Authors: Lynn Flewelling
Korin dropped to one knee and saluted his father. Tobin and the other Companions did the same.
“Korin, my boy!” Erius exclaimed, as he swung down from the saddle to meet them. His voice was deep and filled with love.
Instead of fear or hate, Tobin felt a sudden stab of longing.
Abandoning any pretense of dignity, Korin threw himself into his father’s arms. A roar of acclaim went up from the ranks as the pair hugged and pounded each other on the back. The Companions cheered the king, beating their sword hilts against their shields.
After a moment Korin noticed Tobin still kneeling and dragged him to his feet. “This is Tobin, Father. Cousin, come and greet your uncle.”
“By the Flame, look how you’ve sprouted up!” laughed Erius.
“Your Majesty.” Tobin started to bow, but the king caught him in a strong embrace. For a dizzying instant Tobin was back in his father’s arms, enveloped in the comforting smells of oiled steel, sweat, and leather.
Erius stepped back and gazed down at him with such fondness that Tobin’s knees went weak.
“The last time I saw you, you were a babe asleep in your father’s arms.” Erius cupped Tobin’s chin in one hard, callused hand and a wistful look came over his face. “Everyone said you have my sister’s eyes. I can almost see her looking out at me,” he murmured, unknowingly sending a superstitious chill up his nephew’s spine. “Tobin Erius Akandor, have you no kiss for your uncle?”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Tobin managed. All his
hate and fear had melted away at that first warm smile. Now he didn’t know how to feel. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against the king’s rough cheek. As he did so, he found himself looking at Lord Niryn, who stood just behind the king. Where’d he come from? Why was he here? Tobin stepped back quickly, trying to cover his surprise.
“How old are you now, boy?” Erius asked, still clasping him by the shoulders.
“Twelve and a half, almost, Your Majesty.”
The king chuckled. “That old, eh? And already a dangerous swordsman, by all reports! But you mustn’t be so formal. From this day forth, I’m ‘Uncle’ to you, and nothing else. Come now, let me hear it. I’ve waited a long time.”
“As you wish—Uncle.” Looking up, Tobin saw his own shy, traitorous smile mirrored in the king’s dark eyes.
It was a relief when Erius turned away. “Duke Solari, I’ve brought your own son back to you, too, safe and sound. Nevus, go and greet your parents.”
He’s your enemy!
Tobin told himself, watching the king laugh with Solari and the young noble. But his heart wasn’t listening.
K
orin and Tobin flanked the king as they rode on to the castle. Solari and his family rode ahead with the standard-bearers.
“What do you think of your new guardian?” Erius asked.
“I like him a great deal better than Lord Orun,” Tobin answered truthfully. Knowing now that Brother sometimes lied, he was prepared to believe better of the man. Solari had treated him no differently than he ever had, always kind.
Erius chuckled at his bluntness and gave Tobin a wry wink. “So do I. Now, where’s this squire of yours?”
This is it
, Tobin thought, tensing again. He’d been given no warning of a new guardian. Did the king have a
new squire for him hidden among the ranks, as well? Putting on a brave face, he waved Ki up. “May I present my squire, Uncle? Sir Kirothius, son of Sir Larenth of Oakmount steading.”
Ki managed a dignified bow from the saddle, but the hand he pressed to his heart was shaking. “Your Majesty, please accept my humble service to you and all your line.”
“So this is the troublesome Sir Kirothius? Sit up and let me look at you, lad.”
Ki did as he was told, gripping the reins with white-knuckled hands. Tobin watched them both closely as the king sized up his friend. Fitted out in fine new clothes, Ki looked the equal of any of the Companions; Tobin had seen to that.
“Oakmount?” the king said at last. “That would make your father Lord Jorvai’s man.”
“Yes, my king.”
“Odd place for Rhius to seek a squire for his son. Wouldn’t you agree, Solari?”
“I thought so myself at the time,” Solari replied over his shoulder.
Would Erius nullify the bond right here in front of everyone? Ki’s expression didn’t change, but Tobin saw his friend’s hands clench harder on the reins.
But Solari wasn’t done. “As I recall, Rhius met Larenth and some of his sons in Mycena and was impressed with their fighting ability. Strong country stock, he said, not spoiled with court manners and intrigues.”
Tobin stared down at Gosi’s neck hoping his surprise didn’t show. Of course his father had had to lie, but it had never occurred to him to wonder what he might have said to explain Ki’s presence.
