The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (12 page)

 But Eimer wagged a disapproving finger at him. “If you are
going to call me ‘Your Highness’, all evening, I’m not budging a step from this
spot.”

 Bethro’s grin widened. “Certainly not…er…Eimer.”

 “Excellent,” declared the Prince. “Lead on, my friend.”

 Lord Sorne led his visitor into a cosy side room that might
reasonably have been described as a study due to the book-lined walls, but one
glance assured Vesarion that they were seldom read. Their spines were splitting
and their beautiful leather bindings, tooled with gold, were spotted with
mould. Every shelf bore evidence of neglect in the form of grey dust, clearly a
persistent and seldom disturbed trespasser.

 A large, slightly battered, desk sat by the window
scattered with ledgers, parchments and letters. The last lingering rays of the
spring sunshine glittered on the tiny diamond panes of the widow setting them
sparkling with rainbow colours. It also shot a prism of light from a tall,
cut-glass decanter sitting on the desk, flanked by two elegant wine glasses. A
fire burned welcomingly in the hearth and on either side of it sat comfortable,
much-used armchairs. Pevorion crossed to the desk and poured out two generous
glasses of wine. He handed one to Vesarion with the admonition to make himself at
home.

 “A good conversation is always better enjoyed if one is at
one’s ease, I always say. Sit down, Vesarion, sit down. You know I don’t stand
on ceremony.”

 But it wasn’t protocol that had kept the younger man
standing. He was now having to come to a decision that had perplexed him for
most of their journey – what to tell Pevorion. He sank into the chair and sat
contemplating his glass, watching the firelight casting rubies into his wine.
How much could he trust Pevorion? Should he tell him why he was hunting the
boy? Should he reveal Enrick’s suspicions? Finally, aware that an unusual
silence had fallen, he lifted his head to find the object of his thoughts
regarding him intently, with a look very far removed from buffoonery. Vesarion
prided himself on his ability to assess men – an essential quality in those who
govern, and his instinct had seldom been wrong. He squarely met the glance that
was being directed at him and knew in his heart that there was no treachery in
this man. There were no schemes, no political ambitions, no hidden depths.
True, he sometimes overplayed the bluff rustic to distract others from the fact
that he had a remarkably shrewd insight into how the world worked. He was no
intellectual, like Bethro, but he had the honest man’s ability to detect a lie.

 Their gaze held for a long moment, and Vesarion suddenly
realised that he, too, was being assessed.

 “You’re like your grandfather, you know,” Pevorion said at
last.

 “You knew him?”

 “I met him once or twice at Addania. I was just a young lad
and wouldn’t have dared to speak to the great Erren-dar but for some reason
when I was looking at you just now, you reminded me of him.” He paused before
resuming: “I take it you have something of a dilemma?”

 “Perhaps.”

 “You are wondering just how far you can trust me. You
needn’t deny it. I have always spoken my mind too freely to ever be a favourite
of Enrick’s, so I hardly think he has been singing my praises to you. However,
whatever I think of the Crown Prince, I am loyal to King Meldorin – believe
that or not as you wish.”

 But Vesarion, watching him closely, did believe it and made
the sudden decision that he would take no part in Enrick’s intrigues. Starting
with the theft of the sword, he told Pevorion all that had happened. He told
him of how they had pursued their quarry to the forest of Ninn before losing
him. He spoke of the attack by the bandits and lastly he told him of how Enrick
had sent him to form an opinion of the baron’s loyalty.

 “And what is your opinion?”

 “I think my opinion matters nothing to Enrick, but just to
make myself clear, I think he begins to see disloyalty from anyone who dares to
question what he does in even the smallest degree – and that does not bode well
for the future of this kingdom.”

 Pevorion sighed and took a sip of his wine. “Enrick’s
suspicions, I have known about for some time, but all that you tell me about
the theft of the sword is news. Like you, Vesarion, I feel we have only
scratched the surface of this matter. There is much more going on than meets
the eye and I agree with you that the only way you are going to get answers is
to catch up with your quarry. At first light, I will send my sons to the
bridges to find out if he has crossed into the Forsaken Lands. If not, I will
help you search one end of this barony to the other until we unearth him.”

