Hidden Warrior

48

A farmer driving his cart home after the day’s trading in Ero noticed the little girl crying beside the road. He asked after her people, but she was too shy or too scared to tell him. Judging by her muddy wooden clogs and drab, rough-spun dress, she wasn’t from the city. Perhaps she’d fallen off the back of another farm wagon. He stood up and scanned the road ahead, but it was empty.

He was a kind man and, with night coming on and no help in sight, there seemed nothing to do but carry her home to his wife. The child stopped crying when he lifted her onto the seat, but she was shivering. He wrapped his cloak around her and gave her a bit of the sugar candy he’d bought for his own little daughters.

“We’ll tuck you in between my girls tonight and you’ll be warm as a weevil in porridge,” he promised, and clucked to his horse to walk on.

The little girl sneezed, then happily went on sucking the sugar lump. Born mute, she couldn’t tell the man that she didn’t understand his words. She knew he was kind, though, from the sound of his voice and the way he handled her. He was nothing like the strangers who’d carried her away from her village in a boat full of sad people and abandoned her on the roadside in the night.

She couldn’t thank him for the sugar either, and that made her sad, for it eased the hot, swollen feeling in her throat.

49

The dreary winter dragged on in Ero. Mourning banners for Aliya hung wet and tattered on every house and shop. Inside the Palatine walls everyone from the king to the lowest kitchen scullion wore black or dun and would for a year and a day. And the rains continued to fall.

The palace servants grumbled and burned censers of acrid herbs in the hallways. In the new Companions’ mess, the cooks brewed bitter drysian teas to purify their blood.

“It’s this open winter,” Molay explained, when Tobin and Ki complained of it. “When the ground doesn’t freeze, the foul humors breed thick, especially in the cities. No good will come of it.”

He was soon proven right. The Red and Black Death erupted with renewed fury all along the eastern coast.

Niyrn quietly moved Nalia, now nearly twenty, to Cirna. Thanks to their remote location and lack of shipping trade, the fortress and village had been untouched by disease. The girl and her nurse were dismayed by this grim, lonely new home, but Niryn vowed to visit more often.

By Dostin the deathbirds had burned more than twenty houses in Ero harbor, with their plague-ridden occupants nailed up inside.

But that did not stop the spread of it. A plague house was discovered near the corn dealer’s market, and the contagion spread through the surrounding neighborhood. Seven tenements and a temple of Sakor were burned there, but not before some of the terrified inhabitants escaped to spread the pestilence.

In mid-Dostin the Companions’ favorite theater, the Golden Foot, was struck, and the whole company of actors, along with their dressers, wigmakers, and all the servants were condemned by quarantine.

Tobin and Ki wept at the news. These were the same players who’d entertained them at the keep during the name day hunt; they’d made friends among the actors.

The Foot lay just five streets down from the Palatine gate and the loss was compounded when the king canceled all audiences and sent word forbidding any Companion to leave the palace until further notice. With all entertainments forbidden for the first month of mourning, the boys found themselves trapped.

Master Porion urged them to continue with their training, but Korin was too despondent and often too drunk. Dressed in black, he moped alone in his rooms or walked in the rooftop gardens, hardly answering when anyone spoke to him. The only companionship he seemed able to tolerate was that of his father or Niryn.

The winds shifted at month’s end and the drysians predicted that the shift would cleanse the air. Instead, a new and more devastating sickness struck. By all reports it had started in the countryside, with outbreaks reported from Ylani to Greyhead. In Ero the first cases were seen around the lower markets, and before any ban could be imposed it had already swept up to the citadel.

It was a pox, and began with soreness in the throat, followed within a day by the spread of small black pustules over the torso. If it stopped at the neck, the patient survived, but more often than not the spots spread to the face, then into the eyes, mouth, and finally, the throat. It reached its crisis within five days, at the end of which the sufferer was either dead, or hideously scarred and often blind. The Aurënfaie had seen such illnesses before and within days of the first outbreak there were few ’faie to be found in the city.

Niryn declared this the work of traitorous wizards turned necromancer. The Harriers redoubled their hunt despite more open dissent, especially against the burning of priests. Riots broke out around the Lightbearer’s temples. The king’s soldiers quelled such uprisings without mercy, but the burnings were once more held outside the city walls.

Illior’s crescent began to appear everywhere—scrawled on walls, painted on lintels, even crudely drawn in white trailor’s chalk on the mourning banners. People slipped into the Lightbearer’s temples under cover of dark to make offerings and seek guidance.

Wizards proved strangely immune to the pox, but Iya did not dare risk a visit to Tobin for fear of carrying the infection to him. Instead, she used Arkoniel’s translocation spell to send small ivory amulets inscribed with sigils of Illior to him, Ki, and Tharin.

As the outbreak worsened, piles of pox-ridden corpses mounted in the streets, abandoned by their frightened families at the first sign of illness, or perhaps simply dying where they’d fallen after blindly seeking help that never came. Anyone who even appeared infirm risked being stoned in the streets. The king gave orders for the sick to remain inside under pain of execution by the city guard.

Soon, however, there were few to enforce the order. Strong men—especially soldiers, seemed to be the most susceptible and the least likely to recover, while many who were old and infirm escaped with nothing worse than scars.

As the city sank into despair, Iya and her Wormhole compatriots grew bolder. It was they who drew the first crescents on city walls, and they who whispered to any who would listen: “ ‘So long as a daughter of Thelátimos’ line defends and rules, Skala shall never be subjugated.’ She is coming!”

Twenty-two wizards now lived in secret below the abandoned Aurënfaie shops. Arkoniel’s young shape changer, Eyoli, had joined them there when snow cut him off from Arkoniel’s camp in the mountains.

Cut off from their customary entertainments, the Companions soon grew restless. Tobin went back to his sculpting and gave lessons to any who wanted to learn. Ki showed a knack for it, and Lutha, too. Lynx could draw and paint, and they began to collaborate on designs for breastplates and helmets. Nikides shyly revealed a talent for juggling.

Caliel attempted to organize a company of players from available talent among the nobles, but after a few weeks everyone was thoroughly bored with each other. Cut off from the ladies of the town, most of the older boys made do with serving girls again. Zusthra was betrothed to a young duchess, but no marriages could be celebrated during the first months of official mourning.

The female pains troubled Tobin more often now, no matter what the moon’s phase was. Usually it came on as a fleeting ache, but other times, especially when the moon was new or full, he could almost feel something moving in his belly, the way Aliya’s child had. It was a frightening feeling and worse for having no one to talk to about it. He began to have new dreams, too, or rather one dream, repeated night after night with variations.

It began in the tower at the keep. He was standing in the middle of his mother’s old room there, surrounded by broken furniture and piles of moldy cloth and wool. Brother stepped from the shadows and led him by the hand down the stairs. It was too dark to see; Tobin had to trust the ghost and the feel of the worn stone steps under his feet.

It was all very clear, just as he remembered it, but when they reached the bottom of the stairs the door swung open and suddenly they were standing at the edge of a high precipice above the sea. It seemed like the cliffs at Cirna at first, but when he looked behind him, he saw green rolling hills marching into the distance and jagged stone peaks beyond. An old man watched him from the top of one of the hills. He was too far away to make out his features, but he wore the robes of a wizard and waved to Tobin as if he knew him.

Brother was still with him, and drew him away to the very edge of the cliff until Tobin’s toes hung over the edge. Far below, a broad harbor shone like a mirror between two long arms of land. By some trick of the dream, he could see their faces reflected there but his was the face of a woman and Brother had turned into Ki. In the way of dreams, it surprised him every time.

Still teetering precariously on the brink, the woman she’d become turned to kiss Ki. She could hear the stranger on the hill shouting to her, but the wind carried his words away. Just as her lips met Ki’s the wind pushed her over the edge and she fell—

It always ended that way and Tobin would wake to find himself sitting bolt upright in bed, heart pounding and an erection throbbing between his legs. He had no illusions about that anymore. On those nights when Ki stirred in his sleep and reached out to him, Tobin fled and spent the rest of the night wandering the palace corridors. Yearning for things he dared not hope for, he pressed his fingers to his lips, trying to recall the feel of that kiss.

The dream always left him low-spirited and a little scatterbrained the next day. More than once he caught himself staring at Ki, wondering what it would feel like actually to kiss him. He was quick to squelch such thoughts and Ki remained oblivious, distracted by the more tangible affections of several welcoming servant girls.

Ki slipped away with them more often now and sometimes didn’t come back until dawn. By unspoken agreement, Tobin did not complain of these sorties and Ki did not brag of them, at least not to him.

One windy night in Klesin, Tobin was alone once again, pondering designs for a set of jeweled brooches for Korin’s mourning cloak. It was a stormy night and the wind made lonely sounds in the eaves outside. Nik and Lutha had come by looking for him earlier, but Tobin was in no mood for company. Ki was off with Ranar, the girl in charge of the linens.

The work allowed him to escape his racing thoughts for a while. He was good at sculpting, even famous for it. During the previous year’s royal progress, pieces he’d made for his friends had caught the fancies of their hosts. Many had since sent gifts, along with precious metals and jewels, requesting a bit of jewelry to remember him by. The exchange of gifts was not only acceptable, Nikides had observed, but held the possibility of connections of other sorts being made later on. Who wouldn’t want to be thought well of by the future king’s beloved cousin? Tobin had read enough history to appreciate the wisdom of this advice and accepted most commissions.

Nonetheless, it was the work itself he really cared for. To bring an image in his head to reality in his hands pleased him in a way nothing else did.

He was nearly finished with the first wax carving when Baldus brought word of a visitor.

“I’m busy. Who is it?” Tobin grumbled.

“It’s me, Tobin,” Tharin said, looking in over the page’s head. His cloak was rain spattered and his long, pale hair windblown. “Thought you might like a game of bakshi.”

“Come in!” Tobin exclaimed, his dark mood falling away. It had been weeks since the two of them had had a quiet moment alone. “Baldus, take Sir Tharin’s cloak and fetch us wine. And send for something to eat—a dark loaf and some cold beef and cheese. And a pot of mustard, too! Never mind the wine. Bring us ale.”

Tharin chuckled as the boy ran off. “That’s barracks fare, my prince.”

“And I still prefer it and the company that goes with it.”

Tharin joined him at the workbench and examined the sketches and half-finished carvings. “Your mother would be proud. I remember when she gave you that first lump of wax.”

Tobin glanced up in surprise; Tharin seldom spoke of her.

“Your father, too,” he added. “But she was the artist of the pair. You should have seen him working on that toy city of yours. You’d have thought he was rebuilding Ero full scale, the way he labored over it.”

“I wish I could have shown him these.” Tobin pointed at three miniature wood-and-clay structures on a shelf over the bench. “Remember the Old Palace he made?”

Tharin grinned. “Oh, yes. Out of a fish-salting box, as I recall.”

“I never noticed! Well, these aren’t much better. As soon as the plague bans are lifted, I’m going to talk to real builders and ask to learn their craft. I see houses in my head, and temples with white columns and domes even, bigger than anything in Ero.”

“You’ll do it, too. You’ve a maker’s soul, as much a warrior’s.”

Tobin looked up in surprise. “Someone else told me that.”

“Who was that?”

“An Aurënfaie goldsmith named Tyral. He said Illior and Dalna put the skill in my hands, and that I’d be happier making things than fighting.”

Tharin nodded slowly, then asked, “And what do you think, now that you’ve done both?”

“I’m a good warrior, aren’t I?” he asked, knowing that Tharin was probably the only person who’d ever give him an honest answer.

“Of course you are! But that’s not what I asked.”

Tobin picked up a slender triangular file and twirled it between his fingers. “I guess the Aurënfaie was right. I’m proud to fight, and I’m not afraid. But I am happiest messing about with all this.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know.”

“Would my father say the same?”

Baldus and two servers bustled in with bottles and trays and laid a table for them by the hearth. Tobin sent them out again, and poured the ale while Tharin cut slices of meat and cheese and set them to warm on thick slices of bread by the fire.

“This is almost as good as being home,” Tobin said, watching him work. “It’s been a long time since you and I have sat alone by a hearth. What made you think of it tonight?”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to. But as it happens, I’ve had rather an odd visitor today. A woman named Lhel, who claims to be a friend of yours. Yes, I can see by your face you know the name.”

“Lhel? But how did she get here?” Tobin’s heart turned to lead in his chest as Iya’s warning echoed in his memory. What would she do if Lhel had told Tharin his secret?

Tharin scratched his head. “Well now, that’s the odd part. She didn’t so much come to me as appear. I was reading in my room and heard someone call my name. When I looked up, there was this little hill woman, floating in the middle of the room in a circle of light. I could see the keep behind her, clear as I see you now. To be honest, I thought maybe I’d dreamed it all until just now.”

“Why did she come to you?”

“We had quite a chat, she and I.” Tharin’s eyes grew sad. “I’m not a brilliant man like your father and Arkoniel, but I’m no fool, either. She didn’t tell me much I hadn’t guessed at already.”

Tobin had longed to speak the truth to Tharin, but now he could only sit dumbstruck, waiting to hear how much Lhel had actually revealed.

“I wasn’t there when you were born,” Tharin said, bending down to turn the bread on the hearthstones. “It always struck me odd, Rhius sending me off just then on an errand his steward could have taken care of. I’d always thought it was your mother’s doing.”

“My mother?”

“She was jealous of me, Tobin, though Illior knows I never gave her any cause to be.”

Tobin shifted uneasily in his chair. “Ki told me—That is, about you and my father.”

“Did he? Well, that was all in the past by the time he married her, but it was no secret, either. More than once I offered to take some other post, but Rhius wouldn’t hear of it.

“So that night I thought it was her decision, me not being there. I didn’t think much of it until the day your father died. I told you how his last words were of you, didn’t I? But I never told you what he said. He knew he was dying—” Tharin stopped and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. You’d think after all this time—But it’s always like it was yesterday. With his last breath he whispered to me, ‘Protect my child with your life. Tobin must rule Skala.’ Illior forgive me, I thought his mind was wandering. But later, when I told Arkoniel about it, the look in his eyes said otherwise. He couldn’t tell me more and asked me if I could keep my vow to your father, knowing no more than I did. You can guess the answer to that.”

Tobin blinked back tears. “I’ve always trusted you.”

Tharin raised his fist to his breast in salute. “I pray you always do, Tobin. As I said before, I’m not clever, and I came to think that with all the wars and plagues, maybe you’d be the last heir left to take the throne. But there were other things I’d wondered about. Like why you and Ki called that demon twin of yours ‘Brother’ rather than ‘Sister.’ ”

“You heard that? And you never asked.”

“I gave Arkoniel my word I wouldn’t.”

“But Lhel came and told you about him?”

“She didn’t have to. I saw him.”

“Where?”

“At Lord Orun’s house the day he died.”

“He killed Orun,” Tobin blurted out.

“I thought as much. He was still crouched over the body when I kicked the door in. I thought it was you at first, until the thing looked around at me. By the Light, I don’t know how you’ve stood it all these years. The one glimpse I had turned my blood cold.”

“But you never told Iya what he did.”

“I thought you would.”

“What else did Lhel tell you? About me?”

“That you must claim the throne someday. And that I should keep myself ready and never doubt you.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all, except that she’d had her eye on me for a long time and thought well of me.” He shook his head. “I knew what she was the minute I saw the witch marks on her face. But even so, I was glad of her good opinion.”

“She always said Iya and Father should have told you. Arkoniel thought so, too. It was Iya who said no. I know Father would have, if it hadn’t been for her.”

“It doesn’t matter, Tobin. He did tell me in his own way when it mattered the most.”

“It was to protect you,” Tobin admitted, though he still held it against the wizard. “She says Niryn can read minds. I had to learn how to cover my thoughts. That’s why Ki doesn’t know, either. You won’t tell him, will you?”

Tharin handed Tobin some of the warm bread and cheese. “Of course I won’t. But I imagine it’s been hard on you, keeping so much to yourself all this time. Especially from him.”

“You don’t know how many times I almost said something! And now—”

“Yes, and now.” Tharin took a bite of bread and chewed it slowly before going on. At last he sighed, and said, “Ki knows how you feel about him, Tobin. Anyone can see it, the way you look at him. He loves you in his way, too, but it’s as much as you can expect from him.”

Tobin felt his face go hot. “I know that. He’s got half a dozen girls in love with him. He’s with one of them now.”

“He’s his father’s son, Tobin, and can’t help wanting to play the tomcat.” He gave Tobin a wry look. “There are those who’d welcome a warm look from you, you know.”

“I don’t care about that!” But even as he said it, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered Who?

“Well, it might be wise to at least consider it. Lhel said as much. A fellow your age ought to be showing some interest, especially a prince who can have his choice.”

“What does it matter to anyone?”

“It matters. And it would be easier on Ki if you seemed happier.”

“Lhel told you this?”

“No, Ki did.”

“Ki?” Tobin wished the chair would swallow him.

“He can’t feel what you want him to feel, and it hurts him. You know he would if he could.”

There was no answer for that. “Everyone’s always said I’m odd. I guess they can just go on thinking it.”

“You have good friends, Tobin. One of these days you’ll find out just how good. I know this is hard for you—”

“You know? How could you know?” All the years of fear and secrets and pain caved in around him. “How could you know what it’s like to always have to lie, and be lied to? To not even know what your real face looks like until someone shows it to you? And Ki? At least my father knew how you really felt!”

Tharin busied himself with the bread again. “And you think that made it easier, do you? It didn’t.”

Tobin’s anger dissolved to shame. How could he rail at Tharin, of all people, especially after he’d revealed so much? Sliding from his chair, he clung to him, hiding his face against Tharin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I had no right to say that!”

Tharin patted his back as if Tobin was still the little boy he’d carried on his shoulders. “It’s all right. You’re just starting to see what the world’s really like.”

“I’ve seen it. It’s ugly and hateful.”

Tharin tilted Tobin’s chin up with one finger and looked him sternly in the eye. “It can be. But the way I see it, you’re here to change that, make it better. A lot of folks have gone to a lot of trouble for you. Your father died for it, and so did your poor mother. But you’re not alone as long as I’m alive. Whenever the time comes, I promise you, I won’t let you be alone.”

“I know.” Tobin sat back and wiped at his nose. “When the time comes, I’m going to make you a great, rich lord, and no one can stop me.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” Tharin’s faded blue eyes were bright with amusement and affection as he handed Tobin another slice of bread. “I’m right where I want to be, Tobin. I always have been.”

50

The storm that night was so loud that the Palatine guards did not hear the first alarms in the lower city. Runners brought word, spreading panic up to the citadel like wildfire.

The sound of gongs and shouting woke Ki. He thought at first that he was dreaming of the Sakor festival. He was about to pull the pillows over his head when Tobin lurched out of bed, taking the covers with him.

“It’s an alarm, Ki. Get up!” he cried, fumbling about in the dim glow of the night lamp. Ki sprang from bed and pulled on the first tunic his hands found.

Molay burst in still wearing his nightshirt. “It’s an attack, my lords! Arm yourselves! The king wants every man to the audience chamber!”

“Is it Plenimar?” asked Tobin.

“That’s what I heard, my prince. The messenger claims the districts outside the walls are in flames from Beacon Head to Beggar’s Bridge.”

“Go wake Lutha and Nik—”

“We’re here!” Lutha cried, as they rushed in with their squires.

“Get dressed. Arm yourselves and meet me here,” Tobin ordered. “Molay, where’s Korin?”

“I don’t—”

“Never mind! Send for Tharin and my guard!”

Ki’s hands shook as he helped Tobin into his padded shirt and hauberk. “This is no bandit raid, eh?” he muttered, trying to make light of it. “Tobin?” For a moment he thought his friend hadn’t heard.

“I’m all right. This just isn’t quite how I pictured our first real battle.” Tobin took Ki’s hand in the warrior clasp. “You’ll stand by me, won’t you? No matter what?”

“Of course I will!” Ki searched Tobin’s face again. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Tobin squeezed Ki’s hand. “I’m sure. Come on.”

Iya stood on the roof of the tenement above the Worm-hole, cursing furiously against the wind. It blew in from the sea, carrying the stench of burning. The harbor wards were in flames and beyond that enemy warships blocked the harbor mouth. Skalan ships in dry dock had been set aflame, and those at anchor had been cut loose to run aground.

The enemy hadn’t breached the walls yet, but they would. She’d already scryed their positions and found sappers and necromancers at work. They’d set up catapults, as well, and were lobbing some sort of fire over the eastern wall. Smoke was already billowing in the dyers’ ward.

The streets below were impassable. Throngs of people were running downhill with any implement they could find. Others were trying to drive cartloads of household goods through the crowds, not realizing that there was no escape. The enemy had men before every gate.

None of that was her concern. She’d cast seeking spells for the boys already, only to find that they’d left the amulets she’d sent them in their room. Bracing herself against the wind, she closed her eyes and summoned another spell, though she already feared where they must be. Her eyes burned behind her lids; pain throbbed in her temples, but she found them at last.

“Damnation!” she screamed, shaking her fists at the sky.

There was no question of the Companions being left behind. With half the city garrison already dead of plague and Plenimaran rams pounding at every gate, no warrior could be spared. Armed with bows and swords, the boys took their place at the head of the column massed on the practice grounds. The king mounted his black charger and held up the Sword of Ghërilain. Raising his voice to be heard over the wind, he shouted, “There’s no time for long speeches. I’ve just gotten word that there are necromancers at the east gate. May Sakor judge the enemy for the cowards they are and give the victory to us today. Stand together, warriors of Skala, and drive the marauders from our shores! Every gate must be held, and every foot of wall. They must not enter!” Wheeling his horse, he led them out.

The rest of them followed on foot. Looking over his shoulder, Tobin could see Tharin and his men just behind him, bearing the royal standard of Atyion. Ki walked grimly at his side, their extra quivers rattling against his back.

They cleared the gates and Tobin caught his breath. In the grey light of dawn, he could see the banks of smoke rolling up from the ruins outside the city walls. There were defenders already on the walls, but too few and too sparsely deployed.

The reason for this soon became horrifyingly clear. The Companions had not been allowed down into the city since the pox struck, and none of the reports had prepared them for the reality of the situation. Ero was a charnel house.

