‘It’s all about getting the crown right,’ Rodulf said. In truth he had no idea how much one should cost. Money was tight at the moment, but only because outgoings nearly matched what was coming in. When it came to it, he would be able to divert some away to cover this expense. There would be other ways to deal with payment when the time came, however, and coin wasn’t the only way a king could pay for things. He wondered how Benvento would feel about being Baron Benvento? That would be sure to knock a good portion off the bill.
‘Why don’t you price out each of your designs, and we can work from there,’ Rodulf said. ‘It is a crown, after all; price shouldn’t be a primary concern.’
‘You are absolutely right, my lord,’ Benvento said, visibly giddy at the prospect of this commission.
As Rodulf left, he wondered if Benvento ever had a client who wasn’t absolutely right.
You’ll pay for what you did.
RODULF TURNED the note over between his fingers. The third one, and he still couldn’t see anything to give away its sender. He felt a mix of frustration, fear, and excitement at the challenge it presented. He had been looking forward to the third letter, and what he might learn from it, so this came as a disappointment.
The initial terror caused by the first had long since subsided. No one had come beating down his door to arrest him and march him to the headsman’s block. That they had not struck against him yet meant that they weren’t going to do so until they realised they wouldn’t get whatever they wanted from him. By the time that happened, he fully expected to know who the sender was, and have them strapped to the rack in the dungeon.
It seemed that whoever was penning the little notes wanted to play a game with him. He liked games, and was willing to play along. He thought of reaching for the Stone and seeing what insight being in contact with it brought him, but dismissed the thought. It wasn’t the time for that yet. Now that he had a sense of their strategy, he was content to allow it to unfold until he was in a position to end them. What they didn’t seem to realise was that it would take more than a few letters to break him, and that each one they sent brought them one step closer to the rack, the Blood Blades, and ultimately, an early grave.
He smiled to himself at the thought, confident that he was smarter than the letter sender, that his strategy would outwit theirs.
Why, then, did a knot of fear turn over in his stomach?
CHAPTER 11
Adalhaid watched Rodulf walk into the palace foyer with a bunch of his followers tagging along, all surrounded by his menacing bodyguards with their wicked curved knives. They glided between the smooth white marble pillars and out onto the main floor, aware that everyone and everything would get out of their way. Anyone who didn’t would have the Blood Blades to contend with.
There was nothing about Rodulf now that would give away his Northland roots. He was dressed in exceptionally fine clothes, and Adalhaid could not help but wonder how much they had cost. He still had the small pocket on his tunic that he was wont to rest his hand in, giving him a casual, superior air, as though he was so far above everything he was not bothered to make an effort at propriety. When Adalhaid had first seen it, she had thought it made him look foolish, but to her disgust several of the young aristocrats who followed him around had taken to aping his fashion trend. She thought it so pathetic it made her want to spit, but she had no doubt that Rodulf loved the fact that men whose lineage comprised many generations of nobility had taken to copying his fashion choices.
As she watched him she felt so much hatred that it was bitter on her tongue. She wondered if he had received her most recent letter. He showed no sign of it. She might be wrong in her accusation, in which case he’d be able to brush it off with the clear conscience of an innocent man, but she doubted it. The pieces fit together too well. Just thinking of what he had done set light to her temper. She wanted to take the Stone from him more than anything, for no better reason than to deprive him of something he coveted. She wanted to cleave it asunder right before him, then drive the knife into his remaining eye.
It made her feel guilty to hate so much and desire to do a violent act, but the way he had treated her, what he had done to poor Aenlin, the way he had behaved towards every person he had ever met—it was only a sample of how he would behave with unfettered power. It was a state of affairs that was approaching all too quickly, and it occurred to her that she was likely the only thing standing in his way.
She took a deep breath and forced the anger from her in the same way she held back her emotion when treating a patient. He was more powerful than her, but she was smarter. The only way to beat him was to outwit him, and for that she needed a clear, objective mind. Anger and the choices that came from it would do her no good.
She watched him work the room, smiling and shaking hands, then disappear into the corridors of power. She smiled with realisation. The pocket. That was why he had them fitted to all of his tunics. His hand was in it constantly because he was holding the Stone. She almost laughed aloud. She had thought it an affectation, but there was utility in it. Now that she knew where the Stone was, all that remained was the tricky part. How to get to it.
ADALHAID LOVED the university’s library in the evenings. Most of the students were gone, and with the sun long set the windows were like great stone-framed portals of darkness. The magelamps came alive, casting small spheres of light in each of the reading alcoves. It was a magical, mysterious place with untold knowledge to be discovered.
The knowledge she sought that night was of a far more mundane nature. She handed in her call slip for a copy of the university’s regulations at the librarians’ desk, then returned to her own in a secluded alcove that had long been her favourite. There was too much at stake for Adalhaid to move forward with her plan on the basis of rumours and hearsay. She knew stories of students who had qualified in only two years—everyone did—but she had never met anyone who had accomplished the feat. She needed a complete appreciation of the facts.
