The Broken Blade Read Free

He had a lean face, dark eyes, and a smile that Eamon disliked for no reason that he could place. The man had two flames at his collar.
    â€œYour name, lieutenant?”
    â€œLieutenant Fletcher, my lord,” the man answered. “Formerly of the South Quarter. I have been afforded the great honour of standing as the lieutenant to your office, while it is pleasing to the Master.”
    The words came as a blow to Eamon. “Congratulations on your appointment, Mr Fletcher. I am sure you will perform it well.”
    â€œThank you, my lord.”
    â€œAnd what of Mr Kentigern?”
    The man inclined his head respectfully. “I understand that he took ship this morning for Etraia. He will serve the Master inanother fashion, henceforth, and I am sure he will serve well. He was very likeable.”
    Eamon reeled: Ladomer was gone.
    He rounded on the lieutenant. “It is not your place to speak of your likes and dislikes to me.”
    Why had he not sought Ladomer out and spoken to him? He feared that his friend’s prediction – that they would not see each other again – would turn true.
    Fletcher bowed swiftly. “Forgive me, my lord.”
    Eamon blinked, forcing back the tears biting at his eyes. Perhaps it was his own mind, and his own grief, that made it so; the lieutenant’s words sounded insincere to him.
    â€œMr Kentigern and I were close of late,” Fletcher advised him. “He taught me my duties thoroughly. I will serve you to the fullness of my strength, to the Master’s glory, Lord Goodman.”
    Eamon nodded once. He wished that there were someone who could do him the same service. “My first service to you is to be that of showing you your quarters in the palace.”
    â€œThen we shall return to the palace.”
    Fletcher bowed again. “I will procure you a horse, my lord.”
    â€œProcure it from the Handquarter stables,” Eamon told him suddenly. “Ask the stablehands for my horse. It is a loyal beast, and I love it well. I will take it with me.”
    â€œOf course, my lord.” Rising from his bow, Fletcher turned and moved across the Ashen.
    Eamon stood alone. The Gauntlet filed from the Ashen and returned to their various duties. Lord Arlaith stood upon the Handquarter steps. Eamon looked at him. The Lord of the East Quarter gazed back. In that moment before he turned to enter his house, Arlaith met Eamon’s look and smiled.

C HAPTER II
    Eamon felt, but scarcely heard, his footsteps as he walked through the palace halls into the East Wing; banners and faces whirled past him in a daze, and no man spoke a word to him. He recognized some of the passages; they threw his mind back many months to a cool September day when he and Mathaiah had followed Cathair and Ashway into the palace’s ancient bowels, seeking Ellenswell.
    Mathaiah was dead. Now, Eamon followed Lieutenant Fletcher.
    As they passed through the passageways the clear light of that morning – the last morning in April – touched his flesh. He pressed it from his eyes.
    Fletcher led him up an elaborately panelled stairwell in the East Wing into one of the highest parts of the palace. Following, Eamon paused to glance through a window; it gazed, like an eye, down over the complex of the Hands’ Hall and across the long throes of the palace buildings and grounds. Wind played through the aperture. A flight of swallows wheeled past, their voices caught high in the air.
    They passed on and the stairs spilt out into a wide landing. Two Hands stood at the stairwell, solemn in their black. They bowed low and did not rise until he commanded it.
    The landing was thickly paved in red-veined marble, each streak flowing into the seamless joins of the stone. The walls that bound the hall were clad with elegantly grained wood and interspersed with arched windows that looked over the palace gardens. Great curtains hung to either side of these openings and sunlight