The Traitor's Heir

by Anna Thayer

  “I’ll take that as a no, sir,” Mathaiah smiled.

  Eamon looked at the cadet. The boy had come with him from Edesfield, saved him from death, pleaded for him against Giles. Now that he had given an oath to the King, the cadet still followed him.

  “Mathaiah,” he said quietly, “are you with me or against me?”

  “Sir?”

  “You cannot serve two masters. Perhaps you should not follow a man who has embroiled himself with two.”

  Mathaiah remained silent. Eamon held his breath. He desperately wanted the boy to throw his lot in with Hughan and be saved from the flesh-devouring eagle. But as desperately as he wanted it, it was a choice that he could neither make nor force.

  At last Mathaiah drew breath. “Sir, I have seen what the Gauntlet can do. For many men there is power and renown to be gained from the oaths that they take. The red uniform is admired and feared, and the black is unassailable.” A quiver stole into his voice. “But this King, he shows but a little power, and I am awed by him. He shows less than a little kindness and all other kindnesses wither away. I see why he has your service.”

  Eamon regarded him gently. He saw the cadet’s turmoil and he understood it.

  “I have seen, Mr Grahaven, the strength of your sword and the courage of your heart,” he said. “Your faith is yours to pledge where you choose.”

  A faint smile appeared on Mathaiah’s lips. “Don’t knights have squires, sir?”

  Eamon was touched to the core. “Mathaiah, you don’t have to come with me.”

  “I know, sir,” Mathaiah answered. As he spoke a weight seemed to fall from his shoulders. “But I want to. Seeing you make your choice somehow gives me the courage to make mine. I want to go with you, and serve the one you serve.”

  “We could both be killed,” Eamon said, trying to sound grave – but a great smile had worked its way into every corner of his face.

  “It seems to me,” the cadet replied, “that I would rather give my life for the King than bind it to the Eagle.”

  Far over in the east the first traces of light were appearing. Eamon felt his resolve strengthening with them.

  Mathaiah yawned. “What day is it tomorrow, sir?”

  “You mean today?” Eamon paused, counting. “The seventeenth of September. We should get some sleep,” he added.

  “Sounds like a good way to start the morning, sir.”

  They made their way silently back to the side-chamber where Eamon had been rested before. He tiptoed round dormant figures to reach his blankets and settled down at last between two strangers. Mathaiah found a space a little distance away and did likewise.

  Eamon curved his arms over his chest and rolled onto his side. Sleep came with sudden gentleness to his brow, encouraged by the peace that his new oath granted him.

  But as he drifted and was borne away by the welcome, drowsy tide he felt fire lingering on his palm.

  CHAPTER X

  Aeryn sat in the light next to him. Her arms were folded across her breast against the cold. He reached out and touched her hand, pressing her icy fingers between his own. She tried to smile. No word was exchanged.

  The day passed quickly. He spent much of it with Hughan, filling his head with all the details and specifics pertinent to his task. Anything that he could learn would be of value, but he had to know how to get it back to the King.

  “We do have some people in Dunthruik,” Hughan explained. “Most of them won’t take a stand against the throned until they see him losing ground. Of those who are bolder none of them are deep enough in the court to have a chance of learning his plans. There is a lady at the court, Alessia Turnholt by name. She hails from one of Dunthruik’s most ancient and respected families.”

  “She is with us?” Eamon asked, surprised.

  “No,” Hughan said with a small smile, “but her maidservant is. Her name is Lillabeth Hollenwell. Pass anything that you learn on to Lilly, if you can. She will get it to me. I won’t burden you with the names of any other wayfarers, in case something goes wrong.”

  Eamon nodded. It was a wise precaution.

  “This next part is very important, Eamon, and I want you to listen carefully.” Hughan fixed him with a stern gaze. “Remember that, for whatever reason, the throned has an interest in you. That will hinder you as much as it may help you at times. If you feel that you have been compromised or discovered, or feel yourself to be in desperate danger of your life, don’t have a fit of heroics; just leave. There is an inn on Serpentine Avenue in the South Quarter. Speak to the bartender and he will hide you until we can get you out.”

