The King's Hand (63 page)

“I have never deceived you, Anderas, nor led you where your heart had not already been prepared to go,” Eamon answered.

“You would lay the blame of treachery against me?” Anderas cried, blade in hand. “I will not be a traitor's pawn, to be moved and played by you!”

Eamon reached out and touched Anderas's shoulder. The captain could take his life at a stroke. Yet all that mattered to him was the anguish in his friend's eyes. He knew who had placed it there, and it stirred righteous anger in his heart.

“Anderas,” he said. The captain did not meet his gaze. Eamon pressed his shoulder firmly. “Captain,
look at me
.” The hand holding the blade shook. “Andreas!”

The captain looked at him in alarm. “There's a voice,” Anderas whispered, his own – for it was his own voice again at last – rent with fear. “There's a voice in my head. It would have me –”

Suddenly he cried out in terror, clutching his palm where a red light grimly flickered.

Eamon set his hand over the captain's so that the red light struck them both. It burned him but he did not flinch from it. He knew that it could do nothing to him, and he looked Anderas straight in the eyes.

“Hence, voice of Edelred,” he commanded. Though his voice was quiet, it struck keenly through the air. “This man is the King's and the King's grace is over him. By that grace I command you: hence.”

A blaze of blue light arched from his palm to cover the captain's. The red fled before it and the frenzied fear in Anderas's eyes faded, leaving his tears.

There was a moment of silence broken only by a clatter as the blade fell to the ground. Anderas shook, and suddenly he wept.

“Courage, Anderas.”

The words stirred him. The captain looked at him with renewed awe.

“Who are you?” he breathed.

“I am First Knight to King Hughan Brenuin, rightful lord over the River Realm.”

“First… First Knight?”

“Yes.”

“And that… that…
voice
?” he asked.

“Is the voice of Edelred, the throned,” Eamon told him. He pressed encouragingly at Anderas's hand. “At our swearing, we gave him authority over us. He is a coward and a liar, and will do everything he can to set you against me, the King, and yourself.”

“You hear it often?” Anderas still shook.

“Rather too frequently.” Eamon looked curiously at Anderas. “You don't?”

“I've never heard it before,” Anderas replied quietly. “Or at least, I don't think I have. At first I thought it was just my own thoughts. Then I was convinced it was some Serpent sorcery.”

“It was no sorcery of the King's,” Eamon told him. “This voice always lies, or twists what might be true. That is how it seeks to hold you. That is how it has often held me. I suspect you hear it now because you have given your oath to the King – and now it must redouble its efforts to master you.”

Anderas looked up in alarm. “Does he… hear what I think?” he whispered.

Eamon shook his head. “I do not believe he can,” he said. “I would have been lost long before now if he could. But his voice still carries power. It seems to know what makes us afraid.”

“I was afraid,” Anderas told him. “
So afraid
. This voice told me things, about you…”

“It lies,” Eamon answered flatly. “You are covered by the King's grace, and by that grace you can command it to leave you.”

“As you did?”

“Just as I did.”

Anderas sighed, and was still for a long moment. “I should have come to you sooner,” he said at last. “Then perhaps I would not have behaved like such a fool.”

“I am afraid that I was the more foolish this time,” Eamon answered. “I knew about the voice of Edelred – I have struggled with it since first I was sworn into the Gauntlet – and yet I said nothing of it to you. I am sorry that I did not. I assumed you knew.”

“There is always more than one way to learn something,” Anderas replied. A small smile touched his face. “I have always been one for learning things the hard way.”

“Anderas, for men like you and me, men who gave their first allegiance to the throned and took his mark, being a King's man is difficult,” Eamon told him. “It is made more difficult still when you serve in Dunthruik under the throned, and as difficult again when you hold positions where your authority can be worked for the King.” He paused. “You will hear this voice often,” he added, “and you must stand firm against it. I will not always be here with you, and it is when I am not there that it will strike hardest.”

