by Dave Duncan
This conversation was predictable. “We have already entered into a common-law marriage. That is another fact. If her father is unreasonable, he can be overruled by the local sheriff.”
“Her father is the local sheriff!”
“And if you don’t think the Queen can give orders to her sheriffs, you should be playing with dolls in the nursery. I killed the Ciarán! Her grace must reward me somehow and to give me this woman as my wife won’t cost her a mite!”
Kranith deflated again, but he had one last arrow in his quiver. “If you are as great a fighter as you claim, you should stay here and fight. We can send a courier to Her—”
“No one would believe a messenger,” Niall said impatiently. “I can testify on what I did before inquisitors. Now let’s get going while the going is still good.”
And the going still seemed to be good. Kranith finally stopped his obstructionist blather. The three boat crewmen were summoned, the baggage delivered and loaded. The pony was reluctant to explore amphibious opportunities, but Diolth managed to coax it aboard the ketch. He stayed with it, soothing it, feeding it carrots, until it decided that sails were not deadly carnivores.
It was not until the boat was a bowshot from shore, tacking off seaward against the evening breeze, that Niall felt able to relax. He sat down beside Fizz and was immediately struck by an overpowering need to lie down on the deck and sleep for a week.
He looked incredulously into his bride’s bright eyes. “You aren’t sleepy?”
“Of course not.” She tightened her one-armed hug. “Today my dreams are coming true! The knight of my dreams has gathered me in his so-powerful arms and is carrying me off to his palace in the clouds. Sleeping would be a waste of time.”
“I seem to have mislaid my shining armour.”
“It’s in one of my bags. I packed it for you. Sleeping with might be appropriate, but this deck looks much too hard for comfort. The sailors would watch, anyway.”
Even the pony would watch. As for the palace, members of the Royal Guard seldom had a good word to say about the married quarters in any of the royal residences.
Niall glanced westward, where the sun was sinking into the horizon haze. Sixthmoon was still but a slender crescent, and if he tried to ride by starlight, he would certainly go to sleep and fall off. No matter how urgent the tidings he bore, he was only human. He must presume on the Hedgeburys’ hospitality tonight and tomorrow on their loyal obligation to lend him horses. He would ride out in the morning.
Now the pony was content, Diolth was sitting on the port side bench, across from the lovers. “Sir Niall?” he asked diffidently.
“Mm?”
“How does a man get to be a Blade?”
Could a Wyld even dream of doing that? Could a Wyld Blade ever be trusted near the Chivian monarch, even if bound? Niall smothered a yawn and began to explain what was required. It was an interesting idea. The kid was the right sort of age, and already skilled with horses, which would count in his favour.
They were halfway to the Rhapsody jetty already. Talk of Diolth as a Blade led Niall to another idea.
“You ever met Lord Hedgebury, lad?”
“I seen him when he came to the castle once.”
“I’d like you to ride up to Rhapsody when we dock. You’ll have to take....” But Niall had no way to write a note while on the Marquis’s boat. The message he wanted to send was so incredible that an unknown boy would never be believed. He might have to let Fizz ride the pony after all. He himself was too heavy for a pony on that hill. Ah! Spoiler to the rescue!
“I will give you a sword to take, a Blade’s sword, like mine. Show that to his lordship and tell him that Sir Niall and Lady Fizzan need shelter for the night.”
If an ownerless cat’s eye sword did not warn Sir Stalwart of major trouble afoot, then nothing would.
Chapter 29
I would surely hate to meet you in a real fight
lord hedgebury to sir niall
It so happened that Lord Hedgebury was not at home, having been gone all day with archers and dogs, hoping to hunt down a mountain cat that had been marauding in the south pasture. He was expected back shortly. News of an unusual visitor outside was brought instead to Lady Agnes, who was having her hair washed. She sent for the boy at once and received him in her housecoat, with her head wrapped in a towel. Having been married to a Blade for more than half her life, she understood the dread significance of an orphaned Ironhall sword.