Bodies lay rotting in every street, too many for the dead carriers to deal with. Perhaps they were all dead, too. Tobin shuddered as they passed a sow and her young pulling the body of a young girl to pieces. Everywhere he looked, the living stepped around the dead as if they were piles of garbage. Even with the cold wind, the stench was sickening.

“If the Plenimarans don’t get us, the pox will!” Ki muttered, clapping a hand across his mouth.

A ragged woman knelt keening over the body of her pox-raddled child, but looked up as they passed. “You are cursed, Erius son of Agnalain, and all your house! You’ve brought Illior’s curse down on this land!”

Tobin looked away quickly as a soldier raised a club to silence her. Erius gave no sign that he’d heard, but Tobin saw Korin flinch.

The streets near the east gate were nearly impassable, choked with panicked people, carts, and crazed animals of all sorts. Erius’ guard swept ahead with truncheons to clear the way.

At the walls, however, they found men, women, even children ready to repel the invaders. The tops of the walls and towers were lined with men, but there too they were thinly spread. As Tobin watched, a few enemy soldiers gained the top and were savagely repelled. Arrows hissed overhead, and some found their mark. Skalan warriors tumbled down to join the heaps of dead and dying below.

“Look,” said Ki, pointing to a pile of bodies. Two dead Plenimarans lay tangled with the others. They both wore black tunics over their mail, and had long black hair and braided beards. It was the first time either of them had actually seen a Plenimaran.

“To the walls!” Erius shouted, dismounting and brandishing his sword again.

“With me, Companions!” Korin cried, and Tobin and the others followed him up the shuddering wooden stairs to the hoardings above.

From here, Tobin could look down through the arrow slits and murder holes at the seething mass of fighters below. The Skalan defenders hurled stones down at them and dumped buckets of hot oil and tar, but it did no more than create a temporary gap in the press. The Plenimarans had already set up hundreds of square wooden mantlets to shelter their archers, and they kept up a steady hail of arrows from there. At the gate below, a sappers’ shed had been moved up against the doors and Tobin heard the dull, steady rhythm of a battering ram crew at work.

Shoulder to shoulder with Ki and Tharin, Tobin raised his bow and took aim at the forces swarming below. When their arrows were spent, they helped dump stones through the murder holes and push off scaling ladders. Some still made it up, however, and they found themselves running endlessly to beat them back. Ki was still beside him, and Tobin caught glimpses of some of the other boys, but as the battle went on they got separated from them among the other defenders. Tobin lost sight of Korin but even in the worst of it, Tharin and Ki were there at his back.

It all seemed to go on forever. They gathered what arrows they could and shot back, and used long poles to push off more scaling ladders. Tobin and Ki had just finished with another one, sending half a dozen men falling back onto their comrades, when an arrow struck the cheek guard of Tobin’s helm. He staggered and a second hit his right shoulder, bruising him through the mail and padding. Ki and Tharin pulled him to cover in a hoarding.

“How bad is it?” Tharin asked, ripping back the torn sleeve of Tobin’s surcoat.

Before Tobin could tell him that it was nothing, a catapult stone shattered the wooden wall a few feet from where they stood and they were all thrown to their knees.

An instant later a huge roar erupted to their left and the stone parapet shuddered beneath them. Screams rang out and men came stampeding past, shouting, “They’ve broken through!”

Leaping up, Tobin looked out through an arrow slit and saw a heap of shattered stone and wood where the gates had been. Enemy soldiers were pouring through.

“That’s necromancers’ work,” Tharin gasped. “The ramming crew was only a decoy!”

Caliel and Korin ran past. “Zusthra’s dead, and Chylnir!” Caliel cried, as Tobin and his men followed.

A few yards on they found Lynx crouched over Orneus, trying to shield his fallen friend from being trampled. Both of them were bloody. A black-fletched arrow had struck Orneus in the throat. His head lolled and his eyes were blank and fixed. Lynx threw his own helmet aside and tried to lift him.

“Leave him, he’s dead!” Korin ordered as he passed.

“No!” Lynx cried.

“You can’t help him!” yelled Tharin. Hauling the sobbing squire to his feet, he clapped the helmet back on his head and shoved him into a trot in front of him.

Fighting their way through another mass of men, they found General Rheynaris kneeling beside the king. Erius’ helm was gone and blood flowed from a gash across his brow, but he was alive and furious. As Korin reached him he staggered to his feet and pushed the others away. “It’s nothing, damn you! Get away from me and do your duty. They’ve broken through! Korin, take your men down the stair near Water Street and outflank the bastards. Get down there, all of you, and drive them back!”

Water Street was empty when they reached it and they stopped to take stock of who was left. Tobin saw with alarm that Lutha and Nikides weren’t with them.

“I lost sight of them about an hour ago,” Urmanis told them, leaning on Garol. His right arm hung useless in a makeshift sling.

“I saw them just before the gates went down,” said Alben. “They were with Zusthra.”

“Oh hell! Caliel, did you see them?” Ki asked.

“No, but if they were anywhere beyond where I last saw him—” Caliel trailed off hoarsely.

Tharin, Melnoth, and Porion took count and found they had fewer than forty men accounted for. Tobin looked anxiously around at his guardsmen and was glad to find most of them still with him. Koni gave him a weary salute.

“There’s no time to worry about the missing now,” Captain Melnoth said. “What are your orders, Prince Korin?”

“Don’t worry,” Tharin murmured to Tobin. “If Nikides and Lutha are alive, they’ll find us.”

“Prince Korin, what are your orders?” Melnoth asked again.

Korin stared toward the sound of fighting, saying nothing.

Porion moved to the prince’s side. “Your orders, my prince.”

Korin turned and Tobin read fear plain in his cousin’s eyes. This must be what Ahra had seen during that first raid. Korin looked imploringly at Porion. Melnoth turned away to hide his look of dismay.

“Prince Korin, I know this part of the city,” Tharin told him. “We’d do best to go through that alley over there to Broad Street and see if we can pick off any scouting parties they send our way.”

Korin nodded slowly. “Yes—yes, we’ll do that.”

Ki shot Tobin a worried look as they drew their swords and followed.

They encountered two small scouting groups and managed to kill most of them, but as they headed back toward the gates they were nearly overrun by a huge force running through the streets with torches, setting everything in their path ablaze. There was no choice but to run.

“This way!” Korin yelled, dashing up a side street.

“No, not that way!” shouted Tharin, but the prince was already gone. They had no choice but to follow.

Rounding a corner, they found themselves cornered in a small market square. No other streets let out from it, and several of the surrounding buildings were already in flames. Dashing through the nearest doorway, they took cover in an inn, only to find that more flames blocked the sole exit in the back.

Tobin ran to the front of the house and peered out through a broken shutter. “Oh hell, Kor, we’re trapped!”

The enemy had followed them. There were at least sixty men outside, talking among themselves in their coarse, guttural tongue. Several were advancing with torches to set the inn afire; as Tobin and the others watched, they threw the brands onto the roof. Archers stood ready to shoot anyone who tried to escape out the front.

“We’ll have to fight our way through,” said Ki.

“There are too many!” Korin snapped. “It’s madness to go out there.”

“And it’s death if we stay here,” Porion told him. “If we put your guard in the forefront and Prince Tobin’s behind, we might be able to rush them.” He gave them a grim smile. “This is what I trained you for, boys.”

There was little hope and they all knew it, but they formed up quickly, with the Companions massed around Korin. Everyone looked scared, except Lynx, who hadn’t spoken since they’d come off the walls. Clutching his sword, he saw Tobin watching him and made him a slight bow, as if to say farewell.

Tobin caught Ki’s eye and did the same, but Ki just set his jaw stubbornly and shook his head. Behind them, Tharin muttered what sounded like, “I’m sorry,” as he rubbed the smoke from his eyes.

“On your order, Prince Korin,” whispered Melnoth.

Tobin was proud to see that Korin did not falter as he raised his hand to give the signal.

Before they could throw the doors open, however, they heard an outcry in the yard, then screams of pain.

Rushing back to the windows, they saw Plenimaran soldiers writhing on the ground, engulfed by blue-white flame. It spread to any who tried to help them, and the rest were already scattering in panic.

“The Harriers!” Korin exclaimed.

Tobin had guessed the same but saw only a few ragged-looking people running away down the alley. Then a lone figure stepped from the shadows into the red light. “Prince Tobin, are you there?”

It was Iya.

“I’m here!” he called back.

“It’s safe for the moment, but we’d best hurry,” she called.

Melnoth grabbed his arm as he started for the door. “You know her?”

“Yes. She was a friend of my father. She’s a wizard,” he added, as if it needed any explanation.

Iya bowed low to Korin as they came out. “Are you hurt, Highness?”

“No, thank you.”

Tobin stared down at the charred, twisted corpses around the yard. “I—I didn’t know you could do—”

“I had a bit of help. They’ve gone on to see what else they can do to halt the invaders. I fear there’s little hope, though. Prince Korin, your father was wounded and carried back to the Palatine. I suggest you join him there at once. Come, I know a safe route. The Plenimarans haven’t broken through to the upper wards yet.”

Night was coming on and a cold drizzle soaked them as they trudged toward the Palatine. A heavy lethargy stole over Tobin, and the other boys were silent, too. It went beyond exhaustion or hunger. They’d all looked Bilairy in the face at that inn; if it hadn’t been for Iya and her mysterious helpers, they’d all be roasting in the embers.

Their way was blocked here and there by rough barricades—carts, furniture, chicken coops, scraps of lumber—anything the panicked defenders had been able to lay their hands on. In one street they were forced to crawl under a cartload of pox victims.

It was quiet here, but there had been fighting. Men of both armies lay dead in the streets, and Tobin saw several Harrier wizards and guards among the dead.

“I didn’t think you could kill them!” Alben exclaimed, giving a dead wizard a wide berth.

“You can kill most wizards easily enough.” Iya paused and held her hand over what remained of the dead man’s face. After a moment she shook her head contemptuously. “Most of these white-robes are just bullies who’ve learned to hunt in packs. They intimidate and torture those weaker than themselves like wolves chasing down a sick deer. They’re good for little else.”

“You’re speaking treason, Mistress,” Korin warned. “I tell you that as someone who owes you his life, but you must be careful.”

“Forgive me, my prince.” Iya tapped the numbered brooch at her throat. “I know better than you how dangerous it is to speak against your father’s wizards. I’ll presume once more, though, and tell you that his fears are misplaced. The wizards and priests who’ve died were as loyal to Skala as you or I. We’re fighting for Ero even now. I hope you’ll remember that later on.”

Korin gave her a curt nod, but said nothing.

The upper wards were untouched, but from their vantage point Tobin could see that much of the lower city was burning, the flames spread by the marauders and the wind.

As the Palatine gate came into sight ahead of them Iya motioned for Ki to go on ahead and drew Tobin aside. “Keep close to your friends,” she whispered. “Your hour is coming and this is the sign. The Afran Oracle showed me, though I did not understand at the time. Keep the doll with you. Don’t be parted from it!”

Tobin swallowed hard. “It’s at the keep.”

“What? Tobin, what possessed you—”

“My mother took it back.”

Iya shook her head. “I see. I’ll do what I can, then.” She looked around quickly, then whispered, “Keep Koni by you at all costs. Don’t let him out of your sight, do you hear?”

“Koni?” The young fletcher was one of Tobin’s favorites among his guard, but Iya had never shown any interest in the man before.

“I have to leave you now. Remember all I’ve said.” And she was gone, as if the earth had swallowed her.

“Iya?” Tobin whispered, looking around in alarm. “Iya, I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know what to do!”

But she was gone and some of the others were looking back at him, wondering why he’d lagged behind. Tobin ran to catch up.

“Funny, her showing up like that just when she was needed, and gone just as fast, eh?” said Ki.

“There you are!” Koni exclaimed, falling in beside them. Tobin wanted to ask if Iya had spoken to him, too, but didn’t dare with so many others listening. “I lost you once down there on the walls. I don’t mean to again.”

“Or me,” said Tharin, looking more haggard than Tobin had ever seen him. “That was a bad moment, back there.” He shot a quick look at Korin and lowered his voice. “Keep your eye on me during the next fight.”

“I will.” It still hurt to think ill of Korin, but he’d seen it for himself this time, the hesitation Ahra had spoken of. It had nearly cost them their lives.

51

“How is my father?” Korin demanded of the guards at the Palatine gate.

“Wounded, my prince,” the sergeant told him. “He sent word to tell you that he’s in the summer pavilion near the temple. You’re to go to him at once.”

The Palatine was crowded with the wounded and refugees from the lower wards, and with livestock driven there in case of siege. Goats and sheep bleated at them from villa gardens, and pigs were rooting along the elm-lined avenue beyond the gate.

Scattered cheers greeted the Companions as they hurried on. The palaces and most of the villas were dark as Mourning Night, but watch fires burned everywhere. The open grounds and gardens where they’d trained now looked like a battlefield. People huddled around fires, cloaks pulled over their heads against the rain. The smells of smoke and cooking were heavy on the air. Tobin could hear children crying in the dark, horses nickering, and, on all sides, the steady murmur of worried talk.

The pavilion was brightly lit. Inside, officers and nobles milled about nervously, keeping a hushed watch.

A smaller group was gathered around a table at the center of the enclosure. The other Companions hung back as Tobin and Korin went to join them.

“My princes, thank the Four!” Hylus called, as they approached. “We feared you were lost.”

Erius lay on a table, his face white, eyes closed. He was naked from the waist up and Tobin saw that his right side was badly bruised, and his arm splinted. The Sword of Ghërilain lay at his left side, the blade black with blood.

General Rheynaris was with him, and Niryn stood at the foot of the table, looking grave. Officers and servants stood close by and Tobin saw Moriel among them. He was dressed for battle and his surcoat was stained with soot and blood. He met Tobin’s eye and saluted him. Surprised, Tobin nodded at him, then turned back to the king.

Korin’s face was pale in the firelight as he leaned over his father. “What happened?”

“A necromancer’s spell struck the wall near us soon after we last saw you, my prince,” Rheynaris replied. His face was bloody and his left eye was swollen shut. “It shattered the wall and fragments struck your father down.”

Korin clasped the king’s good hand. “Will he live?”

“Yes, my prince,” a grey-haired drysian replied.

“Of course I will,” Erius rumbled, opening his eyes. “Korin—What news in the city?”

Rheynaris caught the prince’s eye and shook his head.

“The fight goes on, Father,” Korin told him.

Erius nodded and closed his eyes again.

Tobin stood with them for a while, then went back to join the others around one of the braziers near the stairs.

They’d been there for some time when a familiar voice cried out, “There they are. They’re alive!”

Nikides and Lutha emerged from the crowd below and ran to embrace Tobin and Ki. Barieus was with them, but there was no sign of Ruan. They were as filthy as everyone else, but appeared to be unhurt.

“We thought you’d died with Zusthra at the gates!” Tobin replied, relieved beyond words to see his friends alive.

“Where’s Ruan?” asked Ki.

“Dead,” Nikides said, and his voice was hoarse with emotion. “A Plenimaran came at me from behind and Ruan got between us. He saved my life.”

Ki sat down heavily on the steps beside Lynx. Barieus sat with him and pulled his cloak over his head.

“Oh Nik, I’m sorry. He died a hero,” Tobin said, but the words were hollow. “Orneus is dead, too.”

“Poor Lynx.” Lutha shook his head. “That’s three more of us gone.”

The drysians must have done their work well, for when they’d finished the king refused to be carried to the palace, but instead demanded a chair be brought. Moriel and Rheynaris helped him into it and Korin placed the Sword of Ghërilain across his father’s knees. Niryn and Hylus stood behind the makeshift throne like sentinels.

Erius leaned heavily on the arm of the chair, fighting for breath. Erius gestured for Korin to kneel by his side and they spoke for a while in low voices. The king gestured to Niryn, Rheynaris, and Hylus to join them, and the debate went on.

“What’s going on?” Tobin whispered to Nikides. “Your grandfather looks worried.”

“The reports are bad. Our warriors managed to block the east gate again, but there are still Plenimarans loose in the lower wards, and word came in a while ago that another group has broken through at the south gate. Their necromancers are worse than any of the stories. The Harriers are all but useless against them.”

Lutha glanced over at Niryn. “Seems all they’re good for is burning wizards and hanging priests.”

“Careful,” Tobin warned.

“What it comes down to is that we can’t hold them off,” Lutha said, keeping his voice down. “We just don’t have enough men.”

Nikides nodded. “No one wants to say it yet, but Ero is lost.”

The rain had stopped at last and the clouds were breaking up and scudding west. Patches of stars showed through, so bright they cast shadows. Illior’s crescent hung over the city like a sharp, white claw.

Food was brought out from the palaces and temples, but the Companions had little appetite. Wrapped in their cloaks against the cold spring night, they sat on the stairs and sharpened their swords, awaiting orders.

Tired beyond words, Ki finally gave up and put his back against Tobin’s, resting his head on his knees. Caliel and the remaining Companions sat with them, but no one felt like talking.

We wanted battle, and we got it, Ki thought dully.

Lynx had moved off by himself and sat staring at a nearby fire. Nikides was grieving silently for Ruan, too, but Ki knew it wasn’t the same. A squire was pledged to die for his lord. To fail in that was to fail in everything. But it wasn’t Lynx’s fault; it had been madness on the walls.

How much comfort would that be for me, if I’d lost Tobin? he thought bitterly. What if that arrow had hit him in the throat instead of the shoulder? What if Iya hadn’t shown up when she did? At least then we’d all be dead together.

As Ki watched, Tharin emerged from the darkness and went to Lynx, draping a blanket over the younger man’s shoulders. He spoke quietly to him, too soft for Ki to hear. Lynx drew his knees up and hid his face in his arms.

Ki swallowed hard and rubbed at the sudden stinging behind his eyelids. Tharin understood better than any of them how Lynx felt right now.

“What will happen to him?” Tobin whispered, and Ki realized he’d been watching, too. “Do you think Korin will let him stay a Companion?”

Ki hadn’t thought of that. Lynx was one of them, and one of the best. “Not much for him to go home to. His father’s a lord, but Lynx is the fourth son.”

“Maybe he could be Nikides’ squire?”

“Maybe.” But Ki doubted Lynx would welcome such an offer just yet. He hadn’t just been loyal to Orneus; he’d loved the drunken braggart, though Ki had never understood why.

In the pavilion behind them the generals were still talking with the king. The Palatine was eerily quiet, and Ki could hear the steady drone of prayer in the Temple of the Four; the smell of incense and burnt offerings seemed to permeate the air. Ki looked up at the cold sliver moon, wondering where the gods had been today.

The wind shifted soon after, carrying the smell of smoke and death up from the harbor, and the faint sound of enemy voices singing.

Victory songs, thought Ki.

A touch on his shoulder startled Tobin out of a doze.

It was Moriel. “The king is asking for you, Prince Tobin.”

Ki and Tharin followed silently, and Tobin was glad of their company.

Tobin could smell brandywine and healing herbs on the king from ten feet away, but his uncle’s eyes were sharp as he motioned for Tobin to take a stool at his feet. Hylus, Rheynaris, and Niryn were still there, and Korin, too. All of them looked grim.

Erius extended his left hand for Tobin’s and looked into his face so intently Tobin suddenly felt afraid. He said nothing, listening to the rasp and hitch of the king’s breathing.

After a moment Erius released him and sank back in his chair. “Pigeons were sent out this morning to the coastal cities,” he whispered hoarsely. “Volchi has been worse hit by this pox. They have no one to send. Ylani can raise some men, but the garrison there is small to begin with.”

“What about Atyion? Solari must be on his way by now.”

“There’s been no reply,” Hylus told him. “Several birds were sent, but none has returned. Perhaps the enemy intercepted them. Whatever the case, we must assume Solari has not heard the news.”

“You must go, Tobin,” the king rasped. “We must have Atyion’s might! With the standing garrison, Solari’s men, and the surrounding towns, you might be able to raise three thousand. You must bring them, and quickly!”

“Of course, Uncle. But how will I get there? The city’s surrounded.”

“The enemy doesn’t have enough men to completely hem us in,” Rheynaris told him. “They’ve concentrated their main force along the eastern wall and at the gates. But they’re stretched thin between, especially on the north and west sides. A small group could get out. My scouts found a likely spot near the northwest wagon gate. We’ll lower you through a murder hole. You’ll have to find horses once you get outside.”

“What do you say, Tharin?” the king asked.

“Assuming we can find fresh mounts along the way, we could be there by midday tomorrow. But the trip back will be slower, with so many marching. It might be three days before we get back.”

“Too long!” Erius growled. “Force march, Tharin, as we did at Caloford. If you don’t, there’ll be no city left to save. Ero is the heart of Skala. If it falls, Skala falls.”

“How many should I take with me?” asked Tobin.

“The fewer the better,” Rheynaris advised. “You’ll be less likely to be seen.”

“Even less so if they go dressed as common soldiers,” Niryn said.

Tobin gave the wizard a grudging nod. “Tharin and Ki will go with me.” He paused, then added quickly, “And my guardsman, Koni. He’s one of my best riders.”

“And me! Take me!” his other men clamored from the shadows outside the pillars.

“I’ll go.” Lynx shouldered his way past the others and strode over to kneel at Korin’s feet. “Please, let me go with him.”

Korin whispered to his father and Erius nodded. “Very well.”

“And me!” Lutha cried, struggling through the press.

“No,” Erius said sternly. “Korin must take my place in the field tomorrow and needs his Companions around him. There are too few of you left as it is.”

Abashed, Lutha bowed low, fist to his chest.

“That’s it, then. You four accompany Prince Tobin,” Rheynaris said. “I’ll see that you have plain garments and an escort to the wall.”

Erius raised his hand as they turned to go. “A moment, nephew.”

Tobin sat down again. Motioning him to lean closer, Erius whispered, “You’re your father’s son, Tobin. I know you won’t fail me.”

Tobin caught his breath, unable to look up.

“No false modesty now,” Erius croaked, misreading him. “I’m going to say something now that I shouldn’t, and you’re not to repeat it, you hear?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“My son—” Erius leaned closer, grimacing in pain. “My son is not the warrior you are.”

“No, Uncle—”

Erius shook his head sadly. “It’s true, and you know it. But he will be king, and tomorrow he faces the enemy in my place. Hurry back with those reinforcements, then stay close to him, now and always. It will be you standing in Rheynaris’ place when he wears the crown, won’t it? Promise me, Tobin.”

