And he wasn’t the only one. During those first few days Tobin often caught Nari and Tharin dabbing at their eyes, and a good many of the men around the barracks, too. Clearly something was wrong with him. He went to the shrine alone at night and stood with his hands on the jar of ashes, trying to find tears, but they wouldn’t come.
The third night after the vigil it was too hot to sleep. He lay awake for hours, watching the moths flittering around the night lamp and listening to the chorus of frogs and crickets in the meadow below. Ki was fast asleep beside him, sprawled on his back with his mouth open, bare skin dewed with sweat. His right hand lay a few inches from Tobin’s thigh and every so often the fingers would twitch in some dream. Tobin watched him, envious of the ease with which his friend slept.
The more Tobin longed for sleep, the more it eluded him. His eyes felt dry as cold embers and the beating of his heart seemed to shake the bed. A ray of moonlight fell on the suit of mail on its stand in the corner, complete now with the sword that they said was his. Too soon for the sword, he thought bitterly, and too late for the armor.
His heart was beating harder than ever now. Abandoning the bed, he pulled on a wrinkled shirt and crept out into the corridor. There would be servants sleeping in the hall, he knew, and if he went upstairs, chances were Arkoniel would still be awake. Tobin didn’t feel like talking to him. Instead, he went into the toy room.
The shutters were open to the moon. In its glow the city looked almost real. For a moment he imagined himself an owl, flying over Ero in the night. He stepped closer and it was just a toy again, the wonderful creation his father had made for him and spent so many happy hours with, teaching him the streets and byways.
And the queens.
Tobin didn’t need to stand on a chair anymore to reach the shelf that held the box of figures. Taking it down, he sat beside the city and lined the kings and queens up on the roof of the Old Palace: King Thelátimos and his daughter, Ghërilain the Founder stood together, as always, then poor poisoned Tamír, victim of a brother’s pride. Then came the first Agnalain, Klia and all the others up to Grandmama Agnalain, who’d been as mad as her own daughter. Arkoniel’s history lessons had been far more detailed than any he’d had from his father or Nari. He knew about Grandmama’s crow cages and her gibbets, and all her poisoned and beheaded consorts. No wonder the people had let Uncle Erius put aside the Prophecy and take the throne after she died.
He took the last battered, much-repaired wooden figure from the box: The King Your Uncle. He was still hardly more than a name in a story, a face glimpsed once out a window.
He took Mama away.
Tobin turned the little figure over in his hands, thinking of all the times his father had brought out the glue pot and pieced it back together after one of Brother’s attacks. Brother hadn’t bothered to break the carving in years.
A tiny sound made him blink; looking down, Tobin found he’d snapped the king’s head off. He dropped the pieces into the shadows of the citadel and listened to the brief clatter of their descent.
His father wouldn’t come with the glue pot to mend it.
This memory brought others with it, image after image of his father laughing, teaching, playing, riding. Yet he could not weep.
Just then Tobin heard a soft step behind him and smelled wood smoke and crushed green shoots. Lhel’s black hair tickled his cheek as she pulled his head down on her breast.
“I tell you a true thing now, keesa,” she whispered. “Your father, he make this city for you and you for this city.”
“What do you mean?” He pulled away and found himself alone in the moonlight.
“What’re you doing in here?” Ki mumbled, leaning sleepily in the doorway. When Tobin didn’t reply, Ki shuffled over and led him back to bed. Sprawling down beside him with a hand pressed over Tobin’s heart, he was asleep again as soon as his eyes closed.
Tobin wanted to puzzle out what Lhel could have meant, but the sure pressure of Ki’s hand and the witch’s lingering scent lulled him to sleep, free of dreams for now.
Chapter 36
Erius didn’t wait long. Less than two weeks after Tharin’s return Arkoniel glanced out his workroom window to see a cloud of dust rising on the Alestun road.
It would take at least a squadron of riders to raise such a cloud, and Arkoniel had no doubt who’d sent them.
Cursing himself for not being more vigilant, he was about to cast a sighting for the boys when he spied them at the far end of the meadow. Half naked as always in the heat, they crouched under a thick clump of willow bay by the riverbank.
