Rodulf sat at the head of the table in the audience hall, lounging in a chair usually reserved for the Markgraf. As Lord Lieutenant he exercised that delegated power, and wanted to demonstrate that clearly. He watched as the Blood Blades brought dal Geerdorf into the hall. His hands were manacled, and he was still wearing his bed clothes. He looked as though he had given the Blood Blades some opposition, and it appeared to Rodulf like he was missing a few teeth.
‘I knew you’d be behind this,’ dal Geerdorf said. ‘You’d better have a bloody good reason for this. You might be a powerful man, but you can’t get away with treating the senior peer of the Elzmark like this. The other nobles won’t stand for it, and the Markgraf knows that very well.’
‘Stealing from the Markgraf is treason,’ Rodulf said.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Of course not,’ Rodulf said. ‘We recovered the silver, as you may or may not have heard.’
Dal Geerdorf remained impassive. Rodulf still thought it likely that he was involved, even if in conspiracy with the lady Graf of Elzburg, whom Rodulf was very much looking forward to meeting.
‘We killed several men in the process of recovering the silver. Two of them were wearing your insignia.’
Dal Geerdorf blanched. ‘That doesn’t mean anything. There are hundreds of men and women who work for me, even more who once did but no longer. All of them would possess something with my sigil. If I had anything to do with it, I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to let my men do it while bearing my arms. I wouldn’t even have been stupid enough to use my own men.’
‘A likely story,’ Rodulf said, grudgingly admitting to himself that dal Geerdorf was too smart to have been so careless—as was indeed the case, seeing as all the evidence was planted. ‘But the fact remains that all evidence points to you.’
‘You’ve no evidence,’ dal Geerdorf said. ‘Put this to trial, and you’ll be made a laughingstock.’
‘There’s the thing,’ Rodulf said. ‘You don’t get a trial if you commit treason. All you get is executed.’
‘This is nothing more than murder built on a fiction,’ dal Geerdorf said.
Rodulf shrugged. ‘I don’t make the laws. Yet. Until then, I intend to see them enforced.’
‘I had nothing to do with any of this,’ dal Geerdorf said.
‘Of course not. I suppose you didn’t send the assassin who tried to kill me yesterday, either.’
‘You’re a lying little shit,’ dal Geerdorf said. ‘You might think killing me will leave the way unopposed for you, but you’re a bloody fool if you do. You don’t belong here, and never will. The others won’t stand for it.’
‘You don’t get to have a say in that anymore,’ Rodulf said, his anger rising for the first time. ‘I know exactly what you were trying to do, but you’ve failed. I beat you.’
Dal Geerdorf stood straighter. ‘Your type never survive long,’ he said. ‘Enjoy it while it lasts.’
‘Best not to keep the headsman waiting,’ Rodulf said. ‘Bring me back his head.’
‘My family,’ dal Geerdorf shouted, as he was being led away by palace guards. ‘What will happen to them?’
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Rodulf said. ‘By the time I do, it’ll be too late to let you know.’ The look on dal Geerdorf’s face was even more satisfying than swinging the axe himself would have been.
RODULF DIDN’T KNOW whether to laugh or to cry when he found another letter in his morning post. He was receiving regular updates from the spies he had sent out, along with news by pigeon from Grenville in Brixen. There was a growing stack of post on his desk every day, but he had hoped that with dal Geerdorf dead, the poison pen letters would stop.
He turned the envelope over in his hands before opening it, and looked at the previous one, which still sat unopened on his desk. He consoled himself with the thought that it was unlikely dal Geerdorf had been writing them himself. It was possible that this one was in process before Rodulf had him seized. One thing Rodulf had learned about nobility was that you never did anything for yourself that you could get someone else to do. Even after all his time in the south it was a concept he was having difficulty with. The Northland concept of doing for yourself was too deeply ingrained in the fibre of his being for him ever to fully shake it off.
He popped the envelope open and read it.
You were lucky. We will try again.
IT SENT a chill down his spine. He had already faced one assassin, and had no desire to encounter another. He took the previous letter and tore it open.
Time is running out for you.
IT CONFIRMED the sender was involved with the assassin his Blood Blade had killed, and explained why there had been no attempts at a blackmail demand. They only intended to frighten, distract, and then kill him. If an assassin in a shadowy corridor was their idea of justice, they had a very bizarre idea of the law. Not that his was any better, he reflected. The only real difference being, he was now in a position to influence what the law was, which placed him on the correct side of it.
Then again, it could still be from the Graf. There were a great many prying eyes in the palace. Perhaps she had spies there, watching the nobility so she could blackmail them when needed. He rubbed his temples. No. It was irrational thinking. Whoever was sending the letters didn’t want to blackmail him. They wanted to frighten him and kill him. They had failed on both counts. The problem was over. He could ignore the letters. Unless he got another one. He pressed his knuckles into his temples and tried to ease the tension that felt like it was crushing his skull.