“A wise choice, judging by this fine young fellow,” said Erius. “Perhaps more of my lords should take Rhius’ advice. Do you have any brothers, Kirothius?”
Ki broke into a buck-toothed grin. “A whole pack of
them, Your Majesty, if you don’t mind ’em rough and plainspoken.”
This won a hearty, full-throated laugh from the king. “We could do with more country honesty at court. Tell me, Kirothius, and be honest now, how does this son of mine strike you?”
No one but Tobin noticed Ki’s slight hesitation. “It’s a great honor to serve Prince Korin, Majesty. He’s the best swordsman of us all.”
“Just as he should be!” Erius clapped Ki on the shoulder, then gave Tobin a wink. “Your father chose well, my boy, just as I thought. I won’t break the bond he blessed, so perhaps now the pair of you can stop looking like dogs in need of green grass.”
“Thank you, my king!” Tobin managed, his rush of relief so strong he could hardly get his breath. “Lord Orun was so set against him—”
The king’s mouth quirked into an odd little smile. “You see where that got him. And call me uncle, remember?”
Tobin raised his fist to his heart. “Thank you, Uncle!”
The king turned back to Korin, and Tobin gripped the saddlebow, dizzy with relief. Ki’s place was safe, after all. For that, at least, he could love his uncle a little.
A
ll of Atyion turned out to greet the king, but it seemed to Tobin that the cheering wasn’t quite as loud as it had been the day before. And this time it was Solari’s troops in the forefront at the castle yard, rather than his own.
T
hat night’s feast more than made up for any disparity in the welcome. Lytia had been busy.
The tables were draped with red and strewn with fragrant herbs. Flat wax candles floated in silver basins, and hundreds of torches burned in sconces on the pillars that lined the room, so that even the painted ceiling vaults were illuminated.
Under the direction of Lytia and the steward, a steady
procession of dishes was carried in, more exotic and varied than anything Tobin had ever seen. Huge pike quivered in glistening aspic skins. Humble grouse were encased in new pastry bodies, shaped and painted to look like mythical birds, complete with brilliant plumed tails of real feathers. Companies of spiced crabs stood at attention, holding tiny silk banners in their claws. A roast stag was carried in on a shield, its belly filled with mock entrails made of dried fruit and nuts threaded on strings and glazed with honey and nutmeg. The sweet courses included pears filled with sweet brown cream whipped to peaks, pastry apples filled with dried fruit and chopped veal, and another bird pie, this one filled with tiny red warblers. As they burst free and swirled up toward the rafters, the king’s men released their hawks and roared with laughter as the soft red feathers floated down around them.
Lytia’s sugar dragons were presented on a silver platter the size of a war shield. Each was made in a slightly different pose, some rearing, some crouched as if to pounce, and arranged as if doing battle with each other. The spectacle was borne around to all the tables before the dragons met their ultimate fate.
The squires served the head table. Tobin and the noble Companions sat to the king and Korin’s right. Niryn, Solari and his wife, and other nobles had the king’s left. Tobin was pleased to see Tharin seated among the king’s friends.
“Were some of these men in your Companions, too, Uncle?” he inquired, as the panters worked, cutting the first round of bread trenchers and laying the upper crusts before the king and his kin.
“Your swordmaster was a squire, before his lord was killed in battle. General Rheynaris was one of my boys, and that duke beside him was his squire. Tharin was our butler. Your squire puts me in mind of him at that age. Look at them, Tharin,” Erius called down the table, pointing to the Companions. “Were we as fine a company in our day?”
“I daresay we were,” Tharin called back. “But we’d have found them a fair match on the sword ground.”
“Especially your son, my king, and those wild young ruffians,” Porion called, pointing to Tobin and Ki. “Those lads will match any swordsman in the court when they get their growth.”
“It’s true, Father,” Korin said, slopping wine from his mazer as he saluted Tobin. “Tobin and Ki have dusted the jackets of most of us.”
“They had good teachers.” The king raised his mazer to Tharin and Porion, then clapped Korin on the shoulder. “I’ve brought some gifts for you and your friends.”
These proved to be Plenimaran longswords for Korin and Tobin, and handsome belt knives for the rest. The steel had a dark blue tinge not seen in Skala and it took a cruel, sharp edge. The workmanship was exceptional and the boys excitedly compared their gifts. Tobin’s sword had a curved guard of bronze and silver, and the metal had been worked to look like intricately intertwined briars or vines. He turned it admiringly in his hands, then looked at Korin’s, which had guards made in the shape of wings.
