Light of Eidon (Legends of the Guardian-King, Book 1) (9 page)

He closed his eyes, seeking control. His light is my refuge. His name is my
joy….

“Your highness?” Meridon murmured, drawing his attention again. They
continued on.

It was only when they reached the great door to the royal audience chamber that Meridon informed them Eldrin alone would attend the king.

Rhiad protested vigorously. “You wish to get him alone so you can fill his
head with lies and confuse him. I will not allow it!”

“Unfortunately, it’s not your choice to make, sir,” Meridon said.

“Perhaps not, but it is his choice.” Rhiad looked at Eldrin expectantly.
Meridon’s gaze followed.

Eldrin became abruptly conscious of the guards and servants and courtiers, a good dozen or more in immediate earshot, Gillard’s words still rankling in his mind. “Couldn’t even show your face here without your holy friend
to hold you up.”

“Your Highness?” Meridon prompted.

“Stop calling me Your Highness?” Eldrin snapped, immediately regretting
his loss of composure. He drew another calming breath and glanced at Rhiad.
“It’s all right. I told you, I’ve been through this before. They aren’t going to
change my mind.”

Rhiad’s face was closed, blank, and though his words were quiet, they
were infused with a persuasive power that bordered on command. “Brother,
I do not think this wise. It is not the same as before, and I must question why
the king is so intent upon getting you alone. It can only be to neutralize any
influence I, as your counselor and mentor, might have upon you. I insist that
you allow me to accompany you.”

His dark eyes bored into Eldrin’s. A faint, odd scent touched Eldrin’s nostrils, and for a moment he felt as if his will had been gathered up and hurled
along in a current of intent not his own. He opened his mouth to speak the
request and closed it in sudden irritation.

Here he was, being the very puppet everyone was accusing him of being.
He broke eye contact and said very deliberately, “I’ll be fine, Brother. But
thank you for your concern.”

With that he turned and followed Meridon into the king’s audience
chamber. It became immediately clear that most of the courtiers in the salon
from which Eldrin had just come must have been recently evicted from this
one, for it was nearly empty. Half the size of the room Eldrin had just crossed,
it was similarly lit-with chandeliers and pedestaled lamps-but devoid of
benches on which people might sit. There could be no sitting in the presence
of the king, who alone sat on a golden throne atop a curved, three-staired dais. Only his personal servants and bodyguards attended him. All others had
been dismissed.

Meridon stepped immediately aside as he entered, leaving Eldrin to cross
the floor between door and dais on his own. Kneeling and uttering the traditional “Your Majesty” felt immensely strange in front of Raynen. As he bowed
his head, he kept seeing the boy version of the man, charging into a flock of
hens out back by the kitchens, swinging his wooden sword and hollering at
the top of his lungs.

Then Eldrin’s amusement turned to horror as he was beset by the throatclenching, stomach-churning vision of having to do this to Gillard someday.

“You may rise,” Raynen said. “Thank you for not making a scene.”

“It won’t matter, you know,” Eldrin said, the king’s words allowing him
now to look up.

Raynen smiled slightly. “We’ll see.”

Eldrin had always thought Raynen the best looking of his kin. Tall and fit,
he cut an elegant figure in a closely fitted doublet of black satin, its row of
black buttons glittering down the front. Like their father, he wore his blond
hair short beneath the golden circlet of his office. His face was rounder than
Eldrin’s, but they shared the same stern Kalladorne brow line, and the short
honey-colored beard that edged Raynen’s jaw was the same hue Eldrin’s
would be if he let it grow.

Now the king dismissed his servants and stood, motioning for Eldrin to
stand as well. “Walk with me, Abramm, and we will talk.”

An unexpected request, but Eldrin could only acquiesce. Raynen led him
through the door at the chamber’s rear, waiting in the gleaming corridor
beyond for Eldrin to come abreast before starting on again. Meridon followed
a few steps behind them, the remaining four bodyguards trailing respectfully
out of earshot.

At first, though, there was nothing to hear. Eldrin continued to be discomfited by the unreality of the circumstances. Raynen had been a rowdy,
carefree boy, active and impulsive, an excellent horseman with a ready laugh
and a soft spot for animals of all kinds. He’d been something of a protector to
Eldrin in their youth, if he happened to notice Gillard’s abuses.

