The Lascar’s Dagger

by Glenda Larke

  The Regal nodded complacently. “I am glad to hear it, but my dear, you must have the court physicians at the delivery.”

  “Oh, I know. Lady Friselda explained to me that the Lord Chamberlain must also be present in the birthing chamber. Some silly thing about making sure that no other baby is substituted for mine, although I cannot see how that could possibly happen! And also to make sure I am not having twins.”

  Sorrel held her breath.

  Mathilda paused, tilting her head in a childlike pose. “I must admit I didn’t understand that at all.” Smiling with all her charm and coquetry, she leaned towards Regal Vilmar and enclosed his hand within hers. “You will have to explain it to me, my sweet husband, so that I do not make an inappropriate remark at some court function. I am the Regala and it would break my heart if I brought shame or embarrassment to the Basalt Throne because I am just a flighty Ardronese princess who lacks the advantage of being raised in the refinement of the Lowmian court.” Another pause and another pleading smile. “Why is it that twins are unwelcome here, and not in Ardrone?”

  Sorrel closed her eyes, unable to watch. Surely the Regal wouldn’t fall for such – such a sickeningly rich cream of sycophancy and lies?

  To her relief, when she opened her eyes again, he was patting Mathilda’s hand with fatherly condescension. “You need not bother yourself with such matters.”

  “Oh, but I must! I have to bother my giddy head with these difficult subjects so I know what to say or not say the next time someone mentions it at court.”

  At this the Regal frowned. “They should not mention it at all! We should not speak of such things in public.”

  Mathilda nodded, but said nothing.

  It was the Regal who broke the long silence. “It pains me to say this, but perhaps you are right in one respect. You are a Lowmian Regala now, and this will be a matter of grave importance to my heir. If I should die before my son is grown, you must pass on the knowledge of Bengorth’s Law.”

  “Regal Bengorth was the first regal of the Vollendorn line, was he not? You see, I have learned my history!”

  Bengorth’s Law? Sorrel had never heard of it.

  “Before I explain the details, I must swear you to secrecy.” He pulled off the large gold signet ring on his finger. “This is the Vollendorn ring, which will be passed on to my son at his coronation.” He placed it on the palm of her hand and closed her fingers over it. “Swear by this ring, and the future of your children, whose blood will continue the line of the Vollendorns. Swear by the blood of your son, who will sit on the Basalt Throne, that you will uphold the secrecy our family maintains pertaining to our adherence to Bengorth’s Law.”

  Dear Va, if he finds out I’m here, I’m dead … Mathilda, don’t look this way. Don’t even think about me!

  Mathilda swallowed. She tried to speak, but had to lick her lips before she could get the words out. “I swear.”

  The Regal slipped his ring back on to his finger. “Bengorth’s Law applies to the heir when he first ascends the throne. A man will come to him, and ask for his oath. If he refuses to swear this oath, he will die and so will any person of the Vollendorn family who is in line to the throne. In other words, the Vollendorns will be wiped out.”

  Mathilda looked at him blankly. “I don’t understand. By whom?”

  “By A’Va and his devil-kin.”

  This time Mathilda was speechless. With a sudden movement that took her by surprise, he sprang at her, one hand outstretched to catch her in the throat. He pressed her against the high back of the couch, pinning her there.

  Sorrel bit her lip, tasting blood. Dear Va, she couldn’t stand by and watch the Princess of Ardrone murdered … She stepped away from the wall, ready to approach the Regal from behind.

  “I will warn you now,” he was saying, “just this once, that if I ever find out that you have told anyone what I am about to reveal, I’ll see you skinned alive and hung on a gibbet while the birds peck out your eyes. A closed coffin will be buried here in the royal graveyard. So sad, the Regala, dead so young of a fever. Never speak of this to anyone but my heir. Do you understand me, Mathilda?”

  She squeaked her assent, her eyes wild with terror. He released her abruptly, without apparent concern for her panic, or the bruises he’d caused.

  Sorrel flattened herself against the wall again, careful not to make a sound or lose her hold on her glamour.

