The King's Hand (31 page)

A laugh touched the long room.

“They told me that you would not come, Eben's son. They told me that you would not, could not, and should not, be permitted to serve.” The Master's voice rolled with pleasure. “They will not be pleased to learn that you have come to me with such words, at such a time, and in such a manner as you have done.” The throned leaned forward, and though there was still distance between them, that face became Eamon's whole world. As it spoke, the Master's voice was soft and intimate. “But, Eben's son, it pleases
me
.”

Fear thrilled through Eamon's every limb as he understood the words spoken against him by the other Quarter Hands. Had he not come to the Master his grief would have betrayed him. What Hand was sullen for the death of a wayfarer?

The horror of it struck him with force. As he mustered his courage, the Master laughed once more. “They speak against you much, Eben's son.”

“Master, I know what they have spoken – of my ill-service to your glory.”

The throned raised an amused eyebrow. Had he answered too swiftly? He froze.

“How is it that you know, Eben's son?” The Master's voice was deceptive in its gentleness. Eamon met the awful face before him.

“I would have spoken out the same things, Master, in my concern that you be served by men with an eagle's heart. No other service can render you that glory which you rightly claim.”

The throned laughed – a deep, resounding laugh that filled the whole throne room, reaching up to the gilded rafters and dancing across the jewelled floor. Eamon nearly jumped in surprise.

“An eagle's heart! Have you an eagle's heart, Eben's son?” The steely eyes locked him. Eamon measured the gaze.

“You alone, Master, must judge my heart,” he answered. “You must judge also what I bring before you.” He paused. He could not turn back now. “I must speak to you of my ward.”

The throned nodded indulgently. “Yes, Eben's son; that you must.”

There was nothing in those words that should kindle fear in any man, and yet as they touched Eamon's ears, they terrified him. His knee ached where he knelt. Remembering his last visit to Mathaiah and the thrilling brilliance of the blue light in the Pit, Eamon steadied his tongue.

“I did not take well to his death, Master. Neither did I bear it well.”

“When death falls upon ones that are loved, such is accounted natural.”

“And I did love him, Master.”

Eamon saw surprise pass over the Master's face. He knew that he trod dangerously – but his courage told him that the way had been cleared for him.

He knew what to say.

“I loved him, Master, because from the first moment I met him I saw what he would become in your service. I saw the youth and strength of his heart, and saw that it was for you.

“Master, the Serpent took that heart and poisoned it. He took it and worked it against you. I had hoped to see my ward healed of such a wound, and will not hide from you that I desired to be the agent of that cure. It grieved me that he was taken from your service, and I dreamed of a day when I might bring him before you and declare what work he had done, in your name and to your glory.”

The throned watched him inscrutably. Eamon spoke again, more quietly. “When I saw him, Master, laid out as one of your enemies among your enemies, I grieved that he was taken from me because, at that time, he was taken from you also.”

There was silence. Eamon's words fell in the long hall. He held his breath.

The throned did not speak. His hand rested lightly on the arm of the throne. Thick jewels lined it, colouring the Master's arm with hues of red and gold.

“In my grief, Master, I was laid open to folly,” Eamon said quietly. “I alone am accountable for that. I have neglected my duties and brought disgrace upon myself. Grief is blinding and binding, but I kneel before you now to proclaim that I am no longer bound or blinded by it. I would repay to you all the honour you have bestowed on me, and I would bring back to you a harvest that is thrice tenfold of that.”

“And you shall, son of Eben.”

Eamon's heart trembled on a precipice. He did not know which was the greater terror – that he had dared to speak, or that he might be believed.

“Master,” he breathed, “what is your will for the East Quarter?”

“It will serve me.” The four words struck harsh, resonant in mastery. “It will glorify me. And it will crush any who stand against me.” The throned smiled – a small, slow smile. “Where the Serpent dares to stand, you shall make the streets run with blood.”

