Light of Eidon (Legends of the Guardian-King, Book 1)

by Karen Hancock

  “Yes.”

  Fah’lon grinned. “So would Beltha’adi.”

  They watched while men tossed buckets of water at the burning veren, then pushed over the post to untie it. No livestock were apparently loosed, and if anything was happening at the temple-out of sight around the cliff wall-there was no sign of it.

  Once the flames were out and things quieted down, Fah’lon led his guests back to the dining area, where they were just finishing the remains of their desserts when a servant hurried in. He whispered something into his master’s ear that caused Fah’lon to nod.

  As the servant departed, the merchant addressed his guests. “I fear some business has come up to which I must attend. If you’ll excuse me?” Danarin nodded, but Fah’lon hesitated, his gaze flicking to Carissa, a slight crease forming between his brows. He almost turned away, then said, “The terrace and gardens are especially nice this time of year. I urge you to explore them at your leisure. It would, however, be wise to keep your lady covered.” He smiled slightly. As I said, the soldiers watch us always.” Again he hesitated, as if he wanted to say more. Then his eyes flicked back to Danarin, and the hesitation vanished.

  “Have a good evening,” he said and strode briskly from the room.

  C H A P T E R

  35

  As Fah’lon’s footsteps died away Danarin turned to Carissa with a smug expression. “It is the Pretender? And Fah’lon knows him-I’ll bet my bag on it.,,

  “We don’t care about the Pretender,” she said. “Why didn’t you ask him about the Infidel?”

  Danarin’s dark brows arched. “I didn’t think we cared about the Infidel, either.”

  “Philip does.”

  “I thought you were through with that. I thought you’d convinced him he had to let his brother find his own way home. For that matter, he probably has.” He gestured generally around them. “This business is a Dorsaddi matter-of no concern to Meridon.”

  “Well, perhaps he’s made it his concern. He has been exiled, after all. And the Dorsaddi did help rescue him.”

  “I still don’t see how that concerns us. Frankly, I think we need to get out of here as soon as possible. This place is a powder keg waiting for a lit match.”

  From somewhere in the house came a singing bark, and she looked around, startled. “Was that Newbold?”

  Before he could answer, a white-and-gold cat raced through the doorway and fled into the front anteroom. They heard another bay, then voices yelling.

  Danarin shook his head. “I cannot believe you actually brought that dog with you.”

  “Without him we’d never have known Meridon was really the Infidel.” Or that Abramm wasn’t the Pretender.

  A servant arrived bearing steaming cups of tea. After that they were left alone, listening to faint bangs and clatters from the kitchen and the murmur of voices, which finally faded to a deep, empty silence.

  “Sounds like we’re the only ones here,” Carissa said presently, feeling increasingly uneasy.

  “They’re probably just done for the night,” Danarin assured her. “How about we take a look at Fah’lon’s garden?”

  If anything, the sense of breathless expectation was stronger outside, though it may just have been the new mugginess that had lately crept into the air. It made the veil she’d redonned more uncomfortable than ever, and in a fit of petty defiance, she unfastened the face part and let it hang. They were alone in their host’s private garden, for Haverall’s sake? And anyway, it was too dark for some spying soldier to tell the color of her eyes.

  Fah’lon’s garden consisted of a series of walled terraces linked by short, wide stairways. Pots and planters held carefully pruned trees and shrubs and spilled over with sweet-scented flowers. Freestanding oil lamps lit the way. Here and there, stone benches stood around unlit braziers or small domed ovens.

  The last terrace ended in a waist-high wall overlooking the camp in the wadi below. The acrid stench of burning dung tainted the air, unblunted by the flowers’ sweetness. Behind an iron gate, a narrow stairway wound down through the rocks to what appeared to be a delivery area below. Beyond that, the slope tumbled toward the wadi, steeply on the right, less so on the left. Neighboring villas glowed amidst the rocks, and she could see figures walking back and forth from time to time in the lighted windows. If there were soldiers out there, she did not see them.

