The Knight: A Tale from the High Kingdom (34 page)

3

Prince Yrdel had journeyed to the Free Cities several weeks before the queen and it had been agreed he would come out to meet her, from Samarande, so that they might make as solemn and spectacular an entry as possible at Angborn.

As Elenzio had pointed out, Yrdel was not expected so soon. He had in fact left Samarande several days in advance and, taking the most minimal escort possible for the heir to the High Kingdom’s throne, he’d travelled quickly. A vast round-up having permitted the arrest of the last opponents to Angborn’s cession, all had finally been made ready to receive the queen, the numerous foreign ambassadors and delegations accompanying her to witness this historic event, and above all, the envoys sent by the Black Hydra. Every paragraph, every line, every word of the treaty had been weighed, studied and debated in three languages – Langrian, Yrgaardian and Old Imelorian – by armies of jurists and diplomats over the course of days and nights, each modification of one version or another giving rise to further discussions and revisions.

But the treaty had been drawn up at last.

All that remained was to affix the seals of the two kingdoms and the signatures of Queen Celyane and of Prince Laedras at the bottom of this impressive document, the one acting as proxy for the High King and the other as that of the Black Hydra. Angborn would become Yrgaardian, as some maintained it had always been. Yrgaard would pay a heavy tribute to the High Kingdom in compensation. And diplomatic relations would officially resume between these two powerful, hereditary enemies, whose rivalry had shaped the history of Imelor for centuries.

Yrdel’s arrival was feted that evening aboard the Queen’s Ship, with a magnificent banquet in which Lorn was obliged to partake. He was more than weary of parties and balls, but he was the First Knight of the Realm and it was his duty to take his seat at the high table: his presence was expected and his absence would have drawn notice. He was part of the royal procession by virtue of being the High King’s delegate. It was why he’d insisted on coming along, despite the resistance of the queen, who wished to make Angborn’s cession her personal political triumph and was furious to learn that her husband would be officially represented at the ceremony. But that was precisely the mission Erklant had assigned to Lorn: be present, be seen, and speak in the king’s name.

During the banquet, with Yrdel presiding and Alan sitting between them, the queen treated Lorn just as she had since the beginning of the voyage and their forced proximity. Unable to drive him away, she ignored him. She did not speak to him, did not respond to him and did not see him. She even pretended not to hear or not to understand when someone made the mistake of mentioning Lorn in her presence. That hardly ever occurred, however. For scarcely any members of queen’s entourage considered Lorn worthy of respect. Most ignored him with varying degrees of disdain, the most skilful managing to never have occasion to speak with him at all. Esteveris was a notable exception. He alone behaved normally, while feigning not to notice the cold treatment meted out to the First Knight of the Realm by a jealous queen and her fawning courtiers. Even the foreign ambassadors, without being too obvious about it, found it prudent to avoid contact with him for the moment.

Being treated as a pariah suited Lorn.

He hated what the High Kingdom’s court had become: a nest of intrigue, and of envy, hypocrisy and cravenness, of ostentatious luxury where everyone owed their position to the queen, to her alone and not to one’s own merits – nor even one’s birth, which Lorn might have understood. This whole small, servile world made the most of its privileges and enriched itself, revelled and spent entire fortunes with no greater care than to please the queen and flatter her vanity, for she could bring about the disgrace of her favourites just as quickly as she had promoted them.

During the banquet, while the dishes were served and artists performed their entertainments, Lorn watched the courtiers with a cynical eye, as they only laughed and applauded when the queen did. But above all, he used the time to observe Prince Yrdel who was only sitting a few places away from him and hardly seemed to have changed over the past three years. His temples had greyed slightly. Otherwise he was the same gentleman whose Algueran pedigree was undisputable. Tall, slim and very dark, he was the son of the High King’s first wife, a royal princess of Alguera who had died giving birth to him. The contrast with his half-brother Alan, ten years younger, was stark. Blond, joyful and full of energy, Alan was the complete opposite of his elder sibling. At this table where both princes were sitting, only the younger drew notice, for he was one of those solar beings who attracted light and made it seem to glow brighter and warmer.

Lorn noted that Yrdel was not drinking and ate very little. He smiled when others roared with laughter. He lent an attentive ear to his table companions, answering them politely but in the end saying little, and he hardly seemed to enjoy the show put on by the jugglers, dancers and entertainers. No doubt his journey had exacerbated the fatigue brought on by the delicate negotiations he had conducted with Yrgaard. But more than that, Yrdel was behaving in accordance with his nature. Quiet and reserved, he had no fondness for the pleasures of food and drink, nor for festivities and luxury. And he did not seek to please, unlike Alan who – unconsciously – felt a need to shine.

