Darmyk shivered when he noticed Hoon. His words were strange and Darmyk could not understand what he meant by them. Are you my daddy?"
Hoon shook his head, drained his glass, and placed it on the mantelpiece before crossing to the bed. No. I am your uncle. Your great, great, many times great uncle. I am Hoon."
"I'm gonna die."
Anger flashed in Hoon's eyes. No, you are not. Silkanna, give him a glass of Sanguine Rose and see that he drinks it all. From here on, my nephew must drink a glass of it each day first thing in the morning, with all meals, and before he goes to bed at night."
Silkie favored Hoon with a smile and obeyed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE SONS OF CLENNAN DOHERTY
Discounting the bastards of his youth, Clennan Doherty had had seven sons. Tremayne, Selyv, and Isgynan by his first wife; Belgair and Mael by his second; Cynfor and Gusk by his third.
The Audience Chamber had been rearranged for the meeting. Three trestle tables had been turned to directly face the throne and there sat the six surviving sons of Clennan Doherty. The others had been removed and replaced by rows of benches. The families were segregated upon the benches according to which son they belonged to. Jocelyn Doherty, youngest daughter of Tremayne, sat with her family. Fear and uncertainty showed on all their faces. Kynyr sat with Ladyfaith unsheathed across his knees, one hand upon the hilt. He scanned the faces of their families, noted the large number of small children, and hoped that he would not soon be hanging their fathers.
The rest of the thanes had been assembled and given a row of tables on either side of the throne where they could observe the proceedings.
Guards lined the walls, stood in the aisles, and fanned out to each side of the throne. Major changes were in the wind and everyone knew it. Some ranks and stations were being restored and others set aside. Stone's people had been busily going through the storage rooms, looking for things that he remembered from his father's days. Jordan Sinclair, sitting on the dais one step below the throne, now wore the ring and badge of King's championa post that Claw had abolished after the Rebellion failed. Trevor was present as Captain of the Guard, whose sorely depleted ranks were being filled through recruitments among the younger myn of the Wolffgard Volunteer Militia.
The post of seneschal had been created and given to Queran Sinclair. Darcy MacIver had begun to discuss raising an army, of which she was general. Stone and Ossian flanked the throne standing.
"I have brought you here, Sons of Clennan, to decide where your loyalties lie. I will not tolerate treason. We are at war with Waejontor. Even now, Lord Hoon occupies the ruling seat of Anglecyn. When the snows melt, he will march south with fire and sword to decimate our people. The slightest disloyalty will doom us all. The Grand Master of Creeya, King Ceejorn Osterbridge, has pledged to send his armies to support our cause in an alliance forged by my beloved queen, Kady. Clan MacLachlan has sent troops and has promised us more. My royal sister, Scarlet, has wed the heir of MacLachlan and we are now allied by blood. And we have other allies in this war against the dark ones."
Kynyr gestured at the door, and Reist swung it open.
Lokynen Willidar strode in at the head of twenty myn, shimmering with power and presence. One of them stood out above the others. Seven feet tall with mahogany skin and long green hair that hung past his hips, there was no mistaking Teakamon the Shepherd of the Wilds.
Awe swept through the room at the arrival of the demi-gods.
"We are faced with an implacable enemy. The same one that once broke across our lands and ravaged them. However, now we have allies fit to do battle with these invaders."
Kynyr gestured at the sons of Clennan. Until I can discern your loyalties, you and your families will remain here as my guests. Heatherford will be entrusted to the guardianship of my liegemon, Lyncoln Wescot of Silvershire, son of Thane Sedley of Silvershire."
Sedley let out a whoop, banging his withered knuckles on the table. That'll show those wet-tailed southerners! Put a real fighting dog in charge."
The midlanders chuckled, accustomed to the sheer cussedness of old Sedley.
The door opened a second time. Pandeena glided into the room wearing her priest robes and runes. She approached the throne and bowed to Kynyr.
"Your Majesty. I am sent here by the Mothers and my liege-god, Tala, Mistress of the Moon and Hunt. The soul of Todd Sinclair has found favor with Tala. He now runs with the moonwolves. From this day forward, he shall be known as Saint Todd. My god has decreed that a temple be built in Wolffgard and his mortal remains interred within it in a suitable sepulcher."
