“Because the choice of ‘Ermine’ does not break the link with the word ‘Weasel’, it strengthens it. If it were the Order of the Silver Star altering their name to the Order of the Star-nose Moles, or the Order of the Falcon changing its name to the Order of the Dung Beetles, then I might feel differently.”
“How do we know that you are being fair?” Lord Behnaz asked after a moment. I glanced his way sharply. The man had his hands crossed contemplatively over his ample belly. “You must give Dame Chrissie special treatment the rest of us don’t get. After all, it’s well known that you meet with her. You enjoy each other’s company. It’s even rumored that Dame Chrissie’s gotten to like mouse pastry.”
I slapped my palms against the table in frustration as yet more guffaws erupted from around the room.
“That’s a lie!” I shouted above the din.
I meant the part about the special treatment.
But it did apply to the mouse pastry thing as well.
Behnaz shrugged. “As I said, it’s just a rumor. But there’s no doubt that Dame Chrissie feathers her nest with favors from the owls.”
That triggered ominous mutters from all around the table. Finally, the truth had come out. The members of the Royal Court thought I was getting away with the name change, and a lot more, simply because of my friendship with Thea. And if there was a stronger force than honor among Andeluvian lords, envy (with a dash of avarice) was it.
The Albess waited once more for silence. “The truth is plain enough when one wishes to see it, Lord Behnaz. The system that upholds a vassal’s loyalty to their lord, and their lord’s loyalty to their king, must be fair to all. There must be confidence that the system applies to all, or it applies to none.”
Calls of “Hear, hear!” went around the tables on that one.
“Alas,” Lord Behnaz said, with an astoundingly insincere look of regret, “I don’t believe that Dame Chrissie has any offspring to place into servitude.”
“That much is correct,” Thea said quickly, before the man could offer any ‘helpful’ suggestions. “Therefore, I have decided that Dame Chrissie must provide some measure of faith to the Exchequer. To do so will show that she is being treated fairly and no better than anyone else on the Royal Court.”
I pushed my chair back and stood, gripping the table so that no one would see my hands shake. “Whatever your judgement is, I shall abide by it, Albess.”
Yeah, I thought. As if I had a choice in the matter.
The Albess let out an amused ‘hoo!’ as she said, “I know you shall, for you are an honorable Dame. You are worthy of the title, unlike many here.”
She ignored the few objections to that statement and after a moment continued speaking.
“My judgement is as follows: In one month’s time, you shall pay back a twelfth of the debt incurred by the former Order of the Weasel. Otherwise, the knighthood of all in the Order of the Ermine shall be revoked, their fortunes confiscated, and the remaining debt doubled as a penalty.”
Thea’s words hit me like a hammer blow. If I didn’t come up with a sizeable chunk of money in thirty days, my followers would be ruined. And I’d be personally liable for more than half a million crowns.
Next to me, Sir Exton had gone pale. Lord Ghaznavi sat back in his chair as if stunned. And around us, the cries of approval mixed with yet more catcalls.
“Just what the ‘Welchers’ deserve!”
“Let’s see the witch beguile her way out of this!”
“Hoist on your own petard now, aren’t you?”
The jeering was finally overridden by the pounding of metal against wood. Sir Jorvath’s armored fist pounded on the table until everyone’s attention finally returned to the Regent.
“Enough of this,” Magnus declared. “Rejoicing in the misfortune of a fellow knight – and one who has already sacrificed so much for this realm – is beyond base. I declare this meeting over, before I lose what stomach I have for lunch.”
More mutters whispered around the room. The Regent got up, ignoring the commentary from the assembled lords. Instead, he pointed right at me and spoke in even harsher tones.
“And Dame Chrissie, I am heartily sick of hearing complaints about your debt. You are not to show your face to this court again until I see how you plan to pay this twelfth share!”
Magnus turned and stalked from the room, flanked by his two centaur companions. I sank back down in my seat, feeling as if the very ceiling had caved in on me.
Chapter Three
The Great Hall had just about emptied.
