Hidden Warrior

27

That first winter with Kaulin and Wythnir passed quietly. Mail arrived regularly from Tobin and Ki, and from Iya, who now divided her time between her travels and more frequent visits to the city. A few oblique remarks made it clear that she had found allies in Ero, wizards who would be of more use staying where they were than joining him.

The boys wrote of court life, and in Tobin’s Arkoniel discovered a dark thread of worry and discontent. Korin was carousing more, the king was changeable in his moods, and the older boys were treating Tobin and the other younger ones like children.

In contrast, Ki reported happily on parties and various girls who were showing interest in them. Arkoniel guessed that Tobin was less pleased with the latter; he said nothing about girls at all, except to report that one whom he’d been friends with had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. He was vague on the details, but Arkoniel was left with the unsettling impression that Tobin thought her murdered.

As winter closed in once more, Arkoniel divided his own attentions between his new guests and the workroom. Kaulin was not much interested in Arkoniel’s “indoor magic,” as he called it, preferring to wander in the forest in all weathers. Once he’d settled in, he’d proven something of a grumbler, and Arkoniel was content to leave the fellow to himself.

Arkoniel was somewhat perplexed by Kaulin’s neglect of Wythrin. He wasn’t really unkind to the child, but frequently went off without him, leaving him in Nari’s care like an ordinary child in need of a nurse.

Arkoniel remarked on this one morning as Nari bustled about his workroom with her dust rag.

“That’s all right,” she said. “I’m glad to have a child under this roof again. And Maker knows, the poor little thing can do with some coddling. He’s hardly out of clouts, wizard-born or not, and hasn’t got a soul to care about him.”

Arkoniel caught something sharp in her tone. Setting his half-finished journal aside on the writing table, he turned in his chair and laced his fingers around one up-drawn knee. “Kaulin does neglect him a bit, I suppose. The child seemed well enough when they arrived here, though.”

“He wasn’t starved, I’ll grant you, but you’ve seen how Kaulin is with the child. He hardly has a kind word for him, when he can be bothered to speak to him at all. But what can you expect, eh? Kaulin only took the boy on to repay a debt.”

“How do you know that?”

“Why, Wythnir told me,” Nari said, and Arkoniel caught her smug little smile as she went to work on the windows. “And I got a bit more out of Kaulin the other day. The poor little thing had been treated very badly by his first master, a drunkard or worse, from what I gathered. I suppose even Kaulin was an improvement, but he doesn’t seem to care for the child. It’s no wonder Wythnir looks like a little ghost all the time.” She flicked dust off a candlestand. “I don’t mind having him underfoot, of course. He’s not a bit of trouble. Still, he is wizard-born, and the way he’s taken to you, perhaps you could show a bit more interest in him?”

“Taken to me? He hasn’t even spoken to me since he got here!”

She shook her head. “You mean you haven’t noticed how he follows you about and lurks outside the workroom?”

“No, I haven’t. In fact, I didn’t think he liked me.” Arkoniel’s early experiences with Tobin had left him rather shy of quiet children. “Anytime I speak to him he sticks a finger in his mouth and stares at his feet.”

Nari snapped her dust rag at him and chuckled. “Oh, you just take some getting used to. You’ve gone a bit crusty and strange since the boys left.”

“I haven’t!”

“Oh yes, you have. Cook and I don’t pay you any mind, but this is a little boy and I guess I know more about them than you do. Give him a smile! Show him a trick or two and I’ll bet you a sester coin he warms right up.”

To Arkoniel’s surprise, Nari won that wager. Though the child remained quiet and shy, he did brighten noticeably when Arkoniel took the time to show him a trick or ask for his help with some little chore. He was still thin, but Cook’s good food had put color into his wan cheeks and brought a bit of luster to his ragged brown hair. Conversation remained difficult; Wythnir seldom spoke except to mumble a reply to a direct question.

In the workroom, however, he watched every move Arkoniel made with alert, solemn eyes. One day, for reasons known only to himself, he shyly offered to show Arkoniel how to make a luck charm out of a bunch of dried thyme and horsehair. It was not the sort of thing most eight-year-olds, even wizard-born, knew how to do. His weaving was a little clumsy, but the spell held firm. Arkoniel’s honest praise earned him the first smile he’d seen from the boy.

After this small success Wythnir truly began to blossom. It seemed only natural to teach him, and it only took a few lessons to discover that Kaulin had done a better job with the boy than Arkoniel had guessed. Wythnir had been with the man less than a year, but already knew most of the basic cantrips and fire charms, as well as a surprising amount about the properties of plants. Arkoniel began to suspect that it was not boredom or disappointment that made Kaulin neglect the boy, but resentment of the boy’s obvious potential.

The discovery of Wythnir’s quickness made Arkoniel more cautious in what he let the boy see of his own studies. What he’d learned of Lhel’s witchery was still forbidden knowledge among the free wizards. They worked together each morning, but the afternoons were reserved for Arkoniel’s solitary labors.

Since Ranai’s spirit gifting, Arkoniel had discovered that certain types of spells—summonings and transmutations in particular—came more easily than they had before. He saw spell patterns more clearly in his mind and found he could hold the wizard eye for nearly an hour without fatigue. Perhaps it was thanks to her, as much as to Lhel, that he finally achieved his first success with what he’d come to think of as his “doorway spell.”

He’d given up on it a dozen times or more since he’d first conceived of it, but sooner or later he’d find himself with the old salt box in front of him, trying to force a bean or stone to materialize inside it.

Wythnir was sweeping the workroom one rainy morning in late Klesin while Arkoniel was making another attempt, and wandered over to see what he was grumbling about.

“What are you trying to do?” Even now he spoke in the hushed tones of a temple novice. Arkoniel often wondered what a few days with Ki would do to change that.

Arkoniel held up the recalcitrant bean. “I want this to go inside this box, but without opening the lid.”

Wythnir pondered this a moment. “Why don’t you make a hole in the box?”

“Well, that would defeat the whole purpose, you see. I mean, I might as well just open the—” Arkoniel broke off, staring at the boy, then the box. “Thank you, Wythnir. Would you leave me for a while?”

Arkoniel spent the rest of the afternoon and the night cross-legged on the floor, deep in meditation. As dawn broke, he opened his eyes again and laughed. The pattern of magic had come to him at last, so simple and clear in its workings that he couldn’t imagine how it had eluded him for so long. No wonder it had taken a child to point it out to him.

Going back to the table, he picked up a bean and his crystal wand. Humming the tones of power that had come to him in the night, he wove lines of light on the air with the tip of his wand: whirlwind, doorway, traveler, rest. He hardly dared believe it, but the pattern held and the familiar cold prickling of energy ran down from his brow to his hands. The pattern brightened, then collapsed into a small blot of darkness. Shiny and solid-looking as polished jet, it hung in the air in front of him. Reaching out with his mind, he found that it was spinning. He was so surprised that he lost concentration and it disappeared with a sound like a cork coming out of a wine jug.

“By the Light!” Composing himself, he sketched the pattern again. When it was fixed in the air, he tested it more carefully and found it malleable as clay on a potter’s wheel. All it took was a thought to make it expand to the size of a keg head, or shrink to a hummingbird’s eye.

It was not a stable spell, but he found he could weave it with ease, and experimented with a succession of them. He could change the position with a thought, moving it around the room and tilting the axis from vertical to horizontal.

Finally, tingling with anticipation, he visualized the salt box without actually looking at it and dropped a bean into the little vortex. The bean disappeared like a stone into a tiny pond and did not fall out the other side. The hole collapsed on itself with the usual dull pop.

Arkoniel stared at the empty air where it had been, then threw back his head and let out an elated whoop that carried his joy all the way to Lhel’s camp.

Wythnir, who had evidently gone no farther than the floor outside the door, burst in. “Master Arkoniel, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Arkoniel swung the startled child up into the air and danced him around the room. “You’re a luck bringer, my boy, do you know that? Illior bless you, you put the key in my hand!”

Wythnir’s baffled smile made Arkoniel laugh again.

Over the next few weeks Arkoniel armed himself with a handful of beans and put his new magic to various tests. He successfully sent beans into the box from across the workroom, then from the corridor, and finally, thrillingly, through the closed workroom door.

He also inadvertently made a crucial discovery. If he was careless or hurried, if he didn’t visualize the destination carefully and concentrate on his purpose, the unlucky bean simply vanished. He tested this repeatedly and was unable to recover any of the lost ones, or discover where they’d gone.

Doubtless trapped in whatever middle space they occupy between the spell pattern and their final destination, he noted in his journal that night. It was nearly midnight but he was too excited to worry about ghosts. Wythnir had long since been packed off to bed, but Arkoniel kept the lamps burning, unwilling to stop when things were progressing so well. He was more tired than he wanted to admit, however.

He decided to try sending something heavier into the box. A lead fishing weight Ki or Tobin had left behind was just the thing. In his excitement, however, he carelessly brushed the black disk with his hand and felt a distinct tug as the hole closed. For a moment he could only stare stupidly at the spurting stump that was all that was left of his little finger. It was gone, cut clean as a sword stroke just below the second knuckle. It began to throb painfully, but still he stood there, watching the blood flow in disbelief.

The pain soon brought him to his senses. Wrapping the finger in a fold of his tunic, he raced to the table and opened the salt box. There was the lead, intact as expected, but the inside of the box was a spattered mess. The flesh of his finger had been torn from the bones and mangled to bloody gobbets. The bones were undamaged, however, and the nail had survived intact; it lay like a delicate seashell beside the weight.

Only then did the enormity of what he’d done hit him. Collapsing on the stool, he rested his forehead on his left hand. He knew he should call for help before he fainted and bled all over the floor, but it was a moment before he could make himself move.

Lhel warned me never to touch the window spells, he thought, as a wave of nausea rolled over him. No wonder she’d been so hesitant to trust him with this sort of magic.

Because the wound was so clean, it took a bit of doing to get the bleeding stopped. Cook stitched up the end of his finger, smeared it with honey, and tied it up in a bit of clean linen.

He cleaned the box out himself and said nothing of the incident to Kaulin or Wythrin, but he was more careful than ever to keep others away as he cast the spell.

Rather than dampen his zeal, however, the accident spurred him on. He spent the next few days experimenting with different objects: a slip of parchment, an apple, a cloak pin, and a dead mouse from the kitchen traps. Only the metal pin survived. The parchment was shredded to bits, but not burned. The apple and the mouse carcass arrived in very much the same state as his severed finger; the flesh and delicate bones were mangled, but the mouse’s skull survived intact.

Having determined that only very solid objects could be safely transported, he then experimented with weight and found that a carved stone book end took no more effort to send across the room than the beans had. Satisfied, he went back to beans and began distance trials.

Nari and the others gave him some odd looks as he dashed around the keep. Stationed by the box, it was Wythnir’s task to yell down the stairs as soon as the little travelers appeared.

No matter how far Arkoniel got from the box, no matter how many doors or walls lay between, he only had to imagine a hole in the side of the box itself, concentrate carefully, and the bean would find its way home.

He next tried sending beans to other destinations. The first one made its way successfully from the workroom to the offering shelf of the house shrine. From there, he sent it on to Cook’s flour barrel—a messy success in that case—then began sending it outside.

Kaulin remained unimpressed. “Don’t see much use in it,” he sniffed, watching Arkoniel retrieve a bean from the bole of a willow beside the river.

Arkoniel ignored him, already making a mental list of places in other towns he could picture clearly enough to focus the magic on.

“It is a drawback, of course, not being able to send parchment letters,” he muttered aloud. “Still, there must be some way around that.”

“You could write them on bits of wood,” Wythnir offered.

“I suppose I could,” mused Arkoniel. “That’s a very good idea, Wythnir.”

Kaulin gave them a disdainful look and wandered off about his own business.

28

Even in the mountains, that spring and early summer were hotter than the last. Tradesmen raised their prices, complaining of dead livestock and fields blasted with drought and blight. On the mountainsides the birch turned yellow in high summer. Even Lhel seemed to feel it, and Arkoniel had never once heard her complain of heat or cold.

“The curse on this land is spreading,” she warned, scratching symbols into the dirt around her camp.

“Tobin is still so young—”

“Yes, too young. Skala must suffer a little longer.”

The heat finally broke in late Gorathin with a spate of violent thunderstorms.

Arkoniel had taken to sleeping through the hottest part of the day. The first clap of thunder shook the keep like an avalanche, startling him bolt upright on his damp bed. His first thought as he lurched up was that he must have slept the day away, for the room was nearly dark. Outside, clouds the color of a new bruise were scudding low over the trees. Just then another blinding blue-white flash split the sky and another rending crash shook the house. A puff of damp wind stirred against Arkoniel’s cheek, then the rain came, falling in thick, silvery curtains that instantly cut off all view. Fat drops spattered across his sill so hard he felt the spray from three feet away. He went to the window, glad of any respite, but even the rain was warm.

Lightning lanced down in angry tridents, each flash leaving a deafening report in its wake. The storm was so loud he didn’t notice that Wythnir had come into his room until he felt the child’s hand on his arm.

The boy was terrified. “Will it hit the house?” he asked, voice quavering as he tried to make himself heard.

Arkoniel put an arm around him. “Don’t worry. This old place has been here a long time.”

As if to contradict him, a bolt struck a dead oak at the edge of the meadow, splitting it from crown to root and setting it ablaze.

“Sakor’s fire!” Arkoniel exclaimed, running for the workroom. “Where are those firepots you cleaned the other day?”

“On the shelf close by the door. But—you’re not going out?”

“Just for a bit.” There was no time to explain. Arkoniel knew of at least half a dozen elixirs that could only be brewed with this sort of fire, if he could get to it before the rain put it out.

The pots stood ready on the shelf, pierced brass lids gleaming. Wythnir had been diligent, as always. Their round iron bellies were filled with dry cedar bark and greasy wool. He snatched the largest and ran down the stairs. Kaulin called after him as they passed in the hall, but Arkoniel didn’t stop.

The rain pelted his hair flat and plastered his kilt to his thighs as he sprinted barefoot over the bridge and plowed on through the coarse, waist-deep sea of dead timothy and thistle, hugging the pot close to his chest to keep the tinder dry.

Reaching the oak, he was glad to see that he was in time. Flames still hissed and crackled in the fissures of the blasted trunk and he was able to knock a few brands into the pot with his knife before the last of them fizzled out. It was enough; the tinder caught and he had his fire. He was just clamping the lid in place when Kaulin and the boy came panting up to join him. Still frightened, Wythnir cowered as lightning struck again down by the river.

“I only brought the one pot,” Arkoniel told Kaulin, not anxious to share his prize. Dividing the fire diminished its potency.

