Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (11 page)

Prince Resarian rose, placed one foot on his tree stump, and drummed his fingers on his knee. “Main Trevin, you’ll not have to wait for your horse or your friend. I shall take you to Windsweep tomorrow.”

“I thought you wanted to see the Golden tomorrow,” said Haden.

“On the way to Windsweep.”

Haden scratched his ear and eyed Trevin. “Does your friend know Windsweep is your destination?”

Trevin nodded. “We planned to camp in the foothills tonight and reach Windsweep a day or two later.”

“In that case I wager he’ll meet up with you there.” Haden turned to the prince. “You’re in charge here, so Main Trevin will have to make his journey alone.”

“Horse dung!” said the prince. “Any of these men can keep this camp in order. I’m in
charge
, so I can
charge
someone to take my place while I’m gone, and I can
charge
myself to lead a quest to Windsweep.”

Inwardly Trevin groaned. An impulsive prince might slow him down.

“Supervising the encampment is no small task,” said Haden. “Prove you’re trustworthy here, and some day you’ll have your own quest.”

“I can prove I’m trustworthy by escorting Main Trevin to Windsweep,” said Resarian. “There and back. Simple.”

Haden peeled bark off a twig. “Resarian—”

“I’m going. You can come or not. We’ll stop to see the Golden.”

Haden tossed the twig into the fire. “All right. But if I say we turn back—for any reason—we turn back. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” The prince grinned, and so did Haden.

“If we stop to see the Golden, maybe I can get Almaron,” said Trevin. “Although now that he’s with his own, he may never want my company again.”

“If he won’t come now, you can ride my horse,” said Haden. “We’ll have someone bring your mount as soon as they’re sorted out.”

“An adventure!” The prince crowed. “Dio, come with us and put our journey to song. Oh, the stories we’ll tell Father and Mother when we return!”

“We’re not out for sightseeing,” Trevin warned. “King Laetham wants me back by the end of the season, so I can’t afford to lose time. Every day counts.” Not to mention that Melaia’s future hung in the balance, he thought. Maybe Dwin’s as well.

“Does King Laetham think an omen from Windsweep can solve his problems?” Haden looked amused. “Sounds to me as if he sent you on a charmed-owl hunt.”

“The king has also asked that I renew ties between Camrithia and Eldarra,” said Trevin. “He hopes the two kingdoms, once allies, might be so again.”

Haden nodded at Resarian. “Now
that
is a fitting task for a prince, Resarian. Introduce Main Trevin to the court at Flauren. Show him around. You could head there tomorrow.”

“I see through that ploy.” Prince Resarian laughed. “You’re trying to turn me from my quest. I’ll take Main Trevin to Flauren after I’ve shown him to Windsweep.”

“And I still need to search for my friend,” said Trevin.

“To Windsweep, then,” said the prince. “Maybe I’ll hear a word for Mother. She believes in oracles and omens and star watching. Sometimes at night she looks north from the tallest tower of the palace to the lights of Avellan in the sky. She says Avellan recedes. Which means the blight expands here in our world.”

Dio strummed a dissonant chord on his lyre and winced. “An enchanting tale, a fine fable, a thrilling drama, so to say.”

“Some tales are true,” said Resarian.

“Camrithia is beginning to experience the blight,” said Trevin. “But Avellan—your mother can see it?”

“I’ve seen it myself,” said Haden. “But not everyone believes the tales of Avellan.” He looked at Dio, who shrugged.

“I believe it,” said Resarian. “Can you see Avellan from the mountains, Uncle Haden?”

“On a clear night you can see it from Ledge Rock.” Haden drained his cup. “It’s only a bow shot from here.”

“It’s a clear night.” Prince Resarian swept up his cloak. “Let’s go see Avellan.”

“What about wolves?” asked Dio.

“We’ll take torches,” said Resarian.

“And daggers,” said Haden.

Ledge Rock, a bald protrusion of granite abutting a tree-topped hill, loomed higher than Trevin had imagined, like a giant camel’s hump under the broad sky. With Trevin and Haden carrying torches to ward off wolves, their small group climbed a moonlit path to the gently rounded summit of the rock.

“Watch your step.” Haden took the lead. “There’s a reason it’s called Ledge Rock.” He raised his torch, and Trevin could see that the rounded slope ended in a sheer drop.

“I’ll just sit here.” Dio retreated and plopped down four paces back. “Should’ve brought a cloak,” he muttered, rubbing his arms.

“Take mine.” Trevin slipped off his cloak and tossed it to the skinny jester.

Prince Resarian sat on the edge of the rock and dangled his legs over.

“Move back,” said Haden.

“I’m sitting,” said Resarian.

“I’m responsible for your safety.” Haden wedged his torch in a crevice. “If you want your parents to let you go on more adventures, don’t court danger.”

The prince scooted back.

Haden turned to Trevin. “I don’t take to courtly life and would have weaned Resarian long ago, filed the edge of nobility off him. But he
is
heir to the throne, so he’s under a mite more than normal protection.”

Trevin wedged his torch into a nearby crack, eying the prince, wondering what kind of king he would be.

“There!” Resarian pointed. “Barely above the horizon.”

“It’s easier to see on a moonless night.” Haden folded his arms over his chest and gazed across the hilly landscape.

“My mother says most of what we see is the veil, but beyond it lies the glow of Avellan.”

Trevin scanned the dark horizon. A wave of light rippled across the heavens like a gentle tide lapping the seashore. Pale colors—pink, yellow, green, blue—slowly swirled through white eddies, creating a sheer, billowing curtain. Trevin could barely make out a gold point beyond the veil.

“You seem to know a lot about Avellan,” said Trevin. “I’ve not met many people south of here who talk about it or study the stars.”

