The Ethical Swordsman

by Dave Duncan

  “I apologise for not being present to welcome you when you arrived,” she said, smiling because the apology was obviously unnecessary. “We get so few visitors these days....”

  Caplin returned with the refreshments. What he set beside Lady Kate looked like a beaker of milk. Niall’s ale was delicious, a tankard full of rapture.

  “I am happy you could join us, dear,” Durendal said. “Sir Niall was about to narrate what promises to be a very exciting tale. He is an unbound Blade, reporting to Lord Hedgebury. Old Stalwart has played the same trick on Niall that Snake and I did on him. I suspect that Niall may have even bettered old Stalwart’s feats.”

  “Of course,” Fizz said.

  Once again, Niall began his story. He would surely have it well polished by the time he reached the Queen. He did not mention the purpose of his mission, only that he had gone north with Stalwart and helped the Marquis with some banking records. He could see that Durendal and his wife had both noticed the omissions. He did not mention that he had killed the first of Panoleo’s bodyguards with an invisible sword. He was on his second tankard of ale before he finished.

  Then everyone looked to Durendal, who stared at nothing for a minute before delivering his verdict. He had not lost the air of authority that a major government figure must have to remain in office for as many years as he had. When he spoke, no one could doubt that his decision would be the best possible.

  “I congratulate you on a legendary feat of arms, brother!

  “Of course, the government must be told of this as soon as possible, but there is no use your trying to reach the Queen tonight. They say the streets of Grandon are so crowded that it is almost impossible to move through them. In any case, you will do better reporting to the chancellor or the master of horse. They will have inquisitors present, of course If you absolutely insist, brother, I will certainly lend you a horse, but I am quite sure that you will do far more harm than good if you try to storm Greymere tonight. You will not gain access to anyone in real authority, and you will start a million rumours. Reporting to the right people is barely more important than keeping the story from everyone else! Good government often requires absolute secrecy.

  “You and your gracious lady are obviously both in need of rest, and probably food. Caplin will have a repast ready for you by now. I suggest you, Lady Fizzan, stay here with us, because there will not be an empty bed anywhere in Grandon, and I will be going into town three days before the coronation. The Blades Order is to hold a general assembly then, and Commander Bowman has promised to provide me with transportation to it. I look forward to meeting friends I have not seen in years. You can ride in the coach with me.

  “Sir Niall, the moon will set shortly, but the sky is clear. Our men know the road well enough to ride it by starlight. I will dispatch a couple of our grooms with a note—not to her grace, but to Commander Bowman. He will believe what I tell him, and can then make the best arrangements possible. Don’t be surprised if a platoon of Blades comes for you before dawn. As you know, bound Blades never sleep. They sometimes forget that the rest of us need to.”

  Chapter 33

  You’re a marked man for the Dark Chamber

  lord hedgebury

  “Do you plan to sleep all day, or will you need to wake up and pee any time soon?”

  The voice was quiet, but held an edge like high-tension steel. There was also some urgency in the matter it had mentioned, plus daylight beyond Niall’s eyelids. He opened them and saw that the speaker was a man in the blue livery of the Royal Guard. A silver ribbon draped diagonally across his chest confirmed that he was Commander Bowman.

  “Spirits bless, Leader. What day is this?”

  “The tenth of Sixthmoon, five days before the coronation.”

  “Then I will very likely perform the operation you mentioned, probably around noon.”

  “You are already overdue. Move your lazy ass out of that bed and get dressed.”

  Niall recalled that he was in Ivywalls, Durendal’s house, and the great man had tactfully provided connecting rooms for his guests. He sat up and looked to the second door, which was closed.

  “My wife?”

  “She’s been awake for hours. A fascinating young lady, but you don’t have time for any of that now. I brought you some hot water for shaving.”

  Niall turned his attention to the blue garments spread out on his coverlet. “That won’t fit me.”

  “Yes it will. I had it made specially back in Thirdmoon, because I knew your group was going to be bound, and Grand Master had reminded me that he had an oversized candidate. They hadn’t told me that you would not be going straight into the Guard. But you are in it now and I won’t tell you again....”

  Niall did as he had been told.

  Bowman went over to the window and gazed out at the park. Being Bowman, he slumped against the window frame as if he might melt without support. “You’ve got an appointment with the lord chancellor as soon as we reach the palace.”

  “Who is doing Durendal’s job now?”

  “Lord Osprey. We call him the Bird.” We meant the Royal Guard, of course.

  Niall wondered what their name for the Queen was. He would learn soon enough.

  “Your wife ought to be a White Sister,” Bowman told the window. “She told me I’m a Water-Death man.”

  “I think I could have guessed that.” Quickly, in case Leader took offence, Niall added, “Most Blades have a strong Death factor, I’m sure, and you have an amazingly fluid fencing style. It’s very hard to guess what’s coming next.”

  “I couldn’t wash you away, last time I tried.” Bowman turned to look at him. “But we’ll have lots of chances together after the coronation. She also says you killed the Ciarán. That true?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How did you ever get close enough to kill him and then live to tell of it?”

  Niall mumbled the tale while shaving.

  “You quite sure the man you killed was their new Ciarán?”

