Читать книгу Hidden Warrior - Lynn Flewelling - Страница 14

It was raining even harder the next morning. All around the Companions’ wing servants were setting out pails and basins to catch the water leaking through the ancient ceiling.

The weather had never made any difference to Master Porion. Tobin woke Ki as soon as he heard servants moving past in the corridor, and they made certain they were the first ones waiting for the swordmaster at the palace doors. Despite what Mago had said, the stocky old warrior seemed genuinely glad to have them back.

“All well, are you?” he asked, looking them over. “You don’t look much the worse for wear.”

“We’re fine, Master Porion,” Tobin assured him. “And we practiced while we were gone, too.”

That earned them a skeptical look. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

They had both mended. Even Ki, who’d been the sickest, kept up with the others as they set off on their morning run. Splashing though puddles and squelching through mud with their short cloaks flapping wetly against their thighs, the Companions ran the long circuit around the park, past the tomb and the drysian grove, around the reflecting pool and past the New Palace, and ending as they always did at the Temple of the Four at the center of the park.

The boys’ morning offerings were usually cursory affairs, but today Tobin spent several minutes at Sakor’s altar, whispering fervently over the little wax horse before casting it into the flames. Then, when he thought no one was looking, he sidled over to the white marble altar of Illior and cast one of Iya’s owl feathers onto the incense-laden coals.

Lord Orun’s summons came just as they were finishing their bread and milk in the messroom. Tharin must have been keeping watch, because he came in with the messenger. Dressed in a fine blue tunic, with every buckle and brooch polished, he cut an impressive figure. Korin gave Tobin an encouraging wink as he and Ki went out.

When they were out of earshot, Tharin dismissed the messenger and turned to Ki. “Wait for us at Tobin’s house, why don’t you? We’ll meet you there on our way back.”

Tobin and Ki exchanged grim, knowing looks; if the worst did come to pass, they wouldn’t risk shaming themselves in front of the other Companions.

Ki punched Tobin on the shoulder. “Stand your ground with him, Tob. Good luck.” With that he strode away.

“You’d better change out of those wet things,” said Tharin.

“I don’t give a damn what Orun thinks!” Tobin snapped. “I just want this over with.”

Tharin folded his arms and gave Tobin a stern look. “So you’re going to go before him dressed like a common soldier, muddy to the knees? Remember whose son you are.”

Those words again, and this time they stung. Tobin hurried back to his chamber, where Molay had a steaming basin and his best suit of clothes ready for him. Washed and changed, Tobin stood in front of the polished mirror and let the valet comb his black hair smooth. A grim, plain boy in velvet and linen scowled back at him, ready for battle. Tobin looked into his own reflected eyes, feeling for a moment as if he were sharing a secret with the stranger hidden behind his face.

Orun’s grand house stood in the maze of walled villas clustered on the New Palace grounds. Bisir met them at the door and ushered them into the reception hall.

“Good morning!” Tobin greeted him, glad to find one friendly face here. But Bisir hardly spoke and wouldn’t meet his eye. It was as if a single night back in his master’s house had undone all the good his time at the keep had accomplished. He looked as pale as ever, and Tobin saw new bruises on his wrists and neck.

Tharin had seen, too, and an angry flush came over his face. “He has no right—”

Bisir shook his head quickly, stealing a quick glance toward the stairs. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account, my lord,” he whispered, then, aloud, “My master is in his chamber. You may wait in the reception chamber, Sir Tharin. The Chancellor will speak with the prince alone.” He paused, clasping his hands nervously, and added, “Upstairs.”

For a moment Tobin thought Tharin was going to storm up with them. The man’s dislike of Orun was no secret, but Tobin had never seen him so angry.

Bisir stepped nearer to Tharin, and Tobin heard him whisper, “I’ll be close by.”

“See that you are,” Tharin muttered. “Don’t worry, Tobin. I’ll be right here.”

Tobin nodded, trying to feel brave; but as he followed Bisir upstairs, he drew out the ring and seal and kissed them for luck.

He’d never been upstairs before. As they continued down a long corridor toward the back of the house, Tobin was amazed at the opulence of the house. The carvings and tapestries were of the best quality and the furnishings rivaled anything in the New Palace. Young servant boys scattered out of their way as they passed. Bisir ignored them as if they didn’t exist.

