That was a terrifying thought. Ean’s hands twitched for the knives he didn’t have.
Chadwick let out a breath. “Shit.”
The King cleared his throat, calling the table back to attention. “Westenvale has ransacked Sudala for two decades without finding the sword. They realize now that the story was a ruse and have turned their eyes onto Eastmere. There have been a dozen break-ins at protected locations across the kingdom. We captured two of the thieves and they informed us that they were hired by Westenvale to search for the sword.”
Flora startled at the King’s words. Heads swiveled toward her, and she swallowed hard at the attention. Her voice quavered when she spoke. “What do you think Westenvale wants with the sword?”
“Based on the army they’re amassing, they want war,” Aldine said.
“Shit,” Chadwick said again.
Ean had to agree with him. The ongoing hostilities with Westenvale were contained to the border towns and he had no desire for it to come any closer. There were rumors about life in Westenvale, rumors about oppression and cruelty and lawlessness, and there weren’t any shadow-walkers to fight the injustices. The guild had been outlawed shortly after Hieron gained control of the western territories.
King Justus looked about the table. “If you retrieve the sword before Westenvale does, we can force them into peace talks. But the journey will take you north, beyond our borders and beyond my protection. I will not order any of you to take such a risk. If you wish to withdraw from this quest, you will not be thought of as any less honorable or any less courageous.”
“We may even think you wiser than the rest,” Aldine said. There was a dry humor to her words, but it was swallowed by the tension in the room.
The King turned to his son. “Leonid Paladion, Crown Prince of Eastmere, will you pledge your life to this quest?”
The Prince stood. He had the lankiness of youth about him and a wide face with high cheekbones. His blond hair shone gold in the firelight. He placed his fist over his heart. “I will.”
The King nodded. His gaze moved to the next person at the table. “Asali Chikere, Captain of the King’s Guard, will you pledge your life to this quest?”
She stood as well, dark eyes flashing in the candlelight. Her hair, plaited in dozens of small braids, fell to the small of her back. She saluted. “I will, Sire.”
“Chadwick Falsbury, Right Hand of the Prince, will you pledge your life to this quest?”
The duke’s bastard pushed himself to his feet, a small smile playing at his lips. Despite his Eastern name, he had the blue-black hair and monolid eyes more common in the Suyon Peninsula. He was the tallest of the three by several inches; his carefully tousled hair gave him even more height. “Well, I’ve never been accused of being wise.”
Asali elbowed him in the ribs. Chadwick winced and placed his hand over his heart. “I will, Sire.”
The King ignored the exchange and turned to the Mage’s apprentice. “Flora Harbird, first apprentice to the Royal Mage, will you pledge your life to this quest?”
Flora stood a little too quickly, her chair tipping back in her haste. She looked too soft for this quest, or for any quest, really. She was all curves and milky skin. She nodded vigorously, her red curls bouncing about her shoulders. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The King turned to Roarke last. “General Roarke, friend of the throne, will you lead this quest?”
The general got to his feet. He was an older man with olive skin and a craggy face. His head was shaved to hide heavy balding. Despite his age, he was as fit as any soldier. His salute was slower and lazier than the captain’s. “Aye. I pledge my life and sword to this quest. I will guide the brave souls who journey on it.”
Ean couldn’t help but snort at the pretentiousness of it all. He immediately regretted it as every head turned his way.
“Shadow-walker,” said the King.
The captain and the general both dropped their hands to their swords. The Mage’s apprentice let out an audible gasp. Ean ignored them and kept the King’s gaze, certain of the fact that he was in no danger. Not here, at least.
The King’s eyes narrowed. “I have your oath already.”
There was nothing to say to that but a simple, “Yes.”
The King turned back to the group. “You leave tomorrow. Aldine will help you plan your travels. I expect your return no later than the seventh month.”
Ean’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise. The King was suggesting the journey would take over two months. How far north were they going?
But the King offered no further information. He stepped forward to shake the hand of each member of the party. He spoke a few words, and they listened, expressions rapt and solemn. He embraced his son last. They exchanged no words, just a long look. The King strode to the door and then paused. His eyes flicked to Ean; his mouth flattened into a hard line. “Walk with me.”
It was a command, not a request. Ean followed him down the stairs and through the main hall, tensing when the Sentinels rose and followed them outside. The King stopped underneath the portico. The soldiers filed out and into the barn next door, preparing the horses for the trip back to Balucia.