“I understand,” Anderas said. He looked up. “And I will stand.”

“You were right about one thing, though,” Eamon told him.

“Really?” Anderas smiled.

“We
would
make a veritable sight if they found us out – the trusted captain and Lord of the East Quarter. Such good men… so
foully
led astray by the Serpent.”

“They'd have more than a pyre for us set out if they found out,” Anderas said, and laughed.

“Being tortured, breached, and more than lightly toasted doesn't worry you?” Eamon asked, surprised.

“Not if they toast using a very fine vintage.”

Eamon stared at him incredulously. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

“Must be the company I keep.” Anderas grinned, then looked more serious. “You know, this city is full of good men.”

“Yes,” Eamon agreed, “it is.”

“Being a good man in times like these helps, but it is not enough,” Anderas replied. “I think that is what I finally understood when you told me who you are. It is not that you are good, rather that you are a King's man, which truly makes you what you are.”

“We are both King's men,” Eamon told him, pressing his hand with a smile.

“Yes,” Anderas laughed. “We are.”

C
HAPTER
XXXIV

A
fter the East Quarter had been emptied of many of its ordinary citizens, the new Gauntlet officers and ensigns arrived. Eamon stood in the Ashen to watch them as they marched past, wondering how many of them had ever been to the city and how many of them would lose their lives in its defence.

He never saw Ladomer leave the Handquarters. His friend's words ran over and over in Eamon's mind that night as he tried to sleep. When he was not thinking about that he wondered about the Grennils, and whether his scant message would reach Hughan in time. And when he finally slept, his mind was burdened with images of the book he had torn from the tomb in Ellenswell and the memory of surrendering it into Ashway's hands. He woke from his dreams, alone and afraid, with only the dying fire in the grate and the starlight beyond his window to comfort him.

His last days as Lord of the East Quarter passed in a blur of paperwork and distant congratulations. Other than occasional meetings with Anderas, he felt very much alone. The silence of his halls haunted him and he hated it as much as he acknowledged its importance. He wondered whether it was not a taste of the solitude that he would reap when he became Right Hand.

You will not be alone, Eben's son,
the voice of Edelred told him.
I will be there with you.

It terrified him.

 

During Eamon's penultimate day in the East Quarter, he spent much of the evening with Anderas. The captain was a strong-willed man, resolute in his new allegiance, more determined than Eamon in his early days.

“It will be harder, Lord Goodman, when you are gone,” he said.

“You will not just have the voice to contend with then,” Eamon answered, “but Arlaith, too. You will need to keep all your wits about you.”

“You would have me be as cunning as the Serpent?” Anderas laughed.

“And as innocent as a dove.”

“And while I contend with the voice and with Lord Arlaith, you shall have the voice and the throned himself,” Anderas replied. “I'm not sure which of us I envy the more.”

“Neither am I,” Eamon laughed.

Eamon walked solemnly across the Ashen to the Handquarters. The silence struck him from every side, blanketing itself around him and smothering him. He hated it.

As he reached the top of the stairs that led to his own rooms he heard the shuffle of feet, and whisper of voices within. The door to his chamber was slightly ajar. He recognized them at once: Cara and Callum, going about their duties.

As he set his foot onto the last step, his foot landed heavily enough to echo down the hall, but it did not help. With a deep sigh he walked to his door and pushed it open. Callum finished setting a small fire as Cara folded down the top sheet of the bed, her face all grace and concentration.

“If I were Lord Arlaith,” Eamon announced, “you would now find yourselves at the receiving end of my deep displeasure.”

The siblings froze and looked up at him. Their faces grew pale.

“Lord Goodman,” Cara began, curtseying, “I am sorry, nobody –”

Eamon drove down the instinct to accept her apology, and struggled to force any trace of kindness from his face. “Somebody would be punished for it, were Lord Arlaith here,” he said. “You must attend with greater care.”

“But Lord Arlaith isn't here.” Eamon turned to stare at Callum. The boy looked at him with an angry face. “
You
are here.”

