Hidden Warrior

37

It was Tharin who sent word to Arkoniel of the princess’ miscarriage. Tobin and Ki had been closest to the events, but didn’t have the heart to write of it.

“It was just as well,” Tharin wrote, touching on the child’s deformities.

“It’s Illior’s will,” Nari muttered. It was a bitter midwinter night and the two of them sat by the kitchen fire bundled in cloaks with their feet on the hearth bricks. “The king never sired a healthy child after his little ones died. Now the curse has fallen on his son. Before Iya brought me to Rhius’ house, I never thought of the Lightbearer as cruel.”

Arkoniel stared into the flames. Even after all these years, the memories had not dimmed. “Knowledge and madness.”

“How’s that?”

“Iya once told me that only wizards see the true face of Illior; that only we feel the full touch of the god’s power. The same power that gives knowledge can also bring madness. There’s a purpose in all that’s happened, all that will happen, but it does seem cruel at times.”

Nari sighed and pulled her cloak closer around her. “Still, no crueler than the king and his Harriers killing all those girls, eh? I still see the duke’s face in my dreams, the look in his eyes as they stood over poor Ariani, with all those soldiers downstairs. That witch did her job well that night. What do you suppose ever happened to her?”

Arkoniel shook his head slightly, and kept his gaze on the flames.

“Just between you and me, I always wondered if Iya didn’t do away with her. She’s my kin and I mean no disrespect, but I wouldn’t have put anything past her that night.”

“She didn’t kill her. Even if she’d wanted to, I doubt she could have.”

“You don’t say? Well, I’m glad to hear it. One less death on her conscience, anyway.”

“And mine,” Arkoniel said softly.

“You’re a different sort than Iya.”

“Am I?”

“Of course. I saw it from the start. And has it ever occurred to you that the demon never touched you after that first time when he broke your wrist?”

“He scared my horse and it threw me. He never touched me.”

“Well, there you go. Yet he attacks Iya every time she shows her face near him.”

“He spoke to me once. He said he tasted my tears.” Nari gave him a questioning look and he shrugged. “I wept as I buried him. My tears fell on the body. That meant something to him, apparently.”

Nari was quiet a moment. “Except for his poor mother, I think you were the only one who did weep for him. Rhius’ tears were all for his wife. You’re the one who came back to care for Tobin, too. And now you’ve got all these others to look after. You don’t see her doing that, do you?”

“They wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for her,” he reminded her. “This vision she and the rest of them had? I never saw it. I never have.”

More wizards found their way to the keep, arriving by ones and pairs. By the time word came of Korin’s marriage and Aliya’s miscarriage, six new refugees had arrived, together with a handful of servants. A small herd of horses and donkeys grazed in a forest clearing, hidden from the prying eyes of tradesmen.

Cerana, an old friend of Iya’s, was the first to come that autumn. Lyan and Vornus rode in together soon after, a grey old pair in their fourth age, accompanied only by a burly manservant named Cymeus. The wizards spoke as fondly to one another as if they were husband and wife; Arkoniel suspected they had not been bothered with celibacy in their youth, either.

Melissandra, a southern sorceress, soon followed, arriving like a storm-battered bird one night. Dark-eyed and quiet, fear made her seem younger than her hundred-odd years. She’d been wealthy before the Harriers had come for her; her servingwoman, Dar, had charge of a money chest.

Hain arrived with the first snowfall. A thickset, ordinary youth with a patchy beard, he’d been an apprentice when last Arkoniel had seen him. But, like the old wizards, he gave off the aura of real power, despite his poverty and inexperience.

Lord Malkanus and his small entourage made it to the keep just before snow closed the roads. Only a few decades older than Arkoniel, his talents were middling, but he’d enjoyed the patronage and bed of a wealthy widow in Ylani, and arrived with three manservants, a chest of gold, and a very high opinion of himself. Arkoniel could have done without this one. Malkanus had always been disdainful, holding him and probably Iya, too, as little better than scruffy wanderers. Neither time nor circumstance had done much to mend his manners. Arkoniel was sorry to see Iya leave him one of her tokens, and still couldn’t fathom why the Lightbearer would speak to such a man.

Rooms were dusted out, bedsteads found, and soon everyone was settled in, more or less comfortably. Malkanus had made a fuss over sharing rooms, so Arkoniel gave him his old bedchamber on the third floor, neglecting to mention the other occupant of that part of the house. Much to his disappointment, Ariani paid no attention to the new lodger.

Cook and Nari were delighted to have more people in the house, and the servants fell in willingly with the household chores. The keep began to feel like a real home again, despite the odd nature of its occupants.

Arkoniel had never seen so many wizards in one place before, and it took some getting used to. He never knew when he’d bump into someone practicing invisibility or levitation spells in the hall, but he was grateful for their company. Lyan and Vornus were powerful, and Hain had potential. Melissandra, though more limited, was a master of wards, and soon had the meadow and roads ringed with signals. Arkoniel breathed a bit easier after that. She was kind with the children, too, and joined with Lyan and Vornus to help Arkoniel with their lessons. Little Wythnir fell in love with her at once and Arkoniel began to fear he’d lose his first apprentice.

At his insistence, all the wizards took a hand with the children, testing their abilities and offering their own special talents. Kaulin and Cerana practiced charms and simple household magic. Lyan, on the other hand, could send messages in colored points of light, a rare skill indeed. Vornus and Melissandra shared an interest in transformational spells and she had some skill with wards and locks. Eyoli’s mind-clouding skills, though simple in nature, were of considerable practical use but, as it soon proved, nearly impossible to teach. It was a natural ability, like being able to carry a tune or roll your tongue into a tube. Wythnir and Arkoniel could hold an illusion for a few seconds, but the rest had no luck with it.

These were all useful skills, but it was proud, foppish Malkanus who surprised them all with a dangerous talent for manipulating fire and lightning. The younger children were not allowed to learn these spells, but Arkoniel had him work closely with Ethni and the adults, telling them, “If the Harriers do decide to pay us a visit sometime, I’d like to give them a proper welcome.”

As the winter wore on, however, it became clear that many spells, especially the more difficult ones, could not be universally taught or learned.

As he’d expected, Virishan’s orphans were unable to learn more than the simplest of spells. But Wythnir’s potential showed itself. The boy thrived, having so many teachers, and by midwinter he could transform a chestnut into a silver thimble and had managed to set the stables on fire while trying to duplicate a spell he’d picked up from Malkanus when Arkoniel wasn’t looking. Arkoniel lectured him sternly but was secretly pleased.

The servants proved as useful as their masters. Noril and Semion, two who’d come in with Malkanus, had a knack with horses, and the third, Kiran, fashioned toys for the children from wood and scraps of rags. Vornus’ man Cymeus was a skilled carpenter and made it his business to keep the house in repair. Not content to fix where he could improve, he rigged a weighted wooden arm over the well so that even little Totmus could draw water with ease simply by pressing on the far end of the pole. He showed Cook how to irrigate her ever-expanding garden by means of a roof cistern and clay pipes, and installed a similar apparatus in the wooden washing tub in the kitchen, so that instead of dipping out the dirty water, she could simply remove a plug and let the water drain away through a pipe he’d laid into the garden.

“Isn’t that the cleverest thing!” she exclaimed as they all gathered to watch the water swirl away down the drain.

Cymeus, a tall, bearded bear of a man, blushed like a girl, and said gruffly, “Just something I picked up in our travels, is all.”

“You’re too modest as always, my friend,” Vornus said with a chuckle. “He’s a wizard, even without magic, this one is.”

Arkoniel was careful in revealing his own magic, for it was irrevocably mingled with Lhel’s. Spells he’d come to take for granted would have revealed his secret teacher. Yet it was she, rather than Arkoniel, who insisted on secrecy.

“How would you explain my presence here, eh?” she asked as he lay with her one winter night.

“I don’t know. Couldn’t we just say that you came down from the hills and settled here?”

She stroked his cheek fondly. “You’ve been with me so long, you’ve forgotten the ways of your own people. And speaking of your people, have you taken the pretty little bird caller to your bed?”

“Once,” he admitted, guessing she already knew.

“Only once? And what did you learn?”

“The reason for the vow wizards take.” Lhel might not be beautiful, or young, but her power had drawn him as nothing else did, both to her hearth and her bed. Joining with her was like being filled with lightning. With Ethni, he was dark inside. His power flowed away into her but there was no return except a little affection. The physical spasm was nothing, compared to the joining of power. He’d tried to hide his feelings, but Ethni had sensed it and not come to his bed again.

“Your Lightbearer sets you a narrow path,” Lhel said when he tried to explain.

“Is it different with your people? You can bear children, even with your magic.”

“Our people are very different. You’ve forgotten, knowing me as you have. I’ll be no better than a necromancer in the eyes of your new friends. That haughty young fire thrower would burn me to a cinder as soon as look at me.”

“He’d have to go through me first,” Arkoniel assured her, but he knew she was right. “It won’t always be so,” he promised. “Because of you, Skala will have her queen again.”

Lhel gazed up into the shadows above them. “Yes, it will be soon. It’s time I kept my promise.”

“What promise?” he asked.

“I must show you how to separate Tobin from Brother.”

Arkoniel sat up. He’d waited years for this. “Is it difficult? Will it take long to learn?”

Lhel leaned over and whispered in his ear.

Arkoniel stared at her. “That’s it? That’s all? But—why all the mystery? You could have told us that years ago and spared yourself this exile!”

“It is not only for that that the Mother bade me stay. The unbinding may be simple, but who would have woven the new binding when it was needed? And perhaps you’d still have your entire finger, for not creating the magic you have. The Mother foresaw and I have been where I must be.”

“Forgive me. I spoke without thinking.”

“As for the simplicity of the unbinding, all the more reason to keep it secret. Would you trust that unhappy child with such knowledge?”

“No.”

“And do not be deceived,” she said, settling down in the blankets. “The deed may be simple, but the doing of it will take all the courage she possesses.”

Lhel’s words haunted Arkoniel, but there were other concerns closer to home.

“Only the other day the butcher’s boy remarked on how much more meat I’m ordering,” Cook warned one night as they sat down to a noisy supper in the hall. “And with the snow so deep in the meadow, we’ll soon have to buy fodder for the horses. I don’t think your mistress foresaw that; it’s only going to get worse if more arrive. And that’s not even thinking of spies, if there are any.”

Arkoniel sighed. “What can we do?”

“Good thing for you I was a soldier before I was a cook,” she replied, shaking her head. “First off, we have to stop buying so much in Alestun. The men can hunt, but that won’t do for vegetables. I didn’t have enough of a garden this year, so we’ll have to go farther afield. Two Crow Ford is only a day’s journey by wagon, and none of us are known there. Send a couple of the men this time, posing as traders or traveling merchants, and different ones the next. Tobin’s grandfather used that strategy one winter when we had to go into winter camp near Plenimar.”