He took a deep breath, then placed them in a drawer with the others. Perhaps the problem had already been solved and he could simply ignore it. No sense in thinking otherwise until he had to.
SEEING Grenville standing in his doorway was not something Rodulf had expected that morning. It was the type of surprise that he suspected preceded bad news.
‘As nice as it is to see you,’ Rodulf said, ‘I can’t help but wonder what you’re doing here.’
Grenville had a harried look about him that was far removed from his usual demeanour. He sat, looking tired after his journey.
‘First things first,’ he said. ‘There’s a delegation from Brixen coming. It’ll be no more than a day behind me. I can’t say for certain, but the only reason I can think of is they’ve worked out the real reason for the mercenaries.’
Rodulf nodded. At that point it didn’t matter. They were ready to move forward with that part of the plan, and he expected that the Markgraf would make the announcement of secession in the next day or two anyway. The arrival of a delegation would provide the perfect opportunity.
‘Were there any signs of the princess mobilising her levies?’
Grenville shook his head. ‘No. Not that I could see or hear. I expect it’s difficult to miss a mobilising army.’
‘I expect so,’ Rodulf said. ‘What comes second?’
‘I had to flee Brixen.’
Rodulf raised his eyebrows. ‘Why?’
‘Ulfyr. He was on to me.’
‘You didn’t manage to have him killed?’
‘No. He killed more of my men, and survived a trip up into the mountains that I thought would kill him. Came back with a sword that people are saying is a magical blade.’
‘Gods alive,’ Rodulf said with a sigh. ‘This man is a propagandist’s dream. I wish I’d managed to hire him myself. How do you know he’s on to you?’
‘He called me every name under the sun at dinner a couple of nights back,’ Grenville said. ‘The type of stuff a fellow says when he’s looking for a duel. He can’t prove I tried to have him killed, but he’s sure enough that I did to try and kill me. I packed my bags and came straight here.’
Rodulf leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin, realising that he had forgotten to shave that morning. Too many balls in the air. ‘It’s not a problem. I was going to send for you anyway. You’ll be more use to me here in the next few day
s. I assume your network of spies in Brixen is still intact?’
‘It was when I left,’ he said.
‘Good. I expect we’ll have need for them in the coming days. Until then, get some rest. You look awful.’
‘You would too, if you had the most famous warrior in the principality trying to kill you.’
‘I have far more than him trying to kill me,’ Rodulf said. ‘In a day or two, there will be a great many more. In any event, if he works for Her Royal Highness I expect I’ll be on his list, too—sooner rather than later.’
CHAPTER 40
With her last exam finished, Adalhaid had no time to waste in setting her plan for the Stone into motion. She was tired, but after the initial shock to her system had subsided the exam schedule had not been as bad as she had initially feared. As she walked through the corridors of the palace, she considered her logic. The anger of a scorned woman could be a dangerous thing, and Adalhaid hoped that Gretta the kitchen girl’s was still as fresh as it had been the night they met in the corridor.
For Adalhaid’s plan to work, she needed a small amount of assistance in setting it up, and getting access to Rodulf’s food, which she intended to lace with something that would make him ill. There was nothing she needed to reveal about the true nature of what she intended to do for it to work. Gretta would think it nothing more than a prank to get back at him, and there was no reason for her involvement ever to be suspected. What Adalhaid intended to do after would ensure that the finger of blame was pointed firmly in her direction and the girl would be left in the clear.
When Rodulf got sick, she would be the closest available physician—assuming she passed her exams—and she would make sure that the discomfort caused by what she sneaked into his food would be such that he would welcome her help, regardless of their personal history. Once she started to treat him, she would be able to give him complete relief, then inflict the poison on him again as she chose, gain his trust, then anaesthetise him to the point where she would be able to destroy the Stone at her leisure.
That she might make a mistake and kill him had been an initial concern, but as abhorrent a thought as it was for her, she wondered if it would be better for everyone if she did. It made her feel sick to dwell on it, but the idea would not leave her. It led her to a far darker thought. For all he had done to her, and to Wulfric, she would be well within her rights to kill him. It wasn’t the Northland way to let a slight go unanswered, and Rodulf, through his scheming, had impacted her life more than anyone. A warrior would have had no compunction in doing it. She hated herself for it, but realised that it was her emotional side that railed against the idea, not her logical one. The side of her that usually warned her against rash and unwise behaviour was the one urging her toward this course of action.
If it were Wulfric, she was in no doubt that he would already have killed Rodulf, and she saw no reason why it should be any different for her. She had honour and prestige, as much as any man, and both had been harmed by Rodulf’s actions. Her heart quickened at the thought, fuelled by the hatred she held for him, and the rage that filled her whenever she thought of his smug, sneering face. The thought frightened and shamed her. She had never thought herself capable of killing someone. She had never thought of herself as someone who would even consider killing a person. More so, she had never wanted to be someone who was comfortable with killing. She had always pitied those who had nothing but violence to resort to when dealing with their problems. Now she was not only considering killing him, but part of her—a large part—actively desired it.