“Not looking for that,” Kaulin muttered. Rain ran down his broad back in rivulets as he crouched on the blackened grass at the base of the tree and poked about with a silver knife. Wythnir did the same on the far side and soon straightened up with a cry of triumph. “Look, Master Kaulin, here’s a big one!” he cried, juggling something back and forth between his hands like a hot ashcake. It was a rough, dirt-caked black nodule about the size of a man’s finger. Kaulin soon found some, too.

“A fine one!” Kaulin exclaimed, taking it and holding it up for the rain to cool.

“What is it?” asked Arkoniel. The man was as pleased with this fruit of the storm as he was with his.

“Sky stone,” Kaulin told him, tossing it to him. “Got the power of that lightning bolt fused in it.”

It was still very hot, but Arkoniel felt something else as well, a subtle vibration that sent a tingle up his arm. “Yes, I feel it. What will you do with it?”

Kaulin held out his hand and Arkoniel reluctantly surrendered it. “Lots of things,” he replied, rolling it in his cupped palm to cool it more. “This here’s a couple of months’ livelihood, if I find the right one to sell it to. This’ll put the hot iron back up an old man’s worn-out prick.”

“Impotence, you mean? I’ve never heard of that cure before. How does it work?”

Kaulin slipped the stones into a leather pouch. “The man binds one of these to his member with a red silk cord and leaves it until a thunderstorm comes. As soon as he sees three flashes in the sky, his vitality’s restored. For a while, at least.”

Arkoniel stifled a grunt of disbelief. Such folk “cures” were seldom more than an idea planted in the customer’s mind, sympathetic magic that had more to do with the cully’s desperation than any inherent power of the so-called remedy. It was the sort of cheat that gave their kind a bad name. All the same, he had felt something in the stone. Satisfied, the others set off with their find. Rain sizzled on the lid of the firepot as he trudged after them.

Wythnir slowed until he was walking with Arkoniel. Without a word, he pressed something into the wizard’s hand, then hurried back to Kaulin. Looking down, Arkoniel found himself holding one of the rough hot stones. Grinning, he pocketed it for later study.

The rain had slackened a bit. Halfway across the meadow, Arkoniel caught the distant jingle of harness on the Alestun road. Kaulin had heard it, too.

Arkoniel passed him the firepot. “Take this to my workroom and stay there, both of you. Don’t make any sound until I send word.”

They ran for the bridge. Kaulin and the boy disappeared through the main gate, while Arkoniel sprinted for the empty barracks. Inside he crossed to a window overlooking the road and peered out through a crack between the shutters. The rain had increased again and he could see no farther than the bridge, but he didn’t dare expose himself.

Presently he heard a heavy snort and the creak of harness. A brown-and-white ox appeared out of the storm, pulling a high-sided cart. Two people sat on the driver’s bench, wrapped in cloaks against the storm. The one next to the driver threw her hood back just then and Arkoniel’s heart leaped; it was Iya, baring her face to make herself known to anyone watching from the keep. The driver did the same, a fair-haired young man with vaguely ’faie features. It was Eyoli of Kes, the young mind clouder from Virishan’s orphan brood. Iya had brought at least one of them to safety. The fact that they’d come by cart gave him hope of others.

Though no great wizard herself, Virishan had earned Iya’s respect by gathering up neglected wizard-born children from among the poor, saving them from filthy seaports and backward border towns where their sort were too often abused, exploited, and killed by the ignorant. An outcast herself, Iya had been happy to give Virishan what support she could.

“Ah, there you are, and in this weather!” Iya called, as Arkoniel stepped out to greet them. Eyoli reined in the horse and held a hand down to him. Climbing up the muddy wheel spokes, Arkoniel glanced into the cart. There were only five children huddled there among the baggage and their protector was not with them.

“Where’s your mistress?” Arkoniel asked, as they rattled off again.

“Dead of a fever this past winter,” Eyoli told him. “It carried off twelve of the children, too. I’ve had the care of the rest since, but it’s hard to make a living with no more magic than any of us has. Your mistress found us begging in Kingsport and offered us sanctuary here.”

Arkoniel turned to the shivering children. The older three were all girls. The two little boys were no older than Wythnir.

“Welcome, all of you. We’ll have you warm and dry soon, and there’s lots to eat.”

“Thank you, Master Arkoniel. I’m glad to see you again,” one of the girls said, pushing her sodden hood back. She was nearly woman-grown, he saw, and very pretty, with wide blue eyes and a flaxen braid. He must have stared, for her smile faltered. “I’m Ethni, remember?”

“The little bird tamer?” She’d been young enough to sit on his knee the last time he’d seen her.

Ethni grinned and lifted a wicker cage to show him two brown doves. “You helped me with that, and now I’ve a few new tricks to show you,” she said proudly.

I’d like to see them! Arkoniel thought, wondering if she’d still sit on his knee. Catching himself, he quashed the thought with a guilty pang. The fact was, though, that this was the first pretty young girl he’d met since he’d broken celibacy with Lhel. That realization, and his body’s warm reaction, were rather disquieting.

“And us! Do you remember us?” the younger girls chided, turning up identical faces. Even their voices seemed the same.

“Rala and Ylina!” one reminded him.

“You made luck knots for us, and sang ballads,” her sister chimed in.

Arkoniel smiled at them, but was aware of Ethni’s gaze still on him. “And who are these fellows?”

“This is Danil,” one of the twins told him, hugging the dark-eyed boy.

“And this is Totmus,” said her sister, introducing the shy, pale one.

“Who else has arrived?” asked Iya.

“Kaulin and a little boy.”

She pulled her wet cloak closer around her, frowning. “That’s all, after all this time?”

“How many did you call?”

“Only a dozen or so since I last saw you. It wouldn’t do to have a crowd streaming down the Alestun road. But I’d expected more to be here by now.” One of the boys whimpered. “Don’t worry, Totmus, we’re nearly there.”

In the kitchen yard Nari and Cook hustled the shivering children to the kitchen hearth and wrapped them in dry blankets.

Later, when the children were all settled on pallets in the hall, Arkoniel and Iya carried their wine cups up to his bedchamber. The thunder had passed, but the storm raged on. As night fell the wind turned cold, pelting the keep with hailstones the size of hazelnuts. The wizards sipped their wine in silence for a while, listening to it clatter against the shutters.

“Our wizards aren’t much of a collection yet, are they?” Arkoniel said at last. “One old faker, a half-grown mind clouder, and a handful of children.”

“There’ll be more,” Iya assured him. “And don’t underestimate Eyoli. He may be limited, but he’s good at what he does. I think he might do to keep an eye on Tobin for us in the city. It’s risky, but he’ll attract far less attention than we would.”

Arkoniel rested his chin on one hand and sighed. “I miss Ero. And I miss traveling with you.”

“I know, but what you’re doing here is important. And surely Lhel isn’t letting you get too lonesome?” she added with a wink.

He blushed, unable to answer.

She chuckled, then pointed at his right hand, noticing the missing finger. “What happened there?”

“A happy accident, actually.” He held up his hand proudly; thanks to Cook, it had healed clean over the bone end. The new skin there was still a shiny pink and a bit tender, but he hardly noticed it anymore. “I’ve got wonderful news, but it’s easier to show you than explain it.”

Rummaging in his pocket, he found his wand and a coin. He wove the spell and made a black disk the size of his fist, its surface parallel to the floor. Iya sat forward, watching with interest as he flourished the coin like a conjurer and dropped it into the disk. It disappeared and the black aperture snapped out of existence. He grinned. “Look in your pocket.”

Iya reached in and pulled out the coin. A look of wonder slowly spread over her face. “By the Light,” she whispered. “By the Light! Arkoniel, I’ve never seen the like! Did Lhel teach you this?”

“No, it’s that spell I’ve been working on, remember? But I did start with one of her spells as a base.” He wove the sigil for the window spell on the air, and had Iya peek through at Nari and Cook knitting by the kitchen fire. “That was the start of it, but I added to it, and visualize it differently.”

“But your finger?”

Arkoniel went to his desk and took a taper from the candle box. Weaving the spell again, he thrust the taper partway in and showed her the resulting stump. Iya reached into her pocket and found the missing half.

He held up his finger again. “The one and only time I was careless. So far, anyway.”

“By the Four, do you realize how dangerous this is? How big can you make these—these—What do you call them?”

“Doorways. I’ve made some large enough for a dog to walk through, if that’s what you’re getting at, but it won’t work. I’ve tried it with rats, but they come through mangled on the other end. Small, solid objects go through just fine. Just imagine being able to send something all the way here from Ero in the blink of an eye! I haven’t tried anything that ambitious yet, but it should work.”

Iya looked down at the candle stub and coin. “You haven’t taught this to Kaulin or the boy, have you?”

“No. They’ve seen it work, but not how it’s cast.”

“That’s good. Can you imagine how dangerous this could be in the wrong hands?”

“I understand that. It’s not perfected yet, either.”

She took his damaged hand in hers. “Perhaps this was a blessing. You’ll have this before you as a reminder for the rest of your life. I am proud of you, though! Most of us go our whole lives simply learning the magic created by others, without ever making anything new.”

He sat down again and sipped his wine. “It’s thanks to Lhel, really. I’d never have figured it out without the things she’s taught me. She’s shown me a good deal about blood magic too. Wonderful things, Iya, and nothing like necromancy. Perhaps it’s time we stopped thinking that way about the hill folk and began to learn from them before they all die out.”

“Perhaps, but would you trust just anyone with the kind of power she has over the dead?”

“It’s not all like that.”

“I know, but you know as well as I do there were reasons they were driven out. You can’t let your affection for one witch blind you to the rest. Lhel’s had her reasons not to show you the dark side of her power but it’s there, believe me. I’ve felt it.

“All the same, what you’ve accomplished here is marvelous.” Iya touched his cheek, and a hint of sadness crept into her voice. “And you’ll do more. So much more. Now, tell me about this Wythnir. You seem fond of him.”

“There’s not much to tell. From what Nari and I have been able to gather, his early life was about like that of those children downstairs. But you wouldn’t believe how quickly he takes to everything I show him.”

She smiled. “So, how do you like having an apprentice of your own?”

“Apprentice? No, he came with Kaulin. He belongs to him.”

“No, he’s yours. I saw that the minute he looked at you, down in the hall.”

“But I didn’t choose him, I just—”

She laughed and patted his knee. “Then this is the first time I’ve heard of an apprentice choosing the master, but he is yours, whether you and Kaulin have worked it out between you or not. Don’t let go of him, my dear. He will be great.”

Arkoniel nodded slowly. He’d never thought of Wythnir that way, but now that she’d said it, he knew she was right. “I’ll speak with Kaulin. If he’s agreeable, will you be our witness?”

“Of course, my dear. But you must settle it tomorrow morning.”

Arkoniel’s heart sank. “You’re leaving so soon?”

She nodded. “There’s still so much to do.”

There was no arguing with that. They finished their wine in silence.

To Arkoniel’s relief, Kaulin had no objection to giving over his bond on Wythnir, especially after Arkoniel offered a handsome compensation for his loss. Wythnir said nothing, but beamed happily as Iya tied his hand to Arkoniel’s with a silk cord and spoke the blessing.

“Will you swear the wizard’s oath to your new master, child?” she asked him.

“I will, if you tell me what it is,” Wythnir replied, wide-eyed.

“Don’t guess I ever got ’round to that,” Kaulin muttered.

Iya shot him a disdainful look, then spoke kindly to the child. “You swear first by Illior Lightbearer. And you swear by your hands and heart and eyes, that you will always obey your master and strive to serve him the best you can.”

“I swear,” Wythnir replied eagerly, touching his brow and breast the way she showed him. “By—by Illior, and by my hands and heart and—”

“Eyes,” Arkoniel prompted softly.

“Eyes,” Wythnir finished proudly. “Thank you, Master Arkoniel.”

Arkoniel was surprised by a wave of emotion. It was the first time the child had called him by name. “And I so swear, by Illior, and by my hands and heart and eyes, that I will teach you all I know, and protect you until you are grown into your own power.” He smiled down at the boy, remembering when Iya had said these same words to him. She’d kept her word and so would he.

Arkoniel was sorry as always when Iya rode out later that day, but the keep seemed a different house now, with so many people under the roof again. Wizard-born they might be, but they were still children and racketed about the hallways and meadow like farmers’ brats. Kaulin grumbled about the noise, but Arkoniel and the women were glad of the new sense of life they brought to the old house.

Their presence brought new problems, as well, he soon discovered. For one thing, they were much harder to hide than quiet little Wythnir. On tradesmen’s days he packed them all off into the forest with Eyoli and Kaulin to guard them.

The other children joined Wythnir at his lessons, and Arkoniel found he had a school, as well. Fortunately, Wythnir’s remaining shyness fell away around the others and Arkoniel watched with delight as he began to play like a normal child.

Pretty Ethni was a welcome addition to the household, too, but a disturbing one. She flirted with Arkoniel whenever they met. He was flattered, but saddened as well. Though twice Wythnir’s age, she had none of his promise. Even so, he encouraged her and praised every small advance. It was rather nice, the way she smiled at him when he did.

Lhel saw the true nature of his feelings for the girl before he did and told him the first time he came to her after the other’s arrival.

She chuckled as they undressed each other in the oak house. “I see a pair of pretty blue eyes in your heart.”

“She’s only a girl!” Arkoniel retorted, wondering what form a witch’s jealousy might take.

“You know as well as I do that’s not true.”

“You’ve been spying again!”

She laughed. “How else can I protect you?”

Their coupling that day was as passionate as ever, but afterward he caught himself comparing Lhel’s brown throat to Ethni’s smooth white one and tracing the lines around her eyes. When had they gotten so numerous, and so deep? Sad and. ashamed of himself, he drew her close and buried his face in her hair, trying not to see how much greyer it was now.

“You are not my husband,” Lhel murmured, stroking his back. “I am not your wife. We are both free.”

He tried to read her face but she pulled his head back down on her breast and stroked him to sleep. As he drifted off, it occurred to him that for all the passion they’d shared here in this oak house, neither of them had ever spoken of love. She’d never taught him the word for it in her language.

29

Tobin celebrated his fourteenth name day in Atyion, and Duke Solari saw to it that it was a grand affair. Far grander, in fact, than Tobin would have liked; he’d have been happier with a small hunting party at the keep, with just the Companions and a few friends, but Iya had warned against going there now. She wouldn’t say why and Tobin’s old resentments against the wizard boiled up. But in the end even Tharin had taken her side and Tobin had grudgingly given in.

All the same, he was glad to visit Atyion again. The townspeople turned out to greet him, and Tobin was pleased that he recognized so many faces among the crowd.

Even the castle cats seemed glad to have him back. Packs of them gathered wherever he sat down, winding around his ankles and curling up on his lap. Lytia’s orange tom, Ringtail, slept stretched between Tobin and Ki every night, and followed Tobin around the castle. The cat couldn’t abide Brother, though. When Tobin called the ghost in secret, Ringtail would dart under the furniture, growling and hissing until Brother was gone.

