Hidden Warrior (36 page)

Iya reached in and pulled out the coin. A look of wonder slowly spread over her face. “By the Light,” she whispered. “By the Light! Arkoniel, I’ve never seen the like! Did Lhel teach you this?”

“No, it’s that spell I’ve been working on, remember? But I did start with one of her spells as a base.” He wove the sigil for the window spell on the air, and had Iya peek through at Nari and Cook knitting by the kitchen fire. “That was the start of it, but I added to it, and visualize it differently.”

“But your finger?”

Arkoniel went to his desk and took a taper from the candle box. Weaving the spell again, he thrust the taper
partway in and showed her the resulting stump. Iya reached into her pocket and found the missing half.

He held up his finger again. “The one and only time I was careless. So far, anyway.”

“By the Four, do you realize how dangerous this is? How big can you make these—these—What do you call them?”

“Doorways. I’ve made some large enough for a dog to walk through, if that’s what you’re getting at, but it won’t work. I’ve tried it with rats, but they come through mangled on the other end. Small, solid objects go through just fine. Just imagine being able to send something all the way here from Ero in the blink of an eye! I haven’t tried anything that ambitious yet, but it should work.”

Iya looked down at the candle stub and coin. “You haven’t taught this to Kaulin or the boy, have you?”

“No. They’ve seen it work, but not how it’s cast.”

“That’s good. Can you imagine how dangerous this could be in the wrong hands?”

“I understand that. It’s not perfected yet, either.”

She took his damaged hand in hers. “Perhaps this was a blessing. You’ll have this before you as a reminder for the rest of your life. I am proud of you, though! Most of us go our whole lives simply learning the magic created by others, without ever making anything new.”

He sat down again and sipped his wine. “It’s thanks to Lhel, really. I’d never have figured it out without the things she’s taught me. She’s shown me a good deal about blood magic too. Wonderful things, Iya, and nothing like necromancy. Perhaps it’s time we stopped thinking that way about the hill folk and began to learn from them before they all die out.”

“Perhaps, but would you trust just anyone with the kind of power she has over the dead?”

“It’s not all like that.”

“I know, but you know as well as I do there were reasons they were driven out. You can’t let your affection for
one witch blind you to the rest. Lhel’s had her reasons not to show you the dark side of her power but it’s there, believe me. I’ve felt it.

“All the same, what you’ve accomplished here is marvelous.” Iya touched his cheek, and a hint of sadness crept into her voice. “And you’ll do more. So much more. Now, tell me about this Wythnir. You seem fond of him.”

“There’s not much to tell. From what Nari and I have been able to gather, his early life was about like that of those children downstairs. But you wouldn’t believe how quickly he takes to everything I show him.”

She smiled. “So, how do you like having an apprentice of your own?”

“Apprentice? No, he came with Kaulin. He belongs to him.”

“No, he’s yours. I saw that the minute he looked at you, down in the hall.”

“But I didn’t choose him, I just—”

She laughed and patted his knee. “Then this is the first time I’ve heard of an apprentice choosing the master, but he is yours, whether you and Kaulin have worked it out between you or not. Don’t let go of him, my dear. He will be great.”

Arkoniel nodded slowly. He’d never thought of Wythnir that way, but now that she’d said it, he knew she was right. “I’ll speak with Kaulin. If he’s agreeable, will you be our witness?”

“Of course, my dear. But you must settle it tomorrow morning.”

Arkoniel’s heart sank. “You’re leaving so soon?”

She nodded. “There’s still so much to do.”

There was no arguing with that. They finished their wine in silence.

T
o Arkoniel’s relief, Kaulin had no objection to giving over his bond on Wythnir, especially after Arkoniel offered a handsome compensation for his loss. Wythnir said nothing,
but beamed happily as Iya tied his hand to Arkoniel’s with a silk cord and spoke the blessing.

“Will you swear the wizard’s oath to your new master, child?” she asked him.

“I will, if you tell me what it is,” Wythnir replied, wide-eyed.

“Don’t guess I ever got ’round to that,” Kaulin muttered.

Iya shot him a disdainful look, then spoke kindly to the child. “You swear first by Illior Lightbearer. And you swear by your hands and heart and eyes, that you will always obey your master and strive to serve him the best you can.”

