Hidden Warrior (48 page)

Lhel turned and gave the call across the stream. This time a faint reply came, then another, already closer. A large stag emerged from the trees on the far bank, sniffing the air suspiciously. It was as large as a palfrey, and had ten sharp prongs on each curving antler.

“It’s the rutting season,” Arkoniel reminded her. A stag in his prime was a dangerous thing to meet this time of year.

But Lhel was unconcerned. Raising a hand in greeting, she began to sing in that high, tuneless voice she sometimes used. The stag let out a loud snort and shook its head. A few shreds of antler velvet fluttered from the prongs. Arkoniel saw a piece fly loose and noted where it landed; if he survived this encounter, he knew of a concoction that called for it.

Lhel sang on, drawing the stag across the stream. It splashed up onto the bank and stood swinging its head slowly from side to side. Lhel smiled at Arkoniel as she scratched the beast between the antlers, calming it like a tame milk cow. Still humming, she drew her silver knife with her free hand and deftly nicked the large vein just under the stag’s jaw. A freshet of blood spurted out, and she caught it in her basin. The stag snorted softly, but remained still. When an inch or so of blood had collected in the basin, Lhel passed it to Arkoniel and laid her hands on the wound, stopping the flow with a touch.

“Stand back,” she murmured. When they were safely out of reach, she clapped her hands and shouted, “I release you!”

The stag lowered its head, slashing the air, then sprang away into the trees.

“Now what?” he asked. A thick, gamy odor rose from the basin, and he could feel the lingering heat and the strength of the blood through the metal.

She grinned. “Now I show you what you’ve wanted so long to know. Set the basin down.”

She squatted beside it and motioned for Arkoniel to do
the same. Drawing a leather pouch from the neck of her ragged dress, she passed it to him. Inside he found several small herb bundles wrapped in yarn, and some smaller bags. Under her direction, he crumbled in a handful of bindweed flowers and some tamarack needles. From the small bags came pinches of powdered sulfur, bone, and ochre that stained his fingers like rust.

“Stir it with the first twig you find within reach,” Lhel instructed.

Arkoniel found a short, bleached stick and stirred the mix. The blood was still steaming, but it smelled different now.

Lhel unwrapped one of the firechips he’d made for her and used it to light a hank of sweet hay. As she blew the pungent smoke gently across the surface, the blood swirled and turned black.

“Now, sing as I do.” Lhel let out a string of strange syllables, and Arkoniel struggled to copy them. She would not translate the spell, but corrected his pronunciation and made him sing it over until he had it right.

“Good. Now we weave the protection. Bring the basin.”

“This is how you hid your camp, isn’t it?”

She answered with a wink.

Leading him to a gnarled old birch that overhung the brook, she showed him how to coat his palm with the blood and mark the tree, singing the spell as he did so.

Arkoniel winced a little; the blood felt thick and oily on his fingers. Singing, he pressed his hand to the peeling white bark. The blood stood out starkly against it for a moment, then disappeared completely. There wasn’t even a trace of moisture left.

“Amazing!”

“We’ve only just started. It does no good, just one.” Lhel led him to a large boulder and had him repeat the process. The blood disappeared just as readily into the stone.

As the sun sank behind the peaks and the shadows went cold, they made a wide circuit around the camp, creating a ring of magic that would confound the senses of any stranger who happened to stray near it. Only those who knew the password—
alaka
, “passage”—could pass through it.

“I used to watch you and the boys trying to find me.” Lhel chuckled. “Sometimes you looked right at me and never guessed.”

“Would this work for a town? Or for an army on the field?” he asked, but she only shrugged.

T
hey finished their work under a rising full moon and followed the flickering glow of the campfires back to the others, who’d been busy in their absence. Two of the stone circles were snugly capped and some of the supplies had been carried up from the cart. Dry wood lay stacked by a newly dug fire pit and Eyoli was chopping more, mostly large fallen branches the children had dragged from the woods. At the stream’s edge, Noril and Semion were busy butchering a fat doe.

“It’s a good omen,” Noril said as he worked the hide free of the carcass. “The Maker sent her right into the camp while we were putting on the second roof.”

