The Shattered Stone Read online

  Chapter 10

  “Yes,” said Liall, pulling up his horse. “That is Lantar.”

  It was the afternoon of the next day. As Gildar had said, they had been able to get horses at a farm a few miles from the place where they had met him and had spent the night at a second, larger farm. They had made an early start, ridden hard all day and were now only a few miles from the walled town.

  “I think, Prince, that the king should be told that you are coming,” said Gildar.

  “Perhaps,” said Liall. “Who will you send?”

  Gildar looked over his company, picked the man-at-arms whose horse seemed the least tired and sent him on ahead while the rest of them followed more slowly. They were on a tree-lined road that wound through fields of ripening grain. There were stone farm houses with thatched roofs near the road, comfortable and pleasant to look at, but Neva and Ivo were more interested in many-towered Lantar that lay ahead of them on the far side of the river. They agreed that it was strange to look at it and not know if they had ever been there before. Liall said he was sure that they had not; that if they had he would have known it; but they did not see how he could be certain. On the other hand, if he was right, Ivo said, it might well be the first time they had ever set eyes on anything larger than a village.

  As they went on, the fields gave way to meadows where cattle and horses grazed. They rode over a bridge, through the open gates of the town where they were saluted by men-at-arms, then along a narrow street into a square. There were houses and shops on three sides of it and the townspeople and merchants who had gathered there cheered when they appeared, and Liall smiled and waved in answer.

  On the far side of the square was the palace. There were low steps in front of it, and on the steps, flanked by armed guards, were two men. One of them, tall, imposing, no longer young but still vigorous, wore a purple tunic and was clearly the king, Liall’s uncle. The other was tall also, but somewhat stooped. He wore a dark robe with a gold chain around his neck and had a short grey beard. From what both Akala and Liall had said, Ivo took him to be Zothar, High Steward of Andor.

  Dismounting, Liall ran up the steps.

  “Greetings, uncle,” he said.

  “Then it is true,” said the king. “You are not only alive but unhurt?”

  “Yes, uncle. Thanks to my two friends here.”

  “When Gildar’s messenger brought me the news, I could not believe it.” Then his stern, lined face relaxed, and he embraced Liall. “Welcome home, Liall.”

  “Thank you, uncle.”

  “May I welcome you too, Prince?” said Zothar. “I told his majesty that he should not give up hope for you, but he would not believe me either.”

  “Is that strange in the light of all that has happened?” asked the king.

  “Perhaps not. But now that he is here, safe and well …”

  “Nothing is changed!” said the king. Then he looked at Neva and Ivo who had dismounted also and were standing at the foot of the steps. “These are the two who saved you?”

  “Yes, uncle,” said Liall and bringing them to the king, he made them known to him.

  “I will say nothing but thanks now,” said the king. “Later, when I have heard the full tale, I will say and do much more. Rooms have been made ready for them, Liall, close to yours. Take them there, and we shall meet again when we dine in the great hall.”

  Ivo bowed to the king, and he and Neva followed Liall into the palace and up the broad stone steps to the sleeping chambers. Liall showed Neva into one of them and took Ivo to the one next to it. It was a large room, richly furnished and with tapestries on the walls. A shirt of white linen and a blue tunic and hose—Liall’s by the look of them—lay on the bed, and there was a pair of low boots on the floor near them. Stripping off his clothes, Ivo washed at the large basin in the corner and dressed himself in the garments that had been put there for him. Then, going out into the corridor, he knocked on the door of Neva’s room.

  “Come in,” she said.

  He opened the door, then paused, staring. Neva had changed her clothes also. Instead of the grey, travel-stained tunic she had been wearing, she now had on a long crimson gown embroidered in gold. And instead of letting her tawny hair hang loose she had braided it and twisted the plaits around her head like a coronet.

  “What are you staring at?” she asked.

  “You.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you look …” He hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “Different.” He had wanted to say beautiful but somehow he couldn’t.

  “Why shouldn’t I when I’m wearing something I’ve never worn before?”

  “Because it’s not just the dress.”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Of course I do. It’s a beautiful dress.”

  “It’s not the dress that’s beautiful,” said Liall from the doorway behind Ivo.

  “Thank you, Liall,” said Neva. “Did you choose it?”

  “No. One of my mother’s tiring women must have. And she must have had second sight. For the crimson makes your eyes look like sea emeralds and your hair like a king’s treasure.”

  “It must indeed be a magical gown then,” said Neva dryly. “Though its magic does not seem to work on everyone. Have you come to take us downstairs?”

  “If you’re ready.”

  “We are. At least, I am,” said Neva and she took his arm and they went out and down the stairs with Ivo, feeling awkward and annoyed at his awkwardness, following them.

  It was now dusk, but the great hall was bright with torches and tapers. The king was already sitting at the high table and he made much of Neva and Ivo when Liall brought them in and sat Neva on his right and Ivo on his left with Liall and Zothar on either side of them. Gildar was at the high table too, for the king wished to show his pleasure with him for having found Liall, though Gildar insisted that he deserved no credit for this since it was by chance that he had come on him.

