Daphne was handed over. The captain looked at the condition she was in, and raised an eyebrow at the priest. He shrugged, about-turned his wardens, and they departed the way they had come.
‘Miss Holdfast,’ the captain read to her, holding up a paper, ‘the crown hereby resumes custody of you. Know that your sentence still stands, as confirmed at your appeal hearing. You are to be executed in Holders Square at dawn.’
He slipped the paper back into his jacket’s inside pocket.
Daphne looked at him.
‘I am Captain Summel,’ he said. ‘Please come with me.’
He turned and walked between the ranks of heavily armoured troopers, and Daphne followed, her head held high despite her rags and shackles.
They marched through the building until they came to a comfortable officer’s room, where two aides were preparing tea. The guards remained outside the main entrance while Daphne and Summel went in. The only other door was open, and led to a small bathroom. A large bed sat against one wall, and chairs were laid out in front of a large hearth, where a fire was roaring.
Summel gestured to a plush couch, and Daphne sat upon the edge of a cushion, conscious that she was filthy.
‘Would you care for a cup of tea, miss?’ the captain asked her.
‘Please,’ she replied. And a bath, a meal, and how about getting these shackles off, she wanted to say, but instead took comfort from this unexpected kindness.
An aide placed a tray with cups and a teapot onto the low table in front of the couch, and Summel sat down in the armchair opposite, next to the warmth of the fire.
‘Sugar?’ he said, as he poured tea into two cups.
‘Thank you,’ she replied. She picked up her cup, and sipped the hot liquid. ‘Do you have anything to smoke?’
‘Of course,’ he said, taking out a silver case. He opened it, lit a cigarette, and passed it to her.
She smoked and drank her sweet tea, a smile resting on her lips.
‘So,’ she said, rattling her chains. ‘Hanged tomorrow?’
He grimaced. ‘Maybe not, Holdfast.’
‘Oh?’
‘There’s a rumour going round that the queen is going to pardon you.’
Daphne laughed. ‘Really? And why would she do that?’
‘You have no idea what’s going on in the Lower City, have you?’
‘Lots of shouting,’ she said.
Summel snorted, and a faint smile came to his lips.
‘It’s practically civil war down there,’ he said. ‘The city is split between the followers of the church and the crown. While up here the queen and the prophet struggle to stay neutral, down on the streets their supporters are at each other’s throats.’
‘What about me?’
‘No offence, Holdfast,’ he replied, drinking his tea, ‘but you’re just a piece on the gaming board, played by both sides. But to the people, what happens to you matters. If the queen allows you to be hanged, then everyone will think she’s weak, and the church will be exonerated from all the accusations being spread about them by the royalists. Her supporters will all go home, and your father?’ He shrugged. ‘He’s been promising the people that they’ll have shares in the Sanang invasion this time, and that every soldier will be rewarded handsomely. That seems to have won many of them over, but if you’re executed, and this year’s campaign is cancelled, they’ll desert him like rats fleeing a burning stable.
‘On the other hand, if she pardons you, then I expect that the supporters of the church will try to burn the city to the ground, and the cavalry will be ordered in to quell them. That’s the queen’s choice. Capitulate to the church, or fill the streets with blood.
‘To be honest, Holdfast,’ the officer went on, ‘I think the queen would have preferred it if the church had hanged you, then she could have blamed them. But now that you’re back under her authority? Let’s just say that I imagine the queen won’t have much else on her mind right now.’
‘And in all of this,’ Daphne said, ‘where does the truth fit?’
‘I believe what the queen tells me to believe,’ Summel said, ‘and though by tomorrow it may have changed, right now you remain a convicted traitor in the eyes of the crown, and are in the custody, but also under the protection, of the Queen’s Own. I have two armoured squads up here, and the cavalry have closed the great ramp, to keep the public away. All to make sure no harm comes to you between now and your appointed time with justice in the morning.’
He offered her another cigarette.
