Hidden Warrior (27 page)

Ki shrugged. “Guess I’ve lived around decent folk long enough to know what my people are.”

“They can’t be so bad, Ki. You’re as good as any of us. Anyway, now no one can call you grass knight.”

But they still will, some of them
, thought Ki.

“I made you a promise the day we left the keep,” Tobin said earnestly.

“I don’t remember any promise.”

“I didn’t say it out loud. Remember how hateful Orun was being to you and Tharin? I promised Sakor that day that I’d make you and Tharin great nobles so Orun would have to bow to you and be polite.” He clapped a hand to his forehead. “Tharin! I should have asked something for him, too, but I was so surprised I couldn’t think. Do you think I hurt his feelings?”

“I think he was probably glad you didn’t.”

“Glad? Why?”

“Think about it, Tob. You gave my dad Rilmar fortress,
and off he goes; nothing changes for me in that. But if you made Tharin lord of some important holding, like he deserves, he’d have to go and administer it. That means leaving us—you, I mean, and he wouldn’t like that much.”

“Us,” Tobin corrected, coming to join him on the bed. “I never thought of that. I’d miss him, too. Still—” He pulled his boots off and settled back against the bolsters. His mouth had that stubborn set to it that Ki knew so well. “Bilairy’s balls, Ki! Tharin deserves better than to be just a captain of my guard! Why didn’t Father ever promote him?”

“Maybe Tharin asked him not to,” Ki said, then wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Why would he do that?”

Now I’ve done it
, thought Ki, but it was too late to take it back.

“Why would Tharin do that?” Tobin demanded again, reading his face like a book.

You couldn’t hide much from Tobin, that was certain. So it was either tell or lie, and he’d never lie to Tobin.
It’s not like Tharin cares who knows. He said so himself
.

Ki pushed himself up against the footboard, squirming inwardly as he tried to make a start on it. “Well, it’s just that—Well, when they were young, in the Companions, they—your father and Tharin, that is—uh—loved each other and—”

“Well, of course they did. You and I—”

“No!” Ki held up a hand. “No, Tobin, not like us. That is, not
just like
us.”

Tobin’s eyes widened as he caught Ki’s drift. “Like Orneus and Lynx, you mean?”

“Tharin told me so himself. It was only when they were young. Then your father married your mother and all. But Tharin? Well, I don’t think his feelings ever changed.”

Tobin was staring at him now, and Ki wondered if they’d fight over it, they way Ki used to fight people who accused his father of horse thieving.

But Tobin only looked pensive. “That must have been sad for Tharin.”

Ki recalled Tharin’s expression when he’d spoken of it that rainy night. “You’re right about that, but they stayed friends all the same. I don’t think he could’ve stood being parted from your dad any more than I could’ve if Orun had sent me away.” Tobin was watching him again, looking a little odd. “Not that I—Well, you know. Not like that,” Ki hastily amended.

Tobin looked away quickly. “No! Of course not.”

The silence drew out so long between them that Ki was grateful when the page banged back in with the water pitcher.

By the time the boy had built up the fire and gone out again, Ki could look Tobin in the face. “So, what was it like, meeting your uncle?”

“Strange. What do you think of him?”

“He’s not how I expected, exactly. I mean Korin always speaks well of him, but he’s his father, right?” Ki paused, lowering his voice just to be safe. “My dad never had much good to say about the king, on account of him keeping women out of the ranks. And there’s all that with the female heirs and the Harriers and such. You notice we weren’t the first to greet him, either? There’s Old Fox—Niryn, I mean—riding close as his shadow. How’d he get to the king before we did?”

“He’s a wizard.” Tobin had that distant, guarded look again, the one that came over him whenever Fox Beard was around.

Seeing it, Ki crawled up beside him. Not touching, but close enough to let him know he wasn’t alone, being scared of the man. “I think if I met the king at some tavern and didn’t know who he was, I’d take him for a good fellow,” he offered, going back to the subject at hand.

“So would I, after today. All the same …” He trailed off and Ki realized he was trembling. When he spoke
again, it was barely a whisper. “My mother was so afraid of him!”

Tobin almost never spoke of his mother.

“Brother hates him, too,” he whispered. “But still, after today? I hardly know how to feel except—Maybe the stories aren’t true? I mean, Mother was mad, and Brother lies … I just don’t know!”