  “Is he –?”

  “He has no love of the throned and will do all that he can for you.” Eamon nodded again. He felt as though his brain could not quite take everything in. “If you are in the city when we decide to make our move, we will tell you what to do,” Hughan added, “but it won’t be before the spring in any case. Is Mathaiah going with you?”

  “Yes,” Eamon answered.

  “He’s a stubborn one,” Hughan observed with a laugh. “But if my eyes see at all I think he will be of help to you. If there is too much trouble send him back via the inn. I will put him under my protection.”

  “Thank you. Hughan,” Eamon added after a moment, “I don’t think that they believed me.”

  “The Hands?”

  “Yes.” Eamon was surprised at the agility with which Hughan followed his thought. “It’s been troubling me. If they didn’t believe me then I am walking straight into a trap of their design. I don’t like that.”

  “There are none who would,” Hughan agreed.

  “Supposing…” Eamon ventured, a little more reluctantly. “Supposing I tell them that I lied and then offer them proof of my allegiance…”

  “Did you have anything in mind?”

  “No,” he admitted. “It would have to be something that would be valuable to them but of no loss to you.”

  Hughan looked at him pensively. “I’ll have some dispatches made up. Fake ones, of course,” he added with a smile. “A collection of missives giving indication of the existence and location of other Hidden Halls. I’ll write the missives myself and include some detail on our movements as a whole that the throned will be hard-pressed to dispute, and too intrigued to ignore. By the time he has combed through the missives and the false halls he’ll have expended a lot of resources for very little, which is always of help to us. We may even be able to surprise him and ambush those whom he sends to investigate.” The King’s smile faded and he grew serious again. “But perhaps we can do more than that, and even play it to our advantage. Have you heard of Ellenswell?”

  A memory of his distant youth came to Eamon’s mind. He saw his father working upon the binding of an elegant edition of the River Poet’s works. He remembered how he had sat, enthralled, by the tale that his father had told of a place called Ellenswell and the many, many books that had been there. More books, his father had insisted, than could be imagined. Books upon books, hundreds upon hundreds, every corner and every nook of every alcove filled with parchment, leather, and scroll. He had seen the delight in his father’s eyes at the telling of it – Ellenswell had been the envy of the city. Eamon remembered his father’s sadness as he had told what had befallen it.

  “There was a quake in the early days of Dunthruik,” Eamon recalled. “It started a fire. The library was lost.”

  Hughan smiled again. “Not quite,” he answered. “Ellenswell was once known as ‘Elaina’s Well’.”

  “Elaina?” Eamon repeated in surprise. “Ede’s sister was quite a scholar in her days and spent years collecting books from all over the River Realm and from all its allies. It took her a long time to find a place to store her collection, which she had intended to one day make public.”

  “Where did she put them?”

  “Some say that she emptied the palace cellars, including the best years laid down by her father, and distributed the bottles to her brother’s court so as to obtain
a keeping place. Even in those days the city had a rich wine trade. Though Ede seems to have approved of her actions I do not think that either her husband or the palace kitchens quite concurred with it.” Eamon chuckled at the thought. “At any rate,” Hughan continued, “the cellars certainly survived the quake – how else would the palace still be standing? It is the same structure now as it was then, if a little modified. The throned wanted to get into Ellenswell but found it blocked. The flames associated with the quake story were of his making.”

  “Why would he want to go into the library?” The grey-eyed man Eamon had seen in his mind did not seem to be a man of letters.

  “Truthfully, I do not know,” Hughan answered. “That is probably a question for the bookkeepers.”

  Eamon’s head spun with the deluge of information. “I’m sorry that I keep asking questions. Who are the bookkeepers?”

  “Much that was in the library was removed before the throned cemented his grasp on Dunthruik,” Hughan answered. “The bookkeepers were close counsellors to Ede and took charge of much of Elaina’s collection. They keep it even now, in a Hidden Hall at Stonemead. For men of letters,” he added, “the bookkeepers are a fierce bundle.”

