The Bone Doll's Twin

by Lynn Flewelling

  The king dares to number the free wizards, she thought as fear gave way to anger. As if we are beasts of his flock!

  And yet they’d given her the number ordained by Illior.

  A shadow fell across her table, and renewed fear scattered her thoughts. She looked up, expecting to find the Harriers surrounding her with their silver and iron bonds, but it was only the taverner.

  He sat down across from her and handed her a small brass cup. Pointing to the brooch, he gave her a wry smile and said, “Drink up, Mistress. I imagine you need fortifying.”

  “Thank you.” Iya downed the strong liquor gratefully and wiped her lips with fingers that still trembled. The taverner was a big, comfortable fellow with kind brown eyes. After the icy cordiality of the Harriers, even a stranger’s kindness was welcome. “I suppose you’ve seen a lot like me in here, being so close to—that place?”

  “Every day, sometimes. Took you by surprise, did they?”

  “Yes. Has this been going on long?”

  “Just started last month. I hear it was that Niryn’s idea. I don’t imagine your kind thinks much of him these days.”

  Something in the taverner’s manner suddenly rang false. Looking into his eyes again, she saw the same disarming innocence she’d seen in the young Harrier’s.

  Taking up her wine cup, she gave him a wide-eyed look over its rim. “He frightens me, but I suppose he is only doing his duty to our king.” She did not dare touch this man’s mind; instead she gently sought out any magic about his person, and found it. Under his tunic he wore a charm that warded against thought reading. He was a spy.

  It had taken less than the blink of an eye to learn this, but Iya retracted her seeking quickly lest there was someone else lurking to catch her at it.

  The taverner plied her with more brandy and questions about herself and the burnings, perhaps trying to coax her into some admission that could be turned against her. Iya meekly persisted in lukewarm platitudes until he must have decided she was a very minor wizard, and not a very smart one to boot. After extending an offer of future hospitality he bid her farewell. Iya forced herself to finish the wretched wine, then walked back to her lodgings to see what the grey-backs had left of it.

  The frightened look the Mermaid’s host gave her was enough to confirm that they had been here. Iya hurried up the stairs, expecting to find her chamber turned upside down.

  Except for the missing glyph she’d left on the door latch, however, nothing appeared to have been disturbed. Her pack lay as she had left it on the bed. Whoever had searched this room had not used their hands to do so. Iya closed the door and fixed the latch, then sprinkled a sand circle on the floor and set about inscribing the necessary chart of wards inside it to create a safe casting space. Once this was done, she sat down inside and cautiously opened her mind, seeking some echo of the searchers and their methods. Gradually a murky scene took shape behind her closed eyelids: a woman and a man, with Harrier guards. The woman was robed in white and had carried a short wand of polished red obsidian. Sitting on Iya’s narrow bed, she had held its ends between her palms and cast a spell of—

  Iya concentrated on the vision, trying to see the patterns of light and color in the space between the woman’s hands. As the glimpses became clearer Iya’s breath caught in her throat. It was a powerful seeking for signs of something … someone …

  Iya concentrated harder, trying to see the woman’s lips as they formed words around the spell.

  When the answer came Iya had to choke down a cry of alarm.

  The woman was seeking a girl child.

  She was seeking Tobin.

  The vision collapsed and Iya slumped forward, resting her face in her hands.

  “Be calm,” she whispered to herself, but fragments of the vision she’d had at Afra danced in the vault of her memory: a queen old, young, ragged, crowned, dead with a halter around her neck, garlanded and victorious. So many of the other wizards she’d talked to over the years had said the same. The myriad strands of fate were still unspliced, despite the guidance of Illior. The king’s creatures had some inkling of the threat to his throne and even now they were seeking her out.

  Then again, she told herself, if they were searching and questioning every wandering wizard who passed through, then they had no idea of the truth. Lhel’s strange magic still shielded Tobin.

  Iya weighed the hated broach in her palm, thinking how the recording wizard had simply reached into a basket and pulled this out at random.