“I understand there is some question of your suitability as Guardian material,” Raynen said abruptly.

Eldrin blinked, disarmed by the unexpected direction of Raynen’s discourse. He frowned. “Well, of course I am the first Kalladorne to-“

“I mean more specifically. I mean that after eight years you are the only
Initiate who has not yet felt the touch of Eidon in your meditations.”

Eldrin stopped in his tracks and stared at him, stunned speechless. Shock
turned to indignation. “Where did you hear that??”

Raynen shrugged. “I am king. I hear a lot of things. If I didn’t, I’d be dead.”
He glanced back at Meridon. “So it’s true, then? You have not been
touched?”

Meridon, who had stopped a stride behind them, was regarding Eldrin as
intently as Raynen.

Eldrin lifted his chin. `Actually, he touched me this morning.”

Ah.” Raynen nodded. As soon as Saeral found out, no doubt. I’ll bet that
was a shock for him. He must’ve taken immediate measures.”

Eldrin felt the blood drain from his face as he recalled the flash of dismay
on Saeral’s face, the assurance Eldrin would soon feel the touch he sought,
the timely fulfillment of that assurance….

And how did it go for you, hmm?” Raynen pressed. “Did it make you
uncomfortable? Did you fight it?”

Eldrin drew back a pace. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business?” he
cried. “King or not!”

,,You did fight it!” Raynen crowed. He glanced smugly at his captain, then
continued down the hallway, striding so rapidly that Eldrin had to hurry to
catch up. He was writhing with shame and dismay, all the disappointment
that first touch had left in him-disappointment he’d largely buried-now
rising to the fore. And here were all the doubts come back again, stronger
than ever and haunting him at the worst possible time. If there was ever a
moment he wished to appear strong and committed, it was now, facing his
family. And already he had bungled it.

But how could Ray have known? Had it happened before? To another
Kalladorne? He wanted desperately to ask, yet asking would reveal the very
mental confusion he was determined not to show.

They climbed a back stairway, then strode down a narrow, paneled hallway into a silent chamber, empty but for its benches. War implements decorated the walls. Ancient and modern both, all had at one time or other been
wielded by one of Eldrin’s ancestors: Alaric’s broadsword, Eberline’s longbow, Ravelin’s halberd, maces, dirks, crossbows-even his own father’s rapier.

The door at its far end led into a paneled, low-ceilinged chamber, its fireplace empty, several pedestaled candle lamps providing illumination. Their
reflections glowed in the tall night-darkened windows stretching along one
wall. A wooden table gleamed in front of them, chairs lined along it like soldiers at attention. His father’s war room.

Stepping into this place was like stepping back in time. Suddenly Eldrin
was a boy again, called to face his sire for yet another dressing down. Meren
had spoken to him only in this room, as if he were embarrassed to acknowledge paternity anywhere else. So powerful were the recollections that for a
moment Eldrin fully expected to see the big man standing behind the highbacked velvet chair at the far end of the table. But there was no one now, his
father dead, gone. The realization sparked an unexpected sense of frustration
and loss.

“Please,” Raynen said, waving at the chairs before the empty hearth. “Sit
down.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“Suit yourself” The king moved to the sideboard and poured himself a
drink. As the liquid chuckled into the glass, Eldrin realized that, except for
Meridon, who had followed them into the room, they were alone. The other
bodyguards had remained in the hall outside.

Glass clinked as Raynen replaced the stopper, then turned to face him,
leaning back against the wooden cabinet.

“Carissa told you what I propose to offer you?”

A stipend and a Thilosian fishing vessel, but I-“

“It’s not a fishing boat, it’s a merchantman. A fine one. The stipend’s five
hundred thousand sovereigns. That should be more than enough to see you
through years of travel in high style. If you invest along the way, you’ll end
up a very rich man.”

“The idea of living solely for the maintenance of my own pleasure does
not appeal to me, brother. Even assuming there will be places to go and things
to invest in five years hence.”

“You refer to Beltha’adi, I think, and his notions of world domination.”

“He has to be stopped.”

