The King's Hand (62 page)

And in the tide of later days
These words shall live, and rend him praise.

 

Just as they had opened it, they were the words that closed the Edelred Cycle.

He closed the book and let it rest on his hands while he thought. The following day the compulsory exit papers came into force. He had to see Mr Grennil again; he had to send a message to Hughan.

 

The following morning, Eamon rose and went down to the stables as he always did. He waited for some time, but Anderas did not appear. He asked the silent and downcast stablehand grooming Sahu whether he had seen the quarter's captain.

“No, my lord,” the boy answered quietly.

Eamon waited, but Anderas did not come.

In silence and alone, he made his way back to the Handquarters. The captain had to be ill indeed if he had not come to ride and had sent no message.

As he reached the steps of the Handquarters hall he paused, and with a sigh looked back towards the college. His heart was full of misgiving; it was too unusual. He should go and see Anderas. It was early, but he was sure that the captain would be awake. What could have kept him?

He settled his mind and stepped down into the Ashen. A figure across the square approached him. The man walked sullenly. He reached the Handquarter steps, saw Eamon, and he bowed.

“Lord Goodman.”

“Mr Kentigern,” Eamon replied. He stepped towards him but Ladomer did not rise. Eamon's heart twisted with grief.

“Rise, Mr Kentigern,” he said. Ladomer did so. “Did you come seeking me?”

“No, Lord Goodman,” Ladomer replied. “With all due reverence and with your permission, I have come to see the head of your household. Lord Arlaith wishes to know how it is run and what of his own household he must bring with him.”

“He will find his needs well served by my house,” Eamon replied. “You may see Mr Slater. He will be more than capable of advising you.”

“Thank you, Lord Goodman,” Ladomer replied. “With your leave,” he said, and moved to walk past. He had not met Eamon's gaze once during the conversation.

“Ladomer,” Eamon called after him.

His friend paused, but did not turn to face him. “Lord Goodman.”

For a moment Eamon did not know what to say; he did not know why he had spoken. But he could not bear how his friend now treated him. “Will you speak no other words to me?” he asked quietly.

Ladomer turned and bowed again. “Forgive me, Lord Goodman,” he said, his tone frosty. “Congratulations on your new appointment.”

“Ladomer,” Eamon began, and stepped forward towards him, “does it mean so little to you? Do
I
mean so little to you?”

“I crave your pardon, Lord Goodman, but any right I held in regarding you for good or ill was waived by none other than yourself some weeks ago; it lies not with me to reinstate it, least of all now.” His tone was angry and bore deep hurt.

“But you will serve me, Mr Kentigern,” Eamon said gently. “Are you or are you not the lieutenant to the Right Hand? Surely your post will not change simply because the man himself changes? I would not have you serve bearing me such anger.”

“I will not serve you, Lord Goodman,” Ladomer replied, and at last he looked up. Eamon took a blow from the wrathful gaze. “When Lord Arlaith takes the East Quarter I am to be reassigned to duties in Etraia.”

“Etraia?” Eamon stared at him and could feel anger in his voice as he spoke. “But men like you are needed here, not in some barren merchant province!”

“The Master sees me with different eyes,” Ladomer answered. He matched Eamon's gaze with a startling formality. “I will not see you again, Lord Goodman. I doubt you will rue my absence much.”

“Ladomer –”

“I wish you well with your new office,” Ladomer answered. “Farewell.” Bowing once more, he turned and left.

Eamon stared after him. Tears burned his eyes. So many years of friendship… Did Ladomer truly hate him that much? How could the lieutenant to the Right Hand not see why Eamon had spoken to him as he had done? How could the throned have posted Ladomer to Etraia?

He did not know. And, as Ladomer disappeared into the hallways of the Handquarters, he realized that he might never know it.

 

That morning the East Quarter brimmed with people, as all those to whom compulsory exit orders had been served – along with their families and some possessions – gathered in preparation for their departure. The first of the new Gauntlet arrivals were to come into the city the next day, so the billets had to be ready.

