They were in the watchtower.
He pressed one hand to the wall for balance, but pulled it away again when his fingers found patches of something rough that scaled away at his touch. He was scared now, and wanted to run back down to the bright, safe part of the house, but his mother still held his hand.
As they climbed higher, something suddenly flittered in the shadows overhead—the demon, no doubt, or some worse terror. Tobin tried to pull free, but she held him fast and smiled at him over her shoulder as she led him up to a narrow door at the top.
“Those are just my birds. They have their nests here and I have mine, but they can fly in and out whenever they wish.”
She opened the narrow door and sunlight flooded out. It made him blink as he stumbled over the threshold.
He’d always thought the tower was empty, abandoned, except perhaps for the demon, but here was a pretty little sitting room furnished more nicely than any of the rooms downstairs. He gazed around in amazement, never imagining his mother had such a delightful secret place.
Faded tapestries covered the windows on three sides, but the west wall was bare and the heavy shutters open. Tobin could see sunlight shining on the snow-covered peaks in the distance, and hear the rush of the river below.
“Come, Tobin,” she urged, going to a table by the window. “Sit with me a while on your name day.”
A little spark of hope flared up in Tobin’s heart and he edged further into the room. She’d never remembered his birthday before.
The room was very cozy and comfortable. A long table stood against the far wall, piled with doll-making goods. On another table, finished dolls—dark-haired and mouthless as always, but dressed in tunics of velvet and silk fancier than any Tobin owned—sat propped in a double rank against the wall.
Perhaps she brought me here to give me one for my name day, he thought. Even without mouths, they were very pretty. He turned hopefully to his mother. For an instant he could almost see how she’d smile, telling him to pick whichever one he liked best, a special present just from her. But his mama just stood by the window, plucking restlessly at the front of her skirt with the fingers of her free hand as she stared down at the bare table in front of her. “I should have cakes, shouldn’t I? Honey cakes and wine.”
“We always have them in the hall,” Tobin reminded her, casting another longing glance at the dolls. “You were there last year, remember? Until the demon knocked the cake on the floor and—”
He faltered to a stop as other memories of that day came back. His mother had burst into tears when the demon came, then started screaming. His father and Nari had carried her away and Tobin had eaten his broken bits of cake in the kitchen with Cook and Tharin.
“The demon?” A tear rolled down his mother’s pale cheek and she hugged the doll tighter. “How can they call him that?”
Tobin looked to the open doorway, gauging an escape. If she started screaming now, he could run away down the stairs, back to people who loved him and could be counted on to do what he expected. He wondered if Nari would be angry with him for going upstairs.
But his mother didn’t scream. She just sank into a chair and wept, clutching the ugly doll to her heart.
He started to edge his way toward the door, but his mama looked so terribly sad that instead of running away, he went to her and rested his head on her shoulder, the way he did with Nari when she was sad and homesick.
Ariani put an arm around him and pulled him close, stroking his unruly black hair. As usual, she hugged too hard, stroked too roughly, but he stayed, grateful for even this much affection. For once, the demon let him be.
“My poor little babies,” she whispered, rocking Tobin. “What are we to do?” Reaching into her bodice, she took out a tiny pouch. “Hold out your hand.”
Tobin obeyed and she shook out two small objects: a silver moon charm, and a little piece of wood capped on both ends with the red metal he’d seen on the backs of shields.
She picked up one, then the other, and pressed them to Tobin’s forehead as if she expected something to happen. When nothing did, she tucked them away again with a sigh.
Still holding Tobin close, she rose and drew him to the window. Lifting him up with surprising strength, she stood him on the wide stone sill. Tobin looked down between the toes of his slippers and saw the river rushing in white curls around the rocks below. Frightened again, he gripped the window casing with one hand, his mother’s thin shoulder with the other.
“Lhel!” she shouted at the mountains. “What are we to do? Why don’t you come? You promised you’d come!”
She gripped the back of Tobin’s tunic, pushing him slightly forward, threatening his balance.
