Hidden Warrior (42 page)

Ki tried to catch Porion’s eye, but Porion gave him a warning look, then shouted, “Prince Korin is blooded. He is a warrior today!”

There was more cheering after that. Everyone bore the coveted marks except Quirion, who crept off sniveling. Caliel’s squire, Mylirin, had taken an arrow in the shoulder, but his hauberk had stopped the point, though it left a nasty abraded bruise. Zusthra was proudly displaying a sword cut on his left cheek and Chylnir was limping, but the rest of the Companions seemed more or less whole. The guard and Ahra’s riders hadn’t been so fortunate. There were at least a dozen carrying shrouded bundles, and others were wounded.

They had the stolen women with them, too, or at least those who’d survived. They were a ravaged, empty-eyed lot, some of them wearing little more than rags and blankets. Ahra’s women were tending to them, but looking into those faces, Ki couldn’t help wondering if Innis had been right, after all.

Tobin had told him about Una earlier and he looked for her anxiously among them. It took a while to recognize her. Dirty and wild-haired as any lowborn fighter, she was busy bandaging the arm of one of her cohorts.

“Hullo,” she said, giving him a half smile as he joined her. “I’ve thanked Tobin already and I’ll thank you now. You were good teachers.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She nodded, then went back to her work.

“It was a hard fight, but we cleaned out that nest of vermin,” Korin was saying. His bravado faltered when Tobin showed him Arius and told him what had happened to Lutha, but when Tobin mentioned the friends they lost among his guard, Korin just shrugged. “Well, that’s their lot, isn’t it?”

K
orin had ordered the bandits and their camp burned. As they came out of the forest, Ki looked back and saw a distant pillar of smoke rising over the trees.

His spirits rose at the sight. They’d succeeded. He and Tobin had done their part and both lived to fight again. Ki even managed a silent thanks to Brother. But he kept an eye on Korin as they rode back. The prince was too quiet, his laughter forced.

They rode at ease now, and it was easy enough for Ki to drop back among his sister’s riders. He found Una again, riding near the end of the column.

“What happened?” he whispered.

Una’s silent, warning look told him nothing except that he was right to wonder.

A
s soon as they came in sight of Rilmar, Tobin, Ki, and Nikides galloped ahead to learn if Lutha had survived the journey. Sekora was grave when she met them in the hall. Larenth sat by the main hearth with Barieus. The squire had his face in his hands, shaking his head slowly as Larenth spoke to him in a low, surprisingly gentle voice.

“How is Lutha?” Tobin asked.

“Drysian’s with ’im.” Sekora pointed to the sitting room where they’d met Larenth the previous day. “He stopped hollerin’ a while back. The healers ain’t let no one in ’cept my woman Arla, who brings the water an’ all.”

They joined Barieus, but no one could sit still. Presently Korin and the others came in downstairs; Tobin could hear some of them laughing. Even the wounded men were in good spirits, having done a good day’s work.

The remaining Companions came upstairs and Lynx sat down by Barieus, offering silent comfort.

“Your bandits are dealt with, Sir Larenth,” Korin told him.

Tobin couldn’t read the old man’s face as he turned his good eye on the prince. “Lost a few of yer own, I hear?”

“Yes, I’m afraid we did.”

“Brandywine, Sekora!” Larenth called. “Let’s drink to the dead, and to the ones who come back.”

A servant brought them tarnished silver cups and Sekora filled them. Tobin sprinkled his libation on the rushes, then downed the rest. He’d never cared for the strong spirit, but he was grateful now for its burning heat. After a few gulps he felt sleepy and warm; the clatter from
the kitchens and the homely chatter of the servingwomen all seemed far away. Korin and some of the older boys drifted outside, but Tobin stayed with Barieus and their friends, waiting.

“I failed him,” Barieus moaned. “I should never have gotten ahead of him!”

“I heard him tell you to go,” said Lynx.

But the squire was inconsolable. Sliding off the bench, he sat on the rushes, head buried in his arms.

The evening meal came and went uneaten before an old man in a brown robe emerged, wiping his hands on a bloody cloth.

“How is he?” Korin demanded.

“Surprisingly well,” the drysian replied. “He’s tough as a weasel, that one.”

“He’ll live?” cried Barieus, leaping up with hope in his reddened eyes.

