The Sword of Azaray Page 16

  Back at the inn, Wistan came searching for Shayla.

  ‘Two men have just arrived to swear allegiance to your brother. Where’s Kerril?’

  ‘Gone out.’

  He made a little growling noise in his throat. ‘He wasn’t supposed to leave the inn.’

  ‘He decided it was necessary.’ She gave him a long, level glance. ‘We’re not stupid, you know, not just pawns to be moved around as you see fit. We have minds and skills of our own.’

  ‘In that case, you’ll have to take his place and let them swear allegiance to Ronan through you.’

  ‘Me? But—’

  He looked at her sympathetically. ‘You’re the Princess. They’ll deal with you where they won’t deal with me. I’m not important enough. But first you’d better put on that fine gown Gwenna bought for you, then you’ll look more like a princess.’

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  Because Ronan needed as many people on his side as possible, Shayla did as Wistan asked, then went down to the cellar. With the old man standing behind her, she received the two important men—and after that a steady stream of ordinary men and woman coming to swear allegiance. Luckily most were from known families, so there wasn’t much doubt about their loyalty. She didn’t have as strong a sense as Kerril of whether someone was telling lies.

  When the newly-sworn rebels were on their way out, Wistan took them aside and warned them to be ready to come out to help at a moment’s notice, even tonight, though he always added that tonight wasn’t likely.

  Only once did Shayla feel uneasy with the man standing before her, so uneasy that she beckoned Wistan as he started bowing his way out and whispered, ‘Detain him. I think he’s a spy.’

  So the man was locked up in one of the small pantries and Shayla spent the next hour worrying that she might have been wrong and upset a genuine supporter.

  Where was Kerril? What was he doing? Whatever it was, she wished desperately that she was with him. It was far easier to act than sit around waiting for others to do something.

  ***

  In the street, Kerril was sauntering along when he noticed a well-shaped walking staff lying under a deserted stall. He didn’t know why, but the staff seemed to draw his attention and when he tried to walk past, he didn’t get far before he just had to turn round and pick it up.

  Once he had it in his hand, he realised why. It was the sword, the magic sword. He could feel it humming, but it seemed as if the sound came from a long way away, as if it was muffled. He couldn’t understand that, so went down to the river bank and sat there under some bushes, needing to be alone, holding the stick and stroking it.

  Was it behaving so strangely because Ronan had been captured—or had it been bespelled again? Yes, of course. If it had been in full possession of its powers, no one could have captured his brother. But that would mean that the wizard knew they were here and was already working against them—and succeeding too. Kerril shivered at the thought.

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  While he was sitting there a girl came along, walking slowly, looking very unhappy. She was pale and thin, with bruises on her arms, and she kept wringing her hands as if in despair. For all his own worries, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

  A little way past him she stopped and leaned over the wall, staring down at the fast-flowing waters of the River Azar. It was quite obvious to him that she was thinking of throwing herself into the river. The cook at the inn, who was of a gloomy turn of mind, said there had been a lot of such suicides in recent years.

  Kerril thought about calling out, but was worried she might run away and jump in later instead. If she was that unhappy, maybe he could help her with his magic. Doing something positive would be better than sitting around worrying.

  He laid the staff down. Walking very slowly and quietly, he crept up behind her and just as she began to climb over the wall, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  She swung round and stared at him, her eyes haunted, trying to get away from him. ‘Let me go!’

  ‘You were going to jump in. You mustn’t do that.’

  ‘Why not? I can’t bear the life I’m living now.’

  ‘Tell me about your troubles instead. Perhaps I can help?’

  ‘No one can help me. No one.’ Tears were rolling down her face, but she stopped trying to get away and sagged against him, despair radiating from her.

  He felt anxious to help her, though he didn’t understand why he felt so strongly that this was important. He concentrated all his powers on soothing her, stopping her wanting to kill herself. As he began to use his magic, her eyes widened as if she recognised what he was doing.

  ‘Who are you?’ she breathed.

  ‘Just a country lad.’ He tried to grin as he spoke and failed, because somehow, he couldn’t lie to her.

  ‘No. You’re not just a country lad. You have a strong gift for magic. But why hasn’t he noticed you?’

  Suddenly her face lit up with a brilliant smile. ‘You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the royal children?

  You must be.’

  He glanced around, terrified someone might have overheard her. ‘How did you know about them?’

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  ‘Don’t ask me.’ Suddenly she was downcast again. ‘I wish you well, I really do, but he’ll win in the end. Then he’ll kill you all. And I refuse to be part of it any more.’ She glanced longingly at the river again.

  ‘Who will kill us?’

  ‘We mustn’t say his name.’ But she’d forgotten her own woes now and laid a hand on Kerril’s, clasping the stick he was holding as well.

  The stick twitched.

  Kerril gasped and stared at her. ‘You have a gift for magic as well, don’t you?’

  She shuddered. ‘Unfortunately.’

  He stared at their linked hands on the stick. It was humming again. It was using their linked gifts to break through the spell binding it.

