The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (66 page)

 Eimer’s eyes had been scouring the walls for sign of his
brother, but had found none. Under his breath he muttered to Vesarion: “I would
not comply, if I were you, for once he has the upper hand, he will clap you in
some damp dungeon and forget all about giving you an audience.”

 Vesarion was unperturbed. “He has behaved very much as I expected
him to. The key is to get him to deal with this matter directly himself and
stop sending minions to do his bidding.”

 “You were prepared for this?” Veldor asked.

 “I was.” Vesarion drew a letter bearing the seal of Westrin
from the long cuff of his gauntlet and passed it to the squire. Looking up at the
Captain, he said clearly: “Permit my squire to deliver a letter to the postern.
It is to be taken directly to the King and is for no other eyes but his. I will
return for his reply in an hour.”

 The Captain, a little thrown by this turn of events, was
unsure whether he should agree or not, but in the end reluctantly did so.

 Just to make a point, Enrick kept them waiting some time
after the appointed hour. The tiny postern gate opened and a subaltern
approached Vesarion bearing a note stamped in red wax with the distinctive royal
seal of a rampant lion quartered with a crown. He opened it while the young man
awaited his reply. The others watched his eyes scanning the lines. Finally he
looked up and said to the messenger: “Tell the King that I agree to his terms.”

 When the postern had closed again, he said to Veldor: “He
wishes to speak with his brother, sister and myself. He will meet us here, just
outside the city walls, provided that the rest of you withdraw to a safe
distance. I think it is the best we are going to get, so I would ask you to
persuade the barons to withdraw.”

 Veldor seemed to see no difficulty with this. “I think they
will need little persuasion, as it was always agreed that it would be you who
would present their case to the King.”

 When he had gone, Eimer looked at Vesarion with a certain
amount of awe. “What on earth did you say in that letter that caused him to
agree to meet you with so little argument?”

 But Vesarion only smiled and shook his head, refusing to
answer.

Once the barons had retreated, a laborious scraping sound began
to issue from the gates as the mighty bars were raised, then slowly, with a groan
of tortured hinges, they began to inch open.

 First to emerge was the remaining half of the Ravenshold
Brigands. They crossed the bridge in pairs, trotting in neat military formation
and fanned out along the river, a mirror image of the body facing them a short
distance away across the grassy, open area where the parties were to meet.

 Once in position, King Enrick rode out, escorted by the few
barons who had thrown in their lot with him. He wore a cloak of deep crimson,
the colour only permitted to be worn by those of royal blood. His fair hair
glinted gold in the sun and his beard was neatly sculpted close to his jaw.
Even Eimer was forced to admit, that whatever his character defects, he looked
every inch a king. He halted his horse on the brow of the bridge and surveyed
with disfavour his dissident barons. Then signalling to his retinue to remain,
he guided his horse down off the bridge and across the open area to where his
siblings and his arch-rival awaited him.

 His first words of greeting were typical. The moment his
eye fell on Sareth, a sharp reprimand rose to his lips. “How dare you, a
princess of the royal house, present yourself to your king dressed thus. Go and
attire yourself in a manner that shows respect to both our ranks.”

 Sareth, heart inwardly sinking, stood her ground. “I see
that you are overjoyed by my safe return, brother dear. If my husband has no
objection to my dress, then I do not see how it concerns you.”

 An arrested expression came over his features and his eyes
narrowed. “So, it is true, after all. I had assumed the rumours of your
marriage must be false. I take it this represents not obedience to my orders,
but rather the fact that it has suited you to marry him for some reason of your
own.” He then added waspishly, “That is, if you did
indeed
do so.”

 Eimer saw a little flash of anger in Vesarion’s eyes at
this imputed dishonour and leaped to intervene.

 “I can assure you that they are married, Enrick. I was
witness to it, as was Bethro.”

 “Am I supposed to be convinced by the testimony of a fat
librarian and a young fool? Hardly impressive.”

 Finally Vesarion spoke. “Be impressed or not as you will,
but your sister is now my wife and the sooner you accept the fact , the sooner
we can move on to issues of greater importance.”

