in size. He took a special interest in Tobin, too, for they both liked to make things. Tobin made him wax animals and in return Koni taught him how to fletch arrow shafts and carve twig whistles.
When Tobin had finished his practice for the day, the others would shoot with him, or tell stories of the battles they’d fought against the Plenimarans. Tobin’s father was the great hero of these tales, always in the forefront, always the bravest on the field. Tharin figured large as well, and was always at his father’s side.
“Have you always been with Father?” he asked Tharin one winter day as they rested between drills. It had snowed the night before. Tharin’s beard was white around his mouth where his breath had frozen.
He nodded. “All my life. My father was one of your grandfather’s liegemen. I was his third son, born at Atyion the same year as your father. We were raised together, almost like brothers.”
“So you’re almost my uncle?” Tobin said, pleased with the notion.
Tharin tousled Tobin’s hair. “As good as, my prince.When I was old enough, I was made his squire and later he made me a knight and granted me my lands at Hawkhaven. We’ve never been separated in battle.”
Tobin pondered all this a moment, then asked, “Why don’t I have a squire?”
“Oh, you’re young for that yet. I’m sure you will when you’re a bit older.”
“But not one I’ve grown up with,” Tobin pointed out glumly. “No boy has been born here. There aren’t any other children at all. Why can’t we go live at Atyion, like you and Father did? Why do the children in the village point and stare at me?”
Tobin half expected Tharin to put him off, talk of other things the way his father and Nari always did. Instead, he just shook his head and sighed. “Because of the demon, I suppose, and because your mama is so unhappy. Your father feels it’s best this way, but I don’t know …”
He looked so sad as he said it that Tobin almost blurted out what had happened that day in the tower. He’d never told anyone about that.
Before he could, however, Nari came to fetch him. He promised himself he would tell Tharin the following day during their ride, but Koni and old Lethis came too, and he didn’t feel right speaking in front of anyone else. Another day or two passed and he forgot about it, but his trust in Tharin remained.
A s Cinrin wore on there was little snow, hardly enough to dust the meadow, but the weather turned bitter cold. Tharin kept the men busy hauling firewood from the forest and everyone slept in the hall, where the hearth fire burned night and day. Tobin wore two tunics and his cloak indoors. During the day Cook kept a fire pot burning in the toy room so that he could amuse himself there, but even so he could still see his breath on the air.
The river froze hard enough to walk on and some ofthe younger soldiers and servants went skating, but Nari would only let Tobin watch from the bank.
H e was playing alone upstairs one bright morning when he caught the sound of a horse galloping up the frozen road. Soon a lone rider in a streaming red cape came riding up the meadow and across the bridge. Leaning out over the sill, Tobin saw his father come out to greet the man and welcome him inside. He recognized the red and gold badge all too well; this was a messenger from the king and that usually meant only one thing.
The man did not stay long however, and was soon off again down the road. As soon as Tobin heard him clatter across the bridge he hurried downstairs.
His father sat on a bench by the hearth, studying a long scroll weighted down with the king’s seals and ribbons. Tobin sat down beside him and peered at the document, wishing that he could read it. Not that he needed to, to know what the message was. “You have to leave again, don’t you, Father?”
“Yes, and very soon, I’m afraid. Plenimar is taking advantage of the dry winter to raid up the Mycenian coast. The Mycenians have
When Tobin had finished his practice for the day, the others would shoot with him, or tell stories of the battles they’d fought against the Plenimarans. Tobin’s father was the great hero of these tales, always in the forefront, always the bravest on the field. Tharin figured large as well, and was always at his father’s side.
“Have you always been with Father?” he asked Tharin one winter day as they rested between drills. It had snowed the night before. Tharin’s beard was white around his mouth where his breath had frozen.
He nodded. “All my life. My father was one of your grandfather’s liegemen. I was his third son, born at Atyion the same year as your father. We were raised together, almost like brothers.”
“So you’re almost my uncle?” Tobin said, pleased with the notion.
Tharin tousled Tobin’s hair. “As good as, my prince.When I was old enough, I was made his squire and later he made me a knight and granted me my lands at Hawkhaven. We’ve never been separated in battle.”
Tobin pondered all this a moment, then asked, “Why don’t I have a squire?”
“Oh, you’re young for that yet. I’m sure you will when you’re a bit older.”
“But not one I’ve grown up with,” Tobin pointed out glumly. “No boy has been born here. There aren’t any other children at all. Why can’t we go live at Atyion, like you and Father did? Why do the children in the village point and stare at me?”
Tobin half expected Tharin to put him off, talk of other things the way his father and Nari always did. Instead, he just shook his head and sighed. “Because of the demon, I suppose, and because your mama is so unhappy. Your father feels it’s best this way, but I don’t know …”
He looked so sad as he said it that Tobin almost blurted out what had happened that day in the tower. He’d never told anyone about that.
Before he could, however, Nari came to fetch him. He promised himself he would tell Tharin the following day during their ride, but Koni and old Lethis came too, and he didn’t feel right speaking in front of anyone else. Another day or two passed and he forgot about it, but his trust in Tharin remained.
A s Cinrin wore on there was little snow, hardly enough to dust the meadow, but the weather turned bitter cold. Tharin kept the men busy hauling firewood from the forest and everyone slept in the hall, where the hearth fire burned night and day. Tobin wore two tunics and his cloak indoors. During the day Cook kept a fire pot burning in the toy room so that he could amuse himself there, but even so he could still see his breath on the air.
The river froze hard enough to walk on and some ofthe younger soldiers and servants went skating, but Nari would only let Tobin watch from the bank.
H e was playing alone upstairs one bright morning when he caught the sound of a horse galloping up the frozen road. Soon a lone rider in a streaming red cape came riding up the meadow and across the bridge. Leaning out over the sill, Tobin saw his father come out to greet the man and welcome him inside. He recognized the red and gold badge all too well; this was a messenger from the king and that usually meant only one thing.
The man did not stay long however, and was soon off again down the road. As soon as Tobin heard him clatter across the bridge he hurried downstairs.
His father sat on a bench by the hearth, studying a long scroll weighted down with the king’s seals and ribbons. Tobin sat down beside him and peered at the document, wishing that he could read it. Not that he needed to, to know what the message was. “You have to leave again, don’t you, Father?”
“Yes, and very soon, I’m afraid. Plenimar is taking advantage of the dry winter to raid up the Mycenian coast. The Mycenians have
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