Not jaunting , he thought. Mine is a task of serious consequence. Let Losara play ruler if he likes, it matters not to me.
A hand slipped around his waist and startled him.
‘Whoa there,’ chuckled Jaya. ‘I’m no night haunt.’
‘Sorry, I was just …thinking. I didn’t hear you.’
‘I heard a voice,’ she said. ‘Was there a message from Fahren?’
‘Yes. Losara has become Shadowdreamer.’
‘Oh,’ she said, and frowned. He knew she was still a little confused over what exactly Losara was. He didn’t blame her – he was uncertain himself.
‘And this worries you?’
‘It makes me wonder if I am following the right path,’ he said. ‘Should I have taken the Throneship, to face him as an equal?’
‘Equal?’ she said. ‘I thought he was …lacking.’
‘Yes,’ said Bel, and then more strongly, ‘Yes. A sliver of shadow that wormed away, of little substance.’
‘Then you’re different from him in many ways,’ said Jaya. ‘He seizes power because he’s a dark, greedy creature. You are not so greedy, and look to the greater good instead of your own aggrandisement, you lofty bastard.’
Bel laughed, and pulled her closer. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘That’s what it must be.’ As he stared into her green–gold eyes, he found his worry melting.
She grinned at him. ‘Now, shall we slip away a while?’
‘Why yes,’ said Bel, brightening even more. ‘We should give Hiza and M’Meska some time together – respect their privacy and all that.’
She screwed up her face at the mental image he’d conjured – and together they went into the trees.
The days that followed were, in a way, a peaceful time. They travelled at a steady pace, and kept one another good company. They stuck mostly to the roads, and whenever they passed people, Bel received stares, or was greeted with questions and well wishes. Occasionally they were delayed by people intent on having as much to do with the blue-haired man as they possibly could. There were signs of the war to come, of soldiers on the move, or heralds crying out for all to do their duty and join the effort. Sometimes it was simply an absence – an almost-empty barracks or town walls devoid of guards.
Bel felt uneasy to be heading away from it all, not yet able to join the army that gathered because of him. What if something happened, what if fighting started before he could return? It seemed that all knew the prophecy, knew the description of the blue-haired man holding his sword aloft as the last blows fell, and if they didn’t there were plenty of minstrels who did. Bel had a sense that everyone was rushing towards this end as though afraid it would escape them, yet he was not ready. He needed time – already he was impatient with his task and they had barely started. Maybe this was just what fate intended – that he would find the Stone and rejoin the army on the very eve of battle?
When they were able to they stayed in towns, where innkeepers could be counted on to insist that Bel and his friends did not pay for a single thing. There was no further news from Fahren, though one night Bel sent him a message to let him know they neared the Great Rass. They avoided the bustling city of Ismore on the river’s edge, for while Bel did not mind the idolatry of the masses, a city might slow them down too much. Circling wide of Ismore’s walls, they rejoined the road where it left the city, heading down towards the Great Rass. Here the ground was well trodden, and the volume of traffic ensured that much attention was paid to Bel’s passing.
‘So it is true!’ came a call. ‘Our deliverance is at hand!’
‘Praise be to the child of power!’ was another.
‘Why he’s nothing but a boy, fresh to stubble,’ someone else muttered.
To the east towered the great Arkus Heights, looming and spectacular. Their rocky peaks rose dry and red out of vegetated lower reaches, from which also emerged the cascading Rass. Bel marvelled at the river’s width – the trees on the other side as small as pinheads. Ropes were stretched over the foaming, noisy water, along which fishermen pulled sturdy boats and tended to their nets. The stone bridge across ran low to the water, wide and strong. Bel wondered how it had ever been built against such a powerful flow. Magic, maybe.
As they made their way onto the bridge, with the horses’ hooves clopping crisply on the cobblestones, they came across two peacekeepers.
‘Hello, fellow blades,’ Bel greeted the shocked men. ‘How goes the morning?’
‘It goes well, sir,’ stammered one.
The other, an older fellow with a red nose, sounded as if he may have already taken his fair share of drink, though it was only early.
‘By Arkus’s great orange balls! In all my days, I never thought I’d see the prophecy come to life. ’Scuse the cursing, lord.’ He put a hand over his mouth to stifle a hiccup, and glanced around self-consciously as people crowded the bridge to witness the exchange.
Bel leaned forward in his saddle and gave a lazy smile. ‘I’m no lord, friend. I’m just a blade with a chore to do, and I’ve heard cursing worse than that, by piss and fire!’
The sodden blade guffawed briefly, then moved to stand in front of Bel’s horse, blocking his way.
‘But …’ he frowned, ‘are you in need of any assistance, sir?’
‘Not us,’ said Bel. ‘We must simply continue on.’
‘But the blue-haired man will save us from the south,’ cried the blade, suddenly seizing the reins of Bel’s horse, making the beast shuffle backwards. ‘He needs the aid of able men!’
‘Excuse him, please,’ said the other blade, who set about half-steering, half-pulling his partner away. ‘He’s had a difficult time of late.’
‘What can we do?’ called the older blade. ‘You need us, sir, you can’t do it alone!’
‘There will be need of anyone willing to fight,’ said Bel, loud enough for all to hear. ‘Our army gathers in Kahlay. Any man or woman who can lift a sword is welcome to join. Spread the word, and together we shall put an end to the darkness of Fenvarrow!’
People cheered, and Bel wondered if he’d just added a few more to the army. His army.
‘Now,’ Bel said, giving Hiza a glance, ‘we must be on our way.’
Hiza nodded. ‘Make way!’ he called, urging his horse ahead. ‘Make way for the blue-haired man!’
As Hiza cleared a path, the others were able to follow more easily. Nodding and waving as they passed, they crossed the bridge into the state of Centrus and set out on a less-populated road eastwards, towards Cadmir.
Soon they were hugging the wooded foothills of the Arkus Heights, travelling through a lush and marshy land. The road was raised above a mire of ferns and long grasses, cut through with oozing streams that moistened the air. Several leagues on, the woods spilled from the foothills onto the flatter lands, and the road curved to avoid them. A little further, and in fading light, they spied a collection of brown dwellings that had to be Cadmir, standing amongst fields some distance from the wood.
As they cantered up the path to the village, they came to a guardhouse on the outskirts. A watching figure held up a lantern, and they heard a sharp intake of breath. The figure approached, and turned out to be a man of middle age, stout and with a neatly trimmed beard.
‘By Arkus,’ he said. ‘If Gellan hadn’t warned me you’d be coming, I don’t know I’d believe my eyes.’ He paused. ‘Forgive me, Blade Bel – my name is Burfurd, and I’m the head peacekeeper here in Cadmir. Welcome to our humble village.’
‘Greetings,’ said Bel, ‘and thanks.’ He slid from his horse and went to shake Burfurd’s hand. Somewhat stunned, the peacekeeper took it limply.