Authors: Lynn Flewelling
The ride to Atyion was a long one and the Companions and their guard entertained each other with songs and stories to pass the time. It was all new country to Tobin, but Ki had traveled this road with his father and later with Iya when she brought him south to the keep.
Early on the second day a great island chain came into view ahead of them, rising like huge breaching whales to the horizon. When they slowed to rest the horses, Porion, Tharin, and Korin’s captain, a dark, weathered lord named Melnoth, helped pass the time trading stories of fighting pirates and Plenimarans in those waters, and of the sacred island of Kouros where the first hierophant and his people had made landfall and established their court.
“You can feel the magic in the very stones, there, boys,” Porion told them. “And it’s no magic known to the Four.”
“That’s because the Old Ones scratched their spells all over the rocks and painted them in the caves above the surf,” said Melnoth. “The hierophant brought the worship of the Four across the water with him, but couldn’t displace the old powers that still lurk there. They say that’s why his son moved the court to Benshâl.”
“I always had strange dreams there,” Tharin mused.
“But aren’t there the same sort of marks on the rocks all along the coast?” asked Korin. “The Old Ones lived all around the Inner Sea.”
“Old Ones?” asked Tobin.
“The hill tribes they’re called now,” Porion explained. “Little dark folk who practice the old ways of necromancy.”
“They’re great thieves, as well,” one of Korin’s guardsmen added. “Proper folk used to hunt them like vermin.”
“Yes we did,” old Laris muttered, but he looked sad as he said it.
“So long as what’s left of them keep to the mountains, they’re safe enough,” Korin said, cocksure as if he’d driven them there himself.
Others added tales of their own. The hill folk sacrificed young men and children to their evil goddess. They rutted like animals in the fields under certain moons and always ate their meat raw. Their witches could change into beasts and demons at will, kill by blowing through a hollow branch, and summon the dead.
Tobin knew that these were Lhel’s people they spoke of. He had to press his lips together to keep from arguing when some of the older soldiers spoke of bewitchments and withering curses, and could tell that Ki was no happier hearing such stories. He loved the witch who’d twice saved his life. Lhel was just a healer, an herb witch, and she’d been a wise friend to them both.
All the same, Tobin couldn’t deny that she’d used blood and bits of Brother’s bones in her magic. That did seem like necromancy, now that he thought of it. A fleeting image flashed to mind: a needle flashing in firelight, and Brother’s bloody tears falling through the air. The binding scar began to itch and Tobin had to rub at it to make it stop.
“There are plenty of good Skalan families who’d find a bit of that blood in their own veins, if they thought to ask their grandmothers,” Tharin was saying. “As for their
magic, I guess I’d have used whatever I had at hand, too, if a pack of strangers decided to take my lands from me. And so would the rest of you.”
This got only a few grudging nods, but Tobin was grateful. Lhel always spoke well of Tharin. Tobin wondered what he’d make of her.
The road gradually turned inland, taking them through dense woodland far from the sound of the sea. At midafternoon Tharin called a halt and pointed to a pair of granite pillars flanking the road. They were weathered and mossy, but Tobin could still make out the faint outline of a spreading oak carved on them.
“Do you know what those are?” Tharin asked.
Tobin pulled out his father’s oak tree signet; the design was the same. “This is the boundary, isn’t it?”
“Ride forward and enter your lands, coz,” said Korin, grinning at him. “All hail Tobin, son of Rhius, Prince of Ero, and rightful scion of Atyion!”
The rest of the company cheered and beat their shields as Tobin nudged Gosi forward. He felt silly with all the fuss; it was the same thick forest on both sides of the markers.
A few miles farther on, however, the woods ended and the road wound on through an open plain toward the distant sea. Topping a crest in the road, Korin reined in and pointed. “There it is, the finest holding outside Ero.”
Tobin gaped. “That’s all—mine?”
“It is! Or will be, anyway, when you come of age.”
In the distance, a large town lay in the bend of a meandering river that snaked its way to the sea. The farmlands were dotted with tidy steadings and laced with low stone walls. Sheep and large herds of horses grazed in some, while others enclosed fields and budding vineyards.
