father feels it’s best this way, but I don’t know …’
He looked so sad as he said it that Tobin almost blurted out what had happened that day in the tower. He’d never told anyone about that.
Before he could, however, Nari came to fetch him. He promised himself he would tell Tharin the following day during their ride, but Koni and old Lethis came too, and he didn’t feel right speaking in front of anyone else. Another day or two passed and he forgot about it, but his trust in Tharin remained.
As Cinrin wore on there was little snow, hardly enough to dust the meadow, but the weather turned bitter cold. Tharin kept the men busy hauling firewood from the forest and everyone slept in the hall, where the hearth fire burned night and day. Tobin wore two tunics and his cloak indoors. During the day Cook kept a firepot burning in the toy room so that he could amuse himself there, but even so he could still see his breath on the air.
The river froze hard enough to walk on and some of the younger soldiers and servants went skating, but Nari would only let Tobin watch from the bank.
He was playing alone upstairs one bright morning when he caught the sound of a horse galloping up the frozen road. Soon a lone rider in a streaming red cape came riding up the meadow and across the bridge. Leaning out over the sill, Tobin saw his father come out to greet the man and welcome him inside. He recognized the red and gold badge all too well; this was a messenger from the King and that usually meant only one thing.
The man did not stay long however, and was soon off again down the road. As soon as Tobin heard him clatter across the bridge he hurried downstairs.
His father was by the hearth studying a long scroll weighted down with the King’s seals and ribbons. Tobin sat down beside him and peered at the document, wishing that he could read it. Not that he needed to, to know what the message was. ‘You have to leave again, don’t you, Father?’
‘Yes, and very soon, I’m afraid. Plenimar is taking advantage of the dry winter to raid up the Mycenian coast. The Mycenians have appealed to Erius for aid.’
‘You can’t sail at this time of year! The sea’s too stormy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, we must ride,’ his father replied absently. He already had that faraway look in his eyes and Tobin knew he was thinking of supplies and horses and men. That would be all he and Tharin would talk about around the hearth at night until they left.
‘Why is Plenimar always making war?’ Tobin asked, angry with these strangers who kept causing trouble and taking his father away. The Sakor festival was only a few weeks away and his father was sure to leave before then.
Rhius looked up at him. ‘You remember the map I showed you, how the Three Lands lie around the Inner Sea?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, they were all one land once, ruled by priest kings called Hierophants. They had their capital at Benshâl, in Plenimar. A long while ago the last Hierophant divided the lands up into three countries, but the Plenimarans never liked that and have always wanted to reclaim all the territory for their own.’
‘When can I go to war with you?’ Tobin asked. ‘Tharin says I’m doing very well at my lessons!’
‘So I hear.’ His father hugged him, smiling in the way that meant no. ‘I’ll tell you what. As soon as you’re big enough to wear my second hauberk, you may come with me. Come, let’s see if it fits.’
The heavy coat of chain hung on a rack in his father’s bedchamber. It was far too big, of course, and puddled around Tobin’s feet, anchoring him helplessly in place. The coif hung over his eyes. Laughing, his father placed the steel cap on Tobin’s head. It felt like he was wearing one of Cook’s soup kettles; the end of the long nasal guard hung below his chin. All the same, his heart beat faster as he imagined the tall, strong man he’d someday be, filling all this out properly.
‘Well, I can see it won’t be much longer before you’ll be needing this,’ his father chuckled. And with that he dragged the rack across the corridor to Tobin’s bedchamber and spent the rest of the afternoon showing him how to keep the mail oiled and ready.
Tobin still clung to the hope that his father and the others could stay until the Sakor festival, but his father’s liegemen, Lord Nyanis and Lord Solari, soon arrived with their men. For a few days the meadow was full of soldiers and their tents, but within the week everyone was gone to Atyion, leaving Tobin and the servants to celebrate without them.
Tobin moped about for a few days, but Nari cajoled him out of his dark mood and sent him off to help deck the house. Garlands of fir boughs were hung over every doorway, and wooden shields painted gold and black were hung on the pillars of the hall. Tobin filled the offering shelf of the household shrine with an entire herd of wax horses for Sakor. The following morning, however, he found them scattered across the rush-covered floor, replaced by an equal number of dirty, twisted tree roots.
This was one of the demon’s favourite tricks, and one Tobin particularly hated, since it upset his father so. The Duke would always go pale at the sight of them. Then he had to burn sweet herbs and say prayers to cleanse the shrine. If Tobin found the roots first, he threw them away and cleaned the shelf with his sleeve so his father wouldn’t know and be sad.
Scowling to himself now, Tobin pitched the whole mess into the hearth fire and went to make new horses.
On Mourning Night Cook extinguished all but one firepot to symbolize Old Sakor’s death and everyone played games of Blindman’s Gambit by moonlight in the deserted barracks yard.
Tobin was hiding behind a hayrack when he happened to glance up at the tower. A faint glimmer of forbidden firelight showed through the shutters. He hadn’t seen his mother in days and that suited him very well. All the same, a shiver danced up the knobs of his spine as he pictured her up there, peering out at him.
Suddenly something heavy knocked him to the ground and a burning pain blossomed in his right cheek, just below his eye. The invisible attacker vanished as quickly as it had come and Tobin blundered out from behind the rack, sobbing with fear and pain.
‘What is it, pet?’ Nari cried, gathering him into her arms.
Too shaken to answer, he pressed his throbbing cheek against her shoulder as she carried him into the hall.
‘Someone strike a light!’ she ordered.
‘Not on Mourning Night …’ the housemaid, Sarilla, said, hovering at her side.
‘Then fetch the reserve coals and blow up enough flame to see by. The child’s hurt!’
Tobin curled tightly against her, eyes shut tight. The pain was subsiding to a dull ache, but the shock of the attack still made him tremble. He heard Sarilla return, then the creak of the firepot lid.
‘There now, pet, let Nari see.’
Tobin lifted his head and let her turn his cheek towards the dim glow. Mynir and the others stood in a circle around them, looking very worried.
‘By the Light, he’s bitten!’ the old steward exclaimed. ‘Go fetch a basin and a clean cloth, girl.’ Sarilla hurried off.
Tobin raised a hand to his cheek and felt sticky wetness there.
Nari took the cloth Sarilla fetched and wiped his fingers and cheek. It came away streaked with blood.
‘Could it have been one of the hounds, Tobin? Perhaps one was sleeping in the hayrack,’ Mynir said anxiously. Dogs couldn’t abide Tobin; they growled and slunk away from him. There were only a few old ones left at the keep now, and Nari wouldn’t let them in the house.
‘That’s no dog bite,’ Sarilla whispered. ‘Look, you can see –’
‘It was the demon!’ Tobin cried. There had been moonlight enough to see that nothing with a proper solid body had been behind that rack with him. ‘It knocked me down and bit me!’
‘Never mind that,’ Nari said