by Karen Miller
Matt frowned. ‘Do I have it wrong? Was Spake’s guilt not certain after all?’
‘No. It was as certain as I be standin’ here. He admitted it. And there were sworn witnesses. Two little girls … but sworn, all the same. Their father’s a mayor. He vouched for ’em.’
‘So. Spake was guilty. And you agree the law’s got to be upheld?’
Now what was Matt getting at? ‘Course I bloody do! What’s your point?’
‘Then you judged him, didn’t you?’ Matt said gently, using the voice he saved for especially fractious colts. ‘And if you judged him you owed him witness of his death. That’s only fair.’
Because it was Matt, whose opinion he’d come to value, he didn’t swear and stamp off back to the Tower. ‘I s’pose,’ he muttered grudgingly.
‘Tell me something. You say Gar wouldn’t let you leave? Fair enough. You were stuck there. But he couldn’t force you to watch, could he? When the moment came you could’ve closed your eyes. Or looked away. Why didn’t you?’
‘How d’you know I didn’t?’
Matt’s smile was melancholy. ‘It’s written all over your face, Asher.’
He glared at the ground. ‘I couldn’t. The stupid little bastard had guts, didn’t he? Never begged. Just owned up. He … he put his head on that bloody chunk of wood like he was in bed and that were his feather pillow!’ It was an image he knew would haunt him for nights to come. Maybe forever. ‘Sixteen, he was. Not a man, I don’t care what the law says. And he knew he was goin’ to die. But he sang a bloody hymn with Holze and he knelt in all that damn straw and he let ’em cut his head off with an axe … and he never once said they shouldn’t or begged ’em not to.’
‘He was brave then.’
‘As brave as he was stupid! And Barl knows he was as stupid as they come. If y’want the truth, Matt, I don’t know if I could’ve been so calm. So I s’pose I – I felt like I owed it to ’im not to look away.’
‘Despite everything then, Spake was a good lad.’ Matt’s voice was thick with feeling. Shocked, Asher saw tears in his eyes. Matt turned away, embarrassed. Plucked a faded bloom from a nearby rosebush and crushed the wilted petals in his fist. ‘His death’s a stupid, shameful waste. If he’d lived, he might’ve been …’ Unheeded, the ruined rose petals drifted to the ground. His voice fell to a whisper. ‘He might’ve been anything.’
‘Aye, well,’ said Asher once the silence had stretched a good ways beyond comfortable, ‘it’s all over now any road, and a damn good job too. Reckon I’ve had enough blood and death to last me a lifetime.’
Matt stared at him, frowning. ‘Well … it’s not quite over,’ he said, and nodded at the other side of the stable yard. ‘Cygnet’s saddled and waiting for you.’
Following the nod Asher saw his horse’s bridled head poke over its stable door, ears pricked. ‘Why?’
Matt met his challenging stare with a challenge of his own. ‘His Highness rode out of here nearly an hour ago and I didn’t much care for the look of him. I think he was—’ He reconsidered. ‘He’d been drinking. Said he was going out to Salbert’s Eyrie. You know where that is?’
‘Aye. Bellybone and Mikel took me to see it my second week here.’ Asher thought about that. ‘The Eyrie? And he’s drunk, you say? Sink me bloody sideways! Matt, you don’t reckon he’d do somethin’ daft like—’
‘Would I be standing here if I did? What I think is you should go after him. Forget you’re angry. Forget what you saw. Just … go after him. Now.’
Asher went. Even though it meant leaving dinner behind, Cygnet was glad of the gallop; his enormous strides ate up the eight miles between the Tower and the popular picnic park and lookout over Lur’s deepest, wildest valley gorge.
Nobody was picnicking there now. The Eyrie was deserted save for Gar’s horse Ballodair, tied to a safely distant sapling and dancing at Cygnet’s arrival … and Gar himself. The fool had blithely, stupidly ignored the safety railings and the warning signs and perched himself on a rock several feet distant from the official viewing platform. Sighing, Asher tied Cygnet next to Ballodair and joined the prince in his folly.
‘If you be thinkin’ of jumpin’ don’t expect me to follow you down,’ he remarked. ‘I ain’t got no head for heights.’