  “You see, my dear,” the Regal said, quietly yet savagely, “Bengorth’s Law is an agreement made by Bengorth, and every regal since, with A’Va. A’Va swears to each regal that the Basalt Throne will be occupied by a Vollendorn, and that Lowmeer will prosper. There is a cost, of course. The man who comes to receive the price of this promise from each regal is a devil-kin. He represents A’Va. Before he demands this price of the Regal, he will do something to display his power, to prove whom he represents.”

  Mathilda stared at him, her pale face blank of any emotion but fear. Sorrel wondered if she was going to faint. “What – what powers were shown you?”

  “He killed my favourite hound. With a glance, he forced it into the fireplace where, howling in agony, it burned to death.”

  Mathilda’s eyes widened; her body shuddered.

  The price, sweet Va, ask him the price!

  “Bengorth wanted to start a dynasty,” Vilmar continued. “A Vollendorn dynasty, with himself as the first Vollendorn monarch. But he was just an obscure nobleman without much of a following, so he made a bargain with A’Va. He offered A’Va dominion over certain newborn citizens of Lowmeer – one in every set of twins born on Lowmian soil – if he became regal. That twin, when grown, would become a vassal of A’Va, a dedicated devil-kin. In exchange, A’Va would not only aid Bengorth in his seizure of the throne, but would ensure that his line would continue, in direct descent, for as long as the bargain was upheld in each generation.”

  “I – I don’t understand,” Mathilda stuttered. “You – you aren’t upholding the bargain. You’re killing twins.”

  Sorrel froze. The Regal hasn’t told her that. She’s not supposed to know it. She waited for him to realise, her heart thumping, but when he continued, it was to say, “That’s right. What monarch wants a country plagued with the horrors devil-kin can inflict? Like this damned Horned Death! Each Vollendorn regal, to ensure his reign, swears to uphold Bengorth’s agreement. But Bengorth gave no guarantee that we would not try to kill those devil-kin once they are born.”

  Mathilda was looking confused, but he continued, oblivious. “The only way we can be sure they will never live to do anyone harm is to kill both twins after their birth. Which we always endeavour to do. I have a band of loyal, dedicated men who perform this task, as their fathers did before them, and their fathers before them, as far back as the Royal House of Vollendorn has occupied the Basalt Throne of Lowmeer. They are called the Dire Sweepers.”

  “That – that is horrible,” Mathilda whispered, her eyes wide. Her bottom lip trembled. For once, there was no artifice. “You – you kill the innocent twin, too?”

  Hold on, Mathilda. Don’t break down now.

  “It is the burden the regals of Lowmeer have borne for centuries and must bear into the future to keep our people safe. The burden our son must bear when his time comes. A burden that must never be forgotten, never neglected. The only reason I tell this to you is that it is also your burden, one that you must pass on to our son.”

  “Doesn’t – doesn’t killing the twins make A’Va, um, angry? Like – like it’s cheating.” Mathilda was trying hard to control her shaking.

  Regal Vilmar gave a hard, unpleasant laugh. “A’Va appreciates a clever opponent. And alas, every now and then we miss a few twins. He makes do with those when they come into their power at maturity. They are the ones who cause the Horned Death. It is a deadly dance we do, A’Va and we regals of Lowmeer. Sometimes we are ahead, sometimes A’Va is. But what you have to understand, my dear, is this. If a regal repudiates the agreement, then he and
his line dies out. Swiftly and horribly, I imagine. As long as I uphold the pact, I know that sooner or later I’ll breed a healthy son. As long as A’Va upholds his side, he knows he will get a supply of devil-kin.

  “What I don’t know is whether I will live long enough to educate my son to adulthood and an understanding of what is expected of him. That may fall to you. I can trust no one else. No one. Only you will have a vested interest because you will want to see your son live to his coronation day. And you will see to it that our son understands and upholds the agreement at his coronation, because if he doesn’t, he dies, and dies cruelly. Possibly you would too, in case you were breeding again. If a son of ours comes to the throne very young, then you will have to act as his proxy, and make the agreement for him until he is old enough to do it himself. Do you understand?”

  Mathilda was looking at him, mesmerised by the horror of what he was telling her. “Do – do you mean that if my son doesn’t agree with Bengorth’s Law, he’ll die?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. I am sure you want him to live.”

