The Broken Blade (27 page)

“What means the throned by sending terms?” asked a voice.

Eamon looked up and for a moment his heart froze, for Feltumadas came storming into the pavilion, his voice full of outrage. Feltumadas was accompanied by three other Easter lords – two of whom appeared to be twins – along with two of Hughan's generals. Though Eamon remembered almost at once that the man sweeping past him was truly Feltumadas he felt a flicker of fear run through his veins.

“Terms, indeed!” Feltumadas spat.

It was then that the Easter lord suddenly stopped, looked once to Hughan and his allies, and then back to Eamon with an astonished stare. “You!”

“Me,” Eamon offered.

“
You
are Right Hand?” Feltumadas asked. Eamon was about to reply when Anastasius spoke.

“He is without his colours,” he said.

Eamon met their gazes. “I have my colours. Indeed, I promised you, Lord Anastasius, that when next we met, you would see me wear them truly.”

“I see a good deal of black, Lord Goodman.” Anastasius peered at him with interest. “What say you to that?”

“Little,” Eamon answered. Gently he reached up to the fastening of his cloak and undid it, before setting his hands to his black robes. He pushed back the weaves of black to reveal what he wore beneath. He had had to search long among his things to find it, had feared even that it might be lost in one of the many changes of quarters he had made since he had first bought it, but he had found it. As the Easter lords looked at him, their eyes grew wide.

For beneath his thick travelling cloak and darkling robes, Edelred's Right Hand wore a shirt of blue. It was still torn where the King's emblem had been ripped away at a ball so long ago, but the shirt's colour shone unrepentantly in the torchlight.

Eamon looked up to meet Anastasius's gaze – he, Leon, Ithel, Feltumadas, and the remaining Easters and generals stared at him in surprise. Hughan smiled.

“You are a man of your word, Lord Goodman,” Anastasius said at last, a delighted smile on his face.

“Are you the man who struck off my head?” Feltumadas asked.

“Yes,” Eamon answered.

Suddenly Feltumadas's fierce face broke into a smile uncannily like his father's. “You excelled yourself in boldness that day, First Knight,” he said, “and I thank you for it.”

Eamon stared at him. Feltumadas nodded once, then looked to Hughan. “What is this I hear of terms, Star?” he asked.

“They are here,” Hughan answered, gesturing to the paper still in Eamon's hands.

“The throned does not ask much,” Ithel put in. But for the glint to his eye, Eamon might have taken his words seriously.

“The Star's withdrawal, humiliation, oath of service, and blood of his first-born child?” Feltumadas asked.

“He stops a little short of that, brother,” Ithel replied. “But only a little.”

Feltumadas turned to Eamon and took the terms. He read them quickly, his face turning from one shade of disgust and outrage to another. He soon looked up with an angry laugh.

“I don't believe it!” he cried, and looked to Hughan. “You would hear my counsel, Star of Brenuin?”

“I know your counsel, good Feltumadas,” Hughan answered. He looked up to include each of his generals and allies in his gaze. “I believe I know what you would all counsel me.”

“We will follow your command, sire,” Leon told him, “whatever our counsel.”

“You cannot take these terms!” Feltumadas insisted.

“They are not terms unless in name,” Eamon told them. “He wants you to fight, Hughan. He is waiting for you with… with terrifying eagerness.” He felt the eyes of the others on him and turned again to Hughan. “He has had me with him day by day, and I have seen him; I have heard his thoughts. All that matters to him is that you fight.”

Silence fell. Hughan looked at them one by one. “We did not come here to be bound to Edelred,” he said. “Nor did we come to let his desire for battle turn us from it.”

Eamon matched his gaze. “Then, sire, you may have need of this.”

Every eye was on him as he reached deep into his robes and shirt and quietly drew out the map that he had brought from Dunthruik. He unfolded it and laid it on the table with the terms, smoothing
the creases and gazing down at the city. A strange feeling moved through his heart; of pity and sorrow that the streets and stones would have to bear the violence which he knew to come.

