by Ian Irvine
The trial did not take long. The names were read before the assembly, the evidence sworn, the prisoners given a chance to speak in their defence. Five did; the others did not. Some could not even justify their actions to themselves.
“Guilty,” said the jury of three.
“Take them out,” said Rix to his sergeant.
“Yes, Lord,” said Nuddell, sweating profusely, and clearly regretting that he had taken the sergeant’s badge. “The sword or the rope?”
“The sword is reserved for those with a shred of honour left. Mutineers get the rope.”
The prisoners were taken away and dealt with. The servants and guards returned to their duties. Rix lowered his head to the bench and closed his eyes. No sleep last night, and there would be none today, for the enemy could attack at any time.
“Rix?” said Glynnie.
He sat up. She had changed her clothes, washed the blood off her hands and was standing before him holding a tray. Steam rose from the spout of a teapot and issued from beneath the covers on several plates.
“You saved my life, Glynnie. You don’t have to wait on me.”
“Would you have me lie idle when there’s work to be done and twenty-five less people to do it?” she said coolly. “Besides, you also saved my life.”
“I saved your life?”
“She knew I was hiding under the bed. She was whispering to me, telling me how she was going to unseam me from top to bottom and spill my guts on your sheets. If you hadn’t come in when you did, she would have. She hated me nearly as much as she hated you.”
“Why did she hate you?” said Rix, bemused.
“She thought I was your woman! She wanted to rob you of everything you’d taken from her.”
“But you’re not my woman.” Rix’s head was aching.
“She dropped you beside the bed so I’d have to watch her cutting your throat. It didn’t occur to her that I’d fight just as hard for my man.”
Glynnie gave him a fierce, searching glare. He was trying to think through what she meant – whether she was serious, making a joke or simply being sarcastic – when a cacophony of signal horns sounded outside.
“They’re attacking!” Glynnie threw herself into his arms, clinging tightly for a couple of seconds. Just as suddenly, she wrenched free. “We’ll need hot water. Bandages. Food and drink.”
“Not immediately we won’t,” said Rix. “Eat first,” but she was gone.
He could still feel the impression of her arms around him. He poured a cup of tea and ate some bread and grilled meat. He was trying to clear away all the doings of the night, to concentrate on the coming battle, when Tobry joined him.
“I heard horns,” said Tobry. “But…”
“They didn’t sound like war horns to me, either. Grab some food and come on.”
Tobry took tea, glanced at the food, shook his head and winced. “Not sure I can stomach it right now. My head feels peculiar. Never felt quite like it before.”
Rix rose and they headed for the wall. “Bad dreams?” he said innocently.
“You might say that.” Tobry rubbed his head. “Ahh!”
“Something the matter?”
“Great lump on my head. Feels as though I’ve been whacked with a mallet.”
“Maybe I did it,” grinned Rix. “I’ve wanted to often enough.”
“Very funny. And I woke up on the floor under my bed.”
They passed out through the doors. In the yard, the wind was howling.
“Under your bed? Have you been drinking?”
“With scrape marks across my back, as if someone shoved me underneath.”
“Maybe Tali did it, to hide you during the mutiny.”
“I’m not in the mood for jokes, Rix.”
“It’s not something I’d joke about.”
“There was a mutiny?” Tobry swung Rix around by the shoulder, eyes wide. “Tell me?”
Rix jerked his head towards the back of the tower, out of sight of the enemy.
Tobry took in the eight bodies dangling there. “I slept through it all? What happened? Is Tali all right? Is —?”
“Tali’s all right. But it was a close thing. We might all have been murdered in our beds. As it is, we lost Swelt and seven others.”
“That’s bad. Strange fellow, Swelt,” said Tobry. “Couldn’t work him out. But he treated me decently enough… considering.”
As they were climbing the tower behind the gates, the horns sounded again. They reached the top to see that the enemy were pulling back.
“I don’t believe it,” said Rix. “They must be trying to lure us out.”
“Odd sort of a ploy. Lure us out to what?”
“I don’t know.” Rix scanned the plateau with his field glasses, in case they had brought a second force up the mountain.
“You’re looking in the wrong place,” said Tobry. “Down below.”
Rix had not noticed the little party because they were already at the gates. Two brightly clad envoys, one in the chancellor’s colours, the other in Cythonian garb. Each envoy was led by a standard bearer who bore an identical truce flag, a blue diamond on a white background, and each had an escort of four armed men.
“A joint embassy,” said Tobry. “Now I’ve seen everything.”
“Let them through,” Rix called to the gate guards. “Have them escorted to the old hall and call for refreshments.”
“Why the old hall?” said Tobry, as they headed down. “Why not the main hall?”
“We fought the mutineers there a few hours ago and there could still be a body lying around – or a head. That’s hardly going to impress our visitors.”
He reached the door and shouted for a housemaid. A girl came running.
“Lord?” she said. Her fingers were blue with cold.
“We’ve got important visitors. Is the hall presentable?”
“We’ve taken out the bodies but half the tables are overturned. And the blood’s still there.”