Eamon suppressed a shudder. “You will be glorified in my quarter, Master.”

“That, son of Eben, son of mine, is why it is yours.”

Eamon bowed his head. As he did so, the Master rose and lay his heavy hand upon Eamon's shoulder. His voice reverberated in every corner of Eamon's being: “
son of mine
”.

The grip on his shoulder was firm. Eamon's brow warmed as the words wound round him.

“You have the full authority of Crown and Eagle, son of Eben,” the Master said. “Let none gainsay you.”

Eamon looked up. The Master still smiled, his hand resting lightly at the side of Eamon's neck. Eamon realized that he had to respond to this renewed investing of authority and power. He had to answer in a way befitting one whom the throned would call his
son
.

He reached up and took hold of the palm and fingers that touched him. Slowly, he pressed Edelred's hand against his lips, and kissed it.

The Master laughed with pleasure. “Your fealty is received, Eben's son.”

Eamon's face burned as he relinquished a hand that maybe no man before him had dared to kiss.

“To your glory, Master.”

C
HAPTER
XVII

L
ightheaded, Eamon emerged into the Royal Plaza in a daze. He felt unable to comprehend what had happened or what he had done.

He had sought an audience with the throned and been received. More than that: he had not betrayed himself. His weakness had been overlooked – or it had not been seen. He did not know which was more terrifying.

As that mix of fear and wonder flooded him, his thought turned to the papers that he had left on his desk that morning. Now he truly had the authority to deal with them as he chose: the throned had restored it to him. The East Quarter had once more been entrusted to him. Now he would set to work. Perhaps he could do only a little, perhaps he would be baited and struck, just as he had been since he came to the city, and perhaps he would be discovered and lose his life. But it was in serving the East Quarter of Dunthruik that he had to make his service to the King. He would render it with all his strength.

He went to the East Quarter College and bounded the steps two at a time. The guards' greeting could not keep up with him. He hurried along the passageways, seeking the Gauntlet exercise yard. The sound of lieutenants urging on their men rang in the air. He followed those calls.

A group of about twenty men ran around the yard. They did not wear red uniforms, although they had been issued with the Gauntlet's standard dark breeches and pale shirt. Some of the young men appeared to struggle with the exercises.

First Lieutenant Greenwood and Captain Anderas observed, while two other lieutenants called the running men on to the next lap. Had the East Quarter had a college draybant he would also have been present – but no one had yet been promoted to replace Anderas.

“Lord Goodman, good morning once again.” Captain Anderas bowed as he spoke. Greenwood followed suit.

“I'll get the men to stop and greet you as you deserve, my lord,” he said.

“By all means do let them stop,” Eamon answered, looking at the backs of the men who ran along the length of the yard away from him. “They look as though they would appreciate that!”

“Yes, my lord.” Greenwood bowed and made his way across the yard to stop the men.

There was a short pause. Anderas turned to him. “How was your audience, Lord Goodman?” he asked quietly.

“It went well, thank you.” Eamon remembered the Master's hand beneath his lip, but now it did not seize him with horror. He had done it, and done it for the King.

“I am glad, my lord,” said Anderas.

“How are your new recruits?”

“Unprepared for a long jog at this time of the morning,” Anderas answered, smiling as he said it. “They will be terrified to see you, but cheered to stop, and,” Anderas continued, his smile growing broader, “
most
disappointed to learn that, after they have stopped, I will make them run again – with a good, heavy pack.”

Eamon glanced behind the captain to a pile of satchels. He knew that they were weighted. He remembered the cruelty of the exercise – at least, he imagined that all Gauntlet cadets found it cruel on their first day. It had certainly seemed so to him on his first morning in Belaal's college. But it was as necessary as the weapons practices, law and geography, and formation fighting training.

“I am sure that they will thank you for it one day, captain.”

“I suspect that they will have some rather unsavoury things to say about me first,” Anderas answered lightly. “I certainly did for my captain.”