“There’s the difference between wizards and soldiers. I’d never think of such things. Consider yourself our quartermaster.” As she turned to go back to the kitchen, a thought struck him and he laid a hand on her chapped red forearm. “All these years I’ve known you, but never asked your true name.”

She laughed. “You mean to tell me you don’t know what every tradesman in Alestun knows?” She raised an eyebrow at him, but she was smiling. “It’s Catilan. I was Sergeant Cat in my day, of the Queen’s Archers. I’m a bit past it for swordplay, but I can still pull a bow. I keep in practice when I can find the time.”

“How did you ever end up a cook?” he asked without thinking.

She snorted. “How d’you suppose?”

38

Aliya’s miscarriage delayed the royal progress for nearly a month and it was whispered around the Palatine that some of the king’s advisors wanted Korin to put her aside; the details of the miscarriage could not be entirely suppressed. But a divorce would have brought far too much attention to the reasons and, moreover, Korin did seem genuinely to love her, though Tobin and the other Companions could not fathom why, as marriage had not tempered her manner toward them.

“Guess she must be sweeter in private,” Ki groused, after she’d slighted him in the hall one day.

“It would be worth her while to be, given what she has to lose,” Nikides agreed. “And she’s smart enough to know it. Look how she’s got the king doting on her. She knows who cuts the loaf.”

Erius had grown immensely fond of her and had visited her daily with gifts during the weeks of her seclusion.

She recovered quickly under her mother’s care and that of half the drysians of the grove. By the time she was well enough to sail the sorrow had passed and people were speaking hopefully behind their hands of the good effect fresh sea air might have on a young bride.

After cooling their heels for so long, Tobin and the others greeted the departure announcement with jubilation. Bored beyond measure with city life, the prospect of a voyage, even in the dead of winter, was a welcome escape.

Tobin had reasons of his own to look forward to it. A week before they were to leave, Iya made another of her unexpected visits.

“This is a rare opportunity for you,” she told him as they sat alone in his mother’s house. “Never forget that you are meant to rule this land. Learn as much about it as you can. See with the eyes your teacher Raven has given you.”

“Because I’ll have to protect Skala from Plenimar?” said Tobin.

“No, because you may have to win it from your uncle or cousin.”

“A war, you mean? But I thought the Lightbearer would—I don’t know—”

“Smooth your way?” Iya gave him a grim smile. “In my experience, the gods create opportunities; it’s left to us to grasp them. Nothing is assured.”

That night she told him of the vision she’d had at Afra before his birth. “I’ve visited the Oracle since then, but Illior has shown me nothing different. The future is a frayed rope and we must twist up the strands as best we can.”

“Then I could fail?” The thought sent a chill over Tobin.

Iya clasped his hands in hers. “Yes. But you must not.”

They set sail on the twelfth of Dostin, the masts of their ships gay with banners and garlands. Korin took his Companions and guard, and a small household of servants. Aliya was accompanied by her mother and several aunts, servants, two drysians, masters of her hounds and hawks, and a portable Dalnan fertility shrine.

The weather was frigid but calm enough for coastal sailing, and the little fleet made first landfall at Cirna five days later. Tobin was delighted to see this holding at last, important in its way as Atyion; but coming here also meant traveling with its current Protector. Lord Niryn would sail with them, and play host when they arrived at the fortress.

Niryn met them on board the morning of their departure, looking more noble than wizard. Under a cloak lined with winter fox, he wore robes of thick silver silk trimmed with pearls.

“Welcome, my princes!” he cried as heartily as if he were the captain of the venture.

Tobin studied the skillful stitching on the wizard’s sleeve, carefully not thinking of anything but that.

The village at Cirna was nothing but a cluster of rude cottages above the sheltered harbor on the east side of the isthmus. Their welcome was jubilant, however, and set the pattern for the rest of the journey. A handsome, dashing young future king with a beautiful wife on his arm was a happy sight; no one outside the Palatine knew of his first showing as a warrior.

Korin made a short speech, then Niryn led them up a frozen switchback road to the fortress that commanded the isthmus road. It was an imposing pile and Tobin blushed, thinking of how he’d so casually tried to give it away. Sir Larenth might have been a poor choice to rule such a stronghold, but Tobin would have preferred him to its current Protector.

The fortress keep was nothing like Atyion. Ancient, damp, and cheerless, it was less a noble residence than a barracks. Disliking both it and their host, Tobin spent as much time as he could exploring with his friends.

The parapets all faced north. The high curtain wall had three levels, with wooden walkways and loopholes for shooting. The top of the wall was open, with a broad allure to stand on and merlons with arrow loops. The boys stood at the crenels between, imagining an enemy force bearing down on them along the isthmus road. The fortress had been built at the narrowest point of the land bridge and the sheer fall of the cliffs on either side offered little purchase, except for the steep track down to the village.

From the walls they could look east over the Inner Sea, then turn and, less than a mile away, see the distant expanse of the Osiat.

“Look at that!” Ki exclaimed. “The Inner Sea is the color of turquoise today, but the Osiat is like ink.”

“Is that Aurënen over there?” Ruan asked, pointing at peaks visible far off in the west across the water.

“No, that lies much farther south,” Tobin replied, recalling the maps he and Ki had studied in the palace library. “If you keep going west from there, you’d end up in Zengat, I think.”

Riding along the headlands, they peered over the sheer, dizzying cliffs on the western side. Far below they could see the backs of circling gulls, and below that, the white curl of surf against the sheer stone face.

“The isthmus is like a fortress wall,” said Tobin. “To get to that little point of land down there, you’d have to sail back all the way around Skala.”

“That’s why there are hardly any settlements on the west side,” said Nikides. “The land is steeper on that side of the mountains, and there aren’t many good harbors. And Grandfather says the Three Lands all face Kouros because it’s the heart of the world.”

“Good. That means we don’t have to sail all the way ’round, at least,” said Ruan, who was prone to seasickness.

But Tobin was still looking at that tantalizing jut of land in the distance. It thrust out against the unexpected blue of the Osiat Sea and was covered by what looked like oak trees. What would it be like to walk there? He’d probably never know and the thought made him oddly sad. This windswept ribbon of land, and the rugged mountains, which ran like a spine down the middle of the Skalan peninsula, effectively cut the country in half.

They left Cirna and began a halting progress along the jagged northern coast. Sometimes they stayed in castles, and sometimes in cities, meeting the same acclaim, the same blessings and speeches and toasts at each port of call. By spring, they’d only gotten as far as Volchi, but Tobin had already filled two journals with military observations. Thoughts of other sorts he knew better than to commit to paper.

39

Iya arrived at the keep at midsummer with three more wizards for Arkoniel’s little band. She was delighted with his progress, especially when she learned that he and Eyoli had mastered Lyan’s message-sending spell.

The nights were warm and they spent the second evening walking along the cool riverbank. Behind them, the windows of the keep were warm with candlelight. A large log had washed up after the spring floods and they sat on it and dangled their bare feet in the water. Iya watched him send a trifling message off to Lyan in a tiny globe of bluish light. A moment later the woman’s laughing reply sped back in a firefly spark of green.

“Amazing!” Iya exclaimed.

“Actually it’s not a difficult spell at all, if you can perceive the pattern.”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re young, Arkoniel, and you’ve spent the better part of your life caught up in this scheme of mine. Don’t you remember how it was before? Wizards don’t live in groups, and they seldom share their knowledge. Remember how frustrated and hurt you’d be if someone showed you a pretty spell but wouldn’t tell you how it worked?”

“Yes. And you’d tell me it was rude to ask.”

“So it was, but these are different times. Adversity is binding us closer—both this lot of yours, and that group I told you of in Ero.”

“Your Wormhole wizards?” Arkoniel chuckled.

“Yes. How many other little cabals do you suppose there are, out there?”

“There are the Harriers. They were the first.”

Iya’s lips tightened in distaste. “I suppose you’re right. When I first heard of them I thought it couldn’t last. Yet here we are.” She shook her head. “Yes, different times, indeed.”

Arkoniel glanced back at the warm glow in the windows. “I like it, Iya. I enjoy seeing so many children together, and teaching them. I like sharing magics with the others, too.”

She patted his hand and rose to go. “It’s what you’re meant for, my dear.”

“How do you mean? As soon as we’ve accomplished your task, it will all go back to the way it was before.”

“I’m not so sure. Do you recall what I told you of my vision at Afra?”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t tell you everything. I saw you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, standing in a great, shining white palace filled with wizards, with an apprentice by your side.”

“Wythnir?”

“No, you were a very old man in my vision. It must have been centuries from now and the child was still very young. I didn’t understand at the time but now I think I begin to see the significance.”

Arkoniel looked up at the keep again and shook his head. “It’s no shining palace.”

“Ah, but you’re not old yet, either. No, I think we are seeing the very beginning of a path that will shape your life.”

“Both our lives.”

“I suspect not.”

The words sent a stab of dread through him. “I don’t know what you mean, Iya, but believe me, you’ll be welcome anywhere I go. It will probably be you who builds that white palace. You just saw too far, that’s all.”

Iya tucked her hand under his arm as they walked back up the hill. “Perhaps you’re right. Whatever it means, I know what I was shown, and I am content.”

Neither of them said anything for a while. As they reached the bridge, she asked, “How are you coming along with that doorway spell of yours? You still have most of your fingers, I see.”

“Actually, I have some exciting news. I showed it to Vornus and he saw something similar practiced by a centaur mage in the Nimra Mountains. He calls it translocation magic. I think that describes it better than doorway. It isn’t anything as simple as that, but rather a vortex that sucks objects away like a whirlwind. The problem is that the vortex spins too fast. If I can slow it somehow, I might even be able to transport people.”

“Be careful, dear boy! That’s a dangerous path you’re on. I’ve thought so since you first showed it to me.”

“Don’t worry, we’re using rats and mice for now.” He smiled wryly. “Given our latest attempts, I suspect the keep will be free of vermin before we’re through. All the same, I have hope.”

“That’s not the only danger I was thinking of. You must always consider the consequences of such power. Promise me that you’ll keep this a secret for now.”

“I will. I trust Vornus and Lyan, but I’m not so sure about Malkanus. He has power enough as it is, and seems to enjoy it for it’s own sake.”

“You have a discerning heart, Arkoniel. I’ve always thought so. If you don’t let yourself be blinded by pity, it will serve you well.”

Arkoniel flinched at the hint of reproach behind her words. Though she’d never said as much, he knew that she’d never entirely forgiven him for sparing Ki.

40

Korin and the Companions returned to Ero with the autumn rains and were overjoyed to find Lutha and Barieus waiting on the quay to greet them when they’d sailed in. Lutha was not only well again, but had grown a full three inches.

“Almost dying agreed with me,” he said, laughing as everyone exclaimed over him. “I still can’t seem to catch up with you, though, Tobin.”

Tobin grinned shyly. He’d grown so quickly over the past year that he’d needed new clothes made. He stood as tall as Korin, now, but even though he was nearly fifteen, he was still slender and beardless, a fact the others chafed him about unmercifully.

