by Mike Shevdon
"It would suit the wraithkin lord's purposes to see us squirm," Barthia agreed.
"You don't know what you've done," said Yonna.
"I think I've saved my own skin," I told her.
"Only for the moment. There are others who will not give you the clean death that we would have. "
"I'll deal with that when it happens," I told her.
The long-limbed figure of Mellion uncurled itself from the seat and stood, proving himself a head taller than either me or Garvin. He spread his hands flat and moved them slowly apart. The others stopped talking. He pointed to the vacant seat, then held his hands over his eyes. Then he dropped his hands and walked around to Garvin and held his hand out. Garvin looked confused until Mellion gently prised the scabbard from Garvin's hand and offered it to me.
"What does he want me to do with it?" I asked Garvin.
"I think he's offering you a solution," said Garvin. "He wants me to kill myself?" I asked.
"No," said Kimlesh. "Hordemaster Mellion has once again proved his tactical ability. My compliments, sir." Mellion bowed and returned to his seat, leaving me holding Garvin's scabbard and wondering whether I could use it as a weapon in some way. One look at Garvin, however, changed my mind. He held his long blade with easy readiness.
I looked around the circle of faces, the blank looks among them reflecting my own confusion.
"Why am I holding this?" I asked Kimlesh.
"Mellion is suggesting you join the warders."
"Me? I don't know one end of a pointed stick from the other."
"I agree," said Krane. "A wraithkin warder? His loyalty would be questionable at best."
"But there have always been wraithkin warders, haven't there, Garvin. Tell them," said Kimlesh. "This is true," Garvin said. "While there hasn't been a wraithkin warder since the separation of the Seventh Court, that's only because there have been no candidates. As you know, there were originally seven warders, one from each court. And their loyalty is to no single court. We carry out the will of the council." He made this point looking directly at Krane.
"I'm sorry, Garvin," he said. "I did not mean to imply– "
"I understand your concern, Lord Krane, but the warders swear their oath to the council, revoking any previous oath to their own court. They are bound to the council as anyone else is bound to their court. "
"Are you… are you offering me a job?" I asked them. "It is a way out of the dilemma, certainly," said Kimlesh. "We need your silence and you wish to survive. The two are not incompatible if you are a warder." Garvin addressed himself to the council. "I would respectfully remind the council that you are going to be putting your lives in this man's hands. Is that what you want?"
"Can you train him?" asked Teoth.
Garvin looked me up and down, assessing me like a piece of meat. "I can make him competent. Whether he has any true ability remains to be seen."
"He's already proven himself far more resourceful than any of us would have credited," said Teoth. "And it is better to have him bound close to us than running around loose, don't you think?" Kimlesh looked around the circle.
"Warders can get killed," said Krane. "If he dies in service then we still risk exposure."
"I can ask the Remembrancer to rescind the order," I told them. "If you will all swear not to harm me or mine then it can be withdrawn. It will take a few weeks to unravel, but it can be done."
"You misunderstand," said Kimlesh. "We would not harm you. You will be our protector, our bodyguard and our servant. A warder has never, ever been harmed by the council."
"Nevertheless," I looked at Krane, "that's my condition."
He sat back in his seat, while everyone looked at him. "Very well," he said. "Swear him in. The sooner this is done with, the better."
"Do you each swear that you will do me no harm, either directly or indirectly?"
"I swear that we will treat you like any other warder, with no preference or privilege, nor any wish for harm," said Kimlesh.
"So say I," said Yonna.
"And I," said Teoth
Mellion pressed his hand over his heart and nodded solemnly.
Barthia agreed, "The same for me."
Krane looked around the faces, then nodded. "I'm going to regret this, I just know it," he sighed. "I too will treat you as any other warder with no preference or privilege, nor any wish for harm. Is that enough?" I nodded.
"Give Garvin his scabbard back and then take off your jacket and kneel," said Kimlesh. "Garvin?"
Garvin took back his scabbard and moved to the side of me while I dropped the jacket in a bundle on the floor and knelt in the centre of the star.
"Put out your right hand and bare your wrist," she instructed.
I hesitated just a moment, then pulled back the shirt from my wrist, exposing the skin. I held out my wrist and Garvin's blade flashed down. I flinched, but the blade stopped, just above the veins of my wrist. He withdrew the sword.
"A test?" I asked. Then I noticed the blood welling out of the cut across my wrist. I hadn't even felt it touch me. "Taste it," said Kimlesh. I sucked the blood, feeling the coppery tang of it in my mouth.
"By your blood, will you serve the will of the council until released of your service," she asked. "I will." The coppery taste got stronger.
"By your heart, will you hold the life of any member of the council above your own?"
I looked at Krane. "I will." I could feel the blood on my tongue.
"By your mind, will you seek to preserve and protect your fellow warders even at risk of your own life? "
"I will." Its taste thickened.
"By your power, will you keep the secrets of the council, even to your own death?"
