The Sword of Azaray Page 17

  Within minutes they were climbing over the windowsill. Kerril went first, handing her the sword, which was still in the form of a walking staff. When he was hanging on by his arms, he let go and dropped nimbly on to the shed roof.

  Shayla passed him the staff then followed just as nimbly, thinking yet again how much more you could do in boys’ clothes than the long skirts she had to wear. She didn’t wait for Kerril but clambered past him down the roof and dropped the last bit from the lower end. Within seconds he was standing by her side.

  He grinned at her in the light of one of the inn’s yard lanterns. ‘Told you it’d be easy to get out.’ He looked at the staff. For him it hadn’t turned into a sword and never would. He knew, even if Harrith didn’t, that he wasn’t the stuff of which kings are made. If anything bad happened to Ronan tonight, it would be the sword which would choose the next king, not the men—even loyal ones like Harrith.

  ‘We must hurry,’ Shayla said. ‘Harrith went out quite a while ago. We need to be there at the palace when they break in.’

  ‘Yes.’ They had to find Ronan as quickly as possible because only together did they have any chance whatsoever of success against the forces of evil.

  ***

  Lorsim went round the cellar whispering in men’s ears and one by one they came across to clasp Ronan’s hand and promise him their support. There were more of them than he’d expected and he didn’t get any THE MAGIC SWORD Shannah Jay 147

  feelings of distrust for any of them. Some looked grim, some elated, others kept their feelings to themselves. But they all met his eyes squarely.

  When Lorsim came back, he whispered to Ronan, ‘We have two thirds of the men in here. Do you want to reveal yourself now and try for the rest?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ronan took a deep breath and stood up. He was about to make his first ever public speech as king and felt nervous. ‘Listen, everyone!’ he called in a low but carrying voice. ‘I have something important to tell you.’

  ‘It seems to me that half the cellar knows it already,’ a sour voice responded. ‘Well, what is this secret you’re all whispering about?’

  ‘The secret is that I’m the reason you’re all here today. You see, I’m Ronan, eldest son of Ronan, come back to claim my throne.’

  There was a hiss of surprise then another voice cut through the darkness. ‘Oh, yes, and I’m King Sevris in disguise.’

  A couple of people laughed, but Lorsim called out, ‘Shut up, you fool! I recognized him earlier. If you had any sense you’d have noticed, too. Can’t you see the resemblance and the hair colour? Besides, even if he were an impostor, he couldn’t be any worse than the king we have now, could he? Only he isn’t an impostor. I’d swear that on my life. I served Ronan and this lad is the very image of his father.’ His voice grew thick with sadness. ‘He even moves and smiles like his majesty did.’

  Silence was followed by the same voice asking in a more reasonable tone, though still with an edge of mockery, ‘What do you intend to do, then, Ronan the King?’

  ‘Break out of here.’

  ‘Ha! Have you seen how thick that door is?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s only a simple lock. You can pick locks like that with a bit of wire.’

  ‘I could pick it for you in two seconds,’ another voice said, ‘but what would happen when we got outside? The guards would kill us, that’s what.’

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  ‘Not if we made ourselves some weapons,’ Ronan said. ‘There are plenty of empty boxes in here. I’ve been working on the one next to me. It’s quite easy to loosen the slats. I have a cudgel of sorts, enough to defend myself until I can get my sword back.’

  ‘The Sword of Azaray?’ someone exclaimed in a breathless, excited voice. ‘You’ve really seen it?’

  ‘Yes. It’s in the city, waiting for me.’

  The next speaker sounded wistful. ‘Will it sing you to the throne?’

  ‘It’s already told me I’m the true-born king,’ Ronan said quietly. ‘And I swear to you that I will make a better king than my uncle.’

  There was silence, then someone with a deep voice said, ‘He certainly looks like his father and what have we to lose? Some of us will manage to get away, whatever happens. They didn’t take our names this time, just rounded us up in the market square. I’m for trying it.’

  ‘And I.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  Voices came from all parts of the cellar with not a single man refusing to join in.

  And so, thought Ronan, the final stage begins.

  Victory or death.

  ***

  Harrith led the rapidly gathering crowd towards the palace. On the way they encountered one or two patrols of Sevris’s guards, but they’d planned for that and managed to overcome the men and tie them up.

  To Harrith’s surprise, the rebels out on the streets tonight included women as well as men. ‘The women should be at home,’ he said the first time he encountered such a group.

  ‘We’re not sitting around at home waiting to hear bad news,’ one woman told him, hands on hips and a challenging look in her eyes. ‘This time we’re all in it. We succeed or die together. I’m not bringing children into the world to see them used for evil.’

  ‘Anyway, you’re not the only ones who can fight.’ She brandished a large knobbly stick. The woman beside her waved a kitchen knife. Another had a rolling pin.

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  Harrith shook his head in disapproval. To a guard trained in the old ways, it seemed wrong for women to fight, but he couldn’t deny that they needed all the support they could get tonight. It was indeed a desperate venture and it was more likely to fail than succeed, though he’d not admitted that to anyone. But a former soldier could count the odds and they were hugely against the rebels.

