VICTORIA HANLEY
CORGI BOOKS
Contents
Cover
Title
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Also by Victoria Hanley
Acknowledgements
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Part Two
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
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Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781409048169
www.randomhouse.co.uk
THE SEER AND THE SWORD
A CORGI BOOK 978 0 552 55270 7 (from January 2007)
0 552 55270 4
First published in Great Britain by Scholastic Books
Scholastic edition published 1999
This edition published 2006
3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Copyright © Victoria Hanley, 1999
The right of Victoria Hanley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Papers used by Random House Children’s Books are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.
Set in 11/14.25pt New Baskerville
Corgi Books are published by Random House Children’s Books, 61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA, a division of The Random House Group Ltd, in Australia by Random House Australia (Pty) Ltd, 20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, Sydney, NSW 2061, Australia, in New Zealand by Random House New Zealand Ltd, 18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland 10, New Zealand, and in South Africa by Random House (Pty) Ltd, Isle of Houghton, Corner Boundary Road & Carse O’Gowrie, Houghton 2198, South Africa
THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009
www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Bookmarque Ltd, Croydon, Surrey
To my children, Emrys and Rose
Acknowledgements
Grateful thanks to the following people: my parents, for teaching me to love books; my husband, Tim, sisters Bridget and Peggy, and friend Mary Ann, for their support; the many dear friends who make my life so interesting; Ben Sharpe, for his astute input while editing this book; Sophie Hicks, my agent, and David Fickling, publisher, for their wonderful work on behalf of this story.
Also available by Victoria Hanley:
THE HEALER’S KEEP
THE LIGHT OF THE ORACLE
www.victoriahanley.com
Torina gripped the crystal, gazing into it. She had wanted to put the seer’s gift behind her, and it had found her again, given back by Landen. How had he come to have it? It still held the warmth of his body.
In the crystal, small dark rainbows floated across a panelled room. Torina recognized it as a favourite refuge of her father’s, one he used when he wanted privacy, a place to sort out the issues that came to him for decision.
Her father appeared. He stood alone, bare-headed, looking into the fire burning in the hearth. His head swivelled as the door opened and Vesputo came in. Torina heard the door close behind Vesputo with a soft echoing thud. The king motioned him forward, then turned back to the fire.
No, Papa! She screamed inwardly, filled with horror. Vesputo’s face showed single-minded, emotionless determination. She stretched out a hand, as if she could stop him.
He advanced to stand behind the king. He pulled a small stiletto from his belt.
No!
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PART ONE
Chapter One
In the castle of Archeld, Queen Dreea sat at her loom. Her vibrant weavings were prized throughout the kingdoms. They revealed a quiet passion the queen never showed in face or voice.
Beside Dreea, curled on a rug, her daughter Torina stitched embroidery. Long, slender fingers pulled the needle back and forth, forming the pattern of a rising sun: the sign of the house of Kareed. Mirandae, the queen’s close servant, spun wool, her wheel humming.
Torina stuck the needle crosswise in her spool and flexed her hands. ‘Enough sewing, Mamma! Let me go out and ride.’
Dreea smiled patiently. ‘The sun is ready to set. You rode this morning.’
‘The boys are still out.’
‘And you are not a boy.’ Dreea paused to feed a thread of scarlet into the pattern of blue she worked.
‘They have the chance to watch for King Kareed! He’s my father – I should be the first to see him!’ Wispy tendrils of Torina’s red curls straggled free of their ribbons.
Dreea shifted, laying hands on her full belly, thinking with regret of how Kareed’s nature goaded him to pit his strength against the might of other kingdoms. Once again, he was at war to extend his borders. Ever since he could swing a sword, the pride of warriorship had driven him to battle. Each time he prevailed, he drew his circle wider. Now his rule stretched north to Glavenrell, east to Desante, west to the sea, and south to Bellandra.
Bellandra, kingdom of peace, with a rich heritage of art and culture. Bellandra, whose citizens had enjoyed generations of harmony and prosperity. Dreea wondered, wistfully, what it would be like to live in such a land. It was said their magic Sword could stand against any foe. If that were so, what fate awaited Kareed?
Fear and hope struggled inside Dreea. She’d seen Bellandra herself, and loved the hospitable country. She didn’t want its ancient beauty to be destroyed by war. Yet war was exactly what Kareed was determined to carry there. If he were the victor, he would force Bellandra into servitude to Archeld. And if the famous Sword defeated him, what would Dreea do? She loved Kareed with all the enduring tenacity of a gentle heart. He filled all the landscape of her tender soul.
Now, she feared Kareed had overreached destiny, and only sorrow could be the result. She had prayed and prayed that something good would come of this.
