Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (16 page)

But Resarian was dead.

Haden backhanded Trevin.

Trevin tumbled sideways, tasting blood, his head and neck glittering with pain. Two horsemen jerked him to his feet, and Haden swept the sword to Trevin’s throat. “I believe this is yours,” he hissed.

Varic calmly retied the silver mesh around his waist. “Main Trevin is wanted for murder in Camrithia. I was sent to bring him back to the gallows. If only I had found him sooner—”

Fury shot through Trevin like a pike. “Liar!” He wrestled against the grip of the horsemen. “Dregmoorian filth! You’re the murderer!” He would strangle Varic. Pummel him to death. Feed his carcass to draks.

“You see? He’s a raging madman,” said Varic. “I can help you hang him here and now. Or I can take him off your hands and haul him back to Camrithia.”

“We have our own justice,” growled Haden, backing away from Trevin. “Our gallows work as well as those in Camrithia. You may follow us and add the Camrithian charges to ours. Our court will want to hear what happened.”

“Of course,” said Varic. “You’ll want to hear from the guide who helped me track Main Trevin. We heard angry voices and rushed in just as the prince was attacked. The prince’s horse spooked and ran, and my guide rode after it.”

“Scum!” yelled Trevin. “You had no guide.”

“Too blinded by rage to see him?” Varic mounted his horse. “I’ll go find him. He’ll meet you at the Eldarran court. As for me, I’m expected to report back to King Laetham. I’ll assure him that the murderer was hanged.”

He rode away as the horsemen bound Trevin to the gnarled trunk of a scrub tree.

The wind gusted. Haden turned back to the prince, moaning, “It’s my fault.” He hugged the prince and rocked back and forth. “My fault. My fault.”

My fault
, thought Trevin. Large drops of rain plopped onto the dry ground. As Dio and Haden cloaked the prince’s body, Trevin sank until only the ropes held him upright. His terror-dream rose to meet him. The cloaked figure. The searing flash. The blood.

Trevin felt numb, mind and body. His thoughts would not connect to make any sense. Not even when Pym rode up on his roan, leading Almaron. Not when Pym spoke to him. Not when the horsemen led him to Almaron with his hands bound. Guilt lay as heavy as a cloak of stone around his shoulders as Prince Resarian’s wide-eyed death happened again and again in his mind. A true comain would have struck the final blow at Varic. A true comain would have saved the prince’s life.

As the group headed out of the canyon, rain pelted down.

For two days and two nights, Trevin rode bound in the midst of the horsemen as they carried their fallen prince west into Eldarra. He was aware of Pym at his side, caring for the horses and trying to coax his comain to take food and water, but Trevin had no will to eat or drink. His entire quest was for naught. He had destroyed the chance of a secure alliance with Eldarra and hampered the search for the comains and harps. But the deepest wound to his soul was the thought that he would never see Melaia again.

Like a tide, waves of hopelessness rushed in and out of Trevin’s mind, crashing against a constant, immovable cliff of grief and shock. His failure to handle Varic’s confrontation had caused the prince’s death. He had held the blade. His hands were stained with the prince’s blood.

From the border of Eldarra to the capital city of Flauren, news of Resarian’s death outpaced the horsemen. By the time the riders entered the palace city, black flags flew from towers, and black cloth draped market stalls. Mourners lined the road, and people spoke in hushed tones.

Guards hauled Trevin straight to the dungeon. They took his pouch, belt, and harp pendant and insisted Pym remain outside the small, damp cell while they locked the barred door. Trevin curled up in a corner and closed his eyes.

“Don’t worry about Almaron,” called Pym. “I’ll take good care of him. And I’ll make sure you get food and fresh water. As you’ve seen, the whole land is in mourning, but as soon as they can turn their thoughts to you, I’ll speak on your behalf.” He paused. “I have to go now. When I return, I’ll ask you to tell me what happened.” He paused again. “Flustrations, Trevin. Do you hear me?”

Trevin made no answer. He despised himself. He was better off being hanged right here, right now. He heard Pym sigh and trudge away. He remembered the dungeon at Redcliff when Melaia had balked at rescuing him. She was right. He should have died there. He drew his cloak tight and fell into a fitful doze.

Some time later Pym returned with food and water. “The prince’s body will be buried tomorrow.” He scooted bread and soup toward Trevin.

Trevin turned away. He wanted only to sleep.

“You could at least tell me what happened,” said Pym. “How can I speak for you if I know nothing?”

Trevin hid his face in his hands. What could he say? His bloodguilt went back to the foothills of Aubendahl, and now he would pay for it.

He heard Pym pacing the cell. Then the door scraped open, and Pym left.

That night Trevin’s terror-dream returned in full force. The cloaked, hooded figure lunged at him with a dagger, and he could not fight back. He awoke in a sweat, his right hand throbbing. He clutched his hand to his chest and shivered uncontrollably.

or a week Trevin’s lone daily visitor was Pym, who brought food and water. At first Trevin refused it, but he finally grew too weak to resist when Pym dripped broth onto his tongue or squeezed water into his mouth from a cloth. He felt ashamed of being suckled like a baby for the sole purpose of staying alive long enough to go to the gallows.