  In the amphitheater across the way they’d removed the veren’s carcass and added a ring of torches to illumine the sandy floor and ranks of empty bench seats. “Why doesn’t anyone camp there?” she asked, gesturing toward it.

  “It’s reserved for the contest,” Danarin said.

  “Contest?”

  “Rumor has it that Beltha’adi’s challenged the Pretender to personal combat.”

  “You mean like the Pretender asked for in the Val’Orda?”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned at him, noting uneasily that he had given the impression of having somewhat less knowledge-and interest-on this subject when speaking to Fah’lon.

  “If the Pretender wins, Beltha’adi’s promised to spare the Dorsaddi. If Beltha’adi wins, the Dorsaddi become his slaves.” Danarin leaned his elbows on the top edge of the wall. “So far there’s been no response. Unless that headless veren could be considered a response.”

  Carissa sniffed. “The Pretender would be stupid to face him now-if Fah’lon’s right that the Dorsaddi already have the upper hand.”

  Danarin smiled that irritating, condescending smile. “Fah’lon’s biased. What have these Dorsaddi wasps done that’s of any real significance, after all? Once Beltha’adi has enough men and magic, they won’t have a chance.”

  “So why issue the challenge?”

  “To bait him. Every day the Pretender doesn’t respond, he looks more the coward. And the Dorsaddi can’t stand cowards. Moreover, it’s to the Supreme Commander’s advantage to resolve this as soon as possible. He has a war going in Andol, after all, and this is hardly helping.”

  “I suppose there are the rains to consider, too.”

  Danarin looked at her sidelong, a half smile on his face. “Indeed. I suspect both sides would like to wrap this up before then.”

  His gaze dropped to her chest, and his brows drew together. “Where did you get that?”

  She looked down, saw the ugly stone of the staffid-warder gleaming against the dark folds of her gown. “Oh. Philip gave it to me this afternoon.”

  “His taste is … uh … unusual.” The dark eyes flicked up to hers, watching her intently.

  She shrugged and blushed. “He’s only a boy. What would he know about fashion? I thought it was rather sweet of him. He said it was supposed to ward the staffid.”

  “It’s ugly enough, I suppose. Does it work?”

  “I haven’t seen any since I put it on.”

  “Well, it hardly does you justice.”

  She snorted. As if that matters when I must go about perpetually veiled and shrouded.”

  “It matters to me.”

  He turned fully to face her, his expression sober. The lamplight washed across the well-formed planes of his face, accented by the narrow, dark beard and those long lashes. She swallowed, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. Warmth spread over her chest and neck. And irritation, directed at both him and at herself for responding to him when it was the last thing she wished to do.

  He smiled. `After all this time, you still do not trust me.”

  She lifted her chin. “No.”

  “Then I shall be forced to keep trying to win you. Will you accept a peace offering?” He withdrew a small bag from his pocket, opened it, and pulled out a slender choker. Tiny, threadlike swirls of silver arced delicately across air and space, an exquisite net for the stone it held, which was a work of art in itself. Dark at the center, almost brooding, it glowed with a sea-deep hue.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

  “It matches your eyes.” He smiled. “When I saw it this afternoon, I knew
I had to win it for you.”

  “You won this?”

  He nodded. “Here, let me put it on you.”

  Laying the bag aside, he stepped toward her, then frowned. “Can I take this off first?” He lifted the chain holding Philip’s staffid-warder. “I don’t think they’ll go together very well.”

  “Not very well, no,” she acceded. “Here.” Reaching up, she unfastened the chain herself, then stood as he reached both hands around the back of her neck. She felt his breath on her face and kept her eyes fixed on the potted tree behind him. Little thrills spread down her arms and back as his fingers worked in light flutters against her nape, and she was both relieved and disappointed when he stepped away, having done no more than put the choker on her.

  He looked at it, satisfaction in his gaze. “Very nice.”

  She was struck with a sudden feeling of unease. Perhaps she should have refused. Would he think now that her acceptance bespoke the interest he so obviously hoped to cultivate?

