The Broken Blade (50 page)

There was only one to whom he could go.

 

He staggered dizzily through the palace to find Hughan.

Hughan's meeting room was guarded by two grim-faced Easters; they fell back before Eamon as he burst into the chamber.

Hughan stood alone at the long table, gazing thoughtfully at a map of the River Realm. There was a collection of papers in his hands. He looked up and cast the papers down at once.

“Eamon,” he breathed. He swiftly crossed the hallway to him. Eamon could not breathe, could barely think, and did not feel the King's hands as they set themselves to his arms. “Eamon, what has happened?”

Eamon stared at the King for a long moment. His voice and sobs loosed in his throat.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he roared. “When I came with Edelred's terms before the battle and you told me she was alive – that she loved me! – why didn't you tell me what Arlaith had done to her?”

Hughan looked on Eamon with compassion. Eamon was vaguely aware of the gentle pressure of the King's hand on his arm.

“How would it have served you to know all of it on the eve of battle?” Hughan asked gently.

“I would have hurled Arlaith's bloody, lying, murderous corpse over the walls!” Eamon spat, screaming with fury.

“Yours would have been next.”

“You kept this from me!” Eamon yelled.

“Yes,” Hughan replied evenly. “All you needed to know then was that she was safe.”

Eamon tore himself away from Hughan, his mind filled with fury. “But she wasn't!” he howled. “She was in his hands the whole time! The whole time!”

“She was not in his hands, Eamon, when you came to me,” Hughan answered, “nor is she now, nor will she be again.”

“Bloody bastard!” Eamon cried. He stared at Hughan. “While he lied, and fawned to me,
me and my little heart
, he was…” A wordless sob leapt out of his throat. Had he chosen to return to this? “She won't let me speak to her! I wish he'd killed me, Hughan!”

Hughan fixed him with a firm gaze. “Do not speak such things over yourself, Eamon.”

“He might as well have killed me!” Eamon cried. “Look at me, Hughan!” he howled. “Look at me! Even dead he webs me in his schemes!”

His words struck up at the ceiling of the hall as though they might shatter it.

“He will have no victory over you, Eamon,” he said.

“No victory?” Eamon stared at him in outrage. “Will you mock me too?” he cried. “No victory? He beat her, breached her…” The word came in disgust from his mouth, for suddenly he knew that in breaching Alessia, Arlaith would have sought and seen anything that she and Eamon had ever shared. It filled him with horror that threatened to make his knees buckle. He imagined Arlaith's snide, laughing face, a voyeur of his every moment with the woman he had loved.

“He killed my child!” he cried. “And he stoked my hatred of her. And now she and I will never have peace. I should rather be dead than bear this. No victory? He has destroyed me, Hughan!” he howled. “He knew what he had done and knew even as he died that I could never undo it. There is his victory!”

“It is not his victory until you are defeated,” Hughan answered.

Eamon laughed bitterly. “Do I not look defeated to you?”

“Angry, grieved, anguished – yes. Defeated?” Hughan shook his head. “You are not that.”

Eamon stared at him, then gave another clipped laugh. “You don't understand,” he snarled. “How could you? I was a fool to come to you.”

“Those are his words you speak, Eamon,” Hughan told him, “and not your own.”

“Words? Words!” Eamon yelled. “You don't understand what he
did
to me!” A sob caught in his throat. “After all he had done to me, I couldn't even kill him –”

“How old are you, Eamon?” Hughan asked quietly.

Eamon stared at him. “You know how old I am,” he said.

“I think you may have forgotten it,” Hughan answered. “How old are you?”

“I will be twenty-four in the summer,” Eamon replied.

“And how long did you train with the Gauntlet before coming to Dunthruik?”

“Three years,” Eamon answered belligerently. He had been more than three years under Ladomer's watchful eye. “You know that, too!”

