Covenants (v2.1)

by Lorna Freeman

  “Even now Ambassador Laurel is with Foreign Chancellor Berle, trying hard to find a diplomatic solution, but they’re not hopeful.” King Jusson sighed. “Our great lords and senior officials involved in smuggling and slave running. Our warehouses full of body parts. Our churchmen carrying those thrice-damned corpses as Staves of Offices. Our soldiers with hauberks and shields made out of the skin of one of the treaty signer’s sons.” He saw my start. “Oh, yes, cousin. Judging by the letters she sent to my greatgrandfather, Dragoness Moraina was very much involved in the drafting of the treaty.” I frowned at that—honored Moraina did not read or write.

  “I never questioned Gherat,” Lord Chause said. “Why should I have? As he is your Lord Treasurer, I just assumed anything he did had your approval.” I shifted in my chair. This was not the time to shove all the blame on the king.

  Jusson considered Lord Chause. “You’re right,” he said after a moment. “Gherat is my responsibility.” He stood up. “Therefore I am declaring all profits gained from agreements with the Lord Treasurer to be forfeit due to his treason.” He smiled at Lord Chause. “Of course, if you can prove that your business with Gherat was legitimate, then you’ll retain the assets.” His smile widened. “But that means that you’ll have to open your books to our auditors.”

  Lord Chause also stood, his eyes starting from his head. “Your Majesty—”

  “We will, however, make concessions to those who cooperate with us.”

  “Your Majesty, I assure you, all I did was lease my warehouse to Lord Gherat. Or rather my agent did. As far as I’m concerned, my dock properties are just one of the many business ventures I have.”

  That collided with something Esclaur had said. “Do we know, Your Majesty,” I asked, “who owns the restaurant with the ice boats? Or at least the property the restaurant is built on?”

  “Ah,” Jusson said, drawing it out as my uncle’s face paled. The king smiled while his eyes remained cold. “Your nephew’s not quite the bumpkin you named him, is he?”

  At that point there was a knock on the door. The royal guard opened it and Lord Commander Thadro and Captain Suiden, returned from the warehouse, entered and bowed. “Forgive our intrusion, Your Majesty,” Thadro said, “but Trooper Basel’s funeral is about to begin.”

  “We will be there.” King Jusson turned to Lord Chause. “We have to attend a funeral for a gallant—”

  Basel? I thought. Gallant?

  Jusson gave me a sidelong look. “A gallant trooper who was murdered as part of this whole fiasco involving Dru, Flavan, and now your House.” He nodded to two guards who moved to flank Lord Chause. “Please stay and enjoy our hospitality, Maceal. If you have need of anything, these guards will see to it. I shall return to take up our conversation after the funeral.” He pointedly waited for my uncle’s shaky bow before he left, pulling the rest of us in his wake.

  The sun was just above the sea when we arrived at the churchyard. A pyre had been built of wood and Trooper Basel’s stag body placed on top of it. Both regular troopers and royal guards stood around the pyre facing outward, holding their swords in front of them with the points resting on the ground. Pennants were placed at intervals around the pyre also, and they flapped in the evening breeze—or because my personal windstorm kicked up again.

  As we arrived, Lieutenant Groskin stepped up and saluted. Behind him came Jeff and Basel, still in stag form, who made their way to me. The royal guard who had accompanied us from the palace gave the haunt lots of room.

  “Good job, Lieutenant,” Javes said, looking around.

  “Yes, it is,” King Jusson said. Torches were lit, waiting for the firing of the pyre, and they painted the king’s face gold with flickering light. “Have you gotten over your squeamishness of the ‘magical,’ Lieutenant Groskin?”

  Groskin cast a glance at Suiden’s glowing green eyes. “Yes, sire.”

  “And you no longer believe that our cousin Rabbit and the Faena cat are hell personified?”

  “Yes—I mean, no, sire.” Groskin now glanced at me, then away. “I didn’t really believe that to begin with, Your Majesty. It’s just that—”

  “You know, we have taken a great dislike to that phrase.”

  “Uh—”

  “Go ahead! It’s just what?”

  Groskin stared at the ground. “I was afraid, Your Majesty.”

