by Tanya Huff
“It’s young Ohrid.” Theron heaved himself up beside her. “Something about his testimony felt wrong.”
That he was concerned about Ohrid and the upcoming execution was no surprise. But how could the testimony feel wrong? “He was placed under Command by the captain herself.”
“I know. That’s what’s bothering me.” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “The greater part of our justice system is based on the belief that only truth can be spoken under Command, but every instinct says that something wasn’t right yesterday in that Assembly Hall.”
“You know how you hate to order executions.”
“That’s part of it,” Theron admitted. For weeks after his first Death Judgment, every time he closed his eyes, he saw the ax fall. He’d despised himself for a weakling until his brother, on a rare visit to Elbasan, had pointed out that a king with a conscience was hardly a liability for the kingdom. “But this time, there’s more. I just wish I could work out exactly where the problem lies. It might be nothing, but …”
“It might not,” Lilyana finished thoughtfully. “Should we summon the captain and have her do a recall?”
“No, I’m sure it has as much to do with me as anything that actually happened.”
“All right, then.” She settled back against the pillows and laced her fingers together on top of the sheet. “You do a recall. Tell me everything you remember happening and how you felt about it from the moment you entered the hall until you left.”
“Are you sure?”
“I wasn’t sleeping anyway,” she pointed out with a smile. Then she sobered. “That boy goes to the block at noon, Theron. You’ve got to be completely certain that he’s guilty.”
Perhaps because it had been a Death Judgment, Theron remembered more than he thought possible. He remembered how the rose scent that his chamberlain always wore clung to the area around the throne. He remembered thinking how the crowds had sounded like the sea, building to a storm. He remembered staring past the stocky, black figure of the Bardic Captain at the young Duc of Ohrid and knowing that this one would not beg for his life. He remembered every word that was said.
“It matched the recall of what happened in Ohrid, essentially word for word. Then, when I asked him why he would betray his oaths, he asked me in return what his oaths had gotten him from Shkoder. My great-grandfather promised him an end to isolation and, though it irks me to admit it, that promise hasn’t been well kept.”
“Justifiable treason?”
“Certainly in his mind. You should’ve heard the passion as he accused me of sending tax collectors and …” Theron frowned, murmuring, “Passion …” He twisted on the bed to face his consort. The room had begun to lighten with the approach of day and he could see her staring at him expectantly. “The man who made those accusations was a different man than the one who spoke before and after. Those words had a ring of truth that had nothing to do with being under Bardic Command.”
“A sincerely held belief is likely to hold more passion than a mere admission of guilt, regardless of the circumstances they’re spoken under.”
“But a man of that passion, knowing he was caught, would have been defiant, daring me to do my worst.”
Lilyana nodded slowly. “He insists he’s innocent. The general opinion around the palace, and around the city for that matter, is that he’s too arrogant to know when he’s defeated.”
“Where did you hear that?”
She shrugged. “Servers talk. I listen. It makes a nice change.”
“Well, he’s an arrogant pup, that’s for certain, but he’s not that stupid. And there’s more.” Theron wrapped one of his hands around both of hers. “After a Death Judgment, I’ve been looked at with hatred, fear, numb acceptance, and complete incomprehension, but the expression on young Ohrid’s face was, just for an instant, almost identical to the expression he wore when swearing his oaths.”
“Which was?”
“You are my liege. No emotional loading, just a bald statement of fact.”
“You said almost identical. Perhaps yesterday he was thinking, You are my liege, drop dead.”
Theron smiled. “No. You are my liege, do something about this.” He reached up and yanked on the cord that would summon his valet then he swung his legs off the bed.
“So what are you going to do?”
He paused at the door to his dressing room. “I’m going to have to talk with our passionate young traitor. After that, we’ll see.”
* * * *
They reached Riverton just as the sun crested the horizon and gilded the rooftops with light. A few lines of pale smoke drifting into the dawn showed they were no longer the only ones awake. As River Road carried them into the town, a pair of half grown dogs, deep-chested and short-legged, bounded out to greet them, tails slamming from side to side.
“Some guard dogs you are,” Pjerin muttered, dropping down to one knee. “No, I don’t want my face licked, thank you very much.”
