A Dark Reckoning Read online

  He was a bold one, Wardin would give him that. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. You will have your answer tomorrow, and then you will return to Harth. Either with me, or without.”

  * * *

  Owing to the many private meetings required of him, Wardin had moved out of his small room in the battlemage hall in favor of chambers in the manor, complete with a sitting area and a small nook for dining. This wider variety of furniture to choose from was much appreciated by Rowena, who was curled up in an expensive silk-covered armchair, snoring.

  “My next guest will not appreciate all the hair you’re leaving behind.”

  The blackhound jerked awake at the sound of Wardin’s voice, and leaped from the chair to greet him.

  “I know, I know, it was a bit longer than usual this time.” He stretched out beside her on the carpet, rubbing her belly. “We went all the way out west. There are three less Harthian mining bosses out there, and there’s a great deal more silver in the pockets of some of our people. Enough to get them through the winter, at least. So you can see it was worth it.”

  Rowena thumped her tail against the floor, presumably in agreement.

  “That is good news. But you really shouldn’t leave your door open if you’re going to be describing raids in detail to the dog.”

  Wardin rolled over to see Arun leaning in the doorway. “True, you never know what sorts of shifty characters are lurking in the corridors. Come in.”

  “I’ve got another shifty character with me.” Arun jerked his thumb over his shoulder as Odger followed him into the room.

  The boy was one of the few students left at Pendralyn, now that they’d suspended instruction. Instead of regular schooling he spent most of his time with Arun, as an apprentice of sorts or, on occasion, general servant. Arun said Odger had a talent for the bones—the only other sage he’d ever encountered who did—and had been working with him to cultivate it.

  Wardin sat up. “Is this about the bones, then? Erietta told me you were seeing if you could come up with anything about my guest from Harth.”

  Odger swallowed. His eyes darted around the room, resting only on those things that couldn’t look back at him. He wouldn’t even meet Rowena’s eye when she rose to greet the newcomers.

  Wardin chuckled. “And judging by your face, I guess you did, and it wasn’t anything good.”

  “Right on both counts.” Arun plopped down in the chair Rowena had just vacated. “I didn’t get much, but Odger did. He may be getting even better at this than I am. I’m quite put out by it. Anyway, he has some bad news. He seems to be afraid you’ll behead him for it.”

  “Nasty business, beheading. More work than you’d think, and I’m awfully tired. So you’re safe for tonight.” Wardin took the other armchair, and gestured at a bench near the fire. He waited until Odger sat, then added, “I assure you, Odger, I’m not so attached to this emissary that I’ll grieve to hear you speak ill of him.”

  “It’s not about him.” Odger was still looking at the floor, and spoke almost too softly to hear. “At least, I don’t think it is.” He started biting one of his fingernails, but at a stern cough from Arun, jerked his hand back to his lap and sat up straighter. When he finally started talking, the words came quickly.

  “This visitor has something of great use. A boon. It could even be the thing that wins the war. I see your path with this man ending in triumph.”

  “Ah.” Wardin leaned back in his chair, keeping his face slack, though his pulse thrummed in his ears. He didn’t want to show the boy just how desperately he—they—needed such a boon. Or several. And even then, Eyrdon might well be doomed.

  Wardin had only just decided to try to win his kingdom back, when he’d received a mocking letter from Bramwell informing him of Harth’s new alliance with Aldarine. Together they intended to eradicate the scourge of magic and the house of Rath for good.

  For a green young prince leading a band of rebels that could barely be called an army, besting either kingdom would be challenging, to put it mildly.

  Besting both together was impossible.

  And yet Wardin must find a way to do it. Perhaps he’d just been presented with one. He raised his brows at Odger. “And what is so horrible about victory that I’d want to behead you over it?”

  “It’s a bloody victory.” The boy’s eyes dropped again. “It comes with a cost.”

  “I would expect both. And if you’re talking about a personal cost, you don’t have to worry about me getting angry over that. I’m willing to pay it, whatever it is.”