Gar glanced at him sideways then returned to his contemplation of the bone-breaking drop below them. The valley floor was hidden. All that could be seen was a sharply sloping terrace of boulders, bare dirt, scrubby saplings and tangled undergrowth, then nothing but tree after tree after tree, spreading for miles like a green and leafy ocean.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked the prince. His expression was remote. Uncaring. If he was in his cups the excess alcohol hadn’t spilled out of him yet.
Asher hunkered to his heels cautiously. Peered over the edge of the precipice and pulled a face. ‘Buggered if I know.’ He shrugged. ‘Came to talk, I s’pose.’
‘How … convivial … of you.’
Moving at a snail’s pace, mindful of the merciless drop mere inches away, Asher sat down. ‘But not prince to fisherman, mind. I’ll tell you straight, I ain’t in the mood for that kind of conversation just now.’
That earned him a dark look. ‘Are you ever?’
So. His Royal Highness was a surly drunk, was he? Well sink that for a load of mackerel. ‘Look. If you don’t want company, Gar, just say so. I ain’t—’
‘Stay,’ Gar said. ‘Please. And we’ll talk like fr – like two men in plain clothes with not a crown in sight.’
Asher stretched out his legs again. ‘Fine.’
‘Good.’ Reaching inside his black tunic Gar pulled out a silver flask inlaid with mother-of-pearl, unscrewed the lid and trickled something smelling of old peaches into his open mouth.
After a moment, Asher said, ‘My ma always said it were polite to share.’
Gar tipped the flask upside down. It was empty.
Asher snorted. ‘Ha. That’d be bloody right.’
Contemplating the wild and unforgiving valley, the flask discarded beside him, Gar said, ‘It’ll be night soon.’
Asher looked at the fading sky, the swiftly sinking sun. ‘I noticed. Reckon we should think on headin’ home in a bit, eh? That ole Darran’s like to be piddlin’ his panties, worryin’ on where you’ve got to.’
Frowning now, Gar picked up a handful of pebbles from the rock beside him. Juggled them in his palm. ‘I’ve been wondering. Would it’ve hurt, do you think, to have given Timon Spake one more sunrise?’
Asher shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Would it?’
The pebbles trickled slowly through Gar’s spreading fingers. ‘I think I’d want another one.’
‘And another one, and another one …’ Asher picked up a fist-sized chunk of loose rock and threw it over the edge of the Eyrie. Listened for a moment as it bounced from boulder to boulder below them, rousing echoes. ‘It had to be done, Gar.’
Gar looked at him. Beneath an icy surface his eyes reflected all manner of uneasy things. ‘You can still say that? Even now? Even after seeing … what you saw?’
‘Even after. Though I reckon I’d say the same even if you hadn’t made me stay and watch.’
The prince stared at his booted toes. ‘You’re angry about that.’
Asher sighed. ‘I was. I ain’t so much now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Matt and me had some words. He made sense.’
‘Don’t you want to know why I made you stay?’
‘I know why.’
Gar looked at him. ‘Oh?’
‘Aye.’
‘Well then, don’t stop there. Tell me. Explain. Elucidate. Show me,’ said Gar, savagely, ‘to myself.’
‘All right. Only I ain’t best pleased with you just now so don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘I won’t.’
Asher took a deep breath and hissed it out between his teeth. ‘Well then. Why is because misery loves company. Because law or no law you didn’t want Spake to die an
d I did. Because that made you angry. Because even though you’re a prince and the very important Olken Administrator and you were up on that platform alongside all the most powerful men in this whole bloody kingdom, you were as chained-up and powerless as stupid Timon Spake. And you didn’t like how that felt one little bit. So you turned around and you chained me too. To prove you do have power. To prove you ain’t helpless after all. That’s why.’
Very slowly, Gar turned to look at him. ‘You bastard.’
‘Aye.’ Asher raised an eyebrow. ‘But that don’t mean I’m wrong.’
Gar’s eyes glittered. ‘You are if I say you are.’
‘Oh, here we go.’ Asher pulled an obsequious face. ‘Deary me, Your Highness, that’s a pretty crown. A present from your da, was it?’
With a wordless cry of rage Gar snatched up a nearby shard of rock and flung it into the valley. Sudden fury lent him strength, so that the rock tore through the tops of distant trees and sent birds shrieking into the fading light. ‘It’s Barl who’s wrong! It’s a stupid law!’ he shouted. ‘Olken can no more do magic than I can! They – you – can’t possibly damage the fabric of the kingdom or Barl’s Wall! It’s a stupid, senseless law! And today a man died because of it!’