To Tobin’s great relief, the king did not come out for the name day feast. Solari was disappointed, but still managed to fill the great hall with guests. The high tables were packed with lords Tobin hardly knew—Solari’s captains and liegemen mostly—but farther out, soldiers wearing the colors of Atyion sang and yelled out toasts to Tobin’s health. Looking out over that sea of faces, Tobin was all too aware of who wasn’t there. Una had not been heard from since her disappearance, and Arengil was gone, too, sent home to Aurënen a few days after the embarrassment on the roof. Weeks later it came back to Tobin through palace gossip that the young foreign lord had been deemed a bad influence.

There were a great many gifts this year, and one large pile sent by the people of the town. Most of them were from merchants and represented the sender: a fine pair of gloves from the glove maker, kegs of ale from the brewer, and so on. Tobin gave most of it a cursory glance, until Ki pulled a large scroll from the pile and handed it to him with a grin. Unrolling it, Tobin found a beautifully illuminated ballad about his father, banded along the top and margins with intricate colored scenes of battle. A smaller scrap of parchment had fallen out and on it Tobin found a brief but effusive note from Bisir, who was very happy in his new profession.

Tobin and the Companions stayed at the castle for a fortnight. Whenever they could slip away, he and Ki visited with Tharin’s aunt Lytia and Hakone. The old steward had declined over the summer and was growing more feebleminded. This time he could not be dissuaded from the notion that Tobin and Ki were the young Rhius and Tharin. It was rather unsettling.

Tobin was also entertained lavishly by the town’s principal guild masters. Most of these banquets were a bore. His hosts were invariably gracious and openhanded, but he sensed that much of it was done to curry his favor.

He much preferred visiting the men of the barracks. He’d never seen his father around actual troops, but he’d always been friendly with his guard and it didn’t occur to Tobin to act otherwise. Soon he knew most of the officers and sergeants by name and set up mock challenges between his guard and any swordsman the Atyion men wanted to put forward, even going a few rounds himself. He was disappointed when they let him win, but Tharin assured him later that it was done out of love and respect, rather than fear.

“You’re their lord, and you take the time to learn their names,” he told Tobin. “You can’t imagine how much that means to a man in the ranks.”

He also revisited his parents’ room several times, trying again to capture the long-lost echo of who they had been then, but he didn’t go near his mother’s wardrobe. The memory of his reflection in the mirror made him blush.

Instead, he and Ki came there late at night when everyone else was asleep, and sat at the wine table playing at bakshi. He summoned Brother, too, and let him stalk sullenly around in the shadows as they played. The ghost had shown no signs of wanting to hurt Ki again; Tobin could almost forgive him.

When the fortnight was over, Tobin was reluctant to leave; Atyion now felt almost as much like home as the keep. Perhaps it was the way everyone greeted him on the streets, always smiling, always friendly. In Ero he was the king’s nephew, Korin’s cousin, the odd little second heir. Just a placeholder, really. In Atyion he was someone’s son and the future hope of the people.

Ringtail escorted him to the front court when it was time to leave and sat yowling on the stairs as he rode away. Riding out through the cheering, banner-waving throngs that lined the streets, Tobin almost regretted his place in the Companions.

30

They’d been back in Ero for only a few days when Korin surprised them all with news that would change the course of their lives.

It was a crisp, smoke-scented autumn morning and Ki was looking forward to the run, and to the dressing-down Korin and the others were likely to get. The older boys were later than usual, and Porion was already fuming. Korin and his set had escaped to the lower city the night before and come home stinking. Their drunken singing had woken Ki, so he wasn’t feeling much sympathy for them as they straggled out.

Alben and Quirion and their squires were the first to emerge. They were wine sick but one glance from Porion was enough to sober them up fast. The others soon followed in ones and twos, looking equally raddled except for Lynx, as usual.

“Where the hell is Korin?” Ki asked, as Lynx stepped into line beside him.

The other squire rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Orneus didn’t make it past the second tavern. I had to rent a horse to get him home.”

Tanil ran out, still wrapping his belt. “The prince is coming, and sends his apologies, Master Porion.”

“Oh, does he?” The arms master’s voice dropped dangerously and he gave them all a scathing look. “Is this a festival day, boys? Did I forget the date? A good day to sleep in, was it? Just for that, you can—Ah, Your Highness. So pleased you could join us, my prince. And you, too, Lord Caliel. I trust you both had a fine time of it last night?”

“Thank you, Master Porion, we did,” Korin replied, grinning.

Ki’s gut tightened; not even Korin spoke back to Porion. He braced for the inevitable, but instead Porion merely ordered a doubling of the usual run.

As they set off Ki could see Korin still grinning.

“What’s up with him I wonder?” Tobin muttered.

Zusthra jogged past to catch up with the prince. “He has a secret to share,” he murmured, looking smug.

Korin waited until they were at breakfast. “I’ve got good news!” he cried, throwing an arm over Tobin’s shoulders. “I want you to be the first to hear it.” He paused, savoring the moment, then announced, “Lady Aliya carries my child. I’m to have an heir, boys!”

Ki and Tobin gaped at each other a moment, then joined in the cheering.

“I told you he’d manage it!” Zusthra cackled, pounding Caliel on the back. “We’re free! They can’t keep us from battle, now he’s got an heir!”

Zusthra had good reason to crow, Ki knew. He was the oldest of them, with a thick red beard on his chin. He would have been off to the wars with his father years ago if not for his place in the Companions.

Everyone was shouting war cries and yelling. Porion sat by for a few minutes, then banged on the table with his spoon for their attention.

“Does your father know, Prince Korin?”

“No, and I mean to tell him myself tonight, so not a word.”

“As you wish, my prince.” He scowled around at the others, who were still cheering and congratulating each other. “I wouldn’t go putting on your armor just yet. The truce is still on, you know.”

As soon as Porion released them at midday Tobin and Ki ran all the way to the house to tell Tharin. He was in the back courtyard with Koni, examining a horse.

“Slipped away from your duties, have you?” he said, frowning.

“Just for a minute,” Tobin promised, then quickly gave him the news.

Tharin let out a low whistle and shook his head. “So Korin finally got his way, did he?”

“The truce can’t last forever!” Ki crowed. “They never do. Are Tobin and I old enough yet to go?”

Tharin scratched under his beard. “If Korin goes, then you all will.”

“I guess we can put up with Aliya as consort, if that’s the case,” Ki said, laughing. “In fact, this could be the best thing to happen. I’ll bet you once they’ve been under the same canopy for a few months, he’ll be glad enough to go off to war, just to get away from that sharp tongue of hers.”

None of them noticed Moriel lurking by the door or saw when he hurried away.

Niryn’s rooms were near the king’s wing of the New Palace. No one thought it odd that the king’s equerry called there so frequently.

Niryn was taking a solitary breakfast in his courtyard when Moriel was ushered in.

“My Lord Niryn, I happened to be near the Companions’ mess just now and overheard something that might be of interest to you.”

“Did you? Let’s have it.”

“Prince Korin just announced that Lady Aliya carries his child! No one else is to know until the prince tells his father.”

“And when does he plan to do that?”

“Tonight, he said.”

“I suppose the prince and his friends are quite pleased?”

Mingled spite and envy twisted up the corner of the boy’s mouth. “Oh yes, they’re all cheering because they think they can go off to war now.”

“It was good of you to inform me, Sir Moriel. You have my continuing—appreciation.” Niryn gave the boy a knowing smile as he bowed. Moriel knew better than to expect anything as crass as gold to pass between them now. A gift would arrive later. Some nameless benefactor would clear his bills with the tailors or wine merchants. And, of course, he would remain in the king’s good favor. Moriel had understood the arrangement from the beginning and had since outstripped all the wizard’s expectations. Jealousy and malice were the ideal alloys in boys like Moriel; they hardened his soft, craven nature to usefulness, like tin in bronze.

“How do you think His Majesty will take the news?” Moriel asked.

“We shall see. Go back and tell the king I have something of great importance to discuss with him. I’ll come within the hour. And Moriel? Say nothing of this.”

Moriel looked offended. “I wouldn’t think of it, my lord!”

Jealousy, malice, and ego, Niryn amended as he went back to his breakfast. And a traitor’s heart. How long would this one remain tractable before overreaching himself?

No matter, he thought, sucking the custard from a pastry horn. There are always plenty more of that ilk to be had.

In fact, Niryn had learned of the pregnancy a few days earlier, as he’d known about the others. Prince Korin had kept his spies busy the past year or so, throwing bastards around the city like a farmer strewing barley seed. But this time it wasn’t just another kitchen maid or harbor slut, girls one could simply exterminate like troublesome vermin. No, this one had nearly gotten past him. His spy among the Dalnan priests—now deceased—had informed him too late of certain divinations performed for the girl, divinations that set the royal hallmark on the child’s paternity. Aliya’s mother, a woman as ambitious as she was powerful, had already been told and was eagerly anticipating the formal announcement that would graft her line to the throne.

Closeted with Erius in the king’s private study, Niryn spoke carefully, never taking his eyes from the king’s face. Erius took the news with disarming calm.

“Lady Aliya, you say? Now which one is she?”

“The eldest daughter of Duchess Virysia.”

The king’s face, usually so easily read, betrayed little. “Ah yes, that auburn-haired beauty who’s always on his knee.”

“Yes, my king. She’s one of several lovers your son has enjoyed in recent months. As you know, he has been ah—laboring mightily, as the poets put it, to produce an heir so that you will let him go off to battle.”

Erius laughed outright at this. “By the Flame, he’s as stubborn as I am! Are you certain the child is his?”

“I’ve looked into the matter carefully, Majesty. The child is his, though a bastard. But even if you forbid the match, the endorsements Prince Korin has already given have done their damage. The child could make claim to the throne on the strength of them.”

Niryn watched hopefully for a flicker of anger, but instead Erius slapped his knees and laughed. “They’ll make handsome babes between them, and the family’s highborn. How far along is she?”

“I believe the child will be born in the month of Shemin, my king.”

“If—” Erius began, then pressed a finger to his lips to ward off the bad luck. “Well, the girl is strong and fair … We’ll hope for the best. Shemin, you say?” He counted on his fingers and chuckled. “If they marry at once, we can pretend it was a hasty birth. That’s as good as on the right side of the blanket.”

“There is one other thing, my king.”

“Yes?”

“Well, there’s the matter of the girl’s mother. She is a known Illioran sympathizer.”

Erius brushed the issue aside. “I suspect she’ll be praying at a different altar, now that she’s to be the grandmother of the future king or queen, eh?”

“No doubt you’re right, my king,” Niryn replied, forcing a smile, for it was the truth. “There is just one hindrance. Your son, my king, he’s not yet blooded. To my knowledge, no ruler of Skala has married before they’ve proven themselves in battle.”

“By the Four, you’re right there! Well, the lad’s timing is damn poor. I don’t mean to attack Benshâl just to suit him.”

“I believe some of the ancient queens faced that same dilemma. But there are always bandits or pirates to be dealt with. I’m certain the Companions would not complain of such a foe. With their youth, it’s an honorable enough beginning.”

“My grandmother did just the same to marry.” Erius sighed and ran a hand over his silver-streaked beard. “But the chick isn’t hatched yet. If Korin was killed now, and the child …” Again he stopped and made a warding sign.

“Like it or not, Majesty, you must let the boy claim his place as a warrior or the armies will not accept him when, Sakor forfend, the time comes for him to claim the crown. You have only to ask, Majesty, and I will do all in my power to protect your son.”

To his surprise Erius did not bridle at the suggestion. “This magic of yours? What would it be?”

“There’s no dishonor in it, I assure you. How can there be, any more than to wear armor? A simple amulet would suffice, such as Queen Klie wore in the ballads.”

“Very well. I’ll have General Rheynaris find a suitable covey for my son to hunt.” Erius smiled, looking as if a burden had been taken from his shoulders. “Thank you, my friend, for your good counsel. But not a word to anyone. I want to tell Korin myself. Can you imagine the look on his face?” The king looked boyish himself at the thought. He stood and clapped the wizard on the shoulder. “If I could have only one minister at court, I’d have to keep you. You’ve been invaluable, as ever.”

Niryn pressed his hand to his heart. “May I always be so worthy of your trust, my king.”

As he walked back to his own rooms, Niryn sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Illior, but it was mere habit. In truth, it had been a very long time since he’d cared what the gods thought.

31

Before Korin could break the news to his father a terse summons arrived, ordering the prince and Master Porion to the New Palace. The rest of the Companions were useless once he was gone. Raven tried in vain to engage them with descriptions of the twenty-third battle of Kouros, but the boys swiveled like weathercocks at every noise from the corridor. Giving up in disgust, he dismissed them.

They loitered around the mess for the rest of the afternoon; anxious not to miss any summons. The mood was tense; if the king had been happy about the news, what was all the waiting about?

Ki made a halfhearted attempt at knucklebones with Barieus and Lynx, but no one could concentrate.

“He’s done it now,” Tanil fretted, pacing the rushes flat by the door. “I tried to tell him to be more careful, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“He didn’t want to be careful and neither did she,” Caliel grumbled, stretched out on a bench by the hearth and staring morosely up at the ceiling.

“Will the king blame Porion?” asked Lutha.

“Or us?” said Quirion. “Maybe he thinks the Companions should have kept a better eye on him. What do you think, Tobin?”

“How should I know?” Tobin shrugged, whittling a bit of kindling to slivers.

Ki cast a concerned glance at his friend. Ever since the incident at the execution, something had changed in the king’s demeanor toward Tobin.

“I say it’s good news for us, no matter what happens,” Zusthra declared. “Korin will have his heir—”

“That’s for his father to say,” Nikides cut in. “The child’s a bastard, remember?”

“I can think of at least two queens born on the wrong side of the blanket,” Caliel countered.

“Yes, but those were the children of queens,” Nikides reminded him.

“So what?” snapped Urmanis. “Bilairy’s balls, do you always have to be such a know-it-all?”

Nikides colored and shut up.

“No, Nik’s right,” said Caliel. “Go on, explain it to him, if he’s too thick to see it.”

“A woman always knows the child is hers, so a queen can’t be cuckolded,” Nikides told Urmanis. “Even if she doesn’t know which lover was the father, as happened with Klie. But Korin has only Aliya’s word, and the drysians’, that her child is his. Really, it would be safer not to claim it and get Korin married off properly.”

“But he could still be cuckolded, even by a rightful consort,” Ki pointed out.

Before they could debate that point, the sound of approaching footsteps brought them all to attention.

It wasn’t Korin, or Porion, however, but Moriel. They’d seen little of the Toad since the incident with Tobin and the girls. Perhaps he’d gotten wind of how Tobin’s friends planned to get even with him for his treachery.