“Run!” Arkoniel called out, knowing they couldn’t see the dust rising from there, or hear the horses over the river noise. They couldn’t hear him, either, of course, but something spooked them. They took off through the long grass, making for the woods on the far side of the meadow.
“Good boys,” he whispered.
“Riders!” Tharin shouted in the yard below.
He and the others had been making repairs to the barracks roof. Tharin stood there now, shading his eyes with one hand as he looked up at the wizard. “Who is it?” he called.
Arkoniel covered his eyes and quickly cast the sighting. “Two score or so armed men coming on at a gallop. They’re led by a King’s Herald, and a nobleman—I don’t know him.”
“What colors?”
“I’m not sure, with the dust,” Arkoniel replied. The tunics he could see could easily be grey. When he opened his eyes again, Tharin had already disappeared down the ladder.
The wizard’s legs felt shaky as he locked up his rooms and dashed downstairs. What if there was a Harrier wizard among those riders? He had no idea what powers he was facing, or if he had the skill to best them.
He met Nari coming out of Tobin’s room. “I saw riders!” she exclaimed, wringing her hands. “Oh Arkoniel, what if something’s happened at last? What if they know?”
“Calm yourself. I think it’s only a herald,” he told her, convincing neither of them. Together, they ran down the stairs and found Tharin and the others armed and ready in the hall.
“Quite an escort for a messenger, wouldn’t you say?” Tharin observed grimly.
“It won’t do for them to see me here,” Arkoniel told him. “You greet them. I’ll find the boys and keep them out of sight until we see which way the wind is blowing. Send Koni down the meadow for us if you think it’s safe.”
“Let me come, too!” begged Nari.
“No. Stay here and welcome them.”
He slipped out the front gate and ran for the woods. He could hear the riders clearly now. They’d be in sight any moment.
He was halfway down to the river when Lhel’s face and shoulders shimmered into view in front of him. “Here!” she urged, pointing him back to a spot he’d just passed.
Arkoniel dashed into the trees, then let out a startled cry as the ground went out from under him. He tumbled down a small slope and found himself at the bottom of a leaf-choked gully just inside the trees. He landed with his feet uphill and one arm in a muddy runnel. Righting himself, he climbed back up to join Lhel and the boys, keeping watch over the edge of the gully. In their stained kilts, with dead leaves stuck to their arms and legs, and knives at the ready, Tobin and Ki looked like a pair of young forest bandits.
“Who’s coming?” Tobin asked, watching the mouth of the road.
“Just a messenger from the king, I hope.” “Then why did Brother tell Tobin to hide?” Ki demanded.
“Well, he does have rather a lot—You say Brother told you?” He glanced at the witch. “But I assumed—”
“I be watching, too.” Lhel waved toward the road. “Brother say there’s a wizard with them.”
“Is it those Harriers?” Ki asked.
“I don’t know.” Arkoniel felt for the crystal wand in his belt pouch, praying he and Lhel together could hold them off long enough for Tharin to get Tobin away. “We must be very careful until we find out.”
Tobin
nodded, showing no hint of fear. Ki left his side just long enough to find a stout stick, then settled back beside the prince, ready to face down a legion of wizards.
The riders emerged from the forest and thundered up the hill to the bridge. Creeping to the edge of the trees for a better look, Arkoniel could make out their leader speaking with someone at the gate. A dozen or so of the newcomers went in, leaving the rest to water the horses at the river.
There was nothing to do now but wait. The dust cloud hung over the road. Cicadas sawed out a hot-weather warning. A murder of crows argued loudly among themselves nearby, underscored by the mournful bell-like calls of doves. A moment later they heard the single, unexpected hoot of an owl. Arkoniel made a luck sign for reverence and mouthed Lightbearer, keep your hand over this child!
Time dragged on. Tobin caught a shiny green beetle and let it crawl over his fingers, but Ki remained watchful, eyes darting to follow every sound.
Tobin looked up from his beetle suddenly and whispered, “The wizard is a man with yellow hair.”
“Are you certain?” Arkoniel asked. This was the first time in months that Tobin had shown any signs of foreknowing.