The conflict tore at her. It was as though there were two people in her, each demanding that their approach be adopted: a traditional Northlander, who saw vengeance as a debt paid only by blood, and the educated, enlightened physician who sought a better solution. But she couldn’t rationalise it like that. Neither of the people she tried to characterise herself as were her. Why should she not have the right to revenge herself on someone who had done her so much wrong?
She knocked on Gretta’s door, hoping that her hurt at having been scorned by Rodulf was still fresh enough to want to act, and rehearsed what she was going to say as she waited. She was deceiving the young woman, and that made Adalhaid feel guilty, but it was demanded by the greater good, and she had convinced herself that it would not come back on Gretta in any negative way, particularly if she followed her plan through to its most extreme end.
The door opened a moment later, revealing a surprised-looking Gretta on the other side. Adalhaid glanced left and right to make sure there was no one around to hear what she had to say.
‘I had an idea,’ Adalhaid said, smiling conspiratorially. ‘I know how we can have a bit of fun at Rodulf’s expense.’
ADALHAID’S HEART was racing as she approached the notice board to check her results. Her future and her immediate plan were contingent on her having achieved a passing grade. She hadn’t wanted to admit to herself that she was nervous—she had prepared well, and had been satisfied with her performance in each of the exams, but the fact that she had woken before dawn and had waited across the courtyard until she had seen the registrar post betrayed the falsehood of her attempt at maintaining a cool and calm demeanour.
An invigilator appeared from a nondescript door at the side of the quad with several pages in his hands, and Adalhaid watched him every step of the way to the school of medicine’s notice board. He pinned the result sheets to the well-worn cork board housed in an ornate mahogany and glass frame. She rushed over as soon as he was gone. The reflection on the glass obscured some of the names, so she found herself constantly tilting her head to see each line clearly. She scanned the results and reached the bottom without picking out her name. Her heart leaped into her throat, but she knew she had gone through them too quickly. She took a deep breath and started again from the top, this time reading each name as she went. She had no idea what she would do if Kengil had interfered, but she was not opposed to the idea of taking the matter directly to the Markgraf.
With a sigh of relief, she saw her name with the word ‘Pass’ written beside it. She stared at it for a time, allowing the meaning to sink in. There were two higher grades—merit and distinction—but she had known her plan meant foregoing any chance of achieving either. They were likely the lowest grades she had ever achieved, but passing was all that mattered. It was only when she realised that there was another nervous student standing behind her, eagerly trying to spot their name over her shoulder, that she moved away.
The first part of her plan was achieved, the part where failure meant only that. Failure in the next part would likely mean a painful death.
ADALHAID JUMPED at the sound of the knock on her door. It was rare that she had callers. The sound had set her heart racing, and she realised that she was not at all suited to plotting. Up until now, she had done little more than think about it. The sooner she was done with it all, the better. She tentatively opened the door to an under-butler holding a calling card. He left as soon as she took it, leaving her bewildered. Who might be calling on her?
She opened the calling card, expecting to find the usual formal note of fine script—occasionally in gilt if the caller was of a high enough station—but was presented with a hastily scribbled note.
Meet me out front. Bring your cloak and purse!
Elsa
WHILE STILL A MYSTERY, it was a relief that the note wasn’t summoning her to a meeting that might have more serious connotations. Quite why she would expect such a note in the early evening was, she realised, a testament to how anxious she was becoming. Nonetheless, Elsa was her friend and she was intrigued to know what was going on.
She grabbed her purse and cloak and headed for the palace’s main doors. When she got outside, Elsa was standing there waiting, wrapped up in her cloak.
‘Is something wrong?’ Adalhaid said.
‘Yes,’ Elsa said. ‘You just passed your exams and were planning to spend the night at home, alone.’ Her hand emerged from her cl
oak, clutching a small bottle of expensive brandy. ‘Now, we can’t have that, can we?’
Adalhaid laughed. ‘No, I suppose not. What did you have in mind?’
‘Drinking this for a start,’ she said. ‘Then wherever the wind takes us.’
They walked a while and chatted about various things—the questions that had come up, how Kengil had tried to prevent her from taking the exams at all and that it had blown up in her face. But when the topic changed to what she planned to do now that she was qualified, Adalhaid found that she had nothing to say—or rather, nothing that she could say.
‘I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,’ she said. It was not so far from the truth; beyond having a horse waiting for her after she had drugged Rodulf and destroyed the Stone, she had no idea what she was going to do, or where she was going to go.
‘Understandable, I suppose,’ Elsa said. ‘Considering you’ve barely been out of the library in the past few weeks. I assume you’ve heard all about the army gathering outside the city?’
‘I heard mention of it—something about a campaign to secure the northern border, isn’t it?’ Adalhaid said. She had buried herself in the library, and had prepared for the exams with such a focus that she had been all but oblivious to most things going on around her. Aside from that, she hadn’t had the time to consider how it might affect her, and had ignored it.
The Blood Debt: Wolf of the North Book 3 Page 28