Tobin did his best to laugh, but inwardly he was increasingly dismayed. All of his friends were filling out like men. Ki was broader through the shoulders and now sported a sparse moustache and narrow chin beard, a fashion Korin had set in the spring. Nik and Lutha both boasted “double arrows,” respectable points of silky hair above the corners of their mouths.

Even Brother had changed. They’d always been nearly identical, but over the past year Brother had taken on a more man-grown look, with shoulders as broad as Ki’s. Soft black hair shadowed his upper lip and the middle of his chest, while Tobin’s remained smooth as a girl’s.

Over the summer he’d even found himself making excuses not to go bathing with the others; in spite of his new height Tobin still looked like a child compared to most of them.

Worse yet, he had a hard time not staring at their well-muscled bodies and privates. Wrestling matches, a favorite sport since he’d joined the Companions, evoked unsettling feelings, too, especially with Ki.

Tharin had guessed part of the problem as Tobin sulked around the ship’s deck one hot day in Lenthin. Everyone else was ashore, swimming in a cove, but Tobin had stayed behind, pleading a headache. Even Ki had abandoned him.

“I was a skinny thing at your age, too,” Tharin said kindly, sitting with him in the shade of the sail. “Any day now you’ll have hair on your lip and muscles like a wrestler.”

“Was it that way with my father?” Tobin asked.

“Well, Rhius grew faster, but you may take after your mother’s side. Her father was a slim man, but strong like you.” He gave Tobin’s upper arm an appraising pinch. “You’re all whipcord and wire, just like he was. And quick as a cat, too. I saw you get under Zusthra’s guard yesterday. Quickness can overcome bulk any day if you’re smart. And you are.”

None of this made Tobin feel much better. He couldn’t tell Tharin about the moonflow pains that plagued him more often now. Even knowing the truth, he felt left behind. No wonder the girls had all stopped flirting with him.

That’s not why, a small secret voice whispered deep in his heart. They know. They can tell.

He knew what was whispered about Ki and him, whispers they both ignored for their own reasons. But sometime over the summer when he wasn’t even looking, something had changed; something he didn’t dare let himself think about when Ki was around, for fear it would show in his face.

Ki loved him as much as ever, but there was no question how his fancies ran. A few of the servant girls had given him a tumble back in Ero, and there’d been more opportunities on the voyage. Ki was handsome and easygoing; girls were drawn to him like cats to cream. He wasn’t above bragging about his exploits to the other boys, either.

Tobin was always silent during these conversations, tongue locked to the roof of his mouth. Just Tobin being shy, as usual, everyone thought, and Ki saw no further than that. In his mind they were brothers, as they’d always been. He never said a word to Tobin about the whispers or treated him any differently. In return, Tobin swallowed the confused yearnings that assailed him at odd moments and did the same.

It was always worst on the full moon, when the moontide pangs tugged at his belly, reminding Tobin who he really was. Sometimes he even caught himself watching young women with envy wondering what it felt like to stride about in flowing skirts, with strands of beads woven into your hair and scent at your wrists—and to have the boys look at you that way.

Someday, Tobin thought, hiding his burning face in the pillow on such nights, trying not to think about Ki lying so close beside him, close enough to touch. Someday he’ll know, and then we’ll see.

Other times, alone and naked he looked down at his narrow hips and flat bony chest, took in the plain face reflected in his mirror, and wondered if he’d ever be a proper woman, either? Cupping his small penis in his hand, he tried to imagine the loss of it and shuddered, more confused than ever.

As they turned toward home at last, he vowed he’d find some way to visit Lhel.

Back in Ero at last, Tobin and Ki found themselves masters of a new suite of rooms in Korin’s wing of the new palace. The other boys were assigned quarters nearby.

There was the usual round of balls and salons, and the pleasure of returning to their old haunts in the city. They’d only been home for a few weeks, however, when the king announced another execution in the square. Tobin had nearly forgotten the incident with the young priest, and the way people had looked at Korin that day, but now they rode out under double guard.

There were three wizards burned this time; Tobin kept as far from the platform as he could, fearful of being recognized; but, unlike before, the condemned went passively, silent behind their ugly iron masks.

Tobin wanted to look away when they burned, but he knew the others were watching him, and wondering. No doubt a few of them still hoping that he’d make a spectacle of himself again. So he kept his eyes open and his face turned to the blinding white fires, trying not to see the dark figures writhing within.

There was no dissent this time. The crowd roared its approval and the Companions cheered. Tobin blinked his smarting eyes and looked over at Korin. As he suspected, his cousin was watching him and gave Tobin a proud grin. Tobin’s stomach lurched, and he had to swallow hard as bile rose in his throat.

Tobin could only pretend to eat during the banquet that followed. The nausea had passed, but he felt the stir of the pains deep in his belly, like a reminder. They grew stronger as the evening went on, as bad as they’d been that day he’d bled. Lhel had promised him that wouldn’t happen again, but every new pain sent his heart racing. What if there was blood again? What if someone saw?

Niryn was at the king’s side, as always, and more than once Tobin was certain he felt the man’s cold gaze on him. Serving with the squires, Ki gave him a questioning look. Tobin hastily busied himself with the slab of lamb going cold on his trencher, forcing down a few mouthfuls.

As soon as they were released from the feast, he fled to the nearest privy and checked his trousers for blood. There wasn’t any, of course, but it was still hard to meet Ki’s worried gaze as he emerged.

“You sick, Tob?”

Tobin shrugged. “Executions still don’t agree with me, I guess.”

Ki put an arm around him as they made their way back to their chambers. “Me neither. And I hope they never do.”

“Your nephew still has no stomach for the just execution of your law, my king,” Niryn remarked, as they sat smoking in Erius’ gardens that night.

Erius shrugged. “He looked a little green, but he held up well.”

“Indeed. Yet it is curious that a boy who has proven himself so well in battle would be unsettled by the death of a criminal, don’t you think?” But not merely unsettled. The boy had been angry. It had rather amused the wizard, even as he’d stored the knowledge away. The prince was of no consequence, and circumstance might yet take care of any impediment he’d impose. Another battle, perhaps, or a touch of plague.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Erius watched a smoke ring he’d blown drift away on the evening breeze. “I knew a fine general, a true lion in battle, who would go white with fear if a cat came into the room. And I shouldn’t tell you this, but I’ve seen General Rheynaris himself faint at the sight of his own blood. We all have our little quirks. It’s no wonder a boy should blanch at the sight of a man being burned alive. Took me a while to get used to it.”

“I suppose, Majesty.”

“And what does it matter, anyway?” Erius chuckled. “I’ve no need of him as an heir anymore. Aliya’s pregnant again, you know, and ripening nicely.”

“You’re very fond of her, Majesty.”

“She’s pretty, she’s strong and has spirit—more than a match for that son of mine—and she dotes on me like a true daughter. And what a queen she’ll make, if only she can throw an heir this time.”

Niryn smiled and blew a smoke ring of his own.

41

Arkoniel didn’t realize how comfortable he’d grown until the false peace they’d enjoyed was shattered. He’d been working with the children in the simples garden, harvesting the last of the season’s herbs. There would be a full moon that night and he expected a frost. Suddenly a little point of light appeared a few feet from his nose. Wythrin and the others watched apprehensively as Arkoniel touched a finger to the message sphere. He felt the tingle of Lyan’s excitement as the light disappeared and he heard her excited voice saying, “Hide at once! A herald is coming.”

“Come, children, into the woods,” he ordered. “Bring your tools and baskets. Hurry now!”

As soon as they were safely hidden in a thicket, he summoned a message spell of his own and sent it speeding to Eyoli in the workroom.

“Are the Harriers coming to get us?” Totmus whimpered, crouched close beside him. The others clung to Ethni and she hugged them close, but she was just as frightened.

“No, just a messenger. But we’ve got to be very quiet, all the same. Eyoli will come get us when it’s safe.”

A rider came up the hill at a gallop, and they heard the hollow report of hooves across the bridge. Arkoniel wondered if Nari would offer the rider the customary hospitality—a meal and a night’s lodging. He didn’t fancy the idea of sleeping under the stars that night. As if to underscore the thought, Totmus clapped his hands across his mouth to stifle a cough. Despite good food and Nari’s care, he was still a pallid, sickly child and was showing signs of an autumn cold.

The sun crawled down the sky and the shadows cooled around them. The stars were pricking the purple sky when they heard the rider again. Arkoniel heaved a sigh of relief as the sound faded away on the Alestun road but still waited for Eyoli’s point of light to tell them it was safe to come back.

Nari and Catilan met him in the hall. The other wizards were still hiding upstairs.

“It’s from Tobin.” Nari told him, handing him a parchment scroll bearing the Atyion seal.

Arkoniel’s heart sank as he read it, though the message was jubilant: the Companions were home, the royal progress had been a success, and the king had granted Tobin permission to celebrate his birthday with a few weeks of hunting at his old home. Soon wagonloads of servants and provisions would be rumbling up the road to begin preparations.

“I suppose it had to happen, sooner or later.” Nari sighed. “This is still his home, after all. But how in the world can we hide everyone with a pack of hunters racketing about the place?”

“It’s no good sending them into the forest,” said Catilan. “Someone is bound to stumble across any camp we make there.”

“And what about you, Arkoniel?” added Nari. “What are we going to do with you? Not to mention the extra beds set up. And the gardens!”

Arkoniel tucked the letter away. “Well, General, what do you suggest?”

“The house is easily set to rights. The beds will be needed and the garden can be explained. But the rest of you will have to go away someplace,” Catilan replied. “The question is, where? Winter’s coming on fast.” She drew Totmus to her side and gave Arkoniel a meaningful look. “There’ll be snow on the ground soon.”

Eyoli had been listening from the stairs and came down to join them. “We can’t travel in a group, like wandering players. Others have tried that. The Harriers make a point of stopping any they meet on the road claiming to be actors and the like. We’ll have to scatter.”

“No!” said Arkoniel. “Nari, you see to the children. Eyoli, come with me.”

The older wizards were waiting anxiously for him in the workroom. Arkoniel had hardly finished explaining the situation before they erupted in panic, all talking at once. Melissandra bolted for the door, calling for Dara to pack, and Hain rose to follow. Malkanus was already planning defenses for the road. Even the older ones looked ready to run.

“Listen to me, please!” Arkoniel cried. “Melissandra, Hain, come back.”

When they ignored him, he muttered a spell Lhel had taught him and clapped his hands. A peal of thunder shook the room, startling the others to silence.

“Have you forgotten already why you’re here?” he demanded. “Look around you.” His heart beat faster as the words poured out. “The Third Orëska Iya talks of isn’t some far-off dream. It’s here. Now. In this room. We are the Third Orëska, the first fruits of her vision. The Lightbearer brought us together. Whatever purpose there may be in that, we can’t scatter now.”

“He’s right,” said Eyoli. “Mistress Virishan always said our safety lay in unity. Those children downstairs? They wouldn’t be alive now except for her. If we stay together, then perhaps we can stand against the Harriers. I know I can’t do it alone.”

