Hidden Warrior

by Lynn Flewelling

  Snatching it up, he thrust the hated thing into the clothes chest and slammed the lid down. “You can stay here forever!”

  He felt a little better after that. Let Brother haunt the keep if he wanted; he could have the place for all Tobin cared, but he wasn’t going back to Ero.

  He found his clothes folded neatly on a shelf in the wardrobe. Little bags of dried lavender and mint fell out of the folds of his tunic when he picked it up. He pressed the wool to his face and inhaled, knowing that Nari had tucked the herbs there after she’d washed and mended his clothes. She’d probably sat by the bed as she worked, watching over him.

  The thought dissolved his anger at her. No matter what she’d done all those years ago, he knew she loved him, and he still loved her. Dressing quickly, he made his way quietly upstairs.

  A few lamps burned in niches along the third floor corridor, and moonlight streamed in at the rosette windows overhead, but the passage was still shadowy and cold. Arkoniel’s rooms lay at the far end and Tobin couldn’t help keeping one eye on the heavy locked door across from the workroom, the door to the tower.

  If he went to it, he wondered, would he still feel his mother’s angry spirit there, just on the other side? He kept close to the right-hand wall.

  There was no answer at Arkoniel’s bedchamber, but light showed underneath the workroom door next to it. Tobin lifted the latch and went in.

  Lamps burned everywhere inside, banishing the shadows and filling the large chamber with light. Arkoniel was at the table under the windows, head propped on one hand as he studied a parchment. He started nervously as Tobin entered, then rose to greet him.

  Tobin was surprised at how worn the young wizard looked. There were dark hollows under his cheekbones and his face had a pinched look, as if he’d been sick. His curly black hair, always unruly, stuck out in clumps about his head, and his tunic was rumpled and stained with dirt and ink.

  “Awake at last,” he said, attempting to sound hearty and failing miserably. “Has Iya spoken with you yet?”

  “Yes. She told me not to tell anyone about this.” Tobin touched his chest, unwilling to give voice to the hated secret.

  Arkoniel sighed deeply and looked distractedly around the room. “It was a terrible way for you to find out, Tobin. By the Light, I’m sorry. None of us suspected, not even Lhel. I’m so very sorry …” He trailed off, still not looking at Tobin. “It shouldn’t have happened as it did. None of it.”

  Tobin had never seen the young wizard look so dismayed. At least Arkoniel had tried to be his friend. Not like Iya, who only showed up when it suited her.

  “Thank you for helping Ki,” he said, as the silence drew out uncomfortably between them.

  Arkoniel jerked as if Tobin had slapped him, then let out a hollow laugh. “You’re most welcome, my prince. How could I do otherwise? Is there any change?”

  “He’s still asleep.”

  “Asleep.” Arkoniel wandered back to the table, touching things, picking them up and putting them down without looking at them.

  Tobin’s fear crept back. “Will Ki be all right? There wasn’t really any fever. Why hasn’t he woken up yet?”

  Arkoniel fiddled with a wooden rod. “It takes time, such a wound.”

  “Tharin said you think Brother hurt him.”

  “Brother was with him. Perhaps he knew we’d need the doll—I don’t know. He may have hurt Ki. I don’t know if he meant to.” He began picking at things on the table again, as if he’d forgotten that Tobin was still there. At last he took up the document he’d been reading, holding it up for Tobin to see. The seals and florid looping handwriting were unmistakable. It was the work of Lord Orun’s scribe.

  “Iya thought I should be the one to tell you,” Arkoniel said despondently. “This arrived yesterday. You’re to go back to Ero as soon as you’re fit to travel. Orun is furious, of course. He’s threatening to write to the king again, demanding that you take a different squire.”

  Tobin sank down on a stool by the table. Orun had been trying to replace Ki since their first day in Ero. “But why? It wasn’t Ki’s fault!”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t care about that. He sees an opportunity to get what he’s always wanted—someone who’ll keep a closer eye on you.” Arkoniel rubbed at his eyes and ran his fingers back through his hair, leaving it more disheveled than ever. “Of one thing you can be certain. He’ll never let you run off like that again. You’re going to have to be terribly careful now. Never give Orun or Niryn or anyone else any reason to suspect you’re more than the king’s orphaned nephew.”

