— 32 —

The three-day voyage was Tobin’s first experience aboard a ship. Their vessels, two deep-bellied carracks with red sails, were large enough to transport their horses.

Tobin felt a flutter of fear as the ship shifted beneath his feet, but by the time they’d passed the harbor mouth he’d found his sea legs. Behind them, the city glistened in the morning sun, reminding him again of the toy city above its painted harbor. Only then, when it was too late, did he realize that in all the excitement of the preparations, he’d completely forgotten about Brother. The old rag doll was still in its hiding place in the dressing room.

“Don’t worry,” Ki said, when Tobin confided this to him. “No one ever dusts up there anyway. And it’s not like he’d be any good to you in battle.”

Porion was their sergeant now, and Tharin and Melnoth were their captains. Korin spent hours with the men, asking a hundred questions and listening to tales of past battles. The rest of the boys gathered around for these lessons and by the time they rounded the headlands at Greyhead, they’d already fought the battle a dozen times over in their heads.

“These aren’t trained soldiers you’re going against,” Porion warned repeatedly. “They can’t be counted on to follow the rules of engagement.”

“Chances are you won’t see half of them at any given moment,” Tharin added. “They’ll be up in trees, or shooting at you from the bushes. Our best bet is to take them unawares if we can, before they have time to scatter.”

The sea shone green under the pale sun each day. The weather held clear, with a good following wind. On the third morning they dropped anchor at a large fishing village and spent the day unloading the horses and their gear. The coastline was rougher than in Ero, and the forest hugged the sea ledges.

The village was a small, lonely place, without a palisade or market square, or an inn. The Companions spent the night on pallets in the thatch-roofed temple of Astellus, which doubled as a wayfarers’ hostel. Their men camped on the beach under canvas lean-tos. The next morning they set off at dawn, following a winding road up into the hills.

The mountains were different, too. They were shorter and rounder, like worn-down teeth, and thickly forested almost to their tops. Their rocky summits showed through like a balding man’s pate. The wide valleys between were well watered and dotted with steadings and walled villages.

The keep at Rilmar stood at the mouth of one of the larger valleys, guarding an important road. Tobin had expected something like his old home at Alestun, but Rilmar consisted of a single large round stone tower encircled by a raised earthwork and a weathered stockade wall. The tower was topped by a crenellated terrace and conical wooden roof. The banner flying there showed two green serpents intertwined on a red-and-yellow field.

“That must be your father’s new arms,” Tobin said, pointing it out to Ki.

Ki said nothing, and he wasn’t smiling as he scanned the walls. Tobin could make out the heads of half a dozen men watching them from there. His banner and Korin’s should have told the guards who was coming, but no one hailed them or came out to meet them.

Ki peered up, shading his eyes.

“See any of your family?” Tobin asked, anxious to meet the people he’d heard so many stories about.

“Nobody I recognize.”

Hounds bayed an alarm from inside as they rode up to the gates.

A dirty, one-eyed warder let them in. He saluted Korin and Tobin, then squinted at the rest of them with surly interest, not appearing to know Ki.

Beyond the gate they entered a barren close. Men and women who looked more like bandits themselves than a lord’s warriors were at work there, shoeing horses and chopping wood. A smith was busy at a forge by the inner wall. Other men lounged about at their ease. Two brindle hounds as big as calves rushed at the newcomers, barking furiously until some of the idlers sent them yelping with a few well-aimed stones. Tobin caught Tharin and Porion looking around with pursed lips at such slovenliness. He heard someone among the Companions snicker but Korin silenced them with a quick glare.

Two boys a bit older than Ki and dressed in decent leather armor came bounding down from the rickety wall walk.

“That you, Ki?” the taller of the pair demanded. He had Ki’s dark eyes and hair, but he was broader and looked more like a farmer than a warrior.

“It’s me, Amin!” Ki said, brightening a bit as he slid out of the saddle to meet his brother.