I remained in my chair, still reeling with the shock. Even with all the odds against me, I’d subconsciously relied upon the future deadline being…well, in the future.
To have everything put up against a hard deadline a month away felt indescribably awful. Like someone had punched me in the gut then followed up by kicking me when I was down.
Finally, I managed to get to my feet.
Sir Exton remained standing next to my chair, blood drained from his face. Finally, he looked at me and spoke in a surprisingly soft voice for such a large man.
“I expected to be disowned,” he said. “That was painful, but my father is a Lord, he can write anyone into his will. Bastard knights have inherited and taken up names based on less. But having one’s title as a knight revoked means...”
My own voice sounded bone dry. “Means what?”
“It means that no knightly order will admit you to regain your title. And with the loss of my knighthood, my father will have no choice but to pass my inheritance on to the next in line.”
The sound of a jail door slamming echoed in my mind at that. The taste of something burned and bitter swirled in my mouth as I motioned for him to follow me out of the room. We walked down one the palace’s long halls in silence as I brooded on what he’d told me. Sir Exton’s outfit of chain mail and leather creaked and jingled along at my side.
“There is no choice left to us,” I finally said. “You’ll have to leave my service immediately. I’ll give the choice to Lord Ghaznavi and Sir Quinton as well.”
He looked at me sharply. “We already swore our oath of fealty to you!”
“Not publicly,” I pointed out. “In my world, that’s called ‘plausible deniability’. All of you still have a chance to back out of this.”
“No.”
Exton stopped in his tracks. I did as well, turning toward him just in time to see the bear-sized man pull his sword from its scabbard with a steely whisper.
He turned the weapon so that it rested across both of his palms before holding it up into the light. I could clearly see the insignia of a golden crown stamped on the grip, just below the sword’s cross guard.
“This is the symbol of a won knighthood,” he explained. “It is placed on all knightly weapons after the bearer has proven his honor, and his worth as a man in combat. This means something in my world, no matter what others might think.”
“Yes, I know,” I agreed quickly. “That’s why I don’t want you to lose it.”
Exton shook his head. “Being stripped of the title of ‘knight’ is painful. It causes a large number of problems for everyone. But it does not remove the honor behind it.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Do you think every knight is a member of an order? One in good standing? If so, I have a few acres of rock and desert to sell you as prime farming land. I know of several former knights who have been cast out by their lord for the tiniest transgression. They have no lord and no title. But they still consider themselves men of honor, and they will fight for what that means.”
“So, you’ll still fight,” I said slowly. “You’ll fight for the goals of the Order of the Ermine…title or no?”
Exton nodded. Sheathing his weapon, he motioned for us to continue along the hall. After a moment, he spoke again. “There is one more thing I might mention.”
We kept walking, but I paid attention. I’d started out thinking that the son of Lord Ivor
was nothing more than yet another boorish musclehead of the Royal Court. Yet even now, he kept surprising me with his character. I wanted to hear what he had to say.
“You are a Commander of Knights now, Dame Chrissie,” he advised me, and I could clearly hear the title ring in his voice. “You must be of stern heart. If either of my fellow knights wishes to leave, grant that request. But do not waver. Do not offer them an exit. Rally them, and they will follow you.”
I swallowed hard as I absorbed his advice. We turned down the final corridor and pushed through the set of tower doors bearing my sigil.
Shaw and Liam stood near the table, sharing out food and drink with Lord Ghaznavi and Sir Quinton. The light from the nearby window illuminated a golden carafe of summer crush wine. Their voices sounded normal enough.
But their faces were grave.
“The news hath preceded thy entrance,” Shaw said, in his leonine rumble. “‘Tis a dark day, indeed.”
“We may have to wait until King Fitzwilliam returns,” Liam said, with a delicate stamp of one forehoof. “Surely, he shall not let you be punished so harshly.”
“One hopes so,” brooded Lord Ghaznavi. “Else my decision to be here shall look curious to my impoverished descendants.”