He stopped at the last door and let Tobin into the enormous chamber beyond. “Remember, I’ll be right out here,” he whispered.

Trapped, Tobin looked around in surprise. He’d expected a private sitting room or salon, but this was a bedchamber. An enormous carved bedstead dominated the center of the room. Its hangings—thick yellow velvet edged with tiny golden bells—were still closed. So were the draperies at the windows. The paneled walls were hung with tapestries of green woodland scenes, but the room was as hot as a smithy and heavy with the aroma of cedar logs blazing and snapping on the enormous stone hearth.

Even Prince Korin’s room was not so lavish, Tobin thought, then started as bells on the bed hangings tinkled softly. A plump white hand emerged and drew back one of the heavy curtains.

“Ah, here is our little wanderer, returned at last,” Orun purred, waving Tobin closer. “Come, my dear, and let me see how you weathered your illness.”

Propped up against a mass of pillows, Lord Orun was wrapped in a yellow silk dressing gown; a large velvet bed cap of the same color covered his bald head. A crystal lamp hung from a chain, casting shadows that made his face seem more sallow than ever, his heavy flesh slacker on his bones. The counterpane was strewn with documents and the remains of a large breakfast lay on a tray beside him.

“Come closer,” Orun urged.

The edge of the mattress was nearly level with Tobin’s chest. Forced to look up at the man, Tobin could see the grey hairs in his guardian’s large nose.

“Do have a seat, my prince. There’s a stool just behind you.”

Tobin ignored it, letting his scorn show as he set his feet and clasped his hands behind his back so this man wouldn’t see them trembling. “You sent for me, Lord Orun, and I am here. What do you want?”

Orun favored him with an unpleasant smile. “I see your time away hasn’t improved your manners. You know why you’re here, Tobin. You’ve been a naughty boy and your uncle has heard all about your little escapade. I wrote him a long letter as soon as we discovered where you’d gone. Of course, I did my best to shield you from his displeasure. I put the blame where it belonged, on that ignorant peasant squire you’re lumbered with. Though perhaps we shouldn’t blame poor Kirothius too much. I daresay he suits you well enough out there in the wilds, but how could he be expected to keep proper watch over a princess’ son at court?”

“He serves me well here! Even Korin says so.”

“Oh, you’re all very fond of the boy, I know. And I’m sure we can find some suitable situation for him. In fact, in my letter I even offered to take him into my household. I can assure you, he’ll be properly educated here.”

Tobin clenched his fists, recalling the bruises on Bisir’s wrists.

“As to why you’re here, well, surely you wish to pay your respects to me after such long absence?” Orun paused. “No? Well, no matter. I’m expecting the king’s reply with this morning’s dispatches and thought it would be pleasant to read the good news together.”

This was far worse than anything Tobin had imagined. Orun was much too pleased with himself. He probably had spies among the king’s entourage and already knew the answer. Tobin’s heart sank even lower; Ki wouldn’t last two days in this household without getting into serious trouble.

Clucking his tongue in feigned concern, Orun lifted a delicate painted plate from the tray and held it out to him. “You’re looking very pale, dear boy. Have a bit of cake.”

Tobin fixed his gaze on the counterpane’s embroidered edge, resisting the urge to knock the plate across the room. Bed ropes creaked as Orun settled back, and Tobin heard his guardian’s satisfied chuckle. He wished now he’d accepted the stool but was too proud to move. How long until the dispatches arrived? Orun hadn’t said, and the heat was making Tobin dizzy. Sweat prickled across his upper lip and ran down between his shoulder blades. He could hear cold rain spattering against the shutters and wished he were outside again, running with his friends.

Orun said nothing, but Tobin knew he was being closely watched. “I won’t put Ki aside!” he gritted out, looking up defiantly.

Orun’s eyes had gone like black flints, though he was still smiling. “I sent the king a list of prospective replacements, young men of suitable background and breeding. But perhaps you’ve someone to add? I don’t wish to be unreasonable.”

No doubt Orun’s list had been a very short one, made up of favorites who would carry tales. Tobin knew who was at the head of it, judging by the Toad’s smug demeanor last night.

“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 into 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.