Hidden Warrior

by Lynn Flewelling

  Tobin bristled. “Because I’m a girl?”

  “Oh, for hell’s sake—If I’d had to cut myself open and then have the skin fried off me, I don’t know that I’d be up and around so fast.” He grew serious again. “Damn, Tobin! I don’t know what that magic was, but for a minute there it looked like the sun had come down blazing right where you stood! Or Harriers fire.” He grimaced. “Did it hurt?”

  Tobin shrugged. “I don’t remember much about it, except for the queens.”

  “What queens?”

  “The ghosts. You didn’t see them?”

  “No, just Brother. For a minute there I thought you were both finished, the way you looked. He really is gone, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. I wonder where he went?”

  “To Bilairy’s gate, I hope. I tell you, Tob, I’m not sorry to see the last of him, even if he did help you now and then.”

  “I suppose,” Tobin murmured. “Still, that’s the last of my family, isn’t it?”

  When Lytia came back she wasn’t alone. Tharin, Arkoniel, and several servants were with her, carrying bulky cloth-wrapped parcels.

  “How do you feel?” asked Arkoniel, taking Tobin’s chin in his hand and examining her face.

  Tobin pulled away. “I don’t know yet.”

  “She’s hungry,” Lytia said, laying a huge breakfast for them on a table by the hearth. “I think perhaps you should let the princess eat before anything else.”

  “I’m not, and don’t call me that!” Tobin snapped.

  Tharin folded his arms and gave her a stern look. “Nothing more, until you eat.”

  Tobin grabbed an oatcake and took a huge bite to satisfy him, then realized how hungry she really was. Still standing, she wolfed down a second, then speared a slice of fried liver with her knife. Ki joined her, just as famished.

  Tharin chuckled. “You know, you don’t look so different in daylight. A bit more like your mother, perhaps, but that’s no bad thing. I bet you’ll be a beauty when you fill out and get your growth.”

  Tobin snorted around a mouthful of cardamom bun; the mirror had told a different tale.

  “Maybe this will cheer you up.” Tharin went to the bed and opened one of the bundles the servants had left there. With a flourish, he held up a shimmering hauberk. The rings of the mail were so fine it felt like serpent skin under Tobin’s admiring hand. It was chased with a little goldwork along the lower edge, neck, and sleeves, but the pattern was a clean, simple one, just intertwined lines, like vines. The other parcels yielded a steel cuirass and helm of similar design.

  “That’s Aurënfaie work,” Lytia told her. “They were gifts to your father’s grandmother.”

  The cuirass bore the Atyion oak chased in gold. Both it and the hauberk fit as if they’d been measured for her. The mail hung lightly and felt as supple as one of Nari’s knitted sweaters.

  “The women of the castle thought you’d be wanting this, too,” Lytia said, holding up a new surcoat. “There’s a padded undercoat, and banners in your colors, as well. We won’t have the Scion of Atyion riding into battle like some nameless thane.”

  “Thank you!” Tobin exclaimed, pulling the surcoat on over her hauberk. Going to the mirror, she studied her reflection as Ki buckled on her sword. The face framed by the antique coif wasn’t that of a frightened girl, but the one she’d always known.

  A warrior’s face.

  Ki grinned at her in the glass. “See? Under all that, you don’t look any different at all.”

  “That may be for the best,” said Arkoniel. “I doubt Erius will be pleased to hear he has a niece rather than a nephew. Tharin, make certain word is passed among the troops that the name Tamír is not to be spoken in Ero until the order is given.”

  “I wonder what Korin will say?” asked Ki.

  “That’s a good question,” Arkoniel mused.

  Tobin frowned at her reflection. “I’ve wondered about that ever since you and Lhel told me the truth. He’s not just my kinsman, Arkoniel; he’s my friend. How can I hurt him after he’s been so good to me? It wouldn’t be right, but I can’t think what to do. He isn’t very likely to just step aside, is he?”

  “No,” said Tharin.

  “That’s best left on the knees of the gods,” Arkoniel advised. “For now, perhaps it’s best if it’s Prince Tobin who returns to Ero’s aid. The rest will have to be sorted out afterward.”