  A sudden shout echoed above, followed by heavy footfalls and a strange clinking, then more shouts. In the dining room, now well above them, the lights went out.

  “What the plague?” Danarin ran for the stair. She hurried after him, confused, certain something awful had happened, not certain what. But midstair he stopped dead, and she ran into him even as he whirled to head back for the gate, pulling her after him. She said not a word, her heart hammering against her ribs. The only thing she could think was that the soldiers watching Fah’lon’s house had finally launched their raid and that if they were to find her it could not end well.

  Danarin yanked open the gate, iron hinges squealing frightfully, and they raced down the narrow path that had been carved into the stone. Smooth, sheer walls of sandstone hemmed them in closely. If they encountered any soldiers coming up, there would be no place to go.

  Danarin stopped again, and again she rebounded off of him. He didn’t seem to notice, staring at the sandstone wall, one hand trailing up it thoughtfully. Then with a glance back the way they’d come, he began to climb the gritty face. As soon as he was past her head she saw the hand- and footholes carved into the rock. He scrambled over the top, then leaned down to offer her a hand. She reached for the first handhole, realized she was still holding Philip’s necklet, and hastily wound it several times around her sash before shoving the stone between sash and waist. Then she felt again for the hole and started up.

  In moments he was pulling her over the rounded rock and into a small stone structure that seemed to be a covered cistern. They huddled breathlessly just inside the doorway, Carissa struggling to hear past her labored breathing.

  “Stay here,” Danarin whispered. He crawled back to the edge on his belly and peered down at the pathway they had just left.

  She heard the footfalls first, then the voices and loud panting of the men who had come down through the garden. The footfalls stopped just at the place where they had climbed up the rock to the shack. She heard a quiet argument, a scuffle. A curse. A red light flared off the stone, and a chill shivered through her. For a long moment no one spoke. Then a sharp word echoed off the stone and they were moving again, some hurrying down the path, others climbing back up to the terraces.

  She breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and shortly Danarin drew back to join her in the shack. Groups of men ran up and down the path several times. She heard more shouts, more clinks, the distressed cries of the servants they’d found. Did they have Cooper? Philip and the others? The thought made her ill. How would she ever get them back? Fah’lon had said if Beltha’adi raided his house and turned up nothing it could be very embarrassing for him politically, so perhaps he would be in a position to bargain. Perhaps Fah’lon would help. Perhaps …

  But all she could think about was how much Philip looked like his brother, the infamous Infidel.

  It felt as if they crouched there forever. Her bent legs went to sleep, and she even grew inured to having Danarin pressed against her side. Soldiers continued to run up and down the stair, flares of torchlight flickering off the rocks and fading. Once she heard someone yelling angrily, but the words were indistinct.

  At last the sounds faded and darkness settled in, unbroken by any more passing torches. The silence had stretched on for some time when Danarin decided they could leave.

  The delivery area at the bottom of the path smelled of animals and garbage, and was littered with barrels and refuse. It lay dark and silent, as did the villa above it. Keeping to the deepest shadows at the base of the rocks, they stole along the yard’s edge to the unpaved cart road leading down and around the slope past the neighboring villa. Carissa was just starting to relax when a roll of gravel and the scuff of a boot preceded the advent of two dark figures looming up in the shadows around them. She squeaked in alarm as steel glinted in Danarin’s hand.

  “Easy, friend,” came a familiar voice.

  “Cooper?” Carissa whispered. Relief made her weak. She turned to the other figure. “Philip? Where are Eber and Peri?”

  “Soldiers have them,” Cooper said.

  “I’d think they’d have you, too,” Danarin said in a low voice. “That was you we heard up there when they first came in, wasn’t it?”

  “I wanted to warn you without drawing their attention to you,” Cooper said. “Tried to draw them off a bit, but then I had to fight. They didn’t expect that, so I got away. The others were down in the servants’ sector and were caught by the men who came through the back door.” He paused. “Even so, they didn’t get very many.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Carissa said.

  `No. I mean, I think some of the servants knew it was going to happen because most of them had already left. Around the time Fah’lon did, I think.”