The other boy gave him a none-too-gentle punch on the arm. “You been gone too long, little brother. I’m Dimias. This here’s Amin.”

The other boy looked even more like Ki. “Lookit you, the little lordling!” he cried, giving Ki a rough hug.

Both of them spoke with the thick country accent Ki had had when Tobin first met him.

The smith, a fair-haired man in a scorched leather apron, limped over from the forge to meet them. His arms and hands were massive, but he had a clubfoot. He gave Korin an awkward, bobbing bow and touched a fist to his heart. “Welcome to Rilmar, Yer Highness.” His eyes kept darting to Ki as he spoke, and Tobin read sour envy in his small, narrowed eyes.

“Hullo, Innis,” Ki said, looking no more pleased to see him; Innis had never come off well in Ki’s stories. “Prince Korin, may I present my half brother?”

Innis wiped his hands on his apron and bobbed again. “Father’s inside wi’ gouty foot. Said I’s to bring you in when you come. You can leave yer horses and soldiers here. Amin, you an’ Dimias see to ’em. Come on, then, Yer Highness.”

Porion and the captains stayed with the Companions as they crossed to the crumbling stone wall that enclosed the keep yards. Innis fell in next to Ki, and Tobin heard him growl, “Took you long enough to come home again, didn’t it? Too good for yer own folk now, I reckon.”

Ki’s hands clenched, but he held his head up and said nothing.

Passing under the barbican, Tobin caught his breath, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the odors that greeted them.

Inside the gate a few slatternly-looking women were at work over a soap kettle; the stinging fumes waited around the dank yard, adding an acrid edge to the overwhelming stink of dung, damp stone, and rotting garbage, which lay everywhere. Woodsmoke hung in heavy layers on the moist air. A pile of broken barrels took up one corner near the stables, and pigs were rooting through a midden just beyond.

The ancient keep was badly in need of repair. The walls were crusted with moss and lichen, and wildflowers had found rootholds between the weathered blocks where mortar had crumbled away. On the upper levels of the tower, shutters hung by one hinge or were missing altogether, giving the place an abandoned look.

The yard was paved with flagstones, but they’d been cracked and heaved by the frosts, and in places they were missing altogether, leaving muddy brown puddles where a few bedraggled chickens and ducks drank. Witchgrass and thistles stuck up through the breaks in the stone. Hollyhock and nightshade had gone to seed near the ironbound front door, and a hoary rose vine climbed over the lintel, a few white blossoms giving the yard its only hint of cheer.

It’s as bad as the streets around Beggar’s Bridge, Tobin thought. Even in the darkest days of Tobin’s childhood, the keep yard at Alestun had been kept tidy and the lower levels of the house in decent repair.

On the far side of the yard, a gang of dirty children was playing in the back of a broken-down cart. An unshaven young man dressed in nothing but a long dirty tunic sat watching the riders from the driver’s seat. His lank hair hung in greasy tangles around his bare shoulders and as they got closer, Tobin saw that he had the blank, wide-set eyes of an idiot.

Tobin heard more snickers behind him. Ki had gone red to the tips of his ears. He’d long since been trained away from his rough ways and speech, and he’d always been clean and particular in his dress. No wonder he hadn’t been anxious to see his own people again.

The children in the cart ran to greet the Companions. The rest of the motley assembly soon followed.

The youngest children circled them like a flock of swallows, laughing excitedly. One little girl with a long blond braid down her back stopped to stare at Korin’s gold-chased helmet. “Is you a king?” she lisped, blue eyes solemn.

“No, I’m the king’s son, Prince Korin.” He took her hand and kissed it gallantly, sending her into screams of laughter.

The idiot boy in the cart let out a hooting bellow, bouncing up and down and making a wet sound that might have been Ki’s name.

“Hullo, Kick,” Ki called, waving back reluctantly.

“Another brother?” Mago asked with poorly concealed glee.

“Bastard one,” Innis grunted.

