The Sword of Azaray Page 15

  The over-crowding and lack of space meant the palace corridors were full of wine casks and piles of stores, because Sevris wasn’t having his prisoners living well on his wine. They’d lost several barrels before the guards realised what was happening. His favourite wine, too.

  The disorder made the king grumpy, because he liked his palace to look splendid, so that everyone could see what a fine king he was. At the moment it looked a mess.

  In public Sevris continued to pretend all was well, but at night in the great royal bed he tossed and turned so much that Perella, his young wife, complained she couldn’t get a good night’s sleep.

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  ‘What does that matter?’ he told her, shoving her to the far side of the bed. ‘You’re only here because I need an heir. Who’d put up with a whining complaining creature like you otherwise?’

  She didn’t remind him that he’d had to force her to marry him. She was glad she hadn’t given him a child. Well, she couldn’t, could she, not when she was taking the potions her mother had given her to prevent it?

  If anything happened to Sevris, Perella would be happy, not sorry, because she hated him. But she was also afraid of him—and even more afraid of Pavros.

  Whenever Sevris questioned his wizard about where Ronan’s brats were, he was told everything would turn out all right and to stop worrying.

  But he couldn’t help worrying. Pavros had also said the sword couldn’t escape from its magic bonds—

  and it had escaped. He’d said the children would give them no trouble—and just look at what was happening now. So it just went to show that the wizard wasn’t as all-powerful as he pretended. If only Sevris dared, he would bring in other wizards from across the mountains to make sure of things—but he didn’t dare go against Pavros.

  Sometimes he wondered what his nephew was like. Was he—like Ronan? Sevris hoped not. It’d be like seeing the brother he’d murdered rise from the dead.

  That night Sevris decided to offer an extra bonus in good gold coins to Bezroll for killing the royal children on sight. If anyone could do it, Bezroll could. It was no use trusting in magic. You had to use every means available to make sure things happened as you wished.

  But for all his wealth and power, Sevris continued to wake in the night moaning, covered in sweat, reliving nightmares in which Ronan rose up from the dead to kill him.

  ***

  The first night after the conspirators’ arrival in Azaray, thunder rolled across the city and the air seemed full of restless fury. Kerril lay awake, feeling uneasy. This storm didn’t seem natural, somehow. Had the wizard conjured it up on purpose? And if so, why? What was he planning to do?

  Kerril was quite sure there would be traps set and he didn’t want to fall prey to them.

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  Even that first day men and women had come to the inn secretly, using its many entrances, to see his brother. Word was spreading quickly among those loyal to Ronan and his heirs, it seemed, and the idea of rebellion had grown suddenly more attractive because Sevris had imprisoned a lot of sympathisers recently for no reason. Now, those left outside wanted to meet Ronan, assure themselves he really was the true king, and if so, swear allegiance to him and help overcome the tyrant.

  The question was: would there be enough support for them to win back the throne?

  The minute Kerril fell asleep, it seemed as if someone was calling his name, calling to him to rise from his bed and walk to the palace.

  Magic!

  Well, he could use magic too. He cast a sleep spell on himself, but when they had to shake him awake in the morning he knew he’d made it too strong. He felt dopey until past noon and decided not to try that again.

  ***

  The next day more people filtered into the inn as market day brought country folk swarming into the city—not all of them there to sell produce. Ronan grew weary of sitting in the wine cellar on the innkeeper’s best chair, holding audience.

  He was heartened by how many people came, though. They wept to see him, marvelled at his resemblance to his father and fell to their knees to swear allegiance without being asked.

  With Kerril to check that these people really were telling the truth, Ronan didn’t think there was much chance of being betrayed. Besides, he was developing an instinct himself for who was to be trusted and who was a half-hearted supporter, the sort who would wait to see what happened before joining in the rebellion openly.

  He didn’t have a gift for sorcery like Kerril, but he did have some gift for magic—all those in the High Family did—well, those who bred true. Harrith said Sevris didn’t have any gift for it at all, which was one of the reasons he’d hated his older brother so much.

  Ronan knew all this ceremonial swearing of loyalty and holding audiences was necessary, and he tried to put up with it patiently, but he was fretting for action, and so was the sword.

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  It was time to do something. More than time.

  ***

  On the third evening after their arrival, the guards from the gate turned up, having traced them to the Market Inn. They caught Shayla passing through the common room and gave her no choice but to sit with them. She hated being near them and when one put his arm round her, she stiffened.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘You’re not being very friendly.’

  ‘I’m n-not used to this,’ she stammered. Harrith had told her to lead them out to the rear as soon as she could. He and a couple of friends would be waiting there to deal with the guards. ‘I—I would prefer to be private with you,’ she said, trying to sound shy.

  ‘Aaah!’ he breathed and pulled her to her feet. ‘Innkeeper! We need a room.’

  She blushed scarlet as people stared at them.

  The innkeeper swept the man a bow. ‘This way, sir.’

  ‘Hey, I don’t want to go to the kitchens. I need a bedroom.’