“This map was drawn by a fine cadet. It is the most detailed of the city that exists. When you prepare for battle – and that must be early, with the first light – you must beware an initial charge from the cavalry in the north. It will take us a long time to deploy our men onto the field; they will all come from the Blind Gate. Make as much use of that time as you can.”

“And you are certain about all this?” Leon asked suspiciously.

“I am the Right Hand,” Eamon answered quietly, “and I presided over the council where Dunthruik's plan of battle was decided. The cadet who drew this map served me while he lived. I have walked through the Blind Gate many times and know well its width. The city also has some form of artillery – something I believe to be beyond mere engines. I know no more of it than that and so I say: be wary.”

An odd look crossed Anastasius's face, but Hughan nodded firmly. “Thank you, Eamon,” he said.

“There is another matter that I must speak to you about,” Eamon added, meeting the King's gaze. “It concerns the Nightholt.”

Hughan watched him for a moment and then nodded.

“Would you have us leave you?” Anastasius asked.

“Thank you, Lord Anastasius.”

Together the Easter lords left the tent and, at a nod from Hughan, Leon and the other generals went with them. Eamon watched anxiously as they left and then looked back to Hughan.

“Anastasius knows a little about the Nightholt,” Hughan said quietly. “I received your message. Know that Mr Grennil and his family are safe, and delivered your message well.”

A weight fell from him. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for sending him,” Hughan answered.

“You may not thank me for what I have done,” Eamon spoke nervously. “The Nightholt was found. I found it, a long time ago,
but some Hand withheld it from the Mast… the throned. I took it to him.” He shivered, feeling its weight on his hands and fire in his flesh. “I gave it to him. Since then…”

“He has been waiting for me.”

“Yes.”

Hughan gently touched his shoulder. “Peace.”

“It is the greatest treachery I have done you!” Eamon replied. “The curse of my blood came upon me in that hour, Hughan! How can I have peace? I made myself his in doing it.”

“How long must you believe him? You know he is a liar set against you. You are not his, First Knight,” Hughan answered firmly. “Your heart is true and your blood is not cursed.”

“Don't you know what the Nightholt is?” Eamon yelled and then he fell awkwardly silent. “Hughan, I'm sorry.”

Hughan measured and then calmly matched his gaze. “I know what it is,” he said, “and what was perverted to make it.”

Eamon breathed out in awe. “Then there
is
another?”

“There is no other Nightholt,” Hughan told him. “That I see you know – or have guessed. But there is what is called the King's Covenant. It was made long before Edelred or I walked these lands, by the first King of the house of Brenuin. By it, and the promise that preceded it, the River Realm was granted to that house.”

“This Covenant… granted the kingship,” Eamon guessed in a whisper.

“Yes. It joined King and land and people together in faith and promise and service. The house of Brenuin held one copy, and the second was kept by the bookkeepers; any man could go to them to see and read it.”

“What happened?” Eamon asked.

“When Ede was killed, one copy of the King's Covenant was destroyed – the Nightholt had been based upon it. With its destruction and Ede's death, Edelred used his Nightholt to claim the throne.”

Eamon's heart sank. “Then… he has a rightful claim to the River?” Memories of Edelred's fond caresses almost choked him.

“No,” Hughan replied. “For however hard he sought by the slaying of men and the penning of words to claim it, my house has not surrendered its authority to him – and the second copy of the King's Covenant still exists.”

Eamon's eyes fell in horror to the broad scroll that he had delivered. “
‘All rights of blood and oath…'
” The words murmured past his lips before he realized it. He looked up in horror. “That's why he wants you.”

“I am the last of the house,” Hughan answered. “He believes that if I cede to him, or if I am killed, then he will have his victory at last.”

“Believes?”

Hughan looked at him. “There are things deeper than land or sea, higher than the soaring heavens and truer than light in a faithful heart, about which Edelred understands nothing, and of which a King is but a shadow. The King's Covenant is proof of those things, for it came from them. Even if he killed me and destroyed the King's Covenant, Edelred could not undo those things – or rewrite his Nightholt, as perhaps he hopes.”