“Mama, I want to get down!” Tobin whispered, clutching her harder.
He turned his head and looked into eyes that were cold and hard again. For an instant she looked as if she didn’t know who he was or what they were doing here at this window so high above the ground. Then she yanked him back and they both tumbled to the floor. Tobin bumped his elbow and let out a yelp of pain.
“Poor baby! Mama’s sorry,” his mother sobbed, but it was the doll she rocked in her arms as she crouched there on the floor, not him.
“Mama?” Tobin crept to her side, but she ignored him.
Heartbroken and confused, he ran from the room, wanting nothing more than to escape the sound of her sobs. He was almost to the bottom of the tower when something pushed him hard in the back and he fell the last few steps, banging his shins and scuffing his palms.
The demon was with him, a dark shape flitting just at the edge of his vision. Tobin couldn’t recall just when he’d begun to see it, but he knew he hadn’t always been able to. It darted close and yanked at a stray lock of his hair.
Tobin struck out wildly. “I hate you! I hate you I hate you I hate you!”
Hate you! echoed back from the shadows overhead.
Tobin limped back downstairs to the toy room, but even here the daylight seemed tarnished. The savor of his earlier excitement had been leeched away, and his shins and hands hurt. All he wanted was to burrow under his bedcovers with the current family of friendly little wooden people waiting there. As he turned to go, his father came in.
“There you are!” Rhius exclaimed, hoisting Tobin up in his strong arms and giving him a kiss. His beard tickled and suddenly the day seemed a little brighter. “I’ve looked high and low for you. Where have you been? And how did you manage to get so dusty?”
Shame welled up in Tobin’s chest as he thought of the disastrous visit. “I was just playing,” he said, staring down at the heavy silver broach on his father’s shoulder.
Rhius slipped a rough, callused finger under Tobin’s chin and examined a smudge on his cheek. Tobin knew his father was thinking of the demon; this at least they both understood without the need for words.
“Well now, never mind that,” he said, carrying Tobin next door to his room, where they found Nari laying out a new set of clothes on the bed. “Nari tells me you’re old enough to ride down to Alestun with me and look for a name day present. What do you think of that?”
“I can go?” Tobin cried, all dark thoughts swept away for the moment.
“Not looking like that, you can’t!” his nurse exclaimed, sloshing water into the basin on his washstand. “How did you manage to get so dirty this early in the day?”
His father winked at him and went to the door. “I’ll meet you in the front court when you’re presentable.”
Tobin forgot all about his scraped shins and sore elbow as he dutifully scrubbed his face and hands, then stood as still as he could while Nari combed the tangles she called rats’ nests from his hair.
Dressed at last in a fine new tunic of soft green wool and fresh leggings, he hurried down to the courtyard. His father was waiting, as promised, and all the rest of the household with him.
“Blessings of the day, little prince!” everyone cried, laughing and hugging him.
Tobin was s
o excited that at first he didn’t even notice Tharin standing off to one side, holding the bridle of a bay gelding Tobin had never seen before.
The horse was a few spans shorter than his father’s black palfrey and fitted out with a child-sized saddle. His rough winter coat and mane had been curried until they shone.
“Blessings, my son,” Rhius said, lifting Tobin up into the saddle. “A lad old enough to ride to town needs his own horse to go on. He’s yours to care for, and to name.”
Grinning, Tobin twitched the reins and guided the bay into a walk around the courtyard. “I’ll call him Chestnut. That’s the color he is, just like a chestnut shell.”
“Then you could also call him Gosi,” his father told him with a twinkle in his eye.
“Why is that?”
“Because this isn’t just any horse. He’s come all the way from Aurënen, just as my black did. There are no finer mounts than that. All the nobles of Skala ride Aurënfaie horses now.”
