Read Online The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) by R.J. Grieve - Free Book Online Page A

merely replied: “Not at
all.”
     Pressing his advantage, Enrick added: “There are issues
here that affect the future of Eskendria and I know your high sense of duty
will compel you to attend to the matter yourself.”
     “That’s right, Vesarion,” the King suddenly intervened,
showing he had been not quite as oblivious to their conversation as he
appeared. “Your loyalty has always been the jewel in the crown of Eskendria. I
would trust no one more to get to the bottom of this than you.”
     Vesarion’s face softened. He had an affection for the King,
arising from the kindness he had shown him when he had been left an orphan.
     “Very well, sire. Since you desire it, it will be my
pleasure to undertake this matter for you.”
     Enrick scowled, always over-sensitive to the fondness his
father bore for his arch-rival. He was also aware that the tables had been
somewhat turned upon him.
     However, whatever else Enrick might have said on the issue
was never to be known, for at that moment they were interrupted by sounds of an
altercation taking place outside in the corridor that lead to the King’s
apartments. A howling sound, distant at first but growing in volume, appeared
to be coming in their direction. It was punctuated by shouts that sounded like
challenges from the guards. Enrick’s frown deepened as he turned towards the
door. Even the King sat up expectantly. But before any of them could react, the
tall double doors burst asunder precipitating Bethro and four harassed guards
into the room. The strange howling sound, like a bear caught in a trap, was
issuing from Bethro and instead of ceasing in the presence of such august
company, actually rose to a crescendo.
     The guards had clearly been struggling to restrain him
without actually having to resort to lethal force. All four were looking
dishevelled and a little at a loss what to do. When they saw the King they fell
back respectfully.
     Enrick leaped to his feet, clearly outraged. “What is the
meaning of this, Bethro?” he demanded in furious tones.
     “Oooh! Nooo!” wailed the afflicted librarian. “This is
awful. This is a disaster. What’s to be done? I am a dead man. Oooh!”
     “What is a disaster? What are you talking about?”
     “It wasn’t my fault! You must believe me, it wasn’t my
fault!”
     Vesarion, realising that the guards were still interested
spectators to this performance, and sensing that it might be politic to keep
whatever Bethro had done, private, dismissed them with a wave of his hand. He
then strode forward and gripping the trembling librarian by the shoulders,
peremptorily shook him. “Pull yourself together,” he commanded in tones that
had never failed to have effect. “You’d better come up with a very good reason
for this exhibition.”
     His forceful air seemed to penetrate the fog of hysteria in
which Bethro had lost himself.
     “It’s gone,” he whispered fearfully, looking from one to
the other like a trapped hare.
     Vesarion grasped the remnants of his patience. “What’s
gone?”
     Bethro gulped. “The sword of Erren-dar.”
     “What!”
      The one word, issued in thunderous accents, was enough to
cast the Keeper of Antiquities into panic again. Excuses tumbled out of him.
     “It wasn’t my fault. I swear it wasn’t. The door was
locked. I don’t know how it happened.”
     “Compose yourself, Bethro,” the King said gently. “Start at
the beginning and tell us what happened.”
     The calm words had more effect than all the younger man’s
anger. Bethro visibly mastered his panic and took a deep breath.
     “When I went to the tower this morning to check on the
sword, I found the outer door of the tower locked securely and everything
seemed normal. The inner room where the sword was kept was also locked and
seemingly undisturbed, but when I lit the lantern I had brought with me – the
room has no windows you understand – the table where the sword should have been,
was