by R. J. Grieve
These encounters were the most difficult for Bethro, for they made him homesick for his cosy study in Addania. In his mind he saw the fire burning brightly in the hearth and a glass of the finest mead in his hand, as he contentedly toasted his toes. Once they happened to pass an inn, its brightly lit windows standing open to the velvety night, and carried to them with poignant clarity on the still air, was the sound of merriment - the clinking of tankards, snatches of song and laughter. Somehow, such signs of normality made them all feel like outcasts, ghosts at the feast.
By the end of each night’s journey, just as the first few golden threads of sunrise began to set the sky a-glow and the dew was heavy on the grass, they would seek somewhere to conceal themselves for the day. Usually they would make use of one of the dense little copses of trees with which the countryside was dotted, but occasionally they would find a dilapidated barn, clearly seldom used. Vesarion, ever cautious, insisted that when they slept during the day, someone must always be on guard. However, his prudence seemed misplaced, for their presence appeared to go undetected. Apart from the fact that whenever they passed close to a village or farm, the dogs responded by barking hysterically as they caught the unfamiliar scent of Turog, no one else seemed to be aware of their existence.
From their hiding places during the hours of daylight, they watched normal life carrying on around them. They observed some farmworkers scything a hayfield; children playing on a swing suspended from an apple tree, and a tranquil line of cows lumbering their way along a rutted lane to be milked, just as the purple evening shadows fell. Vesarion, in particular, well used to managing his estates and therefore most appreciative of all he saw, found it ever harder to believe that such seemingly idyllic surroundings could be the seat of evil. The whole idea that the sword had been brought here to fulfil some wicked scheme, grew more and more preposterous in his mind. However, as was his habit, he kept his thoughts to himself. Inwardly he battled both his renewed doubts about the wisdom of their course of action, and the growing certainty that he had irretrievably let slip from his hand all that was becoming most dear to him.
He would have been disconcerted to know that his thoughts were not so well hidden as he supposed, for his travelling companions were beginning to get to know the reclusive man behind the façade just a little too well for comfort.
On the day before they were due to arrive in the city, they had rested during the hot summer’s day within the pleasant shade of a dense stand of trees. As they drew closer to the capital, it became more and more difficult to avoid contact with people and they had suffered a close shave the night before when a courting couple had descended on the barn in which they had been hiding. Fortunately they were too wrapped up in each other to notice the silent shadows that slipped out the back into the dusk. But the encounter had unsettled them, making those on guard take their duties more seriously. Consequently, when Sareth came to relieve Iska in the late afternoon, as the shadows fell in long stripes between pools of cinnamon light, she found her alert, looking out across the fields with dutiful attention.
Sareth, speaking softly so as not to awake their sleeping companions, said: “Vesarion would be very proud of you, Iska – alert and wide awake. I think he’d be less pleased with me. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I can’t get used to this topsy-turvy existence of being awake at night and asleep during the day.”
Iska glanced towards the subject of their conversation, who appeared to have no such difficulty himself.
“He has a lot on his mind, I think. I get the impression that he is assailed with doubts about our mission again. I caught him giving me a couple of is-she-to-be-trusted looks, which I haven’t seen for a while. Also, from something he said to me a few days ago, I know he is searching in his mind for answers to the question of why you agreed to marry him in the first place. Unfortunately, at the moment, he is coming up with every answer but the correct one. Still, it’s an encouraging sign.”
“What did he say?”
“He thinks you agreed to the betrothal to get away from Enrick, but he’s clearly not satisfied with that answer.”
Sareth gave a troubled sigh. “Why did I agree to that betrothal? I sometimes don’t know myself any more. What should I have done, Iska? Marry the King of Serendar, as Enrick originally wanted, and lose hope for ever? Or marry someone I loved, and have the pain of seeing him every day, knowing that he felt nothing for me? What would you have done?”
Iska’s amber eyes were sombre, her heart sore for Sareth. “I would have done exactly as you did, hoping that something would come of it – but it was a terrible risk to take.”
“Yes. And I took it and lost.” Sareth walked past her friend and stood looking out across the fields, her gaze distant. “Do you know something, Iska? I heard Bethro say today that he is homesick. He longs to be back in his cosy room in Addania, and I realised that perhaps I alone of our party, do not want to return. What is there for me if I go back? Vesarion will return to being Lord of Westrin. Bethro will have his library and I suppose even Eimer will pick up where he left off with hunting and barmaids, but what is there for me? Nothing. Enrick told me that if I didn’t marry Vesarion, he would throw me out on the street. With anyone else I would say it was a bluff, but with him I am not so sure. Only father can stop him, but he stands up to him less and less with each passing day. I just don’t know what sort of future awaits me when I go back.”
“At least you still have a home,” retorted Iska bleakly. “Do you not realise that if we achieve what we set out achieve, it is unlikely that I can stay here?”
“Your absence will have been noticed?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I have a room over the stables in the palace that I can reach unobserved by climbing a tree, so no one sees me come and go, even when I am there - and certainly no one will have been looking for me. My brothers have spent years trying to pretend that I don’t exist and have almost perfected the art. So maybe I’ll be lucky and no one will be aware that I disappeared for a very long time.”