Dar and Ethni soon had chunks of venison spitted over a crackling fire along with the heart, liver, and sweetbreads. While the meat cooked, Arkoniel explained about the protection spell and the password. Cerana and Malkanus exchanged suspicious glances, but Eyoli and the children ran off to test it.

It seemed like a lucky start. There was plenty of meat for everyone that night, and bread to go with it. After supper, Kaulin and Vornus produced pipes and shared them around the circle as they listened to the night sounds. The crickets and frogs were silenced for the year, but they could hear small creatures pattering in the woods. A large
white owl swooped across the clearing, greeting them with a mournful hoot.

“Another good omen,” Lyan said. “Illior sends his messenger to bless our new home.”

“Home,” Malkanus grumbled, pulling a second cloak around his shoulders. “Out in the wilderness with no proper food and drafty chimneys to live in.”

Melissandra took a long pull from one of the pipes and blew out a glowing red horse that flew twice around the fire before bursting with a bright pop over Ethni’s head. “Some of us have made do with a great deal less,” she said, and smoked out a pair of blue birds for Rala and Ylina. “We’ve got water, good hunting, and shelter.” She gave Lhel a nod. “Thank you. It’s a good place.”

“How long will we be here?” Vornus asked Arkoniel.

“I don’t know yet. We’d better get some proper cabins built before the snow flies.”

“Are we carpenters now?” Malkanus groaned. “What do I know about making cabins?”

“We can see to that, Master,” Cymeus assured him.

“Some wizards know how to do an honest day’s work,” Kaulin threw in. “More hands make less work, as they say.”

“Thank you, Kaulin, and you.” Arkoniel stood and bowed to Dar and the other servants. “You’ve followed your masters and mistresses without complaint, and made us comfortable here in the wilderness. You’ve heard us talk of the Third Orëska. It occurs to me now that you are as much a part of it as the wizards. For now we’ll build with logs and mud in exile, but I promise you, if we keep faith with Illior and accomplish the task we’ve been set, we’ll have a palace of our own one day, as grand as any in Ero.”

Kaulin gave Malkanus a jab with his thumb. “You hear that? Take heart, boy. You’ll be living soft again before you know it!”

Dozing in Ethni’s arms, Totmus let out a ropy cough.

T
obin rode the last mile to the keep at a gallop, overjoyed to come home again at last. Emerging from the trees at the bottom of the meadow, he reined in and looked around in surprise.

“Damn!” Ki exclaimed, coming up beside him with the others. “Looks like the king’s brought half of Ero out with us!”

Across the river, the yellowed meadow had been transformed into a village of tents and makeshift stalls. Tobin hadn’t wanted any fuss, but this looked like a country fair. Scanning the tradesmen’s banners fluttering on poles, he saw every sort from bakers to jess makers. There were hosts of performers, of course, including the troupe from the Golden Foot Theater.

“We’re a long way from the city here,” Erius said laughing, having overheard. “I wanted to be sure you boys have suitable entertainment while you’re here.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Tobin replied. He’d already counted five minstrel banners and six pastry makers. He wondered what Cook would do if they tried to invade her kitchen. She had been a warrior, after all, and didn’t take kindly to interference with her cooking.

“Look there!” Ki exclaimed, pointing up the hill. Nari had sent word of the fire, but it was still a shock to see those blackened windows where Arkoniel’s rooms had been. What had the wizard been doing? Tobin wondered, though he knew better than to say that aloud. Arkoniel’s presence here was still a secret; the wizard was probably hiding at Lhel’s camp.

Nari and Cook came out to greet them and made a great fuss over Korin, welcoming him to the house.

“And just look at you two!” Nari exclaimed, standing on tiptoe to kiss Tobin and Ki. “You’re all grown since we saw you last.”

Tobin was surprised at how short she seemed. As a child he’d always thought her tall.

Later, as he gave the Companions a tour of the place, he noticed other changes, things apparent only to someone who’d lived here before. The larger herb garden below the barracks, for instance, and the fact that the kitchen garden had been spaded up to three times its old size. Except for one new squint-eyed stableboy, the household had not grown.

The house was brighter than he remembered, too, more homelike, but that was Nari’s doing. She’d furnished every room and brought out all the best linen, plate, and tapestries. Even the third floor was cheery in daylight, the rooms on the left side of the corridor lined with cots for the small army of servants that had accompanied them. Arkoniel’s old rooms across the hall were bricked up until repairs could be made.