Annice rested her pack against the corner of a building, glad of the chance to rest, and watched him dig his fingers deep into fur, reducing both dogs to abject adoration. From the look on his face, this was the most important thing that had happened all night. There’s so much I don’t know about him. She’d arrived in Ohrid only days after both his elderly dogs had been killed by a mountain cat. He’d fought tears when he’d told her what had happened. A person that animals trust so absolutely can’t be capable of the kind of betray al Pjerin was accused of Cliché, perhaps, but it further convinced her that she’d done the right thing.
Pjerin bit the inside of his cheek, struggling to hide his emotions. More than Annice appearing in his cell, more than the midnight trip through secret passageways, more than disguises and leaving Elbasan in the middle of the night, this told him he was free. This was one of the things he believed he’d never do again.
The dogs sensed the desperation in his touch and kept pushing their noses at his face.
“Sandy! Shadow!”
Two pairs of ears perked up and Pjerin knelt abandoned in the middle of the road. He stayed there for a moment, unable to move, hands pressed against the ground so hard his knuckles went white. It had been a child’s voice. He forced himself to breathe. If he wasn’t going to die, he’d see his son again.
Teeth clenched, he surged to his feet. “Let’s go.”
Annice snagged the back of his pack as he went by. “Hold on! Try to remember I’m walking for two.” He shortened his stride and, smothering a yawn, she fell into step beside him. “First inn we come to that’s open for business, we stop for food and a rest.”
“No.” Pjerin shook his head, eyes squinted almost shut against the sun but locked on the east, locked on Ohrid.
“What do you mean, no?” But they had time to scratch dogs?
“What I said, no.” There was no room for compromise in his tone. “We eat while we travel.”
“Then you can travel without me. The kigh will spot you and you’ll be back in that cell faster than I can find a rhyme for door hinge.” She knew she sounded equally unreasonable, but she was tired enough and hungry enough not to care.
“Annice …”
“You can growl my name all you want to, but it’s not going to change anything. You need me to hide you from the kigh, which means we have to stay together, which means you have to travel at my pace.” Grabbing his arm, she pulled him around to face her. “Or have you forgotten about your child?” The sarcastic tone clearly suggested just how much value she placed on that possessive pronoun. “You remember; the one you wouldn’t leave without?”
His mouth worked and she waited for the explosion. It never came.
“They’ll have told Gerek I’m dead.”
Oh, shit. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. You and your big mouth. “Pjerin, I’m sorry.”
“We have to find out who did this to me.” Every muscle of his body stood out in rigid delineation.
Annice sighed. Considering everythi
ng he’d been through, he was remarkably stable, but considering everything he’d been through, he had every right to go completely to pieces.
“Not now,” she told him gently. “While a pair of traders arriving at dawn will attract no attention, that same pair of traders standing in the middle of River Road in a Command trance would give the whole game away.” Linking her arm in his, she tugged him firmly down the street. “We’ll need privacy and quiet and we’ll have plenty of both before we get to Ohrid.”
* * * *
“… so I ask her what she’s doing with my shield and she says that they’re diggin’ a hole in the commons and they don’t got a shovel. She’s gonna use my shield as a shovel. Well, I give her a cuff up the side of the head and tell her it’s not my shield, it’s the king’s, and if she wants a shovel she can just hoof it over to her grandad’s place. And she tosses her braid back over her shoulder, and I’ve got a good idea where she picked up that motion, and says ever so indignantly …” The guard lifted his chin and pursed his lips, continuing in a piping imitation of a small child’s voice. “… but, Papa, you wasn’t usin’ it.”
Aliute grimaced and thanked every god the Circle contained that the night was nearly over. Guarding the door to the dungeons was a dull assignment at best, but spending it forced to listen to story after story about a five-year-old removed it from the Circle entirely. This wasn’t what she’d expected when she joined up. She’d wanted excitement, adventure, and never in her wildest dreams did she see herself standing guard so that prisoners, who were both shackled and locked in their cells, could have no chance of escape.
Escape; yeah, right. She rubbed an itchy shoulder blade against the rough stone wall and wondered if her partner was awake yet. What am I thinking, the sun’s up. The kids probably got her out of bed ages ago. Her helm shifted forward slightly as she yawned. At the risk of sounding dissatisfied with the job, it sure is boring being a guard.
