Too Many Princes (28 page)

“
As to your question,
”
she said to the whole of them,
“
you will accompany me on a further journey.
”

“
I thought we were to do your will here.
”
Brastigan scarcely recognized his own choked voice.

Lottres sharply countered,
“
We will do whatever she asks of us!
”

Their gazes caught again in a ferocious exchange. Lottres glared, as if to reclaim dominance from his brother. Or as if, maybe, he was jealous of Brastigan's kinship with Yriatt. Well, Brastigan was done with giving way before his foolish brother. He held his dark eyes steady.

Yriatt ignored their sparring.
“
All changes, does it not?
”
Her dry words didn't truly make a question.
“
The task I had for you is pointless. I believed Sillets was preparing to invade. You were to spy out the country and confirm it.
”
She shrugged with a tinkling of baubles.
“
But we know that, now.
”

Finally, Lottres broke his angry stare to look at Yriatt.
“
Then you don't need us?
”
His expression was strained.

In the next moment Brastigan demanded,
“
If you knew Sillets was getting ready for war, why didn't you tell our father?
”
The task she mentioned didn't seem to match with the safe haven the king had intended.

“
I told Eben,
”
she answered,
“
which amounts to the same thing. If Unferth didn't share the knowledge, that's between him and you.
”

Brastigan felt his hackles rise, to hear his father's name spoken in such a casual way. Yriatt turned back to Lottres.
“
Fear not, young man. We shall be in company for some while. Now that Sillets has moved, another task has become far more urgent. But you and your men have traveled far already. You must be tired and hungry. Rest now, and refresh yourselves. We will speak again at supper.
”

* * *

An hour later, Brastigan was still fuming at the abrupt dismissal. They were men of Crutham and owed no allegiance to Hawkwing House, yet Yriatt spoke to them like lackeys. Now she had some other errand for them, but could she say plainly what it was? Oh, no. She had to surprise them at dinner.

And she claimed to be his mother's sister. Brastigan blew out a harsh breath. No, he refused to believe it. No kin of his would ever wear such a ridiculous hat.

The bath was a long, narrow chamber, half of it occupied by a shallow pool. Brastigan was seated on a cut-rock bench, water lapping at his ribs as he picked the largest twigs out of his hair. The water was tepid, thanks to baskets of heated rocks the silent women had dumped into the pool. Steam lingered from the simple technique.

The women had also provided modesty towels of their loosely woven cloth. These fit properly, so there must have been men in the settlement at one time. Brastigan still wanted to know where they were. Behind him, he could hear clanks and thumps as the soldiers helped each other out of harness. Chairs made of what looked like bent branches groaned beneath the weight of chainmail hauberks. Sweat-soaked gambesons added a tang to the air.

Brastigan glanced aside, where his brother was just entering the pool. He caught the end of a resentful glance, but no word of greeting. Well, Brastigan wouldn't beg for company. His brother, grandly ignoring him, ducked completely under the water.

The dark prince picked up a rag and a bit of soap that looked like it had been hacked off a larger block. The lather carried a now familiar herbal scent. Maybe it was a flea repellent, like the herbs they burned in Crutham. Maybe it was the only herb that grew in these high peaks. Whatever, the soap cleaned his hair well enough.

He had scrubbed his body and was trying to reach his back when someone sat down beside him. Pikarus. Saying nothing, the soldier took the soapy cloth from Brastigan's hand and began to wash his back. Brastigan sat silently, enduring the vigorous rubbing only because it felt so good.

“
Are you all right?
”
the soldier asked in a low voice.

Maybe he thought to make amends for supporting Lottres against Brastigan's wishes. Well, Brastigan was in no mood to be appeased. Pikarus was no better than Yriatt, keeping secrets as he did.

“
Of course,
”
Brastigan lied airily.
“
I got my bath. I'm perfectly happy.
”

He spoke loudly, goading his brother, but Lottres didn't respond. Pretending nothing was amiss, Pikarus said,
“
How about that mural?
”

Brastigan frowned through gauzy wisps of steam at a mosaic on the opposite wall. On the left hand side, three strangely elongated human figures stood with arms raised. On their heads were twisting horns, like those Yriatt decked herself with. No features or expression were discernible. Facing them on the right hand side was a huge, dark form. A dragon, legendary scourge of these mountains. Flames wreathed its head, outlining dagger-like teeth, spines, claws. On its head, too, were the great, twisted horns.

“
I wonder what it means,
”
Pikarus mused.

“
They dance with dragons?
”
was Brastigan's scathing suggestion.

Looking at the mosaic, he considered the horns Yriatt sported on her headdress. Wearing them might be a kind of boast. No housebound mumbler would obtain such ornaments. Winning those would take guts, and real power.

Ironically, there was nothing especially magical about Hawkwing House so far. It was foreign, yes, but ordinary candles lit the halls and the folk within seemed to be flesh and blood. The prosaic setting must be a disappointment to Lottres.