While Eamon had intended to find Anderas, he was called instead to oversee the final exit. There were a number of extra Gauntlet on duty at the Blind Gate, where papers were meticulously checked before each family was allowed, or in some cases encouraged, to leave the city.

Eamon waited in the shadow of the gates – where it was at least cooler – watching as the Gauntlet worked, and listening to the perpetual sound of hooves, feet, and wheels on the cobbles. Beyond the paved part of the road, the horizon was lined with thick dust where the traffic of the leavers cast it into the air. The skill and patience with which the officers handled the exodus impressed him.

He had not waited long when familiar faces appeared in the long line waiting permission to leave: the Grennils. They were gathered together in a cart, along with some of their belongings. Neithan entertained Damien with some story or other while they sat, and Mr Grennil sat at the head of the cart with his wife, with whom he spoke quietly.

Eamon stepped up to one of the Gauntlet soldiers. “I will speak with that man,” he said, gesturing to Mr Grennil.

“Of course, my lord,” the ensign replied. He went immediately over to the cart and summoned Mr Grennil down. Mr Grennil handed the reins to his wife, who looked worried until her husband gestured at the length of the line before them. He climbed down from the cart and followed the soldier back to where Eamon stood. Once there, Mr Grennil bowed.

“Lord Goodman.”

“I would speak to you a moment, Mr Grennil.”

Leaving the ensign outside, Eamon led Mr Grennil into the gatehouse. It was empty, for all its keepers were too busy with the exit. It was a small, ill-lit room crammed with papers, a small table and two smaller chairs.

Eamon closed the door and turned to Mr Grennil.

“I won't keep you for more than a moment,” he said. He was amazed at how any and all pretence of being a Hand dropped from him the second the door was closed and they were away from other eyes. The gatehouse's small window was covered with a red curtain to keep out the bright sun. It cast a strange light on the sparse furnishings and ample papers.

“I heard rumours about your new appointment,” Grennil answered. His face seemed grave as he said it. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” Eamon sighed. “It is true.” He wasn't surprised that news had gone about the quarter. He was gladder than ever that the Grennils were to exit the city before Arlaith took the East Quarter. He was sure that the disgruntled Hand would have found some way to strike at them for their hospitality towards him.

Grennil watched him sincerely. “I don't think that I would be able to bear it,” he said, “but I am sure that you will do good, even there. You will be careful?” he added. The note of concern in his voice touched Eamon.

“As careful as I can be.”

There was a small pause. “How may I serve you?” Grennil asked.

“I need you to take a message to the King,” Eamon answered, leaning in closely. Grennil nodded bravely and Eamon marvelled at the man's courage. “First, you must tell him that I am to be made Right Hand. If there is anything he would have me do beyond what my own sense will tell me, he must send word to me, just as I will send word to him of whatever I can.” Eamon did not doubt that, with the war brewing as it was, the day of battle between Hughan and the throned was near at hand. He felt it in the air, like a sound just beyond hearing.

“Yes,” Grennil answered.

Eamon reached into the folds of his cloak and drew out a book. He met Grennil's gaze and spoke quietly. “There is something else you must tell him: it may be more important still.”

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Grennil looked up in alarm, but Eamon offered him a look of confidence. “Come in,” he called, setting the book discreetly down on the table behind him.

The door opened and a shadow passed over the sunlit threshold. The familiar face of Captain Anderas appeared. “Lord Goodman?”

“I am here, captain.”

“Lord Goodman, I must speak with –” Anderas began, and then halted as he saw Mr Grennil. An odd look passed over his face. “I'm sorry,” he breathed, bowing. There was something stiff, almost stilted, in his tone and gesture. It worried Eamon. “I did not know that I was interrupting, my lord. I will leave.”

“All is well, captain,” Eamon answered. “You may stay. This will not take a moment.” He gestured to Anderas to close the door. Grennil gave Eamon a confused glance.

“Lord Goodman –”

“Mr Grennil,” Eamon answered, “Captain Anderas is a
friend
.”

Grennil breathed a sigh of relief and then held his hand out to Anderas.

“It is a distinct pleasure, captain, to see you again.”