He didn’t look very happy to be here now. “The king wants all of you to dine with him at the palace. You’re to come back with me now.”

“What’s going on with Korin?” demanded Caliel.

“Moriel made him a slight” bow. “I’m only the messenger, my lord.”

Ki guessed from the Toad’s sour expression that he knew more than he was saying. “Must be good news for us!” he whispered, nudging Tobin as they went out. “If the king was angry at us for letting Korin run wild, Toad wouldn’t be looking like he’s got a belly cramp.”

There were hundreds of corridors and passages threading the New Palace courts together, a labyrinth for any who didn’t live there. Most of the Companions had only been as far as the public wing, in its own right a maze of grand audience and ministerial chambers, armories, treasury rooms, and public gardens, temples, and fountain courts.

Moriel knew his way and led them to a small dining chamber in the king’s wing. Tall windows edged in patterns of colored glass overlooked a garden with golden fountains and tall, vine-covered walls. Braziers burned by the long dining table, where a cold supper had been laid ready. Bowing, Moriel withdrew.

The boys stood about uncertainly, not daring to touch the food without the king’s leave. Erius came in at last, accompanied by Korin, Porion, and Raven. All of them looked very solemn.

“I suppose you’ve heard the news regarding my son and Lady Aliya?” the king rumbled, looking sharply around at them.

“Yes, Majesty,” everyone said, coming to attention.

He let them dangle a moment longer, then broke into a broad smile. “Well, then, pour a libation and raise a toast to Korin and his lady, and my future grandchild!”

Tobin dutifully kissed his uncle on both cheeks and took his seat on his left. The squires hastened to serve, for there were no other servants.

When Lynx had poured the wine, they tipped the first few drops out onto the flagstones, then drank the successions of healths and blessings.

“It’s been too long since we had a simple meal together,” Erius said, as the first course was passed.

He kept the conversation to ordinary things while they ate—hunting, their progress at training. Porion and Raven were both uncharacteristically effusive in their praise of the boys.

As Ki and Barieus passed the last trays of sweets, Erius stood and smiled around at them. “Well, boys, are you young warriors ready to try your hand at proper fighting?”

Everyone gaped for a moment, afraid to believe what they’d just heard. Then they burst into new cheers and sloshed their cups about, saluting the king. Ki flung his tray up with a whoop and half strangled Tobin with a hug while quince tarts rained around them.

“There is one impediment, however,” Erius went on, giving Korin a wink. “It wouldn’t be seemly for Korin to wed before he’s properly blooded, but his lady isn’t giving us time to start the war up again, so we’ll have to make do with what Skala can offer at home.”

Everyone laughed. Tobin cast a grateful look Porion’s way, certain that the old warrior had finally found a way to press their cause.

When the table was cleared Korin unrolled a map. Leaning in beside him, Tobin recognized a section of the northern coastline.

“Here’s where we’re going,” Korin told them, pointing to an inland location in the mountains. “A strong band of brigands has been reported in the foothills north of Colath. Father wants them cleaned out before winter.”

“How many?” Lutha asked eagerly.

“Fifty or so, by the reports we’ve had,” Raven croaked. “By all accounts, they’re a disorganized rabble. Until now they’ve kept on the move, attacking at night without warning, preying on small villages. They’re making a winter camp in the hills, so they’ll be easy enough to find.”

“We’ll be going to a fortress not too far from there, at Rilmar.”

“Rilmar?” Ki exclaimed.

Erius chuckled. “I thought it was time your father thanked his young benefactor properly. And I don’t imagine you’ll mind seeing your family again? I understand it’s been a long time since you’ve seen them?”

“Yes, Majesty. Thank you.” But he didn’t sound pleased. Everyone else was too excited to notice, but Tobin glanced at his friend in concern. He used to love to tell stories about his kin. They sounded like a wild, hot-blooded bunch, and Tobin had always wanted to meet them. But Ki didn’t talk of them so much anymore, except for Ahra.

“So it will be us against fifty?” Lutha was asking eagerly.

“Well, Tobin and I will take our guard, so there’s forty, plus all you lot,” Korin explained. “Lord Larenth can provide another score or so, but this will be our battle.

“And don’t worry,” he added, ruffling Tobin’s hair and looking around at the younger boys. “We all go”

“We can be ready by daylight!” said Caliel.

Erius chuckled. “It will take a bit longer than that. The ships are being readied, and supplies packed. You boys will help oversee the preparations, as part of your education. Two days is soon enough.” Erius clasped Korin by the shoulder and gave him an affectionate shake. “As soon as you come back with blood on your cheeks, we’ll announce this wedding of yours.”

32

The three-day voyage was Tobin’s first experience aboard a ship. Their vessels, two deep-bellied carracks with red sails, were large enough to transport their horses.

Tobin felt a flutter of fear as the ship shifted beneath his feet, but by the time they’d passed the harbor mouth he’d found his sea legs. Behind them, the city glistened in the morning sun, reminding him again of the toy city above its painted harbor. Only then, when it was too late, did he realize that in all the excitement of the preparations, he’d completely forgotten about Brother. The old rag doll was still in its hiding place in the dressing room.

“Don’t worry,” Ki said, when Tobin confided this to him. “No one ever dusts up there anyway. And it’s not like he’d be any good to you in battle.”

Porion was their sergeant now, and Tharin and Melnoth were their captains. Korin spent hours with the men, asking a hundred questions and listening to tales of past battles. The rest of the boys gathered around for these lessons and by the time they rounded the headlands at Greyhead, they’d already fought the battle a dozen times over in their heads.

“These aren’t trained soldiers you’re going against,” Porion warned repeatedly. “They can’t be counted on to follow the rules of engagement.”

“Chances are you won’t see half of them at any given moment,” Tharin added. “They’ll be up in trees, or shooting at you from the bushes. Our best bet is to take them unawares if we can, before they have time to scatter.”

The sea shone green under the pale sun each day. The weather held clear, with a good following wind. On the third morning they dropped anchor at a large fishing village and spent the day unloading the horses and their gear. The coastline was rougher than in Ero, and the forest hugged the sea ledges.

The village was a small, lonely place, without a palisade or market square, or an inn. The Companions spent the night on pallets in the thatch-roofed temple of Astellus, which doubled as a wayfarers’ hostel. Their men camped on the beach under canvas lean-tos. The next morning they set off at dawn, following a winding road up into the hills.

The mountains were different, too. They were shorter and rounder, like worn-down teeth, and thickly forested almost to their tops. Their rocky summits showed through like a balding man’s pate. The wide valleys between were well watered and dotted with steadings and walled villages.

The keep at Rilmar stood at the mouth of one of the larger valleys, guarding an important road. Tobin had expected something like his old home at Alestun, but Rilmar consisted of a single large round stone tower encircled by a raised earthwork and a weathered stockade wall. The tower was topped by a crenellated terrace and conical wooden roof. The banner flying there showed two green serpents intertwined on a red-and-yellow field.

“That must be your father’s new arms,” Tobin said, pointing it out to Ki.

Ki said nothing, and he wasn’t smiling as he scanned the walls. Tobin could make out the heads of half a dozen men watching them from there. His banner and Korin’s should have told the guards who was coming, but no one hailed them or came out to meet them.

Ki peered up, shading his eyes.

“See any of your family?” Tobin asked, anxious to meet the people he’d heard so many stories about.

“Nobody I recognize.”

Hounds bayed an alarm from inside as they rode up to the gates.

A dirty, one-eyed warder let them in. He saluted Korin and Tobin, then squinted at the rest of them with surly interest, not appearing to know Ki.

Beyond the gate they entered a barren close. Men and women who looked more like bandits themselves than a lord’s warriors were at work there, shoeing horses and chopping wood. A smith was busy at a forge by the inner wall. Other men lounged about at their ease. Two brindle hounds as big as calves rushed at the newcomers, barking furiously until some of the idlers sent them yelping with a few well-aimed stones. Tobin caught Tharin and Porion looking around with pursed lips at such slovenliness. He heard someone among the Companions snicker but Korin silenced them with a quick glare.

Two boys a bit older than Ki and dressed in decent leather armor came bounding down from the rickety wall walk.

“That you, Ki?” the taller of the pair demanded. He had Ki’s dark eyes and hair, but he was broader and looked more like a farmer than a warrior.

“It’s me, Amin!” Ki said, brightening a bit as he slid out of the saddle to meet his brother.

The other boy gave him a none-too-gentle punch on the arm. “You been gone too long, little brother. I’m Dimias. This here’s Amin.”

The other boy looked even more like Ki. “Lookit you, the little lordling!” he cried, giving Ki a rough hug.

Both of them spoke with the thick country accent Ki had had when Tobin first met him.

The smith, a fair-haired man in a scorched leather apron, limped over from the forge to meet them. His arms and hands were massive, but he had a clubfoot. He gave Korin an awkward, bobbing bow and touched a fist to his heart. “Welcome to Rilmar, Yer Highness.” His eyes kept darting to Ki as he spoke, and Tobin read sour envy in his small, narrowed eyes.

“Hullo, Innis,” Ki said, looking no more pleased to see him; Innis had never come off well in Ki’s stories. “Prince Korin, may I present my half brother?”

Innis wiped his hands on his apron and bobbed again. “Father’s inside wi’ gouty foot. Said I’s to bring you in when you come. You can leave yer horses and soldiers here. Amin, you an’ Dimias see to ’em. Come on, then, Yer Highness.”

Porion and the captains stayed with the Companions as they crossed to the crumbling stone wall that enclosed the keep yards. Innis fell in next to Ki, and Tobin heard him growl, “Took you long enough to come home again, didn’t it? Too good for yer own folk now, I reckon.”

Ki’s hands clenched, but he held his head up and said nothing.

Passing under the barbican, Tobin caught his breath, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the odors that greeted them.

Inside the gate a few slatternly-looking women were at work over a soap kettle; the stinging fumes waited around the dank yard, adding an acrid edge to the overwhelming stink of dung, damp stone, and rotting garbage, which lay everywhere. Woodsmoke hung in heavy layers on the moist air. A pile of broken barrels took up one corner near the stables, and pigs were rooting through a midden just beyond.

The ancient keep was badly in need of repair. The walls were crusted with moss and lichen, and wildflowers had found rootholds between the weathered blocks where mortar had crumbled away. On the upper levels of the tower, shutters hung by one hinge or were missing altogether, giving the place an abandoned look.

The yard was paved with flagstones, but they’d been cracked and heaved by the frosts, and in places they were missing altogether, leaving muddy brown puddles where a few bedraggled chickens and ducks drank. Witchgrass and thistles stuck up through the breaks in the stone. Hollyhock and nightshade had gone to seed near the ironbound front door, and a hoary rose vine climbed over the lintel, a few white blossoms giving the yard its only hint of cheer.

It’s as bad as the streets around Beggar’s Bridge, Tobin thought. Even in the darkest days of Tobin’s childhood, the keep yard at Alestun had been kept tidy and the lower levels of the house in decent repair.

On the far side of the yard, a gang of dirty children was playing in the back of a broken-down cart. An unshaven young man dressed in nothing but a long dirty tunic sat watching the riders from the driver’s seat. His lank hair hung in greasy tangles around his bare shoulders and as they got closer, Tobin saw that he had the blank, wide-set eyes of an idiot.

Tobin heard more snickers behind him. Ki had gone red to the tips of his ears. He’d long since been trained away from his rough ways and speech, and he’d always been clean and particular in his dress. No wonder he hadn’t been anxious to see his own people again.

The children in the cart ran to greet the Companions. The rest of the motley assembly soon followed.

The youngest children circled them like a flock of swallows, laughing excitedly. One little girl with a long blond braid down her back stopped to stare at Korin’s gold-chased helmet. “Is you a king?” she lisped, blue eyes solemn.

“No, I’m the king’s son, Prince Korin.” He took her hand and kissed it gallantly, sending her into screams of laughter.

The idiot boy in the cart let out a hooting bellow, bouncing up and down and making a wet sound that might have been Ki’s name.

“Hullo, Kick,” Ki called, waving back reluctantly.

“Another brother?” Mago asked with poorly concealed glee.

“Bastard one,” Innis grunted.

Entering the keep, they walked through a large, round chamber that served both as kitchen and storeroom and up a creaking staircase to the great hall.

This chamber was lit by a few narrow windows and a fire on the long hearth, but from what Tobin could make out as his eyes adjusted to the smoky dimness, it was little better than the room below. The ceiling beams and long tables were black with age, and the blotched plaster had fallen away in places, revealing bare stone underneath. A few cheap, new tapestries hung in odd places and the silver plate lined up on shelves near the hearth was tarnished. A brindle bitch lay nursing a litter in the middle of the room and lanky, notch-eared cats walked the tables with impunity. The household women darted sharp looks at the guests as they sat twirling their distaffs by a smaller cooking hearth, two half-naked babies rolling on the dirty rushes at their feet. The whole place stank of old grease and piss.

“This isn’t where I grew up,” Ki whispered to Tobin, then sighed. “This is better, actually.”

Tobin felt as if he’d betrayed Ki; he’d never imagined a place like this when the king had granted Larenth the title.

A thin, worn-out woman not much older than Innis came forward to greet them. Dressed in a fine new gown stained with tallow spots across the skirt, she made an awkward job of kneeling to kiss Korin’s hand. From the look of her and what Ki had told him over the years, Tobin guessed that Larenth got his new wives from among the servants whenever he’d used up the last with child birthing.

“Welcome to our house, Yer Highness,” she said. “I’m Lady Sekora. Come in and be welcome. We thank you—” She paused, searching for the words. “We thank you for honoring us with our new rank, too. My man—my lord’s back there, waiting on you wi’s foot up.”

Korin was trying not to laugh as he raised her by the hand. “Thank you, my lady. Allow me to present my cousin, Prince Tobin of Ero.”

Sekora stared into Tobin’s face with obvious curiosity. “Yer Ki’s master, then, what that wizard spoke of?” Her teeth were bad and her breath stank.

“Ki is my squire and my friend,” Tobin said, taking her thin, rough hand in his as she curtsied again.

She looked from him to Ki and shook her head. “Ki, I ’spect yer dad’ll be wanting to see you. Come and eat, then I’ll take you all through.”

She clapped her hands and the women brought cold food and wine from a sideboard and laid it out for the guests. They ranged in age from a stooped old grandmother to a pair of young girls who blushed and made bold eyes at Tobin and the others.

The food was plain but surprisingly good, considering the household—cold mutton with mint relish on trenchers of fresh parsley bread, boiled onions mired in thick cream spiced with cloves and wine, and the best venison pie Tobin had tasted since he left Cook’s kitchen. The hospitality was another matter. Lady Sekora stood with the women, twisting her hands nervously in her skirt front as she watched every mouthful Korin took. Innis ate with them, head low over his trencher, shoveling the food in like a peasant.