“He likes you, Tob. I could tell. And why wouldn’t he?” Ki settled closer, shoulder to shoulder. “About the stories, though, I don’t know … I’m just glad you weren’t born a girl.”

Tobin’s sudden stricken look dropped the bottom out of Ki’s belly. “Oh hell, I’m sorry, Tob. I let my tongue run away from me again.” He took his friend’s hand. In spite of the fire, it was ice-cold. “Maybe they are just stories.”

“It’s all right. I know what you meant.”

They sat a moment like that, and the quiet between them felt good. The room was warming and the bed was soft. Relaxing back against the bolsters, Ki closed his eyes and chuckled. “I know someone who
is
going to have trouble with the king, and soon. Did you see the looks Erius was giving the butler toward the end, when Korin was so drunk?”

Tobin let out a rueful laugh. “He was well down into it, wasn’t he? I’m afraid I was, too. Who knew Atyion made so many kinds of wine, eh?”

Ki yawned. “Mark my words. Now that the king’s back, Master Porion is going to get his way and there’ll be no more drink in the mess for any of us.” He yawned again. “And that’s fine with me, if it means not having to watch Korin and the others drink themselves stupid every other night.”

Tobin grunted sleepy agreement.

Ki felt himself drifting. “Room’s spinning, Tobin.”

“Mmmm. Guess Korin wasn’t the only one who had too much. Don’t sleep on your back, Ki.”

They both chuckled.

“You say Brother hates the king, too?” Ki mumbled, thoughts wandering toward sleep. “Good thing he didn’t show up at the feast, eh?”

K
i’s sleepy mutterings drove the sleep from Tobin’s mind. Perhaps Brother could see into the king’s heart, know if he was kind or evil? Deeper than that, however, lay the ever-present, lonely knowledge that liar and demon that he was, Brother was the only other one Tobin could completely confide in.

When Ki was snoring, Tobin blew out the night lamps and took the doll from his pack. Feeling his way to the hearth, he knelt, heart pounding in his ears. Did he dare call him at all? The day the king had come to the keep Brother had gone wild, thrashing around like a whirlwind. What would he do now, with Erius just down the corridor?

Tobin clutched the doll tightly, as if that would restrain Brother. “Blood, my blood. Flesh, my flesh. Bone, my bone,” he whispered, then braced for violence. But Brother simply appeared, kneeling in front of him like a reflection. The only sign of his anger was the terrible, bone-aching chill he brought with him.

“The king is here,” Tobin whispered, ready to order him away if Brother moved.

Yes
.

“You aren’t angry with him?”

The chill grew unbearable as Brother leaned forward. Their noses almost touched; if he’d been alive, Tobin would have tasted his breath as he hissed, “Kill him.”

Pain shot through Tobin’s chest, as if Brother had torn the hidden stitching open.

He fell forward on his hands, willing himself not to faint. The pain slowly faded. When he opened his eyes again, Brother was gone. He listened fearfully, expecting some outcry nearby, but all was silent. He whispered the spell again to make certain Brother was actually gone, then hurried back to the bed.

“Did he come?” Ki asked softly, awake after all.

Tobin was glad he’d blown out the lamps. “You didn’t hear?”

“No, nothing. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

“He came,” Tobin said, relieved Ki hadn’t overheard the dangerous words. He shifted, bumping Ki’s bare foot with his.

“Damn, Tobin, you’re chilled through! Get under the covers.”

They shucked off their clothes and pulled the blankets and counterpanes over them, but Tobin couldn’t seem to get warm. His teeth chattered so loudly that Ki heard and moved over to warm him.

“Bilairy’s balls, you’re cold!” He chafed Tobin’s arms, then felt his brow. “Are you sick?”

“No.” It was hard to talk with his teeth chattering like that.

A pause, then, “What did Brother say?”

“He—He still doesn’t like the king.”

“No surprises there.” Ki rubbed Tobin’s arms again, then settled close against him, yawning again. “Well, like I said—it’s a lucky thing you’re not a girl.”

Tobin squeezed his eyes shut, glad again of the sheltering darkness.