“I hope so too,” Sir Quinton chimed in. “None of us regret joining the Order of the Ermine, Lady. But I think I speak for everyone when I say: We dearly hope that you can use your particular magic to improve our fortunes!”
Yeah, I thought, No pressure, guys.
Luckily, I did have an answer of sorts. A glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. And with luck, it wasn’t going to be the light of an oncoming locomotive.
“Okay, I’ve got a surprise for all of you. I was waiting to test it out before I said anything, but that plan just got tossed on the fire.”
“And turned to ash, for that matter,” Quinton quipped.
“Shaw, if you would?” I asked, pointing to a large wooden crate I’d had the griffin stash behind the chalkboard.
“Aye, gladly,” he said. Grimshaw gave a grunt as he grabbed the crate and half-carried, half-slid it across the floor to the center of the room. He gave the end a swack with his forepaw and the side fell open. “For two days now, mine own curiosity hath been aroused by the presence of thy secret container.”
I stepped over to the open end of the crate, reached inside, and tugged out a cardboard box the size and shape of a thick office door. Setting the box against the wall, I popped a set of tabs on the side, pulling out the instructional package for the contents, complete with a picture of the finished product on the cover.
Griffin, fayleene, and human knights stared at the image, then around at each other, clearly confused. I gave them a moment longer, but when the looks started to get uncomfortable, with my usual subtle approach, I spoke up.
“Come on!” I urged. “They’re beehives!”
Silence.
“Aren’t they rather ‘flat’ for hives?” Liam asked.
“It’s a kit!” I explained, trying (and failing) to keep the impatience out of my voice. “The boxes contain wooden slats, pegs, and walls along with step-by-step instructions.”
“And then…you hang this ‘hive’ in a tree that is to be cut down?” Sir Quinton ventured.
I shook my head. “Nope, that’s the beauty of this system. The hive is…well, I guess you could call it a kind of cube that sits on the ground. Then the wooden slats ‘hang’ inside, where the bees build their honeycombs. When the hive gets full, you remove some of the slats and harvest the honey. Without killing the bees or destroying the hive.”
“Just so I understand,” Sir Exton said. “You want us to set these ‘hives’ up for you?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’ve got sixteen hives here, that’s all I could afford until I get paid next week. I want each of you to set up a quartet of them. You’ll need to select a place on your lands to site these. Not exposed to too much wind and sun, if you can. But most importantly, they must be close to flowers or flowering crops. Even clover will do.”
More puzzled looks were traded, but I decided to ignore that.
“Each of your demesnes have a local carpenter, right?” I got nods from my human knights, so I went on. “Have your carpenters study one of the hives as you set it up. They need to start making copies of it so you can set even more of them in place.”
Lord Ghaznavi let out a sound between a snort and a laugh. “You wish us to be landlords…to a swarm of insects? I suppose that I should turn in my knight’s sword now, and be done with it!”
“Don’t be too hasty, my lord,” Sir Quinton said. “Your land isn’t forested. Otherwise, you would be surprised at how much money can be made from hives. Honey is a valuable product.”
“Aye,” Shaw put in. His tongue flicked out along the side of his beak. “And mead is a fine-tasting honey brew, at that.”
“Make no mistake, gentlemen,” I said firmly, with a courage that I faked more than felt. But Sir Exton was right. I had to lead for others to follow. “This endeavor is as important as a fight with a dragon.”
“Do you really believe that?” Ghaznavi asked.
I fixed him in my gaze. “I do. If we don’t make this work, then the Order of the Ermine collapses. And we are this kingdom’s best hope.”
“My father will think I’ve lost my wits,” Sir Quinton said. “But I’ll take my share of hives to set up.”
“So shall I,” Sir Exton agreed.
“Then I shall not question the Head of my Order,” Ghaznavi said ruefully, as he stroked his long black beard. “It looks like my destiny shall be as a Lord of Six-legged Creatures. I just hope that you are correct once again, Dame Chrissie.”
You and me both, I thought. Otherwise…then for want of coin, this kingdom might be lost.
