Hidden Warrior (26 page)

When they’d saluted the king, Alben struck a defensive stance and waited, forcing Tobin to make the first move or appear a fool. It was a calculated strategy, and Tobin narrowly missed getting a belly stroke when Alben sidestepped his first feint. It unbalanced him and Alben pressed the advantage with a quick series of punishing swings. Tobin danced and ducked, but still caught a ringing blow across the top of his helm that nearly knocked him to his knees. He recovered just in time to turn a swing, and the tip of his blade caught Alben in the face, sliding across the coif to nick him on the cheek.

Alben swore and redoubled his assault, but Tobin’s blood was up now, too. He would not be shamed in front of the king, or in his own hall.

“For Atyion!” he cried, and heard the challenge echoed in a deafening chorus at the lower tables. Chained at the far end of the hall, the castle hounds bayed and howled. The cacophony lifted Tobin on wings of fire. His sword felt as light as a dry stick in his hands.

After that, all he knew was the clash of steel and his opponent’s ragged breathing as they battered each other around the floor, toiling like harvest threshers with the sweat burning their eyes and soaking the tunics under their hauberks.

Hoping to lure Alben into a fatal overreach, Tobin stepped back, but caught his heel on something and fell on his back. Alben was on him in an instant. Tobin still had his sword but Alben trapped his wrist under his foot and raised his blade for the killing stroke. Pinned, Tobin saw that Alben’s blade wasn’t turned; if he struck, it would take him edge on, breaking bones or worse.

Just then two hissing, yowling streaks shot from beneath the nearest table and ran between Alben’s legs. Startled, he rocked off-balance just enough for Tobin to wrench his arm free and bring his blade up, leveling it at his opponent’s
face, the tip just inches from Alben’s left eye. Alben flailed with his arms, trying not to pitch forward, and Tobin hooked his legs out from under him with one foot. The other boy toppled back and Tobin scrambled up to straddle him. Yanking back Alben’s coif, he pressed the edge of his blade to his throat.

Alben glared up at him, eyes burning with pure malice.

Why do you hate me?
Tobin wondered. Then Ki and the other Companions were pulling him to his feet and thumping him on the back. Urmanis and Mago tried to help Alben up, but he shook them off. Making Tobin a mocking salute, he stalked back to the table.

Looking around, Tobin found Ringtail innocently washing his face under the head table.

“Well done!” the king cried. “By the Flame, you’re both as good as Porion claims!” Unfastening the golden brooch from the throat of his tunic, he tossed it to Ki. The startled boy caught it, then pressed it to his heart and fell to one knee. Erius presented Tobin with his gold-hilted dagger.

“Now then, let’s see the rest of you at it. Korin and Caliel, you first, and show me that you haven’t forgotten what I taught you!”

Korin won his match, of course. Tobin was certain he saw Caliel drop his defense at least once, letting Korin score a hit. The rest of the boys fought hard and Lutha earned special praise for winning his bout after Quirion broke his little finger in the first assault. Tobin paired with Nikides, and made certain his friend got in a few good hits before Tobin dispatched him.

Erius saluted them with his wine cup when they’d finished. “Well done, every one of you! The Plenimarans are giving us a rest just now, but there are still raiders and pirates.” He gave his son a wink.

Korin jumped up and kissed his father’s hand. “We’re yours to command!”

“Now, now, I’m not making any promises. We shall see.”

The final course of soft cheeses and gilded nutmeats
was brought out on painted porcelain plates and the minstrels played old ballads as they ate.

“Here’s a new conceit from the Ylani potters,” Solari told them when the dainties had been eaten. Turning his plate over, he showed the king a verse painted on the underside. “Each one has a riddle or song, which the owner of the plate must deliver to the company, standing on his chair. If I may demonstrate.”

Amid much laughter and table pounding, Solari mounted his chair and declaimed a very silly parody with maudlin dignity.

Delighted, Erius was the next one up, declaiming a blisteringly obscene verse in the tender tones of a pale court poet.

The game was a great success and went on for over an hour. Most of the pieces were equally bawdy, and a few were worse. Tobin blushed hotly when Tharin climbed onto the table and, with a perfectly straight face recited a poem about a young wife satisfying her lover in a pear tree while her ancient, nearsighted husband stood below, urging his wife to pluck the plumpest fruit she could find.