‘Tonight,’ he said, ‘you’ll be confined to these quarters. We’ll get those shackles off, and you can get cleaned up, have some dinner, and sleep in a decent bed.’
‘Why are you being kind to me?’
‘I figure that if you’re executed,’ he replied, half smiling, ‘then there’s no harm in making your last night comfortable, but to be honest, and at the risk of making a fool of myself, I confess that I believe you to be innocent. As a captain in the cavalry, I don’t believe for a moment that you disobeyed orders.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, her face flushing from surprised gratitude.
He got up.
‘I’ll leave you,’ he said, then pointed at the two white-aproned aides. ‘These gentlemen will see to your needs. Bath, food, drink, and so on. There are fresh clothes in the trunks over by the alcove, and someone will be along soon to remove your chains, and to treat any wounds you have. Remember, there are two full squads outside the room, so I wouldn’t recommend trying to escape.’
He walked to the door.
‘Until the morning, then,’ he said. ‘We’ll see what justice brings.’
Chapter 17
Holders Square
Holdings City, Realm of the Holdings – 1st Day, Last Third Winter 503
In a warm, deep and comfortable sleep, Daphne dreamt she was flying. No, not flying. She dreamt she was being swept about by the winds, buffeted by gales pulling her one way then another, almost tearing her limbs from their sockets with the ferocity of a storm. The noise felt like thunder, a violent and discordant eruption of sound, clashing and shouting in wild anger.
It grew louder, enveloped her, then faded and grew quiet.
She awoke and sat up, water sloshing from the sides of the bathtub. A small lamp was burning from a hook on a wall, and the hearth was glowing a dim red. She was alone. She listened, and heard nothing. Just a dream, she thought, then she heard it again, the sound of raised voices, somewhere in the Old Tower.
She got to her feet, bleary from her sleep being interrupted and stepped out of the tub, soapy water spilling from her. She dried herself, and pulled on the fresh clothes that had been laid out for her, then rummaged in the trunks until she found some decent boots, and a spare leather cuirass. After putting them on, she strapped her left arm to her side, with padding round the elbow. It throbbed from the baton blow, and she was still carrying the bruises and aches from the beating the wardens had given her, but she was clean. She pulled back her wet hair and tied it up. She drew on a little battle-vision, and her head cleared.
The sounds were getting louder, echoing down the stone corridors and halls of the ancient tower. Someone was fighting.
Who?
The Household Cavalry hadn’t been negligent enough to leave any weapons in the room for her, but she found a good-sized iron poker by the fireplace, and hefted it in her right hand.
Heavy thudding sounds came from above her, where a cellblock was located, and the ceiling shook, dislodging particles of dust which floated down through the air.
She stole over to the door, and placed her ear against it, listening. Nothing. She reached out and grasped the handle, then paused. Maybe she should stay where she was, she pondered, a tight knot of fear growing in her stomach. However, if someone were looking for her, they must have bypassed this room on their way up to search the cells. Would they be as careless on their return journey?
She opened the door a tiny crack, and peered out. The co
rridor was lit with regular and frequent torches, and was bright compared to her room. She snuck out, poker in her right hand. There were four bodies lying sprawled across the flagstone floor. One was a member of the cavalry, her uniform bloody, and her sword missing, while the other three were dressed as civilians, and were armed with long knives.
Judging by the mess in the corridor, a crowd had passed from right to left, where the stairs to the upper floors began. Daphne crept along to her right, stepping over the bodies on the floor. The large door at the end of the passageway had been battered off its hinges, and was lying broken on the ground. A large marble statue of an old king was lying headless next to it, having been employed as a ram. Beyond was a crossroads of passages, and Daphne tried to remember the way that led to the courthouse, and the public area where the ramp down to the Lower City began.
There were a few bodies by the junction, all dead, except for one. Smeared bloody tracks on the floor led to where a young trooper was dragging himself.
The soldier was on his front, and had been pulling his body along with his arms. There was a large dark bloodstain on his side and back. He saw her, and looked confused. He tried to speak, and blood bubbled on his lips.