Aurënfaie. A flicker of memory stirred. Aurënfaie traders had come to their gate one stormy night—wonderful, strange-looking folk with long red scarves wrapped around their heads and tattoos on their cheeks. Nari had sent him upstairs too early that night, but he’d hidden at the top of the stairs and watched as they did colorful magics and played music on strange instruments. The demon had scared them away, and Tobin had seen his mother laughing with her doll in the shadows of the disused minstrel’s gallery. It was the first time he’d ever realized he might hate her.
Tobin pushed the dark thoughts away; that had been a long time ago, nearly two years. Aurënen meant magic and strange folk who bred horses fit for Skalan nobles. Nothing more.
He leaned down to stroke the gelding’s neck. “Thank you, Father! I’ll call him Gosi. Can I go to Aurënen someday?”
“Everyone should go to Aurënen. It’s a beautiful place.”
“Here, take these to make a name day offering at the temple.” Nari passed him up several little packets tied up in clean cloth. Tobin proudly stowed them away in his new saddle pouch.
“I’ve a gift for you, too, Tobin.” Tharin pulled a long, cloth-wrapped parcel from his belt and handed it up to him.
Inside Tobin found a carved wooden sword nearly as long as his arm. The blade was thick and blunt, but the hilt was nicely carved and fitted with real bronze quillons. “It’s handsome! Thank you!”
Tharin gave him a wink. “We’ll see if you thank me after we start using it. I’m to be your swordmaster. I think we’ll wear out a good many of those before we’re done, but there’s the first.”
This was as good a gift as the horse, even if the blade wasn’t real. He tried to brandish his new weapon, but it was heavier than he’d thought.
His father chuckled. “Don’t you worry, my boy. Tharin will soon put you through your paces. You’d best leave your weapon with Mynir for now, though. We don’t want you getting into any duels your first time abroad.”
Tobin surrendered it grudgingly to the steward, but soon forgot all about it as he rode out the gate and across the bridge behind his father and Tharin. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to stop at the far end and wave good-bye to them. As they continued down through the meadow, he felt like a warrior already, heading off to see the wide world.
Just before they entered the trees, however, he felt a sudden crawly chill between his shoulder blades, as if an ant had fallen down his tunic. Turning, he glanced back at the keep and thought he saw the shutters at the watchtower’s south window move. He turned away quickly.
Leaves like round gold coins paved the forest road. Others like hands of red or orange wavered over head, together with oak leaves shiny and brown as polished leather.
Tobin amused himself by practicing with rein and knees, getting Gosi to trot at his command.
“Tobin rides like a soldier already, Rhius,” Tharin remarked, and Tobin’s heart swelled with pride.
“Do you ride your horse at the Plenimarans in battle, Father?” he asked.
“When we fight on land, but I have a great black war horse called Sakor’s Fire for that, with iron shoes that the smiths sharpen before every battle.”
“Why have I never seen that horse?” Tobin demanded.
“He stays at Atyion. That sort of mount is only suited for battle. He’s strong and fast and has no fear of blood or fire, but it’s rather like riding a crate on square wheels. Old Majyer here and your Gosi are proper riding mounts.”
“Why can’t I ever go to Atyion?” Tobin asked, and not for the first time.
The answer often varied. Today his father just smiled and said, “You will, someday.”
Tobin sighed. Perhaps now that he was old enough to ride his own horse, “someday” would come soon?
The ride to town was much shorter than Tobin had imagined. The sun had moved less than two hours across the sky when they passed the first cottages beside the road.
The trees grew thinner here, mostly oak and aspen, and Tobin could see herds of pigs snuffling in the mast beneath their branches. A mile or so further and the forest gave way to open meadow, where flocks of sheep and goats grazed under the watchful eye of shepherds not much older than Tobin. They waved to him and he returned the gesture shyly.
They soon met more people on the road, driving carts pulled by goats or oxen, or carrying loads in long baskets on their backs. A trio of young girls in short, dirty shifts stared at Tobin as he rode past and talked to each other behind their hands as they followed him with their eyes.