“Yes, Uncle.” The memory of his mother’s face the day she’d died made the lie come easier. But as he hurried away to change clothes, he could not meet Korin’s eye.

Korin couldn’t hear what his father was saying to Tobin, but something in his father’s expression troubled him. His unease deepened when Tobin would not look at him.

“What’s the matter, Father?” he asked, going back to the king. “Don’t worry, Tobin won’t fail. And I won’t either.” Kneeling, he held out his hands for the sword. “Give me your blessing, Father, that I may lead as wisely as you.”

Erius’ grip tightened on the hilt and his eyes hardened. “You’re overly hasty, my son. Only one hand wields the Sword of Ghërilain. While I have breath in my body, I am still king. Be content with proving yourself worthy of it.”

Only Niryn was close enough to hear the rebuff. Korin saw the wizard’s faint smile and swore revenge. “By the Four and the Flame, Father, I won’t fail you.”

Erius placed his left hand on Korin’s head. “By the Four and the Flame, I bless you. Keep Rheynaris with you and listen to his counsel.”

Korin bowed to the king and strode away. Rheynaris followed, but, still stinging from his father’s harsh words, Korin stubbornly refused to acknowledge him.

With Rheynaris’ scouts to guide them, Tobin and his small force hurried on foot through the deserted streets. His own guard and a dozen of the king’s armed men came with them to the north wall, but they met no resistance. The houses were shuttered on all sides. No light showed.

Climbing to the hoarding, they looked out through the arrow slits and noted the scattered watch fires below. The main concentration was along the harbor, but Tobin could see a chain of such fires scattered up the coastline, as well.

The land beyond the walls was flat, with little cover. The moon was down, but the stars gave enough light to make out the pale line of the high road.

In order to move quickly, Tobin and the others had left their heavy armor and shields behind. Clad in plain coats of studded leather, they wore their scabbards strapped on their backs and carried their bows in their hands.

“Here, Prince Tobin,” one of the scouts whispered, lifting a trapdoor over a murder hole. It was a dizzying drop, fifty feet or so. Rheynaris’ men readied the ropes they’d brought.

“I’ll go first,” Tharin whispered. Passing a knotted loop over his head, he tugged it securely up under his arms and sat down with his legs over the edge of the hole. He gave Tobin a wink as three brawny soldiers lowered him through.

Tobin lay on his belly and watched as Tharin reached the ground and melted quickly into the shadow of a nearby hedge.

Lynx went next, then Koni and Ki. Ki gave him a sickly grin as he slid off the edge and disappeared with his eyes squeezed shut.

Tobin went quickly, not giving himself time to think of the open space below his boots. Reaching the ground, he cast off the rope and ran to join the others.

Tharin had already taken stock. “We’ll have to stay clear of the road. They’ll be watching that and it’s bright enough for them to see us moving. There’s nothing to do but run for it and hope we find horses soon. Make sure your arrows are tamped.”

Tobin and the others checked the wadded wool stockings they’d stuffed into their quivers to keep the shafts from rattling.

“Ready,” said Ki.

“All right, then. Here we go.”

The first few miles were harrowing. The starlight seemed bright as noon and cast their shadows across the ground.

The steadings closest to the city had been overrun. They were not burned, but the livestock had been taken and the inhabitants slaughtered. Men, women, and children lay where they’d fallen, hacked to death. Tharin didn’t let them linger there, but hurried on to the next, and the next. It was several miles before they got north of the Plenimarans’ path of destruction. The steadings beyond were deserted, their byres empty. The farmland between was open fields, with only a few hedges and walls to shelter behind.

At last they spotted a sizable copse and ran for it, only to be greeted by the unmistakable twang of bowstrings as they neared the trees. A shaft sang by Tobin’s cheek, close enough for him to hear the buzz of the fletching as it passed.

“Ambush!” Tharin cried. “To the right! Get to cover.”

But as they ran that way swordsmen leaped out to meet them. There was no time to count, but they were outnumbered. Tobin was still reaching for his sword when Lynx let out his war cry and hurtled past him to charge the nearest swordsman. Men closed in around him as his blade found steel.

Then the others were on them. Tobin dodged the first man who reached him and swung a crushing blow across the back of his neck just below his helmet. He went down and two more leaped at Tobin. “Blood, my blood,” Tobin whispered without thinking, but Brother did not come.

Tobin fought on, flanked by Tharin and Ki. He could hear Koni shouting behind him, and the clash of steel off to his right told him Lynx was still standing.

The blood sang in Tobin’s ears as he met each attacker and drove him back. They were strong, but he held his own until there was no one left to fight. Bodies littered the ground around them and he saw others running away.

“Let them go,” Tharin panted, leaning on his sword.

“You all right, Tob?” Ki gasped.

“They never touched me. Where are the others?”

“Here.” Lynx strode out from the shadows under the trees, his blade black to the hilt in the starlight.

“That was a damn fool thing to do!” Tharin shouted, grabbing him by the arm and shaking him angrily. “You stay close next time!”

Lynx yanked free and turned away.

“Leave him alone,” said Tobin. “He acted bravely.”

“That wasn’t bravery,” Tharin snapped, glaring at the sullen squire. “If you want to throw your life away, you wait until we have the prince safe in Atyion! Your duty is to Prince Tobin now. Do you hear me, boy? Do you?”

Lynx hung his head and nodded.

Tobin looked around. “Where’s Koni?” No one else was standing.

“Oh, hell!” Tharin began searching through the bodies. The others did the same, calling Koni’s name. The fallen men all wore the black of Plenimar and Tobin didn’t think twice about sticking a knife in the few still moving.

“Koni!” he called, wiping his blade on his leg. “Koni, where are you?”

A low moan came from somewhere to his left. Turning, he saw a dark figure crawling slowly in his direction.

Running to him, Tobin knelt to examine his wounds. “How badly are you hurt?”

The young guardsman collapsed with a groan. The others reached them as Tobin gently turned him over. A broken arrow shaft protruded from his chest just below his right shoulder.

“By the Light!” Tharin leaned in for a closer look. “Who the hell is that?”

Tobin stared down in dismay at the fair-haired youth wearing Koni’s clothes. His chest was soaked with blood and his breath came in short, painful gasps. “I don’t know.”

The young man’s eyes flickered open. “Eyoli. I’m—Eyoli. Iya sent me. I’m—mind clouder.”

“A what?” Ki drew his sword.

“No, wait.” Tharin knelt by him. “You say Iya sent you. How do we know that’s true?”

“She told me to tell Prince Tobin—” He grimaced, clutching at his chest. “To tell you that the witch is in the oak. She said—you’d understand.”

“It’s all right,” Tobin said. “Back in Ero, she told me to keep Koni with me. He must be a wizard.”

“Not—not much of one.” The stranger let out a weak chuckle. “And even less of a fighter. She told me to stay close to you, my prince. To protect you.”

“Where’s Koni, then?” Tharin demanded.

“Killed, before the gates went down. I took his place and caught up with you before you were cornered at that inn.”

“He’s dead?” Grief-stricken, Tobin turned away.

“I’m sorry. It was the only way to stay with you. She said stay close,” Eyoli gasped. “That’s how she knew we were trapped. I sent word.”

“Does she know where we are now?” asked Tobin.

“I think so. She must not have been able to get out.”

Tobin looked back at the burning city. There was no question of waiting for Iya now.

“How badly is he hurt?” asked Ki.

“The arrow and a sword cut to his side,” Tharin replied. “We’ll have to leave him.”

“No!” cried Tobin. “He’ll die out here alone.”

“Go, please!” Eyoli struggled to sit up. “Iya will find me. You must go on.”

“He’s right, Tobin,” said Tharin.

“We’re not leaving him to die. That’s an order, do you hear me? He helped save all of us today. I won’t leave until we’ve done what we can for him.”

Tharin let out a frustrated growl. “Lynx, go find something for bandages. Ki, water bottles and cloaks. We’ll wrap him well and leave him in the trees. I’m sorry, Tobin, but we can’t do better than that.”

“I’m sorry to leave you a man short,” the wizard whispered, closing his eyes. “I should have told you—”

“You did your duty,” Tobin said, taking his hand. “I won’t forget that.”

Ki came back with the cloaks and bottles, as well as several bows. Dropping them beside Tharin, he said, “What do you make of these?”

Tharin picked one up, then another. “They’re Skalan made.”

“They all were, every one I saw. Swords, too, as much as I could make out.”

“Indeed?” Tharin set about cutting the arrow from Eyoli’s shoulder. The wizard clutched Tobin’s hand, trying not to cry out, but the pain was too much for him. Ki put a hand over his mouth and muffled the cries until Eyoli fainted. Tharin bandaged the wound, then picked up the bloody arrowhead and examined it closely for a moment. “Ki, Lynx, bundle him up as warm as you can and find a good hiding place for him in the trees. Leave him all the water you can find. Tobin, come with me.”

Tharin went to the nearest body and began feeling over the dead man’s chest and back with his hands. He let out a low grunt, then did the same with several other bodies. “By the Flame!”

“What is it?”

“Look at this,” Tharin said, sticking a finger into a rent in the dead man’s tunic. “Put your hand in it and tell me what you feel?”

“There’s no wound. He died of this sword cut to his neck.”

“The others were the same. And Ki’s right about the weapons, too. These are Skalans in Plenimaran clothes.”

“But why attack us?”

“Because they were ordered to, I’d say. And ordered to make it look like we were killed by the enemy.” He got up and hunted around for a moment, returning with a handful of arrows. They had thick shafts, with four-vane fletching rather than three. “Skalan bows, but Plenimaran arrows. Easy enough to come by after the fighting we saw today.”

“I still don’t understand. If we don’t get to Atyion, the city will fall!”

“It had to be someone who knew we were going to Atyion, by what route, and when. And know it in time to have this set up.”

“Not the king! Even if he wanted me killed, he wouldn’t sacrifice Ero.”

“Then it would have to be someone with him tonight. Perhaps it wasn’t Erius’ idea to send you.”

Tobin thought back. “Not Hylus!”

“No, I’d never believe that.”

“That leaves General Rheynaris and Lord Niryn.”

“And Prince Korin.”

“No! Korin wouldn’t do that. It had to be Niryn.”

“It doesn’t matter now. We’ve still got a long way to go and horses to find.”

Ki and Lynx had made Eyoli as comfortable as they could in a nest of cloaks under an oak just inside the copse.

“I’ll send someone for you,” Tobin promised.

Eyoli freed one hand from his wrapping to touch his brow and breast. “Go, my prince. Save your city.”

Just beyond the copse they came to a large steading. A low stone wall surrounded it and the gate hung open on its hinges.

“Careful, boys,” Tharin murmured.

But the place had been abandoned. The barn doors were open, and the corrals empty.

“Bilairy’s balls!” Ki panted, coming back from the barns empty-handed. “They must have driven the stock off rather than leave it for the enemy.”

Tharin sighed. “Nothing to do but keep going.”

They’d just reached the gate when they heard a strong, rushing wind.

Tobin looked around in surprise. The night was still, with hardly a breath of breeze.

The sound grew louder, then ended abruptly as a large, dark mass appeared out of thin air not ten feet from where they stood, tumbling and bouncing until it fetched up against a watering trough.

Tobin started toward it but Tharin held him back. Ki and Lynx advanced cautiously, swords drawn.

“I think it’s a man!” Lynx called back.

“It is, and he’s alive,” said Ki.

“A wizard?” said Tobin.

“Or something worse,” Tharin muttered, stepping in front of him.

The strange traveler rose slowly to his knees, holding up both hands to show that he was unarmed. Ki let out a yelp of surprise. “Tobin, it’s Arkoniel!”

“By the Four, is it raining wizards today?” Tharin growled.

Tobin ran to help Arkoniel up. Instead of his usual hooded cloak, the wizard wore a shepherd’s long fleece vest and a felt hat jammed down on his head and tied in place with a scarf. Leather gauntlets covered his arms almost to the elbow. He was breathless and shaking like a man with fever.

“How did you get here?” asked Tobin.

Arkoniel clutched Tobin’s shoulder, still unsteady on his feet. “A spell I’ve been working on. Not quite perfected yet, but I seem to have arrived with all my arms and legs.”

“Were you expecting bad weather?” Ki asked, eyeing the absurd hat.

“No, just a bad journey. As I said, the spell isn’t quite right yet. I’m never sure if I’ll arrive in one piece or not.” Arkoniel pulled off the left gauntlet and showed them his splinted wrist. “Same one I broke that day I arrived at the keep, remember?” He pulled off the right glove with his teeth and undid the scarf holding his hat.

“How did you find us?” Tharin asked.

“You can thank Iya and Eyoli for that. They got word to me. Tobin, I believe you’ll be needing this.” Pulling off his hat, Arkoniel shook out Tobin’s old rag doll. “Don’t let go of it again.”

Tobin stuffed it inside his studded coat as Lynx stared. “Can you walk?”

Arkoniel straightened his disordered clothing. “Yes, it’s just a bit disorienting, traveling like that twice in one night. Can’t say that I recommend it.” He looked around. “No horses?”

“No,” said Tharin. “I don’t suppose you have a spell for that?”

Arkoniel gave him a wink. Taking out his crystal wand, he drew a figure in red light, then stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. “There, they’ll be along.”

Ki and Lynx went to the barn again. By the time they returned with the saddles, they could hear the sound of hooves on the road, approaching at a gallop. A few minutes later ten horses thundered into the yard and came to a stop around Arkoniel, nosing at his belt and tunic.

“You’ve become quite a useful fellow since I last saw you.” Tharin laughed.

“Thank you. It’s been an instructive few years.”

Arkoniel drew Tobin aside as the others saddled the horses. “I suppose you know what all this signifies?”

Tobin nodded.

“Good. I think it might be best if your friends understood.”

“Tharin already knows.”

“You told him?”

“No, Lhel did.”

Arkoniel grasped Tobin’s shoulder with his good hand. “You’ve seen her! Where is she?”

“I didn’t see her. She came to Tharin in some kind of vision.”

Arkoniel sagged and Tobin saw the deep disappointment in his eyes. “She left us at Sakor-tide. I looked for her when I went back to the keep for the doll, but there was no sign of her anywhere.”

“You mean it wasn’t Lhel who got the doll back from my mother?”

“No. I found it in the tower. Someone had been up there before me. One of the tables had been righted, and a dozen or so of your mother’s dolls were lined up there. You remember them? Boys with no mouths? Yours was with them. It was as if someone knew I was coming for it.”

“Maybe Nari?”

“The tower door is still locked and I threw the key in the river years ago. It could have been Lhel, but—Well, I think maybe your mother knew that you needed it back.”

Tobin shook his head. “Or that Brother needed it.”

“What do you mean?”

“She always loved him, not me.” He clutched at the lump the doll made inside his coat. “She made this to keep him with her. She carried it everywhere, so he’d be there. She loved him.”

“No, Tobin. Lhel told her to make the doll. It was the only way to control Brother after—after he died. Lhel helped her, and set the magic on it to hold him. It may have given your mother some comfort but it wasn’t love.”

“You weren’t there! You didn’t see how she was. It was always him. She never wanted me.”

A look of genuine pain crossed Arkoniel’s face. “Oh, Tobin. It wasn’t your fault or hers, how things were.”

“Whose, then? Why did she treat me like that, just because he was stillborn?”

Arkoniel started to speak, then turned away. Tobin caught him by the sleeve. “What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s all in the past. Right now you must get to Atyion. It would be safest to reveal yourself there.”

“But how? Lhel’s not here to undo the binding.”

“She taught me. It’s actually quite simple. Cut the cord she made of your hair that’s around the doll’s neck, take Brother’s bones out of it, then cut out the piece of bone she sewed into your skin.”

“That’s all?” Tobin exclaimed softly. “But I could have done that anytime!”

“Yes, and if you’d known, you might have too soon and brought us all to ruin.”

“I wouldn’t have! I never wanted to. I don’t want to now.” Tobin hugged himself unhappily. “I’m scared, Arkoniel. What if—” He looked back at Ki and the others. “What will they do?”

“We should be moving on,” Tharin called.

“A moment, please,” Arkoniel told him. “It’s time you told Ki. It’s only fair, and you need him steady at your side.”

“Now?”

“I’ll do it, if you like.”

“No, he should hear it from me. And Lynx?”

“Yes, tell them both.”

Tobin started slowly back to Ki. He’d been tempted a hundred times over to just blurt it all out, but now fear choked him.

What if Ki hated him? And what about Korin and the other Companions? What if the people of Atyion refused to believe, refused to follow him?

“Courage, Tobin,” Arkoniel whispered. “Trust Illior’s will. For Skala!”

“For Skala,” Tobin mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” Ki asked before Tobin had said a word. “Is there bad news?”

“There’s something I have to say, and I don’t know how, except to just say it.”

Tobin took a deep breath, feeling like he was on that cliff in his dreams, about to fall. “I’m not what you think. When you look at me, it’s not me you’re seeing. It’s Brother.”

“Who?” asked Lynx, looking at Tobin as if he’d lost his mind. “Tobin, you don’t have a brother.”

“Yes, I do. Or I did. He’s the demon you’ve heard about, only he’s really just a ghost. It wasn’t a girl child who died; it was him. I was the girl, and a witch changed me to look like him right after I was born.”

“Lhel?” Ki’s voice was barely a whisper.

Tobin nodded, trying to read his friend’s expression in the starlight. He couldn’t and that scared him even more.

“You all know the rumors about the king,” said Arkoniel. “That he kills all female heirs to protect his own claim and line. They’re not just rumors. It’s the truth. The Oracle at Afra warned my mistress, and told her that we must protect Tobin until she’s old enough to rule. This is how we did it.”

“No!” Ki gasped. He backed away. “No, I don’t believe it. I know you! I’ve seen you! You’re no more a girl than I am!”

I didn’t know either, not at first! Tobin wanted to tell him, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words because Ki was still moving away from him.

“I was there that night, Ki,” Arkoniel told him. “I’ve devoted my whole life to keeping the secret until now. None of us had any choice, especially not Tobin. But now it’s time for her true form to be revealed. Skala must have a queen, one of the true line.”

“Queen?” Ki turned and ran for the barn.

“I’ll speak with him,” said Tharin. “Please, Tobin, let me do this. For both your sakes.”

Tobin nodded, miserable, and Tharin strode away after Ki.

Lynx came closer, looking into Tobin’s face. “This is really true? I mean—I’ve seen you, too, in the baths and swimming.”

Tobin shrugged.

“Tobin didn’t know about any of this either, until a few years ago,” Arkoniel explained. “It won’t be easy, what’s to come. It means going against Erius and Korin, too. Tobin will need true friends.”

“You’ll be queen?” Lynx said, as if he hadn’t heard.

“Somehow. But Lynx, you’re a Companion. You’ve known Korin longer than I have.” The words felt like sand in Tobin’s mouth. “If you can’t do this—I’ll understand.”

“You’re free to go back to Ero now, if you wish,” said Arkoniel.

“Go back? I never meant to go back. Tharin was right about me before, Tobin, so I might as well stay.” He let out a mirthless little laugh and held out his hand. “That’s not much of an oath, is it?”

Tobin clasped hands with him. “It’s enough for me.”

Tharin found Ki standing just inside the barn door, arms limp at his sides. “Why didn’t he tell me?” he asked, voice leaden with grief.

Tharin fought hard to rein in his anger. He’d expected better of Ki than this. “He had no idea when you first met him.”

“When, then?”

“That time he ran away to the keep. Iya and that witch woman made him swear not to tell. It’s a heavy burden he’s had to bear, Ki; one you and I can’t even imagine.”

“You knew!”

“Not until a few weeks ago. Rhius didn’t tell me, either, but it wasn’t because he didn’t trust me. It was for Tobin’s sake, and safety. It has nothing to do with us.”

“What happens to me now?”

“What do you mean? Are you telling me you’ll serve a prince but not a queen?”

“Serve?” Ki whirled around to face him. “Tharin, he’s my best friend. He—he’s everything to me! We’ve grown up together, trained and fought together. Together! But queens don’t have squires, do they? They have ministers, generals, consorts. I’m none of that.” He threw up his hands. “I’m nothing! Just the grass knight son of a horse thief—”

Tharin backhanded him so hard Ki staggered. “Is that all you’ve learned, after all these years?” he growled, standing over the cowering boy. “Do you think a wizard like Iya would choose you for no reason? Would Rhius bind you to his son if you were no more than that? Would I trust you with that child’s life? A man can’t choose his father, Ki, but he chooses his path. I thought you’d let go of all that foolishness.” It was an effort to not slap him again. “Is this what I taught you? To run off sniveling in the dark?”

“No.” Ki’s voice quavered but he straightened to attention. Blood ran down from his nose and caught in the sparse hair on his lip. “I’m sorry, Tharin.”

“Listen to me, Ki. Tobin doesn’t have the first notion of what’s ahead of him. All he can think of is that his friends will turn away from him. That you’ll turn away. He fears that more than anything else. And that’s precisely what you did just now, isn’t it?”

Ki groaned aloud. “Bilairy’s balls! He thinks—? Oh, hell, Tharin, that’s not why I ran!”

“Then I guess you’d better get back there and tell him that.” Tharin stepped aside and Ki bolted out, back to Tobin. Tharin stayed where he was, waiting for a sudden fit of trembling to pass. His hand stung where he’d hit Ki; he could feel the boy’s blood on his fingers. He stifled an anguished curse as he wiped his hand on his coat. Divine will or not, it was a hard road that had been set for all of them, all those years ago.

Ki couldn’t have been gone for more than a few minutes, but it seemed like forever to Tobin before he came striding back from the barn alone. Walking straight up to Tobin, Ki hugged him hard, then knelt and offered his sword.

“What are you doing, Ki? Get up! You’re bleeding—”

Ki rose and grasped him by the shoulders. “I’m sorry for running off. You just took me by surprise, that’s all. Nothing’s changed between us.” He hesitated, chin trembling now as he searched Tobin’s face. “It hasn’t, has it?”

Tobin’s voice was none too steady as he hugged Ki again. “You’re my best friend. Nothing can change that.”

“That’s all right, then!” Ki let out a shaky laugh as he stepped back and clasped hands with him.

Tobin caught the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes. “You won’t leave me, will you, Ki?”