“Get it cleaned up. You’ve got half an hour; if it’s not finished by then, throw some rugs over the bloodstains.”
“Yes, Lord.” She ran.
Tali twisted her fingers until the joints ached. How was she to confess to Tobry?
She had to tell him. He would never forgive her if he heard it from anyone else. But what would he say? What would he do? He would be furious, and rightly so. How could she look him in the eyes again? She wanted to run away and hide.
No, Tobry was a good man. He loved her and she loved him; he had to be told. Tali was rehearsing what to say when she remembered the look on his face as he had shifted. There had been nothing good left; nothing kind, loving, or even human. Just the predator, hunting meat. She shivered.
It still had to be done. She slipped up to him when he came in from outside. There was snow in his hair and his eyes were dark as bruises; he looked as though he had not slept for days.
“Tobry?” said Tali, “can we talk?”
“Later,” he said wearily. “Ah, I ache all over.” He put a hand inside his shirt, rubbed his chest and winced. “Feels like I’ve been whipped.”
Tali stared at him, stricken. She opened her mouth but no words came out.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shamefaced. “You’ve been up all night, fighting mutineers, while I slept through the whole bloody business, and all I can think about is myself.” He held out his arms. “Come here.”
She wanted to fly into his arms; how she wanted it. But Tali shook her head. She could not bring herself to cross the two yards that separated them. How could she trust Tobry when the monster inside him might burst out at any time?
“What’s the matter?” he said. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not angry,” she said hoarsely. Her throat hurt.
He frowned and took a step towards her. Tali let out an involuntary cry and scrambled backwards out of his reach. Her heart was battering against her ribs, a bird trying to escape a cage. Her fingers tingled
; her mouth was dry as lime. She fought an urge to bolt.
“Have I done something to offend you?” said Tobry. “If I have —”
He focused on his outstretched fingers, which had flakes of dried blood clinging to them. “How the hell did that get there? Did someone attack me in the mutiny?” He stared at her frozen face. “Is there something I’m not being told?”
Tali wanted to vomit. Why hadn’t she owned up? She took another step backwards, trembling uncontrollably.
His eyes narrowed. “You’re afraid? Of me? Why would you —”
All colour drained from his face. He wrenched his shirt open and looked down. His front was covered in dried, flaking blood and there was a raised seam across his chest where the long gash had not properly healed before the potion drove him back from shifter to man.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m really, really sorry. It was a stupid thing to do…”
“You did this to me?” said Tobry, in a low, deadly voice. “You tried to heal me with your blood? After I expressly told you not to?”
She could not meet his eyes. Sick with shame, she said, “I had to help you. I thought… if only I…”
“You never listen, do you?” Tobry said coldly.
“It might have worked,” she said lamely.
“It could never have worked. You’ve been told that by many people – people who know.”
“I love you. I had to do something.”
“But that’s not all,” said Tobry, thinking aloud. “It doesn’t explain why you’re backing away from me; or the terror in your eyes. Why don’t you trust me, Tali?”
“I – I do,” she lied. “But if… if Holm hadn’t come along… you – I mean, the caitsthe, it – it attacked me.”
His blanched face flushed an ugly purple. “Are you an imbecile?” he bellowed.
“I’m sorry —”
“I could have killed you,” said Tobry. “Or worse. You could have been turned to a shifter, doomed like me. Did you —?”
“Holm scrubbed me down,” she said hastily. “Head to toe.”
“And then came the mutiny,” Tobry said relentlessly. “Rix begged us to be careful, but you ignored him as well, because you always know best. You came creeping down to my room and the mutineers saw you. You precipitated the mutiny. How could you be such a fool?”
“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” She reached out to him, so desperate now that it overcame her fear of the shifter.
“No,” he said softly.
“But – what did you say?”
“I don’t forgive you.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Go away. It’s ended.”
“I don’t understand,” said Tali.
“I can’t love you. There’s nothing between us any more, and there never will be. Get out of my sight.”
A howl of anguish burst out of her. Tali choked it off and stumbled away, her teeth chattering; she was freezing and sweating at the same time. One minute of folly had shattered her hopes, her dreams, her life.
She knew he would never relent.
“Lord Ricinus,” said the Cythonian envoy, a small, white-haired woman of uncertain age, “there is to be a peace conference between King Lyf and the Chancellor of Hightspall at Glimmering-by-the-Water in seven days. You are called to attend.” She sat down.
The chancellor’s envoy, a pock-marked veteran with a square head and a turned left eye, said, “Lord Ricinus, there is to be a peace conference between the Chancellor of Hightspall and King Lyf at Glimmering-by-the-Water in seven days. You are called to attend.” He sat.
Clearly, the precise form of words had been agreed between Lyf and the chancellor in advance. It was the way of such events, Rix knew. There was so little trust that neither side would concede the advantage of a single word to the other.
“Why me?” said Rix.
Neither envoy spoke for some time, though the king’s envoy wore a ferocious scowl. Clearly, the question had not been expected and was not included in the protocols.
The chancellor’s envoy said quietly, “You defeated and drove off an enemy attack – our first victory of the war and a great boost to morale. You’ve shown the enemy can be beaten. Naturally, the chancellor requires your presence by his side.”
