his eyes, as if he’d glimpsed damnation and couldn’t forget it.
Arion passed a servant carrying a silver ewer. A livid bruise darkened the boy’s eye. Arion smacked his gauntlets into the palm of his hand. He’d hoped things would improve while he was away, but they had only gotten worse. The sentries at the gates lounged in their guard shack, drinking and playing cards. The stables where he left his horse were filthy, with no grooms in sight; he’d had to brush his mare and put her in a stall himself. Worst of all, he knew the root of these problems, but could do nothing about it.
His father’s mistress.
Just the thought of her made him want to punch the wall. His life had been easier before she arrived. It was a little more than two years ago since she had appeared in the midst of a cold winter night, she and the Beast and his Northmen. The people called her a witch, and Arion could see why. Not only had she convinced his father to embark on a campaign to take the city and declare himself duke of Eregoth, recently there had been rumors she was urging him to take the next step-to conquer all of the northern states and take up the mantle of king. It was beyond madness. Whereas Eregoth’s clans had lived in uneasy peace since winning their freedom from Nimea, now there was open warfare. Add to that the covert raids they were launching across the southern border, and even he was ready to suspect witchcraft.
If things don’t change, the entire country will collapse around our ears. If father won’t get rid of the witch -
The doors of the great hall opened before him. Arion remembered this chamber from years ago when his father had brought him to the city as a boy. Then, the castle had been a place of light and laughter where thanes discussed their disputes without rancor or bloodshed. Those days were gone. Half a dozen men slouched at a table that looked ridiculously small in the vast chamber. The brilliant banners that had covered the walls were gone, revealing sooty wooden panels and bare windows looking out onto a smoke-smudged sky.
The lean man with graying sideburns sitting at the head of the table glanced up and wobbled to his feet. “My son returns!”
Arion could see at once that his father was drunk, or befuddled by the noxious herbs he smoked. The others at the table, his captains, nodded and grumbled their greetings. Arion tried not to show what he was thinking when he saw the old warriors, some he had known since boyhood. Once they had been a proud lot, fiercely protective of his father. Now they sat around this hall, draped with chains and jeweled rings, like a pack of toothless old lions. Some couldn’t even meet his gaze. His father was a sick man, but no one said anything. Can you blame them? They’re afraid to lose their place at the table.
As Arion embraced his father, he smelled strong spirits and the stink of days-old sweat. His father’s clothes were soiled and wrinkled. His laugh was a pale whisper of its former self.
“Tell me everything, Arion. Did you see Hamock? How do the men look?”
Arion brushed a dead fly off the bench as he sat down. “The men are well, and Commander Hamock sends his regards. But something happened on the ride back, Father.”
The duke chuckled, and it turned into a cough. A servant rushed forward with a cup. The duke guzzled it down. Setting the cup aside and mopping his tangled beard with a grimy sleeve, he sighed.
“Father,” Arion said. “Do you remember the first time we came to Liovard together?”
The duke stared off into the distance for a moment. Then he nodded, slowly at first, but with growing vigor. “It was the Feast of Saint Olaf. You were just a boy.”
Kulloch, the oldest of his father’s captains, rapped his hairy knuckles on the table. “I remember that day. Allarand held games, and you won the sword match, Your Grace.”
For a moment, Arion saw a glimmer of his father’s old self, the powerful man who had defeated a host of rivals to take the reins of their clan. Then a voice filled the hall, and the duke slouched back in his seat.
“ Majesty.”
The captains looked down into their cups. Arion gripped the table as Sybelle came around the throne to perch on his father’s lap.
“We must all address His Majesty as he is due,” she said. “For someday he will be king.”
Arion wanted to hurl the words back in her face. King? His father barely controlled the lands just a few leagues from the city walls, but she filled his head with dreams of conquest and glory.
Arion focused on his father. “I was trying to tell you. On the way back we stopped at a comfort house along the road and had some trouble with the locals. We caught an insurrectionist-he had the mark. But another man interfered with our arrest.”
The duke snorted. “Did you string him up as an example?”
“We tried to take him into custody, but he escaped. And not before he cut down my men.”
“One man defeated your entire entourage?” Sybelle’s throaty laughter clawed Arion’s spine.
His father grinned as he pounded the arm of his throne. “You were drunk again, Arion! And you tried to molest some of my commons, and one of them showed you the useful end of a spade. Ha!”
Arion’s grip on the tabletop tightened until he thought he would break his fingers. “I know what I saw. Brustus is no slouch with a blade, and Sergeant Stiv is stronger than any two men in the company, but this stranger was fast-faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. He toyed with us like we were children. And then something happened.”
As Arion remembered, his stomach clenched. “The inside of the house became as dark as night. And there were these… things…”
Sybelle pushed away from his father. “What kind of things?”
“I don’t know how to explain them, except that they seemed…”
He would have stopped there. Every eye was on him, magnifying his shame. But Sybelle leaned closer. Her gaze burned into him.
“It seemed like the darkness shattered into pieces and came to this man’s aid,” Arion said. “Like they were his pets, or guardians.”
A couple of the captains chuckled. His father just looked away.
Arion struck the table with his open palm. “Ask the others if you don’t believe me! Better yet, go down to the infirmary and see what those things did to Okin’s face. It doesn’t matter. Stiv and I are going back out to find this man.”
The duke rubbed his lips. “That’s out of the quest-”
“An excellent idea,” Sybelle interrupted. “You should find this person and bring him to justice. Lord Soloroth will accompany you.”
Arion shoved himself back from the table. “I don’t need any help from your demon spawn-”
“Careful.” Sybelle raised a finger. The dark irises of her eyes reflected no light. “Soloroth holds his honor as dearly as you. Erric, as you have heard from your progeny’s own words, the maneuvers in the south are well under way. It is time to consolidate your control of this land. We cannot strike southward until our flanks are secure.”
The duke reached for his cup. “As you say, Sybelle. It is time for Eregoth to bow to one master. Wine!”
Arion stood up. Without a word, he turned away.
“Son!” his father called. “Come and we’ll have supper. A feast to celebrate your return. We’ll broach a cask of wine…”
But Arion kept walking, out the door and down the empty hallway. And the witch’s laughter followed him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
C aim awoke to the smell of wood smoke and opened his eyes to see Kit floating above him. Her long, silver hair hung loose about her shoulders.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
Caim opened his mouth, and then closed it. He hadn’t expected her back in such a good humor. It made him suspicious. But now wasn’t the time to get to the bottom of it. Knowing Kit, she would let him know why when she was good and ready.