Jordan bowed his head with a smile and a prayer of thanksgiving on his lips.
* * * *
Lyncoln Wescot leaned back in his chair and hoisted his tankard high. Here's to the midlands."
Kynyr clinked his tankard against Lyncoln's. To the midlands."
"And the king."
"And me. Kynyr chuckled and they clinked tankards again. He was finding Lyncoln an infectious fellow, full of good humor.
"And to the heir, Prince Fergus!"
It was the third time that Lyncoln had toasted the birth of Prince Fergus. Kynyr decided that since the toasts were becoming circular, it might be a good time to move on to more serious matters. Lyncoln, I want you to get Heatherford readied for war. I need Heatherford. The Doherty assets are almost as large as Vertram's. My Gram and Artair have been going over their books, and estimate that the amount of coin Clennan had salted away was close to six hundred thousand crowns. A tidy sum for a lycan thane. We're also exploring the possibility that he had some hidden away in foreign banks."
Lyncoln sobered. And then there are the levies to consider. Not counting their standing forces, Heatherford's levies would be close to three thousand myn if called up."
"That many? Kynyr found himself reassessing Lyncoln.
"Yes. I could probably squeeze a bit more out of them given time. However, we don't have time, Kynyr. Hoon wants to dance on our graves before equinox."
"I need Vertram's money and Heatherford's army."
"Vertram will be most generous with me sitting in Heatherford at his elbow ready to dump his tankard on his head ... and the army's a given."
Kynyr considered that. Your father has reminded me again that you are a childless widower. Kynyr lowered his tankard. While I could do this by royal decree, I would rather have the agreement of all parties."
Lyncoln drained his tankard, and leaned across the table with a conspiratorial smile. What have you got in mind? Finding me a wife?"
"Yes. And an alliance that will work to all our favors."
"Who is she? I hope she's pretty."
"She's pretty. She's also a pain in the arse."
"You don't mean Jocelyn, do you? She's got two bastards by Vertram."
"Jocelyn. She'd give you heirs and you'd keep her out of trouble. Furthermore, it would give you a legitimate claim to Heatherford if push came to shove."
Lyncoln grabbed the pitcher and refilled his tankard. If it'd been me, I would have turned her over my knee and spanked her bottom till she squealed. That's how you handle a shrew. He belched forth a belly laugh that echoed through the chamber.
"Well then. Kynyr picked up a bell on the table and rang it loudly.
The door opened and two guardsmyn escorted Jocelyn into the chamber.
She eyed them with suspicion and disdain. Why have you sent for me?"
"I won't hit a bitch, but she sorely tempts me, Lyncoln. What do you think?"
Jocelyn glared at Kynyr. You're a bully."
"I have no problems hitting a bitch. Sometimes they need it. Lyncoln winked at Kynyr.
"I have a proposition for you, Jocelyn. Kynyr's glance hardened. You can remain here as my prisoner. Or you can marry Lyncoln."
"Can I think about it first?"
"No. I want your answer now."
"I want Vertram. You can't do this to me."
"You can't have Vertram. I have a third idea
for what to do with you. How about a convent, Jocelyn?"
"You wouldn't dare... Jocelyn sputtered. A convent?"
"Don't tempt me."
She looked at Lyncoln, her mind racing. I'll marry the old sod, but I won't like it."
Kynyr settled back in his chair, feeling smug. I want it done and consummated within the hour."
Jocelyn sucked in a breath. I want a real wedding."
"We're at war. There's no time for it. Kynyr glanced at Lyncoln. Take your betrothed to the priest, Lyncoln. If you keep her belly full for a few years, that should mellow her. He winked.
"I should think so. Lyncoln drained his tankard and rose, taking Jocelyn by the arm. Let's hie to the priest, my darling."
Jocelyn's pretty face twisted into sullenness, but she went without resistance.
Once Kynyr was alone again in his chambers, he burst out laughing. Jocelyn was no longer his problem.
"What are you laughing about, Kynyr? Darcy sauntered in without knocking.