  “Iya explained about that already. I don’t see much of Niryn anyway if I can help it. He scares me.”

  “Me too,” Arkoniel admitted, but he looked a bit more like his old self. “Before you go back, there are a few things I can teach you, ways to shroud your thoughts.” He managed the ghost of a smile. “Don’t worry, it’s just a matter of concentration. I know you don’t care much for magic.”

  Tobin shrugged. “I can’t seem to get away from it, though, can I?” He picked unhappily at a callus on his thumb. “Korin told me how I’m the next heir after him, until he has an heir of his own. Is that why Lord Orun wants to control me?”

  “Ultimately, yes. But for now he has control of Atyion—in your name, of course, but control all the same. He’s an ambitious man, our Orun. If anything were to happen to Prince Korin before he marries …” He shook his head sharply. “We must keep a close eye on him. And don’t worry too much about Ki. Orun doesn’t have final say on that, no matter how much he blusters. Only the king can decide that. I’m sure it will all get sorted out when you get back.”

  “Iya’s going to Ero with me. I wish you’d come, instead.”

  Arkoniel smiled and this time it was his real smile, all kind and awkward and well-meaning. “I wish I could, but for now it’s best that I stay hidden here. The Harriers already know Iya, but not about me. Tharin will be with you, and Ki.”

  Seeing Tobin’s crestfallen look, he knelt beside him and took him by the shoulders. “I’m not abandoning you, Tobin. I know it must feel that way, but I’m not. I never will. If ever you need me, you can be certain I’ll find my way to you. Once Orun calms down, perhaps you can convince him to let you visit here more often. I’m sure Prince Korin will take your side in that.”

  That was little comfort to him now, but Tobin nodded. “I want to see Lhel. Will you take me? Nari will never let me go out alone and Tharin still doesn’t know about her, does he?”

  “No, though I wish more than ever now that he did.” Arkoniel rose. “I’ll take you to her first thing tomorrow, all right?”

  “But I want to go now.”

  “Now?” Arkoniel glanced at the dark window. “It’s after midnight. You should go back to bed …”

  “I’ve slept for days! I’m not tired.”

  Arkoniel smiled again. “But I am, and Lhel will be sleeping, too. Tomorrow, all right? We can go as early as you like, as soon as it’s light. Come on, I’ll walk down with you and see how Ki’s doing.” He pointed to the lamps in turn, snuffing all but the one at his elbow. Then, to Tobin’s surprise, he shuddered and hugged himself. “It’s gloomy up here at night.”

  Tobin couldn’t help glancing nervously toward the tower door as they went out, and was sure he saw the wizard do the same.

  Chapter 2

  Tobin woke up in the armchair with the sun in his face and Tharin’s cloak tucked around him. He stretched, then leaned forward to see if Ki looked any different.

  His friend hadn’t moved, but Tobin thought there was more color in his cheeks than there had been the night before. He reached under the blankets and found Ki’s hand. It was warm, another encouraging sign.

  “Can you hear me? Ki, you’ve been sleeping forever. It’s a good day for a ride. Wake up. Please?”

  “Let him sleep, keesa.”

  “Lhel?” Tobin turned, expecting to find the door open.

  Instead, the witch floated
just behind him in an oval of strange light. He could see trees around her, firs and bare oaks dusted with snow. As he watched, big lacy flakes fell, catching in her dark curls and on the rough fabric of her dress. It was like looking at her through a window. Just beyond the oval the room looked exactly as it should, but she seemed to be standing in her camp.

  Amazed, Tobin reached out to her, but the strange apparition shrank back and in on itself until he could see nothing but her face.

  “No! No touch,” she warned. “Arkoniel bring you. Let Ki rest.”

  She vanished, and left Tobin gaping at the place she’d been. He didn’t understand what he’d just seen, but he took her at her word. “I’ll be back soon,” he told Ki and, on impulse, bent and kissed him lightly on his bandaged forehead. Blushing at his own foolishness, he hurried out and took the stairs to Arkoniel’s room two at a time.

  * * *

  In daylight the corridor looked safe and ordinary, and the tower door nothing but another door. The workroom door stood open and he could hear Iya and Arkoniel talking inside.