Slipping away as the others prepared for supper that night, he climbed the stairs again and walked slowly to the far end of the hallway. The tower door was locked, the brass handle tarnished with neglect. He rattled the latch, wondering if Nari still had the key. Standing there, he remembered how frightened he used to be, imagining his mother’s angry ghost staring at him through the wood. Now it was just a door.

A wave of longing swept over him. Tobin rested his forehead against the smooth wood, and whispered, “Are you there, Mother?”

“Tobin?”

He jumped, but it was only Ki at the top of the stairs.

“There you are. Cook wants you to taste the soup, and here you are not even dressed yet—Say, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just looking around.”

Ki saw through that, of course. Coming closer, he cautiously brushed the wood with his fingers. “I’d forgotten. Is she in there?”

“I don’t think so.”

Ki leaned against the wall beside him. “Do you miss her?”

Tobin shrugged. “I didn’t think so, but just now I remembered her the way she was on her good days before—Well, before that last day. Almost like a real mother.” He pulled out the ring and showed Ki his mother’s serene profile. “That’s what she was like, before Brother and I were born.”

Ki said nothing, but leaned his shoulder against Tobin’s.

Tobin sighed. “I’ve been thinking. I’m going to leave the doll up there.”

“But
she
said to keep it, didn’t she?”

“I don’t need it anymore. He finds me anyway, whether I have it or not. I’m tired, Ki. Tired of hiding it, hiding him.”
Hiding myself, too
, he thought, but bit back the words. Looking around, he let out a halfhearted laugh. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been here, hasn’t it? It’s not how I remembered it. It all seemed so big and dark then, even after you came to live here.”

“We got bigger.” Grinning, Ki tugged Tobin away. “Come on, I’ll prove it.”

Nari had kept their old bedchamber just as they’d left it, and next door the toy city and a few childish sculptures were gathering dust in their places. In the bedchamber, the suit of mail Tobin’s father had given him still hung on its rack in the corner.

“Go on,” Ki urged. “You haven’t tried it in ages.”

Tobin pulled the hauberk over his head, then scowled at their paired reflections in the glass.

“Father said when this fit, I’d be old enough to ride off to war with him.”

“Well, you’re tall enough,” said Ki.

He was, but still too slender. The shoulders of the hauberk shirt slumped halfway to his elbows, and the sleeves hung well past his fingertips. The coif kept sliding down over his eyes.

“You just haven’t filled out yet.” Ki clapped the old helmet on Tobin’s head and rapped his knuckles against it. “That’s a fit, at least. Cheer up, for hell’s sake! The king said he’d let us ride coast patrol when we get back. Better pirates and bandits than no fighting at all, eh?”

“I guess so.” Tobin caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to find Brother watching him from the shadows. He had on the same sort of mail, but his fit. Tobin tugged the hauberk off and slung it over the stand. When he looked again, the ghost was gone.

F
or the first time in Tobin’s life, the great hall was filled with comrades and huntsmen, music and laughter. A fire crackled warmly on the hearth, illuminating the tables set up around it and throwing shadows on the painted walls. Players strutted between the tables and the minstrel gallery across the hall was packed with musicians. The whole house rang with the sounds of celebration.

Cook had evidently come to some sort of agreement with the city folk, and proudly helped serve the lavish feast. Dressed in a new gown of brown wool, Nari served as their steward. The only other women present were servants and entertainers. Pregnant again, Aliya had remained at her mother’s house under the watchful eye of the drysians.

Seated in a place of honor beside Tobin, Tharin looked around wistfully. “I haven’t seen the place like this since we were boys.”

“We had some fine times here!” the king said, clinking his mazer against Tobin’s. “Your grandfather led a fine hunt—stag, bear, even catamounts! I look forward to tomorrow’s ride!”

“We have something special planned for your name day, too,” Korin said, sharing a wink with his father.

The warmth and company raised Tobin’s spirits and he joined in gladly with the songs and drinking games. By midnight he was almost as drunk as Korin. Surrounded by friends and music, he could let himself forget prophecies and past sorrows for a little while; he was master of this house at last.