Three more friends lost to flames. The hounds still hunt but have not struck a scent. Come White or Grey, flee. I keep my distance. Illior watch over you.
Grey or White. Arkoniel imagined a column of such riders coming up through the meadow and shivered. He tossed the letter into the fire and watched until it was completely consumed.
“Illior watch over you, too,” he whispered, knocking the ashes to bits with the poker.
Chapter 32
Messengers from Mycena began to arrive by early Gorathin. From then on, all through the summer and the long winter that followed, the boys lived from dispatch to dispatch. The duke wrote infrequently; each letter was read and reread until the parchment was limp and dog-eared. The king returned to Ero for the winter, but left the bulk of his force on the frontier. As one of his most valued commanders, Rhius remained, camped with his armies on the western bank of the Eel River. The Plenimarans did the same on their side of the water and when spring came the fighting broke out anew.
The summer that followed was hotter than any even Cook could recall. Arkoniel kept the boys at their lessons as best he could while they fretted that the war was passing them by.
Ki turned thirteen on the fourth of Shemin. His voice cracked wildly at odd moments now and he proudly showed off a faint line of downy black hair on his upper lip.
Tobin would soon be twelve, and though his cheeks and lip remained bare, he now matched Ki in height. Both boys were still rangy and coltish in build, but endless days of riding, chores, and arms practice had given them a wiry strength no town-bred boy could match.
Arkoniel continued to marvel at their bond. No two brothers could have been closer in love than these two. In fact, it seemed to the wizard that they got on with each other better than most brothers did. Despite the fact that they shared nearly every waking hour of the day and the same bed at night, Arkoniel seldom heard a harsh word pass between them. Instead, they challenged each other good-naturedly at all pursuits and shamelessly supported one another when caught in some prank around the house. Arkoniel suspected that Ki was behind most of the mischief, but it would have taken magic or torture to get the truth out of either of them.
Two years of careful tutelage had polished Ki up like a good gem. He spoke as fair as any country lord and managed not to swear most of the time. He still had a boy’s unformed features, but he’d prove to be a comely fellow in time and Arkoniel suspected he had the wit to go far at court if he chose.
Or at least as far as a landless knight’s middle son could go with the right patronage. His father’s title was an empty one; it would be Rhius or Tobin who sent him higher, and even then it would not be an easy climb unless Rhius chose to adopt Ki—an unlikely prospect.
Had this been a normal household, the difference in the boys’ stations might have made itself felt by now, but this was not a normal house by any measure. Tobin knew nothing of court life and treated everyone as his equal. Nari fretted over this, but Arkoniel advised her to let the boys be. Judged on his own merits, Ki was as worthy a companion as any young prince could ask for and Tobin was happy at last—for the most part, at least.
His strange bouts of foreknowing seemed to have passed, and with Lhel’s help he’d reached some accord with Brother. The spirit had grown so quiet that Nari joked about missing its antics. Arkoniel asked Lhel if it was possible that the spirit might go to rest at last, but the witch shook her head and told him, “No, and you don’t want for it to.”
If Tobin thought at all of his mother’s death, he said nothing. The only indication that it still haunted him was his aversion to the tower.
The only apparent clouds on the boy’s youthful horizon were his father’s absence and not being allowed to join him in Mycena.
Since Ahra’s visit the previous summer, Tobin and Ki were painfully aware that boys younger than themselves had gone off to war. Arkoniel’s assurances that no boy of Tobin’s station, not even the Prince Royal himself, would be allowed in battle did little to assuage his wounded pride.
At least once a month since then, both boys tried on the armor Rhius had left behind and swore it nearly fit, though in truth the sleeves of the hauberk still hung well below their fingertips. They kept up their arms practice with grim determination and splintered enough practice blades to keep Cook in kindling through the winter.
Tobin capitalized on his hard-won writing skills and always had a thick packet of letters ready for his father’s couriers. Rhius replied sporadically, and his letters made no mention of Tobin’s pleas to join him. However, he did send a swordsmith to the keep. The man took their measure with his strings and calipers; within the month they each had proper swords to practice with.