Iska was relieved when Sareth appeared to accept what she said and did not question her further, but the next day, she was not so fortunate with Vesarion.
They had travelled through the night and stopped just as dawn was breaking and the first birdsong was taking to the air. They had halted at the edge of a thicket and Iska was in the middle of explaining that the city was just out of sight behind a wooded ridge, when Vesarion cut in, asking her how she proposed to get them past the guards.
“We’ll go in with the early morning traffic,” she replied. “We’ll drop Gorm off in the eastern wood, then join the queue that forms every morning as produce is brought in from the surrounding countryside. In all the fuss and chaos, we should be able to slip through unnoticed, especially if we split into two groups – we’ll be less conspicuous that way. If we get separated, take the street to the right, immediately past the gate and follow it until you reach a square with a fountain. We’ll meet up there.”
But it appeared that her interrogator was not satisfied. “Surely, Iska, you will be recognised? I know that your father has ignored you ever since he discovered that you do not possess the gift, but you are still his daughter and a Royal Princess. The guards will have been trained to recognise you, to pay the proper respect due to your rank.”
Iska, to her annoyance, felt herself begin to blush. “Don’t worry about that,” she said, making a fair attempt at nonchalance. “They won’t know me.”
But if she was beginning to know Vesarion, the reverse was also true. He remained looking at her levelly, clearly not at all convinced.
“Iska,” he said quietly. “I think the time for games is over. The truth, if you please.”
She shrugged, about to prevaricate, but unfortunately met his glance and found his eyes so penetrating that she was forced to drop her gaze to the ground.
“I….I….”
“Why will they not know you?” he persisted.
Iska finally looked up, he
r cheeks burning, only too aware that the attention of all her companions was riveted to her.
“I told you that my mother was a noblewoman whom the King married long after his first wife had died without giving him a daughter. I also told you that she died when I was born.” She drew a difficult breath. “Well, only some of that is true. The King is indeed my father and my mother died when I was born but….but he never married her. She was a chambermaid in the palace who caught his fancy. Their brief affair resulted in me. My father would have denied that I was his at all, were it not for one thing – he was desperate for a daughter with the gift, in order to cement his power. So he acknowledged that I was his, in the hope that I could give him what he wanted, but when I failed the test, he had no further use for me. He didn’t want the people to know about me. I was an embarrassment to be repudiated, forgotten as if I never existed. My brothers, always deeply ashamed of me, were only too happy to concur. I have a room in the servants’ quarters and am allowed to get food from the palace kitchens – that is all. That is the extent of my contact with my loving family. Callis is all I have now. As a child I felt so ignored that, as I told you, it became a game with me to see just how invisible I could make myself.”
“So that, at least was true,” remarked Vesarion.
“Yes. Like some lost spirit, I found my way into every tunnel and passage. I explored the countryside until I knew every rock and tree. Anything to avoid the fact that, apart from Callis, I had no one to care whether I was alive or dead.”
Eimer, who had been listening with a look of pity on his face, stepped towards her with the intention of offering comfort.
“You have us, Iska,” he offered. “We are your family now.”
“One doesn’t lie to one’s family,” interjected Vesarion, a little forbiddingly.
Iska looked at him, tears standing in her eyes. “You have no idea how ashamed I am of my birth. I am illegitimate, a nobody, a bastard. I didn’t even inherit the gift. No, my lowly mother tainted the royal blood, spoiling and diluting it so that it no longer carried the power of old – at least, that is what my father thinks. It was only when Callis let me read the Book of Light that I began to hope that some day I might be judged not by my parents’ actions but for myself.”
“You are not responsible for your birth, Iska,” Sareth said reassuringly, “and personally speaking, I don’t care who your parents are. I understand why you hid it from us, but you had no need. No one here will judge you harshly.”
But looking around the circle of faces, Iska wasn’t sure. Vesarion still looked stern and Bethro, a great admirer of ancient lineage, doubtful. Only Gorm, sitting down examining a hole in the sole of his boot, was totally disinterested. Yet when her eyes returned to Eimer, it was a different story. He put his arm round her shoulders and gave her a brotherly hug.
“I don’t care either,” he said, demonstrating how like his sister he was. “I mean, take my brother Enrick, for example - totally legitimate and one of the nastiest pieces of work you are ever likely to come across. So, I assure you, legitimacy is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
He managed to draw a smile from her, but she was watching Vesarion who had been silent all this time.
“Forgive me, Vesarion. I know you are a proud man and I thought you would despise me.”
He looked a little startled by that statement and his expression immediately softened. “Of course I forgive you,” he offered generously. “It is, after all, partly my fault that I made you afraid to tell me. I should be asking your forgiveness for that.”
He smiled at her and for the very first time, Iska began to understand why Sareth loved him.
“Now,” he said decisively. “If I remember your instructions correctly, we must hide all weapons before we enter the city.”