"Jocelyn."
"I've never found her funny. She lifted the pitcher of mead and sniffed it. Got a clean tankard around?"
"Cabinet over there. Kynyr thumbed at it.
Darcy returned with a tankard, filled it, and settled across the table from him. I've been thinking."
"That will get you in trouble, Darcy. Kynyr teased.
She had never seen Kynyr in such high spirits and wondered exactly what was going on. Shaurone has orders of knighthoods. I want one here. An elite order of the sons of the thanes."
"And what would you do with it? Kynyr sobered, a considering look came to his face.
"For one thing it would keep them out of trouble, and keep their fathers in line, even when away from you. It would also be considered an honor and please the families. Something like Shaurone's Ha'taren Guard."
"Who would train them, Darcy? Have you considered that?"
"Jordy would."
"Have you spoken to Jordy about it?"
"Yes. He likes the idea. We would call them the Knights of the Order of Saint Todd."
A sudden tear crept down Kynyr's cheek and a bittersweet smile crossed his lips. Todd would like that. You have my permission to found the Order."
* * * *
Jocelyn put her back against the wall, a distrustful light in her eyes. Lyncoln had locked all the doors to the suite and put the key on a chain around his neck.
"Get your clothes off, darling and I'll do it up proper."
"Don't touch me. Jocelyn glanced around the room, spied a vase, and threw it at him.
Lyncoln ducked the vase and chuckled. Now, now. Were you this testy with Vertram?"
"I love Vertram. She fled into the sitting room.
Lyncoln strolled after her. You love his money."
Jocelyn snatched the top book off a stack on a low table and threw it at him. The rest soon followed. Don't touch me."
Lyncoln ducked and dodged the succession of objects she found to throw at him and gradually cornered her beside the sofa. My late wife always said I was good at it."
He grabbed her bodice and tore it along the seams. Thorough, she said."
Jocelyn snatched the pieces together and shrank to the floor, cowering. Bloody bastard."
"My late wife, Terry, used to say that. Lyncoln burst out laughing. We're married now, Jocelyn. Consummation and conjugal rights and all that."
"Nooo."
"Shall I spank you first? Terry liked being spanked. She said I gave good spankings."
Jocelyn's eyes saucered. Noooo."
Lyncoln seized the waistband of her skirt and yanked it off her. Jocelyn shoved him backwards and fled on all fours. He crawled in pursuit.
She gave him a look over her shoulder, suggesting that he was out of his mind, and glanced about for a new direction to flee in.
He shoved his trousers off and came hopping after her. Jocelyn let out a shriek and squirmed behind the sofa.
"Rather tight squeeze, don't you think? He wormed his way in.
Jocelyn shrieked again and tried to get under the sofa. He rolled his shoulders, overturning it, caught her by the hips, and flipped her onto her back. She pummeled him ineffectually as he threw himself atop her.
"You're a nutter, Lyncoln Wescot. You hear me? You're a nutter."
"I prefer to call it whimsy. He grasped his cock, got it into her, and rode hard.
Jocelyn surrendered, wrapping her legs around him with a sigh.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE TRIAL OF MALTHUS ESTROBIAN
Kynyr sat a throne on a raised dais at the very head of the courtroom, where he could witness the proceedings, but not be actively involved. Jordan stood beside Kynyr as did Stone.
Sixteen thanes and one guardian took their places on the flaring wings of the tables set to either side of the judges station at the head of the room. Phelan O'Reilly took his place at the head in the senior judge's chair. The village elders from the seventeen major towns of Red Wolf seated themselves at the tables forming an el beyond the thanes.
It would take a two-thirds majority vote to condemn a prince, which Malthus was by right of his marriage to Merissa. Lesser myn and lesser crimes never came to trial if the evidence was strong enough against them.
The witness box stood catty corner to Phelan's chair. Ossian's witnesses were seated in comfortable chairs in the next row of tables beyond those of the elders with a space between them. At the very back stood fifteen rows of benches where those members of the citizenry, fortunate enough to have arrived earliest, were seated to observe the proceedings.
Malthus sat at the table of the accused centered between the aisles, close to the front and facing Phelan. Guards stood behind and around him under the command of Lawgiver Waid O'Reilly.