"I will."
"Stand, Warder Alshirian, called Dogstar, also called Niall Petersen, and bow to the council."
I got unsteadily to my feet. Garvin watching me, then turned to the council and bowed slowly.
"Garvin will take you to Blackbird. I imagine you will want to tell her your news."
Garvin wiped down the blade with a plain white cloth. Then he nodded to Kimlesh.
"Go then. We will see you again, Warder Alshirian." I turned, but Garvin caught my eye. He turned and whirled the blade around in his hand, sheathing the blade with a soft hiss in one smooth movement, then he placed his right hand over his heart and bowed slowly to the council. I mimicked his bow. He turned and escorted me to the door. "Send in Fionh, please, Garvin."
He held the door while I stepped through and he stepped through after me. Tate and Fionh were waiting outside. Fionh's eyebrow went up when she saw me.
"You're to go in directly, Fee. Tate, you're with me. "
"What happened in there?" asked Fionh.
"I'll tell you later." He looked me over. "We're going to have our work cut out. See if you can find out how long they're going to be. Mullbrook will want to know if they are dining."
Fionh slipped back into the room, pulling the door quietly closed behind her.
Garvin walked away down the corridor with Tate stepping in behind. I stood there for a moment, bemused, unsure of what I should do.
Garvin paused and slowly turned back to me. "First lesson," he said. "I can lead, but you have to follow." They strode away. I gathered my wits together and trotted after them.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" asked Tate as we neared the room where we had originally been taken.
"You and the rest of the team," said Garvin. "But first we need to return Warder Dogstar here to his love." We entered the room. Blackbird was standing by the fireplace. She took one look at me, then ran and threw herself into my arms, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her warm lips to mine.
"Warder Dogstar?" said Tate from behind us.
"Come on. We need to get the others together." He waited until Blackbird released me and then pointed at me and then at the floor. "Stay here. Do not leave this room until I come and get you. Consider it an order. "
"
Yes, sir," I said, grinning at him.
"Learn to follow them. It'll keep you alive. "
"Yes, sir."
"Tate. Get the others. Team briefing in five. "
"Yes, sir," he rumbled.
Garvin looked steadily at him. "Don't you start," he said.
Tate grinned at me, then left to gather the others together. Garvin nodded to Blackbird and pulled the door closed behind him, giving us our privacy. "Warder Dogstar?" she said.
"It was the price of freedom, though I'm not exactly free. They swore me into service." I showed her the cut across my wrist where the blood had smeared and was already clotting.
"She knew, Niall. All that time, she knew. When Kareesh offered you the sight of something she said 'courts', plural."
"I thought they would let us go, that they would have to. They nearly didn't."
"It's enough, Niall. What will you do now?"
"Garvin said he'd train me. He sounded like he wasn't going to enjoy it."
"Will you stay here?"
"I don't know. I think they were as surprised as I was. Mellion suggested it and I don't think Garvin could find a way to turn him down."
"You don't mess with Mellion," agreed Blackbird. "And what about you?" I asked her.
"I had to swear to keep the secret," she said. "If I tell another soul it will kill me and the baby. "
"Our son."
"I know, they told me too. They have offered me a bursary, an income to help me through the months ahead in return for my silence. "
"You accepted? "
"There wasn't really much of a choice."
"They offered me a boon. I asked for somewhere for you to live that's secure while you're pregnant and for them to accept Alex into the courts, when and if she comes into her gifts. That was before they swore me in as a warder, though. "
"Did they agree? "
"They did, yes."
"Then it is done. They will not go back on their word. "
"So you have somewhere to live."
"We have somewhere," she said, pressing her hand to my cheek. "I don't want you too far away."
That possessive glint had appeared in her eye. "Don't say it."
"Why not?" she said, turning her face up to be kissed. "It's true."
I kissed her, and she laughed, throwing her hands around my neck. I pressed my lips to hers and whirled her around. It didn't stop her though. I had to release her eventually.
She stood before me, breathless but determined, eyes full of green fire.
"Mine," she said.
About the Author
Mike Shevdon's love of Fantasy & SF started in the 1970s with C S Lewis, Robert Heinlein and Isaac Asimov, and continued through Alan Garner, Ursula Le Guin and Barbara Hambly. More recent influences include Mike Carey, Phil Rickman, Neil Gaiman and Robert Crais, among many others.
He has studied martial arts for many years, aikido and archery mainly. Friends have sometimes remarked that his pastimes always seem to involve something sharp or pointy. The pen should therefore be no surprise, though he's still trying to figure out how to get an edge on a laptop.
Mike lives in Bedfordshire, England, with his wife and son, where he pursues the various masteries of weapons, technology, and cookery.
www.shevdon.com
Acknowledgments
A story is not created alone, and there are many people to thank for the help and guidance they have offered in the creation of this book.
Firstly, Scott, who when I sent him my first raw efforts, simply requested more. That quiet encouragement kept me writing, dude, so you have only yourself to blame.