Behind them the horses’ bits jangled as they threw up their heads, protesting the noise. Asher glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were still secure, because it was a long walk back to the Tower and he had enough blisters to be going on with. Then he looked at Gar. Risked a kindly mocking smile.
‘Prob’ly you shouldn’t go round sayin’ things like that where folks can hear you.’
Breathing heavily, Gar stared. Accepted the mockery and managed a twisted smile. ‘Yes. Well. You’re folks.’
‘Aye, but I’m different.’
‘You certainly are.’ He glanced longingly at his empty brandy flask, then dragged a hand over his face. ‘He was so brave.’
‘I know,’ said Asher. ‘So what?’
‘So what? So we’ll never know now, will we, what he might have given this kingdom? All his unfulfilled promise has gone to feed the worms!’
‘I know what he gave this kingdom,’ Asher said roughly. ‘Fear and uncertainty and mobs in the street. He was a traitor. He betrayed you, your da and his own people. Your folk and mine might be chalk and cheese, Gar, but we got one thing in common. Lur. Keepin’ it safe. Keepin’ that Wall standin’ strong and shinin’. Where all that’s concerned there ain’t no you and me, there’s just us. Timon Spake? He were the enemy. And you don’t cry for enemies. You kill ’em.’
Gar stared down into the valley. ‘Yes. We do.’ His face spasmed. ‘I do. Well. It’s nice to know there’s one Doranen thing I’m good at anyway. Seems I’m not a complete cripple after all. Although it’s fortunate we used an axe. I couldn’t have killed him if magic was part of the proceedings.’ He laughed. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that before? Damn! I could’ve gone to the king and said, you know, sir, since we Doranen presume to have the right of life and death over our lesser Olken brethren, why not go the whole hog and show them how superior we really are? Why don’t we kill Timon Spake with magic? That’d make those pesky inferior magickless natives sit up and take notice, wouldn’t it? Conroyd would love that. He’d be your new best friend. Oh, and since I’m nothing but a useless cripple, what you might call a walking talking birth defect, I’ll leave the whole trial and execution with magic details to you. All right?’
Appalled, Asher stared. Walking talking birth defect? Where was this coming from? Was it the brandy putting wild words in his mouth or did he really believe … ‘Gar, you’re ravin’! You can’t—’
‘Blessed Barl save me!’ Gar lurched dangerously to his feet. ‘I’m the Olken Administrator! I’m supposed to help your people, Asher, not kill them!’
This was getting out of hand. If Gar wasn’t careful he really would go over the edge of the precipice. Asher stood, slowly, and took the prince by the arm. ‘You do help, Gar,’ he said, and inched him backwards towards safety. ‘You be a fool to think otherwise. That woman in Justice Hall, remember her? She’d be in prison today or ruined or both if it wasn’t for you. Stop frettin’ on stupid Timon Spake! You didn’t kill him. He bloody well killed himself, near enough!’
‘I know!’ Gar shouted. ‘I know, I know. But I had a chance to speak for him and I didn’t. I’m the Olken Administrator, it’s my job to take care of your people. I could’ve said something in his defence and I didn’t.’
‘What? What could you have said? In front of your da and his precious Privy Council? Pellen Orrick, and all those other Olken? Knowin’ that every word in that chamber was bein’ recorded by Lady Marnagh? What could you have said to help Timon Spake when he was doomed by his own words?’
Suddenly boneless, Gar folded at the knees and slumped to the ground. ‘I don’t know …’ he whispered. ‘Something.’
‘Oh, aye? Something like, “Barl was wrong, it’s a stupid law”? And what would’ve happened then d’you think, you mad fool! Don’t you know Conroyd Jarralt’s just waitin’ for you to make that kind of a mistake? Grow up, Gar! You may not have magic but you’re still Doranen. Royal Doranen. And this is what bein’ royal is all about. Protectin’ the kingdom. Keepin’ it safe and sound … even from the people who live in it. Even when it hurts like murder.’
Gar’s voice was stark with pain. ‘That’s what I mean, Asher. What happened today. What I did in that chamber. It may have been lawful. It may have been necessary. But it still feels like murder.’