  They stood very still, concentrating hard, without needing to say anything, and slowly, the humming grew louder.

  Just then, the market bell rang the hour and the girl started in shock and pulled her hand away. ‘I must go back.’

  The humming grew quieter again.

  Kerril grabbed her hand and pulled it back on to the stick. ‘Wait until it’s finished breaking free. Help it. Please.’

  She laid her hand on his and they both felt the tingling sensation grow stronger again. Together they willed the sword to escape, feeling the dark magic resisting them. It was the hardest magic Kerril had ever had to work and if he had been alone, he would definitely have failed. But he wasn’t alone. He had the girl and she too was strongly gifted.

  Even so, the wrench as the sword succeeded in breaking through whatever magic barrier had been keeping it from acting left them both shaking and weak.

  ‘We did it!’ Kerril breathed as he felt the sword’s humming magic return to its old level. ‘Oh, thank goodness!’

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  She pulled her hand away. ‘I’m glad. Now I really must go back.’ She no longer had the desire to kill herself, because she had been of use and perhaps might be again.

  Kerril grabbed her sleeve. ‘Tell me who you are first. What’s your name? Where do you live?’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you. It’s not safe for you to know. You might think it at the wrong time and then he would know that I’d talked to someone. Please—just let me go and don’t try to find me again.’

  He was reluctant, but she was so agitated, he asked instead, ‘You won’t—do anything harmful to yourself? Promise me that, at least.’

  ‘Meeting you has given me new heart.’ Maybe a miracle could happen. Maybe she had a tiny chance of getting free. She would wait and see, at least.

  Kerril watched her hurry away, surprised that the sword had let her go. When he turned back to it, it seemed to be tugging him back towards the inn. So he went.
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  But he knew he’d try to find her again one day.

  ***

  Late that afternoon word went out and conspirators began to assemble in cellars and courtyards all over the city. Harrith had planned everything to happen rapidly once the signal was given, knowing they’d have to rely on surprise as their main weapon—that and the sheer number of rebels compared to guards.

  During the afternoon he’d managed to get hold of a servant from the palace, who’d told him that the prisoners rounded up that day were still locked in the cellars. No one had been killed, injured or even questioned as far as the servant knew.

  ‘ . . . so we have good reason to think your brother is safe,’ Harrith finished.

  ‘I already knew Ronan was still alive,’ Kerril said. ‘I’d know instantly if he died.’

  Shayla nodded. ‘So would I.’

  They might be sure their brother was alive, but they weren’t sure of anything else. They’d sat with the sword between them, touching it gently, trying to work out what it was so desperate to tell them. They could feel its magic, but not understand it because they weren’t as attuned to it as Ronan was.

  ‘I’m going into the palace with them tonight,’ Kerril told his sister abruptly.

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  The sword hummed more loudly, as if it approved.

  ‘So am I, then.’

  More pleased humming and the sword twitched as if ready to leave.

  Kerril looked at her. ‘Harrith said we were to stay here. And he’s going to set guards to see that we do.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  He gave her a wry smile. ‘I’ve been using my old gift for eavesdropping. It’s saved me a lot of trouble in the past, that gift has.’

  ‘How are we going to get away?’

  He chewed on his thumbnail, then shook his head. ‘I don’t think I should let you come. Girls don’t—’

  She gave him a very determined glance. ‘I’m coming. And don’t even think of trying to stop me. We all live or die together and tonight will decide that. You know it as well as I do. Three in one. And girls are quite capable of fighting, if they have to—especially if they’re fighting for their lives.’

  For a long moment the air seemed to shiver around them, then the sword made a chiming sound, as if approving what she’d said.

  ‘All right, then.’ Kerril moved closer to her. ‘This is how we’ll get away from the inn . . . ’

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  23 INSIDE THE PALACE

  Even from the windowless lower cellars, the prisoners could tell that dusk had fallen by the noises filtering down. No one else had been brought to the other rooms in this corridor for a while, so presumably the day’s main activity had ended.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ someone said.

  There was a chorus of voices saying the same thing.

  ‘How long are they going to keep us here?’ one man demanded suddenly. ‘Why don’t they tell us what they want? My wife will be worrying herself sick.’

  He received no answer. They’d all been thinking similar thoughts during the long, boring day. The only thing they could do was sit around and wait. Even the chatting had had to be done carefully so that the guards didn’t overhear them. No one had brought them food or drink and they were in considerable discomfort, muttering, standing up, sitting down, then pacing up and down in the space left near the door because no one wanted to be close to it when it opened.

  The man who’d thought he recognized Ronan came to sit beside him in the dimness. ‘Who are you?’

  he asked. ‘I know I’ve seen your face somewhere before.’

  Suddenly Ronan realized how to turn this situation to his advantage. He had enough magic in him to know for certain this was the time to act. ‘I’m the son of the last true kind,’ he said quietly, ‘come back to claim my throne. That’s why you recognize my face.’