Ki tightened his grip and gave him a fierce smile. “Not while I’ve got breath in me!”

Tobin believed him, and was so relieved he hardly knew what to say. “All right then,” he managed at last. “I guess we better move on.”

52

As they rode on Tobin tried not to think about what lay ahead. Ki’s first reaction had scared him more than any battle could. He believed his friend’s staunch pledge, but more than once during that long ride he caught Ki stealing puzzled looks at him, as if he was trying to see the stranger under Tobin’s borrowed skin.

I don’t want to change! he thought miserably. Looking off to the distant mountains looming black against the stars, he wondered what it would be like to just ride away from everything—from the battle, the city, his friends, his fate.

But it was only a fleeting thought. He was a Skalan warrior and a prince of the blood. Scared as he was, he would never shame himself, or betray those he loved.

His name and signet got them fresh horses along the road, and they spread word of the invasion at every stop. By dawn they were in sight of the sea again, and reached Atyion an hour past noon.

Reining in at the town gate, Tharin called up to the guards on the wall, “Open in the name of Prince Tobin, lord of Atyion. The prince has returned!”

“Ero is under siege by Plenimar,” Tobin told the startled sentries as soon as they were inside. “Spread the word. Every warrior must prepare to march back with me. No, wait!” he called as the man was about to run off. “The women, too; any who wish to fight for Skala are welcome under the banner of Atyion. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my prince!”

“Tell everyone to assemble in the castle yard.”

“Well done, Tobin!” Arkoniel murmured.

They raced on through the town, only to find the drawbridge still raised beyond the castle moat. Tharin cupped his hands around his mouth and hailed the guard, but there was no answer.

Ki shaded his eyes and squinted up at the men on the wall. “Those are Solari’s men.”

“Open in the name of the prince!” Tharin shouted again.

Presently a man leaned over the battlement by the gate head. “I have Duke Solari’s orders not to admit anyone from Ero, on account of the pox.”

“Son of a whore!” Ki gasped.

“Open at once for the prince or be hanged for a traitor!” Tharin bellowed back in a voice Tobin had never heard him use before.

Arkoniel was calmer. “These are serious matters, fellow. Fetch your master to the walls at once.”

“Solari can’t do this!” Ki exclaimed hotly as they sat waiting. “This is Tobin’s land, whether he’s of age or not.”

“The man who commands the castle commands Atyion,” Tharin muttered, glaring across the moat.

“Brother was right,” Tobin told Arkoniel. “He told me a long time ago that Solari wanted Atyion for himself.”

The sun sank another hour in its course as they fretted outside the gates. A crowd of armed townspeople gathered at their backs while they waited. Word of the situation had spread. Tharin found several sergeants among them and ordered runners sent to the outlying steadings to raise the knights. Arkoniel sent others for the town priests.

Two women emerged from the crowd and bowed deeply to Tobin. One was clad in old-fashioned armor. The other wore the white robes and silver mask of the Illioran temple.

Even with the mask, Tobin recognized her and bowed. “Honored One, Lady Kaliya.”

The priestess bowed, and displayed the many-colored dragons on her palms. “I’ve long dreamed of your coming, though I did not expect you so soon. Atyion will not forsake the rightful heir.”

Tobin dismounted and kissed her hand. “I won’t forsake Atyion. Did you know?”

“That it would be you? No, Highness, but I am most pleased.” She bent her head close to his, and whispered, “Daughter of Thelátimos, welcome.”

More priests arrived. Arkoniel and Kaliya took them aside, speaking quietly. Tobin shivered as he watched them. One by one, they all turned and silently saluted him, hands to their hearts.

Presently Solari appeared on the parapet, and called down, “Greetings, Prince Tobin. I regret the poor welcome you received.”

“Don’t you know what’s happening in Ero?” Tobin shouted back. “They sent messenger birds yesterday. The city is under attack!”

Astonishment rippled through the crowd.

“Yes, I know,” Solari shouted. “But Atyion must be protected from plague at all costs.”

“That ain’t right!” someone in the crowd yelled.

“Even at the cost of her rightful lord’s life?” Tharin shouted back. “Solari, this is Rhius’ son, and he’s here by the king’s order! Your own son is there in Ero with him.”

“Other pigeons have outdistanced you, Tharin, and my news is fresher. Lower Ero is lost and the king is trapped on the Palatine. They’ll all be dead before you can get back.”

“Traitor!” Ki screamed, brandishing his sword.

Solari ignored him. “Skala must be defended and Atyion is the greatest stronghold left. She must be led by a seasoned general. Give over your claim, Prince Tobin, and I will adopt you as my heir. Let the priests witness my pledge.”

“I will not!” the Illioran priestess cried, and was echoed by the others. “I send the traitor’s curse upon you!”

“You have other sons, Solari,” Arkoniel replied. “Even if we believed you, how long would Tobin survive among them with all this to gain?”

“Not a fortnight!” a woman cried out in the crowd behind them.

“Someone shoot that traitor!” someone else called out.

“Storm the walls!”

“Hang the bastards! We’ll never bend knee to ’em!”

Ki dismounted and went to Tobin. “Could you send Brother after him, Tob?” he whispered.

Somehow, Arkoniel heard and hissed, “Never ask that again, Ki. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

He rode to the edge of the moat and raised his right fist in the air, clutching his crystal wand. The failing daylight struck fire through it. “Hear me, all you in the castle, and you here behind us.” His voice carried like a battle cry. “I am the wizard Arkoniel, once the pupil of Mistress Iya. You knew us as the hearth friends of Duke Rhius. By his own hand, we have also been the protectors of his only child and heir, who stands here like a beggar at his own gate!

“Solari claims he’s shutting out the plague. Has he ever done such a thing before? No, only now that he believes Ero lost. Know this, people of Atyion. These years of plague and death are the curse of Illior that King Erius brought down on the land. With the complicity of the people, he usurped the throne from Skala’s rightful heir. Princess Ariani, daughter of Agnalain, mother of Tobin—she should have been queen!”

“He speaks the truth,” Kaliya cried, displaying both palms in official sanction of his words. “Her child stands before you now, untouched by plague or famine. Prince Tobin’s holdings—Atyion, Cirna, Alestun, Middleford, Hawk’s Lee—all of them and their people have been spared. Did you never wonder why? I tell you now; it’s because Ariani’s blood runs true in his veins! Unknowing, Tobin has been your true protector, blessed by Illior and all the Four.”

The rumble grew to a cheer, but there was no response from the castle. Tobin looked around nervously. Despite the goodwill of the crowd, he felt very exposed. Solari’s archers could be looking down their shafts at them that very moment. “Now what?” he asked Tharin.

Kaliya stepped close and grasped his stirrup. “I promised you my help long ago. Do you recall?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you’ve never come seeking it. I offer it again. Give your battle cry, Scion of Atyion. Good and loud, now!”

Something in her voice gave him hope. Tilting his head back, he shouted, “Atyion! Atyion for Skala and the Four!”

Ki and the others took up the cry, and the crowd joined in fiercely, waving kerchiefs, shawls, and weapons of every sort. The sound rolled over Tobin like thunder and sang in his ears like wine.

Kaliya held up her hands for silence. “There. Do you hear that?”

The cry had been taken up inside the castle walls. “Atyion for Skala! For the Four!” It swelled to a roar, and was soon punctuated by the unmistakable clash of steel against steel.

Tharin bowed to the priestess with a grim smile. “Well done, my lady. Atyion knows her master’s voice. They’re fighting for you, Tobin. Call to them.”

“Open the gates!” Tobin cried, but there was no reply.

They mounted and sat their horses tensely, watching the drawbridge. The sun fell another hour before the sound of fighting ended and they saw a new flurry of activity above the gate.

Some sort of struggle appeared to be going on. It was brief, and ended when a man was tossed screaming and flailing from the battlements with a noose around his neck. His cries were cut short as the rope fetched taut and snapped his neck. The green silk robe he wore was as rich as a king’s; costly embroidery caught the sun as the body spun slowly at the end of the hangman’s rope.

It was Solari.

Moments later the drawbridge rattled down and soldiers surged out to greet Tobin. Some among them wore Solari’s green, but they were chanting Tobin’s name.

There were women with them, too, still in skirts and aprons, but armed with swords. One of the cooks ran to Tobin and fell on her knees before him. Offering her sword up to him with both hands, she cried out, “For Atyion and the Four!”

It was Tharin’s cousin who’d greeted him on his first visit here. Dismounting, Tobin accepted the blade and gave it back to her. “Rise, Grannia. You’re a captain again.”

Another great cheer went up, echoing between the castle walls and the town. It seemed to lift Tobin back into the saddle on waves of sound, leaving him dizzy and elated. Then Arkoniel was beside him again.

“It’s time, Tobin,” he shouted over the noise.

“Yes, I know.”

Flanked by his companions and the chief priests, Tobin rode across the bridge into the huge bailey beyond. The brief battle there had left scores of dead, mostly Solari’s men. Others had been herded into several corrals and knelt there under the watchful eye of Atyion archers and swordsmen.

Tobin rode in a wide circle, taking in the situation. Most of Solari’s men had sided with Atyion in the end.

“The castle is yours, Prince Tobin,” said Tharin.

Duchess Savia and her children were waiting for him at the head of the castle steps. The duchess held her head up proudly, but he saw the fear in her eyes as she pulled her children closer to her. Jobin’s heart turned over in his breast as he saw the same fear in the children’s eyes. He’d feasted and played with them the last time he was here, and held little Rose on his knee. Now she clung to her mother’s skirts, wailing with fear at his approach.

Savia fell to her knees. “Kill me if you will,” she cried, holding her hands out to him in supplication. “But I pray you in the name of the Four, spare my children!”

“You are under my protection,” Tobin assured her. “I swear by the Four and the law of Skala that no harm will come to you!” He looked around. “Is Lady Lytia here?”

“Here, my prince,” she called, stepping out from the crowd below.

“Lady Lytia, I proclaim you Steward of Atyion. See to it that my order is made clear to the garrison. No harm or insult is to be offered to the duchess and her children. They can stay in their chambers under guard for now. When you’ve seen them safely there, give the order for my banners to be raised.”

“I will, my prince.” The approval in her pale eyes as she gently guided the weeping duchess away warmed Tobin even more than the cheering had.

“You’d better address the garrison now,” Tharin advised.

Despite his success so far, Tobin’s stomach tightened into a cold knot as he looked out across the sea of expectant faces.

“Warriors of Atyion,” he began, and his voice sounded thin and reedy in the open air. “I thank you for your faithful service this day.”

Arkoniel stepped closer and whispered in his ear as they waited for the cheering to subside. Tobin nodded and took a deep breath.

“Good people of Atyion, you have loved me for my father’s sake, I know, and welcomed me as one of your own. Today—” He faltered, his mouth dry. “Today the warships of Plenimar fill the harbor before Ero. The city is in flames and the enemy is at the gates of the Palatine.”

He paused again, gathering his thoughts as the angry outcry subsided. “Today, I stand before you not only as the child of Rhius, but of Ariani; she who should have been queen.” He stopped again, so scared he thought he might be sick right there in front of everyone. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself on. “Skala must have a queen again, if she is to survive. I have—I have something very odd to tell you, but …”

He turned desperately to Arkoniel. “I don’t know how to tell them. Help me, please!”

Arkoniel bowed, as if in answer to some stern order, and raised a hand to the crowd for their attention. Ki moved in beside Tobin and clasped his shoulder. Trembling, Tobin shot him a grateful look.

Arkoniel reached inside his plain tunic and pulled out a silver amulet of Illior. “Warriors of Atyion, some of you know me. I am Arkoniel, a free wizard of Skala, follower of Iya. My mistress and I are the chosen protectors of Prince Tobin, ordained by Illior Lightbearer through the Afran Oracle sixteen years ago. My mistress was granted a vision while Ariani’s children were still in the womb. You’ve all heard that the princess bore twins, and that the girl perished and the boy lived. That’s not completely true. My mistress and I witnessed the births that night, and have kept the truth of the matter a secret until today.

“I tell you now that it was the girl who lived, not the boy. By the will of Illior and for the sake of Skala, the girl child was by the most fearsome and difficult magics given the form of her dead brother in order to escape murder at the hands of the king and his minions. That girl child stands before you now as Prince Tobin!”

Silence. Tobin could hear ducks quacking on the moat beyond the wall, and dogs barking in the village. Then someone yelled, “That ain’t no girl!”

“What manner of magic could do such things?” a bearded Dalnan priest demanded, and his words set off a greater outcry, as the soldiers and townspeople who’d crowded into the bailey all began talking at once.

Tharin, Ki, and Lynx closed in around Tobin, hands on their sword hilts. Arkoniel’s knuckles went white as he clutched his wand, but it was the Illioran high priestess who stilled the crowd.

Kaliya clapped her hands over her head and a crack of thunder echoed between the walls. “Let them finish!” she cried. “Would I be standing here with them, and these my brethren of the other temples, if we did not think there was some meaning in their words? Let the wizard speak!”

Arkoniel bowed to her and resumed. “For fifteen years you have known this brave young warrior as the son of Rhius. Today, by the will of Illior, you are privileged to see her revealed at last as the true heir of the Skalan throne. You are blessed, people of Atyion. It is you who will bear witness that a rightful heir ordained by Illior has returned to you. You proved your good faith when you overthrew the traitor Solari. Put the seal on it by bearing sacred witness now with these priests of the Four.”

There were a few scattered exclamations and grumblings as Arkoniel motioned everyone away from Tobin.

“He’s too exposed! Can’t we do this inside the hall?” Tharin muttered.

“No, it must be seen. Please, Tharin, you must step back.”

Tharin gave Tobin a last tense look, and Ki and the others grudgingly moved aside with him, but only to the far end of the stairs. The priests did the same on the other side.

Though his friends were no more than twenty feet away, Tobin suddenly felt very alone and exposed. No one was cheering or chanting his name now. The bailey seemed like a sea of skeptical eyes.

Kaliya smiled, as if she sensed Tobin’s mounting fear and accepted it with compassion. The others watched with obvious unease.

Arkoniel came to Tobin and presented him with a thin silver knife; it had been Lhel’s. “She gave me this sometime ago. Use it with courage,” he whispered, kissing Tobin on both cheeks. He’d never done anything like that before. “Remember what I described to you. Begin with the doll. Be brave, Tobin. These are your people watching.”

My people. The entire throng seemed to be holding its breath. Clutching the knife, Tobin felt his fear seep away, leaving him with the same inner stillness he felt before battle. Even so, his hands shook as he pulled out the doll and felt for the hair cord in the fold of its neck. Slipping the tip of the blade under it, he cut it and let it fall away. Then he sliced open the worn muslin and emptied the crumbling herbs, yellowed wool, and all those bits of delicate bone from the doll’s body. Something small and shiny tumbled out, and bounced down the stone steps. It was the golden tablet bearing the Oracle’s words. He’d forgotten he’d hidden it there. It landed at the feet of a bearded sergeant, who hesitantly picked it up. When Arkoniel motioned him to stay where he was, he held it up, and whispered, “I hold on to it for you, shall I, my prince?”

Then Brother was standing there beside him, watching him with hungry black eyes. Judging by the sudden cries and gasps, others could see him, too.

“Your clothes,” Arkoniel called softly. “You must take them off. Ki, help him.”

Brother hissed softly as Ki approached but did not try to stop him. Not letting himself hesitate or think, Tobin took off his sword belt, the studded coat, and shirt and handed them to Ki. Brother’s presence raised gooseflesh along his arms. The ghost stood close beside him, bare-chested now. Tobin quickly shucked off his boots, socks, trousers, and, after another moment’s doubt, his linen clout. Ki gave him a wan smile as he added them to his pile. He was scared, too, and trying not to show it.

“It’s all right,” Tobin whispered, pulling the chain over his head and holding it out to him. “Keep these for me.”

Ki closed his fist around the ring and seal and raised his hand to his heart, saluting Tobin as he retreated to his place with Tharin.

Naked, Tobin faced the crowd and felt for the bone shard. There it was, just below the skin. The tiny ridges of Lhel’s stitching were rough against his fingertips.

“Quickly!” Brother hissed.

Tobin looked into his brother’s black eyes one last time as he raised the silver knife. “Yes.”

Bracketing the lump with two fingers, he pressed the knife’s sharp point to the taut skin. He couldn’t see what he was doing, but his touch was deft. He grimaced as it broke the skin. Blood trickled down.

“Cut deeper!” Brother crooned.

Tobin cut again, twisting the knife, and searing fire shot through him as the tip found its target. He fell to his knees, and the knife clattered to the stone stairs beside him.

“Release me!” Brother screamed, crouching to show Tobin the bleeding wound on his own breast. Blood ran down his cheeks in scarlet tears. “It hurts! Finish it!”

Gasping, Tobin squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. The pain was too much.

“Now!” a woman shouted. “It must be now, daughter!”

Opening his eyes, Tobin saw the ghosts.

They stood in a circle around him, all of them crowned and all holding the Sword of Ghërilain upright before them. He didn’t recognize them—the tomb effigies had been too crude to capture their living features, but he knew who they were. Ghërilain the First stood there watching him, and his own blood-soaked grandmother. And that gaunt, sad-faced man beside them—he must be Thelátimos, the last rightful king.

Cool fingers brushed his brow. Tobin looked up into the one face he had seen before. It was Tamír, the murdered queen. It was she who’d called out to him, and she spoke again now. Courage, daughter. It must be now, for Skala!

Someone put the knife back in his hand. It was Ki. He wept as he knelt beside Tobin.

“You can do it,” he whispered, and retreated. He looked like he was sending Tobin to his execution.

Tobin raised the knife. Pain pulled his lips back in a snarl as he gouged deeper. He’d always imagined that the tiny shard would slip out like a splinter, but the flesh had grown fast to it, like a tree bole healing around a nail. He twisted the blade again and heard someone screaming. It sounded like Brother but his own throat was raw with it.

The tiny fragment came free, still sheathed in a pulpy shred of raw flesh. He scarcely had time to feel it between his fingers before a new wave of pain engulfed him, beyond anything he’d ever imagined.

White fire engulfed him, so intense it was icy cold. Caught in that inferno, he couldn’t breathe or think or scream or hear, but somehow he saw Brother, felt the spirit grappling with him, enfolding him, passing through him like a cold black shadow at the heart of that white fire.

And then the pain was gone and Tobin was curled in his side on hot, smooth stone in the sunlight. The ghosts were still around him, but fainter now, like shapes made of grey gauze. The stairs were scorched black in a great circle around him.

And Brother was gone.

Looking around, he did not see the shocked, silent onlookers, only that his twin was not there. He felt it, too; an aching emptiness filled him. There had been no farewell between them, no parting words. He had cut Brother from his body and the ghost had left him. Tobin could scarcely comprehend it.

“Tob?” A warm hand clasped his elbow, helping him sit up. It was Ki.

Tobin reached out to him, then froze in horror, staring down at the strange skin covering his arm. From fingertips to shoulder it hung in loose colorless shreds like a rotted glove. His whole body was the same; his skin was in tatters around him, flayed by the horrendous magic he’d unleashed. He rubbed gingerly at his left forearm and the skin fell away, exposing smooth, whole skin below. The wine-colored wisdom mark was still there, brighter than ever.

He flexed his fingers, brushed his hands together, and rubbed at his arms, shedding the old skin like a snake in spring. He rubbed at his face and felt a thin, dry mask pull away, leaving the crescent-shaped scar still visible on the chin. The fire had somehow spared his hair, but he could feel the old scalp pulling apart beneath it.

He ran his hands down over his chest and stopped, only beginning to fully comprehend what had happened. The old skin that covered his chest was pulled tight, bulging like—

Like a maiden’s bodice.

Shivering, Tobin stripped the old husk away and stared down at her small breasts.

Tobin was dimly aware of a growing murmur as she stood and looked down. Her boy’s genitals had wizened to dried husks. She pulled at the loose skin above them and they sloughed off and fell away.

Ki turned away, a hand clamped across his mouth, and she heard him retch.

The world was going slowly grey around her. She couldn’t feel the stairs under her feet anymore. But Tharin was with her, wrapping a cloak around her, holding her upright. And Ki was back, too, his arm tight around her waist. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

The priests and Arkoniel were there, too, and the cloak had to be opened, an inspection made. Tobin kept her eyes on the sky above their heads, too numb to care.

“It’s all right, Tob,” Ki murmured.

“Not—Tobin,” she whispered. Her lips were sore, and her throat was raw.

“Yes, she must take a woman’s name now,” Kaliya said.

Arkoniel let out a soft groan. “We never discussed that!”

“I know,” Tobin whispered. The ghostly queens were with her again. “Tamír, the queen who was murdered and denied. She came to me—offered me the Sword. Her name—” The grey fog rolled away and tears stung her eyes. “And Ariani, for my mother who should have ruled. And Ghërilain, for Illior and Skala.”

The ghostly queens bowed to her, then sheathed their swords and faded away.

The priestess nodded. “Tamír Ariani Ghërilain. May the name bring you strength and fortune.” Turning to the crowd, which had fallen silent again, she cried out, “I bear sacred witness! She is a woman, and bears the same marks and scars.”

“I bear witness,” the priestess of Astellus echoed, and the others with her.

“I call on you all to bear witness,” Arkoniel shouted to the crowd. “The true queen has returned to you! By the wisdom mark on her arm and this scar on her chin I verify that this is the same person standing before you now, but in her true form. Behold Tamír the Second!”

Won over at last, the people began to cheer, but even that could not drown out the rending crack that rang out behind Tobin. The ornate wooden panel over the castle door—the one carved with the sword of Sakor—split and fell away, revealing the original stonework below.

The Eye of Illior once more guarded Atyion.

Tobin raised her hand to make reverence. But the roar of the crowd caught her, swept her up into the air as the world went black around her.

In that same moment the Afran Oracle laughed aloud in the darkness of her cavern.

Biding with half a dozen other wizards in the ruins of an Ero tavern, Iya staggered and covered her face as a brilliant burst of white light blinded her. Behind her closed lids the light slowly faded to reveal the face of a black-haired, blue-eyed young woman. “Thank the Lightbearer,” she whispered, and her companions echoed the words with the same reverence and wonder. Then with one voice they shouted it aloud. “Thank the Lightbearer! The queen returns!”