Otherwise, life went on as it always had until one summer day when Arkoniel overheard them trying to guess the distance to Ero, and how they might present themselves to strangers on the road. That night he quietly fixed a small glyph on each of them as they slept, in case he had to track them down later.
Ki and Tobin didn’t run away, but all through that long hot summer they grumbled and fretted and talked of war, and Ero.
In truth Ki had been to the city only a handful of times, but he relived each visit from memory for Tobin. Sitting by the dusty toy city at night, he would point here and there, painting a picture with his words, making a new section come alive in Tobin’s imagination.
“Here’s where Goldsmith Street lies, or thereabouts, and the temple,” Ki would explain. “Remember I told you about the painted dragon on the wall there?”
Tobin questioned him closely about Aurënfaie horses and traders he’d seen at the Horse Fair, and repeatedly made him describe everything he could recall of the ships in the harbor, with their colored sails and banners.
It was Tobin, however, who taught Ki what lay inside the walls of the Palatine Circle, for Ki had never been there. Tobin had only his father and Tharin’s stories to go by, but he’d learned them well. He quizzed his friend on the royal lineage, as well, lining the little kings and queens from the box up on the Palace roof.
During the day they roamed the woods and meadow wearing little more than short linen kilts. It was too hot most days for more. Even Arkoniel adopted their fashion and didn’t seem to mind when they snickered at his pale hairy body.
Lhel stripped for the heat, too. Tobin was shocked the first time she stepped from the trees to greet them clad only in a short skirt. He’d seen most of Nari often enough when she changed her shift or bathed, but never any other woman. And Nari was small-breasted, soft and pale. Lhel was nothing like that. She was brown all over, and her body was almost as hard as a man’s, but not flat and angular. Her breasts hung like huge ripe plums and they swayed as she walked. Her legs and flanks were firm, her hips wide and rounded, and her waist slender. Her hands and feet were as dirty as ever, but the rest of her looked as clean as if she’d just come from swimming. Tobin wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder, just to see what it would feel like, but the very thought made him blush.
He saw Ki blushing, too, that first time, though he didn’t look all that embarrassed. They both soon grew used to the sight of her, but Tobin did sometimes wonder what her skirt might hide. Ki said a woman’s nether parts were nothing like a man’s. Now and then he’d find Lhel watching him as if she knew his thoughts and he’d have to look away, coloring more hotly than ever.
Chapter 33
Do you think Prince Korin has to fill the wash kettle at the Palace?” Ki complained as he and Tobin toiled into the kitchen yard with their buckets. The wooden horse carving he wore stuck against his sweaty brown chest as he heaved his bucket up onto the edge of the steaming wash cauldron. It wasn’t even noon yet, but the Lenthin day was already sweltering.
Sweat ran off Tobin’s nose as he emptied his own bucket. Leaning over the cauldron, he blew the steam out of the way and let out an exasperated groan. “Bilairy’s balls! Not even half full yet. Two more trips and we’re taking a swim. I don’t care if Cook yells herself h
oarse.”
“Command me, my prince,” Ki chuckled, following Tobin back out the gate.
The most recent drought had lowered the river between its banks. They had to pick their way over jumbled stones crusted with dead rockweed to reach the water’s edge. They were almost there when Ki stubbed his toe badly. He let out a strangled groan as he bit back a forbidden word; Nari had already clipped his ear once today for foul language. “Damnation!” he hissed instead, gripping his bleeding toe.
Tobin dropped his buckets and helped him hobble down to the water. “Soak it until it feels better.”
Ki sat down and thrust both legs into the current up to the knees. Tobin did the same and leaned back, resting on his elbows. He was even browner than Ki this summer, he noted proudly, though Nari claimed it made him look like a peasant. From his current vantage point he could see the line of fine golden hairs that ran down the muscled trough of Ki’s spine, and the way his friend’s shoulder blades flared out beneath the smooth skin. Ki reminded Tobin of the catamount they’d faced together in the mountains, tawny and supple. The sight sent a warm glow through him that he couldn’t quite put words to.