Closely followed by Diolth—still clutching the sword—she strode into the dining hall, where about a dozen ranch hands were enjoying early supper with their wives and children. Her bizarre appearance alone silenced them all, even the toddlers. She barked orders.
“Ostone and Rutarly! Two saddled horses and a sumpter down to the jetty right away, please. The rest of you men, go and find Lord Hedgebury! Tell him we have an emergency and he is needed back here right away. Take him a fresh horse.”
The men ran. She warned the cooks that the meal they had waiting for his lordship might have to be expanded to include two visitors. She told Housekeeping to double-check the two best guest rooms, although they were always kept ready, and at that time of year there was no need to light fires.
She thought that she could now see to completing her own toilet, but the messenger boy cleared his throat and diffidently said, “My lady.... um, I think one room may be enough for, um, Sir Niall and.... um.” The Wyldish pallor of his cheeks showed faint traces of pink.
Emergency? Death and Fire! Had that lanky Blade gone crazy and carried off the Marquis’s daughter?
“Thank you, but we’ll let them decide. Now, about you. Are you hungry? Do you want to go back there and eat, er, Diolth?” she gestured at the dining hall doorway.
He stiffened “There’s Wylds in there.”
“So?”
“Wylds are likely to try to kill me.”
“Kill you!? Why, for spirits’ sake?”
And so the dread news began to come out.
Niall and Fizz had not entirely wasted their time during their long wait down at the jetty. Alone together at last, they had indulged themselves in lovers’ play to the point where the absence of a bed forced him to call a halt. After that they had spoken of their long journey ahead and their subsequent life together as Blade and wife.
Then Ostone and Rutarly arrived with the horses. Already twilight was fading into night, so the visitors rode off up the hill, leaving the Rhapsody men to load the packhorse and follow. They reached the big house just as Stalwart did. He was in a sulphurous temper, having failed to find the predator, only the remains of another dead foal.
Agnes shepherded the three hungry and exhausted people into the supper room, which was private, soundproof, and whose table was already set with a repast for four. By then she had learned from Diolth most of the awful news that Stalwart was yet to hear, and she was not surprised when Niall asked for the young Wyld to be included. She hoped that all of them could eat and rest a little before the inevitable grim discussions to follow.
One more chair at the table, one more plate. Diolth was admitted, still clutching the Spoiler sword, which he had not released since he dismounted from the pony.
Wine was poured and drunk. The food lay neglected.
“So?” Stalwart demanded, glowering at Niall. “We got your letter, the one you wrote, and Neville dictated. What did you do wrong to clot up the whole project so badly?”
Niall was too weary to be at all interested in food. All he wanted was sleep. He knew he must answer Stalwart’s questions, but keeping his temper in check while doing so was going to be a struggle, especially if Stalwart did not control his.
“I rescued Fizz from a couple of would-be rapists. Was that a mistake?”
There was no way that question could be answered either yes or no. “You mean you drew your sword f
rom the back scabbard in front of witnesses, you idiot?”
“It was that or die. Did you see that Baelish ship that sat out a storm on the Ralop a couple of days ago? It carried two Bael passengers of high rank. The Marquis gave those two hospitality and they were about to rape his daughter when I asked them to stop.”
Stalwart’s scowl deepened. “The Queen must hear of this. Did you get their names?”
“Garbeald and—”
“Garbeald?” The Hedgeburys’ simultaneous cry cut off the other name before Niall could say it.
“That slug?” she added; “That shit?” he did.
Niall nodded. “He had a cat’s eye sword. I took it off him. Diolth?”
Diolth lifted it from the floor by his feet, where he had put it, and gave it to Stalwart to examine.
“Spoiler? Never heard of it. Ask Lester. He was Master of Archives back in my day, and he’s still at it. This sword is old! They make basket hilts smaller than this these days. Lots of nicks! It’s been in plenty of fights.”
“Only to be expected of a Bael’s weapon,” Agnes said. “Garbeald was a horror even as a child. He was killing boys before he was old enough to rape girls. Since then he’s been doing both.”
