by Dave Duncan
“Yes, but now he’s been frightened away he…”
He is still the cleverest man I have ever met.
A man like that would have guessed right away that Stalwart had been posted in Holmgarth to watch for him heading toward Ironhall. With his plot exposed, he must now back off and try again another day, yes? That was what Stalwart had assumed, but suppose Silvercloak guessed that he would guess that way—that they all would? Suppose he just went on as if nothing had happened? Did the unexpected.
Stalwart studied the sly gleam in the Sheriff’s eye.
“Or perhaps not.”
Sherwin chuckled. “Worth a try?”
“Yes! Quickly! Hot water and soap and the freshest horse you have left. Send a note to Durendal in the morning, will you? Tell him what happened and say I’ve gone to warn Sir Bandit.”
But he could not hope to reach Ironhall before the killer did.
18
Bait in the Trap
AS THE SUN TOUCHED THE WESTERN TORS, THE Guard was sighted on the Blackwater road. A scurry of activity swept through Ironhall, especially through the kitchens, because young swordsmen who had spent all day in the saddle were usually capable of eating their horses. The seniors bolted to their quarters to clean up. Emerald felt a great surge of relief that her ordeal was almost over. She took the news to Grand Master, and found him in his study, poring over account books.
“About time!” he responded sourly. “Wait out there until I need you. The Brat has ritual duties to perform. He summons the seniors who are to be bound, and tomorrow night he will present the candidates with their swords during the binding itself.”
“I have no objection to herding seniors for you,” she said cheerfully, “but the entire Guard will not get me inside the Forge, not tomorrow nor ever.”
Evidently he had not thought of that problem, for he pouted. “When we have no Brat, the most junior soprano takes over. Intrepid? Wasn’t that the name he took? Well, we can inform him later.”
“You wish me to continue my masquerade?” She had inspected Queen Estrith’s long-abandoned gowns. Their style was so old-fashioned as to seem exotic, but they would be a reasonable fit. Parading into the hall on the King’s arm was an amusing fantasy.
Grand Master attempted a smile, which never suited him. “Until I have spoken with His Grace, certainly. I assume he is aware of your presence here.”
“And what of the inquisitor’s presence? He is still working his foul deeds in the royal suite.” She could catch whiffs of black magic even here, in First House.
“Another topic I shall discuss with His Majesty. Go.”
She mockingly bobbed him a curtsey, which threw him off balance. “Be so kind, sir, as to inform Commander Bandit as soon as possible that I wish to see him.” She turned her back on his outraged glare.
She settled on the bench in the corridor and prepared for a dull wait. The two doors opposite, she now knew, were of no interest, leading to pantries in which were stored dishes used only on the rare occasions when the entire Order assembled in Ironhall.
Commander Bandit came up the stairs and along the passage to her. He was dusty and muddy, but gave her his customary friendly smile. Having glanced around to make sure they were unobserved, he kissed her hand.
“I would not have known, Sister.”
“That’s not very complimentary, Commander.”
He laughed. “I can’t win, can I? If I say you are far too beautiful even to be mistaken for a boy, you would still take offense. That’s also true, of course. Take your pick of insults.”
“Who else knows?”
“No Blades but me. The King hasn’t mentioned it. Who knows here?”
“Just Grand Master and Master of Rituals.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “You are incredible, Sister! Not even a black eye! I hope the Blades will be less easily fooled—it’s our job to be suspicious, you know. The password for tonight is, ‘The stars are watching.’ The rejoinder is, ‘But they keep their secrets.’ If you are challenged, that should keep you out of the dungeons.”
“There aren’t any dungeons!”
“There are stocks out in the courtyard. There are shackles just inside the Royal Door. And there are cellars with big, big locks.”
“I’ll remember the password!”
“And you give the school a clean bill of magical health?”
“I did until Nicely arrived!” she said angrily. “You do know that he’s put some disgusting sorcery in the royal suite?”
“Yes. I just hope it stays there.” Frowning, Bandit reached for the door handle.
“Did the Princess come?” she asked quickly.
He paused on the threshold and scrunched down his bushy brows in perplexity. “Princess Dierda? No. The King’s marriage has been postponed until next spring.”
“I mean Princess Vasar of Lukirk.”
“Who?” Then he smiled. “She’s already here.”
Traditionally the King went to Grand Master by way of the Royal Door and they decided who was to be bound. The study was soundproof, so Emerald did not hear what was said.
Master Nicely came rolling along the corridor, escorted by Sir Raven and another Blade whose name she did not know. Raven remained outside and the other two went in. Briefly she heard the King booming away.
She expected Raven to join her on the bench, but he had been in the saddle all day and remained standing in front of the door. He did not glance twice at the Brat, although he had danced a gavotte with Sister Emerald less than two weeks ago.
Time passed.
Grand Master poked his head out, causing Raven to sidestep quickly. “Brat, inform Prime Candidate Marlon that I want to see him and the next five most-senior candidates in the flea room right away. Got that?”
“Total of six, sir. Yes, sir.”