 “Thank you. Your help is much needed, but surely you should
send some servants rather than your sons.”

 “Nonsense!” exclaimed the devoted father, relapsing a
little into his former manner. “What is the point in having seven sons if not
to always have someone to do your bidding. Their mother says that their intellect
doesn’t match their stature but they are good huntsmen, every one of them, so
they’ll find this lad, never fear.” The smile faded from his face. “Mind you,
if he has crossed into the Forsaken Lands, he is playing a dangerous game.
There are three small settlements on the far bank of the Harnor. When they were
established some years ago, some doubted the wisdom of encroaching into a place
with such an evil reputation but at first all seemed well. There is unlimited
timber to be had in the Great Forest and apart from a few deer, the place
seemed deserted. As you know, it used to be the haunt of the Turog but
following their defeat at the last battle, most of them were killed, and the
few who survived just slunk away into the forest and disappeared from sight. But
recently all that has begun to change. At first, one of the villages – I think
it was Greendell  – began to report the theft of some livestock. Not much more
than a couple of chickens, a lamb, that sort of thing. No one could identify
the thief, as the raids were always stealthy, taking place in the depths of the
night. Then one farmer, a little tired of hens going missing, baited a trap and
sat up one night waiting to see what turned up. You can imagine that he got the
fright of his life when he discovered his thief was a Turog. He caught it in a
net, and swiftly regretted it. It was snarling and struggling, swiping at him
with those long claws they have. He tried to hold it, but even though it was
the smaller, common kind which, as you know, are not as tall as a man, it was fearsomely
strong and tore his net and got away. Since then, they have become even bolder
and are now conducting raids in groups. A homestead was wiped out two weeks
ago, the woodsman and all his family butchered.”

 “I had heard there was some trouble but not that it was so
serious. Have you informed the King of this?”

 “Of course I have, but I suspect he merely handed my letter
to Enrick. I have long known of his accusations against me. Twice I have been
in the very act of mounting my horse to come to Addania to challenge him and
twice Kelda has prevented me. She is of the opinion that Enrick would have me
arrested the moment I set foot in Addania on some trumped-up charge of treason
and my life might very well be in danger.”

 Vesarion’s brows snapped together. “He would not dare!”

 “Would he not? You stay aloof from politics in your
mountain fortress. I think you might be surprised how bold he has become. It is
well known throughout this land that power resides with him. His father, I am
sad to say, is now merely a figurehead.” He sighed. “I remember the old king,
Andarion, and a fine man he was too. He ruled this country as it should be
ruled with strength, wisdom and fairness. It’s hard to believe that his son is
so little like him. Oh, I admit there is no malice in King Meldorin, but there
is no strength in him either and the Prince exploits this to his advantage.
Take, for example, this new tax on farmland. It is crippling me, Vesarion. My
people cannot pay more than they already do, so I must make up the difference
myself and it is ruining me. Have you looked around you? Why do you think this
place is in such disrepair?”

 “But Sorne is mainly forest, not farmland. Why is it
hitting you so hard?”

 Pevorion’s bushy red eyebrows came down in a scowl.
“Because Enrick has decreed that since my people use the forest to make
charcoal and provide timber it is, in fact, farmland.”

“
What!
”

 “Do you want to see his letter? When I challenged him, he
wrote to me himself correcting my…ah….misapprehension and pointing out that it
could be construed as treason to question the decision of the King – as if the
King ever made such a decision. He also put something else in his letter which
has angered me intensely and which I am sure he has not told you about.”

 Pevorion arose, and crossing to the desk rummaged about in
the mess until he found a letter bearing the royal seal.

 “Here it is,” he said returning to his chair. Vesarion
waited expectantly as his host’s eyes scanned the lines. “Ah, here we are. I
wanted to give you the exact wording - he has told me that because my loyalty
is in doubt, I can no longer raise a militia or employ more than ten permanent guards.
There, see for yourself,” he said, handing across the letter.

 Vesarion sat up as if stung. “This is madness!”