 Enrick gave him a slit-eyed look of dislike. “Your
motivation for such a marriage is plain enough. You now stand closer to the throne
than you have ever done. An interesting position for so ambitious a man.”

 But to his surprise, Vesarion laughed. “You have very
little imagination, Enrick. You attribute your own motives to everyone else. I
married Sareth because I love her, and as far as the throne goes, if you want
to look for something that threatens it, you need to look further afield than
me.”

 “Ah! I assume you refer to Prince Mordrian, this scion of
the House of Parth, whom you claim is about to descend upon us.”

 Eimer was thrown a little off balance by this. “You know of
all that happened on our journey?” he asked naively.

 Enrick looked at him disdainfully. “Not all the barons are
traitors. I have seen a copy of Sorne’s missive – although from the flowery
style it seems that it was actually written by that idiot Bethro. Quite a tale
it was, incredible, even. More like something from the Chronicles of the Old
Kingdom than anything even remotely believable. But tell me, how do I know that
any of it is true?” He threw a challenging glance at Vesarion. “How do I know
that you did not invent it all to put pressure on me to restore Westrin to
you?”

 Vesarion held his gaze for a tense moment and instead of
replying, his hand went to his sword. Enrick, stiffened and his hand also began
to drop towards his hilt, until what happened next halted it. For Vesarion
merely slid his sword far enough from its sheath to reveal the incised chalice
flowers on the blade.

 When his eyes fell on the flowers, the King tensed further
and his brows drew together in a frown.

 “I see you recognise it,” Vesarion remarked dryly.

 The two men stared tensely at one another and reading the
moment accurately, Eimer knew he and Sareth were superfluous. “You two have
much to say to one another and I think it best it is kept private between you.
Sareth and I will leave you.”

 Vesarion nodded and dismounting, handed his reins to
Sareth. After a moment’s hesitation, Enrick, bowing to the inevitable, did the
same.

  As if freed from restraint by their departure, Enrick swung
sharply to face Vesarion and demanded angrily: “Would you replace me with
Eimer?”

 Well aware that he must proceed warily, Vesarion was unequivocal
in his denial. “No, I would not. Eimer has many fine qualities which you give
him no credit for, including courage and a good brain, when he chooses to use
it, but he is not the rightful king – only you are.”

 Enrick stared at him suspiciously, as if he considered the
words to be a trick, but behind the suspicion, Vesarion thought he saw the
first tiny shoots of doubt. Pressing home his advantage, he continued: “And
despite what you might think, I do not aspire to the throne, nor do I wish to
see it taken from you. I claim only what is lawfully mine – the Barony of
Westrin. Restore that to me publicly, before the assembled barons, and I will pledge
to you my fealty. I also think that if you show the wisdom to revoke this hated
land tax, all discontent will ebb away and the barons will rally to you.”

 Enrick turned away, his arms tightly folded, and studied
the walls of his city. In a bleak voice, over his shoulder he said: “How can I
be sure of what you say?”

 “Because if you do these things, I will acknowledge you as
my liege-lord and king. I was unavoidably absent for your coronation and
therefore have not taken the oath of loyalty. I would like to remedy that
omission, here and now before my peers.”

 Enrick was surprised into swinging round to face him once
more. “You would do this?” he asked wonderingly.

 And Vesarion knew that the time had come to heal the
divide. “The enmity between us has existed for so long that neither of us can
remember how or why it began, but during my absence, I have considered many matters
that I never thought about in depth before and have gained, I hope, a little
insight. You father was a kind and good man but it was, unfortunately, his
kindness that was the cause of the rift between us. When I was orphaned as a
young boy, he took me in and lavished attention upon me, trying to make up for
the loss of my parents, but he was unaware that his ten year old son did not
understand his motives. As far as you were concerned, he chose to spend time
with me in preference to you. You saw me as an interloper who had stolen your
place in his affections. Yet the truth was that although he had a fondness for
me, you, and you alone, were his eldest son and heir, and he loved you as such.
His mistake was in expecting a mere child to understand his actions in the way
that an adult would. He thought that you knew that his attention to me sprang
from compassion, but he was mistaken. So the seeds of enmity were sewn between
us and over the years just grew and grew. I admit that I was partly to blame,
for I mistook your hurt for spite and lost no opportunity to antagonise you.
Even Eimer and Sareth unwittingly fuelled the flames by siding with me in every
confrontation between us. You must have seen that as an act of betrayal on
their part.”

