The Shattered Stone Read online

  The gore-crow, sitting on the stump, watched with beady eyes. Then, when the snake was no longer than a man’s hand, it hopped down, took it in its beak and swallowed it and then flapped off, disappearing into the blue sky to the west.

  Ivo let out his held breath with a sigh. King Lanis was the first to speak.

  “My lady,” he said. “Who are you?”

  “I have many names,” she said. “Ivo and Neva know one of them.”

  “We called her Mistress Silvia,” said Ivo, “as we called Tharlak, Jartan.”

  “There is much I do not understand,” said the king. “Though I knew it not, it seems Zothar was a warlock.”

  “Of great powers,” said Mistress Silvia. “While his father was your steward and he was young, he studied the dark arts and became a master of them.”

  “To what end? As far as I know, until just now he never used them.”

  “He could not use them to gain his wish—which was to rule, not merely Andor but Brunn as well. For there are laws that forbid higher powers, black or white, from using magic to interfere in the affairs of men. But what he did was make a pact with the dark forces. He would have their aid for a period of time, measured in an hour glass he was given, to bring about the destruction of both kingdoms. If he succeeded, he would become master of all between the mountains and the sea. If he failed, he would pay as he did, with his life and more than his life.”

  “And my brother, the warden?” asked the queen.

  “Evil can always find an ally. Your brother was no more content to be merely warden than Zothar was to be high steward. He must have been offered something he wanted to aid Zothar in his plots—perhaps to rule Brunn under him.”

  “Much of this I can accept,” said the king. “I can see how a forked tongue that talks peace but stirs up hatred can accomplish as much as the black arts. But there was a reason for that hatred—on my part at least.”

  “Only on yours?” said the queen savagely. “Who was it that first proposed peace and an exchange of hostages and then ordered a treacherous assault that cost my daughter her life?”

  “I gave no such order!” said the king.

  “No, sire, you did not,” said Jartan. “But you sent Zothar to oversee the exchange with me. It was he, in concert with the warden, who by trickery and false report caused the fighting to begin here. But surely you have guessed by now that neither Prince Halidar nor Princess Varena are dead.”

  “Not dead?” said the queen.

  “No, Your Majesty. I was wounded in the fighting. But in the darkness and confusion—for torches had fired the encampment—I escaped into the forest with both children. There they remained until a few short weeks ago, protected by Mistress Silvia.”

  “My lady, is this true?” asked the king.

  “It is true,” said Mistress Silvia. “Jartan holds their crowns. But did your heart tell you nothing when you first saw Ivo?”

  “How could it tell me that which I could not believe? Seeing him so much like what I had hoped my son might be only sharpened my anguish and my anger. Even now I cannot credit it.”

  “You can credit it,” said Mistress Silvia. “And you, too, O Queen.”

  “I do,” said the queen in an unsteady voice. Then turning to Neva and holding out her arms, “Daughter …”

  That much Ivo saw and no more, for then he was embracing the king and his eyes were dim with tears.

  It was later. The armies had drawn back. The warden’s body had been removed, and Devita, out of a sense of filial duty if no longer out of love, had accompanied it back to Mirana. Only a few remained in the Burnt Place: the king and queen, Neva and Ivo, Liall, Jartan and Jeranus. And Mistress Silvia. Much had been said.

  “And yet,” observed the king, “much still remains to be said and done. But one thing above all. How can we ensure that that which has been shall never happen again?”

  “Neva and Ivo know,” said Mistress Silvia. “I call them that rather than by their true names for so I called them for many years. Ask them.”

  Ivo looked at Neva who was standing beside the queen, and when she dropped her eyes, a great shyness came over him too and neither spoke.

  “If they will not answer perhaps Liall will tell you. For he knows, too.”

  “I and also Devita,” said Liall. “For she was with us when we read the last of what was written on the shattered stone.”

  “And what was that?” asked the queen.

  “‘Andor and Brunn shall again be one,’” said Liall, “‘when Ima’s daughter marries Kennar’s son.’”

  “Of course,” said the king. “What could be simpler? It would seem then that it has little to do with us, Your Majesty.”

  “Perhaps that is best,” said the queen. She looked at Neva. “Have you nothing to say, child?”

  “What is there to say?” asked Neva in a low voice. Then color came to her cheeks for Ivo was walking towards her. And when he held out his hand to her she took it.

  About the Author

  Born in New York City, Robert Newman (1909–1988) was among the pioneers of early radio and was chief writer for the Inner Sanctum Mysteries and Murder at Midnight—forerunners of The Twilight Zone that remain cult favorites to this day. In 1944 Newman was put in charge of the radio campaign to reelect Franklin D. Roosevelt. He was also one of the founding members of the Radio Writers Guild, which became the Writers Guild of America.

  In 1973 Newman began writing books for children, most notably the Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt mysteries. The series takes place in Victorian London and follows the adventures of two teenage amateur detectives who begin as Baker Street Irregulars. Newman has also written books of fantasy, among them Merlin’s Mistake and The Testing of Tertius. His books based on myths and folklore include Grettir the Strong, and he has published two adult novels.

  Newman was married to the writer Dorothy Crayder. Their daughter, Hila Feil, has also published novels for children and young adults. Newman lived his last days in Stonington, Connecticut.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The use of the characters created by Arthur Conan Doyle is by permission of copyright owners.

  Copyright © 1975 by Robert Newman

  Cover design by Jason Gabbert

  ISBN: 978-1-4976-8594-9

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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  ROBERT NEWMAN

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