Lynn Flewelling - The Bone Doll's Twin

She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. “What would I worry about, pet?”

Tobin freed himself and turned for the hall, with Ki and Koni flanking him as if he was the lord of the house.

He faltered a little at the sight of ranks of strange soldiers standing at attention in the hall. Tharin and his men were there, too, but they looked like a rabble by comparison. Most of them had on their dirty work clothes instead of uniforms, and didn’t look nearly as grand as the others, who wore badges of red and gold on the breasts of their black tunics. He quickly looked them over; there were plenty with blond hair, but he saw no one in wizard’s robes.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, however, then he spied Brother peeping at him from behind one of the soldiers, a fair-haired man with cheeks reddened with the sun. Brother didn’t touch him, just stared until the man shifted his feet and cast a nervous look around.

Two men in richer dress stood in front of the soldiers, flanked by several servants and squires. The man in boots and dusty blue carried the silver horn and white baton of a King’s Herald. He stepped forward and bowed very low to Tobin. “Prince Tobin, may I present an emissary from your uncle, the king. Lord Orun, son of Makiar, Chancellor of the Treasury and Protector of Atyion and Cirna.”

Tobin went cold. Atyion and Cirna were his father’s lands.

Lord Orun stepped forward and bowed. He wore a short robe of vermilion silk with extravagantly cut sleeves edged with dangling gold beads. The skirts were embroidered with scenes of battle, but Tobin doubted this man had ever been a warrior. He was old and very tall, but soft and pale as a woman, with deep lines bracketing a thick, moist-looking mouth. He had no hair on his head at all; his wide hat of puffed silk looked like a cushion balanced on a boiled egg. He smiled at Tobin with his thick lips, but not his eyes. “How I have longed to meet the son of Ariani and Rhius!” he exclaimed, coming forward to clasp Tobin’s hand. His huge hands were unpleasantly cool and moist, like mushrooms.

“Welcome,” Tobin managed, wanting to pull away and run back up the stairs.

Orun’s eyes slid to Ki and he leaned toward him. “And who is this fellow, my prince? Your huntsman’s boy?”

“This is Prince Tobin’s squire, Kirothius, son of Sir Larenth, a knight in the service of Lord Jorvai,” Tharin put in gruffly.

Orun’s smile slipped. “But I had thought-That is, the king was not aware that a squire had been chosen for the prince.”

“Duke Rhius blessed the bond some time ago.”

Tharin spoke respectfully, but Tobin sensed an unspoken tension behind the exchange.

Lord Orun stared at Ki a moment longer, then motioned to the herald.

The herald laid his baton at Tobin’s feet, bowed again, and produced a rolled parchment heavy with seals and ribbons. “Prince Tobin, I bring word from your uncle, King Erius.”

He broke the seals and unrolled the parchment with a flourish. “From Erius of Ero, King of Skala, Kouros, and the Northern Territories, to Prince Tobin of Ero at Alestun Keep, written this the ninth day of Shemin month.

“Nephew, it is with a heavy heart that I write to you of the death of your father, our beloved brother Rhius. Your father was my most valued commander and while his death was a noble one, befitting a warrior, words cannot convey my despair at his loss.

“In honor of your mother’s dear memory-may Astellus guide her spirit to peace-and for the love I bear you, my nearest kin, I acknowledge you as my ward until you attain the age to govern the holdings left you by your esteemed parents and take your father’s place among my councilors. I appoint my trusted servant, Lord Orun, to oversee the stewardship of your lands until you reach the age of twenty-one years and I send him to act as your guardian until I return to Skala.

“I have instructed Lord Orun to escort you to Ero, where you shall take your rightful place among my son’s Royal Companions. It is my fondest wish that you will be a beloved brother to Prince Korin and he to you. In the Companions you will be trained to take your place at his side when he comes to rule, just as your father served me.

“How I long to embrace you again, as I did the night of your birth! Pray for our victory in Mycena.”

The herald looked up. “It is signed and sealed, ‘Your most loving and affectionate Uncle, Erius of Ero, King of Skala.’ My prince, here ends the message.”

Everyone was looking at Tobin, expecting some response, but his tongue had fixed itself to the roof of his mouth. When Tharin had said they’d go to Ero, he’d pictured himself riding with his friends to the house of his birth, or perhaps to grand Atyion.

He looked at his so-called guardian again, already hating the man. Anyone could see that this was no warrior, just a fat, sweating pig with eyes like two dried currants pressed into dough. The arrival of the soldiers hadn’t frightened him at all; the thought of this man taking him away left him sick and cold all over. No! he wanted to cry out, but he was struck dumb as a stone.

Brother answered for him. Moving more quickly than even Tobin could follow, he snatched the scroll from the startled herald’s hand and ripped it in two, then knocked off Lord Orun’s silly hat. His servants scattered, some chasing the hat, others running for cover.

A strong wind swirled out of nowhere, whipping the soldiers’ hair into their eyes and snatching away badges and daggers. Some of the guardsmen flinched and broke formation. Lord Orun let out an unmanly squeal and dove for cover under a nearby table. Tharin’s men laughed aloud and Tobin nearly joined in, grateful for once for Brother’s tricks. Instead, he found his voice and shouted, “Enough!”

Brother ceased instantly and came to rest by the shrine, watching Tobin. The spirit’s face showed no emotion, but in that shared moment Tobin sensed that Brother was ready to do murder for him.

What would he do to Orun if I asked? Tobin wondered, then hastily pushed the unworthy thought away.

Tharin’s men were still laughing. The chagrined guardsmen muttered among themselves and made warding signs as they moved back into formation. Among the few who’d stood fast was the blond man Brother had pointed out to him. He was watching Tobin with a smile that showed only in his eyes. Tobin didn’t know what to make of that, except that he already liked him better than Lord Orun, who was currently being helped out from under the table by his servants.

“I welcome you as guests in my house,” Tobin began, trying to make himself heard.

“Silence for the prince!” Tharin roared in a battlefield voice, making even Tobin jump. Silence fell and everyone turned their way.

“I welcome you as guests in my house,” Tobin said again. “Lord Orun, I extend to you the courtesy of my hearth. My servants will bring you water and wine. Your men can rest themselves in the meadow until a meal is prepared.”

Orun bristled visibly. “Young sir, the king’s orders—”

“Have taken Prince Tobin by surprise, my lord. He is still mourning the loss of his father,” Tharin interrupted. “I’m certain the king would not wish his only nephew discomforted further.” He leaned his head close to Tobin, as if listening to some whispered order, then turned back to Orun. “You must allow his highness to withdraw for a time and meditate on his uncle’s words. He will attend you when he has rested.”

Orun recovered enough to make a passable bow, though there was no mistaking the suppressed outrage in his face. Tobin stifled another laugh. Turning his back on the courtier and his men, he strolled up the stairs as nonchalantly as he could manage. Ki and Tharin followed. Behind him, he could hear Tharin’s second in command, old Laris, barking out orders for the visitors’ accommodations.