The Traitor's Heir (20 page)

“Are you all right, sir?”

Giles glared at them both, then turned on the cadet. “You're no better than the Grahaven my men felled at the borders,” he snarled icily. “A bastard servant to a treacherous tyrant.” His glare grew grimmer. “Serving this man,” he hissed, hurling a condemning finger at Eamon, “or his oath, will buy you death, boy, as it did for the other, and you will have nothing but blood for your wretched accolade.”

Colour drained from Mathaiah's face. Eamon sensed vengeance raising the boy's hackles and saw fledgling murder in reddening eyes.

“Mr Grahaven,” he croaked. Then, more loudly: “Mathaiah!”

The boy turned, blinking back furious tears. His hands shook. “Sir?”

“Help me up.”

He leaned heavily on the cadet as he rose, not so much because he needed support but because he ensured a power of restraint. He looked across at Hughan.

“I thank you for your mercy, sir,” he said formally. “I will return to confinement. I ask that you keep me under constant guard. I will not walk abroad again unless summoned.”

“Very well, Eamon,” Hughan nodded.

Together, lieutenant and cadet hobbled across the square. Eamon heard Mathaiah choking back angry tears.

The lodge was calm and quiet. Eamon welcomed its seclusion after the dreadful exposure at the well.

They sat in silence while the noise outside grew into heated debate and then died away. Eamon watched Mathaiah nervously twist his fingers together, fidget restlessly, twirl threads of the rug round in his hands, and eventually get up and begin pacing the room. Both of them had been shaken that morning.

Eamon closed the shutters to keep them safe from angry eyes.

“Mr Grahaven?”

The cadet continued pacing. When he at last sat down he shook uncontrollably. “Sir.”

“I'm sorry about your brother.”

“Thank you, sir.” The cadet's answer was curt.

Silence fell. As Mathaiah sat, his eyes clenched and his angry face faltered. He laid his head in his hands and wept, calling on the name of his dead brother until the name became a sob. Eamon knew of no way to console him.

Evening drew on and twilight crept between the shades.

Mathaiah slept in the chair, worn out with grief. Eamon had covered him with the blankets from the bed. He knew that he had much to consider but could not hold his thought steady for any length of time. The feel of the silver-blue sword that he had held returned unbidden to his fingers – what would he have done with it? He wondered why, after everything that he had shown himself capable of, Hughan still insisted on trusting him.

The night was deep when he heard footsteps by the door. He turned his head and held himself still.

Aeryn entered. Eamon laid a finger to his lips and gestured to Mathaiah. Nodding, Aeryn came to sit gently on the end of the bed.

“Are you all right?” She wore a penitent look.

Eamon shrugged. “I hardly know what being all right means.”

“Is… is he all right?” Her gaze was on Mathaiah. The cadet stirred in his sleep.

“No. But I hope that he is young enough that he will overcome it.”

He looked at Aeryn, who was reluctant to match his gaze. Calling on all his courage – he might not have the chance to speak to her again in his right mind – he said: “Aeryn, I'm sorry about what I did, I didn't mean to –”

“No, I'm sorry,” she interrupted. “I spoke to Hughan. He told me about… about what's been happening to you.” She looked at him. “Eamon, I have hated you ever since we left Edesfield, even though you tried to help me. A lot may happen in the days that are coming. Things are changing. I wanted you to know that I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry, too.” Eamon looked at her guiltily. “Aeryn, I didn't want to breach you in the prison, or attack you today. I… I wanted to help your father.”

Aeryn reached across and took his hand. “You were in a difficult position,” she said. “I do not hold you accountable for his death. To be honest,” she added with a small smile, “I think, when you breached me, you were hurt more than I was.”

Eamon pressed at the back of his head where he had struck the wall. It was still bruised. “You may be right,” he said.

The air between them grew more relaxed. Eamon sighed.

“Giles is right, you know,” he told her. “Whatever Hughan says I am dangerous – to him above all. I shouldn't be here.”

“Killing you will not answer anything,” Aeryn replied, “though it seems to be Giles's answer to everything. I'm sorry,” she added, “about what happened on the
Lark
.”