Ean waited a half-step behind the King. He said nothing. Ean shifted, suddenly uneasy in the silence. It was raining outside, a light mist, and the wind was blowing. The portico did little to keep them dry. He wiped the moisture from his face with his sleeve.
“I have your oath,” the King said again, reclaiming his attention. “You will protect the Prince. You will bring him home.”
“Or die in the attempt,” Ean agreed.
The King’s head snapped around. His gray eyes flashed like sunlight glinting off a sharpened blade. “You will bring him home.”
Ean paused, struck by his insistence. He was not a king in this moment, but a father sending his son into an unknown battle and wanting some false assurance that he would return. Ean could give him that. A lie cost him nothing.
He met the King’s eyes and said, “I will bring the Prince home to you.”
The King inclined his head and then pulled a leather book from the inside of his cloak. “I have given the others tokens of my gratitude.”
He handed it over and Ean took it, too startled to question the gift.
The soldiers led their horses out of the barn. The King’s mount was brought to him, a tall, gray steed. He pulled on his riding gloves, fastening the buckles about his wrists with deft fingers. Ean belatedly realized he should thank him for the gift, but the King spoke before he had the chance to form a response.
“You will find your weapons in your room.” He swung himself onto the saddle and took the reins. He stared down at Ean and suddenly he was a king again, with ire in his eyes and an army at his back. “And if you dare raise another hand to my son, I’ll kill you myself.”
He wheeled his horse toward the road and urged it into a gallop. The soldiers followed. Ean jumped back to avoid the spray of mud and looked down at the book in his hands. The pages were cut from fine parchment, all of them blank. A silver pen was tucked into a thin pocket on the inside cover. Ean fully believed the King. He would kill him if harm came to his son, but that made his gift that much stranger. He frowned at it for a moment longer, then shook his head. There were more important things to attend to—like retrieving his knives.
Ean hurried back to his room. His weapons were there, lying on the cot. He took a moment to check them over before strapping them on, two daggers at his thighs, a pair of long knives at his waist. He was pleased to discover that his four boot knives fit perfectly inside his new boots. His vambraces hid an additional two knives. He checked the catches on the harnesses, ensuring that he could drop the knives into his palms with a twist of his wrist. He hid the throwing stars and garroting wire in his belt and tucked the curved dagger against the small of his back. He left the two short swords, which he wore across his back, on the table. They weren’t leaving today; carrying them seemed excessive.
He walked back upstairs where the others were still gathered. A few maps had been unrolled over the table and he took a cursory glance at them although they were largely meaningless to him. He could point to the major cities in Eastmere, but that was about it. Geography hadn’t been a focus of study at the shadow-walker’s Collegium. He listened to the others plan their route and gathered that they’d be traveling north through the borderlands of Nor’dell and Bormoor, all the way to the Frostheld Mountains.
“We’ll be able to follow the road to the healing springs most of the way there,” Chadwick said, tracing a wriggly line that looked much like the others.
Aldine nodded. “Which is what you’ll tell anyone if they ask your destination. But you’ll branch off here.” She pointed to a spot in the moors and then drew a line up to the mountains. “And here is where you’ll find the shrine to the Scholars of the Cardinal Fane. The shrine will point you to their temple.”
Leo looked up in surprise. “It’s treason to go to the Scholars.”
Ean tried to recall the few history lessons he’d been given. The Scholars were some sort of religious sect. They’d been exiled from Eastmere after siding with Nor’dell in the Dragon War; their schools and temples across the kingdom had been destroyed.
“Which is the very reason Midos sent the sword there,” Aldine agreed.
“If they were exiled, do you think they’ll welcome us?” Asali asked.
Aldine paused. “We have taken additional precautions for Leo’s safety.”
She glanced Ean’s way, and the others turned as well. Ean saw a great deal of wariness in their eyes. He carefully kept his face blank.
Aldine turned back to the map. “It would behoove you all to remember that the Eld sword is cursed.”
As soon as she said it, the memory sparked in his brain. Emmich had been reluctant to create such a powerful weapon. He knew that if it fell into the wrong hands, it could be used against the innocent. He trusted Demos alone, and so he enchanted the sword to his blood. Only Demos and his descendants could wield it. If anyone else tried, they would be cursed to die a slow and painful death. There were a few stories about such men, whose greed overwhelmed common sense. The accounts of their demise were… grisly.
And that explained why the Prince was being sent on this mission. Only he could carry the sword.
Still, Ean felt the sting of indignation. He was going on two-month journey and risking his life for a magical sword he couldn’t even use?