appealed to Erius for aid.”
“You can’t sail this time of year! The sea’s too stormy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, we must ride,” his father replied absently. He already had that faraway look in his eyes, and Tobin knew he was thinking of supplies and horses and men. That would be all he and Tharin would talk about around the hearth at night until they left.
“Why is Plenimar always making war?” Tobin asked, angry with these strangers who kept causing trouble and taking his father away. The Sakor festival was only a few weeks away and his father was sure to leave before then.
Rhius looked up at him. “You remember the map I showed you, how the Three Lands lie around the Inner Sea?”
“Yes.”
“Well, they were all one land once, ruled by priest kings called hierophants. They had their capital at Benshâl, in Plenimar. A long while ago the last hierophant divided the lands up into three countries, but the Plenimarans never liked that and have always wanted to reclaim all the territory for their own.”
“When can I go to war with you?” Tobin asked. “Tharin says I’m doing very well at my lessons!”
“So I hear.” His father hugged him, smiling in the way that meant no. “I’ll tell you what. As soon as you’re big enough to wear my second hauberk, you may come with me. Come, let’s see if it fits.”
The heavy coat of chain hung on a rack in his father’s bedchamber. It was far too big, of course, and puddled around Tobin’s feet, anchoring him helplessly in place. The coif hung over his eyes. Laughing, his father placed the steel cap on Tobin’s head. It felt like he was wearing one of Cook’s soup kettles; the end of the long nasal guard hung below his chin. All the same, his heart beat faster as he imagined the tall, strong man he’d someday be, filling all this out properly.
“Well, I can see it won’t be much longer before you’ll be needing this,” his father chuckled. And with that he dragged the rack across the corridor to Tobin’s bedchamber and spent the rest of the afternoon showing him how to keep the mail oiled and ready.
T obin still clung to the hope that his father and the others could stay until the Sakor festival, but his father’s liegemen, Lord Nyanis and Lord Solari, arrived a few days later with their men. For a few days the meadow was full of soldiers and their tents, but within the week everyone was gone to Atyion, leaving Tobin and the servants to celebrate without them.
Tobin moped about for a few days, but Nari cajoled him out of his dark mood and sent him off to help deckthe house. Garlands of fir boughs were hung over every doorway, and wooden shields painted gold and black were hung on the pillars of the hall. Tobin filled the offering shelf of the household shrine with an entire herd of wax horses for Sakor. The following morning, however, he found them scattered across the rush-covered floor, replaced by an equal number of dirty, twisted tree roots.
This was one of the demon’s favorite tricks, and one Tobin particularly hated, since it upset his father so. The duke would always go pale at the sight of them. Then he had to burn sweet herbs and say prayers to cleanse the shrine. If Tobin found the roots first, he threw them away and cleaned the shelf with his sleeve so his father wouldn’t know and be sad.
Scowling to himself, Tobin pitched the whole mess into the hearth fire and went to make new horses.
O n Mourning Night, Cook extinguished all but one firepot to symbolize Old Sakor’s death and everyone played games of Blindman’s Gambit by moonlight in the deserted barracks yard.
Tobin was hiding behind a hayrack when he happened to glance up at the tower. A faint glimmer of forbidden firelight showed through the shutters. He hadn’t seen his mother in days and that suited him very well. All the same, a shiver danced up the knobs of his spine as he pictured her up there, peering out at him.
Suddenly something heavy knocked him to the
“You can’t sail this time of year! The sea’s too stormy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, we must ride,” his father replied absently. He already had that faraway look in his eyes, and Tobin knew he was thinking of supplies and horses and men. That would be all he and Tharin would talk about around the hearth at night until they left.
“Why is Plenimar always making war?” Tobin asked, angry with these strangers who kept causing trouble and taking his father away. The Sakor festival was only a few weeks away and his father was sure to leave before then.
Rhius looked up at him. “You remember the map I showed you, how the Three Lands lie around the Inner Sea?”
“Yes.”
“Well, they were all one land once, ruled by priest kings called hierophants. They had their capital at Benshâl, in Plenimar. A long while ago the last hierophant divided the lands up into three countries, but the Plenimarans never liked that and have always wanted to reclaim all the territory for their own.”
“When can I go to war with you?” Tobin asked. “Tharin says I’m doing very well at my lessons!”
“So I hear.” His father hugged him, smiling in the way that meant no. “I’ll tell you what. As soon as you’re big enough to wear my second hauberk, you may come with me. Come, let’s see if it fits.”
The heavy coat of chain hung on a rack in his father’s bedchamber. It was far too big, of course, and puddled around Tobin’s feet, anchoring him helplessly in place. The coif hung over his eyes. Laughing, his father placed the steel cap on Tobin’s head. It felt like he was wearing one of Cook’s soup kettles; the end of the long nasal guard hung below his chin. All the same, his heart beat faster as he imagined the tall, strong man he’d someday be, filling all this out properly.
“Well, I can see it won’t be much longer before you’ll be needing this,” his father chuckled. And with that he dragged the rack across the corridor to Tobin’s bedchamber and spent the rest of the afternoon showing him how to keep the mail oiled and ready.
T obin still clung to the hope that his father and the others could stay until the Sakor festival, but his father’s liegemen, Lord Nyanis and Lord Solari, arrived a few days later with their men. For a few days the meadow was full of soldiers and their tents, but within the week everyone was gone to Atyion, leaving Tobin and the servants to celebrate without them.
Tobin moped about for a few days, but Nari cajoled him out of his dark mood and sent him off to help deckthe house. Garlands of fir boughs were hung over every doorway, and wooden shields painted gold and black were hung on the pillars of the hall. Tobin filled the offering shelf of the household shrine with an entire herd of wax horses for Sakor. The following morning, however, he found them scattered across the rush-covered floor, replaced by an equal number of dirty, twisted tree roots.
This was one of the demon’s favorite tricks, and one Tobin particularly hated, since it upset his father so. The duke would always go pale at the sight of them. Then he had to burn sweet herbs and say prayers to cleanse the shrine. If Tobin found the roots first, he threw them away and cleaned the shelf with his sleeve so his father wouldn’t know and be sad.
Scowling to himself, Tobin pitched the whole mess into the hearth fire and went to make new horses.
O n Mourning Night, Cook extinguished all but one firepot to symbolize Old Sakor’s death and everyone played games of Blindman’s Gambit by moonlight in the deserted barracks yard.
Tobin was hiding behind a hayrack when he happened to glance up at the tower. A faint glimmer of forbidden firelight showed through the shutters. He hadn’t seen his mother in days and that suited him very well. All the same, a shiver danced up the knobs of his spine as he pictured her up there, peering out at him.
Suddenly something heavy knocked him to the
Similar Books