“That’s what Brother says,” the boy replied, looking to the empty air next to him for confirmation.
So it wasn’t foreknowing after all, but forewarned. For once the wizard had cause to be grateful to the ghost.
At last Koni came running along the verge of trees. Arkoniel turned to warn Lhel, but she’d already disappeared.
“Here!” Ki called, hailing the young soldier.
Koni skidded to a halt and bounded in to join them.
“The king—” he panted. “The king’s sent a lord with a message. Lord Orun.”
“Orun?” Arkoniel had heard the name but couldn’t place it.
Koni rolled his eyes. “Old Lord High and Mighty. Knows Tobin’s family from way back. He’s Chancellor of the Treasury now. A great pompous—Well, never mind that. Tharin says you should come up now. We’re to go around the back if you can manage it. Nari will have clothes for you in the kitchen, Tobin.” He turned to Arkoniel. “There’s no sign of them white wizards with ’em, nor any others, but Tharin says maybe you ought to lie low all the same.”
“No wizard?” Tobin had sounded very certain on the matter. Best not to take chances. “Don’t worry, Tobin. I won’t be far away.”
Tobin barely acknowledged the assurance. Squaring his bare shoulders, he set off for the keep without a backward glance.
Tobin wasn’t afraid. Brother was still with him and would have said if it were dangerous to go back. And Ki was there, too, faithful as any squire in a ballad. Tobin glanced sidelong at his friend and smiled; armed with a knife and a twisted branch, Ki looked as fearless as he had charging that catamount.
They reached the kitchen without meeting any of the strangers. Nari and Cook were waiting for them there.
“Hurry along now, pet. Lord Orun won’t speak to anyone but you, and he’s in an almighty hurry,” Nari fussed as she hustled them into their best tunics and combed the leaves from their hair. She didn’t say so, but Tobin could tell that she didn’t like this Orun fellow any better than Koni had. He could see that she was worried and trying not to show it. Tobin leaned forward and kissed her soft cheek. “Don’t worry, Nari.”
She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. “What would I worry about, pet?”
Tobin freed himself and turned for the hall, with Ki and Koni flanking him as if he was the lord of the house.
He faltered a little at the sight of ranks of strange soldiers standing at attention in the hall. Tharin and his men were there, too, but they looked like a rabble by comparison. Most of them had on their dirty work clothes instead of uniforms, and didn’t look nearly as grand as the others, who wore badges of red and gold on the breasts of their black tunics. He quickly looked them over; there were plenty with blond hair, but he saw no one in wizard’s robes.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, however, then he spied Brother peeping at him from behind one of the soldiers, a fair-haired man with cheeks reddened with the sun. Brother didn’t touch him, just stared until the man shifted his feet and cast a nervous look around.
Two men in richer dress stood in front of the soldiers, flanked by several servants and squires. The man in boots and dusty blue carried the silver horn and white baton of a King’s Herald. He stepped forward and bowed very low to Tobin. “Prince Tobin, may I present an emissary from your uncle, the king. Lord Orun, son of Makiar, Chancellor of the Treasury and Protector of Atyion and Cirna.”
Tobin went cold. Atyion and Cirna were his father’s lands.
Lord Orun stepped forward and bowed. He wore a short robe of vermilion silk with extravagantly cut sleeves edged with dangling gold beads. The skirts were embroidered with scenes of battle, but Tobin doubted this man had ever been a warrior. He was old and very tall, but soft and pale as a woman, with deep lines bracketing a thick, moist-looking mouth. He had no hair on his head at all; his wide hat of puffed silk looked like a cushion balanced on a boiled egg. He smiled at Tobin with his thick lips, but not his eyes. “How I have longed to meet the son of Ariani and Rhius!” he exclaimed, coming forward to clasp Tobin’s hand. His huge hands were unpleasantly cool and moist, like mushrooms.
“Welcome,” Tobin managed, wanting to pull away and run back up the stairs.
Orun’s eyes slid to Ki and he leaned toward him. “And who is this fellow, my prince? Your huntsman’s boy?”
“This is Prince Tobin’s squire, Kirothius, son of Sir Larenth, a knight in the service of Lord Jorvai,” Tharin put in gruffly.