In the mountains north of Alestun the wizards of Arkoniel’s exiled Third Orëska saw that same vision and hurried to find one another, crying out the news.

All across Skala, wizards who’d accepted Iya’s small tokens, and many who had been deemed unworthy, shared the vision and wept for joy or shame.

The vision struck Niryn a twofold blow as he paced the ramparts. He recognized that face despite the transformation and raised his fists at the sky, raging at the Lightbearer’s betrayal and Solari’s, and the failure of his own assassins to remove the Scion of Atyion from his path.

“Necromancy!” he cried, swelling like an adder in his rage. “A false face and a false skin! But the strands are not yet woven.”

A Harrier guard unwise enough to approach his master just then was struck blind and died a day later.

Lhel woke in her lonely oak tree house and cast the window spell. Looking through, she saw Tharin bearing the girl down some passageway. Lhel gazed into that still, sleeping face. “Keesa,” she whispered, and was certain she saw Tobin’s eyelids flutter a little. “Keesa, remember me.” She watched a moment longer, making certain that Ki was with them, then closed the portal.

It was winter yet in the mountains. Crusted snow crunched under her feet as she limped to the spring, and ice still ringed the dark pool.

But the center was clear. Leaning over the water, she saw her face in the gently rippling surface, saw how old she looked. She’d had no moonflow since the winter solstice and her hair was more white than black. Left to a normal life among her own people, she would have a husband, children, and honor. Yet her only regret as she crouched over the water was that she left no daughter to tend this sacred place—the mother oak and its sacred spring—lost for so long to her people.

She turned her palms up to the unseen moon and spread the seeing spell over the water. A single image rose in the dark water. She studied it for a moment, then walked slowly back to the hollow oak and lay down on her bed, palms upturned at her sides again—empty, accepting—and listened to the wind in the branches.

He came silently. The weathered deerskin flap over the door did not stir as he entered. She felt him stretch out beside her, cold as a snowbank, and wrap his arms around her neck.

I’ve come back to you at last.

“Welcome, child!” she whispered.

Icy lips found hers and she opened her mouth willingly, letting this demon they’d called Brother steal her last breath as she had stolen his first. The balance was restored.

They were both free.

53

Erius sat at the window of the gatehouse tower, watching his city burn. Despite the healers’ best efforts, gangrene had set in and was spreading. His shoulder and chest were already black, his sword arm swollen and useless. Unable to ride or fight, he must lay here on a couch like an invalid, surrounded by long-faced courtiers and whispering servants. There were few officers left to bring him reports. Still gripping the Sword of Ghërilain, he presided helplessly over the loss of his capital.

The Plenimarans had broken through again just after dawn the day before. By nightfall most of the lower city was lost. From here, he must watch as cartloads of plunder trundled toward the black ships in the harbor, and crowds of captives—his people—driven like cattle among them.

Korin had proven worthless in the field. Rheynaris had remained at his side, feeding him commands until an arrow felled him just after midday. With fewer than a thousand defenders left, Korin had retreated to the Palatine and was endeavoring to hold the gates. A few other regiments were still fighting somewhere below, but not enough to stem the tide. Enemy soldiers by the thousands hemmed the Palatine in, battering at the gates and hurling flaming sacks of oil-soaked hay over the walls with their catapults. Soldiers and refugees streamed back and forth from the springs and cisterns with buckets, trying to save what they could, but the fires were spreading. Erius could see smoke billowing up from the roof of his New Palace.

Niryn’s Harriers had fought bravely, but even they were no match for the enemy. Decimated by necromancers, felled in the streets by sword or shaft, the survivors broke and scattered. There were also reports of rebel Skalan wizards, who had appeared mysteriously the day before. These were confusing; according to Niryn, the wizards attacked his own, rather than the enemy. Other witnesses insisted that these same traitors had fought for Skala. They were said to command fire, water, even great packs of rats. Niryn gave no credence to such tales. No Skalan wizard had such powers.

Erius had watched the northern roads all day. It was too soon to hope, even if Tobin had reached Atyion alive, but he couldn’t help looking, all the same.

He couldn’t help missing Rhius; his old friend seemed to haunt him now, mocking him. If his old Companion still lived, the might of Atyion would already be with Ero now, strong enough to turn the tide. But Rhius had failed him, turned traitor, and only a stripling boy was left to fetch Solari.

Dusk came, and darkness, and still there was no sign, no word by rider or pigeon. Refusing the drysian’s draughts, Erius sent everyone away and kept his vigil alone.

He was dozing by the window when he heard the door open. The lamps had guttered out, but the fires below cast enough light for him to make out the slight figure standing just inside the door.

Erius’ heart sank. “Tobin, how are you back so soon? Were you turned back on the road?”

“No, Uncle, I went to Atyion,” Tobin whispered, walking slowly toward him

“But you couldn’t have! There’s been no time. And where are your troops?”

“They will come, Uncle.” Tobin was standing over him now, face hidden by shadow, and suddenly Erius felt a terrible coldness.

The boy leaned down and touched his shoulder. The chill spread through Erius, numbing him like poison.

When Tobin leaned closer and the light caught his face at last, Erius could not move or cry out.

“Oh, they will come,” Brother hissed, letting the horrified man see his true face. “But not for you, old man. They come for my sister’s sake.”

Paralyzed, Erius stared uncomprehendingly at the monstrous thing standing there. The air shimmered and the bloody specter of his sister appeared beside it, stroking the rotting head with motherly affection. Only then did he understand, and it was already too late. His fingers clenched convulsively around his sword hilt as Brother stopped his heart.

Later, Korin would have to break his father’s fingers to free it from his dead hand.

54

Swans. White swans flying in pairs against an impossibly blue sky.

Tobin sat up, heart pounding, unsure what room this was.

Atyion. My parents’ room.

The bed hangings were pulled back, and a misty dawn was brightening outside the window. Curled up between Tobin’s feet, Ringtail bared his teeth in a great yawn, then began to purr.

“Ki?”

The other side of the enormous bed was smooth, the pillows plump and undented.

Tobin climbed out and surveyed the large chamber with rising concern. There was no pallet or servant’s alcove and no sign of Ki at all. Where could he be? Tobin headed for the door but a fleeting image in the tall looking glass caught and held him.

There she was at last, that stranger who’d looked at him from Lhel’s spring. Tobin stepped closer, caught between shock and wonder. The stranger did the same, a tall, awkward, frightened-looking girl in a long linen nightdress. They shared the scar on their chins, and the pink wisdom mark on their left forearms.

Tobin slowly pulled the shirt up. The body wasn’t so different, still all whipcord and angles, except for the small breasts that swelled just below the crusted wound. But lower down—

Some thoughtful servant had left the chamber pot in plain sight by the bed. Tobin just made it and collapsed on hands and knees, retching dryly.

The spasm passed and she forced herself back to the mirror. Ringtail twined around her bare ankles. She picked him up, hugging him close.

“That’s me. I’m Tamír now,” she whispered to the cat. Her face was not so different, a little softer, perhaps, but still plain and unremarkable except for the intense blue eyes. Someone had washed away the last bits of ragged skin and brushed it from her hair. It hung in smooth black waves around her face; she tried to imagine it braided with ribbons and pearls.

“No!” Fleeing the mirror again, she looked in vain for her clothes. She went to the closest wardrobe and threw it open. Her mother’s velvets and silks caught the morning light. Slamming the door, she went to the next wardrobe and pulled on one of her father’s dusty tunics, but it was too large. Yanking it off, she took a black cloak from its peg and wrapped herself in that instead.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she rushed to the door to find Ki.

She nearly fell over him. He was dozing on a pallet just outside, sitting with his back to the wall and his chin on his chest. Her headlong rush woke him. Two soldiers standing guard snapped to attention and saluted, but she ignored them.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” she demanded, hating the unfamiliar timbre of her voice. Just now it sounded rather shrill.

“Tob!” Ki scrambled up. “I—That is, it didn’t seem proper—”

“Where are my clothes?”

“We weren’t sure what you’d want.”

“What I’d want? My clothes, damn it. The ones I arrived in!”

Ki turned to the nearest guard and stammered out, “Send word to Steward Lytia that Tob—that the princess—that Tamír wants the clothes that were washed.”

Tobin pulled Ki into the chamber and slammed the door. “I’m Tobin, Ki! It’s still me, isn’t it?”

Ki managed a sickly grin. “Well, yes and no. I mean, I know it’s still you, but—Well, Bilairy’s balls, Tob! I don’t know what to think.”

The confusion in his eyes fed her growing fear. “Is that why you slept in the corridor?”

Ki shrugged. “How would it look, me crawling into bed with a princess?”

“Stop calling me that!”

“It’s what you are.”

Tobin turned away, but Ki caught her and clasped her by the shoulders. “It’s who you have to be. Arkoniel had a long talk with Tharin and me while you slept. It’s a lot to take in and I don’t think it’s fair the way everything happened, but here we are and there’s no going back.” He slid his hands down her arms to clasp her hands, and she shivered at the touch.

Ki didn’t seem to notice. “It’s worse for you than me, I know, but it’s still damn hard,” he told her, the anguish clear in his face. “I’m still your friend, Tob. You know I am. I’m just not so clear on what that’s going to mean.”

“It means the same as always,” Tobin shot back, gripping his hands. “You’re my first friend—my best friend—and my sworn squire. That doesn’t change. I don’t care what anyone thinks! They can call me anything they like, but I’m still Tobin to you, right?”

A soft knock interrupted them and Lytia came in with Tobin’s clothes over her arm. “Tharin sends word that the first troops are assembled. I took the liberty of searching the castle treasury for suitable armor, since you had to leave yours behind. I’ll send it up as soon as it’s been cleaned, and some breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“None of that, now.” Lytia shook a finger at her. “I’m not to let you out of this room before you both have something to eat. And what about a bath? I washed you as well as I could while you slept, but if you’d like a tub carried up, I’ll order it.”

Tobin blushed. “No. Tell Tharin I need to speak with him, please. And Arkoniel, too.”

“Very good, Highness.”

As soon as she was gone Tobin pulled off the nightshirt and began to dress. She was in the midst of lacing her breeches when she noticed that Ki had turned away. His ears were scarlet.

Straightening up, she threw her shoulders back. “Look at me, Ki.”

“No, I—”

“Look at me!”

He turned, and she could tell he was trying hard not to stare at her small, pointed breasts. “I didn’t ask for this body, but if I have to live with it, then so do you.”

He groaned. “Don’t, Tob. Please don’t do this to me.”

“Do what?”

Ki looked away again. “You can’t understand. Just—cover yourself, will you?”

Shaken, Tobin pulled on her tunic and looked around for her boots. The room blurred and she sank down on the bed, choking back tears. Ringtail jumped into her lap and bumped his head under her chin. Ki sat beside her and put an arm around her, but the embrace felt awkward, and that hurt, too.

“I’m your friend, Tob. I always will be. But it will be different and I’m just as scared as you are. Not being able to share a bed, or even be alone together anymore—I don’t know how I’ll stand it.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that!”

“Of course it does. I hate it, but it does.” His voice was gentle now, and sad in a way she’d never heard before. “You’re a girl, a princess, and I’m man-grown, not some little page who can sleep at your feet like—like this cat here.”

It was true, and she knew it. Suddenly shy, she took his hand again and held it tight. Her own was still brown, but her palm had lost much of its roughness in the transformation. “I’ll have to build up those calluses all over again,” she said, her voice too high, too unsteady.

“That shouldn’t take long. Ahra’s always felt like old boot leather. Remember her, and all those women who met you yesterday. You’re still a warrior, just like they are.” He kneaded her upper arm and grinned. “Nothing lost there. You can still break Alben’s fingers for him, if you need to.”

Tobin gave him a grateful nod, then pushed Ringtail off and stood up. Offering him her hand, she said, “You’re still my squire, Ki. I’m going to hold you to that. I need you with me.”

Ki stood and clasped with her. “Close as your shadow.”

With that, the world seemed to settle back into place, at least for the moment. Tobin glanced at the brightening window in annoyance. “Why did they let me sleep so long?”

“You didn’t give us much choice. You hadn’t slept in a couple of days, and then what with all that last night? It really knocked you over. Tharin said to let you rest while he mustered the garrison. We’d have had to wait anyway. I’m surprised you’re on your feet at all.”

Tobin bristled. “Because I’m a girl?”

“Oh, for hell’s sake—If I’d had to cut myself open and then have the skin fried off me, I don’t know that I’d be up and around so fast.” He grew serious again. “Damn, Tobin! I don’t know what that magic was, but for a minute there it looked like the sun had come down blazing right where you stood! Or Harriers fire.” He grimaced. “Did it hurt?”

Tobin shrugged. “I don’t remember much about it, except for the queens.”

“What queens?”

“The ghosts. You didn’t see them?”

“No, just Brother. For a minute there I thought you were both finished, the way you looked. He really is gone, isn’t he?”

“Yes. I wonder where he went?”

“To Bilairy’s gate, I hope. I tell you, Tob, I’m not sorry to see the last of him, even if he did help you now and then.”

“I suppose,” Tobin murmured. “Still, that’s the last of my family, isn’t it?”

When Lytia came back she wasn’t alone. Tharin, Arkoniel, and several servants were with her, carrying bulky cloth-wrapped parcels.

“How do you feel?” asked Arkoniel, taking Tobin’s chin in his hand and examining her face.

Tobin pulled away. “I don’t know yet.”

“She’s hungry,” Lytia said, laying a huge breakfast for them on a table by the hearth. “I think perhaps you should let the princess eat before anything else.”

“I’m not, and don’t call me that!” Tobin snapped.

Tharin folded his arms and gave her a stern look. “Nothing more, until you eat.”

Tobin grabbed an oatcake and took a huge bite to satisfy him, then realized how hungry she really was. Still standing, she wolfed down a second, then speared a slice of fried liver with her knife. Ki joined her, just as famished.

Tharin chuckled. “You know, you don’t look so different in daylight. A bit more like your mother, perhaps, but that’s no bad thing. I bet you’ll be a beauty when you fill out and get your growth.”

Tobin snorted around a mouthful of cardamom bun; the mirror had told a different tale.

“Maybe this will cheer you up.” Tharin went to the bed and opened one of the bundles the servants had left there. With a flourish, he held up a shimmering hauberk. The rings of the mail were so fine it felt like serpent skin under Tobin’s admiring hand. It was chased with a little goldwork along the lower edge, neck, and sleeves, but the pattern was a clean, simple one, just intertwined lines, like vines. The other parcels yielded a steel cuirass and helm of similar design.

“That’s Aurënfaie work,” Lytia told her. “They were gifts to your father’s grandmother.”

The cuirass bore the Atyion oak chased in gold. Both it and the hauberk fit as if they’d been measured for her. The mail hung lightly and felt as supple as one of Nari’s knitted sweaters.

“The women of the castle thought you’d be wanting this, too,” Lytia said, holding up a new surcoat. “There’s a padded undercoat, and banners in your colors, as well. We won’t have the Scion of Atyion riding into battle like some nameless thane.”

“Thank you!” Tobin exclaimed, pulling the surcoat on over her hauberk. Going to the mirror, she studied her reflection as Ki buckled on her sword. The face framed by the antique coif wasn’t that of a frightened girl, but the one she’d always known.

A warrior’s face.

Ki grinned at her in the glass. “See? Under all that, you don’t look any different at all.”

“That may be for the best,” said Arkoniel. “I doubt Erius will be pleased to hear he has a niece rather than a nephew. Tharin, make certain word is passed among the troops that the name Tamír is not to be spoken in Ero until the order is given.”

“I wonder what Korin will say?” asked Ki.

“That’s a good question,” Arkoniel mused.

Tobin frowned at her reflection. “I’ve wondered about that ever since you and Lhel told me the truth. He’s not just my kinsman, Arkoniel; he’s my friend. How can I hurt him after he’s been so good to me? It wouldn’t be right, but I can’t think what to do. He isn’t very likely to just step aside, is he?”

“No,” said Tharin.

“That’s best left on the knees of the gods,” Arkoniel advised. “For now, perhaps it’s best if it’s Prince Tobin who returns to Ero’s aid. The rest will have to be sorted out afterward.”

“If there is an afterward,” Ki put in. “The Plenimarans aren’t going to just step aside, either, and they have necromancers and plenty of soldiers. Sakor only knows how many!”

“Actually, we were able to do a bit of spying for you,” said Tharin, grinning at Tobin’s look of surprise. “Some of these wizards can be quite useful when they choose.”

“You recall that time I flew you to Ero?” asked Arkoniel.

“That was a vision.”

“A sighting spell, it’s called. I’m no general, but with a bit of help from Tharin here, we estimated that the enemy has perhaps eight thousand men.”

“Eight thousand! How many do we have here?”

“There are five hundred horsemen in the garrison, and nearly twice that with the foot and archers,” said Tharin. “Another few hundred should stay behind to hold the castle if it’s attacked. My cousin Oril will act as your marshal here—”

“Fifteen hundred. That’s not nearly enough!”

“That’s only the standing garrison. Word was sent to the outlying barons and knights as soon as we got here. Another two thousand can follow by tomorrow with the baggage train.” He paused and gave Tobin a grim smile. “We don’t have much choice, except to make do with what we have.”

“Grannia sent me to ask if the women warriors might ride in your vanguard,” Lytia told her.

“Yes, of course.” Tobin thought a moment, recalling something of Raven’s lessons. “Tell her only the very best fighters are to be in the front. Keep the others back in the ranks until they get seasoned. There’s no shame in it. Tell them Skala needs them alive and fighting. There are too few of them to waste foolishly.” As Lytia turned to go, she asked, “Will you be coming with us?”

She laughed. “No, Highness, I’m no warrior. But old Hakone taught me how to provision an army. We saw your father and grandfather off to many a battle. You’ll have all you need.”

“Thank you all. Whatever happens after this, I’m glad to have such friends with me.”

55

Fifteen hundred warriors seemed like a great force to Tobin as they rode out from Atyion that day. Ki and Lynx rode at her left, resplendent in their borrowed armor. Arkoniel looked awkward and uncomfortable in his mail shirt and steel cap, but Tharin had insisted. The priests who’d seen her transformation rode with them to bear witness in Ero. Captain Grannia and forty of her warriors rode proudly in the vanguard in front of them. Most were Nari’s age or Cook’s and had grey braids down their backs. They sang war songs as they rode, and their brave, clear voices sent a thrill through Tobin.

Tharin was her war marshal now, and introduced the other captains as they rode. Tobin knew some of them from previous visits. These men had all fought for her father and readily pledged themselves to her a second time, despite the strangeness of the situation.

Before they left the borders of Atyion, hundreds more from the southern steadings streamed out to join them—grizzled knights, farmers’ sons with polearms on their shoulders, and more women and girls, some still in skirts. Grannia sorted the women out, sending some back into the ranks and others home.

“I wish there’d been time to get word to Ahra,” Ki said, nodding at the women. “She and Una would want to be with you.”

“News of Ero must have traveled,” said Tharin. “I expect we’ll meet up with them sooner or later.”

They overtook other groups of warriors on their way to the city, alerted by Tobin’s northbound passage the previous day. They addressed her as Prince Tobin and no one disabused them of it.

Most of the bands were village militias, but just before sundown they were overtaken by Lord Kyman of Ilear, who had five hundred archers and two hundred mounted warriors at his command.

Kyman was a huge, red-bearded old lord, and his scabbard showed the scars of many campaigns. He dismounted and saluted Tobin. “I knew your father well, my prince. It’s an honor to serve his son.”

Tobin bowed, muttering her thanks. Arkoniel gave her a wink, then drew Kyman aside for a moment. Tharin and the priests joined them and Tobin saw the priestess of Illior display her palm, as if for emphasis.

“I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone?” Tobin muttered nervously.

“It’s no good lying to the lords,” said Ki. “Looks like he and Tharin are old friends, though. That’s a good start.”

When Arkoniel and Tharin had finished Kyman turned and stared at Tobin a moment, then strode over and looked up into her face, which was somewhat obscured by her helmet. “Is this true?”

“It is, my lord,” she replied. “But I’m still Scion of Atyion and my father’s child. Will you fight with me for Skala’s sake, though sooner or later it may mean opposing the king?”

The man’s coppery brows shot up. “You haven’t heard, then? The king is dead. Prince Korin holds the Sword.”

Tobin’s heart sank; she’d clung to the hope that she wouldn’t have to oppose Korin and the other Companions directly. There was no escaping it now.

“Your claim to the throne is as good as his for those who remember the Oracle,” Kyman told her. “We’ve heard of you, you know. There’ve been rumors for years among the country folk of a queen who’d come and lift the curse from the land. But I didn’t think there were any girls of the blood left.” He jerked a thumb at Arkoniel and the priests. “It’s a strange tale they tell, but there’s no mistaking you as your father’s blood. And I don’t imagine you’d have the might of Atyion behind you, or my old friend Tharin either, if they didn’t have good reason to believe you are what they say.”

He dropped to one knee and presented his sword. “So my answer is yes. Let Ilear be the first to rally to your banner, Majesty.”

Tobin accepted the blade and touched him on the shoulders as Erius had with Ki. “I don’t claim the title of queen yet, but I accept, for Skala’s sake, and Illior’s.”

He kissed the blade and took it back. “Thank you, Highness. I pray you’ll remember Ilear and the house of Kyman kindly when you do wear the crown.”

They stopped at sundown to eat and rest the horses, then marched on. A waxing moon peered out from behind scudding clouds, turning the muddy high road into a ribbon of black before them.

By midnight they could see a faint red glow in the southern sky above the black outlines of the hills; the city was still burning. Tharin sent a scouting party ahead to find the enemy’s outlying posts. Among the ranks people were singing softly to keep themselves awake.

Weary as she was, Tobin’s mind grew clearer as the night wore on. With an odd, dreamlike sense of detachment, she felt herself settling into this strange new body. Her arms and legs were no different, except for the annoying softness of her hands. Lytia had given her gloves for that. Her breasts, though small, had grown tender, and she was aware of them rubbing against the padded shirt under her hauberk.

The different fit of the saddle beneath her was the most disturbing change, not to mention the inconvenience of both trousers and a newfound modesty when she had to relieve herself. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to examine that part of her body too closely. She resented not being able to take a piss properly, but all the same, it should have felt more like something was—lacking, that empty space in her trousers. Yet it didn’t.