  She nodded again. “Of course,” she whispered. “Above everything.”

  “Then there will be no problem, will there?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good. Get plenty of rest, and eat well.”

  He took up her hand and kissed her palm, before he strode from the room. Mathilda couldn’t see his face, but Sorrel could. His expression was a look of cold contempt.

  She stayed where she was, still glamoured, afraid he might come back, or send someone else into the room. Mathilda staggered to her feet, reeling, her face pale and her neck still blotched with red fingerprints. She gasped, dragging air into her lungs as she lurched across the room to the door he had used. Once there, she shot the bolt.

  Sorrel let her glamour fade and stepped away from the wall. They stared at one another in shock. It was Mathilda who spoke first. Her voice raw with emotion, she whispered, “A’Va – I saw A’Va in his eyes! Sorrel, he has been touched by A’Va. Such evil. I am so frightened. You must never leave me. I couldn’t bear it if you were to go.”

  “We’ll think about all that later. Right now we have to consider what to do about your babies.”

  “Is it possible, what he said? That a man can make a verbal agreement with A’Va that is so – so disgusting, and if he breaks it, he dies? Along with his children?”

  She hesitated. “I think he believes it.” I’m not sure I do.

  “Which means he’ll kill his own twins in order to save himself.”

  There’s a paradox in that. Vollendorn regals make the bargain to ensure that they, and their sons after them, will rule. If Vilmar has to kill a twin son, then … Her head reeled under all the implications and possibilities. Maybe the twins are girls. Women don’t rule in Lowmeer.

  “It’s hideous,” Mathilda said at last. “And wrong. I will never let him kill my babies. He is evil, and my children will live. One day my son will sit on the throne of Lowmeer. I swear that.”

  But if you have a son – one of these twins, or another son from another birth – and he comes to sit on the Basalt Throne, he will have to make the same bargain with A’Va, or die.

  Mathilda, however, wasn’t thinking that far ahead. She said, “And you, you have to use your glamour to kill that man before he slaughters his own offspring.”

  Sorrel bit her lip in dismay. “Mathilda, it is not possible to use a witchery for evil, and murder is evil.”

  “You killed your husband.”

  “I did not do that in cold blood or with witchery. I was out of my mind with grief because I’d just learned that he had murdered our daughter.”

  “Well, I am out of my mind at the thought that he will kill my children!”

  “I will not do it, so put that thought right out of your head. The only way out of this is to hide the fact that you are having two babies. Either Aureen or I must spirit away the firstborn of the children. Let’s hope it’s a girl.”

  There was a long pause while Mathilda continued to think things through. At last she whispered, “I’m going to give birth to one innocent baby and one vile spawn of A’Va, aren’t I? And we won’t know which is which until they are much, much older! Oh, Sorrel, I am so scared!” She leant her head on Sorrel’s shoulder and started crying silently.

  Sorrel patted her on the back. Her sympathy was real. Mathilda, for possibly the first time in her life, was putting others – her children – before herself. “Maybe it’s not true,” she said. “Maybe it’s all just superstition. And why would A’Va not do anything to stop the death of his devil-kin as babies? Mathilda, look at your cousins in Ardrone! Neither of them is evil, right?”

  “But he said it only applies to twins born in Lowmeer. Is there no way I can leave this wretched land?”

  “Oh, Mathilda, can you risk telling him? And – and I’m not sure you’d get to Ardrone before they were born.”

  “Maybe – maybe I ought to let them die. But I can’t! I can’t!” Mathilda clamped a hand over her mouth and began to sob in earnest. “T-t-tell me all this is not true!” she wailed.

  Sorrel said finally, “I can’t believe a child is born evil.”

  Mathilda raised her tear-stained face. “Imagine a devil-kin on the Basalt Throne. Think of the terrible things that could happen…”

  “If a devil-kin doesn’t become a vassal of A’Va until they are grown, nothing will happen for maybe fourteen years or more. We have time to investigate. To stop it from happening.”

  “How?”

  She made up her mind. “I’ll take the first twin, girl or boy, to the Pontifect. This is a matter for the Faith to solve, not us.”