She collected a following even before leaving First House. It increased rapidly as she crossed the yard—lessons were over for the day but feeding time must wait upon the King’s pleasure, no matter how loud the rumble of young bellies. Voices called out to her, demanding, “How many?” but she did not answer and no threats followed. This was tradition. The stars were indeed watching, as the password said, taking up their stations in the sea-dark sky. The night was already cold.
When she arrived at Lion, it seemed that half the school was at her back. She rapped. Mountjoy threw the door open, pulled her inside, and slammed it. Ten worried young men had been sitting around on beds. They stood as if frozen in the act of leaping to their feet.
“How many?” Marlon demanded.
“Including your honored self, Prime—six.”
Marlon nodded. Four other faces broke into grins of worried relief. Five fell. Grand Master always sent for those who were to be bound plus the one who would become Prime, which in this case was Standish.
Emerald followed them as they marched off along the corridor, past the whispers and curious eyes, downstairs, across the yard to First House. Only she knew that one man was missing. The current Prime leading this parade ought to be Wart. Under the charter, he should be the next man bound. The King was not playing by the rules.
Yes, Wart had been enrolled in the Guard, but he could not go armed into the King’s presence. He would never be a proper Blade until he had been bound. She wondered where he was and what he could be doing that was more important than guarding his ward, right here in Ironhall this night.
19
Lonesome Road
STARS SHONE GOLD ON INDIGO AS STALWART rode out of Holmgarth, following the Great West Road. Although the livery stable was out of fresh mounts, Sherwin had done him proud by loaning him a horse of his own, a chestnut mare named Yikes.
“Call her that ’cos she’s a tad skittish,” he explained. “A Blade can handle her. She’s got stamina like you never saw. An’ I wan’ her back!”
“You shall have her back, Sheriff,” Stalwart promised. “You hold the best security I can give.” He meant his lute, which he
loved almost as much as Sleight. “And I shall tell the Chancellor how helpful you have been.”
So he shot out of the yard, letting his nervy horse run off her excess energy for the first league or so. He had a long way to go and no moon before dawn. But with a good mount, a dark lantern, his rapier at his side, gold in his pouch, all he needed was fair chance. Those and a lot of endurance would bring him to Ironhall before daybreak.
Failure was still a sour taste in his mouth. He had come so close! He could not even understand what he had done wrong. Silvercloak had ridden out in the stampede, obviously, but why had Norton and the other hands not seen him go? He had not been disguised when Stalwart saw him—at least he had been wearing the same face as he had in Quirk Row, which was the face the men had been told to look out for. Could even a magical disguise be changed so swiftly?
It was something to think about in the night.
The posting house at Beaslow was dark and closed. Knowing she had done her fair share, Yikes nickered hopefully. She could scent other horses and sweet hay. Normally a Blade would bang on the doors and shutters until he got service, but there was small chance of finding a better mount in Beaslow after the Guard had passed through. Moreover, Stalwart lacked a binding scar. Several times since he joined the Old Blades he had been challenged to justify his cat’s-eye sword. Always he had got by with some bluster, sometimes flaunting a flashy document or his White Star. Tonight he had neither of those with him. A hostler hauled out of bed at this hour might well insist on the letter of the law.
“Sorry, Your Highness,” he said. “We have a long way to go yet.” He rode on by, into the dark and cold. But Yikes could not carry him all the way to Ironhall.
20
Princess Vasar
“BROTHERS, CANDIDATES,” GRAND MASTER declaimed. “Before our customary reading from the Litany, I have His Grace’s permission to make an important announcement.”
He had been relegated to a stool, like the other masters. The King occupied the throne, overflowing it, making it look much smaller than usual. Ironhall swarmed with Blades. Some were eating at the seniors’ table; others stood guard along the walls. There were even Blades in the kitchen, tasting the royal food and escorting it every step of the way to the table. Master Nicely was nowhere in sight, still tending his own vile business elsewhere.
Emerald stood in the doorway, studying the gathering. A wise Brat ate early and left early, and it was almost time for her to disappear. Hazing was officially frowned on before bindings, because the Brat ought to be left in his right mind for the ritual, but she did not trust the likes of Servian and his henchmen to observe such rules.
“It is not only His Majesty who honors us tonight but also many companions in our Order—as you may have noticed.” Grand Master’s attempts at humor rarely won smiles, let alone laughter. “They are welcome, but they are dangerous. If they were not dangerous, Ironhall would not have done its duty by them. In normal times we tolerate a certain amount of illegal activity in the hallways after lights-out. Recently it has been less productive than usual, I understand.” That small witicism did raise some sniggers. “However, there must be none of that during our guests’ stay. None whatsoever! If you go a-roaming tonight, you will be risking a lot more than a few days’ stable duty. Every corridor and stair will be patrolled. The Blades see much better in the dark than you do, but they are authorized to run you through first and question you after….”
Even at the far end of the hall, Emerald could tell that the King was displeased. There had been none of the usual boisterous royal laughter.
“Brat?”
She jumped halfway to the ceiling. She would have sworn any oath that no man in boots could have approached her undetected over the paving stones. She spun around angrily, and found herself nose-to-nose with Sir Fury, who was certainly not the largest of the Blades but might well be the cutest.