“I swear,” Wythnir replied eagerly, touching his brow and breast the way she showed him. “By—by Illior, and by my hands and heart and—”

“Eyes,” Arkoniel prompted softly.

“Eyes,” Wythnir finished proudly. “Thank you, Master Arkoniel.”

Arkoniel was surprised by a wave of emotion. It was the first time the child had called him by name. “And I so swear, by Illior, and by my hands and heart and eyes, that I will teach you all I know, and protect you until you are grown into your own power.” He smiled down at the boy, remembering when Iya had said these same words to him. She’d kept her word and so would he.

A
rkoniel was sorry as always when Iya rode out later that day, but the keep seemed a different house now, with so many people under the roof again. Wizard-born they might be, but they were still children and racketed about the hallways and meadow like farmers’ brats. Kaulin grumbled about the noise, but Arkoniel and the women were glad of the new sense of life they brought to the old house.

Their presence brought new problems, as well, he soon discovered. For one thing, they were much harder to
hide than quiet little Wythnir. On tradesmen’s days he packed them all off into the forest with Eyoli and Kaulin to guard them.

The other children joined Wythnir at his lessons, and Arkoniel found he had a school, as well. Fortunately, Wythnir’s remaining shyness fell away around the others and Arkoniel watched with delight as he began to play like a normal child.

Pretty Ethni was a welcome addition to the household, too, but a disturbing one. She flirted with Arkoniel whenever they met. He was flattered, but saddened as well. Though twice Wythnir’s age, she had none of his promise. Even so, he encouraged her and praised every small advance. It was rather nice, the way she smiled at him when he did.

L
hel saw the true nature of his feelings for the girl before he did and told him the first time he came to her after the other’s arrival.

She chuckled as they undressed each other in the oak house. “I see a pair of pretty blue eyes in your heart.”

“She’s only a girl!” Arkoniel retorted, wondering what form a witch’s jealousy might take.

“You know as well as I do that’s not true.”

“You’ve been spying again!”

She laughed. “How else can I protect you?”

Their coupling that day was as passionate as ever, but afterward he caught himself comparing Lhel’s brown throat to Ethni’s smooth white one and tracing the lines around her eyes. When had they gotten so numerous, and so deep? Sad and. ashamed of himself, he drew her close and buried his face in her hair, trying not to see how much greyer it was now.

“You are not my husband,” Lhel murmured, stroking his back. “I am not your wife. We are both free.”

He tried to read her face but she pulled his head back
down on her breast and stroked him to sleep. As he drifted off, it occurred to him that for all the passion they’d shared here in this oak house, neither of them had ever spoken of love. She’d never taught him the word for it in her language.

T
obin celebrated his fourteenth name day in Atyion, and Duke Solari saw to it that it was a grand affair. Far grander, in fact, than Tobin would have liked; he’d have been happier with a small hunting party at the keep, with just the Companions and a few friends, but Iya had warned against going there now. She wouldn’t say why and Tobin’s old resentments against the wizard boiled up. But in the end even Tharin had taken her side and Tobin had grudgingly given in.

All the same, he was glad to visit Atyion again. The townspeople turned out to greet him, and Tobin was pleased that he recognized so many faces among the crowd.

Even the castle cats seemed glad to have him back. Packs of them gathered wherever he sat down, winding around his ankles and curling up on his lap. Lytia’s orange tom, Ringtail, slept stretched between Tobin and Ki every night, and followed Tobin around the castle. The cat couldn’t abide Brother, though. When Tobin called the ghost in secret, Ringtail would dart under the furniture, growling and hissing until Brother was gone.

T
o Tobin’s great relief, the king did not come out for the name day feast. Solari was disappointed, but still managed to fill the great hall with guests. The high tables were packed with lords Tobin hardly knew—Solari’s captains and liegemen mostly—but farther out, soldiers wearing the colors of Atyion sang and yelled out toasts to Tobin’s health. Looking out over that sea of faces, Tobin was all
too aware of who wasn’t there. Una had not been heard from since her disappearance, and Arengil was gone, too, sent home to Aurënen a few days after the embarrassment on the roof. Weeks later it came back to Tobin through palace gossip that the young foreign lord had been deemed a bad influence.