“That kettle won’t fill itself!” Cook called from the gate behind them.
Tobin craned his head back for an upside down look at the impatient woman. “Ki hurt his foot.”
“Are your legs broke?”
“Nothing wrong that I can see,” Ki said, throwing a handful of cold water onto Tobin’s belly.
He yelped and sat up. “Traitor! See if I help you …”
Brother stood watching him on the far bank. Tobin had called him earlier that morning, then forgotten about him.
Brother had matched Tobin in growth, but stayed gaunt and fish-belly pale. No matter where Brother appeared, the light never struck him the way it did a living person. At this distance, his unnatural eyes looked like two black holes in his face. His voice had grown fainter, too. It had been months since Tobin had heard him speak at all.
He stared at Tobin a moment longer, then turned and gazed down the road.
“Someone’s coming,” Tobin murmured.
Ki glanced down the meadow, then back at him. “I don’t hear anything.”
A moment later they both heard the first faint jingle of harness in the distance.
“Ah! Brother?”
Tobin nodded.
By now they could both hear the riders clearly enough to know there were at least a score. Tobin jumped to his feet. “Do you suppose that’s Father?”
Ki grinned. “Who else could it be, coming here with that many?”
Tobin scrambled back up the rocks and ran onto the bridge for a better view.
The sun-baked planks burned his feet. He danced impatiently from foot to foot for a minute, then set off along the grassy verge to meet the riders.
“Tobin, come back! You know we’re not supposed to.”
“I’ll just go part way!” Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Ki limping toward the bridge. The other boy pointed at his hurt foot and shrugged.
Tobin’s heart beat faster as he caught the flash of sunlight off steel through the trees. Why were they coming so slowly? His father always took the last mile at a gallop, raising a cloud of dust that could be seen above the trees long before the riders appeared.
Tobin stopped and shaded his eyes. There was no dust cloud today. Uneasy, he stood poised to run if it proved to be strangers after all.
When the first riders came into sight at the bottom of the meadow, however, he recognized Tharin in the lead on his roan, with old Laris and the others close behind. There were two other lords with him, too. He recognized Nyanis by his shining hair and Solari by his bushy black beard and green-and-gold cloak.
The fighting must be over. He’s brought guests for a feast! Tobin let out a whoop and waved both arms at them, still searching for his father among the press of riders. Tharin waved an answering salute but didn’t spur his horse. As they came up the hill Tobin saw that the captain was leading a horse on a long rein—his father’s black palfrey. It was saddled but riderless. Only then did Tobin note that all the horses’ manes were shorn close to their necks. He knew what that meant. The men had told him tales in the barracks yard—
The air beside Tobin darkened as Brother shimmered into view. His voice was scarcely audible above the sound of the river but Tobin heard him clearly enough.
Our father has come home.
“No.” Tobin marched on stubbornly to meet the riders. His heart was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t feel the road beneath his feet.
Tharin and the others reined in as he reached them. Tobin refused to look at their faces. He looked only at his father’s horse and the things strapped across the saddle: hauberk, helm, bow. And a long clay jar slung in a net.
“Where is he?” Tobin demanded, staring now at one worn, empty stirrup. His voice sounded almost as faint as Brother’s in his ears.
He heard Tharin dismount, felt the man’s big hands on his shoulders, but he kept his eyes on the stirrup.
Tharin turned him gently and cupped his chin, making Tobin look at him. His faded blue eyes were red-rimmed and full of sorrow.
“Where is Father?”
Tharin took something from his belt pouch, something that glinted black and gold in the sunlight. It was his father’s oak tree signet on its chain. With shaking hands, Tharin placed it around Tobin’s neck.
“Your father died in battle, my prince, on the fifth day of Shemin. He fell bravely, Tobin. I brought his ashes home to you.”