  “Quite certain. An hour earlier we saw them cheering him at the top of their lungs.”

  Suddenly the commander’s normally lugubrious expression metamorphosed into the first smile Niall could recall ever seeing on him. “Fire and Death! The Pirate’s Wife is going to love you for that. The whole Guard will. We’ve got to get your name into the Litany!”

  That wasn’t possible, because the Litany was for a Blade who had saved his ward’s life or died trying. Niall belted Denial at his waist, and admired himself in the mirror. At last! Ambition achieved.

  “Lead on, Leader! Let’s go beard the Bird in his nest.”

  Bowman caught his shoulder. “Not so fast! You’ve probably heard the old taunt that the Blades can keep a secret, but it takes all of them to do it?”

  “Er, yes, Leader.”

  “Not this one. Durendal is insistent that this time it’s got to remain you and me, and no other. He says it’ll cause a panic and wreck the coronation. So button your lips. You’ll get the kudos later.”

  “Yes, Leader.” But two hundred people had heard the story in Ironhall and some of the masters would certainly be coming to the assembly.

  Downstairs he found Fizz sitting with Lady Kate, but also present were Hereward, Bloodhand, and two older Blades Niall did not know, leftovers from Ambrose’s Guard. They swarmed him, thumping his back and shaking his hand—not because of the Thencaster caper, but because the missing Blade had turned up in Durendal’s house.

  Then they wanted to know why, how, what?...

  He was handed a ring of sausage to eat on the road and a tankard of ale to drink now. He bade quick farewells to his host and hostess.

  Outside waited six horses, plus the road to Grandon and Greymere Palace.

  Bloodhand was armed with a bugle. Mostly he managed tuneful fanfares on it, but sometimes only deafening farts, whic
h served just as well, because his job was merely to warn people that six horseman were coming through apace whether they cleared the road or not.

  Greymere Palace had never looked impressive from the outside, and that had not changed. But cantering in through the main gate while being saluted by the Household Yeomen on guard—that was a thrill, even if they were merely honouring Bowman’s silver sash. Then flunkies in livery appeared to hold the horses’ bridles and the riders’ stirrups as they dismounted. That was impressive too.

  He was going to be late for his appointment with the Bird, Bowman warned, and he set a fast pace along corridors and up stairs. Niall’s longer legs met the challenge, but he wondered how many years he would roam around the maze before he managed to find his way out. People looked askance at the hurrying Blades, and none more so than other Blades they passed. He heard his name being spoken: the lost one had returned.

  They arrived at the inevitable anteroom. Four Blades were on duty, and they were all standing around the walls, because the half-dozen chairs were occupied by civilian petitioners, who looked as if they had been there since dawn and expected to be still waiting at sundown. The Blade by the far door tapped his hilt to salute Bowman, knocked, and opened without waiting for permission. “Commander Bowman, my lord.”

  Lord Osprey did look like a bird: a plucked chicken. He had a scrawny neck, a hooked nose, and wrinkles around weary, red-rimmed eyes. He was aged about fifty, hatless and close to hairless. He sat behind a paper-strewn desk in the centre of a large and well-lit room. The two visitor chairs at the front of the desk were presently unoccupied and remained so. A large freestanding bookcase behind the chancellor’s chair might be hiding a second door, a way to escape unwelcome callers.

  Bowman saluted and said, “Sir Niall, Lord Chancellor.”

  That was Niall’s cue to tap his sword hilt.

  “Thank you, Commander. That will be all.”

  Bowman turned around and went away, but Niall had to wait too long before hearing the door close, so he knew someone else must have joined the meeting. An inquisitor in a full-length black robe and black biretta padded silently into view. He exchanged nods but no words with the chancellor. Upon reaching the bookcase, he turned around and folded his arms. He then fixed an unblinking stare on the Blade. He had a thin red scar across his forehead.

  Osprey leaned back in his chair. He, too, stared at his prey. “I can only spare you very few minutes, Sir Niall. Commander Bowman reports that you bring news of an uprising in Wylderland?”

  “That is correct, my lord.”

  “When did you leave Thencaster?”

  “I left the castle on the sixth, spent that night at Lord Hedgebury’s seat of Rhapsody, and sailed from there the next day on the noon tide.”

  “Why did you not just ride?”

  Niall described the coronation’s effect on posting. He thought the chancellor should have known about that, but he seemed surprised.

  “And what was the status of this uprising when you left?”

  “To the best of my knowledge, the rebels had not yet crossed the border. The attack on the Marquis occurred in Wylderland territory.”

  Evidently Durendal’s note had mentioned that, because Osprey merely pursed his lips in annoyance. “In a report to Her Majesty last month, the Marquis mentioned rumours of a new so-called Ciarán, a man named....” Osprey fumbled among the litter of paper on his desk.

  “Panoleo, Chancellor.” Niall had written that report. Recognizing his own handwriting, he could see it lying farther along the desk.

  “Um, yes. What do you know about him?”

  “I know that he died when I opened his skull with my sword.”

  Even the inquisitor blinked. Osprey swung around to look at him, but Brindle had returned to his graven image pose, staring at the witness, and saying nothing.

