“He is very protective of the prince, however. He won’t be parted from him.”
“Poor fellow. All he ever cared for was Rhius. I suppose he’ll end his days hovering around the boy, nursing old memories.”
“And is Solari as loyal to the prince?”
The hard smile returned. “He’s loyal to me. He’ll protect the prince as long as it preserves my favor. Should that favor change for some reason, I daresay we’ll find him a man ready to serve his king. Now, what’s all this about Korin knocking up some chambermaid? Do you know anything of it?”
“Why—yes, Majesty, it’s true, but I hadn’t thought to trouble you with it until you returned.” For once, Niryn was caught completely off guard. He’d only learned of it a few weeks before, thanks to one of his more observant spies among the Old Palace servants. Korin didn’t know; the girl had been too wise to brag of the child’s paternity. “She’s of low birth, as you say. Kalar, I think the name is.”
Erius was still watching him closely, no doubt wondering why his chief wizard had sent no word.
“May I speak candidly, Majesty?” Niryn’s mind raced, already turning the situation to his advantage.
“You know I depend on your counsel.”
“I’m neither a father nor a warrior, so forgive me if I misspeak out of ignorance, but I’m increasingly concerned for Prince Korin. You’ve been gone for so long, you hardly know the young man he’s become. These girls he beds, and the drinking—”
He paused, watching for warning signs, but Erius merely nodded for him to continue.
“For he is a man now, strong and well trained. I’ve heard Master Porion say more than once that young warriors are like fine coursing hounds; if you keep them from the field, they either grow fat and lose their spirit, or turn vicious. Let him be the warrior you’ve made him to be, and all the rest will fall by the wayside. He lives to please you.
“But more than that, my king, the people must see him as a worthy successor. His excesses are already common gossip around the city and without the strength of deeds to balance them?” He paused meaningfully. “And now he’s throwing bastards. Surely you see where this could lead? With no legitimate heir, even a by-blow might gather supporters. Especially if the child should be a girl.”
Erius’ knuckles went white, but Niryn knew how to play this tune. “The thought of your ancient line tainted with such common blood—”
“You’re quite right, of course. Kill the bitch before she whelps.”
“I will see to it personally.” He would have in any event; his Nalia needed no competitors, even a servant’s brat with royal blood in her veins.
“Ah, Korin, Korin, what am I to do with you?” Erius shook his head. “He’s all I have, Niryn. I’ve lived in fear of losing him since his poor mother and the other children died. I haven’t been able to get another child on any woman since. Every one has been stillborn, or a monstrous thing that couldn’t live. This bastard, now—”
Niryn did not have to touch the king’s mind to know his heart, and the words he could not bring himself to say. What if my son’s children are monsters, too? That would be the final proof of Illior’s curse on his line.
“He’ll soon be old enough to marry, Majesty. Pair him with a healthy wife of good family and he’ll give you fine, strong grandchildren.”
“You’re right, as always.” The king let out a long sigh. “What would I do without you, eh? I thank the Four that wizards live so long. You’re a young man now, Niryn. The knowledge that you’ll still be standing by the throne of Skala generations from now is a great comfort to me.”
Niryn bowed deeply. “I live for nothing else, Majesty.”
17
The country north of Ero was a rolling mix of forest and open farmland that stretched from the sea’s edge to the mountains just visible in the west. The trees were just beginning to bud, Ki noted, but crocus and blue cockscomb brightened the muddy fields and ditches. In the villages they passed, the temples and roadside shrines were decorated with garlands of them for the Dalna feasts.
The ride to Atyion was a long one and the Companions and their guard entertained each other with songs and stories to pass the time. It was all new country to Tobin, but Ki had traveled this road with his father and later with Iya when she brought him south to the keep.
Early on the second day a great island chain came into view ahead of them, rising like huge breaching whales to the horizon. When they slowed to rest the horses, Porion, Tharin, and Korin’s captain, a dark, weathered lord named Melnoth, helped pass the time trading stories of fighting pirates and Plenimarans in those waters, and of the sacred island of Kouros where the first hierophant and his people had made landfall and established their court.
“You can feel the magic in the very stones, there, boys,” Porion told them. “And it’s no magic known to the Four.”
“That’s because the Old Ones scratched their spells all over the rocks and painted them in the caves above the surf,” said Melnoth. “The hierophant brought the worship of the Four across the water with him, but couldn’t displace the old powers that still lurk there. They say that’s why his son moved the court to Benshâl.”
“I always had strange dreams there,” Tharin mused.
“But aren’t there the same sort of marks on the rocks all along the coast?” asked Korin. “The Old Ones lived all around the Inner Sea.”
“Old Ones?” asked Tobin.
“The hill tribes they’re called now,” Porion explained. “Little dark folk who practice the old ways of necromancy.”
“They’re great thieves, as well,” one of Korin’s guardsmen added. “Proper folk used to hunt them like vermin.”
“Yes we did,” old Laris muttered, but he looked sad as he said it.
“So long as what’s left of them keep to the mountains, they’re safe enough,” Korin said, cocksure as if he’d driven them there himself.
Others added tales of their own. The hill folk sacrificed young men and children to their evil goddess. They rutted like animals in the fields under certain moons and always ate their meat raw. Their witches could change into beasts and demons at will, kill by blowing through a hollow branch, and summon the dead.
Tobin knew that these were Lhel’s people they spoke of. He had to press his lips together to keep from arguing when some of the older soldiers spoke of bewitchments and withering curses, and could tell that Ki was no happier hearing such stories. He loved the witch who’d twice saved his life. Lhel was just a healer, an herb witch, and she’d been a wise friend to them both.
All the same, Tobin couldn’t deny that she’d used blood and bits of Brother’s bones in her magic. That did seem like necromancy, now that he thought of it. A fleeting image flashed to mind: a needle flashing in firelight, and Brother’s bloody tears falling through the air. The binding scar began to itch and Tobin had to rub at it to make it stop.
“There are plenty of good Skalan families who’d find a bit of that blood in their own veins, if they thought to ask their grandmothers,” Tharin was saying. “As for their magic, I guess I’d have used whatever I had at hand, too, if a pack of strangers decided to take my lands from me. And so would the rest of you.”
This got only a few grudging nods, but Tobin was grateful. Lhel always spoke well of Tharin. Tobin wondered what he’d make of her.
The road gradually turned inland, taking them through dense woodland far from the sound of the sea. At midafternoon Tharin called a halt and pointed to a pair of granite pillars flanking the road. They were weathered and mossy, but Tobin could still make out the faint outline of a spreading oak carved on them.
“Do you know what those are?” Tharin asked.
Tobin pulled out his father’s oak tree signet; the design was the same. “This is the boundary, isn’t it?”