Season of Sacrifice (12 page)

Duke Coren had chosen
him
. Duke Coren wouldn’t have chosen a coward. As Reade repeated that thought, he looked down at the woodstar in his hands. The sun was high in the sky, and the bavin picked up the bright light. In fact, the woodstar seemed to glow with a light of its own, a bright whiteness that leaked around Reade’s fingers.

The white light didn’t frighten Reade, though. Oh, no. He wasn’t a coward. He could do anything he wanted. He was brave enough to be the huer, on the very edge of the cliffs. He was brave enough to go out fishing in the nighttime. He was brave enough to walk to the Guardians’ Sacred Grove all by himself. He was brave enough to take Duke Coren’s reins and pull the horse from the road. He was brave enough to throw away his Great Mother, now that he was a big boy. Now that he didn’t need the Great Mother’s protection.

Before he even knew that he was ready, he let the bavin fall back on his chest. He was distracted for just a moment as the woodstar flashed white against his golden robes. Then, he leaned forward, jerking half out of the saddle. He pretended that the horse had caught its foot in some unexpected pothole. As he fell forward, he pulled hard on the reins, jerking the stallion from the smooth road.

For one instant, he felt the horse hesitate, not quite turning from the road. Reade knew how to make the stallion move, though. He leaned forward as far as he could across the beast’s neck, screaming like the wind in one of the great Land’s End storms. After one scary moment, when Reade thought the horse would rear up, the stallion leaped across the rough-plowed field, tossing its head.

That first jump threw Reade backward, almost making him drop the reins. He swayed on the edge of the high saddle, and his woodstar flew up and hit him in the face. It wasn’t glowing white anymore. It was just an ordinary bavin, a black, prickly piece of the Tree that scraped his cheek.

The horse jumped again, and Reade was slammed down on his tailbone. He opened his mouth and gasped like a fish caught in a net, unable to breathe in air. Duke Coren swore and leaned far forward to grab the reins. The horse was even more frightened by the duke’s motion, and Reade was certain that he was going to be crushed. Duke Coren would smash him from behind, and the horse would jump up from below. Reade shut his eyes, terrified by the commotion he had made. His hands flew up, closing over his bavin.

The woodstar reminded him of the Great Mother that also swung around his neck. The curved iron burned against his hand like a brand. Before he could think, he pulled the charm off his neck. He cocked his arm back and threw the Great Mother with all his might, the breath grunting out of him as he let it go. He could not see it land.

There! Let Maida say that Reade was a coward now! Let her say that he was afraid of anything!

Before the horse could jump another time, Duke Coren gathered up the reins. He pulled back on the leather so hard that the stallion reared up. Reade whooped in surprise. He wasn’t a coward just because he was glad Duke Coren grabbed him around his belly. That was only smart, the way he clutched at the duke’s sleeve. Any smart boy would have done the same thing.

At last, the stallion stood still in the middle of the field. Its sides moved in and out like the bellows Mum sometimes used on the fire back home.

Duke Coren swung down from the animal’s back and tugged at Reade’s arm, pulling him off the horse so hard that the boy stumbled. “What in the name of the Seven Gods are you trying to do, boy?”

Boy? What had happened to Sun-lord? Duke Coren must be furious!

Reade could hardly explain what he had done. He barely understood himself. What a stupid idea, trying to leave the Great Mother in the field so that Maida would think he was brave! Duke Coren would never understand!

The duke’s fingers clawed into Reade’s arm, hauling him upright and pinching his flesh against the bone. Reade’s head was thrown back with enough force that his neck popped. When he looked up, he could see Donal riding across the field. The man was swearing as he pulled his horse to a stop. Maida stared at Reade, her eyes wide and frightened.

“I asked you a question, boy!”

“N—nothing, Your Grace. I wasn’t doing anything! The horse was running, and I slipped forward. I tried to grab the reins to keep from falling, and that must have scared him. P—please, Your Grace, I didn’t mean to do anything!”

The words tumbled over themselves, and Reade tried to swallow the sob that rose in his throat. This wasn’t fair! Maida had made him do this! She was the one who had said he was a coward. She was the one who had said he was a lamb!