There were a great many gifts this year, and one large pile sent by the people of the town. Most of them were from merchants and represented the sender: a fine pair of gloves from the glove maker, kegs of ale from the brewer, and so on. Tobin gave most of it a cursory glance, until Ki pulled a large scroll from the pile and handed it to him with a grin. Unrolling it, Tobin found a beautifully illuminated ballad about his father, banded along the top and margins with intricate colored scenes of battle. A smaller scrap of parchment had fallen out and on it Tobin found a brief but effusive note from Bisir, who was very happy in his new profession.

T
obin and the Companions stayed at the castle for a fortnight. Whenever they could slip away, he and Ki visited with Tharin’s aunt Lytia and Hakone. The old steward had declined over the summer and was growing more feebleminded. This time he could not be dissuaded from the notion that Tobin and Ki were the young Rhius and Tharin. It was rather unsettling.

Tobin was also entertained lavishly by the town’s principal guild masters. Most of these banquets were a bore. His hosts were invariably gracious and openhanded, but he sensed that much of it was done to curry his favor.

He much preferred visiting the men of the barracks. He’d never seen his father around actual troops, but he’d always been friendly with his guard and it didn’t occur to Tobin to act otherwise. Soon he knew most of the officers and sergeants by name and set up mock challenges between his guard and any swordsman the Atyion men wanted to put forward, even going a few rounds himself.
He was disappointed when they let him win, but Tharin assured him later that it was done out of love and respect, rather than fear.

“You’re their lord, and you take the time to learn their names,” he told Tobin. “You can’t imagine how much that means to a man in the ranks.”

He also revisited his parents’ room several times, trying again to capture the long-lost echo of who they had been then, but he didn’t go near his mother’s wardrobe. The memory of his reflection in the mirror made him blush.

Instead, he and Ki came there late at night when everyone else was asleep, and sat at the wine table playing at bakshi. He summoned Brother, too, and let him stalk sullenly around in the shadows as they played. The ghost had shown no signs of wanting to hurt Ki again; Tobin could almost forgive him.

W
hen the fortnight was over, Tobin was reluctant to leave; Atyion now felt almost as much like home as the keep. Perhaps it was the way everyone greeted him on the streets, always smiling, always friendly. In Ero he was the king’s nephew, Korin’s cousin, the odd little second heir. Just a placeholder, really. In Atyion he was someone’s son and the future hope of the people.

Ringtail escorted him to the front court when it was time to leave and sat yowling on the stairs as he rode away. Riding out through the cheering, banner-waving throngs that lined the streets, Tobin almost regretted his place in the Companions.

T
hey’d been back in Ero for only a few days when Korin surprised them all with news that would change the course of their lives.

It was a crisp, smoke-scented autumn morning and Ki was looking forward to the run, and to the dressing-down Korin and the others were likely to get. The older boys were later than usual, and Porion was already fuming. Korin and his set had escaped to the lower city the night before and come home stinking. Their drunken singing had woken Ki, so he wasn’t feeling much sympathy for them as they straggled out.

Alben and Quirion and their squires were the first to emerge. They were wine sick but one glance from Porion was enough to sober them up fast. The others soon followed in ones and twos, looking equally raddled except for Lynx, as usual.

“Where the hell is Korin?” Ki asked, as Lynx stepped into line beside him.

The other squire rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Orneus didn’t make it past the second tavern. I had to rent a horse to get him home.”

Tanil ran out, still wrapping his belt. “The prince is coming, and sends his apologies, Master Porion.”

“Oh, does he?” The arms master’s voice dropped dangerously and he gave them all a scathing look. “Is this a festival day, boys? Did I forget the date? A good day to sleep in, was it? Just for that, you can—Ah, Your Highness. So pleased you could join us, my prince. And you, too, Lord Caliel. I trust you both had a fine time of it last night?”

“Thank you, Master Porion, we did,” Korin replied, grinning.

Ki’s gut tightened; not even Korin spoke back to Porion. He braced for the inevitable, but instead Porion merely ordered a doubling of the usual run.