Thanks and hugs to my test readers: Ameen, Bob & Tina, Jo, Juliet, Kev, Lauri, Rachel, Sarah, Simon and Tor. You are to me what every writer needs and few have. You rock. Also, thanks to Aggy for the donation of the little computer so that I could write on holiday in Italy. It worked like a dream, mate, and I still use it. Particular thanks to Andrew and Joy of the Welly Writers who pulled no punches and left no page unturned. Your frankness, your openness, your ability to be objectively critical and still be positive are a credit to you both. You made me look at my writing in new ways. Good luck with your own projects, may the muse be ever there for you.
Special thanks to Jennifer, my agent, for a sharp critical eye, spot-on feedback and rock-solid representation, and to Marc at Angry Robot, both for having the nerve to publish the monster and for solving the conundrum around the finale. You're both a joy to work with. Thanks to Jane Follett of the Royal Courts of Justice for permission to use the quotation from the booklet concerning the Quit Rents Ceremony and to the staff of the RCJ for the courteous and dignified way they dealt with my rather odd enquiries about the workings of the Royal Court of Justice. It's appreciated.
And to my whole family, who have been unshakably supportive throughout this journey. You have kept faith with me when the odds seemed insurmountable and put up with endless hours of anti-social typing, moody plotting and faltering drafts. Bless you all.
Finally, huge thanks to my wife, Sue, and my son, Leo, for their patience, wisdom, insight and love. You are my world. Without you I would not be able to be who I am.
EXTRAS
The Quit Rent Ceremony
It has been said many times that truth is stranger than fiction and this book is, in some ways, a reflection of that. I came across the Ceremony for the Annual Rendering of the Quit Rents during research for this novel, as a reference in a book on English folklore. The ceremony itself is entirely real and is the oldest legal ceremony in England with the exception of the Royal Coronation. The ceremony has been performed annually since 1211 between the feast of St Michael and St Martin, usually early in October.
The origin of the ceremony goes back to the time of William the Conqueror. The county of Shropshire, then known as Salop, was granted to Roger de Montgomerie, a senior counsellor of William, in 1071, along with many other holdings. Roger was 1st Earl of Shrewsbury and lived until 1094 when he was succeeded by his younger son, Hugh de Montgomerie who became 2nd Earl of Shrewsbury and died without children.
The land then passed to Hugh's older brother in Normandy, Robert de Bellême who had a reputation for starting wars and kidnapping his neighbour's children. Robert de Bellême was exiled to Normandy in 1102 after conspiring to depose Henry I and the land in Salop was forfeit. The majority of this land was granted to men loyal to the king, but a piece of wasteland, known as the Moors, just south of Bridgnorth, was retained and held directly of the Crown.
The earliest record of a tenant is of Nicholas de Morrs who occupied 80 acres of land, 20 acres of meadow and 80 acres of pasture from 1211 upon the rendering of two knives, one blunt and one sharp. The purpose of the knives was to create tally sticks for the receipt of taxes where a hazel rod of one year's growth (roughly the length of a man's forearm) was notched with the blunt knife to represent payment. The sharp knife was then used to split the rod in two, forming two corresponding halves of a receipt.
In 1521, the obligation to provide the knives passed to six Mercers and then in 1556 to Richard Mylles. In that year one of the city men attending for the confirmation of the sheriffs attempted to perform the service with the knives. Neither knife would cut the hazel rod and Richard Mylles was fined ten shillings for contempt.
At some point the two knives were replaced with a hatchet and a bill-hook (a hedging tool) and the hazel rod with faggots, small logs of wood. A hatchet and bill-hook used for the ceremony at this time can be seen in the Northgate Museum at Bridgnorth. They were probably made specifically for the ceremony as they are plated, possibly with silver.
Nowadays, two knives are made each year, commissioned by the Worshipful Company of Cutlers for the City of London, and sometimes displayed afterwards in the exhibition cabinets in the main hall of the Royal Courts of Justice where the ceremony continues to this day.
The role of the Queen's Remembrancer (or King's Remembrancer, if the monarch is male) dates back to 1164 when Ric
hard of Ilchester, Archdeacon of Poitiers and later Bishop of Winchester was asked by the King to stand alongside the Treasurer and "Put the King in remembrance of all things owing to the King". There was also a Lord Treasurer's Remembrancer whose role was to "Know and keep all the secrets of the Kingdom", a post first held by Master Thomas Brown a former Lord Treasurer of Count Roger of Sicily. Around 1830, the tax gathering element of these roles was transferred to the newly formed Treasury under the new Chancellor of the Exchequer. The word Exchequer is derived from the chequered cloth laid over a counting table where debts were set into the squares on one side and then, as they were paid, transferred to the other. Inns that bear the name "The Chequers" were often where the tax collections were held and the Prime Minister's country retreat is still called Chequers, possibly due to links with the Exchequer.