Eamon nodded silently.

“How…” Aeryn faltered. “How is your back?” She looked haunted. Eamon wondered how much of the flogging she had heard from her confinement.

“Still painful.”

“You did a good thing. It was worthy of the Eamon that I know.”

There was a long pause. Eamon let her words sink in. He was unsure what to say and yet profoundly grateful to have her approval and encouragement.

“It was also worthy of a King's man,” she added quietly.

“A King's man?” he whispered. He blinked hard. Her words were as treasure to him, a treasure he could not dare to value. “Aeryn, I can't… I'm not…”

“Eamon,” Aeryn began, “the throned wouldn't be doing what he is doing unless he feared what you could become. Hughan is right about you.”

“What does Hughan say?” he asked suspiciously.

“That you are the First Knight.”

First Knight
. Again the name called him, piercing his soul deeper than any mark he had known. Could it be true?

“What is it?” Aeryn asked, searching his face.

“I think… I think I could have regained myself today, if Giles hadn't attacked me.” He looked at her, waiting for her to concur with him and hoping that she would. “Not that I blame him for doing it,” he added. “He was trying to save you.”

Aeryn said nothing for a long time. “Have you thought about what Hughan asked?”

Eamon bristled. “How do you know about that?” Was he jealous that tales of his private conversation with Hughan had got abroad so quickly? He reminded himself that he was a prisoner, not a confidant – and not a First Knight.

“He spoke with his generals.”

“You're not one of them,” Eamon pointed out.

“He told me,” Aeryn answered, and she suddenly blushed. “Eamon, I… I couldn't tell you before. I wanted to –”

“Hughan told me.”

“I mean, I couldn't tell you before that…” Aeryn, normally boldly spoken, faltered again. Her face reddened. “I couldn't tell you that he was alive, and I couldn't tell you that I am betrothed to him.”

For a moment Eamon stared at her in disbelief.

Aeryn looked awkwardly away. He pressed her hand.

“That's wonderful, Aeryn,” he said, and he meant it.

“You're not angry?”

“No,” Eamon answered with a small laugh. “It does explain a few things, though.”

“So you've thought about what he said?”

“I've thought about it.” He sighed heavily. “I wish I could, Aeryn, but… how can I serve him? How could I dare? Look at what happened to me today – what happens to me on a daily basis! I can't open Hughan to that kind of risk. And so Giles is right.”

“But you would serve him, if you could?”

Eamon gazed through the shutters at the quiet night. He would rather give an oath to Hughan than to a thousand thrones. But was that because Hughan was the King? He didn't know. To love and serve Hughan for friendship's sake could not be as binding as the fealty he had sworn to the throned. He had to believe, truly believe, that Hughan was the King and that the throned was a usurper, or his service would be vain and empty.

In his mind he saw again the shadows and flames about the throne and the grey-eyed man who sat upon it. How could such a man be good? Would he allow the throned to call him “son”? Would a Goodman bow again before that dreadful Master? Surely he had to undo the treachery of his bloodline…

He felt a sudden, strange oppression in the air. Trying to suspend all his senses, he focused his mind on the present. Noticing the change in him, Aeryn leaned forward.

“What is it?” she asked. Her voice told him that she feared he was again being influenced, but he was in his right mind.

He could feel a horrific presence, enveloping him and driving into his skin like relentless needles.

“Something's coming,” he said urgently. Words poured out of his mouth as he leapt to his feet. “We have to go to the Hidden Hall.”

“Eamon –”

“We have to go now.”

He bolted to the door. Aeryn gave a cry that woke Mathaiah. Both shouted after him as he rushed outside. Lights twinkled in the windows of the little houses. Breaking parole and promise, he raced into the heart of the village.

“To the hall!” he yelled, filling his lungs with so much air that he felt they might burst. “To the hall!”

He thought he saw faces moving behind the windows, but none answered him. No doors opened. He cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Something is coming! Get to the hall!” he roared.

Not a soul stirred.