  “So you acted with—what was it you said, Captain Prince? Ah, yes. ‘Willful blindness and gross stupidity,’ and became something worse than just a frightened man—a dupe.” Suiden cast a sidelong glance at Javes, who found the pennant nearest him fascinating.

  “And so betraying the trust of your captain and fellow lieutenant, and perhaps helping thrust us to the brink of war,” Jusson said.

  Groskin didn’t respond.

  “As this affects the well-being of our realm, we will discuss your disposition with Captain Suiden. Until then, you will obey your captain, understood?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  We continued up to where the clergy stood, Groskin falling in behind us. Patriarch Pietr was still in penitent sacking and without staff or any other badge of his office. He was flanked by Doyen Allwyn and Archdoyen Obruesk. “Your Majesty,” the patriarch said as King Jusson stopped in front of him. “As we are doing penance, I cannot conduct the funeral so the archdoyen will officiate.” He sighed. “He’s the only one who didn’t have a spritewood staff.” The archdoyen nodded, managing to look both smug and stern at the same time.

  “I see.” The king’s face was blank, though his eyes narrowed.

  “He understands, don’t you, Archdoyen”—the patriarch gave Obruesk a look that reminded me of Suiden—”that this is not the time for riding favorite hobby horses.”

  “I am fully aware of the situation here, Your Holiness,” Archdoyen Obruesk said. His eyes rested on me for a moment, taking in the butterflies, then shifted to Basel next to me. “No matter how irregular it is to conduct a funeral for a deer, and regardless of the church’s doctrine on ghosts, the rites will be done correctly.”

  “I’m sure that they will,” Jusson said. “Is Ambassador Laurel here?”

  “Here he comes, sire,” one of the lordlings said.

  The Faena arrived with Chancellor Berle. Behind them were other lords and officials—I suppose Trooper Basel’s funeral was the event of the hour. Not bad for a mere soldier, no matter how good a cook he was.

  “Good,” Jusson said. “Shall we get started?”

  Despite the archdoyen’s misgivings, the ceremony went well. I joined my troop and stood at attention while Obruesk recited the last rites over Trooper Basel. His deep voice merged with the ocean’s roar, and it seemed as if the sea itself was speaking.

  “As we came into this world, so we go out.” Archdoyen Obruesk glanced at the dead stag, but to his credit he did not falter. “Shorn of what during life had defined us, we stand naked before God, where His light removes all obscuring shadows. So Trooper Basel also stands where”— the archdoyen ignored the haunt standing behind me—”his worth is not judged by riches or position, but by the only thing he can bring with him: his soul. And as we entrust Basel’s soul into the Maker’s hands, we give his body to the earth.” The pyre was now being ignored. “To the last embrace, to return to that from which we were formed.” He picked up a handful of dirt and, after looking about for a moment, threw it on the kindling.

  “To the last embrace,” the rest of us intoned.

  “Until the day we are summoned forth,” the archdoyen said.

  “Until the new morn when we shall arise anew,” we said.

  “All corruption left behind in the cleansing earth,” the archdoyen said.

  “All shining with joy, reflecting God’s glory,” we said.

  “The earth keep you, Trooper Basel,” the archdoyen said.

  “The earth enfold and keep you safe,” we said.

  “Peace, Trooper Basel,” the archdoyen said.

  “Peace and rest be yours,” we s
aid.

  Captain Suiden picked up a torch and Captain Javes picked up another. The sun slid down behind the water, turning it orange, then red as they both lit the pyre. As dusk fell, the flames grew, and soon engulfed it, consuming the stag laid on top. I’d expected the stench of burning meat, and there was that, but underlying the char smell was again sweet grass and loam.

  “Well, how was that?” I asked the haunt, turning away from the fire. “Feel like a little peaceful rest?” I looked closely at Basel, but he was just as he was before the funeral. Not even a little fading. I sighed. “You’re having the time of your life—death, aren’t you?” Basel tossed his antlers.

  “Do any shades hang about after they’re avenged?” Jeff asked.

  “Do not give him any ideas,” I said.