“None of us can,” old Vornus agreed, looking grim.

“I managed well enough,” Kaulin retorted, dour as ever.

“By running away. And you came here,” Arkoniel reminded him.

“I came only for safety, not to lose my freedom!”

“Would you rather wear one of their silver badges?” Cerana demanded. “How free will you be once the Harriers number you and write your name in their book? I’ll fight for your queen, Arkoniel, but more than that, I want to drive those white-robed monsters out. Why does Illior allow such a travesty?”

“Perhaps we’re proof that the Lightbearer does not,” Malkanus offered, leaning against the wall by the window.

Arkoniel looked at him in surprise. The other man shrugged, fingering the fine silk embroidery on his sleeve. “I saw the vision and believed. I’ll fight, if need be. I say we stay together.”

“So we stay together,” said Lyan. “But we can’t stay here.”

“We could go deeper into the mountains,” Kaulin said. “I’ve been quite a ways up. There’s game enough, if any of you know how to earn your food.”

“But for how long?” asked Melissandra. “And what about the children? The higher we go, the sooner the winter will find us.”

“Lyan, can you send one of your message lights to Iya?”

“Not without knowing something of where she is. It must be directed.”

“All right, then. We make our own way. We’ll pack the wagon and your horses with all the supplies they can carry, and see where the road takes us. Be ready by dawn.”

It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was a start.

Nari and the servants took charge of provisioning. With the help of the men, Arkoniel moved his meager belongings back up to his abandoned bedchamber on the third floor. When they’d finished he sent them to help in the kitchen yard, and found himself alone upstairs for the first time in months. Gooseflesh prickled up his arms. It was already dark.

He packed hurriedly, throwing a few days’ clothing into a pack. He wouldn’t be gone long; as soon as he had the others settled somewhere, he’d come back and try to speak with the boys. He tried not to think of the locked door down the corridor, yet all the while he had the growing sense that Ariani was watching him.

“This is for your child. All for her,” he whispered. Grabbing up the lopsided pack, he was halfway to the stairs when he realized he’d forgotten the bag containing the bowl. It had been months since he’d thought about that, too.

Turning slowly, he searched the darkness beyond his lamp. Was that a white shape hovering by the tower door, or just a trick of the light? With an effort, he started back for the workroom. The air against his face grew colder with every step, but he couldn’t run away. Not without the bowl.

He dashed to the table and snagged the dusty leather bag from its hiding place underneath. Shoving it into the pack, he looked around fearfully, expecting any moment to see Ariani’s blood-streaked face in the shadows. But there was no sign of her, only the chill, and perhaps that was just the night breeze through the shutters. With shaking hands, he added a few more simples and a jar of firechips to his collection.

He was halfway down the corridor again when another realization halted him in his tracks.

In a few days’ time this house would be filled with young nobles, huntsmen, and servants. Every room would be needed.

“Bilairy’s balls!” Dropping the pack at the top of the stairs, he drew out his wand and hurried back to his rooms.

Obscuration was not difficult magic, but it took time and concentration. By the time he’d hidden the doors to his chambers, making them appear to be bricked up, he was shaking and drenched with sweat. That still left two guest chambers on the other side of the corridor in use.

Only then did he realize he’d forgotten about the windows, which were visible from the road. With a snarl of frustration he swept aside the carefully crafted spells and began again, this time creating the illusion that there had been a fire; from outside people would see blackened stonework around the windows and charred shutters. As he obscured the last doorway again his lamp guttered out and he heard an unmistakable sigh.

Ariani was standing by the tower door, bright as a candle in the darkness. Water and blood streamed from her black hair, soaking the front of her gown and pooling on the floor around her feet. Silent as smoke, she glided to the workroom door, one hand pressed to her mouth, the other held at a strange angle against her side, as if she were carrying something. She stared at the illusion for a long moment, looking lost and confused.

“I’m protecting your child,” he told her.

She held him with her eyes a moment, then faded away without a word.

Arkoniel hadn’t expected to sleep that night, but he fell into a restless doze the second he lay down across the unmade bed in Tobin’s room, and dreamed of riders hunting him through the forest, led by Ariani’s ghost.

The touch of a cold hand on his brow brought him awake with a strangled cry. It was no dream; a hand was touching him. Flailing wildly, he tumbled off the wrong side the bed and found himself wedged helplessly between the mattress and the wall.

A woman stood on the other side of the bed, silhouetted against the light spilling in at the open window. Ariani had followed him here. His flesh crawled at the thought of her touching him as he slept.

“Arkoniel?”

That wasn’t Ariani’s voice.

“Lhel?” He heard a soft chuckle, then felt the mattress shift as she sat down. “By the Four!” Scrambling across the bed, he hugged her, then rested his head in her lap. Deer tooth beads pressed into his cheek. Dark against darkness, Lhel stroked his hair.

“Did you miss me, little man?”

Embarrassed, he sat up and pulled her close, burying his fingers in her coarse black curls. There were dead leaves and twigs tangled there, and the taste of salt on her lips. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. Where have you been?”

“The Mother sent me over the mountains to a place my people once lived. It’s only a few days’ journey from here. Tomorrow I’ll guide your wizards there. You must go quickly, though, and make what houses you can before the snows come.”

Arkoniel pulled back a little, trying to make out her face. “Your goddess brought you back today, just when I most needed you?”

When she said nothing, he guessed she’d been back for some time. Before he could press the matter, however, she surprised him by shoving him back on the bed and kissing him hungrily. Fire shot through his belly as she climbed on top of him, lifting her skirt and fumbling at the front of his tunic. He felt rough wool against his belly, then warm skin. It was the first time she’d ever offered sex inside the keep and she was as desperate for it as he was. Holding his hands against her breasts, she rode him wildly, then lurched forward to smother their cries as they came. Lightning flashed behind Arkoniel’s closed eyelids as he thrashed and moaned under her, then the world exploded into red light.

When his mind cleared, she was lying beside him, cupping his balls in one hot, wet hand.

“Your pack is too small for the journey,” she murmured.

“It was full enough until you emptied it for me,” he chuckled, thinking it some joking slight against his manhood.

She rose on one elbow and traced his lips with one finger. “No, your traveling pack. You’ll be no good to Tobin dead. You must go with the others and stay away.”

“But you’re here now! You could take them to your oak and hide them there.”

“Too many, and too many strangers coming, perhaps with wizards who have enough sight to see through my magic.”

“But I want to see the boys again. Teach me how you hid yourself for so long!” He grasped her hand and kissed her rough palm. “Please, Lhel. I ask in the name of the Mother—”

Lhel snatched her hand away and slid off the bed. He couldn’t see her face as she pulled her clothes back into place, but he could feel her anger.

“What is it? What did I say?”

“You have no right!” she hissed. She crossed the room to retrieve her discarded shawl and the moonlight fell across her face, turning it into an ugly mask. The pallid light filled every crease and wrinkle with shadow and robbed her hair of color. The symbols of power blazed on her face and breasts, stark as ink on alabaster. The lover of a moment ago stood before him as he’d never seen her before—a vengeful hag.

Arkoniel shrank back; this was the side of her Iya had tried so often to warn him of. Before he could stop himself, he’d raised a hand in a warding sign against her.

Lhel froze, eyes lost in shadowed sockets, but the harsh mask softened to sorrow. “Against me you make that sign?” She came back to the bed and sat down. “You must never call on my goddess. She does not forgive what your people and your Orëska did to us.”

“Then why did she have you help us at all?”

Lhel passed her hands over her face, smoothing away the symbols from her skin. “It is the will of the Mother that I helped you, and Her will that I stayed to care for the unquiet spirit we made that night. All those long lonely days I pondered the mystery of that. And then, when you came to me and were willing to become my pupil—” She sighed. “If the Mother did not favor it, you would not have learned so much from me, so easily.” She took his hand and her fingers found the shiny stump of his severed finger. “You cannot make a baby for me with your seed, but your magic and mine made something new. Perhaps one day, our people will create more together, but we still follow different gods. Your Illior is not my Mother, no matter how you try to tell yourself it is so. Be true to your own gods, my friend, and have a care not to offend those of others.”

“I meant no—”

She brushed his mouth with cold fingertips. “No, you meant to sway me by invoking Her name. Don’t ever do that again. As for the other wizards here, they won’t be pleased to see me. You recall our first meeting? Your fear and repugnance, and how you called me little trickster’ in your mind?”

Arkoniel nodded, ashamed. He and Iya had treated Lhel like some lowly tradesman, offering no respect even after she’d done all they’d asked.

“I will not win them as I did you.” Lhel ran a finger playfully down his belly to the thatch of hair below. “Just see to it that the strong ones don’t attack me.” She pulled back a little, looking hard into his eyes. “For their sake, yes?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “I wonder what Tobin and Ki will think, not finding-me here?”

“They’re smart boys. They’ll guess.” She thought a moment. “Leave that mind clouder.”

“Eyoli?”

“Yes. He’s very clever, and can keep himself unnoticed. Who will think twice about a stableboy? If Tobin needs us, he can send word.” She stood again. “Look for me along the road tomorrow. Bring as many supplies as you can carry. And more clothes. You will listen to me, won’t you, and stay away? There’s nothing to be gained by going back.”

Before he could answer she was gone, fading into the darkness as swiftly as a ghost. Perhaps one day she would teach him that trick, too.

There was no hope of sleep now. Going down to the kitchen yard, he checked the supplies in the wagon again, counting blankets, coils of rope, and sacks of flour, salt, and apples. Thank the Light the king had appointed no steward or Royal Protector here. Wandering through the yards, he gathered every tool he could find—handsaws, hammers, two rusted axes left behind in the barracks, a small anvil he found at the back of the farriers’ shop. He felt better, doing something useful, and all the while he felt the growing conviction that a corner of some sort had been turned. After years of wandering with Iya, here he was with a handful of fugitive wizards and a cart—his new Orëska.

It was a humble beginning, he thought, but a beginning all the same.

42

The stars were fading when Arkoniel and the others set out. Hain drove the children in the cart; the rest rode. Wythnir clung behind Arkoniel’s saddle, his meager bundle wedged between them.

“Where does this road go, Master?” he asked.

“To the mining towns north of here, and finally to the coast, west of the isthmus,” Arkoniel replied. Iron, tin, silver, and lead had drawn Skalan settlers into the mountains centuries earlier. Some of the mines still produced enough to keep people there.

He said nothing of the history Lhel had taught him; how Skalan soldiers—Tobin’s ancestors among them—had used this road to make war against Lhel’s people. The Retha’noi had been great raiders and warriors, but their magic had been even stronger and more feared. Those who’d survived had been branded necromancers and driven deep into the mountains. They were no longer hunted; but they remained exiles, driven from the fertile coastal lands that had been theirs. When Arkoniel and Iya ventured into the mountains in search of a witch, they’d felt the sullen animosity that still smoldered in the hearts of that small, dark race.

He’d done as Lhel asked, told them nothing of her, only that they were to meet a guide who would lead them to safety. They came upon her just after dawn. She stood waiting atop a boulder by the road.