  Arkoniel was weaving a pattern of light above the table as Tobin entered. Something struck the wall close to Tobin’s head and skittered across the floor. Startled, he looked down and saw it was only a speckled dry bean.

  “And that’s as far as I’ve gotten with it,” said Arkoniel, sounding frustrated. He still looked tired and when he caught sight of Tobin the worry lines deepened around his mouth. “What is it? Is Ki—?”

  “He’s asleep. I want to go see Lhel now. She said I should come. You said you’d take me.”

  “She said—?” Arkoniel exchanged a look with Iya, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll take you.”

  It was snowing outside, just as it had been in his vision of Lhel. The fat, wet flakes melted as they touched the ground, but they stayed on the tree boughs like sugar on a cake and he could see his breath on the air. The road behind the keep was covered with fallen leaves, a faded carpet of yellow and red that whispered under Gosi’s hooves. Ahead, the peaks glistened white against the dull grey sky.

  He tried to explain the strange visitation to Arkoniel as they rode.

  “Yes, she calls that her window spell,” said the wizard, not sounding the least surprised.

  Before Tobin could question him further, the witch stepped from the trees to meet them. She always knew when they were coming.

  Dirty and gap-toothed, dressed in a shapeless brown dress decorated with polished deer teeth, she looked more beggar than witch. Squinting up at them, she shook her head and grinned. “You keesas has no breakfast. Come, I feed you.”

  As if it were just another day and nothing strange had ever happened between them, she turned and walked back into the trees. Tobin and Arkoniel tethered their horses and hurried after her on foot. Another of the witch’s peculiar magics guarded her camp. In all the time Tobin had known her, she had never used the same path twice, and he and Ki had never been able to find their way to her on their own. He wondered if Arkoniel knew how.

  After many twists and turns, they came out in the clearing where her oak house stood. He’d forgotten how huge it was. Grandmother oak, Lhel called it. The trunk was as wide as a small cottage, and a natural split had hollowed a great space inside the trunk without killing it. A few leathery, copper-colored leaves still fluttered on the upper branches, and the ground around it was strewn with acorns. A fire crackled near the low opening that served as Lhel’s door. She disappeared inside for a moment, returning with a bowl of dried meat strips and a few wrinkled pippins.

  Tobin wasn’t interested in food, but Lhel put the bowl in his hands and wouldn’t say another word until he and Arkoniel had done as they were told.

  “You come now,” she said, going back to the oak. Arkoniel rose to follow, but she forestalled him with a look.

  Inside, another small fire burned in a pit at the center of the packed-earth floor. Lhel pulled the deerskin door flap down and sat on the pelt-covered pallet beside the fire, patting the place beside her. When Tobin joined her, she turned his face to the light and studied him a moment, then opened the neck of his tunic to inspect the scar.

  “Is good,” she said, then pointed down at his lap. “You see more blood?”

  Tobin blushed and shook his head. “That won’t happen again, will it?”

  “Someday later. But you may feel moontide in the belly.”

  Tobin remembered the ache between his hipbones that had driven him here. “I don’t like that. It hurts.”

  Lhel chuckled. “No girl like that.”

  Tobin shivered at the word, but Lhel didn’t seem to notice. Reaching into the shadows behind her, she handed him a small pouch containing dried bluish green leaves. “Akosh. If pains come, you make tea with just this much, no more.” She showed him a generous pinch of leaves and mimed crumbling them into a cup.

  Tobin stuck the bag inside his tunic, then stared down at his clasped hands. “I don’t want this, Lhel. I don’t want to be a girl. And I don’t want to be—queen.” He could hardly get the word out.

  “You not change your fate, keesa.”

  “Fate? You did this. You and the wizards!”

  “Goddess Mother and your Lightbearer tell it must be so. That make fate.”

  Tobin looked up to find her watching him with wise, sad eyes. She pointed skyward. “The gods be cruel, no? To you and Brother.”

  “Brother! Did Arkoniel tell you what he did? I’m never going to call him again. Never! I’ll bring you the doll. You keep him.”

  “No, you will. You must. Souls tied tight.” Lhel locked her hands together.

