Dreamspinner Press Year Five Greatest Hits

by Tinnean

  “You should away,” Jaron spoke the words he was thinking.

  Valian looked at his brother, knowing that emotions raged inside the man, the pain of losing the only woman he had ever loved and the joy at having his son restored to him. Valian could not imagine such emptiness and such fullness both at the same time. “We gave him goat milk for the short time he was ours. He seemed to like it.”

  Jaron nodded. “I need to find him a nurse, but I’m sure I will have my pick. There are many left wailing in the night from the deaths of their sons and daughters. The emperor’s army takes both old and young.”

  “As does yours,” he reminded him.

  “He killed my wife!” Jaron railed at his brother, raw emotion surging through him.

  “And you killed his,” Valian reminded him, his breath shaky. “When your men attacked the temple in Rais… Drea was there alone but for her son Noor.”

  Jaron’s eyes clouded, and for a flickering moment there was sympathy there. “I sent my men to kill him, not his family.”

  “And instead they found your brother’s wife and son alone and unprotected.” Valian’s voice, the way it dropped off, quavered slightly, made the younger man shiver. “She was young and beautiful….There was nothing left for Arterus to place in the crypt.”

  “Is that why you saved my son?” Jaron snarled at him. “Because you saved his? I heard how you slaughtered my men, how they were all found without their heads!”

  “I saved your son because I could.” Valian took a settling breath. “If I could have saved Tonteen, I would have. If I could have saved Drea, I would have…. As it was, she hid her son and led the men away. I arrived when they found him and so interrupted his flight to the grave. It seems I am the guardian of sons but not their mothers. I had wished to be both.”

  Jaron’s breath hitched painfully. “I never meant for that atrocity to occur. Drea was—I knew her. I would have killed those men myself if you had not.”

  “No one ever intends the casualties of war,” Valian said as he bowed low.

  Jaron mirrored the bow, lingering in the respectful position longer than he. As he straightened, looking for his brother’s eyes, the warmth he knew he would find, counted on, craved, it was then that he noticed that Valian had not pushed back the cowl to reveal his face. It was odd that he had not, strange that his sibling allowed his face to remain obscured.

  “Why do you hide yourself from me? Were you burned in the fire?”

  He shook his head. “Not burned.”

  “Then?”

  “Changed.”

  “How changed?”

  Valian shook his head. “Ravel was—is—as we always suspected.”

  Jaron frowned, taking a step forward, reaching for the cowl, wanting to whip it back and look on the golden eyes and dark curly brown hair he had known since they were both children.

  Even though he was the son of a concubine and Arterus and Valian were the sons of the empress, the Ko-Tan, they had all grown up together in the palace. The fact that Valian had always treated him as an equal, had loved him and hated him in equal measure as only a sibling could, was how Jaron knew he could trust him with his life. Conversely, his relationship with Arterus, the firstborn, had always been that of master and servant. Arterus had been molded to be emperor, to take their father Novo’s place when he died, and he never let Jaron forget it.

  “Let me see your face,” Jaron demanded, moving forward.

  Valian evaded the grasp easily, twisting fast, contorting beyond his brother’s reach as though he were boneless.

  “Valian!”

  “Stop,” he ordered, but it came out as more of a plea. “Just listen, I need something of you.”

  Jaron froze, the truth hitting him. “We always said she was a witch. Ravel, the unharc, you’re telling me we were right?”

  “Aye, we were.”

  His eyes got huge. “So you’re saying that she what—has cast some sort spell over you.”

  “Aye, a spell, of a kind.”

  “Let me see!”

  “You need not see, but you would do well to grant me the favor I ask.”

  “Anything. Well you know this. Only name your desire.”

  He cleared his throat. “You leave for Caruvia on the tide, do you not?”

  “I do, there to regroup, hire men. I will avenge my wife and kinsmen, Valian. Do not think to sway me from my present cour—”

  “Your fight, yours with Arterus for the throne, is no longer my concern,” he told him. “I tried to bridge your strife but now I am done. I cannot remain here in Narsyk.”