 Vesarion paused, but Enrick was staring at him strangely
and made no attempt to interrupt. Picking up his thread again, Vesarion added:
“We all carry the burdens of our past, perhaps me most of all, but for the sake
of our county, we must let the hurts of childhood divide us no longer. A black
tide moves against this land and we will need all of our resources to halt it.
We must put aside all that might hinder us, in favour of a greater cause – the
survival of our beloved Eskendria. If we do not, I fear it will not be you, or
even Eimer, who sits on the throne of Eskendria, but Prince Mordrian. Now, at
last, because of my marriage to Sareth, we are truly brothers, Enrick.” Taking
a pace closer, he held out his hand. “So, as brothers, let us put our
differences behind us and when we next draw swords, let it not be against one
another, but side by side against the enemies of our country.”

 Enrick stared, astounded, at the proffered hand.  “You have
changed,” he replied slowly, as if he could scarcely believe it. “In the past you
would not have hesitated to condemn me and now you offer me your loyalty,
knowing well that it will secure my rule.”

 He hesitated, as if undecided, for old habits die hard.
Then looking up into his cousin’s eyes, watching him so steadily, he knew he had
been offered no falsehood. At last, with a sigh as if releasing pain, he took
the outstretched hand in a firm clasp.

 “I will restore Westrin to you as you asked,” he offered.
Then smiling ruefully, added: “I fear you will accept no less, however, I cannot
repeal the land tax, for it would show weakness and now is not the time.”

 “Actually, now is the perfect time – but do not repeal it,
merely suspend it for the duration of the war, to assist the barons in raising troops.
Then, if all goes well and we are victorious, you can simply forget to
reinstate it.”

 For the first time Enrick laughed. “You
have
changed! You never used to be so subtle.”

 Vesarion smiled, hiding his relief, and indicated their
anxiously awaiting audience. “Shall we, sire?”

 Enrick took a step towards them, then suddenly halted and
looked back at his cousin.

 “This does not mean that we are suddenly friends, you know.
It just means that I accept that we must put aside our differences for the sake
of the Kingdom. The past has not been forgotten, merely set aside to secure our
future.”

 Vesarion merely bowed slightly in acknowledgement.

The barons, who had been tensely watching from a distance the
two figures deep in earnest conversation, had seen the handshake. It seemed a
hopeful sign, but they were unsure exactly what it signified. Each had been
standing at the head of his retinue, but when the King approached them, they
coalesced into a group and advanced to meet him. The King signalled to his
escort to join him and when they were all assembled, addressed them in a regal
voice.

 “Barons of Eskendria, I have now confirmed with my own eyes
that the reports of my cousin’s demise in the Forsaken Lands were false,” At
this point, he directed a stern look at Pevorion, who wilted a little. “I find,
instead, that he has returned to us once more and I therefore have pleasure in
revoking the office of Steward of Westrin and hereby rescind the articles of
appropriation whereby the barony was forfeited to the crown.” Turning to Vesarion,
the very epitome of a gracious king, he announced:  “Before all my assembled
barons, I restore into your hands the peoples and lands of Westrin. Rule them
well, with the blessing of your rightful king.”

 Vesarion inwardly acknowledged that it was a superb performance.
Enrick had managed to make it sound as if he had summoned the barons to attend
for that express purpose.

 It was now time for his side of the bargain to be kept.
“Thank you, sire,” he replied formally. “I was unable to be present at your
coronation and therefore did not take the oath of loyalty. I now wish to repair
that omission.” Before the watching eyes of all those assembled, he went down
on one knee on the grass before Enrick. Drawing his sword, he laid it hilt
first across his forearm towards the King and spoke the well-known words.