Lynn Flewelling - Hidden Warrior

Kyman was a huge, red-bearded old lord, and his scabbard showed the scars of many campaigns. He dismounted and saluted Tobin. “I knew your father well, my prince. It’s an honor to serve his son.”

Tobin bowed, muttering her thanks. Arkoniel gave her a wink, then drew Kyman aside for a moment. Tharin and the priests joined them and Tobin saw the priestess of Illior display her palm, as if for emphasis.

“I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone?” Tobin muttered nervously.

“It’s no good lying to the lords,” said Ki. “Looks like he and Tharin are old friends, though. That’s a good start.”

When Arkoniel and Tharin had finished Kyman turned and stared at Tobin a moment, then strode over and looked up into her face, which was somewhat obscured by her helmet. “Is this true?”

“It is, my lord,” she replied. “But I’m still Scion of Atyion and my father’s child. Will you fight with me for Skala’s sake, though sooner or later it may mean opposing the king?”

The man’s coppery brows shot up. “You haven’t heard, then? The king is dead. Prince Korin holds the Sword.”

Tobin’s heart sank; she’d clung to the hope that she wouldn’t have to oppose Korin and the other Companions directly. There was no escaping it now.

“Your claim to the throne is as good as his for those who remember the Oracle,” Kyman told her. “We’ve heard of you, you know. There’ve been rumors for years among the country folk of a queen who’d come and lift the curse from the land. But I didn’t think there were any girls of the blood left.” He jerked a thumb at Arkoniel and the priests. “It’s a strange tale they tell, but there’s no mistaking you as your father’s blood. And I don’t imagine you’d have the might of Atyion behind you, or my old friend Tharin either, if they didn’t have good reason to believe you are what they say.”

He dropped to one knee and presented his sword. “So my answer is yes. Let Ilear be the first to rally to your banner, Majesty.”

Tobin accepted the blade and touched him on the shoulders as Erius had with Ki. “I don’t claim the title of queen yet, but I accept, for Skala’s sake, and Illior’s.”

He kissed the blade and took it back. “Thank you, Highness. I pray you’ll remember Ilear and the house of Kyman kindly when you do wear the crown.”

They stopped at sundown to eat and rest the horses, then marched on. A waxing moon peered out from behind scudding clouds, turning the muddy high road into a ribbon of black before them.

By midnight they could see a faint red glow in the southern sky above the black outlines of the hills; the city was still burning. Tharin sent a scouting party ahead to find the enemy’s outlying posts. Among the ranks people were singing softly to keep themselves awake.

Weary as she was, Tobin’s mind grew clearer as the night wore on. With an odd, dreamlike sense of detachment, she felt herself settling into this strange new body. Her arms and legs were no different, except for the annoying softness of her hands. Lytia had given her gloves for that. Her breasts, though small, had grown tender, and she was aware of them rubbing against the padded shirt under her hauberk.

The different fit of the saddle beneath her was the most disturbing change, not to mention the inconvenience of both trousers and a newfound modesty when she had to relieve herself. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to examine that part of her body too closely. She resented not being able to take a piss properly, but all the same, it should have felt more like something was—lacking, that empty space in her trousers. Yet it didn’t.

Arkoniel and Tharin treated her no differently than they ever had, and Ki was trying, but Lynx was still stealing sidelong glances. It was unsettling, but a good sign, in its way. It was the first time since Orneus’ death that she’d seen him show interest in anything except getting himself killed.

Motioning for Ki to stay behind, she drew Lynx away from the main column.

“If you’ve changed your mind—If you can’t go against Korin, I’ll understand,” she told him again. “If you want to go back to him, I won’t let anyone stop you.”

Lynx shrugged. “I’ll stay, if you’ll have me. I wonder what Nik and Lutha will do?”

“I don’t know.” But inwardly she quailed at the thought of her friends turning away.

Niryn strode across the echoing audience chamber to the throne accompanied by half a dozen of his remaining wizards and a phalanx of his Guard. A pigeon had come from Atyion just before nightfall bringing news of support, and the defenders had rallied.

Niryn had received word from his own spies there and meant to undo that slight hope.

Defeat sat heavily on the prince. Drawn and unshaven, Korin sat uneasily on his father’s throne. He held the great Sword, but the crown remained on a small stand beside him, veiled in black. Chancellor Hylus and the other remaining ministers were with him, together with the tattered remains of his personal guard and Companions.

Niryn counted only eight Companions where there had once been nineteen. Sheltered as they had been at court all these years, they were no longer boys. He scanned their faces, making a quick evaluation. Alben and Urmanis would prove loyal. So would Lord Caliel, though this one was an unwelcome influence on the new king; Niryn marked him to be dealt with later. That left only Hylus’ bookish grandson, the homely one called Lutha, and a handful of squires who could be counted on, for good or ill, to follow their lords.

And Master Porion , he amended. The old warrior had some influence over the prince, as well, and would bear watching.

Reaching the dais, he bowed to Korin. “I bring grave news, Majesty! You have been betrayed.”

Hectic color rose in Korin’s pale cheeks. “What’s happened? Who’s turned on us?”

“Your cousin, and by the foulest of means.” Niryn watched the play of doubt and fear across the young man’s face. Touching his mind, Niryn found it wine-tinged, weak, and receptive. Others among his Companions were not so ready to believe him, however.

“Tobin would never do that!” Lutha cried.

“Silence!” Hylus ordered. “Explain yourself, Lord Niryn. How can this be?”

“The Lightbearer granted me a vision. I could not bring myself to believe it at first, but I’ve just received word that I saw true. Prince Tobin raised the garrison at Atyion against your liegeman, Solari, and murdered him and his family. He then employed some sort of necromancy to put on woman’s form and declared himself the true heir of Skala by right of the Afran Oracle. Even now he marches against Ero with a host of thousands.”

“What lunacy is this?” Hylus gasped. “Even if the boy was capable of such treachery, the captains of Atyion would never believe such a story, much less side with the enemy! You must be mistaken, Niryn.”

“I assure you, I’m not. Before sunset tomorrow you will see the proof for yourself.”

“No wonder he and that grass knight of his were so anxious to go over the wall,” Alben muttered.

“Shut your mouth!” Lutha flew at the older boy, knocking him sprawling.

“That’s enough!” Porion roared.

Caliel and Nikides wrestled Lutha off Alben and dragged him back.

Alben wiped blood from his mouth, and snarled, “He probably had this planned all along, he and that wizard woman of his. She was always sneaking in and out of his house.”

“Mistress Iya?” Nikides said. “She came and went openly. Besides, she was only a hedge wizard.”

“A bit more than that, perhaps,” said Hylus. “I know the woman, Prince Korin. She is a loyal Skalan, and I would swear by my own name that she is no necromancer.”