Light of Eidon (Legends of the Guardian-King, Book 1) (4 page)

Eldrin awoke as a deafening crack of thunder rolled across the city, rattling windows and shingles. He lay on his side, wrists bound behind him and
pressed between his back and a cold stone wall. Wet cobbles dug into his
shoulder and head, and the pungence of smoke and damp wool was all but
suffocating. His head pounded rhythms of outrage; beneath that pulsed various lesser aches from shoulder, back, and ribs.

He stared at the backs of his eyelids, breathing slowly, trying to move his
awareness past the symphony of pain to his surroundings.

Where was he? What had happened? Had they left him for dead?

A faint rhythmic clicking answered the unvoiced questions.

He cracked his eyelids.

Stone walls soared around him, reaching up to narrow clerestories that let
in the dim light of an afternoon darkened by storm. Bales of cream-colored
wool stacked ten high filled the main space and formed the fourth wall of the
ten-foot pocket in which he lay, clearly the back end of some Southdock
warehouse. A veil of smoke hung in the air.

Two men crouched near the base of the stacked bales, gambling at kadfli,
the gold-tipped black wands clicking softly as they were tossed onto the cobbles. The men bent to study the fall, murmuring over the results. Then one
of them laughed and scooped up the wands with a scab-covered arm to begin
another round.

Outside thunder rumbled again and raindrops briefly spattered the roof.

From this vantage Eldrin could not see his captors’ faces. They were rough, working-class men clad in dirty homespun tunics and britches. Their
hair was long and tangled, their beards unkempt. Sheathed short-blades dangled at their belts beside scarred coin pouches, the latter hanging in empty
folds.

Not far from them a rat emerged from a pile of loose wool and stopped
to watch them, its whiskered nose working, eyes shining like ebony stickpins.
When they ignored it, it scurried forward, keeping to the shadows along the
wall until it left Eldrin’s field of sight.

One of his captors loosed a crow of victory, recapturing Eldrin’s attention.
As the other man leaned back in apparent disgust, light flashed off something
on his chest, and Eldrin stared, slowly going cold with recognition. It was a
golden shield, fused into the man’s flesh by the power of no man. The mark
was an indelible visible sign of the evil to which its bearer had sold his soul,
the mark of those called Terstans.

Servants of the Adversary, Terstans hated the Flames above all else. If they
had their way, there would be no Flames, no Brotherhood, no Mataio at all.
They blasphemed the tenets of Holy Writ, ridiculed the work of the Guardians, and scoffed at the power of the Flames to protect. Only their own
power, they claimed, would save Kiriath.

But all their power did was drive them mad, corrupt their bodies, and
eventually kill them.

These two already sported the telltale boils on arms and faces, and even
from where he lay, Eldrin saw the ring of white curd encircling the irises of
the man facing him. Eventually that curd would fill his eye sockets; his spine
would twist and bend; his hands would stiffen into claws. Then his organs
would fail, passing his suffering soul straight to the arms of his Master in
Torments.

Though this was the closest Eldrin had ever come to these servants of evil,
he had long been warned of their guile, their perversity, their tenacious antagonism to the truth. Terstans had been a blight to the realm for centuries.
Some Mataians considered them the cause of all Kiriath’s troubles, wanted
them cast out-even killed-if they wouldn’t renounce their heresy. Of all
the sects in Springerlan, the Terstans had most reason to fear Eldrin.

“Your brothers are dead … you stand but a heartbeat from the throne.”

Wearing the crown, he could easily revoke the laws protecting freedom
of faith and see the Terstans destroyed or driven from the realm. No wonder they’d kidnapped him. He was surprised they hadn’t killed him. Did they
hope to convert him? To ensnare him in their evil and brand their mark upon
his chest against his will?

He shut his eyes, shuddering. His Light will be my refuge.

Click, click.

Please, my Lord Eidon. You know my heart. I only want to serve you, however
that may be.

Even, he asked himself grimly, if it’s to give your life for your faith?