He said, “Sorry! Wonderful reflexes! You can be proud of those, boy. Glad you’re not armed!”
Ironhall humor, no doubt. Emerald just blushed scarlet, and he fortunately misunderstood. “Leader wants to see you, lad. Come.”
She had danced only one gavotte with Raven. But with young Sir Fury she had danced a multitude of gavottes—also minuets, courantes, and quadrilles—on several evenings. Sir Fury had expressed serious interest in Sister Emerald. And here he had failed to recognize her! He would never forgive her when the truth came out.
She walked beside him in silence, knowing that some people recognized voices more readily than faces. As they passed the great stair, she glanced up and saw four Blades guarding the door to the royal suite. Others were patrolling the hallways.
Halfway along the corridor to First House, she realized that Fury was stealing glances at her.
“Do you by any chance have a sister, Brat?”
“No, sir.”
“Fury’s my name. Cousins, then? There’s a girl at court who looks very like you.”
“I’m sorry for her.”
Fury sighed. “Don’t be. She’s gorgeous!”
Emerald felt her face warming up again. “Then are you certain she looks like me, Sir Fury?”
“There’s a strong resemblance. I’m desperately in love with her, and I think she likes me but can’t bring herself to say so. She’s very shy, you see.”
Emerald probably turned purple about then, but apparently he did not notice. Shy? She?
The guardroom was full of Blades—snacking, dicing, talking, or sharpening swords. Some were doing several of those things at the same time. A few were changing their clothes. They took no notice as the Brat was escorted through and ushered into Leader’s room, the lowermost chamber of the Queen’s Tower. It was circular, of course, sparsely furnished but well cluttered with masculine junk—swords, fencing masks, boots, rope, axes, horse tack, lanterns, and document chests. Commanders came to Ironhall and were gone again in a couple of days, following their king. For centuries, none of them had found time to tidy up.
Bandit had been reading papers under a candelabra. When the door had been safely closed, he stood up and offered her a stool. He looked tired and beset, but he managed his usual smile. “Why are you grinning?”
“Because the last time I parted from Sir Fury, he was extremely eager to kiss me.”
The Commander cleared his throat loudly and sat down. “Understandable, but let’s not make this any more complicated than we have to. I assume you’re not crazy enough to sleep in the sopranos’ dorm. Where can I find you tonight if I need you?”
“Falcon’s empty just now. I have a key.” Falcon was an overflow dorm for seniors.
Bandit nodded. “Tell the guards downstairs if you sense anything untoward. Did you hear Grand Master’s announcement?”
“Some. I assume it was about Nicely’s pets?”
“He was told not to mention them specifically, but we want as few candidates eaten as possible.”
“They’re the same as the monsters on the Night of Dogs?”
Bandit grimaced. “They’re copies. Nicely claims these are more controllable, but I don’t put much stock in that. He’s going to loose two of them to roam the moor and leave the largest inside the royal suite. That suite is easily recognized, you see—it has the only balcony in the school, it has the royal coat of arms in the windows and over the door at the top of the big stair. Lord Chancellor Roland is most anxious for Silvercloak to drop in and be torn limb from limb.”
“By a dog? He killed Demise and Chefney.”
“Sister, we worked in teams on those brutes! The only man who managed to kill one single-handed was Durendal, and his was one of the smallest. Worry more over how we get out of here if Nicely can’t put the horrors back to sleep and nail them up in their crates. Spirits! That thing in the suite is the size of a pony.”
“So the King sleeps in the Queen’s Tower?”
“State secret.” Bandit’s smile said she had guessed correctly.
“And Princess Vasar of Lukirk is
the dog?”
“It’s a code for all three dogs.” He rubbed his eyes wearily. “I wish I never let Durendal talk me into this! You know, Sister, if you include the seniors and the knights, we must have close to a hundred able swordsmen in Ironhall tonight, not to mention three monsters. And there’s only one man out there in the dark! So why do I feel besieged?”
He was an honest man doing his best, and she felt angry at Lord Roland for adding to his burdens. Yet the situation was not really Roland’s doing. At least he had seen the danger and taken precautions.
“Could you have stopped the King coming to Ironhall?”
“Probably. But he would soon have found himself a new Leader.”
“Does he know I’m the Brat?”
Bandit shrugged. “Not from me. From Roland maybe. The King knows only what the King admits to knowing, Sister. He’s in a monumentally foul temper, but that may just be from finding Nicely here and having to sleep in a strange bed—and the very idea that there could be royal quarters like the Queen’s Tower existing unknown in Ironhall all this time did not improve his mood! White Sisters and inquisitors are not things he associates with Ironhall. He doesn’t want to be bothered with those here. He looks on his Ironhall excursions as recreation. He hates to think his Blades are not capable of protecting him.”
“I can’t be Brat at the binding.”
“No, we’ll let you off that. Ambrose is very sensitive to scandal, too. A woman in Ironhall sets his teeth on edge.”
“Does Master Nicely know I’m here?”
“Not from me,” Bandit said sharply. He might enjoy deceiving the inquisitor or perhaps did not trust him—Blades trusted no one except one another.
“I’ll stay the Brat for now,” she agreed. “But then you owe me a favor.”