Arkoniel and Tharin treated her no differently than they ever had, and Ki was trying, but Lynx was still stealing sidelong glances. It was unsettling, but a good sign, in its way. It was the first time since Orneus’ death that she’d seen him show interest in anything except getting himself killed.

Motioning for Ki to stay behind, she drew Lynx away from the main column.

“If you’ve changed your mind—If you can’t go against Korin, I’ll understand,” she told him again. “If you want to go back to him, I won’t let anyone stop you.”

Lynx shrugged. “I’ll stay, if you’ll have me. I wonder what Nik and Lutha will do?”

“I don’t know.” But inwardly she quailed at the thought of her friends turning away.

Niryn strode across the echoing audience chamber to the throne accompanied by half a dozen of his remaining wizards and a phalanx of his Guard. A pigeon had come from Atyion just before nightfall bringing news of support, and the defenders had rallied.

Niryn had received word from his own spies there and meant to undo that slight hope.

Defeat sat heavily on the prince. Drawn and unshaven, Korin sat uneasily on his father’s throne. He held the great Sword, but the crown remained on a small stand beside him, veiled in black. Chancellor Hylus and the other remaining ministers were with him, together with the tattered remains of his personal guard and Companions.

Niryn counted only eight Companions where there had once been nineteen. Sheltered as they had been at court all these years, they were no longer boys. He scanned their faces, making a quick evaluation. Alben and Urmanis would prove loyal. So would Lord Caliel, though this one was an unwelcome influence on the new king; Niryn marked him to be dealt with later. That left only Hylus’ bookish grandson, the homely one called Lutha, and a handful of squires who could be counted on, for good or ill, to follow their lords.

And Master Porion, he amended. The old warrior had some influence over the prince, as well, and would bear watching.

Reaching the dais, he bowed to Korin. “I bring grave news, Majesty! You have been betrayed.”

Hectic color rose in Korin’s pale cheeks. “What’s happened? Who’s turned on us?”

“Your cousin, and by the foulest of means.” Niryn watched the play of doubt and fear across the young man’s face. Touching his mind, Niryn found it wine-tinged, weak, and receptive. Others among his Companions were not so ready to believe him, however.

“Tobin would never do that!” Lutha cried.

“Silence!” Hylus ordered. “Explain yourself, Lord Niryn. How can this be?”

“The Lightbearer granted me a vision. I could not bring myself to believe it at first, but I’ve just received word that I saw true. Prince Tobin raised the garrison at Atyion against your liegeman, Solari, and murdered him and his family. He then employed some sort of necromancy to put on woman’s form and declared himself the true heir of Skala by right of the Afran Oracle. Even now he marches against Ero with a host of thousands.”

“What lunacy is this?” Hylus gasped. “Even if the boy was capable of such treachery, the captains of Atyion would never believe such a story, much less side with the enemy! You must be mistaken, Niryn.”

“I assure you, I’m not. Before sunset tomorrow you will see the proof for yourself.”

“No wonder he and that grass knight of his were so anxious to go over the wall,” Alben muttered.

“Shut your mouth!” Lutha flew at the older boy, knocking him sprawling.

“That’s enough!” Porion roared.

Caliel and Nikides wrestled Lutha off Alben and dragged him back.

Alben wiped blood from his mouth, and snarled, “He probably had this planned all along, he and that wizard woman of his. She was always sneaking in and out of his house.”

“Mistress Iya?” Nikides said. “She came and went openly. Besides, she was only a hedge wizard.”

“A bit more than that, perhaps,” said Hylus. “I know the woman, Prince Korin. She is a loyal Skalan, and I would swear by my own name that she is no necromancer.”

“Perhaps Tobin only put on women’s clothes,” Urmanis offered.

“Don’t be a fool!” Lutha cried, still furious. “Why would he do that?”

“Perhaps he went mad like his mother,” one of the squires sneered. “He always has been odd.”

“Korin, think!” Caliel pleaded. “You know as well as I do that Tobin isn’t mad. And he’d never betray you.”

Niryn let them argue, marking enemies and allies.

Korin had listened all this time in silence as Niryn’s magic wormed its way deeper into his heart, seeking out all the buried doubts and fears. His faith in Tobin was still too strong, but that would change when he saw the truth.

Niryn bowed again. “I stand by my word, Majesty. Be on your guard.”

Tobin’s scouts returned just before dawn with word of a Plenimaran presence at a horse breeder’s steading a few miles north of the city on the coast road. It appeared to be a prisoner camp, with fewer than a hundred men guarding it.

“We should swing wide around them and cut them off before we attack,” Tharin advised. “The less notice the main force has of us coming, the better for us.”

“Eat the beast in small pieces, eh?” Kyman chuckled.

The scouts outlined the position. The enemy had taken over a large farmstead and had pickets set all around. Tobin could imagine her old teacher Raven sketching it out on the stone floor of the lesson room.

“We don’t need the whole force to take such a small group,” she said. “A hundred mounted warriors in a surprise attack should be enough.”

Captain Grannia had fallen back to hear the report. “Let my company go with them, Highness. It’s been too long since we drew blood.”

“Very well. But I’ll lead the charge.”

“Is that wise?” Arkoniel objected. “If we lost you in the first battle—”

“No, she’s right,” said Tharin. “We’ve asked these warriors to believe a miracle. They’ll lose heart if they think they’re following a hollow figurehead.”

Tobin nodded. “Everyone expected the first Ghërilain to hang back after her father made her queen, let the generals do the fighting for her. But she didn’t, and she won. I’m as much Illior’s queen as she was, and I’m better trained.”

“History repeating itself, eh?” Arkoniel considered this, then leveled a stern finger at Tharin, Ki, and Lynx. “Don’t you leave her side, you hear me? A dead warrior is even less use than a figurehead.”

They swept down on the steading with drawn swords. A low earthen wall surrounded the house, barns, and three stone-and-wattle corrals. Tobin and her warriors rode down the few outlying pickets and cleared the walls, hacking down any defenders who ran to meet them.

It was Tobin’s first mounted fight, but she felt the same inner calm as she hacked down the swordsmen who tried to unhorse her. She fought in silence, but heard Ki and Tharin shouting as they fought beside her, and Grannia’s women screamed like demons. Pale hands waved and gestured over the top of a corral, and Tobin could hear the screams of the captives there.

Lynx rode into the thick of the fight and dismounted.

“No!” Tobin shouted after him, but he was already gone. If he was determined to court death, there was nothing she could do for him.

The Plenimarans fought fiercely, but were outnumbered. Not one was left alive when the battle ended.

Ignoring the dead, Tobin rode to the nearest corral. It was filled with women and children from Ero. They wept and blessed her as she helped tear down the palings of the gate, and crowded around her horse to touch her.

Every Skalan child had heard dark tales of people being carried off to Plenimar as slaves, a practice unheard of in the western lands. Those lucky enough to escape and find their way home brought dark tales of degradation and torment.

A woman clung to Tobin’s ankle, sobbing and pointing toward the barn. “Never mind us! You must help them in the barn. Please, General, in the Maker’s name, help them!”

Tobin dismounted and pushed through the crowd and ran to the open barn door with Ki at her heels. A fallen torch smoldered in a pile of hay, and what they saw in that smoky light froze them in their tracks.

Eighteen naked, bloody men stood against the far wall, arms held over their head as if in surrender. Most had had their bellies slashed open; intestines spilled down around their feet like ropes of grisly sausage.

“Tharin!” she shouted, picking up the torch and stamping out the burning hay. “Tharin, Grannia, get in here. Bring help!”

Lynx came up, then staggered back, retching.

Tobin and the others had heard dark tales of what Plenimarans did with captured warriors. Now they saw it for themselves. The men had been beaten, then stripped, and their hands pulled over their heads and nailed in place through the wrists. The Skalan attack must have interrupted the enemy at their sport, for three had not yet been disemboweled. To Tobin’s horror, a number of those who had been were still alive, and began to struggle and cry out at her approach.

“Lynx, go for healers,” Tobin ordered.

Tharin had come in, and caught Lynx by the arm as he turned to obey. “Wait a moment. Let me have a look first.”

Tharin let go of Lynx and drew Tobin close, speaking low into her ear as other soldiers crowded in at the door. “These that are cut open? Not even a drysian could put them right and it can take days to die.”

Tobin read the truth in his friend’s pale eyes and nodded. “We’ll speed them on.”

“Leave it be. They understand, believe me.”

“But not those three who aren’t butchered. We’ve got to get them down. Send someone for tools.”

“Already done.”

One of the three lifted his head at their approach, and Ki groaned. “Oh hell, Tob. That’s Tanil!” The man next to him was alive, as well, but had been castrated. The third was dead or unconscious.

Tobin and Ki went to Tanil and got their arms around him, lifting him to take the weight off his nailed wrists.

Tanil let out a hoarse sob. “Oh gods, it’s you. Help me!”

Grannia and several of her women went to work with farriers’ pliers while others held the wounded men upright. The one who’d been castrated let out a scream as the nails came loose, but Tanil gritted his teeth, lips curled in a silent snarl of pain. Tobin and Ki lowered him to the ground and Lynx threw his cloak over him and cut strips from it to bandage the wounds.

Tanil opened his eyes and looked up at Tobin. She tossed her helm aside and stroked the dark hair back from his brow. He’d been badly beaten, and his eyes were vague.

“Korin?” he panted, eyes wandering from face to face. “I lost him … Stupid! I turned and he was … I have to find him!”

“Korin is safe,” Ki told him. “You’re safe, too. We made it, Tanil. Tobin’s brought Atyion back to save the city. It’s all right, now. Stay still.”

But Tanil didn’t seem to understand. Throwing off the cloak, he struggled weakly to get up. “Korin. I lost him. Got to find …”

A red-haired woman who’d been among the captives knelt by Tobin and touched her arm. “I’ll tend to him, Highness, and the others. This was my farm. I’ve got all I need for them.”

“Thank you.” Tobin stood up and wiped a hand across her mouth. Some of the disembowled men had been taken down and laid out in the hay with cloaks pulled over their faces.

Tharin was dealing with those who still lived. As Tobin watched, he stepped close to one still nailed. He spoke close to the man’s ear and Tobin saw the dying man nod. Tharin kissed him on the brow, then quickly plunged his dagger up under his ribs, into his heart. The man shuddered and went limp. Tharin stepped to the next man.

Tobin turned away, not wanting to see more, and stumbled into a young woman who’d come up behind her. She was dressed in the tattered remains of a silk gown. Sinking to her knees at Tobin’s feet, she mumbled, “Forgive me, Prince Tobin, I only wanted to thank—” She looked up and her eyes went wide.

“I know you, don’t I?” Tobin asked, trying to place her. She seemed familiar, but she’d been beaten, too. Her face was too bruised and swollen to recognize. Someone had bitten her on the shoulder, and the wound was still bleeding.

“I’m Yrena, my—” She started to say “prince” and stopped, still staring.

“Yrena? Oh!” Tobin felt her face go scarlet. “You were—”

The courtesan bowed her head, confusion still plain on her face. “Your birthday gift, Highness.”

Tobin was aware of Ki staring at her as she raised the woman by the hand. “I remember you, and your kindness, too.”

“It’s more than repaid, for the fate you spared me tonight.” Yrena’s eyes filled with tears. “Whatever else I can do, I will.”

“You could help with the wounded,” Tobin replied.

“Of course, Highness.” Yrena took Tobin’s hands in hers and kissed them, then went to help the red-haired woman. Sadly, there was little left to do. Only one other man lay beside Tanil. All the others were dead, and soldiers were singing the dirge.

Tharin was wiping his knife with a rag. “Come away, Tobin,” he said softly. “There’s nothing more to do here.”

A scream rang out beyond the house, then another, followed by shrill Skalan hunting cries.

“We must have missed a few,” said Tharin. “Do you want prisoners taken?”

Tobin looked back at the mutilated Skalans. “No. No prisoners.”

56

The Wormhole stronghold was lost during the fourth day of the siege. The Plenimarans were systematically burning the districts of the city and Iya watched from a distance as the stone buildings above the Wormhole blazed like furnaces. Old Lyman and the others too old or infirm had been sped on, passing their life force into friends or former apprentices. There had been no safe place to move them.

The city was unrecognizable. The last of the free wizards crept through the raddled landscape like ghosts. Even the enemy had forsaken the wasteland they’d created, massing instead around the smoke-blackened bastion of the Palatine.

Iya and Dylias gathered the survivors near the east gate that night, sheltering in the ruins of a granary. Of the thirty-eight wizards she’d known here, only nineteen were left, and eight were wounded. None were warriors, but they’d moved with stealth and attacked small forces by surprise, banding together to use their newfound strength against necromancer and soldiers alike.

Some of them had fallen by magic—Orgeus had been caught in a magical blast of some sort and died instantly. Saruel the Khatme, who’d been with him, had lost the hearing in one ear. Archers or swordsmen had killed others. None had been taken alive.

Too many precious lives lost, Iya thought, keeping watch through that long night. And too much power gone already.

As she’d suspected, wizards could draw strength from one another if they chose and it was compounded, not diminished. The fewer of them there were, the less power they could muster. And yet they had fought well. As near as she could tell, they’d killed all but a few of the necromancers. Iya had killed three herself, slaying them with the same heat she’d used to melt the cup the night she’d first visited the Wormhole. She’d never turned that on a living being before; they’d fizzled and burst their skins like sausages. It had been a most satisfying sight.

“What do we do now?” a young wizard named Hariad asked, as they crouched with the others in the smoky granary, sharing what food they’d been able to scavenge.

All eyes turned to Iya. She’d never claimed to be their leader, but she had brought the vision. Setting aside the stale crust she’d been eating, she rubbed at her eyes and sighed. “We’ve done all we can, I think. We can’t get into the Palatine, and we’re no match for an army. But if we can get out, we might be of some use to Tobin when she arrives.”

And so it was decided. Iya and her ragged defenders abandoned the city and fled under cover of darkness and magic, making their way through the scattered Plenimaran pickets beyond the ruins of the north gate.

Following the same route Tobin had taken three nights earlier, they found their way to the copse where Eyoli still lay hidden. She expected to find a corpse, for she’d had no word from him since the night he was wounded. He’d managed one message spell, telling her of the ambush, then nothing.

Instead, she was amazed to find him unconscious but alive. Tobin had left him bundled in Plenimaran cloaks beneath a large oak, with half a dozen canteens around him. The crows had been busy among the dead scattered on the open ground beyond the trees, but the young mind clouder was untouched.

It was a cold, clear night. They built a small fire and made camp under the trees. Iya gave Eyoli what help she could and he came to at last.

“I dreamed—I saw her!” he croaked, reaching weakly for her hand.

Iya stroked his brow. “Yes, we all did.”

“Then it’s true? It was Prince Tobin all along?”

“Yes. And you helped her.”

Eyoli smiled and closed his eyes. “That’s all right, then. I don’t mind about the rest.”

Iya stripped the crusted bandage from his shoulder and wrinkled her nose at the smell. The wound was full of pus, but there was no sign of the spreading rot. She let out a sigh of relief. She’d grown fond of this fearless young man, and come to depend on him, too. She’d lost count of the times he’d passed through the Harriers’ net, carrying messages. He’d mastered the message spell, too, which still eluded her.

“Saruel, bring what simples you have left,” she called softly. Iya wrapped herself in her cloak and leaned back against the tree while the Aurënfaie cleaned the wound. Summoning what strength she had left, she sent out a seeing spell, skimming above the darkened countryside to the Palatine. They still fought there, but the dead lay everywhere and the three necromancers she’d been unable to hunt down or vanquish were busy before the gates.

Turning her mind north, she saw Tobin and her raiders bearing down on a Plenimaran outpost, and the army that followed close behind. “Come, my queen,” she murmured as the vision faded. “Claim your birthright.”

“She has claimed it,” a cold voice whispered close to her ear.

Opening her eyes, Iya saw Brother crouched beside her, his pale thin lips curled in a sneer.

“Your work is done, old woman.” He reached toward her, as if to take her hand.

Iya saw her own death in those bottomless black eyes, but summoned a protection spell just in time. “No. Not yet. There’s more left for me to do.”

The spell held, rocking the demon back on his haunches. He bared his teeth at her. Freed from Tobin, he seemed even less human than before. He had the greenish cast of a corpse. “I don’t forget,” he whispered, slowly melting into the darkness. “Never forget …”

Iya shuddered. Sooner or latter this piper would demand his pay, but not yet. Not yet.

A sound like thunder woke them at dawn. The earth shook and twigs and dead leaves rained down around them. Iya eased the stiffness from her back and limped to the edge of the trees with the others.

Their little copse was about to become an island caught between two great opposing waves. A dark mass of horsemen was nearly upon them from the north and Iya made out the banners of Atyion and Ilear in the forefront. To the south, a host of Plenimaran infantry was marching to meet them. In minutes they’d be at the center of a battle.

And where are you in all that, Arkoniel? she wondered, but knew a sighting spell would be wasted energy. There was no way to help him, even if she knew where he was.

The attack on the farmstead was no more than a raid, and a bit of good luck in the dark. No ballad or lesson had prepared Ki for the reality of battle.

Somehow word of their coming had reached the city. They’d gone less than half a mile from the farm when they saw a large force advancing to meet them.

Ki had listened as well as he could to old Raven’s strategy lessons and histories, but he was happy enough to leave such things to Tobin and the officers. His only thought was to do his duty and keep his friend alive.

“How many?” Tobin asked, reining in.

“Two thousand or so,” Grannia called back. “And they’re not stopping to set stakes.”

Tobin conferred briefly with Tharin and Lord Kyman. “Put foot and archers in the fore,” she ordered. “Atyion’s horse will take right wing, Ilear on the left. I’ll stay at the center with my guard and Grannia’s company.”

The Plenimarans did not stop to parlay or entrench, but came at them in ordered ranks, spears gleaming in the sunlight like a field of silvery oats. Banners of red, black, gold, and white tilted on standards at the front. The forward lines marched in tight squares and used tall rectangular shields to form a wall and roof against arrows.

The Skalan archers went forward first, in five ranks of a hundred each. Aiming high, they shot over the shield line and sent wave after whistling wave of feathered death into the ranks of infantry behind them. The Plenimarans answered with flights of their own and Ki wheeled his horse and threw his shield up to protect Tobin.

Orders flew up and down the front line, bellowed from sergeant to sergeant. Tobin raised her sword and the foot soldiers set off at a trot to meet the Plenimaran line.

Tobin watched for an opening, then gave the signal again and kicked her mount forward. Ki and Tharin flanked her as they went from trot to canter to full gallop. When he could make out the faces of the enemy Ki drew his sword with the others and joined in the war cries.

“Atyion for Skala and the Four!”

They crashed into the melee and very nearly came to grief. A pikeman caught Tobin’s charger in the side and it reared. For one awful instant Ki saw Tobin’s helmeted head framed against the cloudy blue sky above him. Then she was falling, tumbling backward into the maelstrom of surging horses and men.

“Tobin!” Tharin cried, trying to urge his horse through the press to get to her.

Ki leaped from the saddle, dodging and ducking as he sought a flash of her surcoat. A horseman knocked him sprawling, then he was rolling to avoid the trampling hooves that seemed to come at him from every side.

It turned out to be the right direction, for suddenly she was there in front of him, laying about with her sword. Ki ducked another rearing horse and dashed to her, putting his back to hers just as a Plenimaran knight broke through and swung a saber at her head. Ki caught the blade with his own and felt the shock of it all the way to his shoulder.

Tharin rode free of the press and brought his blade down on the man’s head, knocking him off his feet. Ki finished the job.

“Come on, Kadmen has your horses!” he shouted.

He and Tobin mounted, but were soon afoot again as the line ground to a halt. It was like scything an endless hayfield, this fighting. Their sword hands were blistered and numb and glued to their hilts with blood before the enemy finally broke and ran.

“What happened?” Tobin asked as they climbed back into the saddle.

“Colath!” the cry came down the line. “Colath has come to our aid.”

“Colath?” Ki shouted. “That’s Lord Jorvai. Ahra will be with him!”

The Plenimarans were on the run by then, with Jorvai’s orange-and-green banner close behind.

“No quarter!” Tobin cried, raising her sword. “After them, riders, and give no quarter.”

Eyoli was too sick to move, and there was nowhere to take him anyway with the two armies clashing around them. Iya cast an occlusion over him where he lay and set wards to keep him from being trampled. Arrows sang through the foliage and Iya heard a cry, then the dull thud of a body hitting the ground.

“Iya, here. Hurry!” Dylias called.

A party of Plenimaran archers was running toward the trees. Iya joined hands with Saruel and Dylias, and they began the chant. Power surged through them and with the others Iya pointed a hand at the enemy. A flash like lightning sizzled from the wizards’ fingertips and twenty men fell, struck dead in an instant. Those few who survived turned tail and ran.

“Run, you dogs. For Skala!” Dylias cried, shaking his fist at their backs.

The battle swirled back and forth across the plain all morning and the wizards manned the copse like a fortress. When the last of their useful magic was spent, they took to the treetops and hid there.

The two sides were evenly matched in number, and the Plenimarans were a formidable foe. Three times Iya saw Tobin’s banner falter and three times it was taken up again. Helpless to do anything but Watch, Iya clung to the rough trunk and prayed that the Lightbearer would not let so much pain and sacrifice be lost here in sight of the city.

As if in answer to her plea, a huge body of horsemen appeared from the north just as the sun passed noon.

“It’s Colath!” someone cried out.

“A thousand at least!” someone else shouted, and a ragged cheer went up.

The forces of Colath struck on the Plenimarans’ left flank, and the enemy line faltered, then broke. Tobin’s cavalry fell on them like a pack of wolves. The Plenimaran standards fell, and what followed was a massacre.

The rout drove the few survivors back to the city. Tobin led her army straight on for the northern wall.

The Plenimaran defenders there were ready for them. They’d set stakes across the road and fortified the broken gates. Archers behind the stake line and along the walls sent a hail of arrows down on the Skalans as they charged.

For one awful moment Ki was afraid Tobin would keep right on going into the enemy line. She looked like a demon herself, fierce and blood-soaked. But she stopped at last.

Oblivious to the shafts whining around them, she sat her horse and surveyed the gate ahead. Ki and Lynx rode to cover her. Behind them Tharin was shouting and swearing.