  “Have you met them?”

  “Yes. They know and keep record of many things that the people of the River have forgotten. It was the bookkeepers who explained to me much of the history that I have told you. I was taken to them after I left Edesfield.”

  Eamon wondered at the revelation it must have been when the bookkeepers had explained the nature of his heritage to Hughan. By the look on Hughan’s face he imagined that it was still a strong memory.

  “Did they manage to get all of the books when they emptied the library?” Eamon asked.

  “From what I understand not quite all,” Hughan answered. “I have heard it said that there are still some law books and court records from Ede’s time down there. I believe that Eben also had some connection to the well before he was killed.”

  “And the throned couldn’t go down?”

  “Though Elaina meant for the library to become public it was often kept locked as the realm plunged into war. Her husband and Ede had a special key commissioned and fashioned by an Easter craftsman. The River and Istanaria were once on close terms.

  “As Ede had no heir he meant to pass the rights of his line to Elaina and her descendants; the key was to be an heirloom of that line. As it was made for the King’s much-loved sister, the one whom he meant to follow him to the throne, the key came to be called ‘the heart of the King’. Without it the library could not be opened – not even by the throned.”

  As he spoke these last words Hughan produced a small leather pouch. He tugged it open and carefully poured its contents onto his hand. Eamon looked in disbelief.

  A stone the size of a small fruit lay there, glimmering in the light. It was a deep blue colour but cast out rays of purple and gold. Eamon reached out to touch it and Hughan placed it in his hand. It was smooth and cool.

  “The bookkeepers are adamant that nothing of value remained in the library,” Hughan said quietly. “But it is clear that the throned believed otherwise. If you can find out what it is that he desires so much then that is for the good; it may help us. If not, delivering the heart of the King to him will be a trophy bespeaking your oath to him.”

  Nodding dumbly, Eamon felt the weight of the heirloom in his hand. “Are you sure that you want me to take this?”

  Hughan nodded. “An unused key is of little value,” he smiled.

  Eamon placed the stone back in its pouch and then set it securely about his neck by its long leather cord. “Thank you, Hughan.”

  After Hughan had gone to compose the dispatches, Eamon rehearsed his learning of the morning. His tasks seemed simple enough. He would go to Dunthruik, explain about the capture of the holk, and ask that he be assigned as Belaal had intended. From there, he would do his best to gain as much information as he could. Given the interest that the throned had already shown in him he suspected that he might find himself in higher circles easily enough, and he would act as though he knew nothing of prophecy or history.

  He was, however, unsure of what would happen to Mathaiah. The cadet was sincere in his desire to serve Eamon but he wondered whether the boy would be able to have his wish once they reached Dunthruik. Mathaiah had been destined, after all, to return to Edesfield. He wasn’t yet sure how, or if, he would be able to get the cadet to stay, although he suspected that, as someone who had escaped the wayfarers, the Hands would be reluctant to let the boy leave – especially if they grew suspicious. That he could send Mathaiah back to Hughan at any time was a comfort to him.

  When he studied the dense map of Dunthruik with Giles late that afternoon he imprinted the twists of Serpentine Avenue into his mind. The inn was called the South Wall; Hughan had told him that its sign showed a tumbling collection of stones.

  “They say that a great nest of snakes used to live in the South Quarter, which is why the road’s named as it is,” Giles told him, his gruffness alleviated by his apparent interest in history. He grinned. “This map’s an old one, maybe fifty or sixty years out of date, and some of the roads aren’t named or simply aren’t there. But it’s the best we’ve got, and the Serpentine was certainly right there last time I looked.” He stabbed at the road with one finger.

  Eamon looked up at him. “How do you know so much about the city?” he asked. “I thought you came from the borders?”