‘Holdfast?’ he gasped at her.
Daphne lay down the poker, and knelt beside him. She unfastened his water canister, and gave him a drink, holding it to his mouth.
He spluttered, spilling water and blood down his leathers.
‘Someone has to summon the garrison,’ he whispered. ‘The church…’
‘What?’
‘The church,’ he continued, wheezing for breath. ‘Priests opened Cathedral Steps, and let the mob up.’
‘Why?’
‘They heard the queen was going to pardon you,’ the trooper said. ‘They’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen…’
‘Have they entered the palace?’
‘That’s where most of them are now,’ he wheezed. ‘They only sent a few dozen to get you.’ He reached out his hand and gripped her arm. ‘Holdfast,’ he said in a hoarse whisper, ‘if you’re not a traitor, if you are loyal to the Holdings, now would be a good time to prove it… Get the garrison…’ He started to retch, and blood spilled from his mouth, then he slumped, his lifeless eyes staring at the wall.
Daphne pulled the man’s sword from its sheath, and left the poker where it lay. She stood. What was the right thing to do - go to the palace to help the queen? Try to alert the garrison in the city below, and bring them charging up the ramp to repel the mob? Or just escape? Every decision she made seemed to end in disaster, and she stood frozen to the floor, staring at the dead trooper at her feet.
The thud of boots on stone sounded from the officers’ quarters. They must have realised that she was not in the cells. She could hear rooms being broken into, and tried to start moving, but her limbs were unresponsive.
‘There she is!’ a jubilant voice cried. ‘There she is!’
She ran.
With angry shouts behind her, she bolted down a corridor, in the direction of the courthouse, and the ramp down to the Lower City. She leaped over the body of a dead civilian, and ran along the curving passageway. She saw the door ahead of her. It had been barred from the inside with a heavy crossbeam. With the noise of the crowd getting closer, she dropped the sword and pulled at the beam with all her strength. It clattered to the ground, and Daphne pushed open the door.
The courtyard outside was silent in the cool night air, and she sprinted for the iron gate separating it from the ramp. She jumped, reaching for a thick bar with her right hand, and swinging her foot onto the crossbeam. She tried to pull herself up with her good arm, but she was weak, and was only halfway up when hands started to grab at her feet. She kicked out, but the hands hauled her down off the fence, and she fell to the ground. She rolled herself into a ball, as feet lashed out and kicked her, and blows landed on her from above.
Something struck her arm, which she had brought up to protect her face, and she could hear the enraged screams of the mob surrounding her, shoving and pushing each other to get close enough to hurt her. Someone yanked at her hair. Her head was pulled back, and she was kicked in the face.
Pain exploded, her sight flashed and sparked, and she heard shouting, but it seemed to come from far away.
The blows stopped.
Barely conscious, she felt herself be dragged by her good arm, then someone picked up her feet, and she was carried, her left arm still bound to her side.
She could see nothing, then realised that her eyes were clenched shut. Her hearing came back in a great rush, and the sound of a large crowd engulfed her. Shouts and cheers, and jeers and screams surrounded her, and she felt herself be carried up some stairs. She was lowered to the ground, where she lay still, her right hand instinctively reaching for her face. Blood was pumping from her nose, and some of her teeth were loose. The pain pounded through her skull, and she crawled into a small space inside her head, and tried to shut everything else out.
She sensed fingers touch her throat, to feel if she had a pulse, and then she heard a whisper.
‘She’s alive.’
‘Good,’ a male voice said.
Hands gripped her by the shoulders, and pulled her up. The roar from the crowd settled, and quietened. She stayed limp, but opened her eyes a crack. She was on a flight of steps, facing an enormous crowd under the night sky. They were staring at her, their faces twisted by cruel victory in the flickering torchlight. Priests were scattered among the crowd, looking satisfied. Daphne could feel the anger and venom emanate from the mass of people, and it was no different from the hate she had felt from the Sanang.
‘We have her!’ the man bellowed.