He shuddered again, praying he would find the will to endure if it came
to that.

A faint, frantic scritch-scritch-scritch erupted from somewhere beyond the
top of his head. Fluffs of wool floated out into his field of vision. The rat
again. It paused in its rustlings as thunder rumbled and the rain spatter
increased. Then a flurry of tiny clicks raced toward Eldrin, and the creature
burst into sight, inches from his face. It stopped to sniff and lick a dark bloodstain on the cobbles. His blood.

The rodent drew closer, eyes bright, whiskers quivering. Fat, gray, smelling of sewage, it seemed bigger close up. Its nose touched his brow, his eye; a
delicate paw rested on his nose.

With a cry of revulsion Eldrin lurched backward, slamming his head into
the wall behind him. Stars wheeled past his vision as across the floor the
Terstans’ heads swiveled round.

“He’s awake,” one muttered.

The other started toward him, and the rat scurried away. In a moment the
two men stood over him. Both had the curd in their eyes. Eldrin watched
them warily, expecting to be kicked or spat upon.

“Guess he’s gonna make it,” the older one said in a deep, time-roughened
voice.

“He doesn’t look dangerous,” the younger one commented.

“Looks mean nothing, Jafeth,” his companion said. He had a bulbous nose
and piglike eyes. “This skinny idiot could bring down the whole realm.”

Jafeth shifted uncomfortably. “Do you suppose they’re still looking for
him?”

“Aye, they’re lookin’.”

“If they find us, I mean, with him and all-“

“They willna find us.” The bigger man headed back for the bales.

“They’ll kill us if they do, won’t they?”

“They willna find us.”

“But-“

“It’s the storm, Jafeth?” the older man cried sharply. “By the Words, think
The birds want to go to ground. Even if they force ‘em, the wind and rain
will make ‘em nearly useless. All they have right now is human legs and eyes.
And thousands of places to search. They willna find us.”

A blinding flash attended by a wall-shaking crack punctuated his claim.
Then the heavens opened in earnest and the roar of a violent downpour obliterated all other sound. Rain pounded the roof, gusted against the windows,
and smacked the streets outside. The Terstans paused, apparently to appreciate its intensity, then returned to their game.

Eldrin lay still, sick with dread. He did not know what all the talk of birds
meant-probably nothing; all Terstans were mad-but he did know the man
was right about the number of potential hiding places in Southdock and the
limitations of human legs. It could be hours, even days, before he was found.

The storm continued for some time, lightning and thunder rolling back
and forth across the wide valley in which the royal city of Springerlan
sprawled. Eldrin’s hands went to sleep first, then his arms. His neck ached
like fury, but when he tried to sit up to ease it, he found himself unable, could
only lie in his own blood and misery and pray. His Light will be my refuge. His
name will be my joy.

Eventually the celestial fireworks ended and the rain eased. Jafeth disappeared into the growing darkness and soon returned with a lantern, a loaf of
bread, and a jug. The lantern he hung from a rod jammed between the bales
of wood. The food and drink he shared with his companion.

Far off across the bay, the cannon at Kildar Fortress boomed, signaling
day’s end. By now Eldrin had added a powerful thirst to his list of discomforts
and, ironically, the desperate need to relieve himself. He had been squirming
and trying not to moan for some minutes when the older Terstan suddenly
looked round at him, glaring. “What’s the matter with you?”

In a rasping voice, Eldrin explained his need.

The Terstan glowered at him for a long time, Jafeth watching warily. Then
he grunted and picked up the jug. “‘Fraid you’ll have to wet yourself, highness,” he sneered. He considered a moment, then started to chuckle. The jug
gurgled as he lifted it and took a long swig.

Watching him drink was torture. Eldrin swallowed on a raw throat and
closed his eyes. A sudden crash followed by a rumble of footfalls and jingling
metal jerked them open again, in time to see his two guards spring to their
feet. A moment later three men burst from the dark aisle between wool bales
and wall, rapiers drawn. Eldrin’s captors sprang to cut them off.