But Tobin had eyes only for the town and massive castle that dominated the plain by the river. High stone curtain walls studded with round bastions and corbels and overhung by extensive hoardings of stone and wood enclosed
the landward sides of both. The castle itself was square, and dominated by two large towers of reddish brown stone. Almost as large as the New Palace and more heavily fortified, it dwarfed the town below.
“That’s Atyion?” Tobin whispered in disbelief. He’d heard of its great wealth and grandeur, but with nothing to compare it to, he’d imagined it simply a larger sort of keep.
“I told you it was big,” said Ki.
Tharin shaded his eyes and squinted at the long banners flying from the towers and the peaked roofs of the corbels. “Those aren’t your colors.”
“I don’t see Father’s, either,” said Korin. “Looks like we’re in time to give him welcome, after all. Tobin, you take the lead and let the lazy fools know you’re coming!”
The standard-bearers galloped ahead down the muddy, rutted road to announce them. The Companions followed at a fast trot. The farmers and drovers they met cheered their approach. By the time they reached the gates a crowd had gathered to greet them. Tobin’s standard was mounted on the tall pole over the gate, but just below it hung another, one he and Tharin recognized—Solari’s golden sun on a green field. It wasn’t quite the same, though. The device at the top of the standard pole was not the bronze ring of a lord, but the silver crescent of a duke.
“Looks like Father has chosen Atyion’s new Lord Protector already,” said Korin.
“And promoted him, too,” Tharin noted.
“He was your father’s liegeman, wasn’t he?” asked Korin.
Tobin nodded.
“Well, that’s an improvement over the last choice!” Tharin said. “Your father would be pleased.”
Tobin wasn’t so certain. He’d last seen Solari when he came with the others to bring home his father’s ashes. Solari and Lord Nyanis had been his father’s most trusted liegemen. The day Solari had come to take leave of Tobin, however, Brother had appeared, whispering of treachery.
He told his captain he would be lord of Atyion himself in a year—
“He’s lord of Atyion now?” he asked.
“No, that passed to you by right,” Tharin assured him. “But Atyion must have a Protector until you come of age.”
Alerted by the standard-bearer’s arrival, a larger crowd had gathered in the market square beyond the gate. Hundreds of people pressed forward to catch a glimpse of him, laughing and waving kerchiefs and scraps of blue cloth in the air. Korin and the others fell back, letting Tobin take the lead. The roar took on a rhythm; the crowd was chanting his name.
“To-bin! To-bin! To-bin!”
He gazed around in wonder, then raised his hand in a tentative wave. The cheering doubled. These people had never laid eyes on him before, yet they seemed to know him on sight, and to love him.
His heart swelled with a pride he’d never felt before. Drawing his sword, he saluted the crowd. They parted before him as Tharin led the way down a winding, cobbled street to the castle.
Children and dogs ran excitedly beside their horses and women leaned out of windows, waving scarves at the men below. Looking back over his shoulder, Tobin saw that Ki looked as happy as if he owned the place himself.
Catching Tobin’s eye, he hollered, “I told you, didn’t I?”
“Home at last!” Tharin cried, overhearing.
Tobin had always thought of the keep as home, but Tharin had been born here, and his own father, too. They’d ridden these streets together, played along the walls and riverbank, and in the castle looming ahead.
Tobin pulled out the signet and ring and clasped them, imagining his father bringing his bride here to the same sort of welcome. But his new sense of homecoming was already mingled with something darker; this should have been his home, too.
The town was clean and prosperous. The market
squares they passed were lined with shops and stalls, and the stone-and-timber buildings well built and in good repair. Corrals filled with fine horses seemed to be everywhere, too.
They were nearly to the castle walls before it occurred to Tobin that he’d seen no beggars in the streets and no signs of plague.
A wide moat separated the town from the castle walls. The drawbridge was down and they crossed it and galloped through the gate into an enormous bailey.
Inside the safety of the curtain wall stood a small village of barracks and stables, cottages, and rows of workmen’s stalls and forges.
“By the Light,” Lutha exclaimed. “You could fit most of the Palatine in here!”
There were more horse corrals, and herds of sheep, goats, and pigs watched over by children who waved excitedly to him as he passed.
Ranks of soldiers lined the way; some wearing his colors, others in Solari’s. They shouted his name and Korin’s, called out to Tharin, and beat their shields with their sword hilts and bows as the entourage passed. Tobin tried to count them, but couldn’t. There were hundreds. He was glad to recognize a few faces here and there; men who’d served with his father.