“But I won't be here the day after tomorrow,” Eamon replied cuttingly. “If this were then, you would probably be taken to the Ashen and flogged, Callum.”

Cara shuddered. Eamon did not apologize for his bluntness. They had to learn. Arlaith would set upon them for the smallest slight, simply because they had been part of Eamon's household. He could not let them walk indolently into Arlaith's cruel devices.

“But it's today,” Callum answered boldly. “It's today, and you're here and we're serving
you
.”

Eamon stared angrily at him. “Callum, you speak foolishly and out of turn.”

“No I don't!” Callum retorted. Cara tried to pull him back, but the child was in full swing. He stepped forward angrily. “You should know what your servants are saying. No one in this house wants you to leave, Lord Goodman, not a single one of us, and because of Lord Arlaith we can't serve you to our full while you are still here.”

Eamon was cut to the heart. “Callum,” he tried again.

“You're robbing us of serving you,” Callum cried. “That's mean when it's all we have to give you!”

Eamon glared. “Get out,” he said quietly.

Callum froze, but did not move.

“Get out,” Eamon said again. There was grief in his heart, for he loved his servants, and he saw the truth in Callum's words. “The household must go back to its ways of discretion, and better you relearn that under me than under Arlaith and suffer for it! Go,” he yelled, “or I shall dismiss you for your own protection!”

Callum gasped and ran to the door, his sister close behind him. Eamon turned his back to their retreating figures. The strength of his cry still echoed in his ears. He did not hear whether the door closed or whether they ran down the stairs. His knees gave way beneath him. Suddenly he was on the floor sobbing.

He had to make them walk in fear and rob them of their final days of service.

Thus did Lord Arlaith rule the house even before Eamon departed.

 

He slept uneasily that night, but then he had slept uneasily all that week.

Eamon rose and looked out of his bedroom window. It was the twenty-ninth of April – his last day as Lord of the East Quarter. The next morning he would be made the Right Hand.

He glanced down at his ring. Callum's words rang in his ears. How would he leave the quarter? Would it be in the manner of his coming, doleful and weighed with grief? Was there not grief enough already in his house, without his adding to it? Would they not suffer enough when he was gone?

Take heart, Eamon. Take heart and stand.

At last, Eamon smiled. He would not bow to Arlaith, not now. He realized that the manner of his going was his to choose, and he would choose it.

He sought out Slater. The man was unbarring the various doors in the hallway ready for the day.

“Good morning,” Eamon said. The head of his household started upon hearing his voice, and bowed at once.

“Lord Goodman,” he said uncertainly.

“I know it to be short notice,” Eamon told him, “but I want you to arrange a lunch.”

“Of course, my lord,” Slater replied. “For how many?”

“About fifty, I imagine,” Eamon answered. “I want you to use all the best wear on the tables. The high table will not need to be set.”

Slater masked his surprise very well. “Of course, my lord. For a menu?”

“The finest that you can find and choose with such short notice,” Eamon answered. “It will be paid for directly from the Handquarters' purse.” Slater bowed low. “One more thing, Mr Slater: when everything is prepared, I wish you to come in person and advise me.”

“Of course, my lord.”

 

“What are you up to?”

“Is that a manner in which to speak to the Lord of the East Quarter?” Eamon asked.

“It's a fine manner in which to speak to you,” Anderas replied. “Especially when you're up to something.”

“I'm not up to anything,” Eamon answered. They rode beyond the North Gate, and a strong wind careered across the plain behind them.

Anderas laughed. “Whatever else you may be, a poor liar you remain,” he said. “If you could only see the look on your face, you would understand why I can't possibly believe you.”

“Come to the Handquarters at lunch time,” Eamon told him, “and then you'll see.”

“So you
are
concocting some fresh madness.”

“I never said that,” Eamon replied. “But I will tell you one thing, captain: I shall sorely miss these rides.”