frost glistened. Eimer fell into step beside his tall friend.
“I did my best to save you, you know. I told father that your loyalty was not in question and that it did not need this marriage to secure it, but he is completely under Enrick’s thumb. For weeks now, Enrick has been pouring into his ears tales of insurrection and rebellion. He has been telling father that if you proved false, our house would fall and you would take the throne for yourself.” He saw Westrin’s eyes flash with anger, and hurried on: “I know, I know. Don’t eat me. In his heart, father knows it’s nonsense but it has become habitual with him to defer to Enrick. You have been away too long, my friend.”
Vesarion stopped abruptly and faced him. “How bad is it? Tell me frankly, Eimer. All I hear is rumour.”
“I honest
ly don’t know. Enrick would have it that the eastern baronies, led by my lord of Sorne, are on the brink of open rebellion but all I can discover are some grumbles of dissatisfaction with this new land tax Enrick has introduced. You were not as badly hit as some of the other barons, because much of your income comes from the silver mines, but those whose estates are mainly farmland were hit hard. If he was big enough to back down and repeal it, I think the matter would be at an end, but you know Enrick, he won’t do that. It has become a matter of pride.”
“More of a petty squall than a full-blown gale, would you guess?”
“It’s hard to say. Enrick is anxious to keep me in ignorance – you see, knowledge is power, so he keeps it all to himself. I am excluded from all their earnest discussions, on the basis that I am too immature and irresponsible to be of much use.” Vesarion could not fail to hear the note of bitterness in the Prince’s voice.
“I don’t know what sort of game he is playing,” Eimer continued. “but I would have guessed that the last person he would have asked for help was you. So be careful, my friend, all will not be as it is presented to you. All you can be certain of, is that he is not promoting this match between you and Sareth from a desire to secure your future happiness.”
“Perhaps he thinks he can control me through Sareth,” remarked Vesarion reflectively.
The Prince laughed, his unaccustomed sobriety put to flight. “Then he doesn’t know you very well, does he? He might was well try to pin down the north wind.”
They had entered the palace by an unobtrusive side door and were now in a long corridor in the east wing.
“You have been given your usual apartments,” Eimer advised. “Father wants to see you as soon as you’ve changed, oh, and grandmother, too.”