The others reined in sharply. Malkanus reached into his pouch, readying some magic against her, but Arkoniel rode between them.

“No, wait. Don’t!” he said. “This is our guide.”

“This?” Malkanus exclaimed. “A filthy hill witch?”

Lhel folded her arms and scowled down at him.

“This is Lhel, an honored friend well-known to me and to Iya. I expect you all to treat her as such. Illior brought her to us years ago. She shares the vision.”

“Iya approves of this?” asked Lyan, who was old enough to remember the raids.

“Of course. Please, my friends, Lhel has offered her help, and we need it. I can vouch for her goodwill.”

Despite Arkoniel’s assurances, tensions remained high on both sides. Lhel rode grudgingly on the cart beside Hain, who leaned away, avoiding her touch as if she had the Red and Black Death.

They reached the first pass that day and toiled up through the steep valley beyond as the air grew colder and snow crept down the sides of the peaks to edge the road. The trees were sparse and stunted, leaving them at the mercy of the wind. Wolves howled nearby at night, and several times they heard the screech of catamounts echoing between the peaks.

The children slept together under blankets in the back of the cart while the older wizards tended the fires and kept watch. Totmus’ cough grew worse. Huddled among the others, he coughed and dozed but could not rest. Under the suspicious stares of the Orëska wizards, Lhel brewed a tea for him and gently coaxed it into him. The child brought up alarming gobbets of green phlegm and seemed the better for it. By the third night he was laughing with the others again.

The wizards remained wary, but the children were more easily won over. During the long, weary hours in the cart, Lhel told them stories in her broken Skalan and showed them pretty little spells. When they stopped each night she disappeared into the darkness, returning with mushrooms and herbs for the stewpot.

The third day they descended along the edge of a gorge, and the forest rose up to meet them again. Hundreds of feet below, a blue-green river tumbled between the echoing walls. Just beyond the ruins of an abandoned village, they turned west along a tributary stream and followed it into a small, densely wooded valley.

There was no road. Lhel led them along the riverbank, and into towering hemlock. Soon the forest was too dense to take the cart any farther, and she led them on foot along a smaller brook to an overgrown clearing among the trees.

There had been a village here, but not one built by Skalan hands. Small, round roofless stone huts stood along the riverbank, none of them larger than an apple cellar. Many had fallen in and been reclaimed by moss and creepers, but a few were still sound.

A few weathered logs still leaned at disparate angles around the edge of the clearing, marking where a palisade had kept out wolves and catamounts, and perhaps Skalan invaders, as well.

“This good place,” Lhel told them. “Water, wood, and food. But you must build soon.” She pointed up at the sky, which was slowly filling with grey clouds. They could see their breath on the air today. “Snow soon. Little ones must have warm place to sleep, yes?”

She walked to one of the huts and showed them holes drilled in some of the top stones. “For roof poles.”

“Will you stay with us, Mistress?” Danil asked, holding the witch’s hand tight. The day before Lhel had shown him how to call field mice to his knee, something even Arkoniel had not thought the child capable of. The little boy had followed the witch around like a puppy ever since.

“For a time,” Lhel replied, patting his hand. “Maybe learn you more magic?”

“Can I learn, too?” asked Totmus, wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve.

“And me!” the twins cried eagerly.

Lhel ignored the glares from the older wizards. “Yes, little ones. All you learn.” She smiled at Arkoniel and he felt another surge of that strange assurance that things were falling into place as they were meant to.

Under Lhel’s direction, the servants made several of the old foundations habitable for the night, building makeshift roofs of saplings and boughs.

Meanwhile, Malkanus, Lyan, and Vornus took Arkoniel aside.

“Is this your Third Orëska?” Malkanus demanded angrily, jerking his thumb at the children tagging along after Lhel. “Are we all going to be necromancers now?”

“You know it’s forbidden,” Vornus warned. “She can’t be allowed to go on teaching them.”

“I know the histories, but I’m telling you, they’re not entirely correct,” Arkoniel maintained. “I’ve studied for years with this woman, and learned the true roots of her magic. Please, just let me show you, and you’ll see that it’s true. Illior would never have guided us to her if we weren’t meant to learn from her. How can that not be a sign?”

“But the magic we practice is pure!” said Lyan.

“We like to think so, but I’ve seen Aurënfaie shake their heads at some of our work. And remember, our magic is no less unnatural to our kind than Lhel’s. We had to mix our blood with the ’faie before we had any wizards in the Three Lands. Perhaps it’s time to mingle with a new blood, one native to Skala. The hill folk were here long before our ancestors arrived.”

“Yes, and they killed hundreds of our people,” Malkanus snapped.

Arkoniel shrugged. “They fought off the invaders. Would any of us have done differently? I believe that we’re meant to make peace with them now, somehow. But for now, believe me when I say that we need Lhel’s help, her kind of magic. Talk with her. Listen with an open heart to what she tells you, as I have. She has great power.”

“I can feel that,” muttered Cerana. “That’s what troubles me.”

Despite Arkoniel’s assurances, the others went away shaking their heads.

Lhel came to him, and said, “Come, I’ll teach you something new.” Walking back to the wagon, she searched through the baggage and pulled out a copper basin, then set off along the stream, leading him deeper into the forest. The ground was steep here, and the banks tiered with mossy ledges and shaggy frost-burned clumps of fern and caneberry. Thick stands of cattail rushes waved at the water’s edge. She pulled up one and peeled the fleshy white root. It was fibrous and dry so late in the year, but still edible.

“There’s plenty to eat here,” Lhel said, as they moved on. Pausing again, she plucked a large yellow mushroom from a rotting tree trunk and offered him a bite. “You must hunt before the snow comes, and smoke the meat. And collect wood. I don’t know if all the children will see springtime. Totmus won’t, I think.”

“But you healed him!” Arkoniel cried, dismayed. He’d already grown found of the boy.

Lhel shrugged. “I did what I could for him, but the sickness is deep in his lungs. It will come back.” She paused again. “I know what they said about me. You spoke for me, and I thank you, but the older ones are right. You don’t know the depth of my power.”

“Will I ever?”

“Pray you don’t, my friend. But now I’ll show you something new, but only you. Give me your word you’ll keep this to yourself.”

“By my hands, heart, and eyes, you have it.”

“All right then. We begin.” Cupping her hands around her mouth, Lhel let out a harsh, bleating call, then listened. Arkoniel heard nothing but the wind in the trees and the gurgling of the stream.

Lhel turned and gave the call across the stream. This time a faint reply came, then another, already closer. A large stag emerged from the trees on the far bank, sniffing the air suspiciously. It was as large as a palfrey, and had ten sharp prongs on each curving antler.

“It’s the rutting season,” Arkoniel reminded her. A stag in his prime was a dangerous thing to meet this time of year.

But Lhel was unconcerned. Raising a hand in greeting, she began to sing in that high, tuneless voice she sometimes used. The stag let out a loud snort and shook its head. A few shreds of antler velvet fluttered from the prongs. Arkoniel saw a piece fly loose and noted where it landed; if he survived this encounter, he knew of a concoction that called for it.

Lhel sang on, drawing the stag across the stream. It splashed up onto the bank and stood swinging its head slowly from side to side. Lhel smiled at Arkoniel as she scratched the beast between the antlers, calming it like a tame milk cow. Still humming, she drew her silver knife with her free hand and deftly nicked the large vein just under the stag’s jaw. A freshet of blood spurted out, and she caught it in her basin. The stag snorted softly, but remained still. When an inch or so of blood had collected in the basin, Lhel passed it to Arkoniel and laid her hands on the wound, stopping the flow with a touch.

“Stand back,” she murmured. When they were safely out of reach, she clapped her hands and shouted, “I release you!”

The stag lowered its head, slashing the air, then sprang away into the trees.

“Now what?” he asked. A thick, gamy odor rose from the basin, and he could feel the lingering heat and the strength of the blood through the metal.

She grinned. “Now I show you what you’ve wanted so long to know. Set the basin down.”

She squatted beside it and motioned for Arkoniel to do the same. Drawing a leather pouch from the neck of her ragged dress, she passed it to him. Inside he found several small herb bundles wrapped in yarn, and some smaller bags. Under her direction, he crumbled in a handful of bindweed flowers and some tamarack needles. From the small bags came pinches of powdered sulfur, bone, and ochre that stained his fingers like rust.

“Stir it with the first twig you find within reach,” Lhel instructed.

Arkoniel found a short, bleached stick and stirred the mix. The blood was still steaming, but it smelled different now.

Lhel unwrapped one of the firechips he’d made for her and used it to light a hank of sweet hay. As she blew the pungent smoke gently across the surface, the blood swirled and turned black.

“Now, sing as I do.” Lhel let out a string of strange syllables, and Arkoniel struggled to copy them. She would not translate the spell, but corrected his pronunciation and made him sing it over until he had it right.

“Good. Now we weave the protection. Bring the basin.”

“This is how you hid your camp, isn’t it?”

She answered with a wink.

Leading him to a gnarled old birch that overhung the brook, she showed him how to coat his palm with the blood and mark the tree, singing the spell as he did so.

Arkoniel winced a little; the blood felt thick and oily on his fingers. Singing, he pressed his hand to the peeling white bark. The blood stood out starkly against it for a moment, then disappeared completely. There wasn’t even a trace of moisture left.

“Amazing!”

“We’ve only just started. It does no good, just one.” Lhel led him to a large boulder and had him repeat the process. The blood disappeared just as readily into the stone.

As the sun sank behind the peaks and the shadows went cold, they made a wide circuit around the camp, creating a ring of magic that would confound the senses of any stranger who happened to stray near it. Only those who knew the password—alaka, “passage”—could pass through it.

“I used to watch you and the boys trying to find me.” Lhel chuckled. “Sometimes you looked right at me and never guessed.”

“Would this work for a town? Or for an army on the field?” he asked, but she only shrugged.

They finished their work under a rising full moon and followed the flickering glow of the campfires back to the others, who’d been busy in their absence. Two of the stone circles were snugly capped and some of the supplies had been carried up from the cart. Dry wood lay stacked by a newly dug fire pit and Eyoli was chopping more, mostly large fallen branches the children had dragged from the woods. At the stream’s edge, Noril and Semion were busy butchering a fat doe.

“It’s a good omen,” Noril said as he worked the hide free of the carcass. “The Maker sent her right into the camp while we were putting on the second roof.”

Dar and Ethni soon had chunks of venison spitted over a crackling fire along with the heart, liver, and sweetbreads. While the meat cooked, Arkoniel explained about the protection spell and the password. Cerana and Malkanus exchanged suspicious glances, but Eyoli and the children ran off to test it.

It seemed like a lucky start. There was plenty of meat for everyone that night, and bread to go with it. After supper, Kaulin and Vornus produced pipes and shared them around the circle as they listened to the night sounds. The crickets and frogs were silenced for the year, but they could hear small creatures pattering in the woods. A large white owl swooped across the clearing, greeting them with a mournful hoot.