  “Why not? If you say you will not return to court, then say you will with me to Caruvia.”

  He shook his head. “I cannot. I cannot betray Arterus anymore than I could you. I love you and he in equal measure, and so wished for my family to be one but now,” he sighed, “now my influence is taken from me and so I must flee.”

  “To where?”

  He shrugged. “Across the channel, east to Crosas or south to Rieyn, but please, brother, I would you take Ostyn to Holt Skaarn, as he is—”

  “Are you mad?” Ostyn whispered harshly under his breath, still, even in his fury, concerned for the infant, of waking him. “I would not leave your side for—”

  “I forbid it,” Valian said firmly, turning to glance at his servant. “I will not have you squander your life or the mind the gods gave you to simply walk at my side and be a man of no consequence. Your course was set for the academy this winter, and it is there that you will go. That is my command to you.”

  “I will not leave you. You cannot force my hand.”

  “We shall see,” Valian said, and with that Ostyn felt a tiny pinprick on the back of his hand.

  He had enough time to turn to Valian, call him a son of a whore, before he collapsed at his feet in the lush grass.

  “You will take him to Holt Skaarn,” Valian told his brother, tossing the quill of the hurong bird away, “to the academy there.”

  Jaron grunted. “Your mother… she taught you well her art of healing and poison.”

  “Aye, she did,” Valian agreed, bending down to one knee, his hand on the pulse beating at the base of his friend’s neck.

  “She was so different, so frightening compared to mine.”

  “Your mother lived in light, mine is darkness, and our father enjoyed having yours on his arm and mine plotting the ruin of rivals. He loved and adored them both.”

  “Indeed,” Jaron agreed.

  Valian’s grunted softly. “I loved your mother as well; she was a jewel, full of warmth and kindness and was gone, as was mine, far too soon.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, sucking in a breath. “You linger there on your knees, are you concerned for your servant? Were you afraid you killed him?”

  “No,” Valian snapped at his brother. “I am well versed in the poisoning arts, as you know. I simply wanted to know how long I could stay and speak to you before he woke.” His head tipped up to his brother. “And well you know this man is my friend, so much more than servant.”

  “You need not rail at me, simply instruct me as to your desire.”

  “I would have you keep him under lock and key to give me the time I need for my scent to grow cold.”

  “He’ll come looking for you the moment I release him.”

  Valian shook his head. “He won’t. He’s not daft, and his logic will prevail once the time for tracking is gone. When you reach the academy, he will be resigned to his fate.”

  Jaron was not as certain as his brother.

  “I leave him in your care. If you rise in power, I would the same for him. If I were to remain, fortune would shine on him. I would that not change.”

  “Agreed.”

  “He has been loyal to me. He will be the same to you now that I have chosen his path for him. Keep him close.”

  “I swear it will be done.”

  Valian rose in front of his brother. “Even though he will bear me only hatred from this
day forward, I will know I have done what was best for him.”

  “Is it best for you, Val, to be without your servant?”

  “His destiny and mine are no longer tangled.” He sighed deeply, flexing his fingers in the long, black leather gloves. “He is free; make it known at the academy.”

  Jaron nodded. “I have coin for him, fear not.”

  “That is a blessing, and I thank you.”

  He looked down at his child. “It is you who are the blessing, brother, not I.”

  Valian took a step back.

  “Truly,” Jaron stopped him with his words alone. “I would you come with me,” his tone, his eyes, were supplicating, hopeful.

  Valian shook his head. “I cannot, for the reasons already stated, as well as for more that I would not have you know.”

  “Ravel will kill you for this,” he said sadly, clutching his son tighter against his chest.

  “She has failed the Ko-Tai,” Valian said, his voice somber and low. “Ravel has her own life to care for.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, hoping that vengeance would be his and not simply the disappointment of his brother, the emperor, the Ko-Tai.