Malthus scanned the witness chairs, wondering at the large number of people there. He had believed that he had covered his trail well over the past few months and could not conceive of how so many might have evidence against him. Pandeena sat among the witnesses, although there was a chair near the head for the senior priest. A mon huddled next to her, a hooded cloak concealing his face. The way that the mon's shoulders drooped, he seemed to be ill.
Ossian gestured at Pandeena. Bring the first witness forward. You've not given me his name, Your Holiness."
"That will become known presently. Pandeena helped the mon to rise, and walked him to the witness box where she remained standing.
The mon threw back his hood and faced Ossian. A gasp ran through the crowd. His face lined by suffering and his cheeks hollowed by illness; the mon was still recognizable.
"Please the court, my name is Nikko Softpaws. I was once lawgiver to Wolffgard."
Vika Softpaws, sitting among the citizenry, sprang to her feet with tears in her eyes. Nikko, you're alive!"
A trembling smile touched Nikko's lips. Aunt Vika."
"Silence! Phelan pounded the table with a small hammer.
Vika sank back into her place. Myn to either side of her patted and stroked her, comforting and rejoicing.
"Please the court. Pandeena turned to Phelan. I would like to give a bit of testimony, standing here."
Phelan nodded. Speak, priest."
"Early last summer, Nikko was brought to my mother's house by Lokynen and Hathura. They rescued him from imps, but he had been shot by arrows containing a particularly nasty blend of Devil's Silver. Trauma had blocked his memories, but they have been slowly returning."
"I see. Phelan turned a kind eye on Nikko. Tell us what you remember."
"Tempest Anstey and I were investigating the Accused. Tempest had confirmed his humanity and that he bore no coercions or other sa'necari bindings in his mind. Nevertheless, he appeared to be suspicious. One morning I followed him from Wolffgard. Halfway to the Place of Fallen Stones, he shot me."
"Did he say why he shot you? Ossian stared hard at Malthus.
Nikko shook his head. No sir. My last memory was of him standing in the path and shooting me."
"Is there anything more you wish to say?"
"No."
"Then you may return to your seat. Phelan glanced at Ossian. Bring your next witness, Lawgiver."
Kynyr leaned close to Jordan and whispered in his ear. That's enough to hang him for right there."
Jordan gave a faint nod. Due process, Kynyr. You've already hung one thane out of anger. Let's make this one a righteous hanging."
"Or a beheading. After all that he has put my family through, I would enjoy seeing his head roll off the block."
"So would I. Jordan muttered. My gut instincts say he had something to do with my father's murder."
Ossian quirked his finger at Gavin Ellis. The chastisemon was acting as his bailiff. After a moment of whispered consultation, Gavin went to the witness table and returned with Iollen Newell, walking him to the box.
Iollen settled in and scratched at the shoulder of his missing arm. His eyes had the look of a mon who had been to hell and lived to speak of it.
"Tell us your name, what you do, and a little bit about yourself."
"I'm Iollen Newell. I work for Kady Maguire as an odd jobber around the place. You might say, I'm the only surviving member of a gang called the Lycamornots."
"Tell us about the Lycamornots?"
"I was never part of the leadership. That was Shalto and Oswyl Beggins, Preece Malloy, Nesswen Goff, Rheu Lawson, Yren Maddox, and Torquil Anderson."
"Ya see! Ya see! Raonul the smith gesticulated wildly from the benches in the rear. I knew Torquil was up to no good. I knew it."
Quinn Sinclair patted his business partner's shoulder to quiet him, grinning.
"Preece and Torquil were their enforcers. Iollen continued. If you didn't follow orders, they beat you upif you were lucky. I suspect that if you combed through the woods north of the Sanctuary Refugee Camp, you'd start finding a lot of shallow graves. When the dregs of society go missing, no one notices they're gone. The haunted look deepened in Iollen's eyes. Preece told me he intended to put a knife in my ribs ... that he was just waiting for the right opportunity. That he intended to bury me in the north woods. If it had not been for Trevor Sinclair, and later, Luciano Albertus, that's exactly what would have happened."
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