She should be the one trying to explain to Duke Coren. This was all Maida’s fault, just like when Mum punished him for not finishing his chores when
Maida
had tracked dust across the hearth. He craned his neck about, trying to see if Maida was going to speak up. Before he could find her, though, the duke twisted his arm sharply.

“Are you lying to me, boy? You’ve never had any problem keeping your seat before.”

“Your Grace, I would
never
lie to you!” Before Reade could say anything else, he thought about the times that Mum had yelled at him, the times that Reade had gotten into trouble for hurting Maida by playing too rough. He knew how to make Mum forget the bad things that he’d done. He knew how to distract her. He made his voice sound all trembly, like he was afraid. “I—is the horse all right? I wouldn’t want him hurt because I was stupid.”

This type of question usually worked. He would sound frightened and sad and sorry, all at the same time. Sometimes, Reade was so good at asking the question that Mum didn’t even punish him. She would say he was a good boy for watching over Maida, for worrying about her.

Duke Coren was not as easily fooled. “I don’t know what you thought to do, boy. Every minute we waste in this field is one more minute you won’t sleep tonight. Nothing is going to keep you from arriving at Smithcourt.”

“I
want
to go to Smithcourt, Your Grace. I want to see the Service!”

“You act like you want to stay a peasant in the fields, boy. You can’t be part of the Service, if you’re going to shame me like this. You’re as willful as a cat, only not so well-mannered!”

The duke’s voice was hard and cold as iron. Reade’s heart began to pound with shame. “But—” Reade began, not even certain of how he would defend himself.

“
But
you obviously have no sense of what it means to be the Sun-lord, what it means to rule over your people. If I bring you to Smithcourt, it’s so that you can restore
order
to your people, not ruin their lives. Look at the mess you’ve made of this field! Look at how the horse has torn up the farmer’s careful rows! Do you think it fair that a hardworking man’s labor was destroyed by your games?”

“I didn’t think—”

“Precisely, boy. You didn’t think at all! You acted like some foolish
child
. If you’re going to be the Sun-lord, you must leave behind your silly games. You have your people to think about now. Your people will depend on you for fairness and justice. Perhaps I chose the wrong person; perhaps you aren’t truly the Sun-lord. Maybe we should just ride back to the Headland now.”

“Please, Your Grace, it won’t happen again!” Reade had been so stupid! Why should he prove to Maida that he was brave? He was riding to Smithcourt, by all the Guardians! That should be enough to prove to anyone that he wasn’t a coward. “Please, my lord, don’t keep me from going to Smithcourt!”

In a flash, Reade realized that his words sounded like a grown man’s. He sounded
noble
! Reade knew how noblemen acted; Mum had told him stories. Nobles knelt down before people who were more important than they were. Reade sank to his knees in the muddy field, ignoring the squish of water through his golden robes.

From the ground, he could see his Great Mother. She had fallen in the mud, far to his right. Her head and the top half of her body stood up out of the earth, just like she’d been planted. Reade quickly looked away. Duke Coren must not realize that Reade had intended to ride into the field. Trying to distract the duke, Reade said quickly, “Your Grace, I didn’t think of the farmer who works this field, or the people who ride with us. I’m sorry! I’ll do anything to show you that!”

“Anything?” Reade swallowed hard. Duke Coren’s voice was shivery, like when he’d spoken to Donal in the small tavern room. Reade was afraid to look at the duke’s face, but he managed to nod his head once. The grown-up waited for a long time, so long that Reade thought he might have decided never to speak to Reade again. Finally, though, he said, “Very well, Sun-lord. Your words are spoken like those of a nobleman, and so you shall be treated as one.”

Sun-lord! That was better than “boy”! Maybe Duke Coren
would
forgive him. Reade kept his voice very small as he asked, “Please, Your Grace, what are you going to do?”

“No more—and no less—than Culain himself. When the Sun-lord wronged Culain, he was treated as a grown man. The Sun-lord chose his own punishment.”

“Ch—chose his punishment, Your Grace?” Reade dared to sneak a glance at Duke Coren’s face. He couldn’t read anything there, though, couldn’t tell if the duke was really angry, or if he was just angry like Mum was when she thought Reade needed to learn a lesson.