“He fascinates Athelgar, like a snake hypnotizing a bird,” her husband agreed. “Leads him around by the nose. Malinda detests him, but his father is a major thegn in Baelmark and that protects him. I’d bet that she doesn’t even know he’s in Chivial yet. Who was the other one?”
Less sure of himself now, Niall explained how he had treated the heir apparent. Host and hostess stared at each other in dismay.
“She’ll kill him!” Agnes whispered.
“She might even abolish the Blades. She can’t let this go unpunished.”
Fizz pushed a basket of chicken drumsticks closer to Diolth, who was almost drooling. He grabbed one and started eating.
“Before you get distracted by such trifles, Stalwart,” Niall said, “I should mention that the Wylds have started another revolution. They were planning to seize the castle via the same secret tunnel that Ciarán Pfari used thirty years ago. Yesterday the Marquis led a small army around the mountain to Zos’parn to impose discipline or some such nonsense. He was ambushed and lost close to two hundred men, meaning somewhere between a half and two-thirds of his entire force. Neville himself was grievously wounded, and is still bedridden, not out of danger. Kranith is supposedly running things, but can’t.”
This was disaster, but Stalwart ostentatiously refilled all the wine glasses before he spoke.
“That does put things in a different perspective. I assume the Wylds have a new Ciarán?”
“They did have, Ciarán Panoleo, a great hairy troll of a man, but yesterday, with some help from Diolth, here, and my dear wife Fizz, I killed him.”
Stalwart studied him for a moment to make sure this was not some macabre effort at a joke. He looked to Fizz for confirmation, but she nodded. Then he raised his glass.
“Agnes, dear, let us toast all three of them, on behalf of Queen Malinda and her realm. No doubt a noble feat of arms, and I look forward to hearing the details. But an assassination aided by an invisible sword? I thought you disapproved of magical trickery like that, Sir Niall? You killed one man, lad. Congratulations! So now you think you’ve stamped out the whole rebellion?”
Fizz opened her mouth to speak, but Niall laid a hand on her arm to calm her. He had slid into fighting mode, as if Stalwart had drawn a sword on him. Anger and resentment had turned him to ice.
“I certainly hope so. If all the petty warlords of Wylderland start squabbling among themselves, won’t it take them another thirty years to rally behind another Ciarán?”
Stalwart said, “Bah!” Lady Agnes was sending him warning signals, but the dead foal was still eating him. “It’s not hard to become Ciarán. You just wave your sword in the air and shout, ‘The blood of Ghastly the Great runs in my veins and if you don’t admit it, I will make yours run in the gutter.’ Easy! Give them a week and the whiteys will be pouring out of the hills, screaming for revenge. You’ll have just made them mad, that’s all.”
He drained his glass and reached for the wine bottle. Agnes moved it out of reach.
“Have I stopped them or enraged them?” Niall said. “I have no idea, but I do believe you must prepare for the worst, my lord.” Having no red rag to wave at the bull, he smiled sweetly.
Stalwart growled, “How? We cannot fortify Rhapsody. It’s a house, not a fort. You suggesting we should bury the silverware, drive all the livestock south, and move the women and children into the castle?”
“I am sure Lady Agnes is capable of organizing such measures. She should probably begin by warning Swaid and all the other ranchers in the county that they may be in danger of being massacred. They would like to know. You, my lord, must proceed at dawn to Thencaster and take command of the castle until the Queen can send reinforcements. Neville is disabled, Stanesh is whereabouts unknown, Kranith is useless. Danark is a year or two too young. As a member of the Queen’s council, my lord, you are the government here.”
Stalwart turned even redder. “Which is why you are giving me orders?”
“I am telling you the orders that you must give yourself. I cannot stay. I must ride post haste to Grandon to tell all to the Queen.” Having no doubts that he was right, he smiled again. “The first, and most obvious move, is to expel every Wyld man, woman, and child from the castle. They probably outnumber the Chivians now. Be wary when you ring the doorbell.”