“Why is it the master of the house doesn’t eat with us?” asked Korin, pushing a bold white tom away from his trencher.

“Ailing, ain’t he?” Innis grunted around a mouthful of pie. This was the extent of their entertainment during the meal.

When they’d finished Innis went back to his work and Sekora led Korin, Tobin, and Ki to a smaller room behind the hall.

It was much cozier here, lined with pine paneling gone dark gold with age and warmed by a crackling fire that somewhat masked the smell of a neglected chamber pot. It reminded Tobin of Hakone’s room.

Lord Larenth lay dozing in an armchair by the fire, his poultice-swathed foot propped on a stool in front of him. Even asleep, he was a formidable-looking old man. He had a hawkish nose, and faded scars marked his unshaven cheeks. Thinning grey hair fell over his shoulders and a drooping moustache framed his thin-lipped mouth. Like Sekora, he wore new clothes of a fine cut, but they looked like they’d been slept in more than once, and used for a napkin, too. Sekora shook him gently by the shoulder, and he woke with a start, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. His left eye was milky white and blind. Tobin could see nothing of Ki in this man except for his one good eye; it was the same warm brown.

All in all, Lord Larenth was what Ki would call a “rough customer” but it seemed he was better versed in court etiquette than his wife, for he pushed himself up from his chair and made Korin and Tobin deep bows. “Please accept my apologies, Yer Highnesses. I don’t get much beyond this chair these days, on account of my foot. My eldest boys is away with the king’s army, and my eldest girl ain’t back yet. Sekora, is Ahra back yet? No? Well, she said she’d come so I reckon she will—” He trailed off. “Innis should have greeted you.”

“He did, and your good lady made us most welcome,” Korin assured him. “Sit, please, my lord. I can tell your foot hurts you.”

“Fetch chairs, woman!” Larenth snapped, and waited until Korin was seated before he sat down again. “Now then, Prince Tobin, my family owes you a great debt for raising us to this. I’ll do me best to be worthy of your trust, and the king’s.”

“I’m sure you will, my lord.”

“And I was sad to hear of yer father’s passing. He was a rare, fine warrior, that one. Rare fine!”

“Thank you, my lord.” Tobin acknowledged this with a nod, waiting for the old man to turn to his son, whom he hadn’t even acknowledged.

Korin pulled a letter from his tunic and presented it to the old man. “The king sends his greetings, my lord, and orders regarding tomorrow’s raid.”

Larenth stared at the document a moment before cautiously accepting it. He turned it over in his hands, examining the seals, then shrugged. “Have you anyone to read it out, Yer Highness? We don’t hold with such here.”

“Squire Kirothius, read the king’s letter for your honored father,” said Korin, and Tobin guessed that he’d noticed, too.

Larenth’s shaggy eyebrows shot up and he squinted with his good eye. “Ki, is it? I didn’t know you, boy.”

“Hullo, Dad.”

Tobin expected them to laugh and hug now, the way Tharin and his kin had when they met. But Larenth was looking at his son as he might some unwanted stranger. “You done all right for yerself, then. Ahra said you had.”

The letter trembled in Ki’s fingers as he unfolded it.

“Read, too, do you?” Larenth muttered. “All right then, go on.”

Ki read the brief missive. It began with the usual greetings, then commanded that Korin lead the raid. Ki didn’t stumble once, but his cheeks were red again by the time he’d finished.

His father listened in silence, sucking his teeth, then turned back to Korin. “The thieving bastards moved their camp higher up in the hills a few weeks back, after we took a charge at ’em. Innis can take you out, if Ahra don’t come. There’s a trail that’ll let you flank ’em. If you go up in the night, p’raps they’ll be too drunk to hear you. You can take ’em at first light.” He paused, squinting at Korin. “How many seasoned men have you?”

“Twoscore.”

“Well, you keep ’em close, Yer Highness. They’re a hard lot, these bandits. They’ve raided half the villages in the valley this winter, and made off with a fair number of the women. I’ve been after them since I got here and we’ve had a hard time of it. Led ’im meself until my foot went rotten.” He stared at Korin again, then shook his head. “Well, you just keep ’em close, you hear? I don’t want to answer this here letter with your ashes.”

“We’ve had the best training in Skala, my lord,” Korin replied stiffly.

“I don’t doubt that, Yer Highness,” the old man said bleakly. “But there’s no training to match what you get at the sharp end of a sword.”

Settling in for the night at that cheerless house, Ki wished that Tobin had left well enough alone. If his father hadn’t been made a lord, the king would never have thought to send the Companions to him. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d been among his kin; he hadn’t realized just how much he’d changed until he saw them again and saw how they looked at him. Even Amin and Dimias had stolen jealous glances at him around the fire downstairs. The younger children, at least those who remembered him, were happy to see him and begged for stories of the city. His little half sisters and brothers and their bastard siblings clung like baby squirrels to anyone else who’d sit still for it, including Korin, who’d been blessedly good-natured about it all. Whatever else Ki might think of the prince, he had a good touch with people when he wanted to. And Ki did have one moment of pleasure when a toddling boy with a shitty bottom had climbed into Alben’s lap.

That didn’t make up for the rest of it, though. Now the Companions all knew just how much a grass knight he really was. The sight of his father and poor Sekora in their filthy finery had nearly killed him with shame. “You can put a pig in silk slippers, but it don’t make him a dancer,” his father liked to say of anyone he thought was getting above themselves. Never had Ki understood the proverb so clearly.

Most of the household went to bed with the sun. The youngest children still slept in haphazard piles on the floor with the hounds and cats. Innis and the older boys sat up with them over more of the dreadful wine, making a desultory attempt at hospitality. Innis, the fourth legitimate child after Ahra, was a slow-witted bull of a man, taciturn to the point of rudeness. He’d shown more aptitude for smithing than he ever had fighting. Because of that and his crippled foot, he’d been left home to manage the household when the others went off to war. Amin and Dimias had both gone off as runners during the last conflicts and it was clear that Innis hadn’t forgiven them their good fortune, any more than he would Ki.

Korin made the best of things. He drank cup after cup of the bad wine and praised it as if it were Kallian red. He joked with Amin and even charmed a smirking grin out of Innis by challenging him to arm wrestle and losing. Caliel paid their guesting price by leading a few songs, which brightened things up for a while. But Ki was too aware of the looks Alben, Mago, and their friends kept stealing at him, and their smirks as Sekora tried clumsily to play hostess. She’d always been kind to Ki and he nearly jumped on Arius when he answered her rudely. His brothers had noticed, too, and looked ready to do murder.

Lynx gripped his knee under the table and shook his head. Even here in this wretched place, a royal squire shouldn’t shame the king’s son or his lord by brawling. Ruan and Barieus gave him sympathetic looks across the table, but that only made Ki feel worse.

Tobin knew how he felt; he always did. Ignoring the rude ones, he talked hunting with Amin and did a bit of swordplay with Dimias. He gave Ki the occasional quick smile, and there was no false brightness in it.

It was a relief when they finally headed off to their chamber. Weaving a bit, Korin threw an arm around Innis and proclaimed him a fine fellow. Tobin and Caliel got hold of him and steered him along behind Sekora. Ki hung back, not yet trusting himself near Mago and the others.

His stepmother led them upstairs to a passably clean guest chamber with two large beds. His father no doubt considered this scandalous luxury, but Ki wanted to sink through the floor when Sekora told Korin that the squires were welcome to the stable loft, as if they were mere servants. Korin was very polite about it, and saw to it that pallets were brought up for them.

The rest of this floor, which should have been the private quarters for the family, had fallen into disrepair and there was no evidence that his father thought it needed-changing. The other rooms were empty and musty, their bare floors filthy with the droppings of birds and mice. Since the family still lived and slept in the hall as they always had, it made little difference to them.

“Would you mind if I went back down for a bit, Tob?” he asked softly.

Tobin clasped him by the wrist. “It’s all right, Ki. Go on.”

“So you’re back to fight, are you?” Amin said, making room for him on the settle. “Is it true none of you been to the wars?”

“That’s right,” Ki told him.

“Funny thing, coming all the way up here for it, after living so close to the royals so long,” Dimias said. “Bilairy’s balls, Ki, even I been. Why didn’t that duke fellow ever take you, eh?”

“Nobles don’t go so young.” It was true, but he felt small all the same. Amin had a sword cut on his cheek and was careful to sit so Ki could see it.

“Listen to him!” his half sister Lyla said from one of the sleeping piles. “Sounds like quality now.”

“They learned me to talk like ’em,” Ki snapped, falling back into the old way of speaking. “You don’t think they want me squalling like you all around them fine lords an’ ladies?”

Dimias laughed and locked an arm around his neck. “That’s our Ki! And I say good for you. Maybe you can learn us, too, and find us positions in Ero, eh? I’d fancy city life. Leave all this stink behind without a glance, just like you did.”

“Father sold me off,” Ki reminded him, but the truth was, he hadn’t cared much, leaving.

Lowering his voice, Amin muttered, “I seen how some of ’em looked down their noses at you, though, and you let ’em beat you down, too. Don’t give ’em the pleasure of it, y’hear? I seen battle and all. Half these highbred boys’ll piss their pants tomorrow, mark my words.”

“But not you, eh?” Amin clapped Ki on the shoulder. “Ahra said the pair of you was warrior-born after she seen you again. Sakor-touched, so she said. And he’s a good ’un, that Tobin, even if he is sorta runty and girlish.”

“You’ll stand fast, you and yer prince,” Dimias said.

“ ’Course we will!” Ki scoffed, “And he ain’t girlish!”

They tussled a bit over that, but for the first time that day he was glad to be home, and gladder still to have his brothers speak well of Tobin.

Squeezed into bed between Nikides and Urmanis, Tobin listened to the older boys bragging about how many bandits they’d kill the next day. As always, Korin’s voice was the loudest. Tobin kept an eye on the door, waiting for Ki to come up. Tiring of the wait, he went looking for him.

The hall was dark except for the hearth’s glow. He was about to go back upstairs when someone whispered, “Ki’s outside, Yer Highness, if you’re lookin’ for ’im.”

“Thank you.” Picking his way carefully around the piles of sleepers, he made his way down through the kitchen into the stinking courtyard. The sky overhead was cloudless, and the stars looked big as larks’ eggs. Torches were burning on the parapet, and he could see the guards patrolling the wall walk. He was heading for the yard gate when he caught sight of two people sitting in the back of the abandoned cart.

“Ki?” he whispered.

“Go to bed, Tob. It’s cold out.”

Tobin climbed up onto the splintery seat beside them. It was Tharin there with him, sitting with his elbows on his knees. Suddenly he felt like an interloper, but he didn’t want to go in again. “What’s wrong?”

Ki let out a harsh snort. “You saw.” He gestured around at the keep, the yard—everything, probably. “This is what I come from. Think they’re going to let me forget it?”

“I’m sorry. I never thought it would be like this. I thought—”

“Yeah? Well, you didn’t reckon on my kin.”

“He’s been gone a good while,” Tharin said quietly.

“They’re not so bad—some of them. I like your brothers, and your father is a tough old warrior; I can tell.”

“He got old while I was gone. I’ve never seen him laid up like that, half-blind. Five years is a long time, Tob. Looking at them, I start to wonder who I am.”

“You are what you’ve made of yourself,” Tharin said firmly. “That’s what I’ve just been telling him, Tobin. Some are born noble but don’t have the heart to be any kind of man. Others like Ki here come out noble to the core no matter what. You both saw my family. They weren’t much different than your people, Ki, but Rhius raised me up and I hold my head high next to any wellborn man. You’re cut from the same cloth. There’s not a boy on the Palatine I’d rather stand next to tomorrow.”

Tharin gave them both a quick squeeze on the shoulder and climbed down. “Bring him in soon, Tobin. You need your rest.”

Tobin stayed by Ki, thinking of his own homecoming in Atyion. He’d honestly supposed Ki would find something of the same welcome here. But the keep was awful; there was no denying it. Had the king known it, when he’d suggested it?

At a loss for words, he found Ki’s hand and clasped it. Ki let out a growl and bumped his shoulder against Tobin’s. “I know you don’t think less of me, Tob. If I thought that, I’d ride out that gate tonight and never look back.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’d miss the fight tomorrow. And Ahra will be here, too. What do you think she’d do to you if you ran off?”

“There’s that. Guess I’s more ’feared of her than any Companion.” Standing, he looked around the yard again and chuckled. “Well, it could be worse.”

“How?”

Ki’s grin flashed in the darkness. “I could be the heir to all this.”

33

It was still dark when Tharin and Porion woke them, but Tobin felt the flutter of a dawn breeze through the open window. No one was bragging as they dressed. Tobin’s eyes met Ki’s as his friend helped him into his hauberk, and he saw his own excitement and fear mirrored there. By the time he’d pulled the surcoat on he was sweating.

As they turned to go he saw that Korin was wearing the horse amulet he’d made for him, and a new one Tobin hadn’t seen before.

“What’s this?” he asked, leaning in for a closer look. It was a pretty piece, a polished lozenge of horn set in gold.

“A luck piece Father gave me,” Korin said, kissing it.

For the first time in a long time, Tobin felt a pang of longing and envy. What would his father have said to him, or given him, before his first battle?

There was no sign of breakfast in the hall. Children and animals watched from the shadows as they clattered down to the yard. Ki’s three older brothers were waiting for them out in the close, and Ahra and her riders were with them. From the looks of their clothes they’d ridden all night to get here and had only just made it. A girl of twelve or so, barefoot and dressed in a ragged, mud-spattered tunic sat an equally muddy horse beside Ahra. Both dismounted to hug Ki, then Ahra bowed deeply to Korin and Tobin. “Forgive me being late, my princes. Father sent Korli here after me but she was delayed on the road.”

“ ’Pologies, Yer Highness,” the girl mumbled shyly, dropping them an awkward curtsy. “Hullo, Ki!”

Ki gave her a quick kiss.

Tobin studied her with interest, for Korli looked the most like Ki of anyone he’d seen here. She had his dark good looks, and gave Tobin a hint of the same buck-toothed smile when she saw him looking.

“Is she your full sister?” he asked as Ki went to saddle their horses. It seemed odd he’d never mentioned her.

“Korli? No, she’s one of the bastards.” He paused, giving her a second look. “Huh. She’s sure grown.”

“She looks like you.”

“Think so?” He strode off in the direction of the stable.

Surprised by this casual dismissal, Tobin stole another look at the girl. Korli was slighter than Ki, but she had the same brown eyes and soft, straight hair, and the same smooth, golden skin. Her features were a little rounder, a bit softer …

Like my other face looked in the pool.

A chill ran up Tobin’s spine and he turned away quickly, feeling like he’d seen a ghost.