Entering the keep, they walked through a large, round chamber that served both as kitchen and storeroom and up a creaking staircase to the great hall.

This chamber was lit by a few narrow windows and a fire on the long hearth, but from what Tobin could make out as his eyes adjusted to the smoky dimness, it was little better than the room below. The ceiling beams and long tables were black with age, and the blotched plaster had fallen away in places, revealing bare stone underneath. A few cheap, new tapestries hung in odd places and the silver plate lined up on shelves near the hearth was tarnished. A brindle bitch lay nursing a litter in the middle of the room and lanky, notch-eared cats walked the tables with impunity. The household women darted sharp looks at the guests as they sat twirling their distaffs by a smaller cooking hearth, two half-naked babies rolling on the dirty rushes at their feet. The whole place stank of old grease and piss.

“This isn’t where I grew up,” Ki whispered to Tobin, then sighed. “This is better, actually.”

Tobin felt as if he’d betrayed Ki; he’d never imagined a place like this when the king had granted Larenth the title.

A thin, worn-out woman not much older than Innis came forward to greet them. Dressed in a fine new gown stained with tallow spots across the skirt, she made an awkward job of kneeling to kiss Korin’s hand. From the look of her and what Ki had told him over the years, Tobin guessed that Larenth got his new wives from among the servants whenever he’d used up the last with child birthing.

“Welcome to our house, Yer Highness,” she said. “I’m Lady Sekora. Come in and be welcome. We thank you—” She paused, searching for the words. “We thank you for honoring us with our new rank, too. My man—my lord’s back there, waiting on you wi’s foot up.”

Korin was trying not to laugh as he raised her by the hand. “Thank you, my lady. Allow me to present my cousin, Prince Tobin of Ero.”

Sekora stared into Tobin’s face with obvious curiosity. “Yer Ki’s master, then, what that wizard spoke of?” Her teeth were bad and her breath stank.

“Ki is my squire and my friend,” Tobin said, taking her thin, rough hand in his as she curtsied again.

She looked from him to Ki and shook her head. “Ki, I ’spect yer dad’ll be wanting to see you. Come and eat, then I’ll take you all through.”

She clapped her hands and the women brought cold food and wine from a sideboard and laid it out for the guests. They ranged in age from a stooped old grandmother to a pair of young girls who blushed and made bold eyes at Tobin and the others.

The food was plain but surprisingly good, considering the household—cold mutton with mint relish on trenchers of fresh parsley bread, boiled onions mired in thick cream spiced with cloves and wine, and the best venison pie Tobin had tasted since he left Cook’s kitchen. The hospitality was another matter. Lady Sekora stood with the women, twisting her hands nervously in her skirt front as she watched every mouthful Korin took. Innis ate with them, head low over his trencher, shoveling the food in like a peasant.

“Why is it the master of the house doesn’t eat with us?” asked Korin, pushing a bold white tom away from his trencher.

“Ailing, ain’t he?” Innis grunted around a mouthful of pie. This was the extent of their entertainment during the meal.

When they’d finished Innis went back to his work and Sekora led Korin, Tobin, and Ki to a smaller room behind the hall.

It was much cozier here, lined with pine paneling gone dark gold with age and warmed by a crackling fire that somewhat masked the smell of a neglected chamber pot. It reminded Tobin of Hakone’s room.

Lord Larenth lay dozing in an armchair by the fire, his poultice-swathed foot propped on a stool in front of him. Even asleep, he was a formidable-looking old man. He had a hawkish nose, and faded scars marked his unshaven cheeks. Thinning grey hair fell over his shoulders and a drooping moustache framed his thin-lipped mouth. Like Sekora, he wore new clothes of a fine cut, but they looked like they’d been slept in more than once, and used for a napkin, too. Sekora shook him gently by the shoulder, and he woke with a start, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. His left eye was milky white and blind. Tobin could see nothing of Ki in this man except for his one good eye; it was the same warm brown.