  Others, the king’s captains and the ladies and men of the court, sat at the cross table and when wine was poured they raised their goblets to Liall, drinking his health and speaking of their joy at his safe return, for it was clear that he was much loved.

  Food was served, and when they had eaten—Neva and Ivo rather lightly for the dishes seemed rich and strange to them—the king asked Liall for a full account of what had happened to him. This Liall did as best he could, explaining that though he knew Ivo had rescued him and Neva had cared for him, he could remember nothing else and that Neva and Ivo could not either.

  “You do not know where they took you after you were wounded?”

  “No, uncle.”

  “How can that be?” He turned to Ivo. “I know your names and that you are brother and sister. But beyond that, who are you?”

  “Sire, we do not know.”

  “You do not know who your parents are?”

  “No, sire. Liall does not remember what happened after he was struck down. We cannot remember anything at all—not even where we lived.”

  The king looked at him intently, then turned to the high steward.

  “What think you of this, Zothar?”

  “Sire, we know that what occurred took place near the Forest of Faraon, and we also know that parts of it are said to be enchanted. It is possible that a spell was put on them.”

  “Yes,” said the king. Though he had been most courteous to Neva, his attention had been directed even more towards Ivo. Now he studied him again. “I will say two things. No matter who your folk are, they are not common folk. And though what you say is hard to credit, I believe you are telling the truth and know no more about yourselves than you say you do.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Ivo.

  “Go on with your tale, Liall,” said the king. “Do, you know where you had been before you met Gildar?”

  “Yes, uncle. We had crossed Morven and climbed Tarec in the Wendery Hills.”

  “You climbed Tarec?”
>
  “Yes.”

  “Why? You must have known that it is forbidden, dangerous. But even if it were not, if you were well enough to travel, why did you not come home?”

  Liall glanced at Neva and Ivo.

  “Because a quest had been given to us.”

  “By whom?”

  “We do not know.”

  “That is gone from your minds, too?”

  “Yes. Though we all remembered what it was we were to do, none of us remembered who had given it to us.”

  “And what was this quest?”

  “To find a stone on Tarec: a stone that would tell us how to bring peace between Andor and Brunn.”

  The king became ominously still.

  “And did you find the stone?”

  “Yes, uncle. But it was broken. And though Neva and Ivo could read it, parts of it were missing so we could not understand what it said.”

  “That is well,” said the king. Then suddenly and violently, “Peace! How can you talk of peace when those in Brunn are responsible—not just for the deaths of my wife and son—but of my brother, your father, too?”

  “There have been deaths on their side, too, uncle. Their king, for instance. Besides, all that took place many years ago.”

  “And have there not been wanton and murderous assaults on us since then? Would they not have killed you if it had not been for your friends here?”

  “That was just a border clash. They did not know who I was.”

  “And if they had known, do you not think they would have made even greater efforts to kill you?”

  “No, uncle.”

  “I believe the prince is right, sire,” said Zothar. “They treated the emissary you sent them with all due courtesy. And though you were sure they were lying when they said they were not holding him captive, we know now that they were speaking the truth.”

  “Yes, that was truly a marvel—for those in Brunn to speak the truth about anything! But this present state that is neither peace nor war has gone on long enough!”

  “What do you mean by that, uncle?”

  “That is no concern of yours. Let us talk of other things.”

  “But …”

  “I said we will talk of other things!”

  Liall met his eye for a moment, then bowed.

  “Very well, uncle. How is my mother?”

  “You have not seen her?”

  “No, not yet. I thought I would go to her after we had talked.”

  “She is unchanged, so it makes little difference when you go. But you should go anyway.”

  “Yes, uncle,” said Liall, rising. “Would you like to come with me?” he asked Neva and Ivo.

  “If the king gives us leave,” said Neva.

  “Yes, yes,” said the king. “It may help you to understand why I feel as I do about Brunn. We will talk again.” And he held out his goblet so that his cupbearer could give him some more wine.

  Neva and Ivo followed Liall out of the great hall, leaving the king brooding at the high table with Zothar watching him unhappily.

  Liall led them back up the stairs and along the corridor to a door at the end. Here he paused, looking at them strangely and uncertainly.

  “Before we go in I think I should warn you not to be surprised at what will happen. My mother is not herself.”

  “She is ill?” asked Ivo.

  “No. Though it could be called an illness of the mind or the spirit. For as you will see, she does not know me. She has known little and no one since the day word was brought to her, many years ago, that my father had been killed.”

  He knocked once, then opened the door and went in, followed by Neva and Ivo. They were in one of the tower rooms, large and circular, with many windows. In the centre of the room a woman with white hair sat at an embroidery frame, her needle flashing in the light of the tapers.

  “Greetings, mother,” said Liall.

  She paused for a moment, looking up at him, and Neva and Ivo could see that though she was beautiful, her face still young and unlined, her eyes were deep-set and full of shadows.

  “Who do you call mother?”

  “Who but you, my lady?”