To Tobin’s relief, his plate just had a riddle. “What fortress can withstand fire, lightning, and siege, yet can be defeated by a soft word?”

“A lover’s heart!” Korin cried, and received a round of good-natured catcalls as his reward.

“Show Tobin the great sword, Father,” Korin urged when the plate game was over.

The king’s baldric bearer came forward and presented it to the king on bended knee. Drawing the long blade free of the studded sheath, Erius held it up for Tobin to admire. Yellow torchlight slid along the polished steel, glinting warmly on the worn gold dragons set in raised relief on the sides of the curved quillons.

Erius offered the hilt to Tobin and he had to stiffen his arm to hold it; it was much longer and heavier than his own blade. Even so, the hilt of yellowed ivory wrapped
with braided gold wire felt good in his hand. Lowering the point, he examined the large ruby carved with the Royal Seal of Skala set in the fluted gold pommel. This was a pattern he’d seen often in reverse, pressed into the wax at the bottom of his uncle’s letters: Illior’s dragon bearing Sakor’s Flame in a crescent moon on its back.

“The very sword King Thelátimos gave to Ghërilain,” Korin said, taking it and turning the blade to catch the light. “All these years later, it’s come back to a king’s hand.”

“And one day to yours, my son,” Erius said proudly.

Tobin stared at the sword, trying to imagine his fragile, unpredictable mother wielding this blade as a warrior. He couldn’t.

Suddenly, for the second time that day, he was aware of Niryn watching him. Pride replaced fear. Thinking only of the feel of the sword in his hand, he returned the wizard’s stare. This time he was not the first to look away.

I
t was well after midnight when Solari and the Companions accompanied Erius and his party from the feasting hall. Tobin kept close to Tharin and as far as he could from Niryn as they wended their noisy way upstairs.

He couldn’t help stealing glances at the king, trying to square this jovial, laughing man with the stories he’d grown up with. But it was like trying to measure his body to its long evening shadow; the two simply didn’t match. Confused, he gave up trying. His fickle heart yearned for a new father, but his mother’s memory still haunted him too strongly to abandon all caution.

Of one thing he was certain, however, from all Iya and Lhel had told him, and what he’d seen here; for good or ill, the king held the threads of his life in those square warrior’s hands. Erius had put Orun over him, and now he’d given charge of Atyion to Solari. Despite the seeming freedom he enjoyed among the Companions, his life in Ero was as ruled by others as it had been at the keep, and this time by people he did not dare trust. For now, it was safer to pretend to love the man he must call Uncle. And for now, the feeling seemed to be honestly reciprocated.

The king’s room lay next to the one that had belonged to Tobin’s parents. Pausing outside his door, Erius clasped hands with Tharin, then took Tobin’s chin in his hand again, gazing into his eyes. “By the Light, it is almost like seeing your mother again. So blue! Blue as the evening sky in summer.” He sighed. “Ask me a boon, child. For my sister’s sake.”

“A boon, Uncle? I—I don’t know. You’ve already been too generous.”

“Nonsense, there must be something.”

Everyone was staring at him. Tharin shook his head slightly as if in warning. Standing with the other squires, Ki grinned and gave Tobin a tipsy little shrug.

Perhaps it was the wine that made Tobin bold, or seeing Mago smirk just then. “I don’t need anything for myself, Uncle, but there is something I’d like.” He didn’t dare look at Ki as he plunged on. “Could you please ennoble my squire’s father?”

“It’s a fair boon,” Korin chimed in drunkenly. “Ki’s as good as any of us. It’s not his fault he’s only a grass knight.”

Erius raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” said Tobin, encouraged. “I’m not yet of age to grant it, so I humbly ask Your Majesty to do so in my name. I wish to make Sir Larenth Duke of—” He searched his memory for all the lands he owned but had never seen. One seemed as good as another. “Of Cirna.”

As soon as the words were out he knew he’d taken a serious misstep of some sort. Tharin went pale, and Lord Niryn made a faint, strangled noise. Several of the others gasped.

The king’s smile disappeared. “Cirna?” He released Tobin and stepped back. “That’s an odd parcel to make a gift of. Did your squire ask this of you?”

The black look he shot Ki send a thrill of dread through Tobin. “No, Uncle! It was just the first place that came into my head. It—it could be any holding, so long as it comes with a title.”

But Erius was still staring from Tobin to Ki, and something unpleasant had crept into his eyes. Tobin knew he’d made a grave error but couldn’t imagine what it had been.