“So he can take credit where none is due.”
“You are required to attend, along with the key members of your household, including the Lady Thalalie vi Torgrist.”
Rix didn’t like the sound of that. “I’m going nowhere while there’s an enemy battalion outside my gates.”
“The battalion has been ordered to withdraw.”
“How far?” said Rix. “And for how long?”
“Until all participants have returned to their original positions. It’s detailed on your safe conduct.”
“What —?”
The Cythonian envoy rose abruptly. “Here is your safe conduct from King Lyf.” She put an engraved platina disc on the table.
The chancellor’s envoy, using the same words except that he said “the chancellor’ instead of “King Lyf’, set an electrum plate beside the platina disc.
Rix bowed, spoke the usual courtesies and took the safe conducts. Then he said, “Why?”
“I beg your pardon?” said the Cythonian envoy.
“Lyf has the upper hand. Why would he make peace when he could soon have it all?”
“Our Lord King is not a vengeful man,” said the Cythonian envoy. Tali snorted. The envoy gave her a cold stare. “The lesson has been taught. It’s time to end the bloodshed, and the war.”
The envoys bowed, withdrew and immediately set off for their next destination.
“Well?” said Rix when the gate had been closed and they returned to his chambers. “What do I do?”
“This reeks of a set-up,” said Tobry.
“What if I ignore the summons?”
“By convention,” said Tobry, whose knowledge of history and customs was masterly, “ignoring a royal summons, or a summons from the chancellor, is considered a mortal insult. You and your household would be hunted down by both sides.”
“So what? I’m already at the top of their death lists,” said Rix ruefully.
“Your household isn’t. Ignore the summons and you condemn them too.”
“So I don’t have any choice.”
“That’s the way these things are usually designed.” Tobry rubbed his jaw. “There’s another reason why the chancellor wants you there, of course. Possibly a more important reason.”
“What’s that?”
“You bear Maloch, Grandys’ sword. The only weapon that’s ever injured Lyf – and you’ve hurt him with it, twice. Lyf’s afraid of it, and having you there, wearing it, makes it a potent symbol for the chancellor.”
“What if it’s a trap? If I leave, will I ever return?”
“And if the chancellor plans to take Tali’s pearl,” said Tobry, “how can we defend her in his camp?”
“But you can’t come,” cried Tali. “The chancellor ordered your death back in Caulderon, and nearly succeeded. He won’t fail twice.”
“Try and stop me,” said Tobry.
CHAPTER 67
Dawn finally came, one of the longest nights of Rix’s life. He did the rounds with Glynnie and Holm, inspecting the grim tale of the mutiny.
In addition to Swelt, seven servants were dead, three of them murdered while they were asleep. They included a fourteen-year-old serving girl who could not have threatened any of them. Ten mutineers had been killed and another eight captured, five of them by Nuddell’s men when the guard mutineers had attacked the barracks.
“This is all my fault,” said Rix.
“You didn’t mutiny,” said Glynnie. “You didn’t murder innocent people in their beds.”
“But I knew Blathy was trouble; you told me the day we came here. You told me to get rid of her and I didn’t. A good leader would have paid her off and had her escorted from the plateau.”
“Yes, but —”
/> “Let him get it out, Glynnie,” said Holm. “Rix is in charge. He needs to say it.” He looked at Rix. “If Blathy had been a man, you would have acted instantly, wouldn’t you?”
“I was brought up to respect women and treat them fairly.”
“So you dithered. You allowed her to stay where she had no right, and now innocent people are dead.”
“Yes,” said Rix.
“What’s done is done,” said Holm, “and the only way to make up for it is to be the leader Garramide requires.”
“And first of all, there has to be a trial,” said Rix wearily.
“Why?” said Glynnie. “Everyone knows they mutinied.”
“To show that, in Fortress Garramide if nowhere else, we hold to the rule of law. If I put them to death there will be those here, and outside, who’ll call it unlawful killing. A trial sets the rules for everyone.”
He called the servants together, and those guards who could be spared from the walls, and appointed a jury of three, avoiding both his own allies and the friends and relatives of the murdered servants.
The trial did not take long. The names were read before the assembly, the evidence sworn, the prisoners given a chance to speak in their defence. Five did; the others did not. Some could not even justify their actions to themselves.
“Guilty,” said the jury of three.
“Take them out,” said Rix to his sergeant.
“Yes, Lord,” said Nuddell, sweating profusely, and clearly regretting that he had taken the sergeant’s badge. “The sword or the rope?”
“The sword is reserved for those with a shred of honour left. Mutineers get the rope.”
The prisoners were taken away and dealt with. The servants and guards returned to their duties. Rix lowered his head to the bench and closed his eyes. No sleep last night, and there would be none today, for the enemy could attack at any time.
“Rix?” said Glynnie.
He sat up. She had changed her clothes, washed the blood off her hands and was standing before him holding a tray. Steam rose from the spout of a teapot and issued from beneath the covers on several plates.
“You saved my life, Glynnie. You don’t have to wait on me.”