  Jaron took a step back from Valian, and with his advisor, Trajan Naru, bowed low, showing his brother all the respect and honor and love he felt. When he straightened up, Valian was gone. Only Tonteen’s silver talisman was left hanging on the small stone shrine to Hatsu, the goddess of peace. Jaron bid Trajan pick Ostyn up as he himself went down on one knee and began to pray as his son slept quietly in his arms.

  One

  MAKING HIS way to the stables, Gareth Terhazien heard his mother calling and came to a stop in the middle of the courtyard. His father, who had been walking to intercept him, looked up toward the keep.

  “Who calls?” Torbald asked, unsure as to where the sound had come from.

  “It is the Baroness, Lord,” Gareth’s friend Penn H’rah answered for him. He stopped next to Torbald, then turned to look up toward the massive stone keep that was the center of life in the holding of Deshal Mar in the barony of Kasan.

  Torbald Terhazien shielded his eyes from the setting sun and saw his wife clearly. She was standing atop the age-worn stone steps that led to the enormous iron-belted doors that were the main entrance of the keep. Her left hand covered her heart as she pointed with her right up at the ridge. A shock went through Torbald’s body as he looked at her. The absolute joy showed so clearly in her face, her smile easing features so long worn by sadness and fear. He saw how very beautiful and elegant his wife was.

  Long, golden hair only recently dusted with silver fell in a plait down her back. Usually a veil would cover her hair, but as she was home, she had gone without it. It had taken many years for her to forego her courtly upbringing and adopt the ease of country living. It suited her; he found her breathtaking.

  Penn interrupted his thoughts abruptly. “Who comes?” he asked slowly, squinting into the sun, trying to see more clearly what the baroness already had.

  “By the gods,” Torbald breathed, seeing clearly as the sun set behind the small hill overlooking the courtyard. A smile spread widely across his face. “By the gods!”

  “Who comes?” Penn asked again, growing irritable, as was always his first reaction. He looked past the baron to his son. “Gareth? Who comes?”

  “Ehron,” he answered flatly. “He has come.”

  “He is a scrap early,” Penn complained tightly, trying not to sound quite as disappointed as he felt. He watched two men on horseback descend into the wide courtyard and wondered briefly why they had no escort.

  Torbald slapped his son and his son’s closest friend hard on the back and then started walking up to the keep to join his wife. He felt as though his chest would tear apart and his heart would burst. He had all his children with him after so very long. The war had lasted so much longer than anyone could have ever imagined, and Ehron had been away for the entire duration.

  “Whore’s blood,” Penn sighed, stepping in close beside Gareth. “Your brother has arrived.”

  “I knew he would.” Gareth shrugged and then turned to follow after his father. “And I am pleased for his return. It is only that I will miss being caretaker of the land.”

  “Bear a sweet thought,” Penn offered, following close beside Gareth up to the keep. “Perhaps Ehron has no interest in the barony and will travel to Tristan and reside at court after he has paid his respects to your father. Not all men have your desire to care for the land and those who dwell there.”

  “Perhaps,” Gareth said softly, thoughtful suddenly. It had been ten years since he had seen his older brother, and Gareth really had no idea what to expect.

  Ehron had gone, as had all the other first-born sons of the noble houses, with Nictorus, the Warlord of Rieyn, to fight against Strad Olerius in the icy north. The campaign against the kingdom of Crosas had lasted ten years, with victory finally coming only after the sack of Castle Wharton in the capital city of Theane. The Crosan king had thought to expand his kingdom by conquering his neighbor to the south. He had paid for his avarice with his life.

  “Your father sees that you are the one who has been here with him, Gareth,” Penn reminded him. “He will not forget that you have been his second here.”

  “I should have gone to war. That is what my father prizes.”

  “The law does not allow for two sons of the same family to go to war,” Penn responded. “Well you know this.”