The King looked at him firmly. “Lord Arlaith had the experience and strength of long years, beyond the lifespan of men, and Edelred's mark,” he returned. “He was trained, and he was deft and sly, and he was swift and powerful. He had defeated many and his hands were well versed in battle.” The King's gaze searched Eamon's face. “And yet in you he met his match, because unlike any foe before you, Eamon, you held against him with your whole strength. That is no defeat! Your hope he never touched. He sought your life and you withheld it to the very last. He sought your courage and you held that, too. If he sought or took your heart, you may yet reclaim it.”

“How can I?” Eamon cried in anguish. There could be no words of apology and no forgiveness. There could be no undoing of the years of scheming and treachery wrought against him, no bringing back of dead babes or murdered fathers, nor any unweeping of tears. Eamon shook his head. “He took me to the grave with him. A dead man cannot serve you.”

Hughan watched him, then reached out and touched his shoulder. “Do you remember what I said to you, before we went into Edelred's chamber?”

Eamon swallowed. “That our houses… would stand or fall together.”

“We stood,” Hughan told him, “and I tell you, Eamon Goodman, that neither Edelred's power nor Arlaith's schemes have conquered you. To choose another First Knight would be to disown you – that I will not do, nor will I let you disown yourself by bowing to Arlaith's curses and treacheries. He will have no hold over you.”

“But he does,” Eamon sobbed, his aching voice a whisper.

“No hold but what you grant him.”

Eamon stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. “What?” he whispered.

“This is Arlaith's last trap for you,” Hughan told him gently. “He knew you, and he hoped that when you learned what he had done, the depth of your great heart would undo you. That is why he did not want you to see his memories.”

Remembering Arlaith's shrieks, Eamon shivered. “I don't understand.”

“At the end, Arlaith realized that the truth could also set you free. And it will.”

Eamon began to shake. “How can it?”

“Truth in a loving heart is more powerful than curses or death.” Hughan took him by the shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes. “Dear and beloved friend,” he said, “if you think that I will stand and let you fall into the jaws of this, then you know me not at all.”

Eamon shuddered tearfully. Hughan steadied him.

“You will overcome this,” he said. “You are my First Knight, Eamon, and I need you more now than ever. So does this city. Who would speak for the Gauntlet or defend the Hands? Who would set his whole heart with mine on the long and difficult road to peace that we now must face? Arlaith knew that it would be you. I say to you, arm your courage with the truth, and stand against him. Then you can make your house a house of peace.”

“I have no house!” Eamon cried, and he wept bitterly.

Gently Hughan reached out and drew Eamon into his arms, embracing him as he quaked and sobbed.

“Eamon,” he said gently, “speak to her.”

“I have tried. She will have none of me!”

“She was angry, as you have been angry. Anger ebbs. You cannot abandon hope.”

Eamon fell back and stared at him. “And what would I say to her? What words of mine can undo what she bore for me, or what I have done to her?”

“Would you have it undone?” Hughan asked.

“Yes,” Eamon wept.

“Then you will find the words – and she will come to a place where she is able to hear you. You will win each other again. And even at that time will you both go free of Arlaith's curse.”

Eamon looked at him and his grief subsided. He knew that the King spoke the truth.

“I will try again,” he whispered at last. “Though I do not know what I can say.”

“Your heart will lead you,” Hughan replied. “Words are not the only way.”

Eamon nodded and met the King's gaze again. They watched each other in silence for a long time. Birdsong echoed beyond the walls of the room.

“Thank you, Hughan,” he said at last.

“You have been hurt, and the road to undoing it is long, but you will be healed,” Hughan told him. “Do not lose hope in that.” Hughan watched Eamon a moment longer, then spoke again. “There was something I wanted to ask you, First Knight,” he said. “Indeed, I was about to send after you, but you have removed my need of that.”

“How may I serve you?” Eamon asked, looking at him curiously.

“I wanted to ask you if you would show me this city,” Hughan answered. “But not for politics or negotiations or food – I know far too much about those! Many have told me about the things you have done in Dunthruik for me,” he added, “but I want to hear your story, and see what you have seen. I wanted to ask you if you would show me the places you have lived and loved.”

A smile crept to Eamon's tear-stained face. “I would love to,” he whispered.