  He’d arranged to have the two remaining royal youngsters taken out of the city if things went wrong and hidden in a safe place so that one day they could start again. Though who would be left to follow them, he couldn’t imagine. A failure this time would mean many people dying.

  And yet people were dying daily during this so-called time of peace, dying for no reason but a man’s greed and envy, a man who should not be sitting on the throne of Azaray.

  What Harrith didn’t understand, however, and indeed no one understood, was why the wizard hadn’t acted before now to stop the children. Other rebellions had been stamped out almost before they had begun, but this one had been allowed to brew unchecked—and that worried him a lot.

  Either it was impossible to defeat the children, which didn’t seem likely, or the wizard must be planning something. Only what?

  ***

  ‘They’re gathering in the streets near the gates now.’ Bezroll let out a snort of harsh laughter. ‘They’ll soon find out their mistake. We’ve let a few guards loose to be captured, ones who know nothing of this, so that the rebels don’t find it too easy and get suspicious.’

  Pavros smiled at him then turned to the apprentice. ‘Is everything set up?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘See that no one disturbs those things, then. If this spell goes wrong, I’ll kill you. Doubt it not. The order of use is vitally important in this spell.’

  The apprentice bent a head in acknowledgment and went to stand by the table.

  ‘You didn’t say such things before, when we were putting Sevris on the throne,’ Alvyna said idly. She was the only one who dared question what her brother was doing. ‘You never even admitted things could go wrong in the old days.’

  ‘Well, I’m wiser now, and anyway, I wasn’t facing Ronan’s son armed with that cursed sword before.’

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  ‘You dealt with the father who was armed with the same sword, and he was surely harder to defeat than a mere lad? You’ve been careless letting the son get so far.’

  He glared at her and the very air crackled with his anger. ‘No, you three have been careless, letting those
children get hold of the pieces of the sword. It’s your mess I have to clean up when I have better things to do.’

  ‘We wouldn’t have let them get hold of the sword if you’d let us kill them.’

  He knew that and could only blame it on his weakness just after he’d dealt with the sword. ‘Well, this time I’m not just dealing with the son and the sword. All three of the children are involved. Three in one.’

  He saw her shudder and smiled grimly. ‘Those old legends hold some truth. Three in one will save the day, they say. Only forewarned is forearmed, and I’ll make sure they don’t save this day, whatever they’ve done in the past, whatever they may do in the future.’

  ‘Are all three of them gifted with magic? I never saw any sign of it in the girl.’

  ‘It’s not her, but the younger lad who has a real gift for magic. I can sense that even without meeting him. It shines like a beacon at night in this city where I’ve been the only other wizard for years. He’s only a beginner, so now is the time to kill him, and then deal with the older brother and the sword. This time I’ll destroy it for ever.’

  Alvyna sniffed and tossed her head, but even she didn’t dare say anything else. Her brother had a nasty temper. He’d been careless, though, whatever he said. His age was showing and he was slowing down. He looked much older lately and acted strangely at times, as if his mind was wandering.

  Across the room Nezrim fidgeted to and fro, coming to make occasional remarks to his fellow conspirators, then pacing round again. Bezroll continued to stare out of the window as if he could see what was happening in the nearby streets.

  From time to time a guard would slip into the hall with news of how things were going and they would all gather round him to listen.

  ‘You see, Your Majesty,’ Pavros told the nervous king at one stage, ‘Things are going exactly to plan.

  The fools are going to fall into the trap that’s been set.’

  ‘They’d better,’ Sevris muttered.

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  The apprentice listened, too, terrified for the poor royal youngsters. The rebellion was going to fail—

  but when it did, when the worst happened, the river would be waiting.

  The boy who’d stopped her had been wrong, so very wrong. No one could beat Pavros.

  ***

  When the prisoners broke out of the cellar, they took the guards completely by surprise. Ronan led the way out and struck the first blow, knocking out the nearest guard with one of Tevis’s tricks.

  The man beside him grinned and dealt with a second guard just as easily. ‘You were taught that trick by a former guard,’ he said, his eyes scanning the corridor. ‘All right. I don’t think the others have heard anything. Let’s move forward.’

  Ronan let him lead, because the man clearly knew what he was doing. If only the sword was with them! Ronan’s hand felt empty and wrong, with only the clumsy borrowed weapon in his hand.

  They captured the rest of the guards in this part of the cellars with surprising ease, because they weren’t expecting resistance.

  From somewhere Ronan seemed to feel a buzz of faint approval and he paused for a moment as he realised what it was. The sword! It was nearby, over in that direction. And it was able to speak to him again. He must get it back. It was his only hope of defeating the wizard.

  ‘This way!’ He was pleased when the men followed him without question.

  At the next corner he hesitated, however. Something else seemed to be drawing him, some force from above. No! He shook his head to clear it. It was the sword’s voice he must listen to. Nothing else mattered at this stage but getting it back.

  As they passed side cellars, men paused briefly to unlock the doors, letting other prisoners out, so that there were soon crowds of determined men moving through the dimness of the lower parts of the palace, snatching lanterns from the walls and following Ronan.