Eamon stared at the shuttered windows and closed doors in disbelief. He pelted to the nearest door and hammered wildly on it.

“Open, open!” he yelled.

The door was opened by a woman; as soon as she saw him she gasped and tried to close it again, but he jammed his foot over the threshold.

“Please, wait.”

“Get out of my house!” The woman tried to force the door closed.

“Please,” Eamon said, “listen –”

The door closed. Undeterred, Eamon raced to the next house. Its door was already open: a man stood in it.

“Please listen!” Eamon said.

“Set a foot in my house and I will kill you,” the man growled. He was old, and probably didn't have the strength to carry through his threat, but Eamon fell back from him.

“Please,” Eamon began, trying to keep calm as the pressure in the air mounted. “We all need to get to the Hidden Hall. We need to go now.”

“Why?”

But Eamon didn't answer. He turned and yelled at the top of his voice: “Everyone to the Hidden Hall! Your lives depend on it!”

“Eamon!” Aeryn grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her. “Stop,” she continued in a low voice. Perhaps she thought he was mad. Perhaps he was.

He tore his arm from her. “Something is coming that means to kill us all,” he answered. Could they not feel it?

“Nobody knows we're here,” Aeryn began.

“The Hidden Hall!” he yelled. “To the hall, please!” Dozens of faces glared. “Will none of you believe me?” he cried, looking desperately from one face to another.

“What mischief are you up to, Goodman?” asked an all-too-familiar voice.

Eamon turned to see Giles. The big man flexed his fingers. Eamon reflected afterwards that it was the gentlest appearance that the man had yet made before him.

“Please believe me.” He hated to beg it of Giles. “These people are in danger. We need to get to the Hidden Hall, and we need to go now.” Giles stared at him hard, and Eamon tried hard to match it. He felt that every second they lost would have deadly consequences. “Please!” he cried. “Tell them to go!”

After what seemed an eternity, Giles nodded gruffly.

“All right,” he said, though his voice had an unpleasant edge to it. “To the hall!” he bellowed; the whole depth of his chest was behind it. “The hall!”

The people moved. As Giles roared, again and again, doors opened, lights were doused, and bemused but obedient faces emerged into the night air. There was no mistaking Giles's tone and they all did as he commanded. Eamon watched the streams of people moving and looked anxiously up at the dark eaves of the woods. They didn't have much time.

A rough hand seized his arm. “If these people come to harm through your word, Goodman, I will slaughter you.”

“I will let you.”

Giles stared, completely thrown, then continued gathering those left behind. The very last were moving towards the Hidden Hall and being taken to safety through its walls.

“That's the last.” Eamon was surprised to find that Aeryn was still at his side, and that Mathaiah was with her.

“Hadn't we better go, sir?” Mathaiah asked. Despite Giles's proximity the cadet stayed completely focused on the matter in hand; Eamon admired that.

“Yes,” he agreed.

They ran towards the ruined building. As they neared the hallway Eamon saw two men standing by the walls. They were covering the tracks that marked the passage of so many people and were evidently skilled; the ground where they had already worked lay as though it had suffered no tread for weeks.

Eamon crossed the threshold and stumbled inside; two hundred people greeted him. Women and children cowered together in silence while their menfolk gathered weapons that might be used in their defence. Hughan walked among them, laying his hands on their arched shoulders and offering words of comfort, asking for calm and silence. Eamon saw Giles approach the King and speak a few words to him, after which Hughan came to the threshold. As he arrived the two track-clearing doormen also withdrew inside.

“Giles thinks that you may know what is happening, Eamon,” Hughan said quietly.

Eamon looked through the tumbled archway to the muddy, rubble-strewn grass, and laid his hand on the stones. Rain had begun falling outside and he could hear it pattering into the earth and off taut forest leaves. Under the otherworldly quiet of the rain Eamon still felt something terrible pricking at every sense, something that he could not name. It was just beyond the silence.

“Something has come for you, Hughan,” he said, looking back to the King. “At least, it comes seeking you.”

“Are you sure it does not also come seeking you?” Hughan asked gently.