Eamon led the King through Dunthruik. To each quarter they went, along the roads and alleys that Eamon had known. He pointed out the places he had been. He told Hughan the long story of the rebuilding work to the quayside of the port, and of how the cadets and sailors had worked tirelessly to reset the stones to irk Cathair. He described the attack on the port, and its impact on the shops and vessels. He spoke about the grain hoarding, and showed Hughan the secret places where it had been stored. Eamon spoke also about the morning when the men whom he had saved from the Right Hand gave him a coin. Tears flooded his eyes as he remembered.

They went through the West, through the college and the roads. Eamon described the course and the bitter feuds between the groups of cadets who trained there. He spoke of his first meeting with Manners, of Alben, of Waite's scoreboard, of the Handbook classes. He talked at length about the majesties, gesturing with his hands to give a sense of how the people of Dunthruik processed up the Coll into the Royal Plaza. He spoke shyly of his amazement when he had been nominated as a Hand, and vividly about the long day that he and Mathaiah had spent scouring Dunthruik for a costume he could wear to the ball. He looked for the draper's shop where he had found the sword and star, but was not able to find it.

At the Four Quarters he paused for a long time, gazing down into the city. He described his first meeting with Anderas, and how he had seen Cartwright in the line of exiles, and he remembered the cart that bore Mathaiah away to the pyres. As he stood and looked
at the tall sides of the quarters, he remembered also that it was there the King had unbound the Nightholt.

Eamon took Hughan to the Crown and showed him every inch of the place of which he had been patron. He talked about the singers at length, and Ilenia in particular, and made special note of her song that had so struck him. He felt embarrassed to mention it, but Hughan encouraged him and nodded as he listened to Eamon recount the lyrics. They searched the Crown for Ilenia. Though they did not find her, they were told that she was well. Eamon introduced Hughan to Shoreham, who was still the theatre's director, and they spoke about the possibility of celebrations at the theatre after the coronation.

It was to the East Quarter that they went last of all. Eamon showed Hughan every street that he knew, the Grennils' home, the site of the ill-named “Goodman” inn, the fruit vendor's shop, the Crown office, and the house where the Lorentides had lived. They went to Tailor's Turn; some of the men and women whom Eamon had helped save were there. Eamon had great joy in introducing them to Hughan. The people spoke unreservedly about Eamon's courage until Eamon became red in the face with sheer embarrassment; but Hughan beamed to hear the stories of Lord Goodman, and all that he had done.

Lastly they went to the Ashen. As they arrived Eamon remembered his reception as a Quarter Hand, and recalled the day Cara had been flogged, and when Marilio had been taken to the pyres. He remembered bringing Arlaith to the quarter, the secret consignments of grain, the faces of the ensigns, the Hands, Ashway, and Anderas. He told Hughan about them all, and looked about the Ashen with clear sight.

“You love the East,” Hughan said with a smile.

“Yes,” Eamon answered. It had always been home to him. But the Ashen now belonged to the Easters. Indeed, Anastasius's men filled it. It was his home no longer.

Shaking off his sadness, he took Hughan through the square towards the Handquarter; large scaffolds had been set up around
it. Easters busily repaired the damage done to it and the college in the fire. Anastasius stood before the Handquarter steps in the Ashen, surveying the work. As Eamon and Hughan approached, he greeted them.

“The East welcomes you,” he said with a smile.

The comment stirred Eamon's memory further. For a moment he remembered the Gauntlet lined up in the square, receiving him. But when he looked up, only Anastasius stood before him.

“Repair work is coming on well,” Eamon commented.

“It is,” Anastasius replied. “The people of this quarter have much hope.”

Eamon smiled. “They always did.”

“I have been asked especially to preserve the dining room,” Anastasius told him with a wry smile. “It seems to be a location of some local interest. I am told that you once served a two-crown dinner there?”

“That was bold!” Hughan laughed.

Eamon flushed. “Everybody seems to know what a
faux pas
it was except for me. It was foolhardy,” he answered, “and I knew not my peril. But I had good men and fine servants to defend me from myself.”