  “I could have gone.”

  “More to the truth,” Penn smiled, throwing an arm across his friend’s shoulders, “your father would have never allowed you lost to the war as well.”

  “Aye,” he sighed, pushing his friend away from him as they neared the keep. Gareth walked up the age-smoothed steps ahead of Penn and stood beside his father in a show of solidarity. There, he and the others waited for his brother.

  Gareth had expected Ehron to arrive home, as others had done, in his dress uniform. He had seen them, as had the rest of his family, in the marketplace at Tanon, and the red and gold garments were beyond compare. It surprised him to see his brother approach in a simple linen tunic, leather jerkin and breeches. The only indication of wealth or rank came from the legionnaire’s saddle with the added crest of his house just under the pommel. Despite them, he did not look like the son of a nobleman.

  “He looks so thin,” Odessa Terhazien said worriedly. She clasped her husband’s hand and held it tight.

  “He looks old,” Amelina said from beside her mother. “I never imagined him old.”

  “You were only nine seasons when he left,” Odessa sighed, stroking her daughter’s long, sun-kissed hair. “Of course he would look aged to your young eyes.”

  The two men came to a stop before the keep and quickly dismounted. Torbald could wait no longer and descended the ancient steps in two great leaps to reach his son. He flung himself into Ehron’s waiting arms, grabbing him into a bone-crushing embrace.

  “My son, my son,” he chanted, holding Ehron tight, crying into his hair. “My son has returned to his home.”

  Ehron buried his face in his father’s shoulder and hugged him back hard. Odessa couldn’t bear seeing her son and not touching him a moment more and so urged all the others down to them so she could once more touch her firstborn pride, for so long a memory to her, now restored. She drew close and put her hand on her son’s arm to draw his attention.

  Ehron looked to her and found himself staring into his mother’s sweet eyes. He kissed his father’s cheek hard then released him and went into his mother’s open arms.

  “Blessed be the gods, for my son is home,” Odessa cried, the tears coming as she knew they would. “I must make my offerings before I find my bed this night so they will know I am so thankful for their love.”

  He held her close, rubbing circles on her back. “You look as you did when I last left you,” he breathed into her hair. “You cannot imagine my happiness seeing your sweet face.”

  Torbald put
his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You find your sister and your brother about you, do you not?”

  Ehron released his mother and straightened. The man standing before him was a few inches taller than even his towering height. He drew back, clearly in disbelief. “This cannot be Gareth.”

  “Aye,” Gareth said stiffly.

  “You rise like Granoc!” Ehron laughed, referring to the mountain that towered above the capital city of Tristan. Laughter erupted from the family as Gareth’s face remained unchanged.

  He was stunned when his brother stepped forward and pulled him into a fierce embrace. After the initial shock, Gareth hugged him back, some of the tension that had been building up for the past month, as the time of Ehron’s inevitable return drew closer easing out of him. He didn’t want to feel resentful toward his brother. He hoped desperately that he and Ehron’s plans would not conflict. He wanted only to take his father’s place as baron, as caretaker of the land, when it was time. He so hoped that Ehron would make a life for himself at court and leave the barony in his capable hands.

  “Is this grace Amelina?”

  His thoughts were interrupted by Ehron’s discovery of the sister he had last seen as she ran after him the day he left for war. She had followed as far down the rutted road as she could before her brother was lost to her sight. Ehron himself had not dared to once look back at her, knowing that he could never have left had he seen her racking sobs. She was only a child, too young to understand duty, wanting only her favorite playmate to stay and never leave her.

  Amelina nodded eagerly to Ehron’s question. Yes, it was she! Yes, she was grown, but still she loved and adored him.

  “Why, you have grown into a goddess!” he said, his voice full of wonder. Amelina caught his tone and heard his words and melted. She threw herself at her brother and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

  “And fear was with you,” the man beside Ehron scoffed under his breath, crossing his arms across his chest, his voice warm, caressing.