“The Erielyon live north of us,” said Haden. “And Queen Ambria has long been a friend of the Angelaeon.”

Trevin sank to the rock, never taking his eyes from the play of light. “As Avellan grows distant, does the veil recede too?”

“As the tale goes,” said Dio, “Avellan was once so near that the light covered the world like a blanket, a cloak, a second skin, so to say, held in place by the stairway to heaven. Climbing the stairway was known as crossing the veil. The queen claims the stairs will rise again when the stars of the beltway align to form a path for the stairs to follow.”

“Which happens once every two hundred years,” said Resarian. “Mother says when it happens next, heaven will be secured to the world once again. She watches for it.”

“Now its light plays in the distance like music, a heaven song, a shimmer of sounds,” mused Dio from where he sat behind them. “They say on a windy night you can hear the hum of light even here, but I’ve—”

His words ended in a scream.

Trevin turned as a wolf landed on Dio.

Haden grabbed the prince, and Trevin leaped onto the wolf, plunging his dagger between its ribs. As the wolf reared back, Haden sliced into its neck.

Trevin shoved the blood-soaked wolf aside and turned to Dio. He couldn’t tell if the blood that covered the jester belonged to Dio or the wolf, so he was heartened to hear Dio’s voice squeak, “Did he miss my vitals, my members, my innards, so to say?”

“Amazingly.” Haden inspected Dio’s slashed lyre. “Your shield saved your life. Maybe all of us should wear lyres.”

“Can I see?” Resarian sat on his haunches by Haden’s torch.

“Let’s get Dio back to camp,” said Haden. “He has some nasty-looking scratches.”

Trevin raised his torch and circled the wolf’s body. Tan fur, one black leg, gray eyes.

Varic’s dog.

revin lay awake in camp that night, wondering if Varic’s wolf dog had followed him on its own. Was Varic on his trail as well? What about Hesel and Fornian? For Melaia’s sake he hoped Varic had left Redcliff, but he bristled at the idea of Varic tracking him and Pym.

When at last Trevin fell asleep, his terror-dream engulfed him. A hooded figure. A flash of pain. Screams.

He awoke with a jerk, sweating, panting, his heart racing. But he had not cried out, for the camp slumbered on. He clasped the small harp that hung from his neck and tried to keep from tumbling back into the dream.

Trevin roused to a flurry of activity the next morning. While supervising a meal of flatbread, fruit, and dried beef, Prince Resarian divided his company into four groups. He instructed the first to search for Pym, the second to mind the wild horses, and the third to manage the campsite and tend to Dio’s wounds. Haden and Prince Resarian formed the fourth group, charged with the task of escorting Trevin to Windsweep to question the Oracle.

Midmorning, Haden, Resarian, and Trevin departed camp, riding three abreast, Trevin on a borrowed gelding, sleek and black. They galloped to the box canyon where the horsemen who ringed its cliffs counted the wild horses.

Trevin stood at the gate and watched the horses mill around the enclosure, flaring their nostrils. Almaron tossed his head as if saluting, but he stayed beside the Golden. The two stood tall, king and queen of the Windwings.

“You’ll have him again,” said Haden. “Windwings are a brilliant breed and loyal. We’ll cull him out and keep him safe for you.”

Prince Resarian climbed halfway up the fence. “I dream of someday riding a Windwing. Can you imagine soaring the skies like a bird?”

Trevin could almost imagine it. Riding Almaron full gallop across the plain was as near as he could come to flying.

He headed back down the stone corridor. “Blast!” he muttered. “I hate losing Almaron at a time when I most need his surefooted speed.”

Prince Resarian caught up with Trevin. “I’ve not had the pleasure of riding at a full gallop for any length of time. Such activity falls into the list of dangers from which my mother shields me. If not for Uncle Haden, I would not have been allowed to join the horsemen this year.”

Haden strode behind them. “We’ll not tell your parents how close the wolf came to you last night. They made me swear by the king’s crown I’d bring you back safe.”

The prince matched Trevin’s pace, his gangly arms swinging. “What were you doing at my age, Main Trevin?”

“How old are you?” Trevin asked.

“Fifteen.”

Trevin looked back at Haden. This boy was a man.

“I know,” said Haden.

“So what were you doing at fifteen?” asked the prince.

Trevin rubbed his scruffy beard. At fifteen he had been caught climbing down the wall of a caravansary, a bag of food and other loot in his hands, Dwin waiting below. They had seen a hawk but had ignored it until the bird landed and transformed into a man. Lord Rejius. It was his possessions Trevin held. The hawkman offered them a deal: he would spare their lives if they would serve him. So the hawkman gained a young informant at Redcliff.

Not an exemplary life. Better to start the account earlier.

“My parents died when I was nine,” said Trevin. “My younger brother and I were taken in by an old schoolmaster for a time.”

“I knew you were educated,” said Resarian.

“But we weren’t inclined to be scholars, so we joined a caravan and worked as donkey drovers. One trip was enough. We were easily hired away by the master of a traveling tent show.” He left out the fact that he and Dwin were hired for their sticky fingers and told to pick pouches for the master.

“It kept our bellies full,” said Trevin, “but it wasn’t the best way to live. As
it happened, one day the show master fleeced a nobleman who had connections with a visiting comain. In the ensuing melee, we ran and ended up in Redcliff.”

Prince Resarian halted at the corridor entrance, gaping at Trevin. “And now you’re a comain entrusted with a magnificent quest! Shall I not have a quest as well, Uncle Haden?”

“Main Trevin is not heir to the throne of Eldarra,” said Haden. “But if you’re worried I’ll make you go back to camp, you can breathe easy. I think you and I can afford to lend Main Trevin our company for a day or two before we turn back.”