The Morality of A Necromancer Page 12

  Kian nodded, though he had no real understanding of such things. What he knew was he must obey Lady Alana the way Eohan did. Obedience was his shield. He didn’t know what might happen to him in the Great House.

  They passed the inner guards when the high stone walls closed in on him. He gasped unable to get in a full breath. Lady Alana was beside him, holding him up. She pricked her finger and put a drop of blood on his tongue. “No one may cause you any pain within these walls. No one, do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lady.” His heart slowed by the memory of blood. He felt stronger.

  *

  Gravel crunched underfoot as they passed the newly constructed buildings for the refuges. Eohan walked in pace with Roark and Alana to the wisewoman’s house. A sluggish pain pulsed above his eye, Kian kept him awake for most of the night with new terrors and pacing. He wanted to see Pa but felt a strange sorrow and fear he could not name. To calm himself, he tried to analyze his surroundings, as Alana had taught. Now she was back, it was easier to remember her many lessons.

  The two-story apartments were built quickly but looked to be of better construction than the old butchery in his own village.

  Kian hurried in front of them. “Come on!”

  “Go ahead,” Alana said with sadness on her face.

  Eohan wished to question her, but he couldn’t. He feared the moment he opened his mouth he might weep. At the end of the street, Kian dashed into the apothecary shop with a sign with a silhouette of a woman in the family way and the words “Wisewoman Available” in the window.

  Kian’s feet resonated off the wooden steps, and he shouted, “Pa!”

  “Your pa’s upstairs,” the wisewoman said when they entered.

  Caraine, one of Kian’s old playmates, was behind the counter, watching them. Ice coated Eohan’s heart as he met her eyes. He thought of the brothels he’d seen, the arena, the beautiful but terrible Great House which held Kian. A lump formed in his throat and his heart beat faster. Ignoring the fear quickly morphing into panic, he returned to analysis. I’m alive. Kian’s alive. Pa’s alive. We’re all free. What’s wrong?

  The smell of fresh pitch and cut timber overwhelmed him as he squeezed his way up the narrow stairs. He heard Pa cry, “Ki!”

  He found Kian in Pa’s arms. They both wept.

  Eohan wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

  With one arm around Kian, Pa wrapped his other arm around Eohan’s shoulder. He returned his embrace, even slouching to make it easier for Pa, who at the time Eohan was stolen was still a finger width taller than he. Now Pa was nearly a hand shorter. He accepted the kisses on his brow and cheeks. Pa felt bony under his thin, stained woolen tunic. His shoe leather had been patched multiple times with numerous pieces of thick thread.

  He glanced at Alana and Roark who sat together on a narrow bench, their eyes on the scene in front of them but providing them distance. He wondered what Roark thought. Roark’s father was elegant and while aloof, genial enough to Eohan the last time he visited. Lady Alana was alone with Pa for several days; what does she think?

  “I feared I’d never see you again, Han,” Pa choked.

  Any learned War Ender’s analysis failed. His nose grew full of snot. A surge of tears burned his eyes before they slid down his cheek. “I thought you were dead -- I told myself you were dead. It’s like you’ve come back to life.”

  “Lady Alana told me how you rescued your brother. I’m so proud of you, Han.” Pa said, his voice scratched and reedy. Tears tumbled down his face.

  “Just look at you both. Growing like weeds.” Through tears, Pa made observations of the both of them, told them of the kindness of Lady Alana and Lady Byronia of House Silba.

  At the words, House Silba, Eohan’s mind sensed a threat and automatically fell into analyzing Pa’s words.

  “I can’t wait to take you home and get back to normal life,” Pa said.

  There it is. Life in a tiny village of a hundred felt suffocating, claustrophobic. Eohan straightened and stepped enough.

  The direction “speak your mind” flashed in his awareness. Unsure if it was Alana’s thought or his own, he cleared his throat and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Pa, I don’t have words for how much I missed you, Ma, and Kian till I found him. But I’m not returning home. I plan to stay with Lady Alana. I am a bound apprentice of the Guild.”