Each day Pym scratched a mark on the cell wall with charcoal so Trevin could keep track of time. But Trevin didn’t care about time. Even if he were acquitted, which was unlikely, his time for seeking comains and harps would be gone.

On the eighth day Pym brought news that the king’s council had taken up Trevin’s case. “They allow me to attend their gatherings,” he said. “I’ve put in a good word for your character, but I can’t answer their questions about what happened the day their prince died. Only you can do that.” Pym stared at him with eyebrows raised.

“They’d not believe me,” Trevin croaked.

“Mysteries and miracles!” said Pym. “You’ve found your tongue, you have.” He tugged Trevin to a sitting position and squatted in front of him. “You said they’d not believe you. You’re half-right. Some will find no satisfaction for their grief until the prince’s murderer is punished, and they’re so set on comforting themselves with revenge, they willingly believe you’re guilty.”

Trevin closed his eyes. Varic had won. The Eldarrans would do his dirty work for him.

“Wait!” said Pym. “I said you’re half-right. Which means you’re half-wrong. Some on the council support you. They believe you’re innocent.”

Trevin opened his eyes and snorted. “Who?”

“Dio was the first to stand for you.”

“Dio is a bard,” said Trevin. “He can’t be on the council.”

“Eldarran law requires all kinds of folk to be on the council.”

Trevin’s hands trembled as he brought the cup of broth to his lips.

Pym pulled a piece of bread from his pouch. “Eat this. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

Trevin nibbled on the edge of the sharp-tasting bread, set it aside, and shut his eyes. He was grateful for Pym’s support, but it was of no use.

When Trevin heard the clank of the cell door, he roused. Pym strode in, followed by Dio and Haden.

Trevin tried to read Haden’s face. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his jaw was clenched. Trevin ran a hand through his hair and attempted to rise.

“Stay seated,” said Pym. “We want you to regain your strength.”

“For that purpose we bring you a gustatory gift, so to say.” Dio opened a pack and pulled out four cups and a jug of ale. “Except for drink, I see you have all the comforts of the palace. The palace pigsty, that is.” He handed out the cups and filled them.

Haden sat on the floor across from Trevin and looked him firmly in the eye. “It was your sword.”

Trevin looked down at his cup. “It was.”

“The only tale being told is Prince Varic’s,” said Haden. “I want to hear you tell it.”

“Is Varic here?” asked Trevin.

“No, but Main Catellus is,” said Pym. “He claims he was Varic’s guide, and his story matches Varic’s. He says you flew into a rage because Prince Resarian rode your horse.”

“That’s a lie,” said Trevin. “Catellus wasn’t there.” He leaned his head back against the cold wall. “Even if I’m acquitted here, I’ll never be allowed to return to Redcliff after Varic spreads his story.”

“Flustrations!” said Pym. “Did you think I’d let that happen unopposed? I sent the swiftest Eldarran rider to Redcliff with a warning about Varic’s lies. I didn’t know the true story, but I knew the lie he would carry back.”

“You’ve left us with little to tell the council,” said Dio. “Only a modicum
of a message, a snippet of support, so to say. How can I write a true and proper ballad of the last adventures of the prince”—his voice broke—“unless I know what really happened?”

Pym paced the cell. “If you don’t give another view of it, the lie will win.”

Haden leaned forward. “You say Varic lied, you say Catellus lied, but you held the sword. I saw it with my own eyes.” His gaze bored into Trevin. “What’s the truth?”

“The truth is, I failed Resarian.” Trevin stared into the grimy shadows of the cell, but in his mind he saw Resarian sitting on the boulder.

He cleared his throat and gave his account. By the time he finished, all heads were bowed.

Haden stared at his folded hands. “Catellus says otherwise.”

“I’ve never even seen Catellus,” said Trevin.

“Did
you
see Catellus in the canyon, Haden?” asked Dio. “I didn’t.”

Haden shook his head. When he looked up, his eyes were moist. “What you say makes sense, Trevin, but Catellus’s report makes sense too. I’ll have to weigh it. However, I assure you that the council will hear your story when it meets this evening.”

Trevin rubbed his right hand. “I doubt anyone on the council will believe me.”

“I believe you,” said Dio.

“And I.” Pym held his head high. “I’m a visiting member of the council.”

Trevin half smiled in spite of himself. “Then only two on the council will believe me.”

“You judge Eldarrans harshly,” said Haden. “The council has no desire to hang an innocent man. We want to weigh our choices and make a just decision. We’ll consider both sides overnight, and your case will be put to a vote tomorrow.”

They drained their cups, and then Haden and Dio took their leave.

Pym sat on the floor beside Trevin and drew a small pouch out of a fold of his waist sash. “This came for you from Redcliff in answer to my message.”

Trevin took the soft leather pouch, drew it open, and removed an object wrapped in cloth. He laid it in his palm and carefully unwrapped it. “A dried apricot,” he said, his throat tightening.

“One apricot?” asked Pym. “That will hardly fill your belly.”

“It’s not meant to fill my belly but my heart,” said Trevin.

Pym rolled his eyes. “That makes all the sense in the world.”