Hidden Warrior Page 8

  “Very well, then,” he said at last, glaring up at Orun. “I’ll have Lady Una.”

  Orun laughed and clapped his soft hands, as if Tobin had made a particularly brilliant joke. “Most amusing, my prince! I must remember to tell your uncle that one. But seriously, young Moriel is more than willing, and the king did already approve him once—”

  “Not him.”

  “As your guardian—”

  “No!” Tobin nearly stamped his foot. “Moriel will never serve me. Not if I have to go naked and alone into battle!”

  Orun settled back against his cushions again and picked up a cup from the tray. “We’ll see about that.”

  Despair crept over Tobin. For all his brave words to Ki and Tharin, he knew he was no match for the man.

  Orun sipped softly at his tea for a moment. “I understand you wish to visit Atyion.”

  So Moriel was already at work. Or perhaps it had been Alben. He’d heard Orun favored the dark, arrogant boy. “The estate is mine now. Why shouldn’t I go? Korin said I might.”

  Orun smirked. “Assuming our dear prince recalls anything he said last night. But you’re not planning to go today, surely? Just listen to that rain. It’s certain to last for days this time of the year. I wouldn’t be surprised if it begins to freeze soon.”

  “It’s only a day’s ride—”

  “So soon after your illness, my dear?” Orun shook his head. “Most unwise. Besides, I should think you’ve had enough adventures for a while. When you’re stronger, perhaps. It’s a lovely place in the spring, Atyion.”

  “The spring? It’s my father’s house. My house! I have a right to go there.”

  Orun’s smile broadened. “Ah, but you see, dear boy, you have no rights at all just yet. You’re only a child, and in my charge. You must trust me to decide what is best for you. As your esteemed uncle would be sure to tell you, I have only your best interests at heart. You are the second heir, after all.” He returned to his breakfast. “For now.”

  Tobin felt a chill in spite of the heat. Behind that smiling mask, Orun was still furious with him. This was the beginning of his punishment.

  Too frightened and angry to speak, Tobin strode to the door, intending to leave no matter what Orun said. Just as he reached it, however, it swung open and he collided headlong with Bisir.

  “Forgive me, my prince!” Tobin saw pity in the man’s eyes and steeled himself. The king’s messenger must have arrived.

  Instead, it was Niryn who swept in.

  Caught off guard, Tobin blinked up at the tall wizard, then quickly filled his mind with his anger at Orun, imagining it swirling through his head like smoke in a closed room.

  Raindrops glistened in the wizard’s forked red beard as he bowed to Tobin. “Good morning, my prince! I’d hoped to find you here. How nice that you’ve returned in time for the Festival of Sakor. And I understand you’ve brought a wizard back with you, too?”

  His words gave Tobin a nasty turn. Had Niryn looked into his head after all, or did he have spies of his own? “Mistress Iya was a friend of my father’s,” he replied.

  “Yes, I remember,” Niryn murmured as if it didn’t interest him much. Arching an eyebrow, he turned to Orun. “Still abed at this hour, my lord? Are you ill?”

  Heaving himself out of bed, Orun pulled his gown around him with imperious dignity. “I was not expecting official visitors, Lord Niryn. The prince has come to visit me after his absence.”

  “Ah, yes, the mysterious illness. I trust you’re quite recovered, Your Highness?”

  Tobin could have sworn the man winked at him. “I’m very well, thank you.” Tobin expected any moment to feel the wizard’s creeping touch in his mind but Niryn seemed far more interested in baiting Orun.

  Eyeing his unexpected visitor suspiciously, Orun waved him and Tobin to seats by the fire. Both men waited until Tobin was seated before taking their own chairs.

  The old hypocrite, Tobin thought. So long as there was anyone else around to see, Orun treated him with the proper courtesy.

  “The prince and I are expecting a messenger from the king,” said Orun.

  “And as it happens, it is in that capacity that I come to you today.” Niryn took a rolled parchment from one deep sleeve and smoothed it over his knee. The heavy royal seals dangled from silk ribbons at the bottom of it. “I received this early this morning. His Majesty asked that I deliver it to you personally.” Niryn glanced down at the document, but Tobin could tell he already knew the contents. “His Majesty begins by thanking you for your care of his royal nephew.” He looked up at Orun and smiled. “And he hereby relieves you of all further responsibility in that regard.”