“Beautiful work, isn’t it?” said Erius. “The eastern craftsmen stick closer to the old styles. There are weapons in the treasury vaults dating from the Hierophantic Era just like them. I captured these myself; they belonged to generals.”
He sat back and exchanged a wink with Korin. “I’ve one more gift to bestow, though I won’t take credit for thinking of it. Boys?”
Korin, Caliel, and Nikides left the hall and returned with a bulky cloth-wrapped bundle and Tobin’s standard pole. The banner was furled and muffled in white cloth.
Korin gave the bundle to his father’s page and grinned at Tobin. “Lord. Hylus sends his regards, coz.”
Erius rose and addressed the hall. “I’ve been gone a long time, and have a great deal of business to attend to now that I’m home. The first duty I’m pleased to discharge
tonight regards my nephew here. Rise, Prince Tobin, and receive from my hand your new coat of arms: the might of Atyion married to the glory of Skala.”
Nikides unfurled the banner and the king opened the bundle and shook out a dagged silk surcoat, both worked with Tobin’s arms.
The arms shield was divided by a vertical impalement of red, which, together with the silver dragon crest at the top, proclaimed his royal blood. The left side showed the oak of Atyion in white on a black ground edged with silver silk. The right side of the shield bore the red dragon of Illior beneath the golden flame of Sakor on azure edged in white, his mother’s colors.
“They’re wonderful!” Tobin exclaimed. He’d almost forgotten the conversation he’d had with Hylus and Nikides. He shot Nikides a grateful look, suspecting he’d had something to do with this.
“It’s a brave device,” Erius told Tobin. “You must have your battle shield repainted and new tunics for your guard.”
Tobin dropped to one knee, holding the surcoat across his chest. “Thank you, Uncle. I am honored.”
The king ruffled his hair. “And now it’s time to pay the piper.”
“Uncle?”
“I’ve heard great things about this squire and you—I’d like to see for myself. Pair off with some of the others. Helms and hauberks, that will do. Squire Kirothius, fetch your master’s armor. Clear the floor, you minstrels, and we’ll have proper warrior’s entertainment.”
“You take on Garol, Ki,” Korin ordered. “Who’ll face Tobin?”
“I will, my prince,” Alben called out before anyone else could answer.
“Bastard!” Ki muttered. Any of the other boys might have gone easy on Tobin, let him make a good first showing for the king. But not jealous, proud Alben.
“Yes, let my son test your nephew!” called one of the nobles down the table
This must be the famous Baron Alcenar
, thought Tobin. The man was dark and handsome like his son, and looked just as arrogant.
Ki and Garol fought first. Taking their places, they saluted the king, then began to circle each other. The nobles pounded the tables and traded wagers.
The betting was all on Garol at first. He was older than Ki and more heavily muscled. The odds seemed justified at first, as he drove Ki back with a series of powerful opening swings. The two had sparred often enough to know each other’s tricks; Ki would have to win with speed and skill.
Working grimly, he blocked Garol’s blows and slowly began turning him, so as not to get trapped against the tables. It put Tobin in mind of the dancing lessons they’d had with Arengil and Una. Ki might be the one backing up, but he was the leader, making Garol open his guard as he was forced to follow his retreating foe. Tobin grinned, guessing what Ki was up to. Garol’s greatest weakness was impatience.
Sure enough, the older boy quickly tired of the chase and sprung at Ki, nearly knocking him over. Quick as a snake, Ki spun on his heel, ducked under Garol’s arm, and smacked him across the back of the neck with the flat of his blade, knocking him on his face. Everyone heard the hiss of his blade across the mail coif; it would have been a killing blow. Arengil had taught them that move.
The audience bellowed and hooted as gold changed hands. Ki helped Garol up and threw an arm around his shoulders, steadying him. Garol rubbed ruefully at his neck, looking a little dazed.
Then it was Tobin’s turn. He was already nervous, and didn’t like the smirk Alben exchanged with Urmanis as he took his place. As much as he disliked Alben, Tobin knew better than to underestimate him; he was a strong, cunning fighter and could be counted on to do anything to win.
Rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms to settle the heavy mail shirt more comfortably, Tobin took his place.