“Another good omen,” Lyan said. “Illior sends his messenger to bless our new home.”

“Home,” Malkanus grumbled, pulling a second cloak around his shoulders. “Out in the wilderness with no proper food and drafty chimneys to live in.”

Melissandra took a long pull from one of the pipes and blew out a glowing red horse that flew twice around the fire before bursting with a bright pop over Ethni’s head. “Some of us have made do with a great deal less,” she said, and smoked out a pair of blue birds for Rala and Ylina. “We’ve got water, good hunting, and shelter.” She gave Lhel a nod. “Thank you. It’s a good place.”

“How long will we be here?” Vornus asked Arkoniel.

“I don’t know yet. We’d better get some proper cabins built before the snow flies.”

“Are we carpenters now?” Malkanus groaned. “What do I know about making cabins?”

“We can see to that, Master,” Cymeus assured him.

“Some wizards know how to do an honest day’s work,” Kaulin threw in. “More hands make less work, as they say.”

“Thank you, Kaulin, and you.” Arkoniel stood and bowed to Dar and the other servants. “You’ve followed your masters and mistresses without complaint, and made us comfortable here in the wilderness. You’ve heard us talk of the Third Orëska. It occurs to me now that you are as much a part of it as the wizards. For now we’ll build with logs and mud in exile, but I promise you, if we keep faith with Illior and accomplish the task we’ve been set, we’ll have a palace of our own one day, as grand as any in Ero.”

Kaulin gave Malkanus a jab with his thumb. “You hear that? Take heart, boy. You’ll be living soft again before you know it!”

Dozing in Ethni’s arms, Totmus let out a ropy cough.

43

Tobin rode the last mile to the keep at a gallop, overjoyed to come home again at last. Emerging from the trees at the bottom of the meadow, he reined in and looked around in surprise.

“Damn!” Ki exclaimed, coming up beside him with the others. “Looks like the king’s brought half of Ero out with us!”

Across the river, the yellowed meadow had been transformed into a village of tents and makeshift stalls. Tobin hadn’t wanted any fuss, but this looked like a country fair. Scanning the tradesmen’s banners fluttering on poles, he saw every sort from bakers to jess makers. There were hosts of performers, of course, including the troupe from the Golden Foot Theater.

“We’re a long way from the city here,” Erius said laughing, having overheard. “I wanted to be sure you boys have suitable entertainment while you’re here.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Tobin replied. He’d already counted five minstrel banners and six pastry makers. He wondered what Cook would do if they tried to invade her kitchen. She had been a warrior, after all, and didn’t take kindly to interference with her cooking.

“Look there!” Ki exclaimed, pointing up the hill. Nari had sent word of the fire, but it was still a shock to see those blackened windows where Arkoniel’s rooms had been. What had the wizard been doing? Tobin wondered, though he knew better than to say that aloud. Arkoniel’s presence here was still a secret; the wizard was probably hiding at Lhel’s camp.

Nari and Cook came out to greet them and made a great fuss over Korin, welcoming him to the house.

“And just look at you two!” Nari exclaimed, standing on tiptoe to kiss Tobin and Ki. “You’re all grown since we saw you last.”

Tobin was surprised at how short she seemed. As a child he’d always thought her tall.

Later, as he gave the Companions a tour of the place, he noticed other changes, things apparent only to someone who’d lived here before. The larger herb garden below the barracks, for instance, and the fact that the kitchen garden had been spaded up to three times its old size. Except for one new squint-eyed stableboy, the household had not grown.

The house was brighter than he remembered, too, more homelike, but that was Nari’s doing. She’d furnished every room and brought out all the best linen, plate, and tapestries. Even the third floor was cheery in daylight, the rooms on the left side of the corridor lined with cots for the small army of servants that had accompanied them. Arkoniel’s old rooms across the hall were bricked up until repairs could be made.

Slipping away as the others prepared for supper that night, he climbed the stairs again and walked slowly to the far end of the hallway. The tower door was locked, the brass handle tarnished with neglect. He rattled the latch, wondering if Nari still had the key. Standing there, he remembered how frightened he used to be, imagining his mother’s angry ghost staring at him through the wood. Now it was just a door.

A wave of longing swept over him. Tobin rested his forehead against the smooth wood, and whispered, “Are you there, Mother?”

“Tobin?”

He jumped, but it was only Ki at the top of the stairs.

“There you are. Cook wants you to taste the soup, and here you are not even dressed yet—Say, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just looking around.”

Ki saw through that, of course. Coming closer, he cautiously brushed the wood with his fingers. “I’d forgotten. Is she in there?”

“I don’t think so.”

Ki leaned against the wall beside him. “Do you miss her?”

Tobin shrugged. “I didn’t think so, but just now I remembered her the way she was on her good days before—Well, before that last day. Almost like a real mother.” He pulled out the ring and showed Ki his mother’s serene profile. “That’s what she was like, before Brother and I were born.”

Ki said nothing, but leaned his shoulder against Tobin’s.

Tobin sighed. “I’ve been thinking. I’m going to leave the doll up there.”

“But she said to keep it, didn’t she?”

“I don’t need it anymore. He finds me anyway, whether I have it or not. I’m tired, Ki. Tired of hiding it, hiding him.” Hiding myself, too, he thought, but bit back the words. Looking around, he let out a halfhearted laugh. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been here, hasn’t it? It’s not how I remembered it. It all seemed so big and dark then, even after you came to live here.”

“We got bigger.” Grinning, Ki tugged Tobin away. “Come on, I’ll prove it.”

Nari had kept their old bedchamber just as they’d left it, and next door the toy city and a few childish sculptures were gathering dust in their places. In the bedchamber, the suit of mail Tobin’s father had given him still hung on its rack in the corner.

“Go on,” Ki urged. “You haven’t tried it in ages.”

Tobin pulled the hauberk over his head, then scowled at their paired reflections in the glass.

“Father said when this fit, I’d be old enough to ride off to war with him.”

“Well, you’re tall enough,” said Ki.

He was, but still too slender. The shoulders of the hauberk shirt slumped halfway to his elbows, and the sleeves hung well past his fingertips. The coif kept sliding down over his eyes.

“You just haven’t filled out yet.” Ki clapped the old helmet on Tobin’s head and rapped his knuckles against it. “That’s a fit, at least. Cheer up, for hell’s sake! The king said he’d let us ride coast patrol when we get back. Better pirates and bandits than no fighting at all, eh?”

“I guess so.” Tobin caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to find Brother watching him from the shadows. He had on the same sort of mail, but his fit. Tobin tugged the hauberk off and slung it over the stand. When he looked again, the ghost was gone.

For the first time in Tobin’s life, the great hall was filled with comrades and huntsmen, music and laughter. A fire crackled warmly on the hearth, illuminating the tables set up around it and throwing shadows on the painted walls. Players strutted between the tables and the minstrel gallery across the hall was packed with musicians. The whole house rang with the sounds of celebration.

Cook had evidently come to some sort of agreement with the city folk, and proudly helped serve the lavish feast. Dressed in a new gown of brown wool, Nari served as their steward. The only other women present were servants and entertainers. Pregnant again, Aliya had remained at her mother’s house under the watchful eye of the drysians.

Seated in a place of honor beside Tobin, Tharin looked around wistfully. “I haven’t seen the place like this since we were boys.”

“We had some fine times here!” the king said, clinking his mazer against Tobin’s. “Your grandfather led a fine hunt—stag, bear, even catamounts! I look forward to tomorrow’s ride!”

“We have something special planned for your name day, too,” Korin said, sharing a wink with his father.

The warmth and company raised Tobin’s spirits and he joined in gladly with the songs and drinking games. By midnight he was almost as drunk as Korin. Surrounded by friends and music, he could let himself forget prophecies and past sorrows for a little while; he was master of this house at last.

“We’ll always be friends, won’t we?” he said, leaning on Korin’s shoulder.

“Friends?” Korin laughed. “Brothers, more like. A toast to my little brother!”

Everyone cheered, waving their mazers about. Tobin joined in, but the laughter died in his throat as he caught sight of two dark figures lurking in a shadowed corner of the minstrel’s gallery. They stepped forward, oblivious to the fiddlers sawing away beside them; it was Brother and their mother. Tobin went cold at the sight of her. This was not the kind woman who’d taught him to write and draw. Bloody-faced, eyes burning with hatred, she pointed an accusing finger. Then both ghosts faded away, but not before Tobin saw what she held under her arm.

He scarcely remembered anything of the banquet after that. When the last dessert was finished he pleaded weariness and hurried upstairs. His traveling chest was still locked, but when he burrowed down through the tunics and shirts the doll was gone, just as he’d feared.

“Fine. I’m glad!” Tobin raged at the empty room. “Stay here together, like you always did!” He meant it, and couldn’t understand why tears welled up to blind him.

44

The weather held fair and the hunting was good. They rode out at dawn each day and combed the hills and brakes, returning with enough stags, bear, grouse, and conies to feed a regiment. The king was in good spirits, though Tobin knew better than to take this for granted. It was easier to relax and trust a little, without Niryn there to read his every thought and gesture.

Every night they drank and feasted, entertained by an ever-changing troupe of players. Tobin avoided the third floor and did not see the ghosts again.

“Maybe we should look for the doll,” Ki said, when Tobin finally told him what had happened.

“Where? In the tower?” Tobin asked. “It’s locked and the key is missing; I already asked Nari. And even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t go up there again.”

He’d thought about it, even dreamed about it, but nothing in the world would make him go near that room or that window again.

He put the doll out of his mind and Ki didn’t mention it again. He was more concerned about Lhel. They’d slipped away and ridden up the mountain road several times, but found no sign of Lhel or Arkoniel.

“Probably safer for them, with this great crowd wandering everywhere,” Ki said, but he sounded as disappointed as Tobin felt.

On his name day morning Tobin saw that a new pavilion had been erected just beyond the barracks. It was nearly as large, and made of brightly painted canvas hung with silk banners and gaily colored ribbons. When he asked about it, Korin replied with a wink and a smirk.

At the feast that night it was clear some conspiracy was afoot. Korin and the others spent the meal whispering and laughing among themselves. When the last of the honey cakes had been eaten, they rose and surrounded him.

“I’ve got a special birthday present for you, coz,” said Korin. “Now that you’re old enough.”

“Old enough for what?” asked Tobin uneasily.

“Easier to show than tell!” Korin and Zusthra picked Tobin up and hoisted him on their shoulders. Looking back in alarm as they bore him away, he saw the squires blocking Ki from following. He didn’t seem upset, though. Far from it, in fact.

“Happy birthday, Tob!” he called after him, laughing and waving with the others.

Tobin’s worst fears were realized as they carried him down to the gaudy pavilion. It was a brothel, of course, run by one of the king’s favorites in Ero. Inside, heavy tapestry curtains divided the tent into different rooms around a central receiving area. Braziers and polished brass lamps burned there, and it was furnished like a fine villa, with rich carpets and fancy wine tables. Girls in sheer silk chemises greeted the guests and guided them to velvet couches there.