  222

  Two—the number of twins, of duality—repeated thrice like a summoning spell. Two parents. Two children.

  Two wizards—herself and Arkoniel—with different visions of how to protect this child.

  A knowing smile curved her lips. Two wizards—herself and Niryn—with different visions of how to unite the wizards of Skala and serve the throne.

  The Harriers might intend their numbers as instruments of control or shame, but for Iya they were a call to arms.

  Chapter 27

  The castle town of Atyion dominated the fertile plain north of Ero. The castle itself had been built in the embrace of an oxbow in the meandering Heron River, in sight of the Inner Sea. The castle’s two huge round towers were visible for miles around and could easily shelter a thousand men or more in time of siege.

  Duke Rhius’ family had earned their place by war and honor, but their great wealth flowed out of the acres of vineyards, groves, and lush, well-watered pastures full of horses that covered the plain. What had once been a village nestled in the castle’s protective shadow had grown into a prosperous market town. The few plague markers found here were weathered white; Atyion had not been touched by disease for a decade.

  Not since Tobin’s birth.

  Iya rode through the muddy streets and across the lowered drawbridge that spanned the castle moat. Inside the curtain walls lay more land, enough to pasture sizeable herds, and ranks of barracks and stables for the duke’s armies. Many of these were deserted today; the duke’s ally lords and vassals had gone home to tend their own lands.

  The soldiers who remained moved at their leisure, practicing at arms or lounging around the corrals. Armorers and farriers were noisily at work over their smoky forges along the inner wall. A few saddlers sat beneath an awning, cutting leather and mending harnesses. Out of deference for the king, Rhius had no women soldiers among the ranks of his guard, but there were a number of them among the castle household who had once served his father with sword and bow. Cook, back at the keep, was such a one, too. They all still knew how to fight, and would gladly do so if given the order.

  Iya left her horse with a stable hand and hurried up the broad stair to the arched portal that let into the main hall. The doorway was flanked by rows of columns supporting a pointed arch. A painted relief of the Cloud Eye of Illior had decorated the peak of this arch since Atyion was built, but today Iya saw that a carved oak panel had been fitted over it. This bore one of the more martial symbols of Sakor: a gloved hand holding up a flaming sword garlanded with laurel and rue. It had been fitted by a master craftsman; anyone unfamiliar with the house would never guess that another image lay hidden below.

  It’s like the brooch, she thought, saddened and angered. How has it come to this, that we have set the very gods against one another?

  An ancient fellow with a paunch beneath his blue livery greeted her in the hall.

  “How long has Sakor guarded the entrance, Hakone?” she asked, giving him her cloak.

  “Nearly nine years, my lady,” the porter told her. “It was a gift from the king.”

  “I see. Is the duke at home today?”

  “He is, Mistress. He’s in the open gallery. I’ll bring you to him.”

  Iya looked around as they passed through the great vaulted hall and on through a series of rooms and inner galleries. Atyion was still magnificent, but the glory of the house seemed tarnished, as if the structure itself lay under the same pall as its master. A few servants were at
work, polishing and scrubbing, but the furnishings and hangings, even the brightly painted walls, were more faded than she recalled.

  There used to be music and laughter here, she thought. And children running thorough the hall. Tobin had never seen this house.

  “Is Lord Rhius well?”

  “He grieves, Mistress.”

  They found Rhius walking in a pillared gallery overlooking the castle gardens. Judging by the dusty leather boots and jerkin he wore, he’d spent the day in the saddle and only recently returned. A young page trailed after him, ignored.

  As a boy Rhius had always run to meet Iya. Now he dismissed the servants and stood regarding her in bleak silence.

  Iya bowed and looked out over the deserted gardens. “Your aunts and uncles used to play blind beggars with me in that stand of walnut trees.”

  “They’re dead now, too,” Rhius told her. “All but Uncle Tynir. He lost his wife in the plague and his daughter to the king. He’s carved a new estate for himself in the northern territories.”