  “What?” Orun’s velvet cap slid askew as he lurched forward in his chair. “What—what does this mean? What are you saying?”

  “It’s perfectly clear, Orun. You’re no longer Prince Tobin’s guardian.”

  Orun gaped at him, then held out a shaking hand for the letter. Niryn relinquished it and watched with obvious satisfaction as the other man read it. By the time Orun had finished, the wax seals were clattering together on their ribbons. “He says nothing of why! Have I not discharged my duties faithfully?”

  “I’m certain there’s no need for concern. He thanks you most graciously for your service.” Niryn leaned forward and pointed out a section. “Just there, you see?”

  Niryn made no effort to hide how pleased he was with Orun’s reaction. “The duke’s death was so unexpected, and you were right there, offering your aid,” he went on smoothly. “But King Erius wishes to impose on you no longer, for fear you’ll be too distracted from your duties at the Treasury. He will appoint a new guardian when he returns.”

  “But—but my understanding was that the position was permanent!”

  Niryn rose and gave him a pitying look. “Surely you, of all people, are no stranger to the king’s whims.”

  Tobin had sat transfixed through all this, but found his voice at last. “My—the king, he’s coming home?”

  Niryn paused in the doorway. “Yes, my prince.”

  “When?”

  “I cannot say, my prince. Depending on the current negotiations with Plenimar, perhaps sometimes in the spring.”

  “What does this mean?” Orun mumbled, still clutching the letter. “Niryn, you must know the king’s mind in this?”

  “It is dangerous for anyone to presume to know King Erius’ mind these days. But if I may, my old friend, I would suggest that your reach has finally exceeded your grasp. I believe you know what I speak of. The blessings of the Four be with you both. Good day to you, my prince.”

  He swept out and, for a moment, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the incessant patter of the rain. Orun’s lips moved silently as he stared into the flames.

  The air felt charged, the way it did just before a storm. Tobin looked longingly at the closed door, anxious to get away. When Orun didn’t move, he rose slowly. “May—may I go?”

  Orun looked up slowly and Tobin’s knees nearly gave way. Naked hatred twisted the man’s features. Lurching to his feet, he loomed over Tobin. “May you go? This is your doing, you ungrateful brat!”

  Tobin took a step back but Orun followed. “With your smirking and your insults. Old Slack Guts, isn’t that what you and that country bastard call me behind my back? Laughing! At me, who has served two rulers? Oh, you think there’s anything that goes unheard, do you?” he snarled, though Tobin had said nothing. Grabbing him by the arm, Orun shook the king’s letter in his face. “This is your doing!”

  “No, I swear!”

  Orun tossed the letter aside and jerked Tobin closer. Spittle flew from the man’s lips as he snarled, “Writing to the king behind my back!”

  “No!” Tobin was truly frightened now. Orun’s fingers dug into his arms like claws. “I wrote nothing, I swear—”

  “Lies. Writing lies!” Orun clutched the neck of Tobin’s tunic and shook him. His fingers tangled in the chain and it dug painfully in
to Tobin’s neck.

  “Turning him against me, his most faithful servant!” Orun’s eyes narrowed in their folds of fat. “Or was it that lackey of yours downstairs? Good Sir Tharin!” Sarcasm curdled the words. “So humble. So faithful. Always fawning on your father like some pathetic stray dog. And always turning up where he’s not wanted—” Tobin saw something new and dangerous come into Orun’s face. “What did he tell the king? What did he say?” he hissed, shaking Tobin so hard he had to grasp at Orun’s arms to stay on his feet.

  Orun’s grip tightened, making it harder to breathe. “Nothing!” Tobin wheezed.

  Orun was still ranting at him, still squeezing, but Tobin could hardly make out the words over the buzzing in his ears. Black spots swam before his eyes and Orun’s face looked as big as the moon. The room was spinning, going dim. His legs wouldn’t hold him.

  “What did you say?” Orun screamed. “Tell me!”

  Then Tobin was falling and something deathly cold passed over him. As his vision cleared he saw Orun backing away from him, hands thrown up in terror. But it wasn’t him Orun was looking at, Tobin realized, but a writhing mass of darkness taking shape between them.