Fizz pushed her chair back and stood up. “By your leave, my dear Lady Agnes? We three got no sleep at all last night. You have heard the terrible news. You and Lord Hedgebury need time to plan your response.”
Clever girl! That broke up the meeting. Everyone rose. Agnes offered to show the guests to their rooms. Stalwart reached for the wine bottle and sat down again. He had just lost a second duel with his protégé, and he knew it.
He had sent Niall on a dangerous mission, and now Niall had sent him on a worse one.
Chapter 30
It is sucking up every horse in the kingdom
lady agnes
Niall awoke to see blue sky between shutters that he had not bothered to close before falling into the bed. He had hoped to set out at dawn, but the angle of sunlight on the floor told him that noon was not far off. He could hear voices and footsteps in the corridor scurrying past his door, and voices combined with sounds of horses outside the window. The house was bustling.
He said, “Fizz?” and reached out an arm. Fizz had gone. Last night they had both been too crushed by exhaustion to share more than one hasty kiss before diving into the depths of oblivion. He really had intended to waken much earlier and was peeved that she had not wakened him. He scrambled out of bed, almost tripping over the clothes he had dropped.
Horses cared not whether their riders had shaved recently. He dragged his clothes on, ran ten fingers through his hair, hid most of it under his hat, and was on his way. At the bottom of the stairs he found the hallway full of a babbling melee of women and children of many sizes. Before he stepped into this people broth, he was hailed by Lady Agnes, standing in a doorway and beckoning. He managed to wade over to her without stepping on any crawling infants.
She retreated into the same supper room where they had gathered the previous evening, he followed, and she shut the door. There was food on the table.
“Spirits bless,” she said. “Stalwart has gone to the castle, as you suggested. He left this for you.” She held out a folded paper, very good quality paper.
He unrolled it. It testified that Stalwart Lord Hedgebury hereby gave his approval for his vassal....
“Vassal?”
“It’s the required wording. The Queen put you under his orders, didn’t she? So he is your overlord and can overrule Neville for you in this matter. Fizz explaine
d the problem. She is naturally happy to be your legal wife. You still have to sign it. I know you must be starving. Eat and listen.”
She was a formidable lady and his hostess. He sat down obediently. “Where’s Fizz?” He had a nightmare vision of Fizz on a horse, all alone, racing south to speak to the Queen.
Agnes wandered over to the window and peered out. “She’s upstairs with Mailan, trying on gowns. We have dozens of things the girls grew out of, and Fizz is so dainty. Now listen! Stalwart sends his apologies for last night. He refuses to admit that he’s getting too old for day-long hunts. But he did have a brainwave after you left. The coronation is to be held on the fifteenth of Sixthmoon, and today is the seventh already! It is sucking up every horse in the kingdom, because everyone wants to watch the parades and hopes to catch a glimpse of the new Queen. Your chances of riding there in less than a week look very shaky. We’ve sent our clerk to Swaid to hire a ship.”
“Ship?” he repeated stupidly, his mouth full of pork and onion sausage.
“I hope we can do better than a fishing boat, but he’s to take the best he can find. We have three women expecting and four nursing. We’re going to send them south for safety. With, of course, the rest of their children.”
Niall tried to imagine being in small but very smelly boat heaving mightily up and down on a cold green sea with eight seasick woman, two dozen children and a crew of several. Winds gale force and rising. It was almost enough to take away his appetite.
“Sailing to?”
“If the winds bless, to Prail.”
Ah! Brilliant! Prail was a port on the Westuary, a few hours’ ride from Ironhall.
He gulped down a half-chewed mouthful of goose. “Where are they all going to stay in Prail?”
“Prail,” Agnes said, “has more dubbed Blades to the square yard than anywhere except maybe Grandon. The mayor is one, and most of the aldermen too. All Blades are horse people, so they often end up running posting stables. They will see that your needs are taken care of. There isn’t a horse-for-hire left here in Swaid, but the coronation scramble won’t have begun yet in Prail, it being so much closer to Grandon.”