As the banquet came to a close, the gazes of Lorn and Yrdel met and lingered for a moment. Lorn read weariness and resignation in the prince’s eyes and he understood that it was almost a confession that Yrdel was making to him. Why to Lorn and not another? They did not know one another well, truth be told. But the prince had perhaps guessed that they both would rather be eating stew with one of the guard units. That they both wanted to escape this drunken celebration and these smug smiles. That they felt the same disgust for this gaudy extravagance. Although Yrdel put on a better face than Lorn, they alone – with the exception of Esteveris – were not enjoying themselves, looking and listening rather than laughing and chattering.

But what made them even more alike was that both of them, in their own way, were strangers at this court. A silent observer, Yrdel had been the first to realise this, but Lorn, in turn, came to the same opinion soon enough. To be sure, Yrdel received all the signs of respect that were his due. He was lauded and flattered. But that was mere hypocrisy and pretence. He was the son of a queen whose memory was hateful to Queen Celyane, jealous of the love the High King had long borne for her predecessor. Despite the smiles and the attention she bestowed upon Yrdel in public, there was no doubt that Celyane preferred her own son Alan. The courtiers made no mistake on this score and knew that, in order to please the queen, it was wise to attach themselves to Prince Alderan. Besides, which of them did not actually prefer Alan, who made Yrdel seem so dull in comparison?

When Yrdel turned away to join his laughter to that which Alan had just provoked with some jest, Lorn recalled something Father Domnis had told him upon their arrival at Samarande. It concerned Alan: ‘
Some parties are starting to dream that he will inherit the throne upon the death of the High King.
’ And the white priest had added that the people were hoping for a great king and feared that ‘
Yrdel is not that king
’ .

Lorn’s gaze slowly swept over those present at the banquet, wondering how many here would rejoice, or at least raise no objection, if Alan seated himself upon the Onyx Throne instead of his elder brother.

His eyes slid over Esteveris who was watching him.

And then they came to rest upon the queen.

After the banquet, a magnificent display of fireworks was launched from a barge situated behind the Floating Palace. When the torches and lanterns were extinguished, Lorn used the darkness to slip away. He snatched a bottle of wine and went off on his own to a terrace exposed to the warm breeze, but just when he had sprawled out in an armchair with his feet crossed upon a low table, Yssaris nimbly leapt upon his thighs.

Lorn smiled.

‘So there you are. How are you?’

In guise of a reply, Yssaris pushed its small triangular head under Lorn’s hand.

Lorn had hesitated over whether to bring it along on this journey, the ginger cat having quickly made itself at home in the Black Tower and its surroundings. But then Lorn realised he was more attached to the cat than he believed and, above all, that the fits brought on by the Dark had ceased since the Emissary had entrusted it to Lorn’s care.

Was it a coincidence?

Lorn wasn’t sure. He only knew that the young cat’s presence relaxed him, and now once again, the heat and Yssaris’s gentle purring did not take long to soothe him as Lorn sat there with the cat in his lap and drinking from his bottle of wine.

Behind him the night lit up, the rockets splashing the Great Nebula’s pale constellations with bright colours.

4

The following day, Lorn made a point of joining his men for training. The Onyx Guards had obtained exclusive use of the fencing room on the Princes’ Ship for two hours per day, early in the morning and late in the evening.

Vahrd was missing from roll call.

‘Anyone know where the Old Man is?’ asked Lorn.

No one knew, but Dwain, who shared a cabin with the blacksmith, said:

‘Somebody knocked on the door this morning. It was Vahrd who opened. I was still sleeping and it woke me up.’

‘Did you see who it was?’

‘No. And since the Old Man seemed acquainted with them, I didn’t worry about it. After all, he still knows a lot of people. They spoke in low voices, and then they went off together.’

‘Did Vahrd say anything to you?’

‘Only that he’d be back in time for training.’

Lorn raised an eyebrow.

‘I don’t like the sound of this.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Dwain. ‘Perhaps I should have—’

‘No,’ Lorn curt him short. ‘Vahrd doesn’t need a chaperone.’

‘It’s barely been an hour since he left,’ noted Logan.

‘That’s true,’ Lorn admitted.

But it worried him, and it could be read upon his face.

‘We could try asking around,’ proposed Liam.

Lorn hesitated but then saw all their eyes urging him to agree; they wanted to help.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But discreetly and carefully. I don’t need to remind you that we’re not exactly popular around here: if Alan hadn’t invited us, we’d be sleeping down in the hold. So don’t make matters worse if the Old Man has got himself in a fix.’

‘Don’t bother,’ said Vahrd. ‘I’m here.’

Everyone turned towards the doorway, where the old blacksmith had just appeared.

‘All right?’ asked Yeras.