Ahra had twenty riders with her, as hard-bitten a lot as any he’d seen, and at least a third of them were women. Most of the men with them were getting old or were very young; the best fighters were off in the regular regiments. As he turned to look for Ki, one of the boys gave him a quick secretive wave. Tobin hesitated, thinking he’d misunderstood, but the boy signaled him again. Intrigued, Tobin wandered over.

He was beardless, no older than Tobin, and the face that showed under the helmet and warrior braids was smudged with dirt. Something about his eyes was familiar, though, and judging by the grin he was giving him now, he thought he knew Tobin.

“Don’t you know me, Yer Highness?”

It wasn’t a boy at all.

Tobin’s heart leaped as he followed her behind a hayrick. “Una. it’s you!”

She pulled off the helmet and shook the hair back from her face. “Yes! I didn’t want to chance Korin and the others seeing me, but I knew you’d keep my secret.”

Tobin hardly recognized the highborn girl he’d known. She wore the scarred armor of a common soldier, but the sword at her hip was a fine one of old design.

“Your grandmother’s?” he guessed.

“Told you I’d carry it one day. I just didn’t think it would be so soon. And I bet you never thought I’d see battle before you, either.”

“No! What are you doing here?”

“Where’d you think I’d go, after all Ki’s stories?”

“I don’t know. We—Ki and I—we were afraid that—” He swallowed the words, not wanting to admit aloud what he and Ki had only speculated on in whispers, that the king had murdered her. “Well, damn, I’m just glad you’re here! Have you killed your first man yet?”

“Yes. You were a good teacher.” She hesitated, looking him in the eye. “You don’t hate me, then?”

“Why would I hate you?”

“It was all my idea, training the girls. Father said you were in awful trouble for doing it, and I heard Arengil was sent back to Aurënen because of it.”

“Of course I don’t hate you. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Mount up!” Korin called.

Tobin took her hand in the warrior’s grip. “Sakor’s Flame, Una. I’ll tell Ki!”

Una grinned and saluted him. “I’ll be at your back, my prince.”

They made a brave show, riding out past the torches with their banners. They carried no lights. Innis and Ahra took the lead, guiding them up the valley as the stars slowly faded. Amin and Dimias rode with them, and Tobin couldn’t help admiring the easy way they sat their mounts. Tharin and Captain Melnoth brought up the rear.

After a few miles they left the road and took off across country through stubbled fields and wooded copses still wreathed in chill mist. They reached the first hamlet while it was still too dark to make out much more than a few thatched roofs over the top of the log palisade. As they came closer, however, they caught a familiar smell; it was the ash and burned pork reek of the pyre fields near Ero.

“Bandits?” asked Korin.

“No,” Ahra replied. “Plague took this one.”

A few miles farther on, however, they came to the remains of one that had been burned by bandits. The sky had gone from indigo to grey, light enough for Tobin to see the broken black stump of a stone chimney and a wooden doll floating in a ditch.

“This happened a few weeks back,” Innis told them. “The men was killed and left, but there weren’t a women or girl to be found among ’em.”

“They’re setting up good and solid if they took the girls,” said Tharin, shaking his head. “How much farther?”

Innis pointed toward the wooded hills ahead, where a few thin columns of smoke could be seen rising above the trees.

Tobin imagined the captured women making breakfast there and shuddered.

“Don’t worry, we’ll bring the women back safely,” Korin was saying.

Innis shrugged. “Not much point now, is there?”

“Ruined goods, are they? You’d just leave ’em, would you?” Ahra growled.

Innis jerked his thumb back at the ruined houses. “Naught to come back to.”

Scowling, Ahra took the lead and they turned west, following a game track into the forest.

“Not a word, anyone. Pass it back,” she whispered. Then, to Korin and the others just behind her, “Keep your weapons from rattling if you can. It’s a few miles yet, but no sense giving them any warning if they have sentries posted.”

Everyone checked their scabbards and bows. Tobin leaned down and tucked the loose end of Gosi’s girth strap under the edge of his saddle, holding it in with his thigh. Beside him, Ki did the same on Dragon.

The sun was just coming up over the valley but it was still almost night dark in the trees. Old firs towered around them, and the rocky ground was strewn with fallen trees.

“Not good ground for a mounted charge, is it?” Korin said softly to Ahra.

“No, but good for ambush. Shall I send lookouts?”

“We’ll go!” Dimias offered.

But Ahra shook her head and sent off two of her own people.

Tobin sat straighter in the saddle, scanning the shadows for signs of sentries. He wasn’t scared, exactly, but it felt like there was an empty space under his heart.

Looking around, he guessed the others were feeling it, too. Korin’s face was set in a grim mask under his helm, and Tanil was counting the arrows in his quiver. Glancing back, he saw the others all making last checks, or watching the woods nervously. Ki caught Tobin’s eye and grinned. Was Una scared, Tobin wondered, or did your first battle cure you of it? He wished he’d had time to ask her.

They’d gone less than a mile into the forest, steadily climbing, when Ki caught the scent of cooking fires. The air was damp and it carried the smoke low through the trees. Soon they could see wisps of it curling just below the dripping roof of branches. He began scanning the trees more carefully, unable to shake off the image of sharp eyes watching him down the length of an arrow shaft.

But nothing happened. The only sounds were the soft thud of hooves on moss and the waking calls of the birds.

They reached a clearing and dismounted. The officers and Companions gathered around Ahra while the squires took charge of the horses.

“Not much farther,” she whispered, gesturing to where the track continued out the eastern side. “The camp is less than half a mile that way, down in a little dell.”

All eyes turned to Korin. He conferred briefly with Ahra and the captains. “Well, Tobin, you’re in charge here with your guard. Nik, Lutha, Quirion, you’re with them.” Quirion started to protest but Korin ignored him. “You’ll hold our flank. I’ll send a runner back for you if we need you.”

“You two stay with them,” Ahra told her brothers. “You know the lay of the land up here, in case they need a guide.”

Korin pulled at his new amulet, then glanced at Porion, who gave him a nod. “That’s it, then. Swords out, and follow me.”

“The lookouts, my prince. Shouldn’t we wait to hear back from them?” Ahra asked.

“We’re already later than I meant to be.” Korin cast an eye up at the brightening sky. “If they’ve gotten themselves lost, we’ll give up any chance we had of surprise. Come on.”

He waved his sword in a great circle and the rest of the company fell in behind him.

“Well, you heard him,” whispered Tobin as the sound of their horses faded away through the trees.

The squires and Tharin’s men strung tether lines between several trees and set about securing their horses.

“Running knots, boys,” Tharin called softly, undoing a tight knot Ruan had made. “We want to be able to get loose in a hurry if we have to.”

Then there was nothing to do but wait. And listen. There was no real reason to stand at attention, but no one sat. Hands on their sword hilts or tucked into their belts, the Companions stood in a loose circle, watching the path. Some of Tharin’s men spread out, patrolling the edges of the clearing.

“It’s the waiting gets under your skin,” Amin muttered.

“How many raids have you been on?” asked Lutha.

Amin’s cocksure demeanor gave way to a sheepish grin. “Well, only two with real fighting, but we done a lot of waiting!”

The sun was just showing over the tops of the trees when they heard the first distant shouts.

Tharin climbed onto a large boulder by the trail mouth and listened for a moment, then smiled. “From the sound of it, I’d say they caught them by surprise after all.”

“Be all over ’fore we get anywhere near it,” Amin grumbled. “Why don’t the runner come?”

The distant shouting continued, but a breeze came up and the sigh of it in the branches drowned it out. Tharin stayed on his rock, watching the path like a hound waiting for its master’s return.

He was the first to fall.

34

The first moments of the ambush were eerily quiet. One minute Tobin was standing with the others, listening to the wind in the trees. Then, without warning, Tharin let out a choked cry and spun off his rock with an arrow protruding from his left thigh, just where the split in his hauberk hung a little open.

A good shot, or a lucky one, Tobin thought, heading for him. Then he was falling, knocked sideways.

“Stay down, Tob!” Ki seemed determined to remain on top of him.

“Tharin’s hit!”

“I know that. Stay down!”

Crushed into the long grass, Tobin couldn’t see past Amin, who was sprawled close beside him.

The air over their heads was filled with the dragonfly buzz of arrows now. Arrows thudded into the ground on both sides of Tobin and Ki. He could hear shouting in the trees. Somewhere nearby a man cried out in pain—Sefus was it? A horse screamed, then the whole tether line began to rear and kick. The ropes snapped and the horses scattered.

The arrow storm stopped as suddenly as it had started. Heaving Ki off, Tobin was the first on his feet. Everyone had scattered. Some were still down in the grass. Others had made it to the edge of the trees. Koni and some of the others were trying to calm the remaining horses.

“To me! To me!” Tobin shouted, drawing his sword and pointing to the cover of the trees to his right. “Come on, quickly!”

No sooner had he spoken than the arrow assault resumed, but the others had heard. Some ran with their shields up, others trusted to speed.

Ki shielded him as best he could without getting underfoot. Nikides and Ruan made it to them, and Ki’s brothers were there, too, shields up to catch the flying shafts.

But too many of them had been caught out in the open. Some weren’t moving; at least three of Tobin’s guard lay too still. The only one he could make out was Sefus, staring up at the sky with an arrow through one eye. Beyond him, Tobin saw someone else on the ground wearing the bright surcoat of a noble; from the colors, it was either Lutha or Barieus.

“Tobin, come on!” Ki urged, trying to pull him deeper into the trees. Tobin looked back at the boulder where Tharin had been, but there was no sign of the man. Praying his friend had made it to cover, Tobin ran to join the others hunkered down behind tree trunks and stones. Strangely, that empty feeling under his heart had disappeared; he didn’t feel much of anything. Looking out through the trees, he saw more bodies in the meadow, arrows sticking up like thistles around them.

Ki grasped Tobin’s arm again and pointed off to the right. “Do you hear that?”

Branches were crackling under someone’s boots nearby; whoever it was was headed their way. Tobin quickly took stock. Nikides and Ruan were the only other Companions with him. Quirion was nowhere to be seen. Besides Amin and Dimias, he had Koni and five other guardsmen. By now they could make out enemy sounds to their left, as well.

Damn, they caught us and split us, Tobin thought grimly. It was the worst possible start, especially since they had no idea how many men they were facing. Everyone was watching him.

“Nik, you take Koni, Amin, and those four and go to the left,” he said. It sounded like there were fewer people that way. “The rest of you, with me.”

Koni shrugged off his shield and gave it to him. “Take this, Tobin.”

Tobin accepted it gratefully. “Sakor’s luck, everyone.” Slipping his left arm through the straps, he set off, leading his little force deeper into the woods on the right.

They’d gone less than twenty yards when a pack of burly men broke cover and rushed them with axes, cudgels, and swords. There was no time to think after that. Tobin ran at them with Ki at his side, dimly aware of others running with them to meet the attack.

The two lead bandits bore down on Tobin like hounds on a rabbit; a noble was worth a ransom, and they probably took him for an easy catch. Ki blocked their way and got his sword up in time to keep the taller of the two from splitting his skull. The other man darted around and made a grab for Tobin. He wore a short mail shirt and helmet, but it was clear from the way he lunged in that he wasn’t a trained warrior. Tobin jumped back, then caught the fellow across the thigh with his sword. The man dropped his axe and went down, howling and clutching at the spurting wound.

Before Tobin could finish him, a blur of motion on his left made him turn and he nearly fell over a dead swordsman just behind him, close enough to have killed him. Silently thanking whoever had stopped him, Tobin turned to face another man charging him with an upraised cudgel. It was a foolish stance to take and Tobin was able to sidestep and strike him across the belly. The fellow staggered. Ki leaped in and finished him off with a stab to the neck.

More of the brigands appeared and rushed them. Shouts, screams, and curses rang out on all sides, punctuated by the clash of steel on steel. Tobin saw Dimias battling someone twice his weight and ran to help him but Amin leaped from behind a tree and caught the man across the throat.

Ki had been knocked down and Tobin turned to help him, only to find his path barred by another axe man. Years of training seemed to fall effortlessly into place. Almost before he knew what he was doing, he’d hacked at the man’s right shoulder, then followed through with a killing swing to the neck. He’d practiced the move a thousand times before, but it had never come so easily. The bandit wore no coif; Tobin’s blade sliced skin and muscle, then fetched up against bone. The man tumbled sideways, blood spurting from the deep gash in his neck as he fell. A gout hit Tobin in the face; the taste of hot copper and salt on his tongue made his own blood burn for more.

The distraction nearly cost him his life. Ki yelled and Tobin turned. For an instant he saw nothing but the blade coming at his head. Then he was falling backward, knocked off his feet by a blast of icy air. He hit a tree and fell awkwardly over on his side as his attacker bore him to the ground. Tobin struggled, trying to get away, then realized that the man wasn’t moving. His head lolled limply as Ki and Amin hauled him off Tobin, dead as a trout.

Tobin caught sight of Brother leering at him over Ki’s shoulder, his pale face twisted into that same animal snarl he’d worn when he’d killed Orun.

“Thank you,” Tobin whispered, but Brother was already gone.

“Bilairy’s balls!” Amin exclaimed, gawking down at the dead man. “What’d you do? Scare him to death?”

“I—I don’t know,” Tobin said, as Ki helped him up. How had Brother found him? Ki’s quick glance said he’d guessed, or perhaps even seen Brother.

It wasn’t until Dimias looked around, and said, “By the Flame! We done all right, didn’t we?” that Tobin realized the fighting was over.

Half a dozen men came running toward them through the trees, with Tharin in the lead. The arrow was gone, but a dark stain had spread down from the rent in his trousers. Tharin seemed untroubled by it. He was hardly limping, and his blade was dripping blood.

“Here you are!” he panted. “Thank the Light you’re safe! I didn’t see which way you ran—” Looking around at the dead, his eyes widened. “By the Flame!”

“What about you?” Ki demanded.

“It was a glancing hit and pulled out clean,” Tharin told him, still looking around, counting the dead.

“You should have seen our prince!” Koni exclaimed. “At least three of these are his. How many, Tobin?”

“I don’t know,” Tobin admitted. It was already a blur in his mind.

“First time out and all these,” Amin said, clapping Ki proudly on the shoulder. “You done yourself proud, little brother. You, too, Yer Highness. Which ’uns your first?”

Tobin looked back and was dismayed to see his first man, the one he’d cut in the leg, alive and trying to crawl away into the trees.

“Best finish the bastard,” Koni said.

“Yes, see to him, Tobin,” Tharin said quietly.

Tobin knew what he had to do, but that empty space below his heart was back as he walked slowly toward the man. Killing in battle had been easy, just a reflex. But the idea of finishing a wounded man on the ground, even an enemy, made his stomach lurch. Even so, he knew better than to hesitate with all the others watching him. He wouldn’t shame himself by showing weakness now.