  “It’s not your blood,” Odger whispered.

  The fritters and pie rolled in Wardin’s stomach, but he kept his voice even. “Whose is it?”

  Odger shook his head. “I don’t know. But there’s something else, at the end of this path. Triumph and blood and …” he swallowed one last time before spitting out the word at last. “Treachery.”

  “So this is some sort of trap, then.” Wardin rubbed his chin. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Still, we may be able to turn whatever the baron’s scheme is in our favor. To get this boon you speak of.”

  “It’s not that, Highness,” Odger said. “I couldn’t say whether anyone’s trying to trap you or not, but the treachery I’m sensing isn’t … I don’t believe the baron is the traitor.”

  “Then who is?”

  Odger looked down at his hands and mumbled, “You’re the traitor.”

  * * *

  You’re the traitor.

  No wonder the boy had been so afraid. Odger knew Wardin’s family history. Everyone did. Wardin Rath was the only son of the most infamous traitor Eyrdon had ever known.

  Wardin walked past the keep and across the grounds, nodding at those he passed, responding automatically to greetings, barely registering the words. Rowena padded along beside him, tail wagging, as if she didn’t have a single care. Perhaps she didn’t. She trusted him, after all. As did all the people in front of him on the practice yard, already at work despite the early hour.

  Perhaps they were wrong to. But at least that trust in their faces, their waves and calls, meant that Odger had kept his promise not to repeat what the bones had told him to anyone else.

  The archers were improving, Wardin noted, though he suspected it would be some time yet before he had a skilled light infantry of any significant size. The longbow—a difficult weapon to master even under ideal circumstances—had been forbidden to Eyrds since the last war. While their arrows flew across one half of the yard, the other side teemed with the spells and chatter of dozens of former students, now grown, who had come back to Pendralyn to train and retrain in magical combat.

  Things were coming along. But for what? Were all of their efforts to be in service of a traitor king? Was he doomed to follow in his father’s footsteps?

  You’re the traitor.

  Surely not. Certainly not. His father had always sought to save his own skin, or to gain power for himself. But Wardin would gladly give anything he had—his life included—without hesitation for the sake of Eyrdon, or Pendralyn, or his friends.

  Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps his kingdom and his loved ones would be at odds one day. Would he have to betray one to save the other?

  Of course, the bones had been known to be wildly wrong, and Odger was only just learning to read them. That his prediction would come to pass was hardly inevitable or immovable. And in any case, predictions were slippery things. Without knowing the nature of this treachery, there was no way to know for certain what it meant—or how to avoid it.

  Which was why, despite having spent the whole night (much to Rowena’s dismay) tossing and turning and arguing with himself, Wardin still hadn’t decided whether to accompany Corbin back to Heathbire or not.

  He came to the waterfall at the edge of the valley and the low, flat rock that had, as far as he knew, always been there. It was a fine morning, brisk and bright, and the sunlight glinted off flecks of white in the stone’s surface.
/>   Wardin wasn’t surprised to see Erietta and Arun already sitting there, eating honey cakes, dark heads close together as they spoke. “You look like conspirators. I hope you saved me a cake.”

  “Perhaps we were conspiring to eat all the cake. But I suppose you’ve spoiled that scheme now.” Erietta handed one to Wardin as the latter sat down. Rowena trotted over to Hawthorn, Erietta’s hound, and promptly joined him in begging for scraps.

  Arun had left with Odger the night before, to be sure the boy tended to his balance properly. They hadn’t yet had a chance to speak privately. Wardin got straight to the point. “How much faith do you have in Odger’s talent with the bones?”

  Arun sighed. “I’m of two minds. He really does have a rare gift for it. But he’s fond of dramatics, and prone to overexcitement. And sensing the future is harder than the present or the past.”

  “So?” Wardin asked. “Do you think he’s right, or not? I need you to be of one mind, as I seem to be of no minds myself.”

  Erietta laughed. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

  “What, along with my sense of honor and loyalty, you mean?”