  Pa’s brow furrowed. “I don’t believe …” His shoulders slumped forward, and he gripped Kian tighter. “No ... I raised you. You don’t have the cold heart of a noble-born … warrior.” Every word grew more unintelligible until Pa sobbed.

  Kian’s cheeks grew scarlet with fury; his eyes red from crying. “Who are you to act like, a lord?”

  “I’m simply Eohan, but my eyes have seen much.”

  “… Tempted by the wealth,” Pa cried.

  Eohan knew he was tempted by the finer things, but that wasn’t it. He didn’t want to leave his friends, and the idea of never seeing Nalla again slashed his heart in two. “I like the work. It’s bloody, but I save people!”

  “You can never be a Martlet; you’re just the son of a butcher and baker,” Kian shouted. “Just like me!”

  Between sobs, Pa formed the words. “Lady Alana, tell my son, he can come home. My boys know all Aedell’s recipes. Together they’d have the finest shop. They can pay you back!”

  “Eohan and Kian owe me nothing. Cloudy will find a home in Larenna’s stables,” Alana said from the bench. “Go with your father if that is what is in your heart. And Smith regrets not knowing you.”

  Eohan clenched his fists. His nails pressed into his palms. “But I’m bound to the Guild.”

  “You’re an apprentice who worked with a handful of agents. No one will request you once you are gone. Your birds will grow old in their roosts and after a few generations be bound to another,” Alana said. “You still can walk away from this life.”

  “These fancy tunics don’t make us lords, Han.” Kian hissed, nearly spitting.

  “One day, your noble friends will rip it off your back,” Pa said.

  Alana pinched her lips together but said nothing.

  “They will put you in a barrel and roll you down a hill,” Pa cried. “Make you dance on coals.”

  “Then so be it.”

  “Auntie, tell them what you saw,” Roark said. “Make them understand I’d never do that to them. You’d never do that.”

  “The vision tells much, and nothing. They either trust us or don’t.” She rested her hand in his.

  Kian kept shouting. “Even if they don’t betray you, you still might be eaten by a monster, so don’t tell us what Lady Alana thinks she knows. You can’t know. Neither can she; neither can Roark.”

  “I know that if I hadn’t gone with Lady Alana that night, you’d be nothing more than a beaten slave under the thumb of a vic--”

  Pa slapped him. “My son wouldn’t speak to his brother like that.”

  Eohan raised his hand to his cheek though the slap hadn’t hurt, the words were needles piercing his heart. A War Ender never loses their temper. He smothered all emotions and sat beside Roark. Angry crescents purpled his hands, but the flesh of his palm wasn’t ripped. Roark put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He had never been so grateful for his friend’s presence.

  Alana put herself between the bench and Pa and Kian. “Enough shouting. All of you. Kian, Eohan is my apprentice. If you’d like to learn the same skills, you can come. Or you are also free to go with your father.”

  “I can’t go with you.” Kian’s expression changed. The angry blush on his cheeks faded as his chin dropped to his chest.

  “Speak what’s truly on your mind, or hold your tongue,” Alana said.

  Kian pinched his eyes shut. “I want to forget all this happened.”

  Eohan felt another needle in his heart.

  “No matter where you go, you are Kian.”

  “You weren’t there! I was scared when the swamp monster attacked. I don’t belong wi
th your kind,” Kian said.

  “But you fought them off and protected the horses,” Roark said.

  “Doriel was joking when Seweryn cut off his hand! Joking!”

  “Everyone’s scared in battle. I was scared … Eohan was scared, even Doriel, Kajsa, and Seweryn fear battle.”

  “Please, milord, why must you tempt my sons?” To Kian and Eohan, Pa begged, “Come home. Just come home.”

  “I can’t.” Eohan sensed with those words, nothing would ever be the same with Pa again. “But I’ll send money when I can.”

  “I need not filthy money,” Pa said.

  “For Kian then …” Eohan said.