“I chose for you,” Korin announced proudly. “Here’s your present!”

A pretty blond woman emerged from behind one of the tapestry walls and joined Tobin on his couch. The other Companions had girls of their own, and from the looks of things, they were far more at home with all this than he was. Even Nikides and Lutha appeared to be pleased with this development.

“You’re a man now, and a warrior,” said Korin, toasting him with a golden mazer. “It’s time you tasted a man’s pleasures!”

Caught in a nightmare, Tobin fought to hide his dismay. Alben was already smirking with Urmanis and Zusthra.

“I’m honored, my prince,” the girl said, settling close beside him and offering him sweetmeats from a gilded plate. She was perhaps eighteen, but her eyes were as old as Lhel’s as she looked him over. Her manner was demure, but there was hardness just behind her smile that curdled the dinner in Tobin’s belly.

He let her fill his cup again and drank deeply, wishing he could just vanish or sink through the ground. He could do neither, unfortunately, and at last the girls rose and took their chosen paramours by the hand, leading them off to the rooms at the back of the pavilion.

Tobin’s legs would hardly support him as the girl parted a curtain and drew him into a tapestry-walled inner chamber. A silver lamp hung from a chain overhead, and incense burned in a censer on a carved stand. Patterned carpets gave softly under his boots as she led him to a curtained bed. Still smiling her false smile, she began to unlace his tunic.

Caught between mortification and despair, Tobin kept his head down, praying she wouldn’t see him blush. To run away would make him the laughingstock of the Companions, but the alternative was unthinkable.

Tobin’s heart was hammering so hard in his ears that he hardly heard her when she stopped and whispered, “Would you rather not undress, my prince?”

She was waiting, but no words would come. He stared miserably at the floor and shook his head.

“Just this, then,” she murmured, reaching for the lacings of his trousers. He flinched away and she stopped. They stood like that for some time, until he suddenly felt the soft brush of lips against his cheek.

“You don’t want this, do you?” she whispered close to his ear. “I saw it the minute they dragged you in.”

Tobin shuddered, imagining what she’d tell Korin later. He’d cast Quirion out for cowardice in battle; would this amount to the same thing?

To his astonishment, she hugged him. “That’s all right, then. You don’t have to.”

“I—I don’t?” he quavered, and looked up to find her smiling, a real smile. The hardness had left her face; she looked very kind.

“Come, sit with me.”

There was nowhere to sit but on the bed. She curled up against the bolsters and patted the place beside her. “Come on,” she coaxed. “I won’t do anything.”

Hesitantly, Tobin joined her and pulled his knees up under his chin. By that time soft cries and louder grunting were coming from the other enclosures. Tobin resisted the urge to plug his ears; he recognized some of those voices and thanked the Four that the squires hadn’t come along, too. He couldn’t have stood hearing Ki going on like that. It sounded almost like they were in pain, yet it was strangely exciting, too. He felt his body responding and blushed more hotly than ever.

“The prince means well, I’m sure,” the girl whispered, not sounding as if she meant it. “He’s been quite the stag since he was younger than you, but he’s a different sort of fellow, isn’t he? Some boys aren’t ready so young.”

Tobin nodded. It was true enough, in its way.

“But you have your reputation among your friends to consider, I think?” she went on, and chuckled at Tobin’s groan of agreement. “That’s easily dealt with. Move over to the edge, if you please.”

Still wary, Tobin did as she asked and watched in amazement as she knelt in the middle of the bed and began to make those alarming sounds, moaning, laughing deep in her throat, and letting out little yelps very much like those that were echoing around them now. Then, to his complete consternation, she began to bounce on the bed like a child. Without breaking off her cries, she grinned and held out her hands to Tobin.

Understanding at last, he joined her and started bouncing on his knees with her. The bed ropes creaked and the rails rattled. She raised her voice in an impressive crescendo, then collapsed on the bed with a breathy sigh. Burying her face in the coverlet, she smothered a fit of giggling.

“Well done, coz!” Korin called drunkenly.

Tobin covered his mouth with both hands to stifle his own sudden laughter. His companion looked up at him, eyes bright with shared merriment, and whispered gleefully, “I believe your reputation is safe, my prince.”

Tobin lay down close beside her so he could keep his voice low. “But why?”

She rested her chin in her hands and gave him a sly look. “My task is to bring my customers pleasure. Did that please you?”

Tobin stifled another laugh. “Very much!”

“Then that’s what I shall report to your cousin and the king when they ask me. Which they will.” She gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. “You’re not the first, my dear. A few of your friends out there share the same secret.”

“Who?” Tobin asked. She clucked her tongue at him and he blushed again. “How can I thank you? I don’t even have my purse with me.”

She stroked his cheek fondly. “You are an innocent, aren’t you? A prince never pays, my dear, not among my sort. I only ask that you remember me kindly and treat my sisters well when you’re older.”

“Your sisters—? Oh, I see. Yes, I will. But I don’t even know your name.”

She considered this, as if weighing the question. At last she smiled again, and said, “It’s Yrena.”

“Thank you, Yrena. I won’t forget your kindness, not ever.”

He could hear people moving around, the rustle of clothing and the rattle of belts.

“We’d better put on the finishing touches.” Grinning, she pulled the lacings of his tunic awry, tousled his hair, and pinched color into his cheeks with her fingers. Then, like an artist, she pulled back to inspect her work. “Nearly there, I think.” Going to a small side table, she took up an alabaster rouge pot and painted her lips, then kissed him several times on the face and neck. When she was done she wiped her mouth on the sheet and pressed a last kiss to his brow. “There now, don’t you look the proper wastrel? If your friends ask for details, just smile. That should be answer enough for them. If they insist on dragging you back, say you’ll have only me.”

“Do you think they might?” Tobin whispered, alarmed.

Laughing silently, Yrena kissed him again and sent him on his way.

Yrena’s ruse worked. The Companions carried him back to the keep in triumph and the squires listened enviously as the other boys bragged about their evening’s conquests. Tobin felt Ki’s eyes on him every time he avoided answering questions.

Alone in their room later, Tobin could hardly look him in the face.

Ki hiked himself up onto the windowsill, grinning expectantly. “Well?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Tobin told him the truth. Ki might laugh at him, but they could laugh together.

But his friend’s reaction wasn’t quite what he’d hoped. “You mean, you—couldn’t?” he asked, frowning. “You said she was pretty!”

Every time he’d lied to Ki, it had been because of the same secret, and every time it had felt like a betrayal.

Tobin struggled with himself a moment longer, then shrugged. “I just didn’t want to.”

“You should have said something. Korin would have let you pick another—”

“No! I didn’t want any of them.”

Ki stared down at his dangling feet for a long time, then sighed. “So it is true.”

“What’s true?”

“That you—” It was Ki blushing now, and he still wouldn’t look at Tobin. “That you don’t—you know—fancy girls. I mean, I thought when you got older and all—”

The panic Tobin had felt in the brothel tent crept back. “I don’t fancy anyone!” he shot back. Fear and guilt made the words come out angry.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—” Ki slid off the sill and took him by the shoulders. “That is, well—Oh, never mind. I didn’t mean anything by it, all right?”

“Yes, you did!”

“It doesn’t matter, Tob. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Tobin knew that wasn’t true, but that Ki wanted it to be.

If only I could tell him, Tobin thought. If he knew the truth. How would he look at me then? The urge to blurt it all out was so strong that he had to turn away and press his lips together to stop the words.

Somewhere nearby, he could hear Brother laughing.

Neither of them spoke of it again, but Ki didn’t join in with the others’ good-natured teasing when Tobin found excuses not to go back to the painted tent.

Tobin rode out alone more often after that, searching for Lhel and Arkoniel, but they were still nowhere to be found.

45

The king kept his promise and at mid-Kemmin, the Companions rode out to hunt bandits in the hill country north of Ero. Korin talked as brashly as ever, but Tobin could tell that he was anxious to redeem himself in their eyes. According to Tharin, whispers about his previous falter had found their way around the Palatine.

The night before the Companions left, the king hosted a feast in their honor. Princess Aliya sat at her father-in-law’s right and played hostess. In spite of early fears, this pregnancy had progressed well. The birth was expected soon after the Sakor festival and her belly filled out the front of her gown like a great round loaf.

The king continued to dote on her, and she was all sweetness with him, and with everyone in public. In private, however, Ki’s prediction had proven true. She was still the same harridan she’d always been, and the discomforts of her state had not improved her temper. Tobin escaped her sharp tongue most days, though only because he was Kin. Korin wasn’t so fortunate; already exiled from his lady’s bed for months, he’d quietly gone back to his old ways. Aliya had learned of it, of course, and the ensuing rows had become legendary. According to her lady-in-waiting, the princess had a strong throwing arm and excellent aim.

None of this made Tobin like her any better, but he found himself fascinated by her all the same, for she was the first pregnant woman he’d known. Lhel said this was part of a woman’s secret power and he began to see what she meant, especially after Aliya insisted that he put his hand on her belly to feel the child move. Mortified at first, his embarrassment gave way to wonder as something hard and slippery skittered fleetingly against his palm. After that he often caught himself staring at her belly, watching for that mysterious play of movement. That was Korin’s child, and his own kin.

That winter started wet and unseasonably warm. The Companions and their men set out in drizzle and didn’t see the sun again for weeks. The roads were churned mud under their horses’ hooves. Inns and forts were sparse in this part of the country, so they spent most nights in waxed canvas tents—damp, cheerless encampments.

The first pack of bandits they found was a paltry one, just a few ragged men and boys who’d been stealing cattle. They surrendered without a fight and Korin hanged the lot.

A week later they found a stronger band entrenched in a hillside cave. They captured their horses, but the men were well armed and held out for four days before hunger forced them out. Even then, they fought fiercely. Korin killed the leader in the midst of a bloody melee. Tobin added three more to his score, and without any help from Brother. He hadn’t tried summoning the ghost or seen any sign of him since leaving the keep.

The soldiers stripped the bodies before burning them, and only then was it discovered that eight were women, including Ki’s second kill. She had grey in her hair and old scars on her arms.

“I didn’t know,” he said, troubled.

“She was a bandit, Ki, same as the others,” Tobin told him, but it gave him an odd feeling in his stomach, too.

Tharin and Koni had paused over another body. Tobin recognized the stained green tunic in Koni’s hands; this had been one of his own kills. This woman was older than the other. Her sagging breasts and the thick streaks of white in her hair made him think of Cook.

“I knew her,” Tharin said, draping a ragged cloak over the body. “She was a captain in the White Hawk Regiment.”

“I can’t believe I fought a woman!” Alben cried, rolling one of his kills over with his foot. He spat in disgust.

“There’s no shame in it. They were warriors in their day.” Tharin spoke quietly, but everyone heard the angry edge behind the words.

Porion shook his head. “No true warrior goes freebooter.”

Tharin turned away.