  Her face sobered, and she shook her head firmly, as if speaking to a student who’d gotten an answer wrong. “Of course you’re not a traitor. Odger’s misinterpreted. There’s no question.”

  Wardin snorted. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were accusing me of being a traitor yourself.”

  “And I was wrong, wasn’t I? So is Odger. It’s that simple.”

  “I certainly don’t think you’re doomed to a fate written in stone, if that’s what you’re asking,” Arun said. “Treachery can mean any number of things. Secrets, stealth. I do think there are shadows around this boon he saw. But he’s most likely right about the boon itself. Whatever Heathbire is up to, whether it’s an honest offer or something else, he’s got something you can use to your advantage.”

  “You think I should go, then?”

  “I do. With great caution, of course. Personally, I still don’t understand your obsession with horses—”

  “A lucky thing you’re not commanding our army, then.” Wardin had no desire to argue this point with Arun again. The Eyrds were not horsemen, as a rule. But if their usual ambush-and-raid tactics were enough to win a war against Bramwell Lancet, they’d have won the last one. And the one before that. Wardin would not repeat the mistakes of his uncle and father. Bramwell would use cavalry, at least in the lower ground to the east. Wardin meant to have some of his own. And a better organized infantry, besides.

  Arun ignored the interruption. “But there’s no doubt Pate could be useful to us, for recruiting if nothing else. You’ve gotten a lot of support, but too many people are still wary.”

  “Afraid I’m my father’s son, you mean.”

  And what if they’re right?

  Wardin looked at Erietta. “What do you think? Do you advise me to go?”

  Her brows shot up. “Since when do you take my advice, when it comes to leaving Pendralyn on some impetuous mission to sacrifice yourself for Eyrdon’s sake?”

  “You’re no funnier than your brother, you know.”

  “I should think not. Arun is very funny.” Erietta nodded at the still unbitten cake in his hand. “Stop glowering and eat something, will you? You’re so irritable when you’re hungry. To answer your question, yes, I think you should go. We know Corbin is telling the truth, as far as he knows it, and to be frank, it’s not as though we can afford not to pursue any advantage. If we really do gain horses and Pate Forthwind, lovely. But if Heathbire is playing you false, well, at least we’ll gain some information. Obviously I agree with Arun about caution. And you should take him with you.”

  Wardin took a moment to swallow his bite of cake. He’d assumed the three of them would go together, actually. “Just him? Surely a contriver would be useful.”

  “Surely,” Erietta agreed. “Arun and I were just discussing that, as a matter of fact. I’ll be useful to you as far as the border. But we’ll part ways there so I can head for Tarnarven and find a ship. I’m going to Dordrin.”

  Wardin blinked at her, momentarily unable to grasp this seemingly random declaration. “To Dordrin?”

  “Yes, of course.” From her matter-of-fact tone, she might have just announced she was going to Avadare rather than a mysterious, foreboding kingdom across the sea. “I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks, and now that this has come up, it seems like a good time. It’ll be more practical to travel part of the way together.”

  “A good time for what? To get out of Eyrdon and go into hiding?” Wardin popped the last of his cake into his mouth. “I suppose I can’t argue with you there. Tobin isn’t any happier with you than Bramwell is with me.”

  Erietta rolled her eyes at his joke. “There’s no point in mincing words. As you well know, our odds of winning this war are terrible. You haven’t been able to recruit nearly enough support yet, and even if you got most of the kingdom to rise up, we would still be outnumbered. The Harths have superior skills, and experience, and equipment. And Bramwell isn’t coming alone, when he comes for us in the spring.”

  “Because he’s allied himself with Aldarine.” Far from offended by these unnecessary reminders of his (possibly insurmountable) weaknesses, Wardin smiled as understanding dawned. “And Dordrin and Aldarine are always at odds.”

  “They say Iver of Dordrin hates Bramwell, too,” Arun added. “Almost as much as you do, to hear the tales. There are rumors about a fight over Queen Elinor.”