All in all, Lord Larenth was what Ki would call a “rough customer” but it seemed he was better versed in court etiquette than his wife, for he pushed himself up from his chair and made Korin and Tobin deep bows. “Please accept my apologies, Yer Highnesses. I don’t get much beyond this chair these days, on account of my foot. My eldest boys is away with the king’s army, and my eldest girl ain’t back yet. Sekora, is Ahra back yet? No? Well, she said she’d come so I reckon she will—” He trailed off. “Innis should have greeted you.”

“He did, and your good lady made us most welcome,” Korin assured him. “Sit, please, my lord. I can tell your foot hurts you.”

“Fetch chairs, woman!” Larenth snapped, and waited until Korin was seated before he sat down again. “Now then, Prince Tobin, my family owes you a great debt for raising us to this. I’ll do me best to be worthy of your trust, and the king’s.”

“I’m sure you will, my lord.”

“And I was sad to hear of yer father’s passing. He was a rare, fine warrior, that one. Rare fine!”

“Thank you, my lord.” Tobin acknowledged this with a nod, waiting for the old man to turn to his son, whom he hadn’t even acknowledged.

Korin pulled a letter from his tunic and presented it to the old man. “The king sends his greetings, my lord, and orders regarding tomorrow’s raid.”

Larenth stared at the document a moment before cautiously accepting it. He turned it over in his hands, examining the seals, then shrugged. “Have you anyone to read it out, Yer Highness? We don’t hold with such here.”

“Squire Kirothius, read the king’s letter for your honored father,” said Korin, and Tobin guessed that he’d noticed, too.

Larenth’s shaggy eyebrows shot up and he squinted with his good eye. “Ki, is it? I didn’t know you, boy.”

“Hullo, Dad.”

Tobin expected them to laugh and hug now, the way Tharin and his kin had when they met. But Larenth was looking at his son as he might some unwanted stranger. “You done all right for yerself, then. Ahra said you had.”

The letter trembled in Ki’s fingers as he unfolded it.

“Read, too, do you?” Larenth muttered. “All right then, go on.”

Ki read the brief missive. It began with the usual greetings, then commanded that Korin lead the raid. Ki didn’t stumble once, but his cheeks were red again by the time he’d finished.

His father listened in silence, sucking his teeth, then turned back to Korin. “The thieving bastards moved their camp higher up in the hills a few weeks back, after we took a charge at ’em. Innis can take you out, if Ahra don’t come. There’s a trail that’ll let you flank ’em. If you go up in the night, p’raps they’ll be too drunk to hear you. You can take ’em at first light.” He paused, squinting at Korin. “How many seasoned men have you?”

“Twoscore.”

“Well, you keep ’em close, Yer Highness. They’re a hard lot, these bandits. They’ve raided half the villages in the valley this winter, and made off with a fair number of the women. I’ve been after them since I got here and we’ve had a hard time of it. Led ’im meself until my foot went rotten.” He stared at Korin again, then shook his head. “Well, you just keep ’em close, you hear? I don’t want to answer this here letter with your ashes.”

“We’ve had the best training in Skala, my lord,” Korin replied stiffly.

“I don’t doubt that, Yer Highness,” the old man said bleakly. “But there’s no training to match what you get at the sharp end of a sword.”

Settling in for the night at that cheerless house, Ki wished that Tobin had left well enough alone. If his father hadn’t been made a lord, the king would never have thought to send the Companions to him. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d been among his kin; he hadn’t realized just how much he’d changed until he saw them again and saw how they looked at him. Even Amin and Dimias had stolen jealous glances at him around the fire downstairs. The younger children, at least those who remembered him, were happy to see him and begged for stories of the city. His little half sisters and brothers and their bastard siblings clung like baby squirrels to anyone else who’d sit still for it, including Korin, who’d been blessedly good-natured about it all. Whatever else Ki might think of the prince, he had a good touch with people when he wanted to. And Ki did have one moment of pleasure when a toddling boy with a shitty bottom had climbed into Alben’s lap.