Korin spat on the dead captain. “Renegade trash and traitors, all of them. Burn them with the others.”

Tobin had no sympathy for lawbreakers—Una and Ahra had both found ways to serve without turning renegade and the women of Atyion were content to wait. But Tharin’s unspoken anger stayed with him, unsettling as the smell of burned flesh that clung to their clothing as they rode away.

The dead captain haunted Tobin’s dreams for weeks after, but she was not a vengeful spirit. Naked and bloody, she knelt weeping to lay her sword at his feet.

46

The rains held steady through Cinrin. On Mourning Night high winds blew in off the sea, tearing the black shrouds from the bronze festival gongs and scattering them like funeral offerings through the rain-lashed streets. The gongs clashed against their posts, sounding a midnight alarm instead of the dawn triumph.

There were bad omens during ritual, as well. The Sakor bull resisted, tossing its head, and it took the king three strokes to make the critical gash. When Korin delivered the entrails and liver to the waiting priests, they found them riddled with worms. Propitiatory sacrifices were carried out at once, but a week later the portent was realized, or so it seemed.

Tobin was dining with Korin in his chambers that evening, a small affair in Aliya’s honor. Rain drummed hard on the roof, all but drowning out the harp player.

It was an informal meal, and everyone was reclining on couches. Aliya laughed as Erius endeavored to make her comfortable with extra cushions.

“You’re a carrack filled with treasure, my dear,” he said, patting the great swell of her belly. “Ah, there he is, the fine fellow, kicking at his grandfather. And again! Are you certain you only have one baby in there?”

“I’ve felt so many pokes and jabs, you’d think I’m bearing a whole regiment!” She cradled her swollen middle. “But it’s to be expected with a boy child, or so the drysians tell me.”

“Another boy.” Erius nodded. “The gods must favor a Skalan king, or the Maker would not send us so many. First Korin, then young Tobin here for my sister. And all the girls gone. A libation for my grandson, and a toast! To the kings of Skala!”

Tobin had no choice but to join in, and did so with mixed emotions. He wished the child no harm.

“That was a rather paltry libation, Tobin,” Erius chided, and Tobin realized with a start that he’d been watched.

“My apologies, Uncle,” he said, hastily pouring out half his cup on the floor. “Blessings on Korin and his family.”

“You mustn’t be jealous, coz,” Korin said.

“It’s not like anyone ever expected you to be the true second heir, is it?” Aliya said, and Tobin went sick all over, wondering if anyone else saw the flash of naked malice in her eyes. “You’ll always be Korin’s right hand, of course. And what greater honor could there be?”

“Of course.” Tobin forced a smile, wondering how she’d treat him once the child was born. “I never thought any differently.”

The feast went on, but Tobin felt as if the whole world had suddenly shifted out from under his feet. He was sure he saw Aliya’s father stealing hard looks at him, and the king’s smiles seemed false. Even Korin ignored him. The food was tasteless in his mouth, but he forced himself to eat, in case someone was still watching him, judging his demeanor.

The first dessert had just been served when Aliya let out a sharp cry and gripped her belly. “The pains,” she gasped, white with fear. “Oh Mother, the pains have come, just like last time!”

“It’s all right, poppet. It’s close enough to your time,” the duchess said, beaming. “Come, let’s get you to your bed. Korin, send for the midwives and drysians!”

Korin took Aliya’s hands and kissed them. “I’ll be with you soon, my love. Tobin, call the Companions and have them keep the vigil for us. My heir is coming!”

By custom, the Companions kept watch outside the birthing room. They milled nervously among the other courtiers, listening nervously to the shrill cries that came with increasing frequency from within.

“Is that how she’s supposed to sound?” Tobin whispered to Ki. “It sounds like she’s dying!”

Ki shrugged. “Some holler more than others, especially the first time.” But as the night dragged on and the cries turned to screams, even he grew uneasy.

The midwives came and went with basins and grim faces. Just before dawn one of them summoned Tobin inside. As Royal Kin, he was required to be among the witnesses.

A crowd stood around the curtained bed, but a place was made for him by the king and Korin. His cousin was sweating and pale. Chancellor Hylus, Lord Niryn, and at least a dozen other ministers were there, together with priests of all four gods.

Aliya had stopped screaming; he could her ragged panting from the bed. Through a gap in the hangings Tobin caught sight of one bare leg, streaked with blood. He looked away quickly, feeling like he’d seen something shameful. Lhel had spoken of magic and power; this was more like torture.

“Soon now, I think,” the king murmured, looking pleased.

As if in answer, Aliya let out a shrill scream that raised the hair on Tobin’s neck. It was followed by several others, but the voices were not hers. Aliya’s mother tumbled out from between the bed hangings in a dead faint and he heard women weeping.

“No!” Korin cried, tearing the curtains aside. “Aliya!”

Aliya sprawled like a broken doll in the middle of the blood-soaked bed, white as the linen nightgown rucked up around her hips. A midwife still knelt between her splayed legs, weeping over a swaddled bundle.

“The child,” Korin demanded, holding out his arms for it.

“Oh my prince!” the woman sobbed. “It was no child!”

“Show it, woman!” Erius ordered.

Keeping her face averted, the midwife turned back the wrappings. It had no arms, and the face—or what should have been the face—was featureless below the bulging, misshapen brow except for slitted eyes and nostrils.

“Cursed,” Korin whispered. “I am cursed!”

“No,” rasped Erius. “Never say that!”

“Father, look at it—!”

Erius whirled and struck Korin across the face, knocking the prince off his feet. Tobin tried to catch him, but ended up sprawled under him instead.

Grasping Korin by the front of his tunic, Erius shook him violently, shouting, “Never say that! Never! Never, do you hear me?” He let go of Korin and rounded on the others. “Anyone who carries this tale will be burned alive, do you hear me?” He slammed out of the room, shouting for the room to be put under guard.

Korin staggered back to the bed. His nose was bleeding; it trickled down over his mouth and into his beard as he clasped her limp hand. “Aliya? Can you hear me? Wake up, damn you, and see what we’ve done!”

Tobin scrambled away, desperate to escape. As he turned for the door, however, he caught sight of Niryn calmly examining the dead child. He’d turned away from the others; Tobin could see only the side of his face, but a lifetime of reading faces made him catch his breath. The wizard looked pleased—triumphant, even. Shocked, Tobin did not have time to retreat before the wizard looked up and caught him staring.

And Tobin felt it; that nauseating feeling of cold fingers tickling through his bowels. He couldn’t move or even look away. For a moment he was certain his heart had stopped in his chest.

Then he was released and Niryn was speaking to Korin as if the last few moments had not happened. The midwife had the little bundle now, though Tobin had not seen him pass it to her.

“It is undoubtedly necromancy,” Niryn was saying. He stood close to Korin, a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Rest assured, my prince, I will find the traitors and burn them.” He glanced at Tobin again, eyes cold and soulless as a snake’s.

Korin was weeping, but his fists were clenched and the muscles in his jaw worked furiously as he cried out, “Burn them. Burn them all!”

Standing outside with the others, Ki heard Erius shouting, and ducked out of the way when the king stormed out.

“Summon my Guard!” Erius roared, then rounded on the boys. “Go on, get out of here, all of you! Not a word, any of you. Swear it!”

They did, and scattered, all but Ki. Keeping watch from a doorway down the corridor, he waited until Tobin came out. One look at his friend’s white, dazed face was enough to make him glad he’d stayed. He hurried Tobin back to their rooms, bundled him into an armchair by the fire with blankets and a mazer of strong wine, and sent Baldus to find Nik and Lutha.

Tobin downed a full mazer before he could speak, then told them only what they already knew; that the baby was stillborn. Ki saw how his hand shook and knew there was more to the tale than that, but Tobin wouldn’t say. He just pulled his knees up under his chin and sat silent and shivering until Tanil arrived with news that Aliya was dead. Then Tobin put his head down and wept.

“Korin won’t leave her,” Mylirin told them as Ki tried to comfort Tobin. “Tanil and Caliel tried everything short of carrying him, until he ordered us out. He wouldn’t even let Caliel stay. Niryn is still there with him, talking of nothing but burning wizards! I’m going back now and staying outside that door until they come out. Can I send for you, Prince Tobin, if Korin wants you?”

“Of course,” Tobin whispered dully, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.

Mylirin gave him a grateful look and went out.

Nikides shook his head. “What wizard could hurt an unborn child? If you ask me, it’s Illior’s—”

“No!” Tobin lurched up in his chair. “Don’t say that. No one is to say that. Not ever.”

That was no stillbirth, thought Ki.

Nikides was sharp and caught it, too. “You heard the prince,” he told the others. “We never speak of it again.”

47

Lhel stayed with Arkoniel and the others at the mountain camp, but slept alone in her own hut. Her abrupt withdrawal hurt Arkoniel, she knew, but it was as it must be. The other wizards would not follow him if they saw him as her fancy man. As for Lhel, the Mother was not done with her.

As she’d foreseen, little Totmus died within a few weeks of their arrival. She joined the others in mourning him, but knew that the winter would be hard enough without a sickly one to tend. The others were strong.

With Cymeus to guide them, they strove to build a larger shelter before the storms hit. The children spent every spare minute gathering wood, and Lhel showed them how to forage for the year’s last roots and mushrooms, and how to smoke the meat Noril and Kaulin brought in. Wythnir and the girls added to their stores hunting rabbits and grouse with their slings. Malkanus made himself unexpectedly useful one day by spell-slaying a fat sow bear that wandered into the camp.

Lhel showed the town dwellers how to make use of every bone, tooth, and shred of sinew, and how to suck the rich marrow from the long bones. She taught them how to tan every hide, stretching the raw skins on cedar branch racks and rubbing them with a mash of ashes and brains to cure them. Despite all this, the older wizards still did not trust her or she them, and she was careful to keep her spellcraft hidden. Let Arkoniel teach them what he would. That was the thread the Mother had spun.

The provisions they’d brought and what little they could forage would not be enough and they all knew it. With a long winter staring them in the face, food, hay, clothing, and livestock would have to be carted in. Vornus and Lyan took the cart and set off along the north road to trade in the mining towns.

Snow found them soon after, sifting down from the grey sky in huge feathery flakes. Gentle but steady, it silently built up in mounds on the boughs and capped every stone and stump. By the time the wind was cold enough to make small, sharp flakes the Skalans had managed to construct a lean- to byre and one long, low-roofed cabin. It was crude, but large enough for them all to crowd into at night. They didn’t have enough rope or mud to chink the walls, but Cerana wove a spell against drafts and Arkoniel set another on the bough-thatched roof, knitting the green branches tight against the weather.

On the night of the winter solstice Lhel brought Arkoniel into her hut. He had no thought of the Mother or Her rituals as they coupled, but he was hot and eager, and the sacrifice was well made. The Mother granted Lhel visions that night, and for the first time since she’d taken the young wizard to her bed, she was glad that his seed could not fill her belly with a child.

By the time dawn came, she was miles away, leaving not so much as a footprint in the snow for a farewell.