“About time you brought the prince home!” an old veteran called out to Tharin, restraining a huge boarhound on a chain. The dog barked and struggled; it seemed to Tobin the creature was looking at him.
“I told you I would one day!” Tharin shouted back. This drew even more cheering.
Solari and a blond noblewoman stood waiting for them at the head of the castle’s broad entrance stair.
Solari’s herald raised a trumpet and sounded a shrill salute, then cried out in a loud, formal voice: “Greetings to Korin, son of Erius, Prince Royal of Skala, and to Prince Tobin, son of Rhius and Ariani, Scion of Atyion. Duke
Solari, lord of Evermere and Fair Haven and Lord Protector of Atyion and his good lady, Duchess Savia, bid you most welcome.”
Tobin swung down from the saddle and let his Protector come to him. Solari’s curly black hair and beard showed a thicker sprinkling of grey now, but his ruddy face was still youthful as he dropped to one knee and presented his sword hilt to Tobin.
“My liege, it is my very great honor to welcome you to your father’s house, now yours. His Majesty, King Erius, has appointed me Lord Protector of Atyion until you come of age. I humbly seek your blessing.”
Tobin clasped the hilt and looked hard into the man’s eyes. Despite Brother’s warning, he saw only welcome there and respect. Could Brother have been wrong, after all, or lying to make trouble, as he had with Ki?
As Solari smiled up at him, Tobin wanted Brother to be wrong. “You have my blessing, Duke Solari. It’s good to see you again.”
Solari rose and presented his lady. “My wife, Your Highness.”
Savia curtsied deeply and kissed him on both cheeks. “Welcome home, my prince. I’ve wanted to meet you for so long!”
“I suppose it wouldn’t be dignified for me to swing you up on my shoulders as I used to?” Solari said, dark eyes twinkling.
“I guess not!” Tobin laughed. “Allow me to present my royal cousin. And you remember Sir Kirothius, my squire.”
Solari clasped hands with Ki. “You’ve both grown up so, I hardly recognize you. And here’s Tharin, too! How are you, old friend? It’s been too long.”
“Indeed it has.”
“I’ve felt like an intruder, wandering these halls without you and Rhius. But with his son here at last, things begin to feel right with the world again.”
“How long have you been here?” asked Tharin. “We had no word you’d been appointed.”
“The king invested me before we sailed from Mycena and sent me ahead to make the house ready for Prince Tobin and his own arrival.”
“Is Lord Nyanis well?” Tobin asked. Nyanis had been Tobin’s favorite among his father’s generals. That sad day at the keep had been the last time he’d seen him, too.
“As far as I know, my prince. I’ve had no word otherwise.” Solari ushered them up the stairs. “I’ve been with the king at the royal camp this past year. Nyanis is still entrenched with General Rynar above Nanta until we see if the truce holds.”
As they passed beneath the arched portal the carved panel over the doors caught Tobin’s eye; it showed a gauntleted hand holding Sakor’s garlanded sword. He touched his heart and hilt as he passed under it and Korin did the same. But Tharin was frowning, first at the carving, and then at a swarthy, wide-set man wearing the silver chain and long tunic of a steward, who bowed low to them as they entered.
“Where’s Hakone?” he asked Solari.
“He’s finally grown too frail to carry out his duties, poor old fellow,” Solari told him. “Orun replaced him with some squint-eyed fellow of his own, but I got rid of him quick enough and took the liberty of installing Eponis here, a trusted man of my own household.”
“And of flying your own colors from the battlements,” Tharin noted pointedly. “For a moment Prince Tobin thought he’d come to the wrong house.”
“Highness, the fault is mine,” Eponis rumbled, bowing to Tobin again. “I will see it is remedied at once.”
“Thank you,” said Tobin.
Solari and his lady led them on through a receiving chamber where heady incense burned before a household shrine as large as a shop. A black cat sat at the foot of it, tail curled around its feet, and watched them pass with eyes
like gold coins. A grey-muzzled old bitch lay companion-ably beside it, but at Tobin’s approach she lurched up stiffly and slunk away. The cat blinked placidly at him, then went on washing its face.
Beyond this, through a pillared gallery, lay the great hall. Entering for the first time, Tobin caught his breath in amazement.