That didn’t make up for the rest of it, though. Now the Companions all knew just how much a grass knight he really was. The sight of his father and poor Sekora in their filthy finery had nearly killed him with shame. “You can put a pig in silk slippers, but it don’t make him a dancer,” his father liked to say of anyone he thought was getting above themselves. Never had Ki understood the proverb so clearly.

Most of the household went to bed with the sun. The youngest children still slept in haphazard piles on the floor with the hounds and cats. Innis and the older boys sat up with them over more of the dreadful wine, making a desultory attempt at hospitality. Innis, the fourth legitimate child after Ahra, was a slow-witted bull of a man, taciturn to the point of rudeness. He’d shown more aptitude for smithing than he ever had fighting. Because of that and his crippled foot, he’d been left home to manage the household when the others went off to war. Amin and Dimias had both gone off as runners during the last conflicts and it was clear that Innis hadn’t forgiven them their good fortune, any more than he would Ki.

Korin made the best of things. He drank cup after cup of the bad wine and praised it as if it were Kallian red. He joked with Amin and even charmed a smirking grin out of Innis by challenging him to arm wrestle and losing. Caliel paid their guesting price by leading a few songs, which brightened things up for a while. But Ki was too aware of the looks Alben, Mago, and their friends kept stealing at him, and their smirks as Sekora tried clumsily to play hostess. She’d always been kind to Ki and he nearly jumped on Arius when he answered her rudely. His brothers had noticed, too, and looked ready to do murder.

Lynx gripped his knee under the table and shook his head. Even here in this wretched place, a royal squire shouldn’t shame the king’s son or his lord by brawling. Ruan and Barieus gave him sympathetic looks across the table, but that only made Ki feel worse.

Tobin knew how he felt; he always did. Ignoring the rude ones, he talked hunting with Amin and did a bit of swordplay with Dimias. He gave Ki the occasional quick smile, and there was no false brightness in it.

It was a relief when they finally headed off to their chamber. Weaving a bit, Korin threw an arm around Innis and proclaimed him a fine fellow. Tobin and Caliel got hold of him and steered him along behind Sekora. Ki hung back, not yet trusting himself near Mago and the others.

His stepmother led them upstairs to a passably clean guest chamber with two large beds. His father no doubt considered this scandalous luxury, but Ki wanted to sink through the floor when Sekora told Korin that the squires were welcome to the stable loft, as if they were mere servants. Korin was very polite about it, and saw to it that pallets were brought up for them.

The rest of this floor, which should have been the private quarters for the family, had fallen into disrepair and there was no evidence that his father thought it needed-changing. The other rooms were empty and musty, their bare floors filthy with the droppings of birds and mice. Since the family still lived and slept in the hall as they always had, it made little difference to them.

“Would you mind if I went back down for a bit, Tob?” he asked softly.

Tobin clasped him by the wrist. “It’s all right, Ki. Go on.”

So you’re back to fight, are you?” Amin said, making room for him on the settle. “Is it true none of you been to the wars?”

“That’s right,” Ki told him.

“Funny thing, coming all the way up here for it, after living so close to the royals so long,” Dimias said. “Bilairy’s balls, Ki, even I been. Why didn’t that duke fellow ever take you, eh?”

“Nobles don’t go so young.” It was true, but he felt small all the same. Amin had a sword cut on his cheek and was careful to sit so Ki could see it.

“Listen to him!” his half sister Lyla said from one of the sleeping piles. “Sounds like quality now.”

“They learned me to talk like ’em,” Ki snapped, falling back into the old way of speaking. “You don’t think they want me squalling like you all around them fine lords an’ ladies?”

Dimias laughed and locked an arm around his neck. “That’s our Ki! And I say good for you. Maybe you can learn us, too, and find us positions in Ero, eh? I’d fancy city life. Leave all this stink behind without a glance, just like you did.”