“Meridon?” the older one grated.

“What have you done with him??” the lead swordsman-apparently Mer-
idon-demanded. “If you’ve killed him, so help me-“

“We’re no murderers,” the big Terstan protested. “If anythin’ we saved his
life.”

`After putting it in danger to begin with?” Meridon, rapier still drawn,
peered around the Terstan’s shoulder, and Eldrin got another shock. It was
the red-haired man he’d seen at the wharf.

“So what do you intend to do with him now that you have him?” Meridon asked.

“Sell him, o’ course.”

A moment of silence followed. Meridon’s voice, when it came, sounded
strangled. “By the Words, man? He’s the king’s brother?”

“He’s the Mataio’s pawn. And do na say you wouldn’t be happy if he
disappeared.”

“It’d be a death sentence.”

Finally Eldrin grasped what they intended and the shock overwhelmed his
poor bladder, a warm dampness permeating the front of his robe. He was not
to be converted but rather sold to Thilosian slavers and borne across the sea
to the lands of the south.

“He’s too skinny for the Games,” the Terstan said. `And he can read and
write. He’ll sell as a scribe right off. That’s na so bad a life.”

Assuming they don’t guess who he really is,” Meridon said grimly.

“How would they guess?”

“One look at his face and it’s obvious.”

“To a Kiriathan maybe, but how many Thilosians know Kiriathan royalty?”

“Their queen is a Kalladorne,” Meridon pointed out. “They’d get top price
from the Esurhites for him.” He paused. “Do you have any idea what they
would do with a prince of Kalladorne blood? Especially one as weak as he?”

Eldrin shut his eyes again, choking on his terror. Sweet Elspeth, have mercy!
Lord Eidon, please, not that!

The Terstan said nothing.

“You know I can’t let you do this,” Meridon said softly. “Make it easy for
me, and I’ll tell the king you got away.”

Trembling, seized with a deep nausea, Eldrin listened and prayed and
went limp with relief when the Terstan sighed and apparently gave in. He
heard a receding shuffle, and when he looked again only Meridon and his two
companions remained. The men sheathed their rapiers and Meridon stepped
to Eldrin’s side, bending over him and slicing through the bonds on his wrists
with his dagger. Then strong hands gripped his shoulders, lifting him up to a
sitting position.

“Rest easy, my lord,” his rescuer said as Eldrin’s world kaleidoscoped
around him. “It’ll pass.”

When at last Eldrin dared open his eyes, the first thing he saw was the
bloody river that soaked the left side of his tunic. He touched his ear and
stared at the blood on his fingertips.

“Scalp wounds bleed like fury,” Meridon said. “Seem worse than they
are.”

Eldrin blinked up at him. He was definitely the man from the dock,
though he appeared younger than Eldrin had first thought him. Freckles spattered his upturned nose, and wide brown eyes might have imparted a look of
scampish innocence were they not so cold and hard.

He wore the short-cropped hair of a rank-and-file soldier, and in addition
to the sheathed rapier, a shorter blade hilted with the golden likeness of a
ram’s head was scabbarded at his right hip. The hand resting on its hilt was
callused and webbed with the scars of constant sword work. His leather jerkin
was likewise scored from longtime abuse and stained now with fresh blood.

“Captain Trap Meridon, at your service, my lord,” Meridon said coolly.
“With the King’s Guard.”

King’s Guard? No wonder the Terstan had given in.

“You were at the dock.”

Meridon eased back on one booted heel, resting a hand on the opposite
upraised knee. His expression was stony, his eyes like flint. “We figured they’d
take you off early. So did the others, apparently.”

“The Terstans, you mean?”

Meridon nodded.

Eldrin fingered the cut again. “I don’t understand,” he said finally. “I’ve
been disowned. I’m out of the succession. Even if I hadn’t renounced it all,
I’m still ineligible.”

Meridon’s eyes hooded. “The Table of Lords voted six months ago to
restore your inheritance.”