More men were in the water now, voices running together as they rid themselves of the accumulated grime from the journey. Even through the echoes, Brastigan heard a sloosh of falling water. He turned in time to see Lottres rise from the pool and drip his way over to a chair stacked high with towels. Lottres wrapped one of these around his narrow chest as he left the chamber.

Frowning, Brastigan gathered himself, but Pikarus laid a hand on his shoulder.
“
He has to walk his own road,
”
the soldier said.

Brastigan turned, fast enough to break Pikarus's grip. His hands tightened into fists.
“
Not around here, he won't,
”
he answered, hotly enough to warm the bath water.
“
I don't want anyone wandering off by themselves. We stay together, and that goes for every one of us.
”

There was an awkward silence. While the men were trying to pretend they hadn't heard his angry words, Brastigan felt how cold the water was getting. He stood up and yanked a towel from the stack. Lottres might be a prince, but he didn't need a bunch of lackeys to coddle him and agree with all he said. He needed someone to talk sense, and that was what Brastigan planned to do.

He followed his brother to their assigned quarters, a square hall with a raised hearth at its center. A series of chiseled alcoves held leather pads stuffed with rushes, where the soldiers could lay out their bedrolls. At present, baggage was piled outside the bunks, making it hard to move through the room without tripping. There was no fire on the hearth, and the few candles gave little heat.

Lottres crouched, partly dressed, beside his bags. The damp towel lay discarded on his bunk. He looked up when Brastigan entered and quickly turned away, shoulders hunched.

Brastigan's mind whirled with things he wanted to say, but his tongue seemed numb. Kneeling beside his own baggage, he ordered gruffly,
“
I don't want you going off by yourself, Pup.
”

“
I'm not a pup!
”
Lottres barked back.
“
Don't try to put me on a leash.
”

Brastigan felt his veins tingle with fury. He yanked clothing out of his duffel without really looking at it.
“
It's not like that.
”

“
Yes, it is.
”
Lottres's voice came muffled as he pulled on a dress tunic.
“
You came here to put me back in my place. I know it.
”

“
I never put you any place,
”
Brastigan snapped. He dried his body with angry strokes of his towel.
“
I never stood in your way, so quit making this stuff up.
”

“
Then why are you here?
”
Lottres demanded, as if his presence somehow proved a point.

Trying to control his fury, Brastigan slouched on his bunk and yanked at his trousers. They stuck against his damp legs. He pulled harder.
“
Because you're my brother. I'm worried about you.
”

Lottres gave a brittle laugh.
“
You don't have to treat me like a baby. I know what I'm doing.
”

“
Oh, yes. You and Pikarus. He must follow his own road,
”
Brastigan intoned, imitating the soldier's unwanted advice. He stood, pulling his pants up the rest of the way.

“
Well, I'm going to.
”
Lottres fastened his belt with a defiant snap.

Brastigan stared at him, wishing it could be some other way. He knew what he must do, but it scared him. That made him mad again. He all but snarled,
“
Fine, but who says you have to do it alone?
”
Lottres regarded him suspiciously, and Brastigan went on,
“
You know I don't like this. I think it's dangerous, but you aren't going to listen.
”

“
Guilt won't change my mind,
”
his brother interrupted.

“
Would you listen?
”
Brastigan stopped just short of saying
“
Pup.
”
It felt strange to censor the habitual nickname, and he resented it, but he had to make Lottres accept his presence. Otherwise, he would never know what he was up to.
“
Maybe I can't stop you, but I will back you up. Just quit trying to make me out as your enemy.
”

Clearly Lottres didn't believe it, but he said,
“
Then hurry up. I'm going to see Yriatt.
”

There was a gleam in the younger man's eyes, as if he dared Brastigan to make his word good.

Brastigan rolled his eyes.
“
Dinner wouldn't be soon enough?
”
His brother's scowl warned he wasn't forgiven yet.
“
How do you know she's got time to see you? If she's in charge here, there might be other things
—
.
”

“
She'll talk to me,
”
Lottres answered confidently.

Why, Brastigan wondered. Because Eben had chosen him? For what? He shut his mouth on the question. Brastigan's hair fell into his face, tangled and wet, as he bent to close his duffel. He pulled a comb out and tucked Victory under his arm.

“
Coming,
”
he muttered, and added,
“
I wanted to ask her a question, anyway.
”

“
What question?
”
Lottres frowned, jealous again.

“
Oh, get off yourself.
”
Brastigan pulled his mother's pendant out from under his tunic, dangling it by its cord.
“
She might know what this is for.
”

“
We're wasting time,
”
Lottres snapped, not giving in on the point. He yanked a candle from the nearest antler.
“
Let's go.
”

So saying, he stalked from the room—and now it was Brastigan who hurried to keep up.