“Father sold me off,” Ki reminded him, but the truth was, he hadn’t cared much, leaving.

Lowering his voice, Amin muttered, “I seen how some of ’em looked down their noses at you, though, and you let ’em beat you down, too. Don’t give ’em the pleasure of it, y’hear? I seen battle and all. Half these highbred boys’ll piss their pants tomorrow, mark my words.”

“But not you, eh?” Amin clapped Ki on the shoulder. “Ahra said the pair of you was warrior-born after she seen you again. Sakor-touched, so she said. And he’s a good ’un, that Tobin, even if he is sorta runty and girlish.”

“You’ll stand fast, you and yer prince,” Dimias said.

“’Course we will!” Ki scoffed, “And he ain’t girlish!”

They tussled a bit over that, but for the first time that day he was glad to be home, and gladder still to have his brothers speak well of Tobin.

Squeezed into bed between Nikides and Urmanis, Tobin listened to the older boys bragging about how many bandits they’d kill the next day. As always, Korin’s voice was the loudest. Tobin kept an eye on the door, waiting for Ki to come up. Tiring of the wait, he went looking for him.

The hall was dark except for the hearth’s glow. He was about to go back upstairs when someone whispered, “Ki’s outside, Yer Highness, if you’re lookin’ for ’im.”

“Thank you.” Picking his way carefully around the piles of sleepers, he made his way down through the kitchen into the stinking courtyard. The sky overhead was cloudless, and the stars looked big as larks’ eggs. Torches were burning on the parapet, and he could see the guards patrolling the wall walk. He was heading for the yard gate when he caught sight of two people sitting in the back of the abandoned cart.

“Ki?” he whispered.

“Go to bed, Tob. It’s cold out.”

Tobin climbed up onto the splintery seat beside them. It was Tharin there with him, sitting with his elbows on his knees. Suddenly he felt like an interloper, but he didn’t want to go in again. “What’s wrong?”

Ki let out a harsh snort. “You saw.” He gestured around at the keep, the yard—everything, probably. “This is what I come from. Think they’re going to let me forget it?”

“I’m sorry. I never thought it would be like this. I thought—”

“Yeah? Well, you didn’t reckon on my kin.”

“He’s been gone a good while,” Tharin said quietly.

“They’re not so bad—some of them. I like your brothers, and your father is a tough old warrior; I can tell.”

“He got old while I was gone. I’ve never seen him laid up like that, half-blind. Five years is a long time, Tob. Looking at them, I start to wonder who I am.”

“You are what you’ve made of yourself,” Tharin said firmly. “That’s what I’ve just been telling him, Tobin. Some are born noble but don’t have the heart to be any kind of man. Others like Ki here come out noble to the core no matter what. You both saw my family. They weren’t much different than your people, Ki, but Rhius raised me up and I hold my head high next to any wellborn man. You’re cut from the same cloth. There’s not a boy on the Palatine I’d rather stand next to tomorrow.”

Tharin gave them both a quick squeeze on the shoulder and climbed down. “Bring him in soon, Tobin. You need your rest.”

Tobin stayed by Ki, thinking of his own homecoming in Atyion. He’d honestly supposed Ki would find something of the same welcome here. But the keep was awful; there was no denying it. Had the king known it, when he’d suggested it?

At a loss for words, he found Ki’s hand and clasped it. Ki let out a growl and bumped his shoulder against Tobin’s. “I know you don’t think less of me, Tob. If I thought that, I’d ride out that gate tonight and never look back.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’d miss the fight tomorrow. And Ahra will be here, too. What do you think she’d do to you if you ran off?”

“There’s that. Guess I’s more ’feared of her than any Companion.” Standing, he looked around the yard again and chuckled. “Well, it could be worse.”

“How?”

Ki’s grin flashed in the darkness. “I could be the heir to all this.”