  “Oh, no man has lived until he has seen Dunthruik!” Giles bellowed with sarcastic grandeur. “And I am a man who has lived far more than you.” Declining to elucidate further he leaned in close to Eamon. “Let me make one thing clear, Lieutenant Goodman.” Eamon was rattled by the return to his erstwhile title. “I don’t trust this spying business, and I trust you in it less than any other man that the King could send. If it had been left to me I’d have killed you long before your little stunt last night. It is still the King’s judgment and goodwill that keeps you safe from me. If you give even a scent of us away,” Giles hissed, “I will outlive any torture or death long enough to find you.”

  Eamon swallowed. He didn’t doubt it.

  “Thank you for showing me the map, Giles,” he answered as amicably as he could, “and for your trust in me. That you are willing to give it on the King’s trust, and not your own, is telling.”

  As he left, Giles watched him with the narrowed eyes of extreme suspicion.

  He walked with Aeryn last of all. She did not really look at him, and kept her hands clasped in front of her – gestures of anxiety that he recognized from their many years of friendship. For a long while they said nothing at all.

  “Do you remember the time we made Ladomer think that your arm was broken?” she asked.

  Eamon cast his mind back. They had done a good job of improvising a blood-like substance out of a collection of berries that Telo had tended in the Star’s garden for his summer fruits. As Eamon recalled, he and Aeryn had pretended that a mad dog had broken into the garden and ravaged Eamon so badly that it broke his arm before leaving to terrorize some local population of rabbits.

  “The Mad Beast of Burr’s Hill,” he said fondly. “The part about the rabbits was a bit juvenile! You’d think that we could have thought up something better than that. Poor Ladomer believed us, too. Do you remember the look on his face?”

  “I’m sure he was convinced you were bleeding to death – until he spotted you tasting it!” Aeryn agreed.

  “That was a poor move on my part,” Eamon conceded, laughing. He had never been able to resist strawberries and had been dipping his finger in the mess on his arm with delight when a frantic Ladomer had come rushing into the garden to inspect the damage. Eamon’s knowledge that Ladomer was bigger and stronger than him by far had begun more or less on that day: failing to see the humour, Ladomer had proceeded to beat Eamon to within an inch of his life. Eamon’s father had scolded Ladomer harshly for it. It had been far more embarrassing
for sixteen-year-old Ladomer than twelve-year-old Eamon. Eamon wondered if Ladomer had ever forgiven his father for it.

  Both were silent for long moments, lost in the memory. At last Aeryn took his hand and looked at him.

  “What you’re doing now, Eamon, is not altogether unlike that game we played,” she said softly. “Except it isn’t Ladomer who’s coming to check on you, and he won’t be the one to beat you if you get caught. Remember that. Don’t taste the fruit this time!”

  Eamon smiled, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I won’t. I promise. Besides,” he added with a reassuring smile, “I don’t really like fruit any more. I think Ladomer beat it out of me.”

  Aeryn laughed. “I know.”

  “You take care of Hughan,” he told her, “and let him take care of you.”

  Aeryn blushed. “I will.”

  He let go of her hand and they walked back to the Hidden Hall. As they approached, Eamon saw Mathaiah standing near the doors. His rapt attention was fixed on the one who spoke with him: Hughan.

  As they neared, Eamon saw Mathaiah bow his head low. Smiling, Hughan laid his hands on Mathaiah’s shoulders and spoke some words of service and benediction over him. Mathaiah’s face warmed through with joy. Eamon and Aeryn stood to watch as the cadet raised his head. Hughan turned to Eamon.

  “A good man goes with you,” he told him, “and much will come of him.” Mathaiah basked in the praise. Hughan regarded Eamon for a long moment. The weight of parting fell upon them.

  “Have you the stone?”

  Nodding, Eamon laid one hand to his breast where it lay. “I have. Have you the dispatches?”

  “I have.” Hughan plucked a group of papers from his pouch. “I am sorry that I cannot also give you cloaks or food for your journey.”

  The papers were creased, as though by many hands, and wax seals bound the folded sheets closed. The seals each bore a unicorn with three stars in an arch over its brow. Like the sword and star, it was one of the emblems of the house of Brenuin, the house of kings.

  Eamon stored the papers carefully in his pouch.