T
hat night the woman pains returned. He sometimes felt a dull ache under his hipbones when the moon was full, but this was the same stabbing ache he’d felt before he’d run away. He’d forgotten the sack of leaves Lhel had given him. Scared and miserable, he curled himself tighter, grateful for Ki’s warmth against his back.

N
iryn was about to let his valet undress him when he felt it again, that strange little shiver of energy. As usual, it was gone before he could tell what it was, but this was the first time he’d encountered it outside Ero. Waving the man
away, he fastened his robe again and went in search of the troubling magic.

He thought he caught a whiff of it again outside Prince Tobin’s door, but when he cast a sighting inside, he found the boys fast asleep, curled up together like puppies.

Or lovers.

Niryn’s lip curled into a sour smile as he stored away this nugget of information. One never knew when such knowledge might prove useful. Prince Tobin was too young to be a threat, but the king was already showing signs of favor. And there was that embarrassing moment when the stupid brat had tried to take Cirna from him. Niryn would not forget that. No indeed.

T
he king was in no hurry to return to Ero. The following day he announced that the royal retinue would honor his nephew by spending the next fortnight in Atyion. Within the week Chancellor Hylus and the other chief ministers arrived and the castle hall became the Palatine in miniature, with the king conducting business between hunting parties and feasts. Only the most pressing matters were allowed and Hylus carefully evaluated each petition and suit, sending away those that could wait. Even so, the hall was filled from dawn to dusk.

With the truce in force, most of the business centered on strife within Skala’s own borders. Loitering with the other boys, Tobin heard reports of new outbreaks of plague, bandit raids, tax disputes, and failed crops.

He was also keenly aware of his dependent status among the nobles. His banner might hang highest beneath the king’s and Korin’s, but the adults paid him little mind except at banquets.

This left Tobin and the other boys free to explore the town and the seashore beyond the castle and they found themselves welcome wherever they went.

T
he town was a thriving one, and had none of Ero’s filth or disease. Instead of a shrine, there were temples to each of the Four set around a square, fine buildings of carved and painted wood. The Temple of Illior was the largest, and Tobin was awed by the painted ceilings and the black stone altar. Priests in silver masks bowed to him as he burned his owl feathers there.

The people of Atyion were well fed and friendly, and every merchant vied eagerly for the honor of serving Atyion’s scion and his friends. They were cheered, toasted, and blessed everywhere they went, and gifted royally.

The taverns were the equals of any in Ero. Bards from as far away as Mycena and northern Aurënen plied their craft there, and knew how to please the Companions with tales of their ancestors’ prowess.

Tobin was accustomed to living in Korin’s benevolent shadow, but here he was the shining light. Korin received great praise and honor, of course, but it was clear that in Atyion Tobin was the people’s darling. Though Korin made light of it, Tobin sensed he was jealous. It came out most clearly when Korin had been drinking. For the first time since Tobin had known him, he found himself the butt of the more cutting jokes usually reserved for Orneus or Quirion. Korin began to find fault with the taverns, the theater, the whores, and even Lytia’s excellent feasts. He and the older cohort soon went back to their old ways, going off on their own at night and leaving Tobin behind.

Ki was furious, but Tobin let it go. It did hurt, but Tobin understood what it felt like to be second-best. Trusting that things would return to normal back in Ero, he kept his own friends around him and made the most of his time at Atyion.

T
hey were sitting in the sunny window of the Drover’s Inn by the market one day, listening to a balladeer sing of one of Tobin’s ancestors, when Tobin caught sight of a familiar face across the room.

“Isn’t that Bisir?” he said, elbowing Ki to make him look.

“Bisir? What would he be doing here?”

“Don’t know. Come on!”

Leaving Nik and Lutha behind, they hurried out in time to see a slim, dark-haired man in the rough tunic and wooden clogs of a farmer disappearing around a corner
across the street. They hadn’t seen the young valet since Lord Orun’s death, but despite the incongruous clothing, Tobin was certain it was he.

Giving chase, Tobin caught up with the man and saw that he was right.

“It is you!” he exclaimed, catching him by the sleeve. “Why did you run away?”

“Hello, Prince Tobin.” Bisir was still pretty and soft-spoken, and had that same startled hare look about him, but he was thinner, too, and ruddy as a peasant. “Forgive me. I saw you go in there and couldn’t help wanting a better look at you. It’s been a long time. I didn’t think you’d remember me, really.”