  “If there is an afterward,” Ki put in. “The Plenimarans aren’t going to just step aside, either, and they have necromancers and plenty of soldiers. Sakor only knows how many!”

  “Actually, we were able to do a bit of spying for you,” said Tharin, grinning at Tobin’s look of surprise. “Some of these wizards can be quite useful when they choose.”

  “You recall that time I flew you to Ero?” asked Arkoniel.

  “That was a vision.”

  “A sighting spell, it’s called. I’m no general, but with a bit of help from Tharin here, we estimated that the enemy has perhaps eight thousand men.”

  “Eight thousand! How many do we have here?”

  “There are five hundred horsemen in the garrison, and nearly twice that with the foot and archers,” said Tharin. “Another few hundred should stay behind to hold the castle if it’s attacked. My cousin Oril will act as your marshal here—”

  “Fifteen hundred. That’s not nearly enough!”

  “That’s only the standing garrison. Word was sent to the outlying barons and knights as soon as we got here. Another two thousand can follow by tomorrow with the baggage train.” He paused and gave Tobin a grim smile. “We don’t have much choice, except to make do with what we have.”

  “Grannia sent me to ask if the women warriors might ride in your vanguard,” Lytia told her.

  “Yes, of course.” Tobin thought a moment, recalling something of Raven’s lessons. “Tell her only the very best fighters are to be in the front. Keep the others back in the ranks until they get seasoned. There’s no shame in it. Tell them Skala needs them alive and fighting. There are too few of them to waste foolishly.” As Lytia turned to go, she asked, “Will you be coming with us?”

  She laughed. “No, Highness, I’m no warrior. But old Hakone taught me how to provision an army. We saw your father and grandfather off to many a battle. You’ll have all you need.”

  “Thank you all. Whatever happens after this, I’m glad to have such friends with me.”

  Chapter 55

  Fifteen hundred warriors seemed like a great force to Tobin as they rode out from Atyion that day. Ki and Lynx rode at her left, resplendent in their borrowed armor. Arkoniel looked awkward and uncomfortable in his mail shirt and steel cap, but Tharin had insisted. The priests who’d seen her transformation rode with them to bear witness in Ero. Captain Grannia and forty of her warriors rode proudly in the vanguard in front of them. Most were Nari’s age or Cook’s and had grey braids down their backs. They sang war songs as they rode, and their brave, clear voices sent a thrill through Tobin.

  Tharin was her war marshal now, and introduced the other captains as they rode. Tobin knew some of them from previous visits. These men had all fought for her father and readily pledged themselves to her a second time, despite the strangeness of the situation.

  Before they left the borders of Atyion, hundreds more from the southern steadings streamed out to join them—grizzled knights, farmers’ sons with polearms on their shoulders, and more women and girls, some still in skirts. Grannia sorted the women out, sending some back into the ranks and others home.

  “I wish there’d been time to get word to Ahra,” Ki said, nodding at the women. “She and Una would want to be with you.”

  “News of Ero must have traveled,” said Tharin. “I expect we’ll meet up with them sooner or later.”

  They overtook other groups of warriors on their way to the city, alerted by Tobin’s northbound passage the previous day. They addressed her as Prince Tobin and no one disabused them of it.

  Most of the b
ands were village militias, but just before sundown they were overtaken by Lord Kyman of Ilear, who had five hundred archers and two hundred mounted warriors at his command.

  Kyman was a huge, red-bearded old lord, and his scabbard showed the scars of many campaigns. He dismounted and saluted Tobin. “I knew your father well, my prince. It’s an honor to serve his son.”

  Tobin bowed, muttering her thanks. Arkoniel gave her a wink, then drew Kyman aside for a moment. Tharin and the priests joined them and Tobin saw the priestess of Illior display her palm, as if for emphasis.

  “I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone?” Tobin muttered nervously.

  “It’s no good lying to the lords,” said Ki. “Looks like he and Tharin are old friends, though. That’s a good start.”

  When Arkoniel and Tharin had finished Kyman turned and stared at Tobin a moment, then strode over and looked up into her face, which was somewhat obscured by her helmet. “Is this true?”