  Tobin’s hands curled to white-knuckled fists on his knees. “I hate him!”

  “You need him.” Lhel took his hands and spoke in his mind without words, the way she always did when she wanted to be clear. “You and he must be together for the magic to hold. He is cruel. What else could he be, angry and alone all the time and seeing you live the life denied him? Perhaps you can understands little, now that you know the truth?”

  Tobin didn’t want to understand, or to forgive but her words struck home all the same. “You hurt him, when you sewed the bone into my chest. He cried blood.”

  Lhel grimaced. “He was not meant to be, child. I’ve done all I could for him, but he’s been the burden of my heart since you were born.”

  “Your burden?” Tobin sputtered. “You weren’t there when he was hurting me, hurting my mother and father and driving servants away—And he almost killed Ki!” The fire blurred before him as tears welled up. “Have you seen Ki? He won’t wake up!”

  “He will. And you will keep the doll and care for Brother.”

  Tobin wiped angrily at his eyes. “It’s not fair!”

  “Hush, keesa!” she snapped, pulling her hands away from his. “What gods care for fair? Fair I stay here, far from my people? Live in tree? For you, I do this. For you we all suffer.”

  Tobin shrank back as if he’d been slapped. She’d never spoken to him like that; no one had.

  “You be queen for Skala. That your fate! Would you abandon your people?” She stopped and shook her head, gentle again. “You young, keesa. Too young. This will end. When you take off Brother skin, you both be free then.”

  “But when?”

  “I no see. Illior tell you, maybe.” She stroked his cheek, then took his hand and pressed it to her right breast. It was soft and heavy under the coarse wool. “You will be a woman one day, keesa.” Her voice was a dark caress in his mind. “I see the fear in your heart, fear you’ll lose your power. Women have power, too. Why do you think your moon god made queens for Skala? They were all warriors, your ancestors. Never forget that. Women carry the moon in their blood tide, too, and in their heart blood.”

  She touched the inside of her wrist where the fine blue veins showed through. A thin cresecent moon appeared there, etched in fine black lines. “That you now—sliver moon, most of you dark.” She moved her finger and a circle appeared, just touching the outer curve of
the crescent. “But when you grown like belly moon, you will know your power.”

  With the eye of an artist, Tobin knew there must be more to balance the design—a waning moon—but she didn’t show him or speak of it. Instead, she touched his flat belly. “Here you will make great queens.” Her eyes met his and Tobin saw respect there. “Teach them about my people, Tobin. Teach your wizards, too.”

  “Iya and Arkoniel know. They went to you when they needed help.”

  Lhel let out a snort and sat back. “Not many like them,” she said aloud. Drawing the silver knife from her belt, she pricked her left thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. With it she drew a crescent on Tobin’s brow, then enclosed it in a circle. “Mother protect you, keesa.” She kissed the mark she’d made. “You go back now.”

  As Tobin left the clearing with Arkoniel he paused at the spring, wanting to see what the blood mark looked like. There was no sign of it; perhaps it had vanished when she kissed him. He looked for that other face, too, and was glad when he saw only his own.

  Tobin spent the rest of the day with Ki, watching Cook and Nari gently spooning broth between his lips and changing the thick woolen pads underneath him when he soiled himself. It hurt to see his friend so helpless. Ki was thirteen, and wouldn’t think much of being treated like a baby.

  Tobin wanted nothing more than to be alone, but everyone seemed determined to look after him. Tharin brought modeling wax and sat with him. Sergeant Laris and some of the other men came up, too, offering to play bakshi and knucklebones, but Tobin didn’t want to. They all tried to cheer him up, joking and talking to Ki as if he could hear them, but that only made Tobin feel worse. He didn’t want to talk about horses or hunting, not even with Tharin. It seemed like lying, to speak of such ordinary things. Lhel’s words haunted him, making him feel like a stranger in his own skin. His new secrets lodged like caneberry seeds between his teeth, threatening to work loose and fly out at any moment if he wasn’t careful.

  “Now look, you’ve tired poor Tobin out!” Nari exclaimed, coming in with a stack of fresh linen. “He’s only just up out of his own sickbed himself. Go on now and let him have some peace.”