He sheathed his sword and drew the long knife at his belt. Blood was still flowing from the gash on the man’s leg; he’d left a trail on the rust-colored pine needles.

He’ll probably die of that, if I don’t finish him, Tobin thought, moving in fast. The man’s head was bare, and his filthy hair was long enough for a good grip. One of Porion’s lessons came back to him. Pull the head back. Slice deep, hard, and quick.

As he bent to do it, however, the man rolled onto his back and threw his arms over his face. “Mercy, lord. I cry mercy!” he screeched.

“He ain’t no lord to claim it!” scoffed Dimias. “Go on, finish him.”

But the plea froze Tobin where he stood. He could see exactly where to aim the blow; the thick vein was pulsing in the man’s throat. It wasn’t fear that stayed his hand, or weakness; it was the memory of the king stabbing the bound wizard.

“He asked for mercy,” Tobin said, lowering his knife.

The man stared at Tobin over his upraised hands. “Thank you, m’lord. Bless you, m’lord!” He struggled to reach Tobin’s boot, trying to kiss it, but Tobin pulled away in disgust.

“Go on, get out of here. If I see you again, I will kill you.”

Dimias snorted as the wounded man scuttled off into the trees. “There’s one more we’ll have to fight again. He’s all ‘bless you, lord’ now, but he’ll stick a knife in you next chance he gets.”

“You may be right, boy, but that was nobly done, all the same,” said Tharin. Then, lowering his voice so only Tobin could hear, “Next time, strike quickly, before they have time to beg.”

Tobin swallowed and nodded. His sword hand was sticky; the blood on it felt like cold molasses and made him queasy.

Others of their company straggled in to join them as the boys found their kills. Tharin painted vertical lines on their cheeks with the blood and put a bit on their tongues, too.

“To keep the ghosts of all you kill in battle from haunting you,” he explained when Tobin grimaced.

“Where are the others?” Tobin asked, looking around. More soldiers had gathered around them by now, but Nik hadn’t returned yet. “Did you see Lutha or Quirion?” By his count more than a dozen of his guard were missing, and they could still hear scattered sounds of fighting.

“Arius was hit,” Tharin told him. “I saw Lord Nikides fighting on the far side as I came across to you. There are still a few archers at work, and I counted ten bandits trying to make off with horses.”

Amin spat on the ground. “They knew we was coming, the bastards.”

“That, or they backtracked Korin,” said Tharin.

“Then we’ve got to get to him!” Ki exclaimed. “If there are enough of them to come after us—”

“No, our post is here,” said Tobin. “Korin said he’d send for us if he needs us.”

Tharin saluted him. “With your permission, I’ll send men out to scout the surrounding woods.”

Reaching the clearing, they found Barieus still shooting at two enemy archers. The fallen Companion in the meadow was Lutha. The boy lay facedown in the grass with an arrow in his back. He was alive, though, and trying to crawl to safety. As Tobin watched, another shaft thudded into the ground near Lutha’s outstretched hand.

Barieus cried out and ran into the open for a better shot. His arrows sped true, but even at this distance Tobin could see that he was weeping.

Tobin marked the enemy archers’ position and set off to flank them.

“Follow the prince!” Tharin called.

Tharin and Ki caught up with him just as they surprised four more swordsmen skirting the clearing. Tharin ran one through and the others fled. They found one archer dead; the other was gone by the time they reached the tree he’d been sheltering behind.

Ignoring Tharin’s warning, Tobin ran out to Lutha. Barieus was already with him.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I tried to get to him, but I couldn’t get out!”

Lutha pushed himself up, trying to rise, but a coughing fit took him. Bloody foam flew from his lips and he collapsed, clawing at the grass.

“When it started, we were caught out here,” Barieus told them. “He said to run and I thought he was with me, but—”

“Hush, Barieus. Stay still, Lutha,” Tobin said, clasping Lutha’s cold hand.

Tharin knelt to inspect the wound.

“Struck a lung, by the looks,” said Dimias.

Tharin nodded. “It’ll leave a sucking wound when it comes out. We’d better leave it where it is for now.”

Lutha squeezed Tobin’s hand, trying to speak, but he couldn’t. Blood bubbled from his mouth with every breath.

Tobin kept his head down to hide his own tears. Lutha had been his first friend among the Companions.

“Let me have a look, my lords,” said Manies, who acted as leech for Tharin’s men when a drysian wasn’t around. He probed gently around the base of the shaft. “We ought to get him back to Rilmar, Prince Tobin. This will take more healing than anyone can give him here.” He turned to Amin. “Any drysians about?”

“Yes, in the village south of the keep.”

“Good, then let’s get him back.”

“How?” Tobin asked. He’d been prepared for battle, but not for a friend dying at his feet.

“Manies can take him,” said Tharin. “Amin, you ride for the healer.” He paused, looking down at Tobin. “By your leave.”

“Yes, go,” Tobin said, realizing they were waiting for his order. “Go on. Hurry!”

Some of the horses had been found. Amin leaped onto the closest one and thundered off down the trail. Manies mounted another and Tharin lifted Lutha into his arms, positioning the boy sideways so that the arrow stood free of the rider’s chest. Lutha was silent, except for his wet, labored breathing.

“Let me go with him, Tobin,” Barieus pleaded, and ran to find a horse.

Tobin’s legs felt too weak to hold him as he rose and surveyed the other bodies lying in the long grass—Arius, Sefus, and three other guardsmen—Gyrin, Haimus, and their old sergeant, Laris. Tears blurred his eyes again. He’d known these men his whole life. Laris had carried him around on his shoulders when Tobin was small.

It was too much to take in. Tobin turned away as the others began the task of wrapping the corpses for transport. Ki was tending to Arius; Quirion was nowhere to be seen.

Nikides and his party wandered back into the clearing. Nikides looked a bit green, but he and Ruan both had the warrior marks on their cheeks.

No word came from Korin. There was nothing to do but wait.

The sun was high by then and it was growing warm in the clearing. Flies had already found the dead. Several of the guardsmen had wounds, but they were minor. Koni tended to them while Tharin and the others combed the woods for missing horses, whistling and clucking their tongues. The Companions and Ki’s brothers kept watch in case the bandits regrouped and came back for a second raid.

Standing watch with Tobin, Ki stole a look at his friend’s pale, solemn face and sighed. He’d never admit it, but he was a little relieved to stay here. He’d had enough of killing for one day. Proud as he was to have fought for Tobin, he’d taken no pleasure in the slaughter. It had been nothing like the ballads made it out to be, just something that had had to be done, like picking weevils out of the flour barrel. Perhaps it would be different against real soldiers, he thought.

And the sight of people he’d known lying dead? And poor Lutha coughing up blood—that wasn’t like the ballads, either. Ki wondered guiltily if there was something wrong with him.

There’d be more wrong than that, if it wasn’t for Brother. He had to swallow hard to keep from retching. He hadn’t let himself think of that, but now with things so quiet, he couldn’t help it. He’d seen the swordsman coming at Tobin from behind. He’d tried to get to him but two others had blocked his way. Trying to dodge, he’d stumbled and fallen. By the time he got up it would have been too late, if not for Brother.

Tobin had seen him, too, knew it was Brother and not Ki who’d saved him at the critical moment. Ki had done the one thing no squire must ever do; let himself get separated from his lord in a pitched battle.

Was that why Tobin was being so quiet?

Quirion straggled in at last with some yarn about chasing off horse thieves. But everyone saw that his blade was clean, and how he couldn’t look anyone in the eye. He sat down by Arius’ body and pulled his cloak over his head, crying softly.

At least I didn’t run away, thought Ki.

An hour or so later Dimias let out a whoop from his post in a tall tree overlooking the trail.

“More bandits?” called Tobin, drawing his sword.

“Nah, it’s our folk. Coming in slow, too.” Dimias slumped glumly against the trunk. “Guess they didn’t need us after all.”

Korin rode into sight with Ahra and Porion. The others began cheering, but one look at Ahra told Ki something was amiss. Korin didn’t look right, despite the crusted warrior marks on his cheeks.

“What happened?” Nikides asked.

“We got them,” Korin replied, but even as he grinned, there was something in his eyes that wasn’t right. The other Companions were bloodied, too, and bragging, but Ki could have sworn that some of them were stealing odd looks at Korin behind his back. Caliel’s right arm was in a sling and Tanil was riding double behind Lynx, looking pale.

Ki tried to catch Porion’s eye, but Porion gave him a warning look, then shouted, “Prince Korin is blooded. He is a warrior today!”

There was more cheering after that. Everyone bore the coveted marks except Quirion, who crept off sniveling. Caliel’s squire, Mylirin, had taken an arrow in the shoulder, but his hauberk had stopped the point, though it left a nasty abraded bruise. Zusthra was proudly displaying a sword cut on his left cheek and Chylnir was limping, but the rest of the Companions seemed more or less whole. The guard and Ahra’s riders hadn’t been so fortunate. There were at least a dozen carrying shrouded bundles, and others were wounded.

They had the stolen women with them, too, or at least those who’d survived. They were a ravaged, empty-eyed lot, some of them wearing little more than rags and blankets. Ahra’s women were tending to them, but looking into those faces, Ki couldn’t help wondering if Innis had been right, after all.

Tobin had told him about Una earlier and he looked for her anxiously among them. It took a while to recognize her. Dirty and wild-haired as any lowborn fighter, she was busy bandaging the arm of one of her cohorts.

“Hullo,” she said, giving him a half smile as he joined her. “I’ve thanked Tobin already and I’ll thank you now. You were good teachers.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She nodded, then went back to her work.

“It was a hard fight, but we cleaned out that nest of vermin,” Korin was saying. His bravado faltered when Tobin showed him Arius and told him what had happened to Lutha, but when Tobin mentioned the friends they lost among his guard, Korin just shrugged. “Well, that’s their lot, isn’t it?”

Korin had ordered the bandits and their camp burned. As they came out of the forest, Ki looked back and saw a distant pillar of smoke rising over the trees.

His spirits rose at the sight. They’d succeeded. He and Tobin had done their part and both lived to fight again. Ki even managed a silent thanks to Brother. But he kept an eye on Korin as they rode back. The prince was too quiet, his laughter forced.

They rode at ease now, and it was easy enough for Ki to drop back among his sister’s riders. He found Una again, riding near the end of the column.

“What happened?” he whispered.

Una’s silent, warning look told him nothing except that he was right to wonder.

35

As soon as they came in sight of Rilmar, Tobin, Ki, and Nikides galloped ahead to learn if Lutha had survived the journey. Sekora was grave when she met them in the hall. Larenth sat by the main hearth with Barieus. The squire had his face in his hands, shaking his head slowly as Larenth spoke to him in a low, surprisingly gentle voice.

“How is Lutha?” Tobin asked.

“Drysian’s with ’im.” Sekora pointed to the sitting room where they’d met Larenth the previous day. “He stopped hollerin’ a while back. The healers ain’t let no one in ’cept my woman Arla, who brings the water an’ all.”

They joined Barieus, but no one could sit still. Presently Korin and the others came in downstairs; Tobin could hear some of them laughing. Even the wounded men were in good spirits, having done a good day’s work.

The remaining Companions came upstairs and Lynx sat down by Barieus, offering silent comfort.

“Your bandits are dealt with, Sir Larenth,” Korin told him.

Tobin couldn’t read the old man’s face as he turned his good eye on the prince. “Lost a few of yer own, I hear?”

“Yes, I’m afraid we did.”

“Brandywine, Sekora!” Larenth called. “Let’s drink to the dead, and to the ones who come back.”

A servant brought them tarnished silver cups and Sekora filled them. Tobin sprinkled his libation on the rushes, then downed the rest. He’d never cared for the strong spirit, but he was grateful now for its burning heat. After a few gulps he felt sleepy and warm; the clatter from the kitchens and the homely chatter of the servingwomen all seemed far away. Korin and some of the older boys drifted outside, but Tobin stayed with Barieus and their friends, waiting.

“I failed him,” Barieus moaned. “I should never have gotten ahead of him!”

“I heard him tell you to go,” said Lynx.

But the squire was inconsolable. Sliding off the bench, he sat on the rushes, head buried in his arms.

The evening meal came and went uneaten before an old man in a brown robe emerged, wiping his hands on a bloody cloth.

“How is he?” Korin demanded.

“Surprisingly well,” the drysian replied. “He’s tough as a weasel, that one.”

“He’ll live?” cried Barieus, leaping up with hope in his reddened eyes.

“That’s still on the knees of the Maker, but the arrow caught only the edge of one lung. Two finger’s span to the left and he’d be lying with the dead. The other lung’s got breath enough to bring him through the night. If the wound doesn’t fester, he could mend.” He turned to Sekora. “You’ve honey enough, my lady? There’s nothing much better for quick healing than a honey poultice. If that doesn’t work, have the dogs lick the wound to clear the pus. Have someone keep watch with him through the night to see he’s breathing. If he makes it to morning, he has a chance.”

Barieus was gone before the man finished speaking.

Tobin followed. Lutha lay gasping in a trundle bed by the fire. His eyes were closed, and his face was grey as an old bone except for the blue cast of his lips and the dark circles under his sunken eyes. Barieus knelt beside him and wiped at his eyes as Tobin joined him. “Can you make a Dalna charm?” he asked without looking up.

Tobin looked at the bloodstained horse charm Lutha still wore; this one hadn’t done him much good. But he nodded anyway, for the squire’s sake. “I’ll ask the drysian what to use.”

When they had all burned their handfuls of earth, grain, and incense on the house altar, the Companions gathered around the kitchen hearth, waiting for their watches with Lutha. Quirion sat a little apart, too ashamed to look at any of them. Tobin had said nothing, but everyone knew he’d broken and run.

Exhaustion crept up on Tobin and, without meaning to, he fell asleep. He woke with a start sometime later to find the fire burned to embers and the house silent. He was lying on his side, head pillowed on Ki’s leg. Ki snored softly above him, slumped against the woodbin. Across the hearth Tobin could just make out Nikides asleep against Ruan’s shoulder. Korin, Caliel, and Lynx were gone.

Tobin found a candle on the mantelpiece and lit it in the embers, then threaded his way through the maze of cupboards and storage hulks toward the stairs. He was nearly there when a dark figure resolved from the shadows and touched his arm. It was Ahra.

“If you’re looking for your cousin, he’s sitting with that boy who was struck down,” she whispered. “Best leave him be, I’d say.”

“What happened, Ahra?”

She held a finger to her lips, then blew out his candle and led him through a dank passage to a moonlit side yard with a mossy stone well. Ahra pushed the wooden cover back and drew up the bucket, then took a dipper from a nail and offered it to Tobin. The water was cold and sweet. He drank deeply and handed the dipper back.

“What happened?” he asked again.