“Indeed, he does.” Raynen sipped his brandy, eyeing Eldrin thoughtfully.
“But he will not be if you refuse my offer.”

“I will not seek your crown, Ray. I have no desire to be king.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

“Oh, come, you can’t honestly believe Saeral will try to kill you.”

“Kill me or, failing that, find another way to get me out of the way. I can
think of several points he could work.”

Abramm lifted his chin, weighing his words. “Like the fact you are a
Terstan?”

The barest flicker of an eyelid revealed Raynen’s discomfort.

As for Eldrin, it took a moment for the lack of denial to register. Then his
eyes flicked to the black fabric over his brother’s heart where the mark of
heresy lay. A slow revulsion swelled in his chest, pushing against his heart and
throat as he took a small step back.

Raynen set the snifter down. “It is unfortunate they told you. I am sure it
will prejudice you against anything I might tell you-which naturally was
their intent. Even so, it must be said. This may be your last chance to hear
the truth.

“You Mataians claim to believe there is a great spiritual battle going on
around us. A battle of cosmic proportion waged between the forces of good
and evil, which we ourselves cannot see. Eidon versus Moroq, light against
the dark. In that we share a common ground.”

“But only in that.”

“Not quite. We share a reverence for the Words of Revelation. And a
mutual regard for Eidon.”

Eldrin frowned. “You have been deceived by evil.”

“How do you know that, Abramm? You say the mark I wear is the touch
of Moroq, but how do you know you are not the one who has been
deceived?”

“It goes against all that is-“

“Neither Word says anything about Holy Flames. Nor of a brotherhood,
nor of making oneself worthy by the performance of any deed. They speak
only of Light-Eidon’s own Light, bought by the death of his Son and freely
bestowed upon any who desire it. It lives, not in the heart of some stone
building, but in the hearts and flesh of the men who accept it.”

Eldrin scowled at him, vibrating with outrage, a breath away from bursting into a furious refutation of such evil and heretical claims. A free gift?
Eidon was pure righteousness? So unbelievably perfect, so far above mankind,
no person could even look upon his face and live. To suggest he would offer his precious Light to anyone who asked for it was preposterous, a violation of
all that he was, a disregard for his perfect purity, and the perfect purity of his
Light. How could his Light possibly reside in the flesh of those who were still
weighed down with the power and the cares of the flesh?

But Eldrin held his tongue, knowing there was no point in arguing theology with this … this Terstan. And that was whom he was dealing with. Not
his brother, not the king, but a man ensnared by evil.

Raynen glanced at Meridon, who frowned and shook his head slightly.
The king’s eyes came back to Eldrin speculatively, and they held their gaze
for a long moment as Eldrin braced for another onslaught. Instead, his
brother deflated with a sigh and pushed off the sideboard to pace the table’s
length. At the far end he turned, and when he spoke he had returned to his
original tack. “The point is, you’re being used, and it’s time you woke up to
the fact, time you saw just how badly this all could end.”

Eldrin rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. Carissa’s already sung this song. I don’t
need to hear it again.”

“I don’t think you heard it the first time.” Raynen folded his arms, scowling.

Eldrin scowled back. “Saeral is High Father of all the Mataio, Eidon’s
Hand and Voice in the land. He could not possibly be the murderous manipulator you’re making him out to be.”

“Our kin were not the only casualties, you realize. Did you know that of
the fourteen Guardians ahead of him in succession, nine fell into disgrace or
madness and three died? The last two were so intimidated they readily
stepped aside.” He paced back up the row of chairs, waving an arm. `Ask
around. It’s easy enough to prove. Of course, nothing can be traced directly
back to him. The deaths were `accidents.’ And one can’t blame madness on a
man in court.”

“Indeed.”

Raynen stopped behind the chair across from Eldrin, gripping the tall
back with both hands. “But the accumulation of evidence, the sheer coincidence of it-“

“Perhaps it is indicative of Eidon’s hand in the matter, promoting the man
he would have at the head of his Mataio.” Eldrin frowned at him. “You ask
how I can know I am not being deceived. Well, I could ask you the same.
Father hated Saeral from the day he arrived, and you were always Father’s son. I think you believe he’s evil because you want him to be.”