Vahrd nodded, but he had sombre look and his face was drawn.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Lorn.

‘May I speak with you?’

‘Of course.’

The others understood and withdrew, exchanging nods with Vahrd, who seemed grateful for their support.

‘It’ll be fine, lads. Thank you.’

‘Logan!’ Lorn called.

‘Yes?’

‘Guard the door, will you?’

‘Yes, knight.’

The mercenary with the twin swords shut the doors behind him, leaving Lorn and Vahrd alone in the fencing room.

‘It’s Naé,’ said the blacksmith in a low voice. ‘She’s been arrested.’

‘Naé? But why?’

‘She was part of the group of insurgents who wanted to prevent Angborn’s cession.’

‘Idealists.’

‘Patriots!’ Vahrd corrected Lorn in a harsher tone than he intended and which he immediately regretted. ‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling himself together. ‘I knew it was a terrible idea.’

‘Is it this group she went to join, when she left the Citadel?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you knew. And you let her do it.’

The old blacksmith did not appreciate the reproach.

‘I told you I raised her to be independent. To make her decisions on her own. Good or bad.’

‘This one was bad, obviously.’

Vahrd grew heated.

‘I bloody well know that!’ he exclaimed.

Logan had to have heard that outburst. Lorn and Vahrd turned towards the door, but it remained closed.

‘All right,’ said Lorn after a moment. ‘What happened?’

‘They were all rounded up a few weeks ago. Naé along with the rest.’

‘And where is she right now?’

‘Here. She arrived yesterday with Prince Yrdel’s baggage. A little gift for Esteveris.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I still have a few friends. Reliable friends.’

Lorn rubbed his face and thought.

‘We can’t leave Naé in Esteveris’s hands,’ said Vahrd in an almost pleading tone.

‘I know,’ said Lorn as he continued to mull over the matter. ‘I know …’

‘So what are we going to do?’

Lorn made up his mind.

‘You’ll do nothing at all,’ he said. ‘I’ll speak with Alan.’

‘I’m coming with you.’

‘No.’

‘Lorn, please. Naé’s my daughter.’

Lorn hesitated, but gave in.

‘All right. But keep your mouth shut, understood?’

‘Understood. Thank you, Lorn.’

‘You’ll thank me when we’ve got Naé out of this mess.’

Lorn asked to see Alan. Since it was still early, the prince had just woken up. Nevertheless he received Lorn and Vahrd in his private apartment, as he was finishing his washing up.

He was in an excellent mood.

‘What brings you here at such an early hour, Lorn? Good morning, Vahrd.’ Alan paused and gave the old blacksmith a circumspect glance. ‘I’m not certain I’ve ever seen you outside the Citadel …’

Vahrd bowed.

‘We need your help,’ Lorn announced gravely.

His expression worried the prince, whose smile faded.

‘One moment,’ he said.

He went to close the door leading to his bedroom, Lorn just having time to catch a glimpse of a young blonde woman still asleep behind the gauzy veils of a four-poster bed, in a tangle of white sheets and plump pillows. Alan then invited Lorn and Vahrd to sit with him around a small low table, on which was placed a platter of fruit. Still in his shirtsleeves and unshaven, he said:

‘I’m listening. What’s this all about?’

Lorn outlined the situation in a few words. Alan listened, attentive and concerned. Like Lorn, he had been close to Naé during the summers spent within the Citadel’s austere walls, until life had drawn them apart. No doubt he felt less affection for the young woman than Lorn did. But special bonds – which neither Lorn nor Vahrd knew about – still linked him to her.

‘She was with Dorsian?’ Alan asked Vahrd.

The blacksmith nodded.

‘You know about this?’ Lorn exclaimed in surprise.

‘I didn’t know Naé had been arrested. But yes, I was aware of the operation that captured Dorsian and his accomplices, although I believed they were all being held in the gaol cells at Angborn or its fortress. Yrdel told me yesterday.’

Upon hearing the word ‘accomplices’ Vahrd grew tense, but held his tongue.

Lorn turned to him.

‘Naé followed Dorsian?’ And incredulous, he insisted: ‘Cael Dorsian?’

‘Yes. You know him?’

The old blacksmith did not understand the look of astonishment and annoyance that he read upon Lorn’s face.

Lorn and Alan exchanged a glance.

‘We know him, yes,’ said the prince.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Lorn, trying to dismiss the problem. But speaking to Vahrd again, he asked: ‘But don’t tell me he and Naé …’

He did not finish.

‘What?’ asked Vahrd.

He was slow to comprehend, before blurting out:

‘Naé and … No! Of course not!’ He hesitated. ‘Well … Yes, perhaps …’ And then he finally protested: ‘But I’m her father! How do you expect me to know that kind of thing?’