“Here, close by me,” she said, sitting on the stone rim. Tobin sat down beside her and she put her head close to his, speaking softly. “We’re not supposed to talk of it, but the others saw, so you might as well know.” She pressed her clenched fists to her knees, and Tobin realized she was furious.

“The camp lay in a little valley about a quarter mile from where we left you. We met the scouts and they said the place looked deserted; no sign of armed men there at all. I knew right then something was wrong and tried to tell the prince. So did his own captain and old Porion, too, but he was all for going on.

“We came to the edge of the trees and had a clear view. There was a line of tents and cabins along a stream. There were some women at the fires, but no sign of the men. The land around was meadow, open ground with no cover. ‘It’s late for them to be abed,’ I told the prince, but he comes back with They’re probably drunk. It’s a rabble there, not an army.’

“A good many bandits were trained soldiers before they went freebooter. I tried to tell him that, too, but he wouldn’t listen. It was then Porion points out there’s two big corrals, but only a few horses in them. Anyone could see the men had scarpered, but nothing would do for the prince but we make a charge. He wouldn’t even wait for a reconnoiter. So off we went, hell-bent for leather, yelling all the way. The Companions were keen, I’ll give them that. Their battle cries would’ve scared the enemy to death in their beds, if they had been in ’em.

“We rode right into the camp and not a soul to greet us but those poor women. They didn’t know where the men were, but we weren’t long in finding out. They waited for us to dismount and break ranks to search the camp, then down they came out of the woods not a quarter mile from where we’d been, fifty strong on horseback and sweeping down on us like a hurricane.”

She paused and sighed. “And the prince just stood there, staring. Everyone waited, then Porion says, respectful as you please, ‘What orders, my lord?’ He come around then, but it was too late. It was too late the minute we charged down into that camp.

“We didn’t have time to get mounted again or send word to you. The Companions and some of us closed ’round the prince and took what cover we could behind a hayrick next to the corrals. Everyone else scattered. By then their archers were in range and sent a storm of arrows at us.” She shook her head. “The prince fought well enough once he got started, but there are empty saddles in my group just because he wanted a grand charge. Well, you heard him after, didn’t you? It’s their lot.”

The bitterness in her voice left little to say. She took another sip from the dipper. “But Tharin and some of the others told me how you rallied your men and fought. Sakor-touched, you are. I was proud to hear it, but not surprised. My father saw it in you, though he didn’t think much of your cousin. He’s not often wrong, that old rascal.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Tobin said. “I—I guess I’ll go sit with Lutha now.”

She caught his arm. “Don’t say I said anything, will you? I just thought you should know.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

He felt sick to his stomach as he groped his way back to the kitchen. It was worse than he’d imagined. He lit the candle again and crept upstairs.

Lutha’s door was open a few inches, and a thin band of light fell across the hall floor and the children and dogs sleeping there. Tobin made his way around them and peered in.

A candle burned on a stand next to Larenth’s armchair. It was turned half-away from the door, but he could see Korin’s profile as he sat there, watching the labored rise and fall of Lutha’s chest.

“Where is everyone?” Tobin whispered, closing the door and coming to join him. He caught the reek of wine halfway across the room. As he came around the front of the chair, he saw that Korin was cradling a clay wine jar in his arms and that he was very drunk.

“I had Lynx and Caliel put Barieus to bed. Took both of ’em to drag him away.” His voice was thick, the words slurred. Korin let out a soft, derisive laugh. “Best order I gave today, eh?”

He tipped the jar up again and swallowed noisily. Wine ran down his neck, staining the front of his filthy shirt. He hadn’t changed or bathed since their return. His hands were filthy, the nails rimmed with dried blood.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and gave Tobin a bitter smile. “You did all right, I hear. And Ki, too. All of you, ’cept Quirion. He’s out, soon’s we get back!”

“Softly, Kor. You’re going to wake Lutha.”

But Korin went on, his face bleak. “I was never meant to be king, you know. I was fourth, Tob. And there was a sister ahead of me, too. That would have done for the Illiorans. They could have had their queen. Gherian and my oldest brother Tadir were groomed from the cradle. By the Four, you should have seen them! They were born to it. They’d never have—” He took another long swig and swayed to his feet. Tobin tried to help him but Korin pushed him away. “S’all right, coz. This is what I’m good at, isn’t it? Where’s Tanil?”

“Here.” The squire emerged from a shadowed corner and got an arm around him. The look in his eyes might have been pity or disgust. Perhaps it was both.

“G’night, coz.” Korin attempted a bow as Tanil led him away.

Tobin heard them stumble and a child’s sleepy protest, then the sound of unsteady steps fading away upstairs.

Tobin sat down and watched Lutha, trying to rein in his thoughts. Poor judgment—and surely that was Korin’s sin today—was harshly judged in any commander. The king’s son, it seemed, was judged more harshly, rather than less.

But everyone thinks I’m a hero. Tobin certainly didn’t feel like one. Not with Lutha gasping for life in front of him and all those corpses in the courtyard out front.

On the heels of this came another thought, however. For years he’d resisted thinking about what Lhel’s revelation really meant. All the same, the knowledge had taken root, and just like the witchgrass pushing up between the cracked flagstones outside, it had been stubbornly growing all this while, forcing its way to daylight.

If I’m to be queen, then Korin will have to step aside. But maybe that would be for the best?

But it didn’t feel that way. Tobin had spent the first twelve years of his life living a lie, and the last two trying to ignore the truth. He loved Korin, and most of the others, too. What would happen when they learned the truth, not just that he was a girl, but that she was to supplant the king’s own son?

Time passed, measured in the rise and fall of Lutha’s thin chest. Did his breathing sound better, or worse? It was hard to tell. It didn’t sound quite so wet as it had, and he wasn’t bleeding at the mouth. That must be a good thing, surely? But it was loud and harsh, and every now and then it would seem to catch in his throat, then give way. After a while Tobin noticed that he was matching breaths with Lutha’s, as if it would help him along. When Lutha’s breath caught, his own stopped as he waited for the next rattling inhalation. It was exhausting to listen to.

By the time Nikides and Ruan came in Tobin was glad to give over the vigil. There was someone else he had to talk to.

He didn’t need a candle to find his way back to the deserted well yard. Satisfied that he was alone, he whispered the summoning words. Brother emerged from the shadows and stood in front of him, brooding and silent.

“You saved my life today. Thank you.”

Brother just stared.

“How—how could you find me, without the doll?”

Brother touched Tobin on the chest. “The binding is strong.”

“Like that day Orun was hurting me. I didn’t call you then, either.”

“He was going to kill you.”

Even after all this time, the words sent a chill through him; neither of them had spoken of it. “He wouldn’t have. He’d have been tortured to death.”

“I saw his thoughts. They were murder. That man today was the same.”

“But why do you care? You’ve never had any love for me. You used to hurt me every chance you got. If I died, you’d be free.”

Brother actually grimaced at this, a stiff, unnatural play of features on that face. “If you die with the binding still in you, then we will never be free, either of us.”

Tobin hugged himself as waves of cold rolled off Brother. “What will happen when I take the binding out?”

“I don’t know. The witch promises I will be free.”

Tobin couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a plain answer from his twin. “Then—whenever I’m in battle, you’ll be there?”

“Until I’m free.”

Tobin pondered this, torn between wonder and dismay. How could he ever really prove himself if he always had supernatural help?

Brother read his thoughts and let out a sound Tobin guessed was meant to be a laugh; it sounded more like rats running through dead leaves. “I am your first squire.”

“First?” Tobin began, then, by some trick of memory, or Brother’s, he was back in his mother’s tower, her dying scream loud in his ears. “Did you push her out?”

“I pulled you in.”

“But why not save her, too?” It came out too loud and he clapped a hand over his mouth. “Why didn’t you?” he whispered.

“Her mind was filled with your death, too.”

The scuff of feet on stone froze Tobin where he stood. Ki stepped out into the moonlight and his eyes widened.

“I see into his mind, too,” whispered Brother, and this time he leered as he faded away.

“What’s he doing here?” asked Ki.

Tobin explained as much as he could, and was surprised to see Ki look uneasy when he told him what Brother had said about him. “Tobin, I’d never hurt you!”

“I know that. I don’t think that’s what he meant. Besides, if I was in any danger, he’d have killed you by now, I guess. Don’t mind him. When it comes to you, he usually lies, just to make me feel bad.”

“If I ever turn on you, I hope he does kill me!” Ki exclaimed, more shaken than Tobin had guessed. “I wouldn’t, Tob. I swear it by the Flame!”

“I know that,” Tobin said, taking his friend by the hand. “Let’s go in. I’m cold to the bone. Forget about him.”

But as they settled down by the kitchen hearth again, he fingered the lump under his skin, wondering if he’d be glad to be free of Brother at last, or not.

36

Tobin never learned what the king had said to Korin after their return from Rilmar. In private, Ki wondered what Melnoth and the others had actually reported. The mission had been a success, after all, and that had been the joyous announcement at court when they’d returned to Ero, with the dried blood on their faces.

Life did change, however. They were all full warriors now, in the eyes of the world, and two days after the Sakor festival, they once again donned their finest garments for Korin’s wedding.

Royal weddings were rare and portentous events, so there’d been considerable speculation as to why Prince Korin’s was so hastily thrown together. There had been little time for the proclamation to be carried through the land, and attendance was a bit scanty because of it. Nonetheless, when the great day came the entire city was decked and garlanded, and every temple sent clouds of rose-scented incense up into the cold winter air with prayers for the couple’s happy future.

The ceremony was before the great shrine inside the New Palace and was witnessed by a great crowd of family and nobles. Crowned and regal, King Erius wore a red robe of state heavily embroidered with gold and bright jewels. Korin wore a long tunic of similar design, and a coronet. Tobin stood with them in his best surcoat and the rest of the Companions flanked them on the left. Tobin keenly felt the gap in their numbers. Arius was dead, Quirion banished for cowardice, and Barieus was with Lutha, who was still recovering at his father’s estate near Volchi.

The arrow wound had been slow to heal, but a bout of pneumonia had come closer to killing him than the shaft. Fortunately, the drysian at Rilmar had been right; Lutha stubbornly clung to life and was strong enough now to write to his friends, complaining bitterly of boredom. No one spoke of it openly, but it remained to be seen whether he would recover sufficiently to rejoin them.

In the outer courtyard of the shrine, a chorus of young girls tossed pearls and silver coins into the air and burst into song, announcing the arrival of the bridal party. The crowd parted as they entered.

Aliya looked like a queen already. She wore a gold coronet fashioned to look like a wreath of flowers, and strands of pearls and golden beads were braided into her shining auburn hair. More pearls, citrines, and amber beads crusted her shimmering gown of bronze silk. Some clever seamstress had arranged the waistline to hide any telltale rounding of the bride’s belly.

Standing with his father and the high priests of the Four, Korin received her from her father’s arm and they knelt before Erius.

“Father, I present to you the Lady Aliya, daughter of Duke Cygna and his lady, the Duchess Virysia,” Korin said solemnly, but loud enough for all to hear. “Before the gods and these witnesses, I humbly ask your blessing on our union.”

“Do you give your daughter freely to my son?” Erius asked her parents, who stood just behind the couple.

The duke laid his sword reverently at the king’s feet. “We do, Your Majesty.”

“May the blood of our houses be mingled forever,” Duchess Virysia said, giving the king the symbolic dower gift of a caged dove.

Erius smiled down at Korin and Aliya. “Then my blessing is given. Rise, my son, and present my new daughter.”

Aliya rose, blushing happily. Erius took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks, then whispered something in her ear that made her blush even more. Eyes sparkling, she kissed his hands.

Turning them to face the assembly, Erius joined their hands and covered them with his own. “See, people of Ero, your future king and queen. Send runners through the kingdom!”

Everyone cheered and threw millet in the air to ensure that the union would be fertile. Tobin caught Ki laughing as he did so and couldn’t help chuckling himself.

The proclamation was repeated again before the people of the city later that morning. Following Skalan custom, the king threw a lavish public feast afterward that lasted until dawn the following morning. Bonfires burned all over the city, and long banquet tables were set up in the same square where the execution platform had stood. Some whispered that the tables had been made from the same timbers.

The principal guild masters and merchants were seated; others crowded along the edges of the square or watched from windows and rooftops. Food arrived by the cartload, wine flowed in rivers, and when night fell, Zengati fireworks lit the skies for hours.

Tobin and the other Companions watched from the snowy roof gardens of the New Palace. Somewhere downstairs, Korin and his princess had taken possession of their new chambers. Zusthra and Alben were speculating gleefully on what was currently going on.

Tobin and the others ignored them, excitedly discussing what was to come tomorrow. At midday they were to set sail with the future king and his consort on a royal progress of the coastal cities. They’d spent weeks watching the ships being prepared. In addition to the royal bark, there was a veritable flotilla of other vessels carrying Korin’s guard, entertainers, horses, a small army of servants and craftsmen, and one vessel devoted solely to feeding the whole entourage. They’d be gone for nearly a year.

“Well, it’s not going off to war,” Ki observed, “but at least it gets us out of town.”

The fireworks were still blazing overhead when they heard someone running up the balcony stairs toward them.

“Prince Tobin! Where are you, Master?” a thin, panicked voice cried out.

“Here, Baldus! What’s the matter?”

A brilliant white burst in the sky illuminated the page’s pale face as he reached them. “Oh please, come down at once. It’s terrible!”

Tobin caught him by the shoulders. “What is it? Is someone hurt?”

“Aliya!” Baldus panted, out of breath and clearly upset. “She’s sick, her woman says. Prince Korin is frantic!”

Tobin dashed for the stairs. Only when he’d reached the lighted corridor below did he realize that Caliel had followed. Neither spoke as they ran on together through the endless hallways and courtyards to Korin’s rooms. Rounding a final corner, they nearly collided with a man in the livery of Duke Cygna. Beyond him, a knot of nobles hovered around the prince’s door.

“Talmus, what’s happened?” Caliel demanded.

The servant was pale. “My lady—The princess, my lord. She’s ill. Bleeding.”

Caliel clutched at Tobin’s arm. “Bleeding?”

Tobin went cold. “It’s not plague?”

Talmus shook his head. “No, Highness, not plague. The drysians say she’s losing the child.”

Tobin slumped down onto one of the chairs that lined the corridor, too stunned and sorrowful to speak.

Caliel joined him and they listened to the weeping of the women down the corridor. Now and then a muffled cry could be heard inside.

The king soon joined them. His face was flushed with wine, but his eyes were clear. He swept past Tobin and the crowd at the door parted for him as he went inside. As the door opened, Tobin thought he could hear Korin weeping, too.

It was dawn before it was over. Aliya survived, but the child did not. That was the Maker’s blessing, the drysians murmured afterward. The tiny child, no bigger than a newt, had neither face nor arms.