As disappointing as it would be to discover that the rumours were unfounded, it was better to find that out now, than a few hours before she would have to flee the city and the country with nothing but the clothes on her back.
It was late, and the duty librarian had no doubt expected the evening shift would be a relaxing opportunity to read. Adalhaid had not seen another student on her way in, and it always puzzled her how many of the university staff regarded students as an inconvenience rather than the reason they had employment. A copy of the regulations was delivered to her desk by the librarian with a resentful expression, and Adalhaid’s thanks were completely ignored. She would have been offended were it not so eccentrically endearing.
Adalhaid opened the leather-bound cover, to be greeted with the title in thick black lettering on the first page: The Rule of the University of Elzburg. She skipped through the preamble and the regulations of the other schools of the university until she reached that for the school of medicine. They made for fascinating reading. The book was old, and appeared to have been updated over the years as required, with older regulations still there with unsteady lines scored through them to indicate their obsolescence.
Over the past four hundred years, the school of medicine had clearly grown from the original loosely organised association of physicians and students, when the only requirements for qualification were a letter of recommendation from a qualified physician and the ability to pass the examinations the association held each year. As time passed, lectures and tutorials were organised to put education and training on a more formal footing, but an examination candidate was only required to prove attendance for one term. In those days, all that mattered was getting through the exams. Following the regulations in the dusty old tome was a fascinating experience of watching the evolution of the school. As knowledge of the subject advanced, the exams became more complex, and courses of study were formalised. Keeping hours at clinics was added to the compulsory requirements, as practical experience came to be
deemed as important as academic knowledge. It seemed, however, that the difficulty of the examinations, and the volume of knowledge required, was the greatest barrier to aspiring physicians taking shortcuts.
Nowhere did it say she needed to have attended for several years. Complete the clinic hours, prove attendance at the school of medicine for at least one term, pass the exams. She re-read the section to be doubly sure, but that was it. The number of clinical hours required over the years had gradually increased, and the duration of study seemed to have naturally reached a length that comfortably accommodated them when combined with lectures and study.
In black and white it seemed clear to her, but she was taking it to the edge, and that worried her. The stories she had heard were of students passing after two or three years rather than the usual four. She had been a medical student for little more than a year. Professor Kengil sprang to mind as a potential obstacle. As Adalhaid saw it, although she might be delighted to be rid of Adalhaid and allow her to do as she planned, she was more likely to oppose the idea. If she did, Adalhaid had to make absolutely certain that there could be no way to stop her.
She wrinkled her nose as she thought through how Kengil might put an obstacle in her way. Changing the rules was the obvious choice. Could they do that? Surely there had to be a prohibition on the changing of rules to suit one party. It seemed to go against all the ideals a university promoted, and on a more basic level, if it could be done, there would never be any certainty about anything. She flipped back to the preamble, and read the first paragraph.
All matters hereunder remain subordinate to the laws of the Principality of Ruripathia.
SHE GOT up from her desk and wandered around the shelves until she found the section containing legal texts. She had no idea where to start, but if there was a chance she was going to have to argue her case she wanted to be able to do so with authority. She pulled a book titled The Law of Ruripathia from the shelf and looked it over. It appeared to be the newest book in the section, which she took to indicate it was the most up-to-date.
Back at her desk, she studied the contents. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but kept an eye open for anything that might impact on the unilateral changing of rules or laws. She traced her finger down the column of chapter headings, and her finger stopped on one called ‘Principles of Legal Certainty’. She flipped through until she arrived at the chapter, and started to read.
It was heavy going, littered with terms that were completely meaningless to her. She might as well have been trying to read the runes on Aethelman’s knife. With the task she had set for herself she could little afford to waste time trying to give herself a grounding in law, and she was about to give up when she happened on a section that brought a smile to her face.
No new law may be applied retrospectively, nor may any new law be applied to proceedings or matters already underway.
THAT MEANT ONCE she had applied to sit her exams in accordance with the rules as they stood, they could not be changed to prevent her from doing so. It might mean ruining the situation for those who followed her, but that was the least of her concerns. Her heart raced with excitement as she considered. She had the rules and the law in her favour, and it looked as though she might be able to have her cake and eat it, too.
That left only the matter of actually passing the exams. Adalhaid turned her mind determinedly to how she was going to achieve in only a few weeks what took others more than another full year of study. She had reconciled herself to the fact that her grades would suffer, but she had yet to hear of a qualified physician being asked what grade they got in their tinctures examination before a patient agreed to being treated by them. Passing was all that mattered; anything else was simply vanity.
She made a chart of the topics in each of her subjects, and divided what time she had remaining between them. There wouldn’t be much room for anything other than study, but that was less of a concern for her than the other students, as she had completed her clinical hours and no longer had any responsibilities at the palace. All that remained was to cram as much knowledge into her head as she could, and hope that it would be enough to get her a pass.