  Still sprawled where he’d fallen, Tobin watched numbly as the shape coalesced into a familiar, menacing form. He couldn’t see Brother’s face, but Orun’s expression was mirror enough.

  “What sorcery is this?” the man whispered in horror. He looked uncomprehendingly from Tobin to the ghost as Brother glided closer. Orun tried to back away but fetched up against the wine table. It toppled over, blocking his escape.

  Too dizzy to stand, Tobin watched in confusion as Brother raised one spectral hand. The ghost usually descended like a whirlwind, flinging furniture and striking out wildly. This slow, deliberate advance was worse. Tobin felt the rage and menace emanating from his twin; it sapped what little strength he had left. He tried to cry out, but his tongue wouldn’t work.

  “No,” Orun whimpered. “How—how can this be?”

  And still Brother did not attack. Instead, he simply reached out and touched the terrified man’s chest. Orun let out an agonized shriek and toppled backward over the fallen table as if he’d been thrown. Sparks flew up when one outstretched hand landed in the fire.

  The last things Tobin remembered were Orun’s slippered feet twitching in the firelight and the smell of scorched flesh.

  Chapter 7

  Word had traveled quickly through the Old Palace. Mago and his cronies made faces at Ki during the morning run. At the temple Alben bumped into him, and whispered, “Farewell, grass knight!” too softly for anyone but Ki to hear.

  As soon as Tobin and Tharin left, he’d taken Tharin’s advice. Slipping out through a servant’s passage, he hurried away to Tobin’s house. The steward answered his knock, looking as if he’d been expecting him. He took Ki’s wet cloak and set a chair for him by the hearth.

  “The men are at practice in the back court and Mistress Iya is in the guest chamber. Should I inform them of your arrival, sir?”

  “No, I’ll just sit here.” The steward bowed and left him.

  Despite the fire on the hearth, the hall was cold and shadowy. Soft grey mist pressed at the windows and rain drummed on the roof above. Too miserable to sit still, Ki paced the room and fretted. How long would Tobin be? What if Orun found some reason to keep him there? Would Tharin come back to give him the news, or would he be stuck here forever with his belly in knots?

  Looking up, he found himself at the bottom of the carved staircase. He’d only gone up there once, and that had been enough. Tobin’s father had abandoned that part of the house years ago; the rooms had been stripped of their furnishings and left to the mice. Ki was sure he’d felt ghosts there, leering at him from dark corners.

  The duke had used the ground floor when he was in the city. Since his death, Tharin and the guard had been the only regular occupants. Tharin had a room just down the passage, and the men were quartered at the back of the house, but they kept the hall in use. It always had a homelike smell of house altar incense and embers on the hearth.

  Leaving the hall, Ki wandered down the main passage. Iya’s door lay on the right, and it was closed. The duke’s old bedchamber, now Tobin’s and therefore Ki’s by default, lay to the left. He paused at the door, then went instead to the one beside it.

  Tharin’s chamber was as spare and orderly as the man who lived there. His room at the keep barracks was just the same. Ki felt more at home here than anywhere else in Ero. He kindled a fire and sat down to await his fate.

  But even here he couldn’t sit still, and soon he was pacing a furrow in Tharin’s carpet. The rain drummed against the windows and his thoughts raced: What will I do when Orun sends me away? Go back to Oakmount and herd pigs?

  The idea of returning to his father in disgrace was unthinkable. No, he’d join Ahra’s regiment and patrol the coast, or go to the battlefields in Mycena and offer his sword as a common soldier.

  Such thoughts gave no comfort. The only place he wanted to be was where he was, with Tobin.

  He buried his face in his hands. This is my fault. I should never have left Tobin alone that day, knowing he was sick. A few weeks at court and I forgot everything Tharin taught me!

  On the heels of that came the question he’d been trying not to ask himself ever since the night he’d followed Brother back to Alestun. What had made Tobin run all the way back there in the first place? It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Tobin’s explanation … He sighed. Well, he wanted to believe it, but something just didn’t ring true. And whatever had ailed Tobin that night, something was different between them now.

  Or maybe, he thought guiltily, he felt something different from me.