“That’s still on the knees of the Maker, but the arrow caught only the edge of one lung. Two finger’s span to the left and he’d be lying with the dead. The other lung’s got breath enough to bring him through the night. If the wound doesn’t fester, he could mend.” He turned to Sekora. “You’ve honey enough, my lady? There’s nothing much better for quick healing than a honey poultice. If that doesn’t work, have the dogs lick the wound to clear the pus. Have someone keep watch with him through the night to see he’s breathing. If he makes it to morning, he has a chance.”

Barieus was gone before the man finished speaking.

Tobin followed. Lutha lay gasping in a trundle bed by the fire. His eyes were closed, and his face was grey as an old bone except for the blue cast of his lips and the dark circles under his sunken eyes. Barieus knelt beside him and wiped at his eyes as Tobin joined him. “Can you make a Dalna charm?” he asked without looking up.

Tobin looked at the bloodstained horse charm Lutha still wore; this one hadn’t done him much good. But he
nodded anyway, for the squire’s sake. “I’ll ask the drysian what to use.”

W
hen they had all burned their handfuls of earth, grain, and incense on the house altar, the Companions gathered around the kitchen hearth, waiting for their watches with Lutha. Quirion sat a little apart, too ashamed to look at any of them. Tobin had said nothing, but everyone knew he’d broken and run.

Exhaustion crept up on Tobin and, without meaning to, he fell asleep. He woke with a start sometime later to find the fire burned to embers and the house silent. He was lying on his side, head pillowed on Ki’s leg. Ki snored softly above him, slumped against the woodbin. Across the hearth Tobin could just make out Nikides asleep against Ruan’s shoulder. Korin, Caliel, and Lynx were gone.

Tobin found a candle on the mantelpiece and lit it in the embers, then threaded his way through the maze of cupboards and storage hulks toward the stairs. He was nearly there when a dark figure resolved from the shadows and touched his arm. It was Ahra.

“If you’re looking for your cousin, he’s sitting with that boy who was struck down,” she whispered. “Best leave him be, I’d say.”

“What happened, Ahra?”

She held a finger to her lips, then blew out his candle and led him through a dank passage to a moonlit side yard with a mossy stone well. Ahra pushed the wooden cover back and drew up the bucket, then took a dipper from a nail and offered it to Tobin. The water was cold and sweet. He drank deeply and handed the dipper back.

“What happened?” he asked again.

“Here, close by me,” she said, sitting on the stone rim. Tobin sat down beside her and she put her head close to his, speaking softly. “We’re not supposed to talk of it, but the others saw, so you might as well know.” She pressed
her clenched fists to her knees, and Tobin realized she was furious.

“The camp lay in a little valley about a quarter mile from where we left you. We met the scouts and they said the place looked deserted; no sign of armed men there at all. I knew right then something was wrong and tried to tell the prince. So did his own captain and old Porion, too, but he was all for going on.

“We came to the edge of the trees and had a clear view. There was a line of tents and cabins along a stream. There were some women at the fires, but no sign of the men. The land around was meadow, open ground with no cover. ‘It’s late for them to be abed,’ I told the prince, but he comes back with They’re probably drunk. It’s a rabble there, not an army.’

“A good many bandits were trained soldiers before they went freebooter. I tried to tell him that, too, but he wouldn’t listen. It was then Porion points out there’s two big corrals, but only a few horses in them. Anyone could see the men had scarpered, but nothing would do for the prince but we make a charge. He wouldn’t even wait for a reconnoiter. So off we went, hell-bent for leather, yelling all the way. The Companions were keen, I’ll give them that. Their battle cries would’ve scared the enemy to death in their beds, if they had been in ’em.

“We rode right into the camp and not a soul to greet us but those poor women. They didn’t know where the men were, but we weren’t long in finding out. They waited for us to dismount and break ranks to search the camp, then down they came out of the woods not a quarter mile from where we’d been, fifty strong on horseback and sweeping down on us like a hurricane.”

She paused and sighed. “And the prince just stood there, staring. Everyone waited, then Porion says, respectful as you please, ‘What orders, my lord?’ He come around then, but it was too late. It was too late the minute we charged down into that camp.