  He leered at Shayla and she tried to hide a shiver of disgust.

  ‘I have a bedroom out at the back, sir, a special room for such needs as yours.’

  ‘No, I want to go upstairs. And I want your best bedroom, mind!’ The guard fingered his dagger, and his friends took a pace forward to stand behind him.

  The innkeeper shot Shayla a quick apologetic glance. ‘This way, then, sir.’

  Since the guard had his arm clasped tightly round her waist, Shayla could do nothing but go upstairs with him. She looked round for help, but saw no one. What was she going to do? How was she going to get away from him?

  By the time they got to the bedroom, she was angry with herself for being so fearful. As the guard tried to kiss her, she didn’t even consider using magic, but hit him squarely over the head with the nearest heavy object, a big bowl. Then she used her magic to keep him unconscious.

  When Kerril burst into the room, followed by Harrith and Ronan, who had come running up the back stairs and dealt with the other men, she was standing amid the pieces of broken pottery staring down at the unconscious guard, feeling rather pleased with herself.

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  ‘What happened?’ Ronan demanded.

  ‘I hit him. Hard. I was angry.’

  Kerril grinned. ‘Remind me never to make you angry, then.’

  ‘Well done, lass!’ said Harrith, coming up behind them. ‘These uniforms will come in very handy and these fellows can stay in the old store-room. No one will hear them there.’

  ***

  That same evening Pavros said to the apprentice, ‘Set up my table for the casting of moon magic. Both moons will be full tonight.’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Then leave me alone.’

  ‘Yes, master.’ The apprentice followed orders, then sat fretting in the outer chamber, worrying about what was happening. The wizard had been very smug all day, the sort of look he got when he was about to perform some particularly evil deed.

  After casting t
he spell, Pavros would be sharp-tempered for a while and would hit out for nothing. The apprentice had felt the weight of his hand many times after such magic and had also noticed how weary the wizard looked after casting the more difficult spells. Well, even to cast the tiniest of spells made the apprentice feel tired, so no wonder the big ones had this effect on an old man.

  Making magic was no pleasure, no pleasure at all. Nor was living in the city. It’d be wonderful to be still in the country on the family farm, but trying to run away would bring down the wizard’s wrath on the whole family, so there was no choice except to stay.

  The apprentice tried to sense what was happening inside the wizard’s chamber, remembering the ingredients specified with particular interest. Why those ingredients? What was the spell for?

  When his evil work was done, Pavros staggered to the door with a triumphant expression twisting his face into the nearest it ever got to a smile. But that face was lined and weary, the skin had a greyish tinge and the eyes seemed dull. He looked like a very old man.

  ‘Clear up the room, you! No, go and make me a hot drink first. I need to get a good night’s sleep. And wake me early, mind.’

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  The apprentice hurried to do his bidding, horrified to realise from the mutterings that continued for a while that the wizard had been working directly against the true king. What was happening? Were the rumours correct? Had Ronan’s son really come back to Azaray to claim the throne that was rightfully his?

  If so, the apprentice was helping to defeat him, which was a truly dreadful thing for one who came from a loyal family and had been brought up to respect the sword-named king.

  It was better to be dead than doing such evil work but when you were only sixteen, it was hard to think of killing yourself.

  Yet that would be the only way to escape from Pavros.

  ***

  That morning Ronan woke with a headache. He was irritable with his brother and sister over breakfast, to their great astonishment, and openly impatient with Harrith as well—which was very unlike him.

  ‘I need to get some fresh air,’ he said at last, interrupting Harrith’s recital of a list of things arranged for today. ‘I’ve been cooped up in this inn for days now.’

  ‘Sire, it’s not safe to go out!’ Harrith protested.

  ‘I’ll be very careful. I just want to take a turn round the market square. I’ll come straight back.’

  ‘But sire—’

  ‘Who is king here?’

  Ronan was out of the house before they could protest again, walking away on his own at a very brisk pace.

  It wasn’t till he had gone that Kerril realised what was wrong. ‘The sword!’ he gasped, clutching Shayla’s hand.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The sword was silent. I can usually hear it humming, but it was silent this morning.’

  They stared at one another in horror.

  ‘How is that possible?’ she asked.

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  ‘I don’t know. Yes, I do. Someone’s cast a spell over it.’ He stood up. ‘Look, I’m going to follow Ronan. You go and fetch Harrith. Tell him to get some men into the square. I’m sure there’s magic involved in this. We’ve got to get Ronan back—and quickly.’

  ***

  Ronan strolled around the market square, taking care to keep his hair covered and to attract no attention to himself. Ah, but it was good to breathe in the fresh air! He had the sword disguised as a walking staff again today and he feigned a limp, leaning on it as he watched some guards march past.

  It was only then for the first time that he noticed the sword didn’t feel warm, as it usually did. And it wasn’t humming, either. Alarm ran through him and he stared down at it in dismay, then looked around him quickly and realised how full the square was of guards this morning.

  What was he doing out here, anyway? He was putting himself in danger.