Choose a punishment. There were lots of horrible punishments. He could be forced to give back his golden robes, give back even his smallclothes and walk around naked. After all, he had acted like a baby, breaking rules, so he should be treated like a baby. He blushed as he thought about how all the soldiers would laugh at him.

Or he could be kept from eating dinner. Duke Coren could make him go to bed that night, without any food. But Duke Coren had done that before, when Reade had just
said
bad things. This punishment would be worse, now that he had
done
something wrong. Reade realized that his hands were trembling, and he clenched them into fists.

He could be forced to feed Crusher. Duke Coren could make him cut up pieces of raw meat and hold them out to the dog. The dog might even decide that he wanted fresher meat, that he wanted to chew on little boy bones instead of his own food. Reade swayed on his feet, imagining Crusher’s hot breath, and he curled his arms across his belly.

His lips started to quiver. Before he could actually begin to cry, though, Duke Coren’s stallion snorted at a fly, stomping one mud-covered hoof in the muddy field. Reade felt almost weak with relief as he thought of another punishment. “Tonight, when we reach our camp, I’ll brush your horse.”

Duke Coren shook his head firmly. “I have a groom to tend my horse. You would gain nothing for the beast, for me, or for yourself.” Reade wasn’t going to gain anything for himself, no matter what punishment he chose. He shouldn’t say that to the duke, though. Choose his own punishment—this was the type of thing that Mum would think up.

“I’m waiting, Sun-lord.”

Reade shook his head, pretending that he could not think of any other punishments. “Please, Your Grace. What punishment would the Sun-lord choose?”

Duke Coren’s lips curved into a hard smile. “The Sun-lord would have recognized that his punishment should fit his deeds. If he played with the reins frivolously…”

Reade felt the words pulled out of him. He could not raise his head, could not lift his eyes from his muddy knees. “Then the reins should punish him. He should be struck with the reins.”

“How many times?”

How many? If Duke Coren asked, then once would not be enough. “Twice?”

“The Sun-lord would have asked for five.”

“Five.” When Reade said the word, he got a bitter taste in his mouth, like he’d been sick. He wanted to spit out the taste. He wanted to spit at Maida. This was all her fault.
She
was the coward! She should have spoken up by now. She should have told Duke Coren that it was her fault Reade had ridden out into the field.

Maida wasn’t speaking, though, and Duke Coren remained silent. That meant that the duke expected Reade to say something else. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to look up again. “Please, Your Grace. I ask that the horse’s reins hit me five times.” Even though he tried to be brave—he knew he wasn’t a coward!—he had to whisper the last two words.

“Spoken like a true nobleman, Sun-lord. Like a man who can fight for order and peace in these troubled times.” The duke nodded and waved his hand. Reade realized that he was supposed to march across the field, back to the road. With every step, his belly turned over, and his heart jumped in his chest so hard that it hurt to breathe.

When they reached the road, Duke Coren told him to stand still. The nobleman undid his golden robes without saying another word. When Reade was standing in his smallclothes, he started to chatter. He took a deep breath, but his teeth still clicked together. He wondered if his lips were turning blue.

Duke Coren took the golden sash from the robe and wrapped it around Reade’s hands. He pulled it tight, tugging until Reade’s fingers tingled. Reade fidgeted until Duke Coren passed the sash to Donal. Then, the duke walked away, crossing over to the horses. Reade started to turn his head to watch Duke Coren, but Donal yanked on the golden sash.

Reade waited, then, for Duke Coren to come back. When the duke stepped in front of him, he held a long, narrow strip of leather, a replacement rein. The man looked at him steadily, like Da had when he taught Reade a lesson, like how to clean a fish or how to build a fire. “The correct response is ‘All praise to the Seven Gods.’”

Duke Coren snapped the leather between his hands and doubled it, then doubled it again. He flexed the rein one more time, and Reade heard the leather slap against itself. The duke nodded and walked away, moving to where Reade couldn’t see him.

Reade’s whole body was shivering by then. His legs felt as though they wouldn’t let him stand, like he’d been on Da’s boat for an entire day and then jumped onto the shore. Reade opened his mouth to say something, to say anything, to make Duke Coren stop. Before he could speak, though, Donal pulled at the golden sash, forcing Reade to look straight ahead. Then, there was a scream in the air, like an angry bird screeching for a fish, and fire burned across Reade’s back.