  “Very well, we’ve taken up the wisewoman’s home long enough,” Alana said. “Say goodbye, Eohan, then come along. Sooner would be better. The longer we linger, the more pain we cause.” She went downstairs. Roark left behind her.

  *

  Eohan’s heart ached at the parting, but he caught up with Roark and Alana as they walked to the Great House. They spoke in the old Pre-schism language, knowing most of the commoners lingering on the street and kneeling before them did not know it.

  “But, my lady, your visions saw us all together as men,” he stated in the same tongue, though he stumbled as he translated his thoughts into words and his diction wasn’t clean.

  “Many years stand between that future and today.”

  “So Kian will eventually come to the Guild?”

  “Perhaps, or perhaps I misinterpreted what I saw. Lowest Realm, maybe your brother does become a butcher, and you were just on holiday.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Roark said.

  “No. After Roark’s feast, we will be following your father and Kian home, Eohan.”

  “Do you still think he thinks of me as his son?” Eohan asked.

  “Fol’s disappointed to be sure, but no good man stops loving his son because the son enters a vocation different from the one he wanted.”

  “But I’m not his son.”

  “Stupidity doesn’t become a War Ender,” Alana said in her don’t be a cumberworld tone.

  Eohan didn’t wince away from the acid in her voice this time -- even in a foreign tongue, her meaning was clear. He felt lighter.

  She turned to Roark. “I’ll miss you terribly. What’s your plan after your promotion?”

  “Learn whatever I can from Edar.”

  “Send him my best, Byronia, and I found him to be a good informant. That may save him in the end. But keep your eyes open and trust few with his secrets.”

  “Corwin warned me of the same.”

  “I’ll need an assassin sooner or later, how long would you like me to wait until I hire you?”

  *

  Chapter 19

  The Great House Eyreid in the Realm of Fairhdel

  “A beauty such as yourself, shouldn’t be afraid to smile, Master Roark,” the artist complained.

  Roark smiled as he stared out his window as the artist sketched his face from different angles. From his apartment, he could observe his mother’s town down to the bay where ships carried the province’s agricultural goods to other Fairsinge Countries and beyond the Expanse. Smaller personal ships of the Province’s noble born neighbors also docked. He heard the merchants, smiths, and stablehands scurry about preparing for the feast, but he and Eohan sat in silence and watched the eagles soar between the cliffs. Occasionally, the birds turned close enough, and he could see the individual feathers moving in the breeze. He had believed Alana’s vision, but Kian had not wanted to follow the path. Now he would be leaving Eohan for at least a few years.

  There was a knock on the door, and without waiting, his father entered his apartment. “Are you finished?”

  “Milord, what do you think of these?” The artist bowed and held out the parchment.

  His father said, “A smile isn’t very lordly. This one seems best.”

  “As you wish, milord.” The artist said, his voice held a hint of disappointment.

  Father threw an irritated glance at Eohan. “Why aren’t you with your master?”

  “I asked him to remain with me until I ride,” Roark said.

  “Is he one of your various lovers?”

  Roark sensed the murmur of the artist, servants, and guards and felt their slight shifting while they were waiting to see what would happen.

  He refused to be baited. “No, my Lord Father, we’re just friends.”

  “Your mother and I will miss you. Your aunt has brought great glory to our House though she has also caused complications. I hope you will do better. We cannot really afford another Martlet like Alana.”

  “If you want your son’s glory, I would suspect that you should expect complications, my Lord,” Eohan said quietly.

  His father didn’t bother to answer, but Roark smiled at Eohan.

  “Listen good, both of you. All the money she spent on saving these people is now lost to the House. We welcomed these refugees into our land, now Orla wants them back. We’re in no position to say no. Some won’t go willingly.” The words came with such resentment behind it, Roark wished for his father to show his decency and gallantry in front of Eohan.

  Alana entered, her mostly silver hair with a touch of auburn swinging freely for court.

  She glanced at the artist’s parchments. “Well done, Master Artist. You have captured my nephew’s joyful countenance perfectly.”