“Did you ever say them to him?”

“No, Lord Goodman!” Anderas laughed. “I was given to complaining, like all young men, but unlike some of my fellows I found myself too intelligent to do it before my officers.”

“Were you born wise, captain?” Eamon laughed.

“I cannot speak to that – but I hope, my lord, to die being it.”

“An admirable goal.” Eamon looked up to check on the cadets' progress. “Is this yard in use this afternoon?”

“Some of the ensigns are down for weapons,” Anderas answered. “They can be moved to another yard if you have need of this one.”

“I'd like the Hands of the Quarter summoned here then.”

The Hands of the Quarter were the small number of Hands assigned to work in the quarter as auxiliaries to the Gauntlet college. Such Hands were not formally attached to the college but often worked there, answering to the Quarter Hand and doing as he asked. Such Hands were often protégés of the lord of their quarter. Eamon had been in such a position as a Hand in the West Quarter, and had served both Captain Waite and Lord Cathair as the latter directed.

The East Quarter College had fifteen of these Hands. Some had been present at his investiture as Lord of the East Quarter. Eamon had seen them not long after his formal instatement, and they had been present at the supper, but he had not seen them in person since then. If he wanted to win the respect of the quarter, he needed to win the Hands who served him.

“Of course,” Anderas answered. “I will have them summoned.”

“Thank you.” The recruits reached the last corner. They turned and ran towards Eamon. “Captain,” he added, “I want to arrange a dinner.”

“A dinner, my lord?” Anderas repeated incredulously.

“I wish to invite those who attended my official banquet earlier in the week.” The captain's eyes moved with thought as Anderas assessed Eamon's intentions. At last Anderas nodded.

“Of course, Lord Goodman,” he said. “You need only speak to the head of the household. He will see to the invitations, and to organizing the kitchens. His name, as you might recall, is Slater.”

Eamon's thoughts turned to the butler with whom he had discussed the menu. He wondered if that man was also the head of his household. He had the notion that, had he been paying attention over the last few days, he would have known the answer.

“Would you have me speak to him on your behalf?”

“No, I shall do it, thank you, captain,” Eamon answered. “I will be sure to count the crowns this time.”

Anderas smiled. “I am sure that you will do it admirably, my lord.”

Greenwood walked over to them, followed by the two much younger looking lieutenants; the latter two dropped into low bows as soon as they saw Eamon. The new recruits at last jogged their way – for it was more of a jog than a run now – up the length of the yard to where they stood. Odd looks passed over the men's faces – looks that only grew more and more terrified as they bounded forward towards a Hand.

“How long have they been running, Mr Greenwood?” Eamon asked.

“Certainly less than an hour, my lord,” Greenwood answered. He said little more, for at that moment the recruits staggered through the dust to where their lord and officers stood.

“Gentlemen, sign!” Anderas called.

The panting, blanched group of men mustered themselves into an ordered line and gasped out their names. Eamon reckoned that more than one of them were on the point of collapse. He remembered the way his own legs and lungs had burned the day when he had first barked (or rather, pitiably mewed) his name to his officer at Edesfield. Ladomer had found the spectacle deeply amusing.

The names ended and Anderas nodded, satisfied. Eamon stepped forward and looked at the new cadets with a smile.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I would like to take this opportunity to personally welcome you all to the East Quarter Gauntlet College. Your officers and captain are fine men; they will make you more than worthy to wear the red that you came here to wear.” He nodded once to Anderas, indicating that he had finished, and then took his leave. The men stared at his back as he went.

“Gentlemen, a pack each if you please.” Anderas's irrefutable voice echoed in the yard air.

Eamon pitied the new cadets – they had a long morning ahead of them yet. The sight of the bedraggled men engaged courageously with their first steps in the Gauntlet somehow made him smile.

And yet he also knew that many of the young men running in the yard might, one day, fall in battle against the King. It was a thought that weighed on him as he left the college.