  “It is, my lord,” she replied. “But I’m still Scion of Atyion and my father’s child. Will you fight with me for Skala’s sake, though sooner or later it may mean opposing the king?”

  The man’s coppery brows shot up. “You haven’t heard, then? The king is dead. Prince Korin holds the Sword.”

  Tobin’s heart sank; she’d clung to the hope that she wouldn’t have to oppose Korin and the other Companions directly. There was no escaping it now.

  “Your claim to the throne is as good as his for those who remember the Oracle,” Kyman told her. “We’ve heard of you, you know. There’ve been rumors for years among the country folk of a queen who’d come and lift the curse from the land. But I didn’t think there were any girls of the blood left.” He jerked a thumb at Arkoniel and the priests. “It’s a strange tale they tell, but there’s no mistaking you as your father’s blood. And I don’t imagine you’d have the might of Atyion behind you, or my old friend Tharin either, if they didn’t have good reason to believe you are what they say.”

  He dropped to one knee and presented his sword. “So my answer is yes. Let Ilear be the first to rally to your banner, Majesty.”

  Tobin accepted the blade and touched him on the shoulders as Erius had with Ki. “I don’t claim the title of queen yet, but I accept, for Skala’s sake, and Illior’s.”

  He kissed the blade and took it back. “Thank you, Highness. I pray you’ll remember Ilear and the house of Kyman kindly when you do wear the crown.”

  They stopped at sundown to eat and rest the horses, then marched on. A waxing moon peered out from behind scudding clouds, turning the muddy high road into a ribbon of black before them.

  By midnight they could see a faint red glow in the southern sky above the black outlines of the hills; the city was still burning. Tharin sent a scouting party ahead to find the enemy’s outlying posts. Among the ranks people were singing softly to keep themselves awake.

  Weary as she was, Tobin’s mind grew clearer as the night wore on. With an odd, dreamlike sense of detachment, she felt herself settling into this strange new body. Her arms and legs were no different, except for the annoying softness of her hands. Lytia had given her gloves for that. Her breasts, though small, had grown tender, and she was aware of them rubbing against the padded shirt under her hauberk.

  The different fit of the saddle beneath her was the most disturbing change, not to mention the inconvenience of both trousers and a newfound modesty when she had to relieve herself. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to examine that part of her body too closely. She resented not being able to take a piss properly, but all the same, it should have felt more like something was—lacking, that empty space in her trousers. Yet it didn’t.

  Arkoniel and Tharin treated her no differently than they ever had, and Ki was trying, but Lynx was still stealing sidelong glances. It was unsettling, but a good sign, in its way. It was the first time since Orneus’ death that she’d seen him show interest in anything except getting himself killed.

  Motioning for Ki to stay behind, she drew Lynx away from the main column.

  “If you’ve changed your mind—If you can’t go against Korin, I’ll understand,” she told him again. “If you want to go back to him, I won’t let anyone stop you.”

  Lynx shrugged. “I’ll stay, if you’ll have me. I wonder what Nik and Lutha will do?”

  “I don’t know.” But inwardly she quailed at the thought of her friends turning away.

  Niryn strode across the echoing audience chamber to the throne accompanied by half a dozen of his remaining wizards and a phalanx of his Guard. A pigeon had come from Atyion just before nightfall bringing news of support, and the defenders had rallied.

  Niryn had received word from his own spies there and meant to undo that slight hope.

  Defeat sat heavily on the prince. Drawn and unshaven, Korin sat uneasily on his father’s throne. He held the great Sword, but the crown remained on a small stand beside him, veiled in black. Chancellor Hylus and the other remaining ministers were with him, together with the tattered remains of his personal guard and Companions.

  Niryn counted only eight Companions where there had once been nineteen. Sheltered as they had been at court all these years, they were no longer boys. He scanned their faces, making a quick evaluation. Alben and Urmanis would prove loyal. So would Lord Caliel, though this one was an unwelcome influence on the new king; Niryn marked him to be dealt with later. That left only Hylus’ bookish grandson, the homely one called Lutha, and a handful of squires who could be counted on, for good or ill, to follow their lords.