“Your old household is here still,” Anastasius told him. Before Eamon could say another word, Anastasius turned to an aide and asked for the household to be summoned.

Those who had served Eamon in the East emerged from the building works: Slater, Cook, Cara, Callum, and a collection of stablehands. They looked confused at first. When they saw Eamon dressed in blue they paused uncertainly. Callum turned his head and peered across the distance, as if unsure of whom he saw.

Suddenly the boy gave a little squeal of delight and hurtled forward.

“You came back!” he cried. Eamon dropped to one knee to receive the child's overjoyed embrace.

“I promised I would,” he answered, and laughed as Callum's
small arms fixed about his neck with almost enough strength to throttle him. Anastasius arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.

The other servants came forward more cautiously. As Eamon rose to his feet with Callum still tangled about him, the child frowned at Hughan.

“Are you the King, sir?” Callum asked.

Hughan smiled kindly. “I am.”

“And you're his First Knight,” Callum said, looking back to Eamon.

Eamon smiled.

“I am,” he answered.

“Everyone's been talking about you!” Callum continued. “Can I ask you something?”

Eamon smiled broadly as he set Callum down again. “You can.”

“I was thinking about it the other day – it might have been yesterday, but I'm not sure…” He trailed off. “It doesn't really matter when it was. I asked Cara, and I asked Mr Cook, but they couldn't tell me the answer. Perhaps you can.”

“Perhaps I can,” Eamon grinned, “provided you ask me the question.”

Callum smiled sheepishly. “Is being the First Knight like being the Right Hand?”

An odd quiet fell. Eamon realized that he was not certain of the answer.

Hughan stepped forward and matched Callum's gaze with his own.

“It is not,” he said.

“Oh,” Callum murmured. He frowned. “I don't understand.”

Hughan held Callum's gaze for a long time. “When Edelred appointed a Right Hand,” Hughan said, “he did so on a whim, and on a whim he was dismissed – usually by death – whenever it pleased Edelred.” Hughan looked for a moment at Eamon. “The King's First Knight is always the First Knight as long as he lives. His duty is to speak truly and freely; in doing so he will serve the freedom of this city, this land, and our people.”

Callum beamed a great, satisfied smile and looked at Eamon. “That sounds better than being Right Hand, sir.”

Eamon laughed – a long, clear laugh, such as he had not laughed in many months.

“Yes, it does!” he said.

Anastasius stepped forward. “Star, there are a couple of matters on which I would speak to you,” he said, “and perhaps the First Knight would like to speak with his former servants?”

“Of course,” Hughan said. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen.” He smiled at Eamon and Callum. Each of them nodded and bowed.

Hughan and Anastasius walked into the Handquarter; Eamon looked to the servants. Laughing still, he greeted each of them fondly by name. As he made his way through the gathered throng, he was surprised to find Wilhelm Bellis standing next to Cara.

“Mr Bellis!” Eamon said, joyfully taking the young man's hand. “Are you well?”

“Recovering still, sir,” Wilhelm answered, gesturing to his arm, “but well for that.”

“I almost didn't recognize you without the uniform.”

“I mean to take the King's blue,” Wilhelm answered, “and maybe become a doctor, but I thought I might be able to serve Lord Anastasius here for a while first.” As he spoke, Cara slipped her hand into his.

Eamon smiled. “I am sure you can,” he said. Cara blushed.

“That was a spectacular ride that you made, sir,” Wilhelm told him.

“Thank you,” Eamon answered. “You didn't ride badly yourself.”

“Thank you, sir,” Wilhelm replied. “I've meant to speak to you about that, but…” He looked around and gestured at the general chaos. “As you can see, it's been busy.”

Eamon furrowed his brow. His ride across the field seemed like a lifetime ago. “Yes. I've wondered about it myself. Why did you follow me?”

Wilhelm shrugged. “You were different from the other Hands. I
always knew that, but could never figure out why. When you gave that speech on the field, suddenly it all made sense.”