  Chapter Forty-four

  “We think we got all the ashes, but we will check again in the morning when it’s light, honored folk,” Laurel faena said.

  We were back in the palace after Basel’s funeral. My uncle, with the threat of auditors tearing his books apart, spilled his guts. Chancellor Berle’s eyes sparkled with suppressed glee as she listened to names, dates and descriptions in which Lord Gherat figured prominently. It probably was too much, on top of everything else that had happened that day, for Jusson to hear in great detail how his trusted advisor and friend betrayed him, so afterwards he and his Own joined the Freston and the Royal Garrison troopers for a rowdy and boisterous dinner. The king himself toasted Basel again and again, each toast becoming more outrageous than the last as the wine flowed. The haunt had moved to the head table where Jusson sat with his lordling wolf pack and senior officers, standing regal with antlers held high, eating it up.

  After dinner, the king decreed that the Freston troops would stay at the Royal Garrison, and Laurel would be a palace guest, as “the embassy, Ambassador, is not a healthy place to be, with who knows how many Pale Death spiders infesting it.” He had earlier sent his Own to get Ryson and the then Suiden had left to guard him, and as soon as Ryson arrived, he was sent to the garrison stockade to join the other prisoners.

  Laurel had not joined us for dinner, but had overseen Groskin and Doyen Allwyn in shoveling the pyre ashes into wheelbarrows and dumping them over the cliff into the sea, so that not even a bone fragment remained.

  “The bridge is also fixed, honored king, so that the briars will open for travelers unless they are a threat to the throne.” Laurel looked tired as he ran a paw over his head, causing his beads to clack and feathers to flutter. He stood at the door of the room that Jusson, Javes, Suiden, Thadro, Basel the ghost and I, with butterflies, had retired to. Everyone else had been dismissed, including Lord Esclaur and the rest of the wolf pack.

  “Come and sit down a moment, Ambassador,” Jusson said. “We’ve all had a hard day and are due a little respite.” At his signal, I poured a glass of bloodwine from one of several pitchers, and offered it to the Faena.

  Laurel hesitated, then entered the room, the guards outside shutting the door behind him. “For a moment, honored king.” He sat down on the couch next to me, placing his staff beside him. I handed him the glass and he sighed deeply as he drank, licking the wine off his whiskers. “That’s very good.” He smiled and finished the glass, handing it back to me to refill.

  “So, tell me, Ambassador Laurel, are you making progress with Chancellor Berle?” Jusson asked.

  “It seems so, honored king,” Laurel began, reaching for his glass. As I handed it to him, though, I brushed against the staff and, with a flurry of wings, the butterflies leapt up from my shoulder and flew to the sill of an open window. I blinked. What the hell?

  Watching the butterflies, Laurel placed his glass on the table before us and rose from the couch, picking up his staff. As he raised it, the butterflies flew out the window.

  “All right, what’s going on?” Javes asked.

  “I believe that’s my question,” Jusson said.

  Laurel lowered his staff, his amber eyes reflecting the candlelight. “Lord Rabbit is coming into his full power, honored king.”

  “You’ve already said that,” Jusson pointed out.

  “There are affinities that come with the power. Mine is earth and it appears that Lord Rabbit’s is air.” A breeze, for drama’s sake, gently blew around me for a moment.

  “There are also signs, badges if you will.” Laurel indicated himself. “I walk as a man would; normal cats do not.” His whiskers swept back. “Even the ones who deign to associate with noncats.” Noncats? I wrenched my gaze from the window and stared at the Faena, now wondering at how his universe was divided.

  “Lord Rabbit’s badge is his hair, perhaps because of some relationship between that and his strength.” Laurel eyed the length and thickness of my braid. “It’s something for him to explore.”

  “You’ve said that too. Get to the point, Ambassador.” Jusson said.

  “Yes, honored king,” Laurel said. “I thought the butterflies were also part of the same affinity-and-badge marking as they are creatures that ride the wind. It appears that I was mistaken.”

  “Then what are they?” Jusson asked.

  “We had physical translations at the embassy this morning where the troopers became what they would be—if they chose—in the Border.”

  “I was a wolf,” Javes murmured, still watching me.