  The chancellor looked back to Niall, displaying bad teeth in a broad smile. “Then we don’t need to worry?”

  “I advise against jumping to that conclusion, my lord. I acted as I thought fitting at the time. Maybe I beheaded their revolution, or maybe I created a martyr. Neville lost half his men in the ambush and could well have died after I left. I sent... I mean Lord Hedgebury elected to go across to Thencaster and take command there. He may not be able to hold the castle with the men he has left. Many of them are themselves Wylds, and liable to switch loyalties.”

  About to add that the Queen should be told of this, Niall decided that Lord Osprey ought to be able to work that out for himself. He certainly looked aghast enough.

  “Does Hedgebury have much military experience?”

  “None at all, so far as I am aware.”

  Did the chancellor know that the Queen regarded Stalwart as a personal friend? From the way he was gnawing his lip, he probably did.

  “Her Majesty is currently greeting visiting princes.... This requires an emergency meeting of the council. Oh, by the eight! Sir Niall, Inquisitor Brindle, you are not to speak of this to anyone, understand?”

  Niall said, “Aye, my lord.”

  Inquisitor Brindle said, “The witness is lying.”

  Chapter 34

  History is never fair

  sir niall

  Niall felt as if he had just swallowed a boulder, whole. His knees sagged under the impact.

  “Objection! My lord, you see that scar on the snoop’s face? I gave him that as punishment for some outrageous and illegal behaviour. He bears a grudge and is trying to get even. The inquisitor is lying!” he realized that he was almost shouting, and forced himself into Earth dominant mode: calm, enduring.

  Brindle’s stony expression had not changed by one eyelash. “The witness is still lying.”

  Osprey, between them, glanced from one to the other in bewilderment. “Lying about what, exactly, Inquisitor?”

  “Almost everything he said. He did come south by ship, but he hasn’t told us his real reason for leaving Thencaster. There may have been some rioting involving the natives—it is always hard to tell how much Blades are lying, because they live in their own distorted dreamworld. But the story of killing the Ciarán and his bodyguards is total goose shit. If you will pardon the expression, my lord.”

  “It is inappropriate, Inquisitor.”

  “Beg your pardon, Lord Chancellor. I should have said that ninety per cent of what the witness said is complete fabrication or delusion. That includes the origin of the birthmark on my forehead.”

  Niall was shivering as his dominant elements battled for control. His hand kept edging toward Denial’s hilt and he kept pulling it back.

  “Look at it, my lord! It’s a scar, and it was made by this sword.”

  “Stop that!” Osprey snapped, and Niall realized that his sabre was halfway drawn. He muttered an apology and sheathed it again.

  The chancellor stood up. “The Queen must be informed of this. You both may go, but stay within the palace, both of you, and make sure that your respective offices know where you are at all times, in case you are needed for another meeting at short notice. I shall go and warn her grace.... Oh, Fire and Death.... the coronation....”

  Niall considered it unlikely that Durendal had ever flown into quite such a panic in his long term as lord chancellor. He watched in disgust as Osprey came flustering around the desk like a frightened hen, but did manage to reach the door ahead of him and open it for him.

  Then he closed it again, shutting himself up with Brindle.

  He drew Denial, all the way this time. “Head cuts are tricky. I didn’t hit you hard enough at Goat’s Gizzard. And I hit the Ciarán too hard—very messy, that was. Let’s see if I can get it just right this time, shall we?”

  The inquisitor smiled mockingly and strolled around the desk, halting a couple of paces away form Niall, quite unconcerned by the threat. “This is about your range, isn’t it? Go ahead, unbound Blad
e. Kill me.” He spread his hands to show that they were empty.

  Mad as he was, Niall couldn’t do that to an unarmed man. He slid Denial back in her scabbard. “What are you going to do when the facts are confirmed, and your treachery is exposed?”

  “That is something you will never know, assassin, because by sunset tonight we will have put you to the Question. I have the paperwork all ready for the Queen’s signature. They don’t hang people after the Question. They shut them up in Goat’s Gizzard. A strong young man like you ought to survive another half a century or more there.”

  Nausea! “Don’t push your luck too far, snoop.”

  “Is that the best cliché you can find, butcher boy?”

  Niall hauled the door open and strode out. The petitioners were still there, like logs washed up on a beach, but only two Blades remained, both of Ambrose vintage. He had known their names once.

  “Can you direct me to the Blades office, brothers? I’m a stranger in these parts.”

  “I can,” said the inquisitor behind him. “Hold my sleeve and I will lead you there.”

  They walked side by side out into a wide corridor. Everybody they passed stared in astonishment at this unprecedented pairing.

  “Did you ask for this chance to spy on me?” Niall asked. “Or was it simply Chance that brought us together again?”

  “I asked for the job, because I was anxious to hear how you made out with the invisible sword.”

  “Ah, I wasn’t going to mention it. No one would believe me, no matter what you said. Just between us two, it helped a lot getting me to Panoleo, but I killed him in a fair fight.”

  “So quaint! Five years’ continuous practice and you call it fair? Well, the Blades’ den is the door along there. You can find it anytime by following the smell of goat.”