Eamon set his hand on Wilhelm's shoulder. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “That took courage.”

“Even so, I'm not sure I'd have had the courage to follow you if I'd not seen Lonnam and Heathlode chase after you.”

Lonnam and Heathlode. Eamon had nearly forgotten about the two Hands who followed him across the field. He pursed his lips at the recollection.

Wilhelm continued, “Even if Heathlode was only trying to kill you – I didn't realize it at the time.”

“Heathlode and Lonnam, you mean,” said Eamon.

Wilhelm looked confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“You meant to say ‘Heathlode and Lonnam' tried to kill me as I rode across the field.”

“Oh! By no means! Don't you know? Lonnam saved your life!”

Eamon stared. “What?”

“When Heathlode drew his sword and swung at you, I was riding too far back to stop him. It was Lonnam who rode up behind him and cut him down off his horse. Lonnam was struck by a Gauntlet arrow after that – probably after they saw what he did to Heathlode.”

Eamon suddenly felt very small and vulnerable. He swallowed heavily. “He sacrificed himself for me, and I never knew…”

“Don't blame yourself for that, sir. I'd have said something sooner if I'd known you weren't aware.”

“I shall speak to Hughan – it wouldn't be right to bury him with the other Hands. His heroism should be given fitting recognition. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Wilhelm.”

The young man nodded.

“Wilhelm,” Eamon spoke again, “there was another matter I wished to discuss with you. May I speak with you about your father?”

Wilhelm stiffened. “Yes.”

“I have learned that it was Lord Arlaith who had him murdered,” Eamon said gently. “He did so to strike at me.”

Wilhelm nodded. Cara pressed his hand. Callum shuffled away from Eamon's side and took Wilhelm's other arm. The sight of the three of them together warmed Eamon's heart.

“Arlaith has answered for your father's death,” Eamon said, “and many other crimes, with his life. It may not bring you comfort, but I hope that it will bring you peace.”

“Thank you, sir,” Wilhelm answered.

After a little while the servants dispersed. As they did so Eamon stepped up to Slater.

“Mr Slater?” he said.

“Sir,” Slater answered formally, bowing low.

Eamon watched the man for a few moments. “I wanted to speak with you in particular,” he said. “I am sorry that it has taken so long for me to find time to see you.”

“You are a busy man, sir, as always,” Slater answered. “I understand.”

“Many men died in this quarter, and in your household, because of me,” Eamon added quietly. He looked over his shoulder to where Wilhelm, Cara, and Callum started to move back towards the Handquarter. “Marilio was one of them. Cara was flogged for me. Greenwood lost his life on my account. So did Lorentide.” It was a painful list and he paused. Slater watched him with a gentle gaze. “I am sorry, Slater, that you and so many others stood in danger, or bore Arlaith's wrath, and never knew why.”

After a long breath, Slater looked up. “I wish that death had not followed on you so surely,” he answered quietly. “But I also know that you did good things for this quarter, and for us, and I know that, through you, this city received the King's blessing before he came. In the end,” he said, “I think more of us would have died if you had not held to the King, so I take comfort in the lives that have been saved, and the good that was done.”

Eamon looked at him for a long moment. “Thank you, Mr Slater.”

Slater smiled. “You're welcome, sir,” he answered. “If you'll excuse me,” he added.

“Of course.”

Slater returned to his work. Eamon watched him go. His step seemed lighter and his head higher as he caught up with the other servants. They went back to work together. Callum turned and waved heartily from the door of the Handquarter. Eamon smiled and waved back.

He suddenly remembered the charge delivered to him that morning by Febian's letter. If that morning seemed long ago, then the day when Mathaiah had charged him with delivering a message to one he loved was like an ancient and half-forgotten song. But in that moment it returned to Eamon's mind as clear as the dawn. Reaching into his pouch, he quietly drew out the small silver ring that Febian had given him. He held it for a long moment, remembering Mathaiah's last words to him and wondering if he would dare to deliver them.

Whether he spoke those words or not, of one thing he was certain: the ring had to go to Lillabeth.