Eamon stood, stunned. “You knew all this?” he asked at last.

“About the Nightholt? Yes, although the bookkeepers didn't realize that it was an actual book until your message reached us.”

“Why didn't you warn me?” Eamon gaped. “I could have done something!”

“What would you have done?”

“I'd have found a way to bring it to you –”

“You'd have lost your life doing so,” Hughan told him firmly. “That was not a price I was willing to pay.” Eamon was taken aback. “Suppose you had brought me the Nightholt when you and Mathaiah found it – what would it have changed? Edelred would still be hunting me. Destroying his book would not destroy his hunger for my blood or his belief that he could eradicate the Covenant. But you could have been discovered and killed. Who would then be bringing me vital information on the eve of battle? Who would have defended Dunthruik in these last months of darkness?”

Eamon couldn't answer. Had he not betrayed Hughan in delivering the Nightholt to Edelred?

Seeming to read his thought, the King looked deep into his eyes. “Eamon Goodman, take courage: you are the last heir of a house that has defended mine since the promise was spoken and there was a house of Brenuin to defend. You are my First Knight, the sword that goes before the star. You are the broken blade turned true.”

Eamon's jaw dropped. Ashway's prophecy! How did Hughan know of it?

Heart pounding, Eamon swallowed. Hughan clasped his shoulder.

“I know you are true,” the King continued, “and Dunthruik will see that when the battle comes.”

Eamon breathed deeply. “When the battle breaks, I will come to you,” he said. “I will bring as many as I can with me.”

“I know.”

He did not yet know how he would do it. “Is Lillabeth here?” Eamon asked suddenly.

“Yes.”

“Does she… does she know about Mathaiah?”

“I have told her. Thank you for sending word of it.”

Eamon laughed bitterly. “She cannot have thanked me. His death is of my doing. They learned that he could read the Nightholt because of me, and one whom I trusted.”

“Lady Turnholt?” Hughan asked.

Eamon looked at him in surprise. “Yes,” he said. “Alessia Turnholt.” The name came ruefully from his lips.

“Eamon.” Hughan's voice was quiet but arresting. “There is something that you must know.”

Eamon looked at him. Though he loved the King and knew that the King loved him in return, he felt suddenly afraid.

“What must I know?”

“She is here.”

His whole world stopped. “Alessia?” he repeated dumbly.

“Yes.”

“But she… she… she went…”

“She was held and tortured by the Right Hand before being sent to the city's pyres,” Hughan told him, “where she was found by men loyal to me. She is under my protection,” he added, “and she is safe.”

“How can this be?” Eamon breathed. Anger grew in his voice as he gaped at Hughan. “How can you keep her here? She betrayed –”

“She gave account to me of what she did,” Hughan answered quietly, “and I gave her my forgiveness.”

Eamon stared. “
Forgiveness?
”

“She has borne much, Eamon,” Hughan told him, “and much for you. What she did for love of you, she did for me also.”

Eamon's chest felt suddenly too small to hold his anger and anxiety. What had Alessia ever done out of love for him?

He trembled. Had she really been tortured and sent to the pyres? Or had she lied to Hughan, as she had lied to him?

Could Hughan have been deceived?

“I am not you, Hughan,” he whispered, tired by grief and anger. “I do not know that I can forgive her.”

“I understand,” Hughan replied gently. “Do not let her presence here weigh on you, but know that she is here.”

They watched each other for a long moment. Eamon felt the depth of the King's gaze upon him as though he looked into the starry sky, and marvelled at it.

“I am glad you're here, Hughan,” he breathed.

“As I am glad of you,” the King answered. “But you cannot linger, First Knight.”

“I know.”

Hughan moved across to one of the trunks nearby. He opened and drew an object out of it. It was wrapped in lengths of blue cloth. Coming back to Eamon, the King extended it towards him.

“Cover your colours,” he said. Eamon did so. “Take this, and this answer, back to Edelred. Tell him,” he continued, laying the
bundled object into Eamon's hands, “that the Source has been taken. The Star is constant and does not yield. Neither shall I.”