The crowd roared and cheered. The man let them continue for several moments, then he gestured for Daphne to be lowered back to the ground. The guards did so, and she settled onto the step, listening, her eyes closed again.
‘We have the traitor and warmonger Daphne Holdfast,’ the man cried, raising his voice as he addressed the crowd. ‘A criminal of the worst kind, and the queen was going to pardon her, to please her lover, this bitch’s father. Well, I say no! She pays for her crimes, and she pays for them tonight!’
Lover? Daphne smiled amid the roars from the mob. They thought her father and the queen were lovers?
She started to laugh as the man ranted on, and realised that her fear had vanished. She lay on the ground, beaten, and ready to be executed in front of a baying mob, but she was without fear. She relaxed her mind, and thought about Chane, and whether she was happy, and Agang, with all of his plans. She hoped Weir didn’t feel too bad about the appeal. What was her father doing? Was he plotting and scheming in the Lower City, unaware of the coup that was threatening the reign of the queen, his lover? She laughed again, the absurdity of it making her giggle.
She breathed in and out, stilled her aching body, and opened her eyes a tiny bit, letting battle-vision permeate her.
‘The queen has shown herself to be incompetent,’ the man was saying to the crowd, ‘and unfit for office. I do not blame her Majesty as others do, as her terrible illness has ravaged her body, and she barely clings on to life. No, I blame her advisors, and principally the arch-warmonger, Holdfast the elder, and the chief instrument of his perfidy,’ he pointed at Daphne again, ‘his daughter, Holdfast the younger. We must eradicate the corruption eating at the heart of our nation, and we demand that Prince Guilliam immediately becomes Regent. Let the poor queen die in peace, in her sickbed! But, for all our sakes, let Prince Guilliam rule!’
The crowd roared their approval. Daphne saw that they filled Holders Square, the largest open space in the Upper City, and that she lay on the great stone steps leading up to one of the formal entrances to the palace, the massive doors of which lay open. To her right, several dozen troopers of the Household Cavalry were sitting bunched together at the foot of the steps, unarmed, with their hands on their heads. Civilians with a variety of weapons stood encircling them.
To her left, on a large platform, used whenever the monarch was required to address their subjects on ceremonial occasions, a gallows had been constructed, and a huge man with a black hood stood ready.
Seeing this, her mind focussed, and she knew she would not be led to the noose without a fight.
‘This woman,’ the man was continuing to rant, ‘having been given an officer’s commission, and the command of a forward fortress, only through corrupt nepotism…’
Fair enough, Daphne thought.
‘…she proved herself incompetent on countless occasions…’
A little harsh.
‘…and she betrayed her company, and the Holdings’ people, being a coward at heart…’
He was right, Daphne thought, she had been a coward. She had tried to do the right thing, but had always found herself helpless in the hands of others. She had submitted each time to their plans, and had been a thorough coward. She had been used by the church, and by the queen. Well, no more. She had allowed events to happen to her, trusting that the inherent goodness within people would protect her and keep her safe, and it had all been for nothing.
She looked up. No one noticed, her head was angled downwards, and the crowds’ attention was on the speaker.
She took in her immediate surroundings, noting the people, their weapons, and the exact location of where the cavalry troopers were being held. She was going to need a full and sustained burst of battle-vision, one that would exhaust her physical reserves, but the time for saving for the future had gone, and all that mattered was now.
There were three men guarding her, civilians dressed in dark hoods.
She drew in all the battle-vision she could take, and her mind nearly exploded in sensory impact. She rode the storm, and used its power. Her right hand dashed out quicker than anyone’s eyes could follow. She pulled a knife from the first guard’s belt and rammed it into his crotch, doubling him over. As she pulled the knife free, she turned, aimed and threw, and the blade struck the speaker in the side of his neck. He staggered, his hand reaching up to his throat, and he turned to look at Daphne, who was now on her feet. He gave her a look of stunned surprise, then toppled over.
The Magelands Origins Page 23