“Come on!” Ki shouted, catching two shafts with his shield.

Tobin cast a last glance at the gate, then wheeled her horse and brandished her sword, leading the way back out of range.

“Sakor-touched!” Ki hissed through his teeth, spurring after her.

They rode back a quarter mile or so and stopped to regroup. As Tobin conferred with Lord Kyman and Tharin, a grizzled lord and his escort rode up and hailed her. Ki recognized Jorvai and his eldest sons, but doubted they’d know him. He’d been a scrawny swineherd on Jorvai’s land when they’d last seen him.

Jorvai was the same hale old warrior he remembered. Recognizing Tobin by her surcoat, he dismounted and knelt to present his sword. “My prince! Will the Scion of Atyion accept the aid of Colath?”

“Yes. Rise, with Atyion’s thanks,” Tobin replied.

But Jorvai remained on his knees, looking up at her from beneath his shaggy grey brows. “Is this the son of Rhius I bow to?”

Tobin pulled off her helm. “I am the daughter of Ariani and Rhius.”

Arkoniel and the Illioran priestess who’d come with them from Atyion stepped out to join them. “This is the one who was foretold. She is as she says,” the priestess told him.

“It’s true,” Arkoniel told him. “I’ve known Tobin since birth, and this is the same person.”

“By the Light!” A look of pure wonder came over Jorvai’s face. He had heard the prophecies, and believed. “Will the daughter of Ariani accept the fealty of Colath?”

Tobin accepted his sword. “I do, and most gratefully. Rise, Lord Jorvai and clasp hands with me. My father spoke well of you.”

“He was a great warrior, your father. It seems you take after him. And here’s Captain Tharin!” He and Tharin embraced. “By the Light, I haven’t seen you in years. It’s good to find you still among the living.”

Tobin smiled. “Tell me, my lord, does Ahra of Oakmount still serve you?”

“She’s one of my best captains.”

Tobin motioned Ki forward and clasped his shoulder. “Tell Captain Ahra that her brother and I asked after her, and that she should seek us out when Ero is safe.”

Jorvai looked more closely at Ki. “Well now! One of old Larenth’s boys, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my lord. Kirothius of Oakmount. And Rilmar,” he added.

Jorvai laughed outright at this. “I miss the old bandit and his brood. I don’t doubt you’re well pleased with this one, Highness, if he takes after his old dad.”

“He does, my lord,” Tobin replied, and Ki could tell she liked the plainspoken old man. No wonder, he thought fondly; they’re cut from the same cloth.

This had been well-tended farmland when Iya and the wizard had crossed it last night. Now, as if some great tide had come and gone, the churned soil was scattered with bodies, hundreds of men and horses abandoned like broken toys across acres of trampled mud.

Tobin had chased off the enemy, but soon returned and stopped half a mile off. Iya gathered the others, and they set off to meet her, with some of the younger men carrying Eyoli in a cloak.

As they left the cover of the trees a black war charger thundered past with rolling red eyes, dragging its entrails behind it. His dead master dangled and bounced alongside, one foot still caught in the iron loop of a stirrup.

The groans of the wounded came from all sides as the wizards made their way across the battlefield. Skalan men-at-arms were still busy dispatching the dying and stripping the enemy corpses.

Ero was wreathed in a sullen sunset haze. The Palatine was still under siege, but Iya could also make out a dark line of men before the lower gates. The enemy would not be taken unawares there.

Reaching the main body of Tobin’s army, they were questioned briefly, then led to the center of the great throng where Tobin was conferring with a group of warriors. Jorvai and Kyman were foremost among them. Ki and Tharin were both still with her, and Arkoniel, too, Iya saw with a rush of relief. The young wizard saw her and touched Tobin’s shoulder. Tobin turned, and Iya’s breath caught in her throat.

This was the face the Oracle had shown her—weary, filthy, not beautiful, but indomitable. This was their warrior queen.

“Majesty,” Iya said, hurrying forward and sinking to her knees. The others joined her. “I bring wizards loyal to you and to Skala.”

“Iya! Thank the Four, but where did you come from?” The voice was different, and yet the same. Tobin drew her to her feet and gave Iya a wry grin. “You’ve never knelt to me before. And I’m not queen yet.”

“You will be. You’ve come into your own at last.”

“And your work is done.”

A chill ran up Iya’s spine. Had Tobin intentionally echoed Brother’s words? But she saw only welcome in her eyes and a fierce resolve.

“And your work is just begun, it seems, but you’ll have help,” she told Tobin. “This is Master Dylias. He and these others stood against the Harriers and fought for Ero. They were with me when I found you and the Companions the other day.”

“Thank you all,” Tobin said, bowing to the ragtag group.

“And we’ll fight for you again, if you’ll have us,” Dylias said, bowing low. “We bring fresh word of the enemy’s movements inside the city. We were there until last night.”

Tobin took him to consult with her captains and lords, but Ki and Arkoniel stayed with Iya.

Arkoniel embraced her, holding her tight. “By the Light!” he mumbled, and she realized he was weeping. “We did it,” he whispered against her shoulder. “Can you believe it? We did it!”

“Indeed we did, my dear.” She gave him a squeeze, and he stepped back, wiping his eyes. For a moment he looked like a boy again and her heart swelled.

“I’m glad to see you, too, Mistress,” Ki told her shyly. “I didn’t like leaving you back there.”

Iya smiled. “And here you are, right where you belong. I knew I chose well that day.”

“You might have told me a bit more,” he replied softly. She caught a hint of accusation in those dark brown eyes, but it disappeared as he caught sight of Eyoli, who was being tended to by several healers now. “Eyoli, is that you?” he exclaimed, hurrying over. “Hey, Tobin, look! He’s alive after all!”

Tobin came back and knelt by the young wizard. “Thank the Light! I just sent riders looking for you, but here you are!”

Eyoli raised his hand to his brow and heart. “As soon as I have my strength back, I’ll fight for you again. Perhaps I’ll get better at it, with practice.”

Tobin laughed, a clear, good sound in the midst of such a day, then stood and called out, “All of you, this is the wizard Eyoli, who helped me escape from Ero. I declare him a hero and my friend!”

A cheer went up and the young man colored shyly.

Tobin moved to Iya’s side. “And this is the seer you’ve heard of. It was Mistress Iya who the Lightbearer spoke to, and she and Master Arkoniel who protected me as a child. They’re to be held in highest honor forever.”

Iya and Arkoniel bowed in their turn and touched their hearts and brows to Tobin.

Mounting her horse again, Tobin addressed them again in a loud voice.

“I thank you all for your bravery, your faith, and your loyalty. Every man and woman who fought beside me today is a hero worthy of the name, but I must ask more of you.”

She pointed to the smoking city. “For the first time in our long history, an enemy holds Ero. By all reports, there may still be as many as six thousand waiting for us there. We must go on. I will go on! Will you follow me?”

The response was deafening. Tobin’s charger reared and she brandished her sword. The blade caught the sunset light, flashing like Sakor’s fiery sword.

Gradually the cheering took on a rhythm. “The queen! The queen!”

Tobin motioned for silence. It took some time, but when she could be heard again, she cried out, “By the Lightbearer’s moon rising in the east, I swear to you that I will be your queen, but I will not claim that title until it’s the Sword of Ghërilain I lift in my right hand. I’m told my kinsman Prince Korin holds it now—”

She was drowned out by a swell of angry voices.

“Usurper!”

“The plague bringer’s son!”

But Tobin wasn’t finished. “Hear me, loyal Skalans, and pass this on to all you meet as my will!” Her voice was hoarse now, but it carried. “Prince Korin’s blood is as true as my own! I will not have it spilled. Any man who harms my kinsman harms me and will be counted among my enemies! Look there.” She pointed at the ruined city again. “Even as you curse him, the prince fights for Skala. We fight for Ero, not against Korin!” She paused and seemed to sag a bit. “Let us save our land. We’ll sort out the rest after that. For Ero and Skala!”

Arkoniel heaved a sigh of relief as the throng took up the call, but Iya frowned. “Doesn’t she realize he won’t just step aside?”

“Perhaps not, and even if she does, this was the right thing to say,” he replied. “Not every lord will be as easily won as Kyman or Jorvai. There are too many of Solari’s ilk left, and Korin has a legitimate claim in the eyes of many others. Tobin can’t be known first as a kin slayer or renegade. Whatever happens later on, I suspect this speech of hers just laid the foundation of her legend.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Trust the Lightbearer, Iya. The fact that she came through that battle in one piece is a good omen. And the fact that we’re both standing here with her, too.” He hugged her again. “By the Light, I’m glad to see you. When Eyoli sent word of the attack the other day—Well, it sounded bad.”

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon, either! Have you learned to fly?” she asked. “And what happened to your wrist? Were you hurt in the battle?”

He laughed. “No, I kept out of that. But I did make good use of that spell I showed you. Remember the one I lost my finger to?”

Iya raised a disapproving eyebrow. “The translocation? By the Light, you used it on yourself?”

“I’ve made some improvements since we last spoke. It was the only way to get to her in time.” He held up his broken wrist again. “Can’t say that I recommend it for general use just yet, but think of it, Iya! A hundred miles crossed in the blink of an eye.”

Iya shook her head. “I knew you’d be great, dear boy. I just had no idea how quickly you’d achieve it. I’m so proud of you—” She broke off with a sudden look of alarm. “Where is it? You haven’t let it out of your possession already?”

Arkoniel pulled back his cloak and showed her the battered old leather bag at his belt. “Here it is.”

“And there they are, and their necromancers,” Iya murmured, frowning back at Ero. “Keep away from them. Hang back if you must, or throw it through one of those black holes of yours, but don’t let it be taken!”

“I thought of that after I got here,” he admitted. “I could send it back. Wythnir is still—”

“No. Remember what Ranai told you. Only one Guardian can carry it, and that child is not the one. If the worst should come and I still live, send it to me.”

“And if you’re—gone?”

“Well, I guess we better keep an eye out for other successors, eh?” She sighed. “What it has to do with any of this, I don’t know, but at least we’ve come this far. I saw Tobin revealed, Arkoniel, that night in Ero. The others did, too. It must have been when the binding spell was broken. I saw her face as clearly as I see yours now. Did you and Lhel see her, too?”

“I did, but I don’t know about Lhel. I haven’t seen her since midwinter. She’s just—disappeared. There wasn’t time to look for her when I was at the keep yesterday, but Nari hadn’t seen her since we left for the mountains.”

“You’re worried for her.”

Arkoniel nodded. “She left in the dead of winter and took almost nothing with her. If she didn’t return to the keep or her oak—Well, perhaps she didn’t make it back at all. She had nowhere else to go except to her own people, and I don’t think she’d do that before Brother was free.”

“No, I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

“Perhaps she’ll come to Ero,” he said without much hope.

“Perhaps. What about Brother? Have you seen him?”

“Not since Tobin undid the binding. He appeared for a moment then. Have you?”

“A glimpse. He’s not finished with us yet, Arkoniel.” Her fingers were cold as she clasped his hand. “Be on your guard.”

57

Tobin’s attack had temporarily distracted the Plenimarans from their assault on the citadel.

Leaning wearily on the ramparts, Lutha and Nikides watched with mounting hope as Tobin’s small army decimated the Plenimaran force and drove it back behind the walls. Tobin’s banner was at the forefront of every charge.

Despite this initial defeat, the remaining Plenimaran host still held the city and the citadel. The remaining Palatine defenders were exhausted from pushing off scaling ladders and putting out fires.

The Plenimaran catapults had been moved up the hill two days earlier and rained a steady bombardment of stones and fire. Many of the outer villas and temples had been lost. The Companions’ former quarters at the Old Palace were an infirmary, filled with the wounded and the homeless.

The Plenimaran commander, Lord General Harkol, had demanded their surrender twice the day before and twice Korin had refused. They had water and food enough for an extended siege, but had long since exhausted their supply of arrows. They’d been reduced to tossing anything they could find down on the enemy’s heads—furniture, paving stones, chamber pots, logs cut from the trees of the Palatine gardens and the Grove of Dalna. They’d even thrown down the stone effigies from the royal tombs.

“I believe the queens would approve,” Chancellor Hylus had said dryly when he’d suggested it. “They gave their lives for Skala. I’m sure they would not begrudge a bit of stone.”

The old fellow must have been right, Lutha thought. They’d managed to crush several Plenimaran necromancers at a blow with Queen Markira.

Watching Tobin’s forces regroup that afternoon, Lutha shook his head. “You don’t believe that nonsense of Niryn’s, do you, Nik?”

“About Tobin claiming to be a girl?” Nikides rolled his eyes.

“No, I mean about him turning traitor and trying to take the throne.”

“I believe that even less, but Korin seems to. You saw him the other day. And I don’t like the way Niryn keeps him shut away every night, pouring wine down his throat and poison in his ear. That scares me more than that army down there.”

Tobin attacked twice again before nightfall, storming the walls and barricades. The Plenimaran line held, but the ground beyond was littered with their dead. Rain blew in off the sea just after sunset, and clouds sealed the sky.

As the last light faded, another host marched out of the gloom to the south. It was impossible to make out their banners but Nikides said it looked like knights and yeoman, probably from Ylani and the towns of the middle coast. There were at least two thousand, and suddenly the Plenimarans found themselves besieged in the burned waste they’d made between the harbor and the citadel. The forces around the citadel began to thin and the flickering movement of torches through the night showed that they were dividing themselves to fight on three fronts.

“I won’t do it!” Korin said, pacing back angrily around his private sitting room. The room stank of wine and fear.

Niryn glanced over at Chancellor Hylus. The old man sat by the fire, his mind filled with treason, but said nothing. Niryn’s hold over Korin was nearly complete and they both knew it.

Niryn had convinced the prince to leave his remaining Companions outside the door on guard—all but Caliel, presently glowering at Niryn in the shadows near the door.

It was nearly midnight. The storm had risen steadily since sunset. Rain and sleet lashed against the windows in angry gusts. The night was impenetrable except for the occasional flash of lightning.

“For Skala’s sake, Majesty, you must consider the possibility,”. Niryn urged as another gust of wind shook the windows. “This new force from the south is nothing but a peasant rabble! They won’t turn the tide, any more than Tobin’s army will. Not in this weather. They know they’re outnumbered and they’ve withdrawn. But the enemy sappers haven’t stopped at the Palatine gate. I can hear them when the wind drops! They could break through at any moment and what will we do? You have only a handful of warriors left.”

“The Plenimarans are caught in the same storm,” Caliel countered, voice trembling with thinly veiled anger. “Korin, you can’t just run away!”

“Again, you mean?” Korin shot back, giving his friend a bitter smile.

“That’s not what I said.”

Niryn was pleased to see some hint of division at last. “It would not be running away, Lord Caliel,” he said smoothly. “If the enemy breaches the gate, they will kill everyone they find, including our young king. They’ll drag his body through the streets and display his head as a trophy in Benshâl. The Overlord will wear the crown and Ghërilain’s Sword at their victory feast.”

Korin paused in his pacing and gripped the hilt of the great sword hanging against his hip. “He’s right, Caliel. They know they can’t take the whole country with one assault, but if they destroy Ero, capture the treasury and the Sword, kill the last of the line—how long will Skala stand after that?”

“But Tobin—”

“Is as great a threat!” Korin shot back. “You’ve heard the reports. Every Illioran left in the city is whispering about it, saying the true queen has come back to save the land. Three more priests were executed today, but the damage is done. How long until this rabble unbars the gate to the renegades? You saw the banners among Tobin’s army; the countryside is already rising to join him—or her!” He threw his hands up with a snarl of disgust. “It doesn’t matter what the truth is; the ignorant already believe. And if he does manage to break through, what then?” He drew the sword and held it up. “Better for the Overlord to have this than a traitor!”

“You’re wrong, Kor! Why can’t you see it?” Caliel cried. “If Tobin wanted the city to fall, why come to our defense? He could just as easily have delayed and let the invaders do his dirty work for him. You saw how he fought today. Wait, I beg you. Give it another day before you do this.”

Alben burst in and gave Korin a hasty salute. “Korin, sappers have broken through under the wall and the main gate just fell. They’re pouring in like rats!”

Korin’s eyes were like a dead man’s as he turned to Caliel. “Gather my guard and the Companions. Ero is lost.”

58

Caught in that torrential downpour, Tobin’s army had no choice but to hunker down and wait for dawn.

Using pikes, cloaks, and a bit of hedge magic, the wizards managed to construct a few small tents for themselves, and for Tobin and her officers.

Tobin and Tharin spoke at length with the Wormhole survivors, learning what they could of the enemy’s strength, but their report was old news by now.

Sometime near midnight a shout of dismay went up among the ranks as a red glow blossomed against the sky.

“The Palatine!” Ki exclaimed. “They must have broken through. It’s burning!”

Tobin turned to Arkoniel. “Can you show me what’s happening, like you did with Tharin?”

“Of course.” They knelt together on a folded cloak and Arkoniel took her hands in his. “We haven’t done this since you were a child. Do you remember what I taught you?”

Tobin nodded. “You had me imagine I was an eagle.”

Arkoniel smiled. “Yes, that will do. Just close your eyes and let yourself rise.”

Tobin felt a dizzying sensation of movement, then saw the dark, rainswept plain sliding away below her. The illusion was strong; she could feel her wings and the rain beating down on them. A large owl flew with her, and it had Arkoniel’s eyes. He glided ahead and she followed, circling the Plenimaran position by the gate, then soaring up to the devastation of the Palatine.

The New Palace, the temple, and the sacred grove: they were all in flames. Everywhere she looked she saw hundreds of people locked in close combat. There were no banners to tell her where the Companions were. It was utter chaos. As she circled the burning grove, however, she looked to the south and saw with amazement that another small army was encamped there, facing the contingent of Plenimarans who held the Beggar’s Bridge gate.

She was about to swoop down for a closer look when she found herself kneeling under the dripping tent again, the beginnings of a headache throbbing just behind her eyes. Arkoniel was holding his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “With everything that’s happened these last few days, I’m a bit used up.”

“We all are,” Iya said, pressing her hand to the back of his neck.

Tobin got up and turned to Tharin. “We must attack. Now.”

“We can’t!” said Jorvai.

“He’s right, Highness,” Kyman agreed. “A night attack is always risky, but with this rain the horses will be more likely to founder, or run themselves onto stakes.”

“We’ll take our chances then, but we must attack now! The Palatine has fallen. They’re fighting for their lives. If we don’t help them, there’ll be no one left to save by morning. There’s another army on the south side and the Plenimarans have had to divide up to face them. Iya, what can your wizards do? Can you help us break through at the lower walls?”

“We’ll do what we can.”

“Good. Ki, Lynx, find our horses and send runners to alert the others. Kyman, Jorvai, will your people fight?”

“Ilear is with you,” Kyman replied, pressing his fist to his heart.

“And Colath,” Jorvai swore. “If nothing else, we’ll give the bastards a nasty surprise!”

Word of the Palatine breach spread through the Camp. Despite rain, mud, and exhaustion, Tobin’s shivering army found its feet and within an hour they were marching under order of silence toward the enemy line once again. Jorvai sent a raiding party to dispatch the outlying pickets and they did their job well. No outcry gave them away and the rain became their friend, hiding their approach from the sentries.

Iya and eight of the wizards stole on ahead. They kept to the high road, letting the darkness cloak them, conserving their strength for the task ahead. Arkoniel had complained bitterly when she’d ordered him to stay behind with the rear guard, but finally agreed when she’d pointed out that it wouldn’t do for the last Guardian to find himself and the precious bowl he carried in Plenimaran hands if it all went wrong.

Holding hands like children so as not to get separated, Iya and her small band of saboteurs plodded along, wading down wheel ruts flooded into small streams.

They stopped just outside the stake lines. Wizards saw better in the dark than ordinary folk, and from here they could easily make out the bearded faces of some of the guards standing around their watch fires. A few hundred yards beyond lay the broken black mouth of the north gate, blocked by makeshift wooden barricades.

They’d agreed in advance that Iya would direct the spell, for her powers were the strongest for this sort of work. The others stood just behind her, their hands pressed against her back and shoulders.

“Illior help us,” she whispered, raising her wand in both hands. It was the first time so many had joined at once for such a destructive magic. Iya hoped her old body was strong enough to channel it. Stifling her doubts, she lowered the wand in her left hand and narrowed her eyes. The line of stakes and the watchmen’s fires blurred before her as the other wizards willed their power into her.

The spell burst through her and Iya was certain it would shred her to bits. It was like wildfire and hurricanes and avalanches raging all at once. Her bones sang with the force of it.

Yet somehow she survived, and watched in astonishment as pale green fire engulfed the stake line and the barricades beyond. It didn’t look like flames, but a mass of writhing forms—serpents or dragons, perhaps. It grew brighter, then exploded. The ground shook and a great gust of hot wind rocked her on her feet. The blast left a roiling cloud of steam in its wake.

Then the ground was shaking again, and this time it came from behind. Someone grabbed her and they tumbled together into the icy water of a ditch. Horsemen surged around and over them, charging the new opening. Iya watched the fleeting shapes as if they were a dream. Perhaps it was a dream, for she couldn’t feel her body.

“We did it! We did it!” Saruel cried, holding Iya close to shield her. “Iya, do you see? Iya?”

Iya wanted to answer her, but darkness came and claimed her.

The flash of the wizards’ attack left black spots dancing before Tobin’s eyes, but that didn’t slow her as she led the charge through the gap. As Kyman had predicted, they caught the enemy completely off guard.

Kyman and Jorvai attacked the walls while Tobin and the Atyion garrison stormed up to the Palatine.

Red fire lit their way. The heat of the burning palace seemed to drive off the rain and the flames lit the surrounding area like a beacon.

The battle was still raging and once again they took the Plenimarans by surprise. It was impossible to tell how many they were fighting; with her guard at her back and Tharin, Ki, and Lynx close beside her, Tobin plowed on into the fray.

It was all confusion after that. The broken pavement underfoot hampered them, and familiar landmarks seemed to loom up at odd moments or in the wrong place. At the Royal Tomb the portico was empty, as if the stone effigies had somehow joined the fray. They fought on past the temple, but the pillars and roof were missing.

Small groups of Skalan defenders joined them, but they were outnumbered. The blackened walls around them caught the clamor of battle and magnified it.