Chapter Four
The three knights had just left when a new knock sounded at the door. My back was to the door and facing my friends, my attention on the last of the beehive kits. I’d hoped to explain more of my plan to Shaw and Liam before anything else happened.
So without a second thought, I called, “Come on in.”
The heavy wooden door creaked open.
Instantly, Liam’s fur stood on end. He dropped into a feral-looking stance as he stared over my shoulder, antlers lowered with deadly intent. An extremely un-deerlike growl came from the Protector’s mouth.
That was nothing compared to Shaw. The griffin let out a squawk of outrage. His fur and feathers bristled up as if electrified, and he too fell smoothly into a battle stance. Razor-sharp talons gleamed at the end of his forepaws, and his stout black beak emitted a threatening hiss.
Startled, I cast a glance back over my shoulder. The King of the Centaurs and Regent of Andeluvia stood there calmly, as if he’d happened upon nothing more remarkable than an afternoon tea party. Magnus still wore his scarlet surcoat from the meeting of the Royal Court, though now he’d draped a grape-colored travelling cloak over it.
I quickly stepped in front of him holding my hands up, arms out.
“Guys! Hold it! Magnus isn’t our enemy anymore!”
“So you say,” Liam challenged. “He did not bind you with magic, then tie your limbs with rope. Nor did he toss you off a cliff to die!”
“I am guilty of a great many things,” Magnus admitted, with a sad nod of his head. “Yet I am not quite that monstrous. I didn’t toss you off a cliff. To be precise, you bit me on the ear. That made me drop you, and you rolled off the cliff. In fact, I only found out what happened after Dayna released me from stasis and I spoke about it with my nephew.”
“Thy tongue is clever,” Shaw growled. “Yet I do not forget so easily. Thou hadst shot me, and blasted me with thy magic!”
Again, Magnus nodded. “Yes, I did do that. However, the blows you gave me with your talons and beak were hardly meant as loving ‘taps’. We were fighting to the death, you and I. We were contesting the one thing I wanted in my life at that point: the power to rule ove
r my people.”
“Doth there be anything left for us to settle?” Shaw asked ominously.
“Not between you and me, mighty griffin. It was a worthy contest, with a worthy prize. And you were a more than worthy opponent.”
Amazingly, that mollified Shaw. The big griffin warrior’s fur settled into place as he chewed Magnus’ words over. He smoothed the feathers around his head with one paw as he nodded slowly.
“‘Twas indeed a worthy contest. Should thou wish a rematch…”
“Nay, for two reasons. First, I am forbidden by my oath to Dayna. Second, I prefer having my head attached to my shoulders.”
Shaw considered that. “Thou art an intelligent opponent, I shall give thee that.”
“That is more than I shall give,” Liam huffed. The Fayleene Protector turned his back resolutely to the centaur wizard and stared out the window.
Now that combat seemed less likely, I turned back to Magnus. “What brings you here, Regent? We weren’t exactly expecting you.”
“That much is certain,” Magnus stated wryly. He glanced around the room, taking in the marked-up chalkboard, assorted furniture, vaulted ceiling, and rough quilt of spare carpets. “In part, I was curious to know what the fabled ‘Dame’s Tower’ actually looked like inside. I doubt that I will get a chance to see it once King Fitzwilliam is restored.”
“Well, this is it.” I said, gesturing vaguely around. “It’s similar to the quarters you once had.”
“Indeed.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “I also came to express regret for what I had to say back at the meeting of the Royal Court.”
I fought to keep the scowl from my face. “You were quite clear that you no longer wanted to see my face there. At least, not until I figure out a way to pay more than twenty thousand crowns to the Exchequer.”
“True. It was rudely put, but it was the best that Albess Thea and I could come up with on short notice.”
That brought me up short. “You and the Albess?”
“We spoke at length last evening. She’d gotten word that a sizeable majority of the Royal Court was planning to walk away from their debts to the Exchequer if your feet weren’t ‘held to the fire’ over what you owe.”
A Warrant of Wyverns Page 2
