for most of a block, but I couldn't help notice the shops lining the way. I remembered what Claighan had said about the price of new swords, too. I mustered some courage and plucked at his sleeve. "We've been two days on the road," I said. "We've made fantastic time. Surely we could spare a moment."
He glanced down at me, irritated, then his brows came down and he gave me a longer look. "What would you do with a moment? We are here to see the king."
"For you to see the king," I corrected him. "You have no need of me."
He cocked his head to the side, curious. "Of course I have need of you, Daven. Haven't you been listening?"
I shrugged, impatient. "Yes. Yes, you need me. Your promising young swordsman," I said. "And yet I have no sword. And I look more a shepherd than any kind of promise." He snorted a laugh at that, and I grinned back. I pressed the advantage. "You go and speak to the king. I have money enough in my purse to find a blade and a change of clothes. Tell me where, and I will meet with you later."
He shook his head, still laughing, and fell back into his hurried pace up the hill. I could only follow after. "You needn't spend time shopping, boy. I have new clothes waiting for you at the palace. And you do have a sword, or have you forgotten?" I frowned at him, and he waved vaguely to the long leather sack slung across my back.
I remembered Othin's blade. I shivered at the thought of it. And then, as I followed close on Claighan's heels, we came in sight of the palace gates and another thought stopped me dead.
The Green Eagles. They were the king's personal guard, and they were thick in the city. Two of them stood at attention outside the palace gates we were approaching. Neither of them had the same long, scarred face of the man who had tried to kill me in Sachaerrich, but the palace would be crawling with Green Eagles. If he'd had a horse he could have beaten us back here. He could be waiting for me anywhere inside there.
Claighan stopped, surprise and concern glowing in his eyes. "My word, boy, what's come over you?"
I shook my head, mute with sudden fear, and he laughed. "It is an intimidating experience to go before the king—"
"No, I have no fear of the king," I said. In finery or a shepherd's travel-stained tunic, it mattered not. The king would pay no more attention to me than to a bit of dirt on the rug. No, my fear was all for the petty fury of one of the king's bodyguards. But before I could say more Claighan cut loose a great roaring laugh and clapped me on the shoulder.
"Of course you don't," he said. He applied a touch of pressure between my shoulder blades, gentle but insistent, and I fell automatically back into motion. As we walked he nodded to himself. "Of course you must be nervous, so I will tell you something of what to expect. But first, we must gain admittance."
The palace sat at the top of the city, its famed golden gate making the northern edge of the world's wealthiest plaza. There to my left was the great marble mass of the Hall of Lords. To my right, the public exchequer's building. The shops here bore no signs and displayed no wares. They were offices for scribes and land registers, for the moneylenders who financed trade expeditions and wars. We stepped into a plaza filled with lords and ladies, and I felt like the same grubby little urchin who had begged for bread just downhill from here.
The guards at the gate looked at me the same way, but Claighan never even slowed. He propelled me along a half-step ahead of him, and with barely a glance at the guards he said officiously, "Academy business, boys. Got to see the king."
They glowered at me, but they made no move to bar our passage. Inside the gates stood another courtyard—this one almost completely empty—and in spite of the busy press of people beyond the wall the courtyard here held an eerie quiet. Our footsteps rang against the marble paving stones as we crossed to the high-peaked doors of the palace.
More guards
He glanced down at me, irritated, then his brows came down and he gave me a longer look. "What would you do with a moment? We are here to see the king."
"For you to see the king," I corrected him. "You have no need of me."
He cocked his head to the side, curious. "Of course I have need of you, Daven. Haven't you been listening?"
I shrugged, impatient. "Yes. Yes, you need me. Your promising young swordsman," I said. "And yet I have no sword. And I look more a shepherd than any kind of promise." He snorted a laugh at that, and I grinned back. I pressed the advantage. "You go and speak to the king. I have money enough in my purse to find a blade and a change of clothes. Tell me where, and I will meet with you later."
He shook his head, still laughing, and fell back into his hurried pace up the hill. I could only follow after. "You needn't spend time shopping, boy. I have new clothes waiting for you at the palace. And you do have a sword, or have you forgotten?" I frowned at him, and he waved vaguely to the long leather sack slung across my back.
I remembered Othin's blade. I shivered at the thought of it. And then, as I followed close on Claighan's heels, we came in sight of the palace gates and another thought stopped me dead.
The Green Eagles. They were the king's personal guard, and they were thick in the city. Two of them stood at attention outside the palace gates we were approaching. Neither of them had the same long, scarred face of the man who had tried to kill me in Sachaerrich, but the palace would be crawling with Green Eagles. If he'd had a horse he could have beaten us back here. He could be waiting for me anywhere inside there.
Claighan stopped, surprise and concern glowing in his eyes. "My word, boy, what's come over you?"
I shook my head, mute with sudden fear, and he laughed. "It is an intimidating experience to go before the king—"
"No, I have no fear of the king," I said. In finery or a shepherd's travel-stained tunic, it mattered not. The king would pay no more attention to me than to a bit of dirt on the rug. No, my fear was all for the petty fury of one of the king's bodyguards. But before I could say more Claighan cut loose a great roaring laugh and clapped me on the shoulder.
"Of course you don't," he said. He applied a touch of pressure between my shoulder blades, gentle but insistent, and I fell automatically back into motion. As we walked he nodded to himself. "Of course you must be nervous, so I will tell you something of what to expect. But first, we must gain admittance."
The palace sat at the top of the city, its famed golden gate making the northern edge of the world's wealthiest plaza. There to my left was the great marble mass of the Hall of Lords. To my right, the public exchequer's building. The shops here bore no signs and displayed no wares. They were offices for scribes and land registers, for the moneylenders who financed trade expeditions and wars. We stepped into a plaza filled with lords and ladies, and I felt like the same grubby little urchin who had begged for bread just downhill from here.
The guards at the gate looked at me the same way, but Claighan never even slowed. He propelled me along a half-step ahead of him, and with barely a glance at the guards he said officiously, "Academy business, boys. Got to see the king."
They glowered at me, but they made no move to bar our passage. Inside the gates stood another courtyard—this one almost completely empty—and in spite of the busy press of people beyond the wall the courtyard here held an eerie quiet. Our footsteps rang against the marble paving stones as we crossed to the high-peaked doors of the palace.
More guards
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