‘Your father will be away a while longer,’ the queen told her restless daughter.
‘I still want to ride!’
Dreea shook her head. Many had told her that a more unruly spirit than Torina’s could not be found, even in the wild forests of Archeld.
When fiery King Kareed married Dreea, he passed over many ladies of more obvious beauty and greater riche
s. She knew people wondered why he kept such a queen, who had no taste for war and never bore him an heir for Archeld. It had been nine years since the birth of their daughter; nine years and seven miscarriages. Sad that such a powerful king could not command something so simple as having a son. But with Dreea, and only with her, Kareed the mighty king could become Kareed the loving man. When they were together, he relaxed into warmth, telling her all the secrets of his life. She doubted anyone guessed how much she knew. She never passed on his confidences, guarding them as closely as if they were her own.
And now, at last, her pregnancy was advanced; when the moon returned once more to fullness, she would deliver again. Perhaps this time it would be a boy.
A small commotion at the door to the hall drew Torina’s gaze. Her eyes, coloured like the sea, lit with surprise as her comrade Zeon rushed in, face flushed.
‘Torina!’ his boyish voice announced. ‘We saw the king riding, beyond the first ridge!’
A guard pressed through the door, grabbing Zeon roughly. ‘That will be quite enough!’ With Zeon wriggling in his grasp, the guard turned to Dreea. ‘Sorry, my lady, for the intrusion. If the boys can be believed, your husband will be here by sunset.’
Dreea felt a strange leaping in her heart. Unthinking, she stood and took a step towards the door. She heard a crash and turned in surprise to see Mirandae rushing at her with outstretched arms. The room tilted oddly and the light went out, snuffed by a dark roar rising in her ears.
Torina was hardly aware of her mother swaying and Mirandae upsetting the spinning wheel in her haste to aid her mistress. All the young princess wanted was to beat Zeon through the door. Now, hair streaming behind her, she lay along her horse’s neck, nudging Stina into a faster gallop. The westering sun caught the dust of a cloud of riders and glinted on the gold helmet of the king.
His amber-coloured stallion charged ahead of his men. One large arm swept the princess off her horse, red beard mingling with red curls as they embraced.
‘How’s my princess! Out here, near dark, unattended? Did you escape again?’
‘I wanted to meet you.’
‘And here I am.’
‘Did you win the war?’
He snorted. ‘Would I come home if I did not?’
She smiled, happy in her father’s victory. They rode slowly, her horse trotting near. Kareed asked about her mother’s health and Torina answered that the queen was well. Beaming, the king leaned into his saddlebag and brought out a fist.
‘This is for you, all the way from Bellandra. Hold out your hand.’
He put a crystal sphere in her palm. Her fingers barely fitted round it. Torina held it up to the embers of the sun. Inside the crystal, light swam and brightened; a world of gold.
‘How lovely.’ She nestled in the curve of her father’s arm. Moments alone with the king, without soldiers or petitioners or servants, were few.
Hooves pounded towards them from the direction of the castle. It was the guard who had hustled Zeon out. He galloped up.
‘My lord,’ he breathed. ‘I’m sorry, my lord, about the princess. She slipped away.’
‘She’s a true daughter of a king.’
The guard bit his lip. ‘Sir . . . it seems the queen was taken early.’
The king’s indulgent smile changed to a frown.
‘Vesputo!’ he barked. From the horsemen following, a rider detached and sped forward. Dark moustache and heavy eyebrows marked a handsome face.
‘Sir?’
‘Take the child.’ Torina was handed into Vesputo’s saddle, as if she wasn’t grown up enough to get up and down herself. ‘When you’ve delivered her safely, ride back and see to it the troops are all accounted for.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘I can ride Stina, Papa!’
Not even looking at her, the king galloped away with the guard, their horses veiled in dust on the darkening plain.
Torina sat very still, sidesaddle on Vesputo’s horse, clasping her new crystal and blinking.
‘What did the guard mean about my mother?’
The soldier shrugged.
Torina stared at the crystal, rotating it in her hand. She brought it close to her face, then gasped as the dimming light congealed in its middle and began to form a face. It was her mother’s. White, exhausted, laying on a pillow. Another face bent over her, a woman. Torina was somehow sure the woman was a midwife.
The midwife took the queen’s hand and rubbed it. A voice came from her, echoing inside Torina’s head as though mixed with surf sounds.
‘A son, my lady. Stillborn.’
Dreea’s face twisted into sobs.
‘No!’ Torina screamed, sliding down from Vesputo’s saddle. She ran to Stina.