CHAPTER 12
It was late in the afternoon the next day when the summons to an audience with Princess Alys arrived. It was for Wulfric alone, and he was nervous without Jagovere to guide him through the intricacies of life at court. Wulfric was still unsure of how to behave, but if he had already angered the princess by killing one of her noblemen, keeping her waiting was not the best approach.
The audience hall was almost empty when Wulfric entered, but for the princess, Chamberlain Lennersdorf, and a couple of her other advisors. Wulfric looked at Lennersdorf and tried to gauge what he was thinking. After what had happened with Hochmark, he wondered if Lennersdorf had been intentionally trying to bait him, knowing that Hochmark was an abrasive character who would likely push Wulfric over the edge if his temper was already up. If so, he felt foolish for having fallen for it, and angry at having been manipulated. He recalled what Jagovere had said about life at court, and despaired at the thought of being dragged farther into it.
He tried to be as unassuming as possible, knowing that the princess had the power of life or death over him with merely a word, but his boot heels echoed on the polished marble floor as he walked toward her. A knot formed in his stomach just as it used to when he was on his way to be chastised by his father. No matter how good he was, there were too many guards and soldiers at the palace for him to be able to fight his way to freedom. She may have wanted him to rid her of Hochmark, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t want to make a show of dispensing justice to the perpetrator.
‘Lord Ulfyr, Your Highness,’ Lennersdorf announced when Wulfric reached the dais.
Wulfric raised an eyebrow, never having been called a lord before. If there was a danger he was to be punished for killing Hochmark, there was an equal possibility that he was to be rewarded for it. He bowed as Jagovere had shown him, then stood and waited to find out what was in store for him. Should she choose to have him arrested, every person on that dais— including her—would die before her guards got to him, but it would mean his death also, and his failure to settle Adalhaid’s Blood Debt. He didn’t think that would be the case, however. If arrest and imprisonment were what she had in store, he reckoned she would have done it already, and not by polite summons, but with heavily armed men.
‘Lord Hochmark was the senior peer of my realm,’ she said. ‘An important and powerful man, and a trusted advisor. His absence will be…’ Her voice drifted away. ‘Keenly noticed.’
‘It was a fairly fought duel,’ Wulfric said. ‘Everyone agreed on that.’
‘Maybe so,’ she said, her voice hard and assertive, ‘but still of precarious legality in the eyes of the law. A blind eye might be turned to such things, but the administration of the principality is reliant on the nobility, and I find myself short of an important one.’
She sat back in her throne and regarded him silently. Her eyes were crystal blue, and her hair was the colour of ripe wheat. There was a hardness in her face that spoke to the difficulties she must have encountered during the war and her exile. Wulfric wondered what she had been like before life had hardened her, but his thoughts were interrupted when she spoke again.
‘Your actions have caused me great inconvenience, so you shall enter my service until such time as I consider that inconvenience defrayed.’
‘I—’ Wulfric said, but she cut him off.
‘I nothing,’ she said. ‘The alternative is the dungeon and the headsman’s block. For your friends also. You choose.’
Wulfric smiled. There was no choice. He wondered what her game might be, but it was becoming clear to him that she had wanted him in her service from the moment she found out he was back in Ruripathia. It seemed killing Hochmark was not the only work she had in mind for him. He thought back to her expression after the duel, the way Chamberlain Lennersdorf had rattled his cage the m
orning before the archery excursion, and any doubt in his mind disappeared.
Wulfric could see the prestige that came with having a famous warrior in her entourage. It grew even greater if that warrior killed a troublesome but powerful noble whom she’d had no other way to deal with. Had she prepared the whole situation, or had circumstances simply played out in her favour? Once again, Wulfric found himself frustrated with the underhanded way southerners worked.
With no other choice, Wulfric nodded. ‘I’m sorry for the trouble it’s caused you, Your Highness. I’ll do my best to make amends.’
The one thing he had learned from the short time he had spent in southern cities was that everyone had an agenda, and now he was trapped in hers. Settling Adalhaid’s Blood Debt would become impossibly difficult if he were to be named an outlaw under his assumed name as well as his real one. The fame he had now meant that another change of identity was unlikely to allow him to fade back into the shadows. He also had to consider the danger he would place the others in because he had been unable to ignore an insult. They had put their faith in him and already two of them had called it a day. If he did not do right by his friends, he would soon enough not have any left. For the time being at least, he would have to play along.
‘You swear yourself to my service until such time as I release you from it?’ she said.
‘Do I have any option?’
She remained silent, but fixed him with a frosty stare.
‘Then I swear it, Your Highness.’
‘Good. I appoint you captain in my guard without mandate. And your comrades?’
‘Conrat and Sander want to retire. The others are still with me, I think, but I can’t swear for them,’ Wulfric said.
The Blood Debt: Wolf of the North Book 3 Page 9
