Lynn Flewelling - Hidden Warrior

Tobin shrugged. “I don’t remember much about it, except for the queens.”

“What queens?”

“The ghosts. You didn’t see them?”

“No, just Brother. For a minute there I thought you were both finished, the way you looked. He really is gone, isn’t he?”

“Yes. I wonder where he went?”

“To Bilairy’s gate, I hope. I tell you, Tob, I’m not sorry to see the last of him, even if he did help you now and then.”

“I suppose,” Tobin murmured. “Still, that’s the last of my family, isn’t it?”

When Lytia came back she wasn’t alone. Tharin, Arkoniel, and several servants were with her, carrying bulky cloth-wrapped parcels.

“How do you feel?” asked Arkoniel, taking Tobin’s chin in his hand and examining her face.

Tobin pulled away. “I don’t know yet.”

“She’s hungry,” Lytia said, laying a huge breakfast for them on a table by the hearth. “I think perhaps you should let the princess eat before anything else.”

“I’m not, and don’t call me that!” Tobin snapped.

Tharin folded his arms and gave her a stern look. “Nothing more, until you eat.”

Tobin grabbed an oatcake and took a huge bite to satisfy him, then realized how hungry she really was. Still standing, she wolfed down a second, then speared a slice of fried liver with her knife. Ki joined her, just as famished.

Tharin chuckled. “You know, you don’t look so different in daylight. A bit more like your mother, perhaps, but that’s no bad thing. I bet you’ll be a beauty when you fill out and get your growth.”

Tobin snorted around a mouthful of cardamom bun; the mirror had told a different tale.

“Maybe this will cheer you up.” Tharin went to the bed and opened one of the bundles the servants had left there. With a flourish, he held up a shimmering hauberk. The rings of the mail were so fine it felt like serpent skin under Tobin’s admiring hand. It was chased with a little goldwork along the lower edge, neck, and sleeves, but the pattern was a clean, simple one, just intertwined lines, like vines. The other parcels yielded a steel cuirass and helm of similar design.

“That’s Aurënfaie work,” Lytia told her. “They were gifts to your father’s grandmother.”

The cuirass bore the Atyion oak chased in gold. Both it and the hauberk fit as if they’d been measured for her. The mail hung lightly and felt as supple as one of Nari’s knitted sweaters.

“The women of the castle thought you’d be wanting this, too,” Lytia said, holding up a new surcoat. “There’s a padded undercoat, and banners in your colors, as well. We won’t have the Scion of Atyion riding into battle like some nameless thane.”

“Thank you!” Tobin exclaimed, pulling the surcoat on over her hauberk. Going to the mirror, she studied her reflection as Ki buckled on her sword. The face framed by the antique coif wasn’t that of a frightened girl, but the one she’d always known.

A warrior’s face.

Ki grinned at her in the glass. “See? Under all that, you don’t look any different at all.”

“That may be for the best,” said Arkoniel. “I doubt Erius will be pleased to hear he has a niece rather than a nephew. Tharin, make certain word is passed among the troops that the name Tamír is not to be spoken in Ero until the order is given.”

“I wonder what Korin will say?” asked Ki.

“That’s a good question,” Arkoniel mused.

Tobin frowned at her reflection. “I’ve wondered about that ever since you and Lhel told me the truth. He’s not just my kinsman, Arkoniel; he’s my friend. How can I hurt him after he’s been so good to me? It wouldn’t be right, but I can’t think what to do. He isn’t very likely to just step aside, is he?”

“No,” said Tharin.

“That’s best left on the knees of the gods,” Arkoniel advised. “For now, perhaps it’s best if it’s Prince Tobin who returns to Ero’s aid. The rest will have to be sorted out afterward.”

“If there is an afterward,” Ki put in. “The Plenimarans aren’t going to just step aside, either, and they have necromancers and plenty of soldiers. Sakor only knows how many!”

“Actually, we were able to do a bit of spying for you,” said Tharin, grinning at Tobin’s look of surprise. “Some of these wizards can be quite useful when they choose.”

“You recall that time I flew you to Ero?” asked Arkoniel.

“That was a vision.”

“A sighting spell, it’s called. I’m no general, but with a bit of help from Tharin here, we estimated that the enemy has perhaps eight thousand men.”

“Eight thousand! How many do we have here?”

“There are five hundred horsemen in the garrison, and nearly twice that with the foot and archers,” said Tharin. “Another few hundred should stay behind to hold the castle if it’s attacked. My cousin Oril will act as your marshal here—”

“Fifteen hundred. That’s not nearly enough!”

“That’s only the standing garrison. Word was sent to the outlying barons and knights as soon as we got here. Another two thousand can follow by tomorrow with the baggage train.” He paused and gave Tobin a grim smile. “We don’t have much choice, except to make do with what we have.”

“Grannia sent me to ask if the women warriors might ride in your vanguard,” Lytia told her.

“Yes, of course.” Tobin thought a moment, recalling something of Raven’s lessons. “Tell her only the very best fighters are to be in the front. Keep the others back in the ranks until they get seasoned. There’s no shame in it. Tell them Skala needs them alive and fighting. There are too few of them to waste foolishly.” As Lytia turned to go, she asked, “Will you be coming with us?”

She laughed. “No, Highness, I’m no warrior. But old Hakone taught me how to provision an army. We saw your father and grandfather off to many a battle. You’ll have all you need.”

“Thank you all. Whatever happens after this, I’m glad to have such friends with me.”

Fifteen hundred warriors seemed like a great force to Tobin as they rode out from Atyion that day. Ki and Lynx rode at her left, resplendent in their borrowed armor. Arkoniel looked awkward and uncomfortable in his mail shirt and steel cap, but Tharin had insisted. The priests who’d seen her transformation rode with them to bear witness in Ero. Captain Grannia and forty of her warriors rode proudly in the vanguard in front of them. Most were Nari’s age or Cook’s and had grey braids down their backs. They sang war songs as they rode, and their brave, clear voices sent a thrill through Tobin.

Tharin was her war marshal now, and introduced the other captains as they rode. Tobin knew some of them from previous visits. These men had all fought for her father and readily pledged themselves to her a second time, despite the strangeness of the situation.

Before they left the borders of Atyion, hundreds more from the southern steadings streamed out to join them—grizzled knights, farmers’ sons with polearms on their shoulders, and more women and girls, some still in skirts. Grannia sorted the women out, sending some back into the ranks and others home.

“I wish there’d been time to get word to Ahra,” Ki said, nodding at the women. “She and Una would want to be with you.”

“News of Ero must have traveled,” said Tharin. “I expect we’ll meet up with them sooner or later.”

They overtook other groups of warriors on their way to the city, alerted by Tobin’s northbound passage the previous day. They addressed her as Prince Tobin and no one disabused them of it.

Most of the bands were village militias, but just before sundown they were overtaken by Lord Kyman of Ilear, who had five hundred archers and two hundred mounted warriors at his command.