“We didn’t have time to get mounted again or send word to you. The Companions and some of us closed ’round the prince and took what cover we could behind a hayrick next to the corrals. Everyone else scattered. By then their archers were in range and sent a storm of arrows at us.” She shook her head. “The prince fought well enough once he got started, but there are empty saddles in my group just because he wanted a grand charge. Well, you heard him after, didn’t you? It’s their
lot.
”

The bitterness in her voice left little to say. She took another sip from the dipper. “But Tharin and some of the others told me how you rallied your men and fought. Sakor-touched, you are. I was proud to hear it, but not surprised. My father saw it in you, though he didn’t think much of your cousin. He’s not often wrong, that old rascal.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Tobin said. “I—I guess I’ll go sit with Lutha now.”

She caught his arm. “Don’t say I said anything, will you? I just thought you should know.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

He felt sick to his stomach as he groped his way back to the kitchen. It was worse than he’d imagined. He lit the candle again and crept upstairs.

Lutha’s door was open a few inches, and a thin band of light fell across the hall floor and the children and dogs sleeping there. Tobin made his way around them and peered in.

A candle burned on a stand next to Larenth’s armchair. It was turned half-away from the door, but he could see Korin’s profile as he sat there, watching the labored rise and fall of Lutha’s chest.

“Where is everyone?” Tobin whispered, closing the door and coming to join him. He caught the reek of wine halfway across the room. As he came around the front of the chair, he saw that Korin was cradling a clay wine jar in his arms and that he was very drunk.

“I had Lynx and Caliel put Barieus to bed. Took both of ’em to drag him away.” His voice was thick, the words slurred. Korin let out a soft, derisive laugh. “Best order I gave today, eh?”

He tipped the jar up again and swallowed noisily. Wine ran down his neck, staining the front of his filthy shirt. He hadn’t changed or bathed since their return. His hands were filthy, the nails rimmed with dried blood.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and gave Tobin a bitter smile. “You did all right, I hear. And Ki, too. All of you, ’cept Quirion. He’s out, soon’s we get back!”

“Softly, Kor. You’re going to wake Lutha.”

But Korin went on, his face bleak. “I was never meant to be king, you know. I was fourth, Tob. And there was a sister ahead of me, too. That would have done for the Illiorans. They could have had their queen. Gherian and my oldest brother Tadir were groomed from the cradle. By the Four, you should have seen them!
They
were born to it. They’d never have—” He took another long swig and swayed to his feet. Tobin tried to help him but Korin pushed him away. “S’all right, coz. This is what I’m good at, isn’t it? Where’s Tanil?”

“Here.” The squire emerged from a shadowed corner and got an arm around him. The look in his eyes might have been pity or disgust. Perhaps it was both.

“G’night, coz.” Korin attempted a bow as Tanil led him away.

Tobin heard them stumble and a child’s sleepy protest, then the sound of unsteady steps fading away upstairs.

Tobin sat down and watched Lutha, trying to rein in his thoughts. Poor judgment—and surely that was Korin’s sin today—was harshly judged in any commander. The king’s son, it seemed, was judged more harshly, rather than less.

But everyone thinks I’m a hero
. Tobin certainly didn’t feel like one. Not with Lutha gasping for life in front of him and all those corpses in the courtyard out front.

On the heels of this came another thought, however. For years he’d resisted thinking about what Lhel’s revelation really meant. All the same, the knowledge had taken root, and just like the witchgrass pushing up between the cracked flagstones outside, it had been stubbornly growing all this while, forcing its way to daylight.

If I’m to be queen, then Korin will have to step aside. But maybe that would be for the best?

But it didn’t feel that way. Tobin had spent the first twelve years of his life living a lie, and the last two trying to ignore the truth. He loved Korin, and most of the others, too. What would happen when they learned the truth, not just that he was a girl, but that she was to supplant the king’s own son?

Time passed, measured in the rise and fall of Lutha’s thin chest. Did his breathing sound better, or worse? It was hard to tell. It didn’t sound quite so wet as it had, and he wasn’t bleeding at the mouth. That must be a good thing, surely? But it was loud and harsh, and every now and then it would seem to catch in his throat, then give way. After a while Tobin noticed that he was matching breaths with Lutha’s, as if it would help him along. When Lutha’s breath caught, his own stopped as he waited for the next rattling inhalation. It was exhausting to listen to.