“Get home to your mothers,” Tharin growled in a voice Tobin had never heard him use before. The girls jumped like startled rabbits and fled across the ditch, but Tobin could hear laughter in their wake.
A river flowed down out of the hills to the town and the road bent to follow its bank to Alestun. Fields laid out in broad strips surrounded the town. Some were tilled for spring; others were yellow and brown with autumn stubble.
His father pointed to a group of people at work in a barley field, gathering the last sheaves of the harvest. “We’ve been lucky here. In some parts of the country the plague has killed off so many folk the fields have gone to ruin for want of laborers. And those who don’t die of the illness starve.”
Tobin knew what plague was. He’d heard the men talking about it in the barracks yard when they thought he couldn’t hear. It made your skin bleed and black lumps grow under your arms. He was glad it hadn’t come here.
By the time they neared the wooden palisade of the town, Tobin was round-eyed with excitement. There were more people than ever here and he waved to them all, delighted to see so many folk at once. Many waved back and saluted his father respectfully, but a few stared at him as the girls by the road had.
Just outside the walls a mill stood on the riverbank. There was a large oak tree beside it, full of children, girls and boys alike, swinging out over the water on long ropes tied to its branches.
“Are they being hanged?” Tobin gasped as they rode past. He’d heard of such punishments but hadn’t pictured it quite like this. The children seemed to be enjoying themselves.
His father laughed. “No, they’re playing at swings.”
“Could I do that?”
The two men exchanged an odd look that Tobin couldn’t quite decipher.
“Would you like to?” asked Tharin.
Tobin looked back at the laughing children clambering like squirrels among the branches. “Maybe.”
At the gate a pikeman stepped forward and bowed to his father, touching a hand to his heart. “Good day to you, Duke Rhius.”
“Good day to you, Lika.”
“Say, this fine young fellow wouldn’t be your son, would he?”
“Indeed he is, come to visit at last.”
Tobin sat up a little straighter in his saddle.
“Welcome, young prince,” Lika said, bowing to Tobin. “Come to see the pleasures of the town? It’s market day, and there’s lots to look at.”
“It’s m
y name day,” Tobin told him shyly.
“Blessings on you, then, by the Four!”
Alestun was only a small market town, but to Tobin it seemed a vast city. Low, thatch-roofed cottages lined the muddy streets, and there were children and animals everywhere. Pigs chased dogs, dogs chased cats and chickens, and small children chased each other and everything else. Tobin couldn’t help staring, for he’d never seen so many children in one place. Those who noticed him stopped to stare back or point, and he began to feel rather uncomfortable again. A little girl with a wooden doll tucked under her arm gazed at him and he scowled back at her until she looked away.
The square was too crowded for riding, so they left their mounts with an ostler and continued on foot. Tobin held tightly to his father’s hand for fear he’d be lost forever in the throng if they got separated.
“Stand up tall, Tobin,” his father murmured. “It’s not every day a prince comes to Alestun market.”
They went first to the shrine of the Four, which stood at the center of the square. The shrine at the keep was just a stone niche in the hall, carved and painted with the symbols of the four gods of Skala. This one looked more like Cook’s summer kitchen. Four posts supported the thatch roof and each was painted a different color: white for Illior, red for Sakor, blue for Astellus, and yellow for Dalna. A small offering brazier burned at the foot of each. Inside, an elderly priestess sat on a stool surrounded by pots and baskets. She accepted Tobin’s offerings, sprinkling the portions of salt, bread, herbs, and incense onto the braziers with the proper prayers.
“Would you like to make a special prayer, my prince?” she asked when she’d finished.
Tobin looked to his father, who smiled and gave the priestess a silver sester.
“To which of the Four do you petition?” she asked, laying a hand on Tobin’s head.
“Sakor, so that I can be a great warrior, like my father.”
“Bravely said! Well then, we must make the warrior’s offering to please the god.”
The priestess cut a bit of Tobin’s hair with a steel blade and kneaded it into a lump of wax, along with salt, a few drops of water, and some powders that turned the wax bright red.