  There was silence beside him as the man studied him again in shocked recognition. The he bobbed his head. ‘If I can help you in any way, sire, you have only to say. I’m Lorsim. I used to be a palace guard.’

  Ronan could sense that his companion was to be trusted, so clasped the hand that lay on his briefly, saying simply, ‘Thank you, Lorsim. I’d appreciate some help.’ He looked round. ‘Do you know any of the men in this cellar?’

  ‘A few.’

  ‘Are there others here as loyal as you, my friend?’

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  ‘Yes. The ones I know would definitely be loyal if they realized who you were. And probably some of the others, too.’ For all it was only a whisper, his voice was filled with bitterness. ‘We’ve all lost members of our families, all suffered under Sevris and his filthy mercenaries.’

  ‘Then I think we should work together to break out of here—and maybe cause Sevris a little trouble on our way. There’s a rebellion brewing in the city. Why don’t we start one here as well?’

  There was a swift intake of breath then the man chuckled. ‘Why not? What do we have to lose? I doubt they’ll let us go, not all of us, anyway, and who knows where the axe will fall?’ He patted Ronan’s shoulder encouragingly, then gave him an apologetic look. ‘Sorry, lad. Sire, I mean. I shouldn’t presume.’

  ‘Yes, you should. I’m young and untried, and I shan’t try to pretend otherwise. You probably know far more about fighting than I do.’

  ‘But you’re very like your father. Quick to seize the moment. I’m with you all the way, sire. Let me go and tell my friends.’

  Ronan watched him amble across and speak to one of the other men, who stared at him in shock. He hoped desperately that this plan would work. Would they trust him? Follow him? Risk their lives for him?

  After all, he’d never led men before, never fought in earnest.

  He felt young and anxious, yet something inside him still said he was doing the right thing. For he was the rightful king. The sword had acknowledged him and his heart knew it was his path in life.

  ***

  Just before dusk, Pavros went to the palace, taking his apprentice with him to carry the things he’d need on this fateful night. As the wizard walked through the streets, black cloak billowing behind him as usual, people slid into side alleys or rushed into shops, anything to get out of his path. He chuckled to see that.

  They were still afraid of him and would be even more afraid come morning.

  He set the cloak swirling and smiled at a man who hadn’t been able to get out of his way. The fellow turned bone white in terror as the edge of the cloak brushed his arm, even though Pavros hadn’t used any magic on him. He threw back his head and laughed.

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  Tonight the last of the resistance was going to end—as it should have ended all those years ago. The three royal fools were here in Azaray, attempting to seize the throne from their uncle. They had no hope of succeeding, no hope at all. He was going to smoke them out and kill them.

  The first step was to lure them to the palace, so that folk could see the victory partly as Sevris’s doing.

  Besides, the other conspirators were there tonight in attendance on the king and Pavros would need the strength of Bezroll, Beffris and Nezrim to augment his own powers. That this might kill them didn’t worry him at all.

  After he’d disposed of the young pretenders, he could get back to his own search and leave Sevris to play at being king. A wizard like him should not be answerable to a fool like that in any way. His own needs were becoming more urgent by the year.

  There must be a way to renew one’s youth, there had to be! He’d tried to take over the young bodies of his earlier apprentices, but in vain. They died and he stayed within his own crumbling body. He’d killed some of them in sheer anger. Which was a waste.

  ‘Keep up!’ he called over his shoulder to the present apprentice, who was doing better than the others.

  He’d keep this one alive, not let his temper drive him to destroy a useful tool
—until the day when he needed no one’s help, when he had all the magic that had ever been under his control.

  That was his destiny.

  ***

  At the inn Kerril went upstairs with Shayla after the evening meal, followed by three burly men armed with swords, daggers and cudgels. Clearly Harrith meant to make very sure they were kept safe.

  ‘Are you tired?’ he asked Shayla loudly. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘No, not at all tired,’ she responded. ‘I’m so worried about how things are going tonight, I definitely shan’t be able to sleep.’

  ‘Let’s go and sit in my room for a bit, then. It has a better view than yours.’ And would be easier to climb down from, too, because there was an outhouse roof just below the window.

  They went into the room and one of the men came with them. ‘Sorry,’ he apologised. ‘Got orders not to leave you alone.’

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  ‘That’s all right,’ said Kerril, smiling at him. ‘We know you’re only doing your duty.’

  ‘Thank you, your highness.’

  Kerril got out some greasy cards that Harrith had produced to entertain them—as if they were children needing toys! ‘I’ll deal,’ he said to Shayla.

  He began to lay out the cards, working very rhythmically and weaving a simple spell with their help.

  The man’s head began to nod.

  Shayla exchanged delighted glances with him and he continued until he was sure the man was held fast for an hour. When he looked down at the last card he was still holding, he saw it was the red king. He showed it to Shayla. ‘Good sign, don’t you think?’

  ‘We don’t need signs, we need action,’ she said. ‘Now, quickly, lend me some of your clothes.’