Anderas looked surprised as he clasped Grennil's hand and looked across at Eamon. Though his look was tempestuous he said nothing.

“Are you well, captain?” Eamon asked. Fear crept into his breast.

“Yes,” Anderas replied. His tone was icier than Eamon had ever heard it, but the captain said not a word more.

He cannot stay here, Eben's son. See his face? He can still betray you. Send him away – now.

Eamon closed his eyes for a moment, then looked back to Grennil and picked up the book again.

“I need you to take this,” he said quietly. At his gesture, Grennil took the book into his hands. He looked curiously at it for a moment, then back at Eamon.

“The Edelred Cycle?”

“I have marked a page in it,” Eamon replied, gesturing to where he had folded down a corner of the parchment. “This message is more important than the first. Unless your own life is in peril, you must not entrust it to anyone else.”

Grennil nodded, and Eamon spoke again. “The King needs to know that Mathaiah Grahaven is dead,” he said quietly. A look of realization passed across Anderas's face, followed by an odd scowl, but Eamon ignored it. He would answer Anderas, but he could not now. “Before his death, he was being tortured by the Hands and forced to read something called the Nightholt. The throned has this book, though how much or how little was transcribed using Mathaiah is something that I do not know. I know little else about it, but I fear that this book grants some power to the throned, and that it poses some great peril to the King. The passage that I have marked should be shown to the bookkeepers,” he said quietly. “It speaks of a ‘dark tome', and I believe the verse indicates something about the nature of the Nightholt and its relationship to the throned, but I do not understand it. The King and the bookkeepers will.” At least, he
hoped
they would.

Grennil looked down at the book and nodded. “Very well, Lord Goodman,” he said. As he answered he tucked the book deep into his jerkin. “I will deliver your message.”

“Thank you,” Eamon replied, reaching across and taking Grennil's hand warmly. “Take care of yourself;
good
care.”

“And you,” Grennil replied.

Grennil left. At Eamon's request, he was escorted back to his cart by the same ensign who had brought him. The door swung shut behind them, and Eamon was alone with Anderas. His heart beat with fear: the captain's face was stony and unreadable.

“You wanted to speak to me?” he said quietly. As he met Anderas's gaze a horrified, and almost disgusted, look grew clear on the man's face.

“He's a wayfarer, too?” the captain asked. There was a tone of betrayal to his voice.

Eamon frowned. “Yes,” he answered. Anderas stared at him.

“How many others with exit papers are like him?”

“A number of them,” Eamon replied truthfully.

“What about Cara? Is she a wayfarer, too?”

“Not to my knowledge. Anderas,” Eamon said quietly, “what troubles you?”

“What troubles me?” Anderas's voice was bitter, and he laughed. “What troubles me? I believed that you did good in this quarter for the sake of this quarter. I even had this lofty picture in my head of you doing good in this quarter for the city. Now I see that you care nothing for either!”

“What?”

“You heard what I said,” Anderas told him. “You care for nothing except the snakes that will raze this place to the ground when they come!”

“Do you truly believe that of me?” Eamon asked. A frantic look passed through Anderas's eyes, but the captain did not answer him. He stepped forward. “If all my care was for the wayfarers, Anderas, why would I bother seeking justice for all, and homes for the homeless? Why would I hoarde grain beneath the college?”

“To house and feed
them
, when they come.”

“No,” Eamon replied quietly. “It is to feed the people of this city when the siege comes. I love this city, Anderas.”

“And you betray it even now!” Anderas growled. “You will betray it when you open its gates to him. He will not, nor cannot, love it.”

“Anderas,” Eamon said, “who has told you all these things?”

“Told me?” Anderas laughed bitterly. “Now I see what you think of me,” he snapped. “You think me incapable of my own thought!”

“I think you far too capable of your own thought,” Eamon countered, “which is how I know that these words are not yours.”

“You are a traitor,” Anderas retorted. Steel glinted in the captain's hand. “And you would have me betray myself! A fine pair we would have made: a Gauntlet captain and a Right Hand, traitors to the Master both, and I the more treacherous for letting you lead me astray with your poisonous words.”