  A pair of gardeners came into view below them, pulling a cartload of rotted manure. A tall, bald man in a jeweled robe wandered out from a rose maze to watch them at their work.

  Rhius’ mouth tightened with distaste at the sight of him. “Come, let’s speak inside.”

  Iya glanced back at the stranger, trying to make out who it was. “You have a guest?”

  “Several.”

  Rhius led the way to an inner room lit by several lamps. He shut the door and Iya cast a seal to keep out prying eyes and ears.

  “That man in the garden is Lord Orun, Chancellor of the Treasury. Surely you remember him?” Rhius asked, circling a round table that stood at the center of the room.

  Iya remained near the door, watching him pace like a cornered wolf. “Ah yes, he often guested here in your father’s day. I remember Tharin always detested him.”

  “Yes, that’s him. He’s risen high and serves the king closely now as the royal ear. Not a man to cross. Thank Illior, Erius has kept Hylus on as Lord Chancellor. He’s able to keep most of the nobles from eating one another alive.”

  “But why is Orun here?

  “He knew my father, and now he makes it his business to know me. This time he’s brought me some young cousin of his and asks me to take him on as an equerry.”

  “Spreading his spies around, is he?”

  “I’m surrounded by them. He’s gifted me with several pages and a very pretty court minstrel whom I think he intends for my bed. She’s away for the day, or I’d introduce you and do away with the mystery.”

  He sat down and turned a weary eye on her. “So, you’ve come back, as well? You took your time.”

  Iya let that go for the moment. “I’ve just come from visiting your child, my lord. Prince Tobin sends you his regards and a message. He misses you.”

  “By the Four, if you knew how much I miss him!”

  “Tharin gave me to believe otherwise.”

  An angry flush rose in the duke’s cheeks. “Lies breed like maggots on a dead horse, as they say. All these years I’ve kept my secret from Tharin. Now that lie has festered between us and driven him away.”

  “How so?”

  Rhius waved a hand around at the room, the house, perhaps the entire estate. “King Erius prefers to keep me close by him, now that his sister’s life no longer binds me. This is as far from Ero as I’m allowed to venture. Should I bring Tobin here now, where Erius and his wizards come to guest whenever the whim takes them? No, instead I drive away a man who loves me better than any brother, send him back to be the father to Tobin that I can’t be.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Another sacrifice.”

  Iya went to him and clasped his hand. “You know Tharin better than that. He loves you still and keeps you close in your child’s heart. Surely the king would not begrudge you the occasional visit?”

  “Perhaps not, but I’m so—fearful.” The word seemed to choke him. “We both know what Tobin is, and is to be, but she’s also my beloved child and all I have left of Ariani. No sacrifice is too great to keep her safe!”

  “Then perhaps you can find a little forgiveness in your heart for me; you know perfectly well that’s why I’ve stayed away.” She took the Harrier’s brooch from a pouch at her belt and tossed it onto the table. “I was given this in Ero.”

  Rhius eyed it with distaste. “Ah yes. Niryn’s badges.”

  It was Iya’s turn to pace as she told him of her visit to the city, ending with the search made of her room at the inn and the spell the wizard had cast for the unknown girl.

  Rhius let out a bitter bark of a laugh. “You’ve been too long away. Niryn has turned oracle and claims to dream of a usurper who’ll unseat Erius from the throne—a false queen raised by necromancy. It wasn’t enough to slaughter the innocents of royal blood. They go on looking for signs and wonders now.”

  “I think he’s been sent the same vision that I was given, but he misinterprets it. Or chooses to. It wasn’t enough to slaughter the royal girls; none of them was the one and so the dream continues. Fortunately, he hasn’t yet seen Tobin clearly. I think we may thank Lhel’s magic for that. All the same, Niryn has an inkling of what’s coming, and the wizards of Skala are to be numbered and divided against themselves.”