Although the Kingdom of Adamant was smaller than Eskendria, its capital city was, conversely, much more grand - one reason being the fact that it was not constrained by the need for fortifications. Addania was squeezed onto an island that rose steeply out of the waters of a wide river. All its houses and buildings were crammed within the protective confines of the walls without regard to convenience or planning. But Adamant was very different. Its walls were a fairly nominal affair, more decorative than defensive. They were neither high enough, nor thick enough to repel an invading army. The city was set within a perfect square, unprotected by moat or ramp. A magnificent archway pierced each wall, free from the encumbrance of a portcullis and guarded only by tall, ornately-carved wooden gates, that just now stood open to admit the stream of dusty traffic coming in from the surrounding plain.
Carts pulled by sturdy dray-horses approached the gates, laden with all manner of produce from live chickens in cages, to bolts of fabric; from wooden churns of milk to baskets of vegetables. There were vendors pushing wooden wheelbarrows piled high with their wares and many individual travellers both on foot and on horseback.
Due to the fact that they refused to form an orderly line but approached the impressive gates from all directions, the warm morning air was soon rent by the sound of chaos. There were only half a dozen armed guards manning the gates and they were attempting to levy some sort of tax on the goods entering the city, resulting in a cacophony of vociferous complaints and bickering. Vesarion, watching the melee in some amusement, began to understand why Iska was so confident that they could slip past unchallenged. After depositing Gorm in the wood a short distance from the eastern gate, they had concealed their weapons and divided into two groups. Eimer, much to his chagrin, got stuck with Bethro, while Vesarion went with the two women.
“Remember,” said Iska in a low voice as they approached the gate, “try not to speak and if you must, keep it short. At the inn you must pose as our brother, Vesarion, as it would be unusual for two young women to be travelling alone.” She gave a rather wicked grin. “It can’t be helped that you don’t look like either of us. I could always say you are my step-brother but I don’t think I could stand the strain of a third one.”
“Actually,” he replied, “Sareth and I are distantly related. Her great-grandfather and my great-grandmother were brother and sister, so I think that makes us some sort of cousins, but I’ve never really worked out what.”
By the time they reached the gate, the guards were looking harassed and over-heated. One, in the middle of conducting an argument with the owner of a cart laden with cooking pots, glanced briefly at them, and seeing that they carried no goods, distractedly waved them through.
Sareth, relieved at how easy it had all been, resisted the temptation to look back at Bethro and Eimer a short distance behind, and followed her two companions into the broad avenue that lay ahead of them within the walls. The city seemed to be set out on a gridiron pattern. It had many main thoroughfares, impressively broad, with grand houses bedecked with painted shutters and red tiled roofs. Each major avenue was flanked by plinths bearing bronze figures of dragons that obviously acted as some sort of torches, as they were blackened with fire. However, once they took the side-street to the right, the paved road became narrower and the houses less impressive, yet more appealingly homely. Many archways and gates gave glimpses of shady courtyards, either prosaically hung with washing, or crowded with flowerpots brimming with colour. They began to come to a more commercial district with small shops, their wares protected from the sun by colourful awnings. The streets were crowded with townspeople and shoppers. Serving-girls in striped aprons, carrying baskets, haggled with fishmongers. Carts trundled past, laden with goods, their wheels rumbling on the square cobbles. A baker’s boy adeptly balanced a tray full of loaves on his head, as he deftly weaved in and out of the throng. Flower-girls called to passers-by, drawing their attention to displays bursting with scent and vibrancy. A stray dog shot past them, a stolen joint of meat clamped determinedly between its teeth, pursued by the irate butcher wielding a meat cleaver.
Sareth drank it all in, delighted by all she saw, and was almost sorry when they reached the quiet sq
uare where a fountain played within the confines of a stone-edged basin. Bethro sat down wearily on the rim and splashed his face with the cool water, while Iska explained what happened next.
“I must go to the palace to get money and to see if I have been missed. We should remain in two groups to be less conspicuous. I will take you to separate inns and get you settled in. I’m not sure how long I will be, but barring mishaps, we should all meet at this fountain in two hours time. Then I would like to introduce you to Callis. I am longing to see him again. In the meantime, you must stay out of sight in your rooms – and whatever you do, don’t attempt to use coins of Eskendrian mint. I will provide you with some local currency when we meet.”
Iska, reverting to the habits of a lifetime, soon left the busy streets behind and disappeared into a complex network of narrow alleyways inhabited only by stray cats and pigeons. Without the slightest hesitation, she threaded her way through the confusing maze until she arrived at the ornate wall that bounded the parkland in which the palace stood. Casting a quick glance around to make sure she was unobserved, she grasped an old ivy that was lovingly embracing the wall and in an instant she was dropping down lightly inside on the grass of a pleasant parkland, dotted with trees. In the distance she could see the palace, its many tall windows opening onto wide terraces set with urns of trailing flowers. Like the city, the palace was opulent, built for pleasure rather than functionality. However, she did not approach the main palace building but veered off towards the considerably less grand buildings that housed the servants’ quarters and stables. Approaching the stable block from the back, with practised ease, she shinned up a stout ash tree and wriggled along a branch until she was close to a window on the floor above the tack room. Expertly levering the casement window open, in a trice she was inside, her progress observed by no one other than a magpie chattering its disapproval from the top of the tree.