They fought for what seemed like hours as rage carried Tobin past exhaustion. Her arms were soaked to the elbow with blood, and her surcoat was black with it.

At last the enemy seemed to be thinning, and she heard a cry among them that sounded like, “There away, there away!”

“Are they calling a retreat?” she asked Tharin, as they paused in the shelter of the tombs.

He listened a moment, then let out a grim laugh. “That’s dyr’awai they’re saying. If I’m not mistaken, it means ‘demon queen.’ ”

Ki chuckled as he wiped his blade on the hem of his sodden surcoat. “Guess word of you got around, after all.”

Captain Grannia climbed up to join them. “Are you hurt, Highness?”

“No, just getting my bearings.”

“We have them on the run. My lot just brought down what looks to be a general, and a good number of the others tried to run for the gate. We killed most of them.”

“Well done! Has there been any sign of Prince Korin?”

“Not that I’ve seen, Highness.”

The captain and her women set off again. Tobin stretched and yawned. “Well, let’s have at it.”

Just as they were about to set off again, however, she looked around at her remaining guard and her heart sank. “Where’s Lynx?”

Ki shared a dark look with Tharin. “Perhaps he got his wish, after all.”

There was no time to mourn him. A gang of Plenimarans found them, and the battle was joined again.

59

The rain and the battle ended just before dawn. The last of the Plenimarans broke and ran, only to be cut down by the Skalan forces manning the lower city. Lord Jorvai later estimated that even with the southern troops, they’d been outnumbered nearly three to one, but fury had driven them to a bloody victory all the same. “No quarter” remained the standing order, and none was given. Dawn found the rotting plague dead overlaid with dead and dying Plenimarans. A handful of black ships had escaped to carry the news of their defeat back to Benshâl, but most of the raiding fleet had been burned. Smoking hulks drifted on the tide or blazed grounded against the rocky shore. The water was strewn with floating corpses and thick with sharks feasting on this bounty.

Messengers were already streaming in from the lower wards and surrounding countryside. The lands south and west of the city were untouched, but to the north and throughout the city the granaries had been destroyed and whole wards burned flat. Enemy soldiers were rumored to have escaped inland during the night, and Tobin sent Lord Kyman after them.

Refugees were trickling back in, as well, and those who’d somehow survived the siege emerged from their hiding places, weeping, laughing, cursing. Like filthy, vengeful ghosts, they roamed the streets, stripping the dead and mutilating the wounded.

The Palatine was scarcely recognizable. Resting for a moment at the head of the temple steps with Ki and Tharin, Tobin wearily surveyed the grim scene before her. Just below, her guard and Grannia’s fighters kept an uneasy watch; it was too soon to tell how many Skalans here remained loyal to Korin.

Smoke cast a dreary twilight pall over the citadel and the stench of death was already rising. Hundreds of bodies choked the narrow streets: soldier and citizen, Skalan and Plenimaran, thrown together like broken dolls.

The king’s body had been found in a tower room above the gate. He was laid out in state, but the crown and the Sword of Ghërilain were gone. There’d been no sign of Korin or any of the Companions. Tobin had dispatched a company of men to look for them among the dead.

Lynx was still missing, too, and Chancellor Hylus had not been seen. There’d been no word of Iya and the other wizards, either, and Tobin had sent Arkoniel down to look for them by the gates. There was nothing more to do but wait for word.

Warriors and drysians were at work carrying the wounded to the Old Palace but the task was overwhelming. Flocks of ravens were descending for the feast, strutting among the dead and mingling their harsh triumphant cries with the cries of the wounded.

The New Palace was still burning and would for days. The Treasury had not been looted, but was lost for a time beneath the flames and rubble. Hundreds of fine houses—Tobin’s among them—were only smoking foundations, and those that still stood were stained black. The fine elms that had lined the avenue beyond the Old Palace were gone; their stumps stood like uneven teeth along the road, and the Grove of Dalna had been decimated by axe and flame. The Old Palace had suffered some fire damage, but was still standing. The Companions’ training ground, witness to a thousand mock battles, was strewn with genuine dead, and the reflecting pool was dyed red.

Ki shook his head. “Bilairy’s balls! Did we save anything?”

“Just be thankful that it’s us standing here now, and not the enemy,” Tharin told him.

Exhaustion settled over Tobin like a fog, but she forced herself to her feet. “Let’s go see who’s left.”

Near the Old Palace a passing general of the Palatine Guard recognized her surcoat and sank to one knee.

“General Skonis, Highness,” he said, searching her face with wondering eyes as he saluted. “I congratulate you on your victory.”

“You have my thanks, General. I’m sorry we were too late to prevent all this. Is there any news of my cousin?”

The man bowed his head. “The king is gone, Highness.”

“King?” Tharin asked sharply. “They found time for a coronation?”

“No, my lord, but he has the Sword—”

“Never mind that,” said Tobin. “You say he’s gone?”

“He escaped, Highness. As soon as the gates went down, the Companions and Lord Niryn took him away.”

“He ran away?” Ki said, incredulous.

“He was taken to safety, my lord,” the general shot back, glaring up at him, and Tobin guessed where the man’s true loyalties lay.

“Where did he go?” Tharin demanded.

“Lord Niryn said he would send word.” He looked boldly back at Tobin again. “He has the Sword and the crown. He is the heir.”

Ki stepped angrily toward him, but Tharin caught his arm, and said, “The true heir stands revealed before you, Skorus. Go and spread the word. No loyal Skalan has reason to fear her.”

The man saluted again and strode away.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Tharin growled. “You need to make yourself known quickly.”

“Yes.” Tobin glanced around. “The old audience chamber is still standing. Send out word that anyone who can still walk is to go there at once. I’ll address the people there.”

“You should have a larger guard, too. Grannia, assemble a guard of six hundred. Have them form up in the front courtyard at once.”

Grannia saluted and hurried away.

As Tobin turned to go, however, she caught sight of two familiar, blood-grimed figures approaching out of the haze of the palace gardens. It was Lynx and Una.

“There you are!” Una called out. Walking up to Tobin, she looked closely at her, then looked away blushing. “Lynx tried to tell me, but I couldn’t imagine—”

“I’m sorry,” said Tobin, and meant it. The neck of Una’s tunic was open and Tobin saw she still wore the golden sword pendant she’d made for her. “There was no way to tell you before. I never meant to lead you on.”

Una managed a stiff smile. “I know. I just—Well, never mind.”

“So this is the girl who caused all that uproar with the king?” said Tharin, holding his hand out to her. “It’s good to see you again, Lady Una.”

“It’s Rider Una, now,” she told him proudly. “Tobin and Ki did manage to make a warrior of me, after all.” She paused and looked at the smoke rising from the far end of the Old Palace. “You haven’t heard any word of my family, have you?”

“No,” said Tobin. “Did you come up to look for them?”

Una nodded.

“Good luck, then. And Una? I need more people for my guard. Ask Ahra if she’d be willing, when you go back, and I’ll speak to Jorvai.”

“I will. And thank you.” Una hurried off toward the smoke.

“What happened to you, Lynx?” Ki demanded.

“Nothing,” the other squire replied dully. “After we got separated last night I ended up with Ahra’s riders outside the gates.”

“I’m glad to have you back. I was afraid we’d lost you,” Tobin told him.

Lynx acknowledged this with a nod. “We burned the Harriers’ headquarters.”

“That’s a good night’s work!” Ki exclaimed. “Were any of them in it at the time?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he replied. “We killed all the grey-backs we could find, but the wizards were already gone. Ahra and her people found their money chests and let out the last of the prisoners, then put the place to the torch.”

“Good riddance,” said Ki, as they strode on to the Old Palace.

The corridors and chambers of their former home echoed with the wails of the wounded—cries for help, for water, for death. Tobin and the others had to pick their way carefully so as not to step on them, they lay so thick on the floors. Some rested on mattresses or pallets made of clothing or faded tapestries. Others lay on the bare floor.

An elderly drysian in stained robes knelt before Tobin. “You’re the one the Lightbearer’s priests promised, aren’t you?”

“Yes, old mother, I am,” Tobin replied. The woman’s hands were as bloodstained as her own, she saw, but from healing rather than killing. Suddenly Tobin wanted very much to wash. “The fires may spread. All those who can be moved would be better off outside the city. I’ll have wagons sent.”

“Bless you, Majesty!” the woman said, and hurried off.

“You can’t escape the title,” Ki noted.

“No, but Korin’s already claimed it.”

As they entered the Companions’ wing someone among the wounded called her name. She followed the weak voice and found Nikides lying on a filthy pallet near the messroom door. He’d been stripped to his trousers and his left side was bound with stained rags. His face was white, and his breath came in short, painful gasps.

“Tobin … Is it really you?”

“Nik! I thought we’d lost you.” Tobin knelt and held her water bottle to his cracked lips. “Yes, it’s me. Ki’s here, too, and Lynx.”

Nikides peered up at her for a moment, then closed his eyes. “By the Light, it’s true. We thought old Fox Beard was lying for sure, but look at you! I’d never have guessed …”

She set the bottle aside and clasped his cold hand between hers. “I’m less changed than you think. But how are you? When were you hurt?”

“Korin ordered us …” He paused, gasping. “I was with them as far as the gate, but then we ran into a great …” He broke off again, then whispered, “I never was much of a warrior, was I?”

“You’re alive. That’s all that matters,” Ki said, kneeling to cradle his friend’s head. “Where are Lutha and the others?”

“He and Barieus brought me … I haven’t seen them since. Went with Korin, I expect. He’s gone.”

“We heard,” Tobin told him.

Nikides scowled. “That was Niryn’s doing. Kept at him …” He drew another shuddering breath and grimaced. “Grandfather’s dead. Caught in the New Palace when it burned.” His grip on her hand tightened. “I’m sorry he didn’t live to see … Are you really a girl?” Spots of color rose in his white cheeks. “Really, I mean?”

“Near as I can tell. Now what about you. Can you be moved?”

Nik nodded. “I took an arrow, but it went through clean. The drysians claim I’ll heal.”

“Of course you will. Ki, help me move him to our old room for now.”

The sheets and hangings were gone, but the bed was still usable. They put Nikides on it, and Tharin went for water.

“Prince Tobin?” a soft voice quavered from the shadows of the old dressing room. Baldus peered fearfully around the doorframe, then ran to her and threw himself into her arms, sobbing.

She ran her hands over him but found no sign of a wound. “It’s all right now,” she said, patting him awkwardly. “It’s over. We won.”

Baldus caught a hitching breath and turned his tear-stained face up to her. “Molay—he told me to hide. We let the hawks free and hid your jewels, and then he put me in the big clothes chest and told me not to come out until he came back for me. But he didn’t. No one came. And then I heard you … Where can Molay be?”

“He must have gone to help fight. But it’s over now, so he’ll be back soon,” she said, though she didn’t have much hope of that. “Here, have a drink from my bottle. Good, take it all. You must be thirsty after hiding for so long. You can go look for Molay among the wounded, if you like. As soon as you find him or anyone else we know, come and tell me.”

Baldus wiped his face and squared his shoulders. “Yes, my prince. I’m so glad you’re back safe!”

Ki shook his head as the boy ran off. “He didn’t even notice.”

The sound of a familiar voice woke Iya.

“Iya? Iya, can you hear me?”

Opening her eyes, she saw Arkoniel kneeling over her. It was daylight. She ached all over and was chilled to the bone, but it seemed she was still alive.

With his help she sat up and found herself by the side of the road not far from where they’d stormed the gates the night before. Someone had pulled her from the ditch and wrapped her in cloaks. Saruel and Dylias sat beside her, and she could see more wizards nearby, smiling at her in obvious relief.

“Good morning,” Arkoniel said, but his smile was forced.

“What happened?” There was no sign of the enemy; Skalan soldiers guarded the gate, and people seemed to be coming and going unchallenged.

“What happened?” Saruel laughed. “Well, we were successful, but nearly killed you in the process.”

You shall not enter.

Why did Brother’s words come back to haunt her now? She’d survived. “Tobin? Is she—?”

“Jorvai was by earlier and said she came through with a whole skin again. He’s convinced she’s divinely protected, and from the sound of it, he must be right.”

Iya stood up gingerly. She was sore, but seemed to be whole, otherwise.

A mounted herald came through the gate and galloped down the road, shouting, “Go to the Old Palace throne room. All Skalans are summoned to the Old Palace throne room.”

Dylias took her arm, smiling broadly. “Come, my dear. Your young queen summons us!”

“Never were sweeter words spoken.” She laughed, and all her aches and pains seemed to fall away. “Come, my battered Third Orëska. Let us present ourselves.”

Saruel caught Iya by the arm just then. “Look! There in the harbor!”

A small ship was skimming across the water toward the ruined quays. Its square sail was an unmistakable shade of dark red, and it bore the emblem of a large white eye over a supine crescent moon.

Iya touched her heart and eyelids in salute. “The Lightbearer has a new message for us, it seems, and an urgent one, if the Oracle herself comes to deliver it.”

“But how? How did she know?” gasped Arkoniel.

Iya patted his arm. “Come now, dear boy. What sort of Oracle would she be if she didn’t see this?”

At the throne room the lead seals had been cut and the golden doors thrown wide. Entering with her guard, Tobin found the great chamber beyond already crowded. Soldiers and citizens made way for her in near silence, and Tobin felt all those hundreds of eyes fixed on her. The silence was different than it had been in Atyion. It seemed filled with doubt and skepticism, and the hint of threat. Tobin had ordered that her guards keep their weapons sheathed and Tharin had agreed, but he and Ki looked wary as they walked beside her.

Some of the shutters had been pulled down and slanting afternoon light streamed in through the tall dusty windows. Open braziers on either side of the high stone throne cast a red glow over the white marble stairs. A knot of priests awaited her there. She recognized those who’d come from Atyion among them, Kaliya foremost among them, maskless There was still no sign of the wizards. Someone had cleaned the birds’ nests from the stone seat and lined it with dusty velvet cushions, as it must have been in the time of her grandmothers. Tobin was too nervous to sit yet.

She stood tongue-tied for a moment, recalling the suspicion she’d seen in General Skonis’ eyes. But there was no turning back now.

“Ki, help me,” she said at last, and began unbuckling her sword belt. With his help, she pulled off her surcoat and the hauberk and padded shirt underneath. Untying her hair, she shook it out around her face, then summoned the priests of Ero up to join her.

“Look at me, all of you. Touch me, so that you can attest to these people that I am a woman.”

A priest of Dalna ran his hands over her shoulders and chest, then pressed his palm to her heart. Tobin felt a sensation like a warm moist summer breeze rise through her.

“She is a woman, and of the true blood of the royal house,” he announced.

“So you say!” someone in the crowd called out, and others echoed it.

“So says the Oracle of Afra!” a deep voice boomed from the back of the chamber. Iya and Arkoniel stood at the doors, flanking a man in a stained traveling cloak.

The crowd parted as they strode to the foot of the dais. Iya bowed deeply, and Tobin saw that she was smiling.

The man threw off his cloak. Underneath he wore a dark red robe. He took a silver priest’s mask from its folds and fixed it over his face. “I am Imonus, high priest of Afra and emissary of the Oracle,” he announced.

The priests of Illior covered their own faces with their hands and fell to their knees.

“You have the mark and the scar?” he asked Tobin.

“Yes.” Tobin pushed back her shirtsleeve. He climbed the stairs and examined her arm and chin.

“This is Tamír, the Lightbearer’s queen, who was foretold to this wizard,” he proclaimed.

Iya joined them and he rested a hand on her shoulder. “I was there the day the Oracle revealed this wizard’s road. It was I who wrote down her vision in the sacred scrolls, and I am sent now with a gift for our new queen. Majesty, we have kept this for you, all these years.”

He raised his hand and two more red-robed priests entered, bearing something on a long litter. A handful of dirty, bedraggled-looking people followed. “The Wizards of Ero,” Iya told her.

The litter bearers brought their burden to the foot of the throne and set it down. Something large and flat as a tabletop lay on it, swathed in dark red cloth embroidered with a silver eye.

Imonus descended to fold back the wrappings. Polished gold caught the light of the braziers, and those standing closest gasped as a golden tablet as tall as a man and several inches thick was revealed. Words were engraved across it in square, old-fashioned script like a scroll, the letters tall enough to be read halfway across the great chamber as the litter bearers stood the tablet on its end for all to see.

Tobin touched her heart and sword hilt reverently. “Ghërilain’s tablet!”

The high priest nodded. “Erius ordered this destroyed, just as he destroyed the steles that once stood in every marketplace,” he proclaimed in that same deep, carrying voice. “The priests of the Ero temple saved it and brought it in secret to Afra, where it was hidden until a true queen came to Ero again.

“Hear me, people of Ero, as you stand in the ruins of your city. This tablet is nothing. The words it bears are the very voice of Illior, set there by Illior’s first queen. This prophecy was fulfilled, and lived on in the hearts of the faithful, who have failed in their duty for a time.

“Here me, people of Ero, as you look on the face of Tamír, daughter of Ariani and all the queens who came before her, even to Ghërilain herself. The Oracle does not sleep, or see falsely. She would not send this sign to a pretender. She foresaw this queen before she was conceived, before Erius usurped his sister’s place, before their mother was lost to the darkness. Doubt my words, doubt this sign, and you doubt the Lightbearer, your protector. You have slept, people of Ero. Awake now and see clearly. The true queen has delivered you, and stands here now to reveal her true face and her true name.”

Tobin felt the hair on her arms slowly rise as the misty figure of a woman took shape beside her on the dais. As it grew more solid, she saw that it was a girl about her own age, dressed in a long blue gown. Over it she wore a cuirass of gilded leather emblazoned with the ancient crescent moon and flame emblem of Skala. The Sword of Ghërilain, which she held upright before her face, looked newly forged. Her flowing hair was black, her eyes a dark, familiar blue.

“Ghërilain?” Tobin whispered.

The ghostly girl aged before Tobin’s eyes to a woman with iron-grey hair and lines of care etched deep around her mouth and eyes.

Daughter.

The sword was notched and bloody now, but shone more brightly than before. She offered it to Tobin, just as Tamír’s ghost had, and her eyes seemed to hold a challenge: This is yours. Claim it.

As Tobin reached to take it, the ghost disappeared and she found herself looking instead out through one of the tall windows. From here, she could see past the burned gardens to the smoking ruin of the city and the wreckage-strewn harbor beyond.

So long as a daughter of Thelátimos—

“Tob?” Ki’s worried whisper jolted her back to the present.

Her friends were watching her with concern. The Afran priest’s face was still masked, but she saw Ghërilain’s challenge mirrored in his dark eyes.

“Tobin, are you all right?” Ki asked again.

Her own sword felt too light in her hand as she raised it to salute the crowd, and cried out, “By this tablet, and by the Sword that is not here, I pledge myself to Skala. I am Tamír!”

60

The sound of her chamber door being thrown open startled Nalia out of her dreams. The room was still lost in darkness, except for the thin bar of star-flecked sky visible at the tower’s two narrow windows.

“My lady, wake up. They’ve all gone mad!” It was her page, and the child sounded terrified. She felt his fear as keenly as the ever-present damp that permeated every room of this lonely fortress they’d been exiled to.

Her nurse rolled over in the bed with an angry grunt. “Gone mad? Who’s gone mad? If this is another of your night terrors, Alin, I’ll skin you!”

“No, Vena, listen.” Nalia ran to the window that overlooked the bailey and pushed the leaded pane open. Far below she could see torches moving, and hear the clash of steel. “What’s happening, Alin?”

“The grey guard has turned on the Cirna garrison. They’re slaughtering them!”

“We must bar the door!” Vena lit a candle from the banked coals, then helped Alin set the heavy beam across the iron brackets. Leaving him at the door, she brought Nalia a shawl and stood listening to the inexplicable chaos below.

It died away at last and Nalia clung trembling to her nurse, fearful of what the quiet might mean. Outside there was nothing but the distant sigh of the waves against the cliffs.

“My lady, look there!” Alin pointed to the other window, the one that faced south over the isthmus road. A long line of torches was approaching quickly along it. As they drew closer, Nalia could make out the riders who carried them, and hear the jangle of harness and mail.

“It’s an attack!” she whispered.

“The Plenimarans have come,” Vena wailed. “O Maker, save us!”

“But why would the grey guard attack the others inside the walls? What can it mean?”

Nearly an hour passed before they heard footsteps on the tower stairs. Vena and Alin pushed Nalia into the far corner, shielding her with their bodies.

The latch rattled. “Nalia, my dear, it’s only me. You’re quite safe. Open the door.”

“Niryn!” Nalia ran to the door and struggled to heave the bar aside. “That was you on the road? Oh, you gave us such a fright!” The bar clattered to the floor. She flung the door open and fell into her lover’s arms, feeling safe again.

Two Harrier guardsmen stood just behind him. “What’s happening?” she asked, fearful again. Niryn never allowed any other men in her tower; the red hawks on the front of their tunics looked black as ravens in the dim light. “Alin said the men were fighting each other.”

Niryn’s beard tickled her bare shoulder as he gently pushed her away. “Mutiny and treason, my dear, but it’s over now and you have nothing to fear. In fact, I bring you wonderful news. Tell your servants to leave us.”

Blushing but delighted, Nalia nodded at Vena and Alin and they hurried out as they always did. The guardsmen made way for them, but remained. “My lord, I’ve missed you so—”

She tried to embrace him again, but he held her at arm’s length. As she gazed up at that beloved face, some trick of the candle made his eyes look hard. She took a step back, pulling the shawl closer around her. “Something is wrong. Tell me, please.”

He smiled again, and the same ungenerous light stretched it into a leer. “This is a great day, Nalia. A very great day.”

“What—what do you mean, my lord?”

“I have someone I want you to meet.” He nodded to the guards and they stepped aside to let another man pass. Shocked, Nalia tugged, at her shawl again.

This one was young and very handsome, but he was dirty and unshaven, too, and smelled appalling. Nonetheless, she recognized the arms on his filthy surcoat and sank to her knees before him. “Prince Korin?”

“King Korin,” Niryn corrected gently. “I present Lady Nalia.”

“This? This is the one?” The young king’s look of disgust chilled her more than the night air.

“Her blood is true, I assure you,” Niryn said, going to the door.

Nalia watched in growing alarm as he stepped from the room and began to slowly close it after him. “Nalia, allow me to present your new husband.”