  “Do you really think so? We – we wouldn’t be doing anything wicked if we saved both my babies?”

  “Of course we wouldn’t. We will do it, you and I together. Aureen will have to know, but no one else. She will keep the secret and so will I. I’ll go and get her and the three of us will talk about this until we’ve worked out a way to do it.”

  For a moment Mathilda looked relieved. “Yes. We’ll let Va-Faith take care of it. And my real baby will survive, won’t it, even if the evil one dies?” Then her face changed again. “But what if the Regal finds out? What if you are caught? What if the one you leave with me is the devil-kin? What if the one you take is a boy and the one I’m left with is a girl? Oh Sorrel, what did I ever do to deserve this? I want to die! And what will I do if you aren’t here? I just want to go home!”

  And once again she burst into tears.

  “Listen. Once we tell this story to the Pontifect, the Faith will have to do something. How can a monarch who acquiesced in his family’s bargain with A’Va be tolerated on the Basalt Throne? He will be deposed. And you will become regent for the heir.”

  “Oh! Then I can do what I like, can’t I?” The tears vanished. “Are you sure that’s what will happen?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Sorrel, who hadn’t the faintest idea of the truth of her words and wasn’t about to point out the difficulty of keeping anyone in the Vollendorn family alive once the oath was not kept. “Unless you have girls, of course. Anyway, don’t worry about things so far in the future. Our worst concern at the moment is how to get enough money to take me safely to Vavala.”

  “Oh, that’s easy. You’ll just have to steal some, using your glamour. After all, it will be in a good cause, won’t it?”

  Va, help me. Help us all.

  36

  The Man from Chenderawasi

  Saker’s room on the first floor of the doss house was small and poky and smelled of smoke, fish and heated lard. Cooking odours from the kitchens beneath had permeated the wood of the building for so many years they were an integral part of the establishment. He’d survived much worse on his numerous travels; even so, he preferred to wait for Ardhi in the taproom below. Here the smells were fresher and more enticing.

  He’ll come. I’m sure he’ll come.

  Around him the
conversation was lively. These days the docklands of Ustgrind buzzed with optimism; prosperity was on its way as never before, if the scruffy tapboys and the dockyard customers were to be believed. And the reason? The Lowmian Spicerie Trading Company’s monopoly over the spice trade was established and the city’s commercial pre-eminence guaranteed, all thanks to the Regal’s support. Other cities of Lowmeer had lost out, just as Ardrone and the Principalities had. The Ustgrind folk gloated.

  “Things will be even better soon,” the doss house owner predicted with a gap-toothed grin directed Saker’s way. “We’ll be riding high here in Ustgrind! Why, there’s even a bit o’ polish on our future prosperity: an heir to the Basalt Throne on the way!”

  “The baby might be a girl,” Saker pointed out, trying not to wince at the thought of Mathilda valued for her breeding ability like a brood mare.

  The man winked. “Ah, but the Regal has proved he can still perform! And the Regala has showed she’s fertile. If this babe’s not a boy, there’ll be others.”

  Saker felt an irrational desire to clobber the man with his fist in order to wipe the smirk from his face.

  When there was a stir near the door, he was glad to have the fellow’s interest diverted elsewhere, and he could concentrate on his tankard of beer. A moment later, however, Ardhi slipped into the empty space next to him on the bench. A dagger was slapped down on the boards of the table in front of him. He recognised it immediately. Once, it had been his.

  “Swap you this fine steel for my kris,” the lascar said. “My knife.”

  “I know what a kris is. And I know yours is a Chenderawasi dagger.”

  Ardhi raised a surprised eyebrow. “Aha! You show my kris to another man of the islands, eh?”

  “I want some answers before I return it. I want to know why you threw it at me, why you were in that warehouse in the first place, why you stole the bambu, and what the Va-less hell that kris wants.”

  A broad grin lit up the young man’s face. “Gives trouble, my blade, eh?” he asked. He tapped his forehead. “A Chenderawasi kris has mind. A will. It belongs to me. But its spirit? That has eaten the sakti of the Chenderawasi. That not mine. Sakti, the magic, the witchery, you understand? I not throw it at you, you know.”