Tobin looked back at the jar in the net and understood. The fifth of Shemin? That was the day after Ki’s name day. We went swimming. I shot two grouse. We saw Lhel.
We didn’t know.
Brother stood beside the horse now, one hand resting on the dusty jar. Their father had been dead nearly a month.
You once told me about a fox dying, he thought, staring at Brother in disbelief. And about Iya coming. But not that our father was dead?
“I was there, too, Tobin. What Tharin says is true.” That was Lord Solari. He dismounted and came to stand by him. Tobin had always liked the young lord but he couldn’t look up at him now, either. When he spoke again, it sounded as if the man was far away, even though Tobin could see Solari’s boots right there next to him in the road. “He gave his war cry until the end and all his wounds were in the front. I saw him kill at least four men before he fell. No warrior could ask for a better death.”
Tobin felt light, like his body was going to drift away on the breeze like a milkweed seed. Perhaps I’ll see Father’s ghost. He squinted, trying to make out his father’s shade near the jar. But Brother stood alone, his black eyes dark holes in his face as he slowly faded from sight.
“Tobin?”
Tharin’s hands were firm on his shoulders, holding him so he wouldn’t blow away. Tobin didn’t want to look at Tharin, didn’t want to see the tears slowly scouring twin trails through the dust on the man’s cheeks. He didn’t want the other lords and soldiers to see Tharin crying.
Instead, he looked past him and saw Ki running down the road. “His foot must be better.”
Tharin brought his face closer to Tobin’s, looking at him with the oddest expression. Tobin could hear some of the other men weeping softly now, something he’d never heard before. Soldiers didn’t weep.
“Ki,” Tobin explained, as his gaze skittered back to his father’s horse. “He hurt his toe, but he’s coming now.”
Tharin took a scabbard from his back and placed the duke’s sheathed sword in Tobin’s hands. “This is yours now, too.”
Tobin clutched the heavy weapon, so much heavier than his own. Too large for me. Just like the armor. One more thing to be saved for later. Too late.
He heard Tharin talking, but it felt as if his head was stuffed with milkweed fluff; it was hard to make sense of anything. “What do we do with the ashes?”
Tharin hugged him closer. “When you’re ready, we’ll take them
to Ero and lay them with your mother in the royal tomb. They’ll be together again at last.”
“In Ero?”
Father had always promised to take him to Ero.
Instead, it seemed that he must take his father.
Tobin’s eyes felt hot and his chest burned as if he’d run all the way from the town, but no tears would come. He felt as dry inside as the dust beneath his feet.
Tharin mounted his horse again and someone helped Tobin up behind him, still clutching his father’s sword.
Ki met them halfway, breathless and limping. He seemed to know already what had happened and burst into silent tears at the sight of the arms lashed to the empty saddle. Going to Tobin, he clasped his friend’s leg with both hands and rested his forehead against his knee. Koni came and gave Ki a hand up onto his horse.
As they rode the rest of the way up the hill, Tobin could feel his father’s gold signet swing heavily against his heart with every beat of the horse’s hooves.
Nari and the others met them at the main gate and set up an awful wailing before Tharin could even tell them what had happened. Even Arkoniel wept.
Nari caught Tobin in a fierce embrace as he climbed down. “Oh, my poor love,” she sobbed. “What will we do?”
“Go to Ero,” he tried to tell her, but doubted whether she heard him.
The arms and ashes were carried into the hall and laid before the shrine. Tharin helped Tobin cut off Gosi’s mane and burn it with a lock of his own hair in the barracks yard to honor his father.
Then they sang sad songs at the shrine that everyone except Tobin seemed to know, and Tharin kept both hands on Tobin’s shoulders as he said prayers to Astellus and Dalna to take care of his father’s spirit, then to Sakor and Illior, asking them to protect the household.
For Tobin it was all a blur of words. When Brother appeared and placed one of his dirty, twisted tree roots on the shelf of the shrine, Tobin was too tired to sweep it away. No one else noticed.