  “Romantic nonsense,” Erietta said with a dismissive wave. “It makes a better story than simply saying they’re constantly squabbling over trade. But the point stands either way.”

  “An ally in Cairdarin could be useful to an enemy of Bramwell’s,” Wardin said with a slow nod. “As could any war that weakens Harth.” He was a bit embarrassed not to have thought of this himself. But then, half a year ago he’d been an inconsequential adept. He wasn’t exactly used to leading men and planning wars.

  “Just as his army could be useful to you,” Erietta said. “I think it’s time you sent an emissary to suggest a mutually beneficial alliance, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Wardin crossed his arms. “But not you.” The stories of Dordrin and its king told of perverse customs, strange magic that bore no resemblance to what they called magic in Cairdarin, even monsters. Rumors, no doubt exaggerations, but he didn’t like the idea of sending her into unknown dangers. Besides, such a journey would take weeks. Months even, with winter upon them. “This is your magistery. You’re needed here.”

  “Oh, please. You’re the master here now, Highness, and everyone knows it.”

  She didn’t sound resentful. On the contrary, she sounded proud. It gave Wardin a curious feeling in his chest that he didn’t care to examine. “That doesn’t mean we don’t need you here.”

  “You need me there. You can both spare me and trust me entirely. There are very few people who meet that description. Most of them are on this rock. And of them, I am the only contriver. Some of our magic is particularly suited to diplomacy, gathering information, striking bargains. I’m the obvious choice.”

  “But surely a sage would be better,” Wardin argued. “For communication.”

  “So I’ll bring one.”

  “Perhaps I should go with you,” Arun said. “War can bring someone else to Heathbire.”

  Erietta arched a brow. “No offense, but you aren’t the first sage I’d choose for that particular spell. You’ve never been especially gifted at it and you know it. And it’ll be tricky, trying to do it across such a distance.”

  “Across salt water, no less.” Arun scratched his beard. “Honestly, I don’t know who you’re going to get to do that.”

  “I’ll have to take Desmond,” Erietta said with a sigh. “He’ll make a horrible companion, but he is the best at sage communication we have.”

  Wardin’s stomach fluttered, and he realized he was feeling a bit pa
nicky. “Stop talking about it as if you’re definitely going. I’d rather send someone else.”

  “Why?” Erietta gave him a challenging glare. “You don’t think I can manage it?”

  “Of course you can. But it could be dangerous.”

  She snorted. “And I’m safe here? You have noticed this pesky war thing, haven’t you?”

  “That’s entirely different. At least here I—” Wardin cut himself off, horrified by what he’d almost said. At least here I can protect you. He wouldn’t have been able to protect himself, if she’d heard such a thing come out of his mouth. He looked at Arun in hopes of a rescue. “Surely you don’t want to send your sister across the sea?”

  Arun shrugged. “She’s right. She is a good choice for it. As for the danger, she’s right about that, too: none of us are safe anywhere in Cairdarin. It might not be such a terrible idea to get her away. And anyway, she’ll be an official emissary from the rightful King of Eyrdon. Nobody at Iver’s court is going to harm a diplomat.”

  “But if she—”

  “She is right here, you know,” Erietta said with a huff.

  Arun grinned at his sister. “She can look after herself, for the most part. If you’ll recall, when you went to get her from the dungeon in Narinore, she’d already rescued herself by the time you got there.”

  “I still helped her find her way out,” Wardin grumbled. But he knew he’d lost.

  “As I was saying, I’ll take Desmond,” said Erietta. “No one else, not when we have to cross so much of Cairdarin to get there and back again. Subtlety will be better than might for this.”

  “Well, then.” Arun leaned over to tug at the cloth the honey cakes sat on. “We’d best pack these up. Seems we’ve got a journey ahead of us.”

  2

  Wardin

  “The weather won’t get any better as we leave the mountains, you know,” Desmond grumbled. “There may be more snow here, but it’s colder up north. And we’ll never find a ship willing to travel across the sea at this time of year. We …”