  By his father’s unnatural expression, Roark realized the depth of his father’s dislike for his aunt. He tried to remember even one time that his father looked at him the way Fol Baker looked at his two sons.

  “Milord said it won’t do for his noble portrait,” the artist said.

  “I’ll buy the sketch for my apartment then. Meet me later, and we’ll discuss the price.”

  “Very good, milady.”

  Alana looked stronger with the layers of full court dress covering her slender limbs: deep blue velvet justacorps worn to the knee embroidered with the heraldry of House Eyreid covering an equal length deep blue vest and breeches underneath. Though it was fitted throughout her chest, the flared skirt, through the addition of gores and pleats, was loose enough to hide her weaponry. Though two rows of pearl buttons and buttonholes lined the length of the opening, the coat remained unfastened. It was old-fashioned and fussy compared to the slim-waist tunics Roark preferred to wear, but he was still excited for his Lordship and the clothing which proclaimed it.

  His aunt kissed his cheek and took his arm. They followed his father into the Great Hall. What seemed like a thousand cheering voices rose as flower petals were tossed from the balconies. It snowed the colorful petals, fluttering as they landed onto the floor. They released their sweet perfume as they were crushed underfoot. The colored glass reflected upon the falling petals and noble audience’s faces.

  Between the fireplaces were groups of portraits hung by generation. The oldest restored many times, the previous few generations brighter. In Roark’s generation, only three portraits hung upon the wall. His elder siblings and his cousin, Saray, looked down upon them. Their youthful, fresh faces each painted upon the earning of their title. Once his own portrait was finished, Roark would join them.

  His knees trembled, he couldn’t remember the last time he saw the Great Hall so full. Nearly every Great House had someone in attendance. At the head of the hall sat his mother upon her throne and his family surrounded her. Roark’s heart soared as she looked upon him with a smile alighting blue eyes that matched his own. Her long, silver curls spilled down her back. She stood tall in her perfect blue velvet gown. His father removed Roark’s apprentice doublet from his shoulders, left his side and stepped beside her.

  “This young man has his master’s leave to wander.”

  Her husband was smiling with his mouth, but not his eyes. Roark’s youngest brother, now out of the nursery, looked bored. His elder brother stood on the right at the house priests section, frowning. Roark’s heart grew colder. Eohan and Kian truly loved each oth
er. These people did not love him. His mother did, his sister did— probably. Alana did.

  Alana said, “Sister, I return your blood in order for him to take the vow of a Martlet.”

  “Is it true you are ready to take the vow?” Laraena asked.

  Roark fell to his knees. “Yes, my Lady Mother. I vow to wander, subsist on luck, and bring wealth into House Eyreid as Lady Alana did before me.”

  Tears crept up into his older sister’s eyes as Ylynn took an engraved silver saber with a gold pommel and came forward. “You vow to use this sword in the service of our House and people?”

  “Yes, I will.” Roark kissed the sword.

  “Let this weapon protect you.”

  She held the saber to Roark who took it and sheathed it. Even for the few moments, it lay in his hand, he felt its perfect balance. He would miss the silver saber he used as an apprentice, but one day it would go to his niece or nephew as it had gone to him. His sister rested an embossed and crested velvet knee-length coat upon his shoulders.

  She kissed his cheeks. Then she was handed his Martlet’s justacorps which she laid upon his shoulders.

  The entire great room cheered again. A flood of movement surrounded him. Food began flowing from the kitchen.

  His sister took him by the hand and led him to the head table. She gave him a quick hug and whispered, “I found my promotion strangely overwhelming.” Sitting beside his parents, people chatted their congratulation. Faces swam in front of his eyes until Byronia made her way to him, her blonde hair sparkled in the dancing light.

  “After your feast, I will be traveling back to Dynion to find the missing children,” Byronia said. “Would you like to travel with me?”

  Roark didn’t normally go after women, but he felt connected to Byronia is some way. It wasn’t lust, but something deeper than friendship. Roark felt his future in Byronia’s hands. Perhaps it was because she was a Martlet. Perhaps it was because like him she disappointed her family.