Alan rose to his feet, putting an end to the meeting.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ll take care of this.’

Imitated by Vahrd, Lorn also stood, and asked:

‘What do you intend to do?’

‘First of all, get dressed. Then I’ll speak to Esteveris.’

‘You can’t ask your brother to set her free?’

‘The official version is that Dorsian’s arrest was my brother’s doing. The truth is that all credit should go to Dalk, Esteveris’s henchman.’

‘I don’t know him,’ said Lorn.

‘Believe me, you will. The fact remains that it’s Esteveris who is actually holding Naé, if I understand correctly. Not Yrdel. Nor even the justice of the High Kingdom.’

Vahrd had a question burning his lips but he dared not ask it. Lorn saw this and, with a nod, urged him to speak. So the old blacksmith cleared his throat and, embarrassed, said to the prince:

‘There’s one thing I don’t understand, my lord.’

‘What’s that?’

‘If all the others are being guarded in the dungeon cells at Angborn or Saarsgard, why did Esteveris have my daughter brought here? Why make an exception for her?’

Saarsgard was the massive fortress defending Angborn.

‘Because Esteveris knows who Naé is,’ explained Alan. ‘So he knows what she’s worth, which is both good news and bad …’

‘What she’s worth?’ interjected Lorn.

‘She’s the daughter of the royal blacksmith. Perhaps Esteveris sees her as a means of implicating the Citadel and the High King, albeit indirectly, in a scandal. Or else he plans to use her to put pressure on you, Vahrd. Or on you, Lorn. Or perhaps even on me. Because you can be sure that fat snake knows what Naé means to us …’

Lorn and Vahrd returned to the quarters assigned to the Onyx Guards, where they found the others waiting. The old blacksmith having agreed, Lorn explained to his men what was going on. They listened gravely, occasionally exchanging astonished glances and casting rather admiring ones at Vahrd.

‘She has courage, your girl,’ commented Liam when Lorn had finished.

‘You can say that again!’ exclaimed Vahrd with a mixture of pride and anxiety.

‘She’s not afraid of anything and she’s as stubborn as a mule,’ added Lorn. ‘You know who she gets that from.’

‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Dwain.

‘Alan said to do nothing until we hear from him,’ Lorn replied. ‘And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.’

‘Nonetheless,’ said Yeras, ‘we could find out exactly where she’s being held, and tonight, one or two of us—’

‘No. No raids, no clever tricks. We wait.’

So they waited and two hours passed before Alan sent someone to fetch Lorn. The two friends met again in a discreet spot on the Princes’ Ship, away from prying ears.

‘I don’t have a lot of time,’ said Alan. ‘I’m lunching with my brother and mother.’

‘Did you see Esteveris?’

‘I’m a prince of the High Kingdom,’ replied Alan in an amused tone which contained a hint of pride. ‘I see whomever I want.’

Lorn did not dispute the point.

‘That’s true. So?’

‘So I spoke to Esteveris, but I did not obtain Naé’s freedom. Indeed, I did not ask for it.’

‘What?’ Lorn exclaimed angrily, while trying to keep his voice down. ‘Why not? You said—’

‘I said I would take care of this matter and that’s what I’m doing.’

‘Really? Because you seem to be going about it the wrong way.’

‘And you don’t seem to know what you’re talking about. It’s not a question of taking a bastion by assault. Or of intimidating some militia leader.’

Surprised, Lorn stared at Alan.

Was he referring to Andara? And if so, how much did he know?

The tension between them having dropped a notch, Alan looked Lorn straight in the eye and calmly explained:

‘The first thing we must do is ensure this whole story is true and we’re not charging headlong into a trap. Believe me when I tell you that one can never be too careful with Esteveris. What I did not say in front of Vahrd, earlier, is that if Esteveris had Naé brought to the Floating Palace, it’s because we’re here. You and I. He must know we’d learn of Naé’s presence, and he’s playing some game where only he knows the rules and the stakes …’

Lorn was forced to acknowledge that Alan was right.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘Forgive me.’

‘Do you trust me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Esteveris admits he’s holding Naé: that’s a start. The game has begun and we’ll need to play skilfully. It will take days, perhaps weeks, but I have a good chance of winning. All right?’

‘All right.’

‘I want to see Naé freed as much as you do. But don’t try anything. Let me handle it. Before anything else, I need to discover what Esteveris really wants.’

Lorn nodded reluctantly.

Knowing that Naé was close by and being unable to save her was unbearable. He felt helpless, caught in an incomprehensible scheme, and he hated that. He had been a patient man, but now, fed by his anger, he was filled with a constant sense of urgency. He needed to act, to be doing something to further his aims, and to let none stand in his way.