  “Yes, the Captain Prince was a dragon and my guards were griffins. I’ve heard all about it,” Jusson said as Suiden looked sidelong at Javes. “The point, Ambassador.”

  “I didn’t think that a physical translation could be sustained outside of the embassy, but again I was mistaken.”

  “Didn’t you say, Sro Cat, that we were changed anyway?” Suiden asked.

  “Not that changed yet, honored captain, else there would be fae and fantastic beasts roaming Iversterre.” Laurel did not look at Jusson. “Or should I say, more of them.”

  “The point, Ambassador,” Jusson said. “Please.”

  “I’ve made it, honored king.” Laurel waved a paw around. “The People once lived on this land and either changed it or were changed by it. Perhaps both. Now you live here and the land is changing you.”

  “What does that have to do with the damn butterflies?”

  “They were translated also, honored king, and didn’t want to change back.” Laurel frowned at me. “We should talk, Rabbit, about allowing strangers to latch on to you.”

  “Strangers!” Jusson turned to the captains and the Lord Commander. “They’re not any of ours?”

  “No, sire,” Thadro said as Javes and Suiden shook their heads. “Everyone’s accounted for.”

  “There are the rebels—” I began.

  “No,” Suiden said. “You had them fluttering around you yesterday in the embassy courtyard.”

  That was true.

  “Then perhaps they’re your fellow countrymen, Ambassador Laurel,” Jusson said.

  “No,” Laurel said. “I am alone.” He then stared down at his paw, frowning. He rubbed it against his side. “At least, I thought I was.”

  “You can’t tell?” Jusson stared at Laurel. “Do you mean to tell me that the Border is filled with, uh—”

  “Folk,” I supplied.

  “—folk who shift shapes, so that you don’t know if it’s really a butterfly or something else?”

  “And who’d want to be a butterfly?” Thadro muttered.

  “Yes, honored king,” Laurel said, ignoring the Lord Commander. “You get used to it.”

  “That’s confusion and madness,” Jusson said. “How can the Border function?”

  “There are customs, structures and governances,” Laurel said. His whiskers swept back in a smile. “There are also the Faena. Between us all, we manage to keep it reasonably sane.”

  “Define sane,” I muttered.

  Laurel chuffed. “It does get a little lively now and again, no?” He bowed. “Permission to withdraw, honored king. I wish to check the wards at the church and then meditate, as
tomorrow promises to be another eventful day.” He looked at me. “Perhaps Lord Rabbit—”

  “Permission given, Ambassador, and Lord Rabbit will stay with us,” Jusson said.

  Laurel sighed and, wishing us good night, left the room. As he walked out, though, he cast a frowning glance at the window the butterflies flew through.

  “ ‘You are changing, honored king, and your kingdom is sliding towards chaos.’ Then a good night, and he’s gone,” Jusson said. He picked up his glass, drained it, then held it out for Javes to refill. “Butterflies, ghosts, talking cats, mages, glowing circles, sorcerers, wind and thunder!” He eyed me over his glass rim. “Until you arrived, cousin, the only things I had to worry about were the Turalian navy and overambitious lords.”

  “It doesn’t seem to be bothering you much, Your Majesty,” Suiden remarked as I finished my glass of wine. I reached for the pitcher in front of me to pour another.

  Jusson shrugged. “I’ve spent time at Veldecke, Captain Prince, and I’ve read my great-grandfather’s letters, diaries and accounts of the last war. I know that the Border is more than tales of make-believe.” He took a sip of his wine. “Just as I know that the Amir of Tural has court wizards. Wizards that follow the amir—or at least the amir’s generals and admirals—into battle.” The room grew quiet and I paused midpour, staring at His Majesty.

  “And now you’ve a wizard of your own, Your Majesty?” Suiden asked carefully.

  “No,” Jusson said. “I also know the difference between a master and an apprentice, Captain Prince, and that Rabbit won’t become a mage for many years.” He took another sip. “What I do have, however, is Ambassador Laurel and through him the chance for something beneficial for both the Border and us.” He sighed. “If he and Berle can come up with a solution to the mess we’ve found ourselves in.”