 “I have wanted for months now to clear the nest of robbers
out of Ninn. Like every other barony except Westrin, I would have to raise a
militia to do it. There are over thirty cut-throats in that forest and it would
take nearly a hundred men to flush them out. In the past, this would have been
a routine matter, but now there is nothing I can do about it. Then there is the
matter of the Turog. I have not the men to defend those settlements across the
river and if things continue like this for much longer, they may very well have
to be abandoned. All I have are my boys and ten men-at-arms to protect a barony
the size of Sorne. Could you maintain law and order with that number? Enrick
most certainly knows I cannot. I sometimes think he has done this deliberately
to try and provoke me. Beforehand, I would have offered to supply you with all
the men you could possibly need to search for this thief, but now I am
emasculated by this puppy in Addania.”

 “He sees conspiracy in every shadow,” remarked Vesarion
contemptuously.

 “He does indeed, to the point that I sometimes doubt his
sanity. He is leading this land to the brink of civil war, for I am not the
only baron to suffer. These are the sons and grandsons of the men who fought in
the great battle of Addania against the forces of the Destroyer, it is unwise
to think they can be treated as fools. In fact the only barony not to suffer so
far is Westrin.”

 Vesarion looked at him consideringly. “Do you think he
fears me?” he asked.

 “He does. I think you are the only one of his barons that
he does fear. You command two thousand men of the Kingdom’s crack cavalry
regiment, so he dare not cross you – at least, not yet. I think, if you will
forgive my bluntness, that he is attempting other methods to bind you to his
cause.”

 Vesarion looked a little uncomfortable and said nothing.

 “On the surface,” continued Pevorion, “it certainly looks as
if his intention is to marry you to the royal house, thus separating you from
the other barons, but he plays a risky game, for Sareth hates her brother, and
well he knows it. She might, in the end, turn you against him. So tread
carefully, my friend.”

 They both stared into the fire for a moment, reflecting on
the magnitude of what had been said.

 Suddenly, Pevorion spoke again, as if a new thought had
just struck him. “Where are the Ravenshold Brigands now? You said you were
commanded to bring them with you to Addania.”

 “Yes. When I left Addania in such a hurry, I expected to
catch up with this accursed boy within the day and took only the few men that
you see with me. The bulk of the division, I ordered to return to Ravenshold.”

 “And was that order carried out?” Pevorion asked
significantly. Their eyes met and held, neither under any illusion as to what
was being said.

 “I don’t know. I had no time to wait and see.”

 “Do you think your men would disobey a direct order from the
King in your absence?”

 “No,” responded Vesarion curtly. “They would not. Perhaps I
should send my captain to find out what is happening.”

 “Perhaps you should.”

 “The theft of the sword, if indeed it
was
stolen,
was a very convenient device to get me out of the way - and quickly. I must
return to Addania just as soon as I can get this matter settled.”

 “I agree. If Enrick gets control of the Brigands, then you
are no better off than the rest of us. So do not tarry, Vesarion, do not
tarry.”

 The night was a fine one, with a silver moon riding in a
clear sky. The darkness of the heavens was punctured here and there by stars
twinkling bravely despite the brightness of their stronger cousin. The air was
still and balmy, heady with the sweetly acrid smell of wood smoke, perennially
evocative of the barony. The forest embracing the old castle gently breathed
the fresh, living smell of growing things, a scent that always seemed to
Vesarion to be more noticeable, more concentrated at night.

 He had opened the leaded casement window of his room and was
resting his elbows on the sill, leaning out and breathing in the night air
deeply.

 The castle was quiet now after the tumultuous banquet that
had taken place earlier that evening in the Great Hall. Now peace had descended
once more and the moon glided on its leisurely way, serenely shedding its
largess dispassionately on the forest and the old castle alike, both asleep
under its watchful gaze.

 But the man regarding the scene was not in harmony with his
tranquil surroundings. Vesarion was troubled, sleep a thousand miles away. He
had thought when he retired to the quietude of his chamber, that he would drift
off the moment his head touched the pillow, but in fact he had tossed and
turned restlessly, kicking off the smothering feather quilt, unable to settle. What
was keeping him awake was his conversation with Pevorion. Ever since their
discussion, all he had wanted was somewhere quiet where he could review all
that had been said, but the banquet had denied him that privilege. To someone
not in the mood for merrymaking, it had seemed interminable. Lord Sorne’s seven
large sons had returned well satisfied from their expedition, bringing with them
enough venison to feed a small army.