  And Master Porion, he amended. The old warrior had some influence over the prince, as well, and would bear watching.

  Reaching the dais, he bowed to Korin. “I bring grave news, Majesty! You have been betrayed.”

  Hectic color rose in Korin’s pale cheeks. “What’s happened? Who’s turned on us?”

  “Your cousin, and by the foulest of means.” Niryn watched the play of doubt and fear across the young man’s face. Touching his mind, Niryn found it wine-tinged, weak, and receptive. Others among his Companions were not so ready to believe him, however.

  “Tobin would never do that!” Lutha cried.

  “Silence!” Hylus ordered. “Explain yourself, Lord Niryn. How can this be?”

  “The Lightbearer granted me a vision. I could not bring myself to believe it at first, but I’ve just received word that I saw true. Prince Tobin raised the garrison at Atyion against your liegeman, Solari, and murdered him and his family. He then employed some sort of necromancy to put on woman’s form and declared himself the true heir of Skala by right of the Afran Oracle. Even now he marches against Ero with a host of thousands.”

  “What lunacy is this?” Hylus gasped. “Even if the boy was capable of such treachery, the captains of Atyion would never believe such a story, much less side with the enemy! You must be mistaken, Niryn.”

  “I assure you, I’m not. Before sunset tomorrow you will see the proof for yourself.”

  “No wonder he and that grass knight of his were so anxious to go over the wall,” Alben muttered.

  “Shut your mouth!” Lutha flew at the older boy, knocking him sprawling.

  “That’s enough!” Porion roared.

  Caliel and Nikides wrestled Lutha off Alben and dragged him back.

  Alben wiped blood from his mouth, and snarled, “He probably had this planned all along, he and that wizard woman of his. She was always sneaking in and out of his house.”

  “Mistress Iya?” Nikides said. “She came and went openly. Besides, she was only a hedge wizard.”

  “A bit more than that, perhaps,” said Hylus. “I know the woman, Prince Korin. She is a loyal Skalan, and I would swear by my own name that she is no necromancer.”

  “Perhaps Tobin only put on women’s clothes,” Urmanis offered.

  “Don’t be a fool!” Lutha cried, still furious. “Why would he do that?”

  “Perhaps he went mad like his mother,” one of the squires sneered
. “He always has been odd.”

  “Korin, think!” Caliel pleaded. “You know as well as I do that Tobin isn’t mad. And he’d never betray you.”

  Niryn let them argue, marking enemies and allies.

  Korin had listened all this time in silence as Niryn’s magic wormed its way deeper into his heart, seeking out all the buried doubts and fears. His faith in Tobin was still too strong, but that would change when he saw the truth.

  Niryn bowed again. “I stand by my word, Majesty. Be on your guard.”

  Tobin’s scouts returned just before dawn with word of a Plenimaran presence at a horse breeder’s steading a few miles north of the city on the coast road. It appeared to be a prisoner camp, with fewer than a hundred men guarding it.

  “We should swing wide around them and cut them off before we attack,” Tharin advised. “The less notice the main force has of us coming, the better for us.”

  “Eat the beast in small pieces, eh?” Kyman chuckled.

  The scouts outlined the position. The enemy had taken over a large farmstead and had pickets set all around. Tobin could imagine her old teacher Raven sketching it out on the stone floor of the lesson room.

  “We don’t need the whole force to take such a small group,” she said. “A hundred mounted warriors in a surprise attack should be enough.”

  Captain Grannia had fallen back to hear the report. “Let my company go with them, Highness. It’s been too long since we drew blood.”

  “Very well. But I’ll lead the charge.”

  “Is that wise?” Arkoniel objected. “If we lost you in the first battle—”

  “No, she’s right,” said Tharin. “We’ve asked these warriors to believe a miracle. They’ll lose heart if they think they’re following a hollow figurehead.”

  Tobin nodded. “Everyone expected the first Ghërilain to hang back after her father made her queen, let the generals do the fighting for her. But she didn’t, and she won. I’m as much Illior’s queen as she was, and I’m better trained.”