To Tobin’s surprise, it was Niryn who came to his rescue. “The prince has his mother’s noble soul, my king, generous to a fault. He does not know his lands yet, and so
could not know what he offered.” Something in the way he looked at the king just then unsettled Tobin even more, though the wizard was apparently trying to help him.

“Perhaps not,” Erius said slowly.

“I believe Prince Tobin owns a very suitable tract north of Colath,” Niryn offered. “There’s a fortress there, at Rilmar.”

Erius brightened noticeably. “Rilmar? Yes, a very good choice. Sir Larenth shall be Marshal of Roads. What do you think, Squire Kirothius? Will your father accept?”

It was a rare thing for Ki to be speechless, but all he managed was a jerky nod as he sank to one knee. Erius drew his sword and rested it across Ki’s right shoulder. “On behalf of your father and all his descendents, do you swear fealty to the throne of Skala, and to Prince Tobin as your liege lord?”

“I do, my king,” Ki whispered.

Erius held the point before Ki’s face and he kissed the tip of it.

“Then rise, Kirothius, son of Larenth, Marshal of Rilmar. Give the kiss of fealty to your benefactor before these witnesses.”

Everyone clapped, but Tobin could feel Ki’s fingers shaking as he took his hand and kissed it. Tobin’s were, as well.

When they’d bidden the king good night, Tharin followed Tobin and Ki to their room. He sent their page off for hot water, then dropped into a chair and held his head in his hands, saying nothing. Ki kicked off his boots and sat cross-legged on the bed. Tobin settled on the hearthrug and poked at the embers, waiting.

“Well, that was unexpected!” Tharin said, recovering himself at last. “And when you tried to give away Cirna—By the Light, did you have any idea what you were doing?”

“No. Like I said, it was the first place I thought of. It’s only a small holding, isn’t it?”

Tharin shook his head. “In acreage, perhaps, but the man who holds Cirna holds the bulwark of Skala, not to mention the Protector’s share of revenues collected in your name. And at the moment, Lord Niryn is that man.”

“Niryn?” Ki exclaimed. “What’s Fox Beard doing with a commission like that? He’s no warrior.”

“Never mock him, Ki, not even in private. And whatever the reason, it’s between him and the king.” He stopped and rubbed at his beard, thinking. “I suppose it’s between you and Niryn, too, Tobin. Cirna is yours, after all.”

“Does that make Niryn my liegeman?” Tobin shivered at the thought.

“No, and neither is Solari. They’re the king’s men. But don’t worry. You’ll hardly see either of them, and you’re under the king’s protection. He has say over you before anyone else.”

“That’s good,” said Ki. “Korin thinks the sun rises and sets on Tobin, and now the king likes him, too, doesn’t he?”

Tharin stood and ruffled Tobin’s hair. “I’d say so.”

“But I did do something wrong, didn’t I? I saw it in the king’s face.”

“If you’d been a few years older—?” Tharin shook his head, casting off some dark thought. “No, he saw you spoke from an innocent heart. It’s nothing to worry about. You two get to bed, now. It’s been a long day.”

“You could sleep here tonight,” Tobin offered again. There was more to the king’s reaction than Tharin was letting on and it still scared him.

“I promised Lytia I’d visit with her tonight,” Tharin said. “But I’ll check on you on my way back. Sleep well.”

W
ith the door safely closed behind him, Tharin sagged against the wall, hoping the sentries down the corridor would put his sudden weakness down to too much wine. He’d recognized the look in Erius’ eyes—suspicion. If Tobin had been sixteen, instead of twelve, his request might have marked him and Ki both for death. But he was
only a child, and an unworldly one at that. Erius still had enough good left in him to see that.

All the same, Tharin spent a long time in aimless conversation with the sentries, keeping an eye on the king’s door, and Niryn’s.

Y
ou didn’t have to do that, you know. Waste a king’s boon on me,” Ki said when Tharin was gone. Tobin was still sitting on the rug, hugging his knees the way he did when he was feeling troubled. “Come get into the bed. The fire’s out.”

But Tobin stayed where he was. “Will your father be angry?”

“Not hardly! But what made you think of it, Tob? My old dad’s a lot of things, but noble isn’t one of them. I can see it now, him and my brothers using the king’s warrant to steal horses.”

Tobin looked around at him. “You always said he wasn’t a horse thief!”