  “How do you know he left?”

  “I overheard the soldiers talking. They didn’t get him.”

  “It was a setup?” Danarin cried softly, clearly annoyed. “I thought he was being helpful and friendly, and all the while he just wanted some bait for his trap.” He muttered a curse under his breath.

  “What trap?” Carissa asked.

  “Remember what Fah’lon said about Beltha’adi wanting to catch him with the Pretender but having to be careful of the political ramifications? I think the Pretender was here tonight, most likely around the time Fah’lon left us. He probably led the soldiers here deliberately and then the two of them vanished, leaving only us for them to find and arrest when they invaded. I was supposed to howl my outrage and Beltha’adi was to be embarrassed again. Only we got away. Serves him right, I think.”

  Philip, it turned out, had escaped because he’d been out walking Newbold, embarrassed after the dog’s outburst. He figured the soldiers had seen him but ignored him, since he wasn’t who they were after. He paused at the end of his tale. “Did you say the White Pretender was here? Tonight?”

  “I think there’s a good chance of it,” Danarin said.

  “I never saw anyone,” Cooper said. “Just the servant, and then Fah’lon hurrying away with him.”

  “So what do we do now?” Carissa asked.

  Danarin sighed. “Find a place to hide, I think. Then I’ll take a walk around and see what I can learn.”

  They continued down the cart path, moving quietly, fearful a guard might remain to surprise them. The neighboring villa loomed past the rocks below them, outer oil lamps casting warm salmon-colored pools in the darkness.

  They had just left it comfortably behind when Newbold let out another of his spine-tingling bays and lunged at the end of the leash, dragging Philip behind him.

  “He does that again and I’ll cut his throat myself,” Cooper growled.

  The boy tugged on the leash, trying to haul him back, but the animal seemed to have his nose glued to the ground. His tail flipped back and forth frantically, and as he loosed another bay, Philip dropped to his knees and clamped both hands round the dog’s muzzle to prevent further outbursts. But even with his mouth shut the hound hooted and yelped, mor
e excited than Carissa had ever seen him.

  “It’s that cursed cat again,” Cooper said.

  “No.” Philip faced them, a dark silhouette against the paler rock. “He doesn’t chase cats. And he knows what we’re after.”

  “He doesn’t chase cats?” Carissa repeated.

  `And there’s a path here, you see?” Danarin said, pointing to a channel in the rock. “Heads straight up to the villa from the look of it. Someone coming down would have come right through here.”

  And if the Pretender were here,” Philip said, “my brother could have been with him.”

  “Well, that’s not our concern?” Cooper hissed. “We aren’t here to rescue him anymore, remember? And the last thing the lady needs is to get tangled up in some Dorsaddi uprising.”

  “If my brother is this close, Master Cooper,” Philip said solemnly, “I’m going to find him.”

  “More like draw his enemies down upon him.”

  “They’ve all left, sir. If they hadn’t, they’d be on us now.”

  “It’s a fool’s errand, boy.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m going.”

  “So am I,” Carissa said firmly.

  Cooper whirled to face her. “What?”

  “If Captain Meridon is this close, I think it’s worth trying to see him. I’d like to talk to him myself. He must know how Abramm died.”

  “This is madness? You don’t even know for sure it is Meridon. And if it is, he’s in neck-deep with the rebels, who aren’t exactly friendly right now. If Beltha’adi’s soldiers don’t get you, the Dorsaddi surely will. You can’t go. I forbid it.”

  “You are not in charge of this expedition, Master Cooper,” Carissa said coldly.

  “My lady, I will not let you do this.”

  “You have no choice in it, sir.”

  “Yes, Carissa, I do.”

  As the meaning of his words sank in, she stared up at him in shock.

  “I’m afraid you are mistaken, sir,” Danarin murmured, edging between them. “If the lady wishes to look for the Terstan, then she shall do so.”

  Tension crackled around them, and for a moment Carissa thought they would fight. In the end, Cooper backed down. As you wish, my lady,” he said tightly.