  “I am no one’s mother as I am no one’s wife. I had a son once. And a husband. Now I have no one.”

  “You have me, mother,” said Liall patiently. “I am your son.”

  “I know you. You have been here before, always saying the same thing. But I do not know these others who are here with you. Who are they?”

  “They are my very good friends, Neva and Ivo.”

  “They are not from Brunn?”

  “No, mother.”

  “That is well.” She looked at Neva. “The girl is lovely. Are you skilled at needlework, my dear?”

  “No, my lady. I do not think I have ever done any.”

  “I could teach you. There is no one more skilled at it than I am. See?” She waved her hand and looking around they saw that the walls of the room were covered with tapestries, all exquisitely done in many colors. They were, however, all scenes of destruction: bloody battles, cities with their walls breached and their towers overthrown, and in all of them the victors bore the rampant bear of Andor on their banners and bucklers and the vanquished the sea serpent of Brunn.

  “They are very beautiful, my lady,” said Neva.

  “Beautiful? Who cares if they are beautiful? All that matters is if they are potent. For there are curses worked into each of them.”

  And looking at them more closely, Neva and Ivo saw that, in addition to the many figures, each of them was embroidered with strange signs, the vertical lines barbed and stabbing downward like strokes of lightning.

  “Well?” asked the white-haired lady. “Will you help me with my work?”

  “I am not sure it is work I can do,” said Neva. “But if I may, I will come and visit you.”

  “I do not need visitors. I need someone to help me. But only someone who feels as I do, hates as I do, can do that.” And she went back to her needlework.

  “It is getting late, mother,” said Liall. “Shall I call your tiring women to prepare you for bed?”

  But the white-haired lady did not answer, did not look at him, not even when he bent and kissed her. He straightened up, his eyes almost as dark and filled with pain as hers, and motioning to Neva and Ivo, he left the room.

  Chapter 11

  “Well?” said Liall.

  “Has she been that way for a long time?” asked Neva.

  “For as long as I can remember.”

  “It must be very difficult for you. I’m sorry.”

  Liall shrugged, but his face was still sombre. There were footsteps behind them, and Zothar came up the corridor towards them.

  “How was she, Prince?” he asked.

  “As my uncle said, the same.”

  Zothar nodded. “So I found her when I visited her at noon. Prince, I know that you have had a day of hard riding, but if you are not too tired I would like to talk to you.”

  “I am not too tired.”

  “Then will you and your friends come to my chamber with me?”

  Liall glanced at Neva and Ivo and when they nodded, he said, “Of course.” And they followed the steward up a narrow stair and into a room above the one they had just left. It, too, was round with many windows, but its walls were bare, and it was much more simply furnished. There was a long table between two of the windows with an ink pot, quill pen and many parchment scrolls on it.

  “It has been some time since I was last here,” said Liall looking around.

  “You used to come quite often when you were younger. But as you can see, it has not changed.” Zothar pulled out stools for all of them and sat down himself. “I wanted to talk to you about the king. I think you know what he is planning.”

  “War with Brunn?”

  “Yes. I thought you had guessed it.”

  “I did not have to guess. When we met Gildar he told us he had been in Westfell, raising a levy of horsemen.”

>   “I see. You have made clear how you feel about that, and I think you know how I do. But it may be that your friends do not know.”

  “You are against it?” said Neva.

  “Yes, my lady. I have been ever since I took over the stewardship. At that time the king was much more reasonable, and it was I who suggested a plan to him that I thought would ensure a lasting peace between Andor and Brunn.”

  “I know something about that but there is much I do not know,” said Liall. “There was to be an exchange of hostages, was there not?”

  “Yes,” said Zothar. “The king’s son, Halidar, was then little more than a year old. And though the queen was greatly opposed to it, he agreed to send the boy to Brunn if King Brennir would send his daughter here. The exchange was to take place at the border, but something went wrong. A battle broke out and Halidar was killed.”

  “What went wrong?” asked Ivo.

  “No one is certain—not even I who was there. The king insists that it was a betrayal—an attempt to capture Prince Halidar. But in any case many were slain, including, it is said, the Princess Varena of Brunn. And so my attempt to find peace made things worse than they had ever been. For open, bloody war followed in which again many fell.”

  “My father,” said Liall.

  “Yes. And King Brennir who was leading the hosts of Brunn. But the evil and sorrow did not stop at the battlefield. For your aunt, Queen Narda, whom the king loved dearly, died of grief when she learned that her son had been lost. And you know what happened to your mother.”

  Liall nodded.

  “But as Liall said before, that was many years ago,” said Neva. “Why is the king preparing for war again now?”

  “He has never forgiven Brunn, as Liall’s mother has not,” said Zothar. “And when he thought Liall was killed or captured, all the old wounds were opened again. Besides, he is getting on in years and he is determined to destroy Brunn while he is still able to take the field himself.”

  “And can nothing be done to stop him?” asked Ivo.

  “I will go on trying to do so, as I have been doing. But there is small chance that I will succeed. Our best hope, it seems, lies elsewhere.”