  His head cleared and he turned round, intending to make his way back to the inn as quickly as possible, but at that moment the guards moved to block all exits from the square. Working swiftly, they pushed all the younger men to the centre, shoving the women, children and older men to one side. The group of youngish men was then surrounded by a line of guards with drawn swords.

  When one man cried out in protest, asking what he was supposed to have done, a guard thumped him with his sword hilt so that he fell down unconscious. ‘The next one to complain dies!’ he yelled to the group of shocked men. ‘Is that understood?’

  Everyone nodded and looked away from him.

  ‘Take them to the palace!’ ordered the Captain. ‘And remember your orders. No one is to speak.’

  Some of the guards moved forward to remove daggers and sticks from their prisoners’ hands.

  Before they reached Ronan, he flung the disguised sword to the ground and saw with relief that it slid of its own accord under a nearby stall. No one seemed to notice it moving. He felt dreadful without it and was upset to see it lying there like a dead piece of wood, behaving like one, too.

  He made no protest as he was rounded up with the other men and marched to the palace. The last thing he wanted was to be noticed.

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  Once there he was shoved into a small cellar with about twenty other men, then the guards slammed the door and left them alone with no explanation.

  When the footsteps of their captors had faded, one of the men asked in a low voice, ‘Anyone know what all this is about?’

  ‘Must be something to do with taxes,’ said another. ‘That’s all Sevris cares about.’ But he, too, spoke very softly.

  ‘Nah,’ whispered a third. ‘He knows he can’t get any more money out of us.’ He looked sideways at Ronan, who was sitting in a corner, trying to look as young and frightened as possible. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere, lad?’

  Ronan stiffened. ‘I’m visiting from the country.’

  The man continued to stare at him, however, and shake his head as if puzzled.

  What had got into him to behave like that this morning? Ronan wondered, forgetting about his companions. Had he been bespelled? If so, it must be Pavros who’d done it—and how could the wizard have known he was in Azaray? More to the point, how had he silenced the sword?

  Would his friends find out where he was and rescue him? He had to believe they would be able to do that, for without him, the rebellion was doomed before it even began.

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  22 TROUBLE IN AZARAY

  Kerril raced back to the inn, meeting Harrith on the way and dragging him along. When they got there, he insisted on finding Shayla before explaining to them both what had happened. ‘We have to rescue him, and quickly.’

  Harrith shook his head. ‘No.’ His voice was very flat and he must have seen the shock on Kerril’s face because he explained quickly, ‘I doubt they know they’ve got him. Going after him would reveal too much. He has a good head on his shoulders and anyway, this isn’t a trap set to catch him, but a desperate measure to stop rebellion brewing. The wizard must be able to sense something of what’s happening, so it’s even more important for us to work quickly.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Look, lad, if we try to rescue him and fail, they could trace you and your sister as well, not to mention me and my friends. Then they’d have destroyed every single hope for the future.’ He took several deep breaths, thinking carefully and it was a few moments before he said, ‘What we’ll do instead is put the rebellion forward to tonight and hope to pick Ronan up inside the palace.’

  Shayla stared at him. ‘You mean, you’re just going to leave him in their hands all day? Why, they might kill him! No! This is wrong!’

  Kerril nodded vigorously. ‘I agree. We must get him out now. He’s too important to risk.’

  ‘I don’t think they will kill these prisoners,’ Harrith insisted. ‘They can’t kill everyone, after all, because they’ll still n
eed people to work for them. And if they were killing prisoners, we’d soon hear about it. No, I daren’t do anything now because we’d have no chance whatsoever of winning if we came out openly against them in the daytime.’

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Kerril, nearly bursting with frustration.

  ‘Because your uncle has a lot of guards in his pay, more than your father ever needed. He’s brought in men from all over the place. They’re trained fighters, loyal only to the one who pays them. We’ll only get one chance at this, so we have to do it right.’

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  He looked at Kerril thoughtfully as he spoke. He didn’t say it, but he knew, all the conspirators knew, that if anything happened to Ronan, they’d have to try to make the other lad king—if the sword would support him. There were a lot of ifs in this king-making business. ‘I have to go out now and start things moving,’ he said abruptly.

  When he’d left, Kerril sat and fidgeted for a while, then said quietly, ‘I’m going out, too.’

  ‘Not without me, you’re not,’ Shayla said at once.

  He gave her a crooked smile. ‘Sorry, but I can’t take you this time. I can stop people from noticing me when I’m on my own, but I can’t hide you as well, not without weakening myself considerably. Your aura is too bright. You shine like—’ he waved his arms about searching desperately for a way to explain, but couldn’t and just shrugged.

  She had no answer to that, but she hated the thought of sitting here doing nothing while Ronan was in danger, absolutely hated it. ‘Be careful, then,’ she said in a choked sounding voice.

  ‘I will.’ Kerril went to the kitchens and borrowed some clothes from one of the scullions, changing into them in the big pantry when no one was looking. He was out of the door before anyone even noticed him, slipping along the streets and looking just like any other poor lad.