Orun’s smile slipped. “But I had thought-That is, the king was not aware that a squire had been chosen for the prince.”
“Duke Rhius blessed the bond some time ago.”
Tharin spoke respectfully, but Tobin sensed an unspoken tension behind the exchange.
Lord Orun stared at Ki a moment longer, then motioned to the herald.
The herald laid his baton at Tobin’s feet, bowed again, and produced a rolled parchment heavy with seals and ribbons. “Prince Tobin, I bring word from your uncle, King Erius.”
He broke the seals and unrolled the parchment with a flourish. “From Erius of Ero, King of Skala, Kouros, and the Northern Territories, to Prince Tobin of Ero at Alestun Keep, written this the ninth day of Shemin month.
“Nephew, it is with a heavy heart that I write to you of the death of your father, our beloved brother Rhius. Your father was my most valued commander and while his death was a noble one, befitting a warrior, words cannot convey my despair at his loss.
“In honor of your mother’s dear memory-may Astellus guide her spirit to peace-and for the love I bear you, my nearest kin, I acknowledge you as my ward until you attain the age to govern the holdings left you by your esteemed parents and take your father’s place among my councilors. I appoint my trusted servant, Lord Orun, to oversee the stewardship of your lands until you reach the age of twenty-one years and I send him to act as your guardian until I return to Skala.
“I have instructed Lord Orun to escort you to Ero, where you shall take your rightful place among my son’s Royal Companions. It is my fondest wish that you will be a beloved brother to Prince Korin and he to you. In the Companions you will be trained to take your place at his side when he comes to rule, just as your father served me.
“How I long to embrace you again, as I did the night of your birth! Pray for our victory in Mycena.”
The herald looked up. “It is signed and sealed, ‘Your most loving and affectionate Uncle, Erius of Ero, King of Skala.’ My prince, here ends the message.”
Everyone was looking at Tobin, expecting some response, but his tongue had fixed itself to the roof of his mouth. When Tharin had said they’d go to Ero, he’d pictured himself riding with his friends to the house of his birth, or perhaps to grand Atyion.
He looked at his so-called guardian again, already hating the
man. Anyone could see that this was no warrior, just a fat, sweating pig with eyes like two dried currants pressed into dough. The arrival of the soldiers hadn’t frightened him at all; the thought of this man taking him away left him sick and cold all over. No! he wanted to cry out, but he was struck dumb as a stone.
Brother answered for him. Moving more quickly than even Tobin could follow, he snatched the scroll from the startled herald’s hand and ripped it in two, then knocked off Lord Orun’s silly hat. His servants scattered, some chasing the hat, others running for cover.
A strong wind swirled out of nowhere, whipping the soldiers’ hair into their eyes and snatching away badges and daggers. Some of the guardsmen flinched and broke formation. Lord Orun let out an unmanly squeal and dove for cover under a nearby table. Tharin’s men laughed aloud and Tobin nearly joined in, grateful for once for Brother’s tricks. Instead, he found his voice and shouted, “Enough!”
Brother ceased instantly and came to rest by the shrine, watching Tobin. The spirit’s face showed no emotion, but in that shared moment Tobin sensed that Brother was ready to do murder for him.
What would he do to Orun if I asked? Tobin wondered, then hastily pushed the unworthy thought away.
Tharin’s men were still laughing. The chagrined guardsmen muttered among themselves and made warding signs as they moved back into formation. Among the few who’d stood fast was the blond man Brother had pointed out to him. He was watching Tobin with a smile that showed only in his eyes. Tobin didn’t know what to make of that, except that he already liked him better than Lord Orun, who was currently being helped out from under the table by his servants.
“I welcome you as guests in my house,” Tobin began, trying to make himself heard.
“Silence for the prince!” Tharin roared in a battlefield voice, making even Tobin jump. Silence fell and everyone turned their way.
“I welcome you as guests in my house,” Tobin said again. “Lord Orun, I extend to you the courtesy of my hearth. My servants will bring you water and wine. Your men can rest themselves in the meadow until a meal is prepared.”
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