To Asher’s dismay Gar’s voice broke on the last word. ‘Don’t,’ he said, horrified. ‘Don’t do that. What’s the use of cryin’, eh? What’s the bloody use, Gar? Ain’t goin’ to bring that Timon Spake back, is it? Ain’t goin’ to help his poor bloody father?’
Gar was beyond hearing him. So he stood, staring over the shadowed gorge, and waited until the harsh, gasping sobs faded into silence. Stars came out overhead and the first sharp cries of hunting owls pierced the gloom in the valley.
Face hidden behind one muffling hand, Gar said, ‘I received two letters about you this morning, before we—’ He cleared his throat.
‘Two letters afore the sun’s properly up?’ said Asher, determinedly bracing. ‘Ha. You’d think folks’d have better things to do with their time, now wouldn’t you?’
‘The first one was from Guild Meister Norwich Porter, castigating you for, among other things, your rude, high-handed and disrespectful tone towards him during a trifling misunderstanding at the guardhouse last night.’
Asher snorted. ‘The only misunderstandin’ that puffed-up ole geezer had were in thinkin’ I could be knocked arse over eyeballs by a fancy title and some bits of dead animal hair nailed to his weskit. Who were the other letter from, then?’
Gar raised his head. ‘Captain Orrick. He wished to compliment me on my recent choice of an assistant. He found you efficient, decisive and of great help in breaking up a nasty confrontation at the guardhouse last night.’
‘Ha,’ said Asher, pleased. ‘He’s a good man, that Pellen Orrick.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Gar. ‘He is. While Norwich Porter is a puffed-up ole geezer with a fancy title and – and—’
‘Some bits of dead animal hair nailed to his weskit,’ Asher said helpfully.
‘Yes. Thank you. The rest of the guild is all right though. I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful time at the banquet next month.’
‘Aye, sir. If you say so.’
Silence. The last thin line of light on the horizon died. Gar said reflectively, ‘Asher? I think I’m drunk.’
Asher sighed. ‘Aye, well, I think you are too. Reckon you can ride or do I send back a carriage for you?’
‘I can ride.’ A pause as Gar tried and failed to stand. ‘It appears I can’t get up, but I’m sure I can ride. Assuming of course I can find where I left my legs.’
Leaning down, Asher took him by the forearm and hauled him to his feet. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll go n
ice and slow and that ole Darran can just find himself a dry pair of panties to put on, eh?’
Gar started haphazardly brushing dirt from his fine clothes. ‘I have the nasty creeping feeling that tomorrow, when I wake up with a terrible headache, I’m going to remember I made a fool of myself here this evening.’
Holding his breath, trying to forget the sheer drop somewhere ahead, Asher retrieved Gar’s silver flask and gave it back to him. ‘No, you won’t. Nowt happened here today but two friends havin’ a bit of a chinwag. Where be the foolishness in that?’
Gar tucked the flask back inside his tunic. Stared at Asher, unsmiling. ‘Is that what we are? Friends?’
Asher blinked. Were they? Did he want them to be? He thought maybe … yes. Why not? Gar wasn’t Jed, or Matt even, but he wasn’t bad company. For a Doranen. And if he’d ever met a man who needed a friend it was Gar, just like Matt had said. Sink him. Trouble was, the decision weren’t up to him. ‘You tell me. Your Highness.’
‘I thought you said this wasn’t a prince to fisherman kind of conversation,’ said Gar, eyebrows lifting.
‘It ain’t.’
Gar grinned. ‘So there’s your answer. Come on … friend. It’s time we went home.’
Side by side in the silent star-pricked darkness, letting the horses follow their noses, they rode back to the Tower stables where Matt was patiently waiting and all the lamps were lit.
PART TWO
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘Honestly,’ said Princess Fane in an undertone to her mother, ‘I don’t see why we have to suffer through all this nonsense just because Papa is another year older. It’s all right for Gar, it’s not as if he’s got anything better to do with his time, but Durm and I are right in the middle of a very difficult sequence of incantations. It’s stupid for me to be stuck here in this stuffy pavilion with people I can’t stand watching silly men prancing about on their ponies and attacking defenceless bits of wood. Not when I could be getting important work done!’