  The filthy accusations Mago and Arius had thrown at Ki that day in the stable, implying that he and Tobin did more than just sleep together, had cut deep. After that Ki had caught himself pulling away from Tobin sometimes. The hurt look on his friend’s face when he’d kept to his side of the bed at night came back to haunt him. Was that why Tobin had left him behind the day he ran off? I was a fool, listening to anything those lackwits had to say. In truth, with all the uproar of the past month, he’d all but forgotten it all until now. But had Tobin?

  Guilt and uncertainty made his belly churn. “Well, whatever it is, he’ll tell me when he’s ready,” he muttered.

  The air went cold behind him, and mean, whispery laugh raised gooseflesh on his arms. Ki spun around, reaching instinctively for the horse charm around his neck. Brother stood beside Tharin’s bed, watching him with hate-filled black eyes.

  Ki’s heart knocked painfully against his ribs; the ghost looked more solid than he remembered, a starved, hollow-eyed parody of his friend. Ki thought he’d gotten used to Brother that night they’d traveled together, but all his fears came rushing back.

  “Ask Arkoniel,” whispered Brother.

  “Ask him what?”

  Brother disappeared but his hissing laugh seemed to hang in the air where he’d been. Shaken, Ki pulled a chair closer to the fire and huddled there, feeling lonelier than ever.

  Lost in his unhappy reverie, he was nearly dozing when the sound of shouting roused him. Flinging open the door, he nearly collided with Iya. They dashed to the hall and found Tharin there, holding Tobin’s limp body in his arms.

  “What happened?” Iya demanded.

  “His chamber, Ki,” Tharin ordered, ignoring her. “Open the door.”

  “I have a fire lit in yours.” Ki ran ahead and turned down Tharin’s bed. Tharin laid Tobin down gently and began chafing his wrists. Tobin was breathing, but his face was drawn and beaded with sweat.

  “What did Orun do to him?” Ki growled. “I’ll kill him. I don’t care if they burn me alive for it!”

  “Mind your tongue, Ki.” Tharin turned to the servants and soldiers crowding in the doorway. “Koni, ride to the grove for a drysian. Don’t stand there staring, man, go! Laris, you set a guard on all doors. No one enters except members of
the royal household. And fetch Bisir. I want him here now!”

  The old sergeant saluted, fist to chest. “Right away, Captain.”

  “Ulies, fetch a basin of water,” Iya said calmly. “The rest of you make yourselves useful or get out of the way.”

  The others scattered and Tharin sank into a chair by the bed, cradling his head in his hands.

  “Close the door, Ki.” Iya bent over Tharin and gripped his shoulder. “Tell us what happened.”

  Tharin shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Bisir took him upstairs, to Orun’s chamber. A while later Lord Niryn arrived with a message from the king. He soon came down again and I thought Tobin would follow. But he didn’t. Then I heard Bisir cry out. When I got upstairs, Orun was dead and Tobin was lying senseless on the floor. I couldn’t wake him, so I carried him back here.”

  Iya undid the lacings of Tobin’s tunic and her face darkened ominously. “Look. These marks are fresh.”

  She opened the linen shirt beneath, showing Tharin and Ki long red marks already darkening to bruises on Tobin’s throat. A thin abrasion on the left side of his neck was beaded with droplets of drying blood. “Did you notice any marks on Orun?”

  “I didn’t stop to look.”

  “We’ll find who did this,” Ki growled. “We’ll find him and we’ll kill him.”

  Tharin gave him an unreadable look and Ki shut his mouth. If it hadn’t been for his foolishness, Tobin wouldn’t have been with Orun today at all.

  Ulies returned with the basin, and Tharin took it from him. “Send someone for Chancellor Hylus and Lord Niryn.”

  “No need for that.” The wizard stepped in and approached the bed with every appearance of concern. “A servant came after me with the news. How is the prince? He was perfectly well when I left them. They both were.”

  Without thinking, Ki blocked his way before he could reach Tobin. Niryn’s eyes locked with his. Ki felt a nasty chill but he stood his ground.

  “If you please, my lord, I’d rather we waited for the drysians before we disturb him,” Iya said, standing by Ki. She spoke respectfully, but Ki sensed it was not a request.