  “By the Light! If they discover Tobin before she’s old enough to fight, to lead—”

  “I don’t believe there is any danger of that just yet. Clearly, however, they’ve had some inkling of wizardly protection, otherwise why should they have scoured my room looking for her?”

  “Are you certain they found no clue there?”

  “I saw no sign of it. Sooner or later, though, the king’s spies will recall the connection between your family and myself. I only hope that Arkoniel’s presence at the keep won’t bring undue attention on the household.”

  “I’ve said nothing of him. Keep him away from the city and unnumbered.”

  “I plan to. Has Niryn shown any interest in the child recently?”

  “None at all. Of course, he’s had the Harriers and their work to occupy his attention. Quite a powerful little cabal he’s building up.”

  “How so?”

  Rhius laced his fingers together around one knee and stared down the black mourning ring on his left hand. “There are rumors of secret meetings being held somewhere outside the city.”

  “And Erius says nothing to this? I can’t imagine even the rumor of such a thing going unchallenged.”

  “They serve him, or so he believes. For all his caution about rivals, Erius has a true blind spot when it comes to Niryn and his followers.”

  “Or has been given one. Tell me, how does the king seem to you these days? Do you see any of his mother’s madness growing in him?”

  “On the face of it, he’s nothing like her. The business with the girl children—” He made a weary, dismissive gesture. “He’s not the first to take such ruthless measures to ensure a succession. For years now Niryn has filled his head with fears of traitors and rivals, then earned favor by rounding up people for execution. Mad Agnalain had no use for wizards; her son keeps his by him day and night. Niryn brags openly about his “visions,” but rages against Illiorans and wizards and anyone who might rise up and proclaim the Prophecy of Afra again.”

  “How many Harrier wizards are there now?”

  “Twenty, perhaps. Many of them are very young and he keeps them on a tight rein. But there are others at court who recognize power when they see it and support him—Lord Orun among them. Tell me, Iya, in all your wandering, how many wizards can you claim to our cause?”

  Iya held a finger to her lips. “More, but leave that to me until the moment arrives. And you know wizards alone won’t put Tobin on the throne. We must have armies. Are you still prepared to take the risk?”

  Rhius’ face set like a grim mask. “What have I to lose that hasn’t already been taken from me? Tobin can’t remain hidden forever. He must reveal—” He rubbed at his eyelids and
sighed. “She must reveal herself eventually and either take the throne or die. If she’s discovered before that, then none of us will survive Erius’ rage. Where there’s such certainty, a warrior sees no risk.”

  Iya covered his hand with her own and squeezed it. “The Lightbearer chose you as much as Tobin. That trust sits well on you. As you say, we must continue to be cautious. Even Illior’s favor doesn’t guarantee success.” She sat back and studied the duke’s gaunt face. “If we had to fight today, how many men could you bring to the field? What nobles would back you?”

  “Tharin, of course, and the men of his estate. Nyanis, I think, and Solari. They’d stand with me. My uncle bears the king no goodwill and has ships. Those who lost their women and girls to him—many of those might be willing to back a rightful queen in the field if they saw a chance of winning. Five thousand, perhaps more. But not for a child, Iya. I don’t think they’d fight for Tobin yet. Erius is a strong king, and a good one in many ways, and Plenimar is still restless. It’s the same as when his mother died and Ariani was so young.”

  “Not entirely. Then they’d had a mad queen. Now they’ve had years of plague and famine and war, and whispers of prophecy. A sign will be given, my lord, and when it comes, the people will recognize it.”

  Iya stopped, startled at how loud her voice had risen in the little room, and how hard her heart was suddenly pounding. At Afra she’d seen so many possible futures—was the sign she waited for among these?

  She went to the table and sat down by Rhius. “The king keeps you close, yet not on Tobin’s account. Why? What’s changed between you?”

  “I’m not certain. You know my marriage to Ariani was a one-sided love match. I loved her and her brother loved my lands. I expect he thought I’d die first and leave it all to her and the Crown. Now I think he means to do it through Tobin. Erius speaks often of bringing Tobin to court to join the Companions.”