‘What is it?’ Vesputo called. Torina leaped on her horse and drove her heels into the flanks, heading for home.
Outside the queen’s rooms, a group of women stood, waiting for news. Into this small crowd, Torina burst like a quick flame trying to take hold on green wood. She almost made it through the door.
Though she flailed and kicked, the women surrounded her, their soft arms firm as trees. She cried and called for her mother. They would not let her pass. When her cries gave way to shrieks of indignant anguish, some of them carried her to her room and stayed immovably by her side.
Dawn was beginning when Ancilla, Kareed’s old mother, crept in to be with her granddaughter. The girl lay huddled in her carved bed, covered with blankets carefully worked by Dreea’s patient hands.
Ancilla had borne only boys, and all had been killed in the Sliviite wars except Kareed, the son who arrived when she believed she was past the age for conceiving. Now she was older than anyone else, so old that wrinkles almost swallowed the delicate features that had once rallied kings. Yet her steps were still light, her eyes filled with the famous fire of the warrior line of Archeld.
She sat beside Torina, her bones barely dimpling the mattress. She smoothed the girl’s wild hair. Torina’s eyes fluttered open. She kissed Ancilla’s withered fingers.
‘Where’s Mamma?’
‘Resting.’
‘The baby?’
‘A stillborn son.’ The old eyes misted.
Torina hugged her middle, staring as though impaled on some inner vision. The old queen followed her granddaughter’s gaze and saw a pure crystal globe sitting on the bureau across from the bed.
‘Stillborn!’ the child cried pointing. ‘Gramere, the crystal my father gave me told me that yesterday!’
Ancilla stared. Yesterday. The queen delivered this morning. How could the girl know? Was Torina a seer? Ah heaven, what a great and terrible gift, if she was.
Ancilla reached out to hold the shivering girl. Her thin voice quavered the ritual song of mourning. ‘One I love is taken from me . . .’
Torina joined her in broken, childish tones.
‘We will never walk together over the fields of earth,
Never hear the birds in the morning.
Oh, I have lived with you and loved you
And now you are gone away.
Gone where I cannot follow
Until I have finished all my days.’
King Kareed leaned against the stone wall of the courtyard, looking out over the road where all travel from the plains must pass. The army was returning, and the king stood in silent review of his troops. The men rode in disciplined ranks, saluting as they went by. Later, when they reached their quarters or reunited with their families, there would be rejoicing. A great victory. Bellandra, the invincible, conquered. Bellandra’s Sword taken. Yes, they would celebrate. But now, in the presence of the king, whose suit of mourning white proclaimed his latest loss, they were subdued.
At last, the rear contingent came into view. Vesputo, grim-faced and dusty, turned his horse into the courtyard of the castle, followed by a small band of soldiers. The king went to meet them. He gripped Vesputo’s hand as his protégé swung down.
‘All accounted for?’
Vesputo nodded.
‘Well done, Commander. Go refresh yourself. I know how well you deserve it.’
Vesputo took a deep breath and formed the formal words heard so many times during his five years serving King Kareed. ‘My spirit is saddened by the flight of your loved one.’
Kareed put a hand to his chest, then let it drop. ‘May it be granted that at the end of my days we reunite.’ Kareed thought of the many battles fought side by side with Vesputo. ‘A son.’
‘Ah. Sir, I—’
‘Next time, Commander, you’ll stay here and guard my family.’
The king stopped. Torina stood a few feet away, a mourning gown draped round her. How long had she been there? Her face was almost as white as her dress. He remembered he had not seen his daughter since she rode to meet him on the plains.
This stillbirth has changed us all.
He extended an arm. Her tentative fingers clasped his. Where was the eager child who had leaped into his arms only the day before?
Her small hand curled round the present he had given her. She held it out. ‘This came from Bellandra?’
He nodded.
‘Who gave it to you?’
‘I saw it and thought of you. I forget who gave it to me.’
‘Did you see my face in it?’
‘Your face?’ Kareed frowned in puzzlement.
‘You’ve forgotten whose it was?’ she persisted. Her voice sounded strained.
‘Too many battles to remember all the places I’ve been.’
But Kareed did remember. The disturbing woman, older than Ancilla, bent and wizened. He had burst into her room during the search for the Sword, when they were sacking Bellandra. She had looked up at him with ageless eyes, then down at the sparkling sphere in her lap. She smiled a twisted smile.
‘Ah,’ she moaned, and kissed the crystal. She held it up to him. ‘For your red-haired daughter.’
Then she folded in front of him. When he prodded her with a sword, she never moved. Kareed had stopped to pry the shining thing from her dead hand, and slipped it into his pouch for Torina.