  ‘It’s the king!’ they whispered to one another. ‘The young king has come to claim his own.’

  And although some men slipped away as soon as they could, to return to their homes and avoid the danger, most of them stayed with Ronan and that heartened him.

  ***

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  In the Great Hall of the castle Pavros smiled as he sensed the young king start moving again, this time in the direction he wanted. ‘Come to me, little kinglet!’ he whispered, raising his hands in a beckoning gesture. ‘Come to me quickly now!’

  Alvyna watched her brother uneasily. His eyes were gleaming with a strange light. He’d always been different from other people, but never before had he looked as if he’d lost all sense of reason.

  She looked sideways at Sevris, her lip curling in disgust. They’d chosen a weakling for king, because there had been no one else willing to kill Ronan. Look at him now, gnawing at his fingernails, looking shrivelled and incompetent.

  For the first time it occurred to her that they might fail, then her brother spoke and she dismissed that thought impatiently. Of course they wouldn’t fail. Strange mood or not, Pavros was still the most powerful wizard ever known. He couldn’t possibly fail.

  Across from her he stretched out both his arms parallel to the floor, and muttered the incantation which should have brought Ronan’s son hurrying towards him. He waited.

  After a short time he stiffened and began to scowl. What was happening? Where was the youngster going? Why was this incantation not working?

  Not for the first time he cursed the magic gifts which had been bred into the royal family. Without them, it would have been easy to tell exactly where the young rebel leader was, easy to compel him to come straight here.

  He didn’t explain what he was doing to Sevris, however. The fool was radiating anxiety and Pavros didn’t want to add to it or it might hinder the spell.

  Nor did he seek to use the strength of the other men yet. He must keep that in reserve for the crucial moment.

  Anyway, it was enough that the kinglet was moving. Ronan would come towards this part of the building eventually. He could do nothing else if he wished to confront his uncle.

  ‘Send more guards down to the cellars!’ Pavros ordered abruptly. ‘Tell them to stop the prisoners breaking into this wing of the palace but not to let them get away.’

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  ‘Do that!’ Sevris commanded and let out one of his high-pitched laughs. ‘We’re going to need them as hostages later. The families of those rebels are going to pay dearly for daring to go against me.’

  Pavros didn’t bother to answer that. What did money matter? What really mattered was power and life—and youth.

  Bezroll went away to give the orders, but came back a short time later scowling.

  ‘The fools have already let most of the prisoners escape,’ he said bluntly to Sevris. ‘I told you to hire better commanders for your guards, even if it did mean paying out more money.’

  ‘All right for you to talk! It’s not your money,’ grumbled Sevris.

  ‘It’s our lives which are at risk if things go wrong, though. And your life, too, don’t forget.’

  ‘Well, they can’t stand against our trained fighters,’ the false king tossed back at him. ‘Or against Pavros. You’re worrying for nothing, Bezroll. Even Ronan wasn’t able to do that.’

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  24 REBELLION

  People came pouring down the side streets and alleys. The crowd gathered and grew till it looked like a river. There were not only those who lived in the city, but country folk, too, who’d been coming secretly into the city for days as Harrith had planned.

  The mass of people rolled onwards like a tide crashing down on a beach, until eventually it overflowed into the broad space in front of the palace gates. The rebels stopped there and stood quietly, driven by desperation, not a love of violence, and knowing only too well that this could be their last hour of life.

  They looked round uneasily, because they h
ad all seen examples of Pavros’s sorcery. But even that fear didn’t stop them tonight.

  The palace gates were locked so they gathered outside them, staring through the metal grills at the hated guards.

  ‘Go home!’ cried a Sergeant more compassionate than most of the hired fighters. ‘Go home while you still can, you fools!’

  ‘You go home yourself!’ someone yelled back. ‘Go back across the mountains to wherever you came from and leave us alone, you stinking foreigners!’

  ‘Down with all tyrants!’ yelled a voice in the crowd.

  ‘Give us back our lives!’ yelled another, a woman’s voice this time.

  ‘Stop killing our children,’ screeched another.

  Harrith had known the gates would be locked. While people shouted through them at the guards and generally milled around, he had gone to meet one of the palace servants. This woman’s brother had vanished screaming into a dark nothingness one day after offending Pavros. Her husband had been killed because he’d been in the way of some guards who were in a bad mood, not because he’d done anything wrong. So she’d bided her time, determined one day to strike a blow against the tyrant.

  Now that day had come.

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  She unlocked a small side gate and let in a party of men who were the most skilled fighters among the rebels. Most of these, like Harrith himself, were former guards who had served under King Ronan, a leader whom they’d loved and trusted completely—as no one trusted the false king, Sevris.

  Only magic and trickery had defeated the true king’s guards on that fateful day when Ronan had been killed, and Harrith knew that each one of these men had hoped secretly for a chance to make amends.

  Each would now fight to the death, if necessary, to try to regain the throne for Ronan’s son.

  Behind this group of experienced men crept Kerril and Shayla, led in that direction by the sword.