Footsteps sounded, coming down the spiral stairs that led to the upper levels of the palace. At first, Aliute thought they belonged to the drudge who came every morning to empty the pots, but there were too many of them and they were moving too fast.
The first set of feet that descended into sight wore boots and, over them, greaves enameled with the royal sigil of Shkoder.
The two guards stared at each other in shock.
Inspection? he mouthed, eyes wide and near panick.
At dawn? Aliute returned, shoving her helm straight.
As a second set of identical greaves appeared, they snapped to attention, pikes properly at rest, the effect somewhat ruined by identical expressions of disbelief. Ceremonial armor was worn only by the four members of the guard assigned to accompany the king.
Theron came down the last few steps, a second pair of guards on his heels, and acknowledged the two at the door. “I wish to speak with the Duc of Ohrid,” he said quietly.
“Sire!” As senior, Aliute set her pike against the wall and lit a lamp off one of the three tallow candles. Pinching off the smoldering end of the taper, she motioned for her companion to open the door. Shoulders back, head up, heart pounding, she moved into the passageway between the two rows of cells; however peculiar this visit might be, it was her chance to look good in front of the king and she wasn’t going to blow it.
At the cell door, she set the lamp in the bracket and heaved up the bar. Motioned aside by one of the other guards, she watched as he picked up the lamp and went into the cell. He rushed back out a second later, his face pale, the flickering light illuminating the superstitious fear in his eyes.
“Majesty, the prisoner is gone.”
“What!” Theron snatched the lamp from the guard’s hand and charged forward. Just inside the door, he stopped. The shackle—closed and locked—was lying on the braided straw pallet which was lying flat on the bench. Although he knew it was ridiculous, he squatted and peered into the shadowed recess between the bench and the floor.
Off to one side, Aliute strained to see, her mouth dry, blood throbbing in her temples. If a prisoner was missing, she was responsible. She had no idea what the punishment would be. They’d never lost a prisoner before. Perhaps she’d have to take his place at the block.
“Spirited away,” murmured a guard.
“Always knew those mountain folk were unenclosed,” muttered another.
Yes! Aliute grabbed at hope. Spirits from outside the Circle took him! It wasn’t my fault.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Theron snapped, stomping back out into the corridor, nearly knocking over the two guards, who’d followed him in. “There’s a perfectly logical explanation.” His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. “During the night someone let him out and then locked everything behind him.”
Five pairs of eyes turned to glare at Aliute.
She backed up a step, and then another.
“N–no one came in here last night, Majesty,” she protested. “I swear it. No one.”
Still holding the lamp, Theron half turned and pointed with his free hand. “You, Janyte, I want the Bardic Captain down here, now.”
“Sire!” Janyte took off at a full run, aiming for the rectangle of light that marked the entry into the corridor.
“Karlis, go back and get the other lamp. Then I want that cell inspected for loose stones or some indication of an exit other than by the door.”
“Sire!”
The two remaining guards flanked their sovereign and lowered their halberds, the implication plain. If Aliute had cooperated with a traitor, she herself was a danger to the king.
Aliute looked down at the weapons and swallowed. Like the ceremonial armor, the halberds were highly ornate, but not even the intricate engraving that extended nearly to the edge of the blades could make them look any less deadly. Without intending to, she scuttled backward another three or four paces.
They let her go. They were, after all, between her and the only way out.
She was at the edge of the lamplight now, the shadows closing in around her. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a pale, translucent streamer against the wall. Her heart leaped into her throat. The spirits!
In spite of her terror, she moved toward it. If it was a spirit, the king would know she’d had nothing to do with the prisoner’s escape.
Not a spirit. Something better.
“Majesty …” She licked her lips and tried again. “Majesty, I think I’ve found the answer.”
Indicating that the guards should stay where they were, Theron came forward.
Aliute laid the end of the torn and filthy spiderweb carefully across Theron’s palm.
Together, they turned and stared at the place it entered the wall.
* * * *
“We’ve paid for it, you might as well eat it.”
“I’m not hungry.” Pjerin pushed his meal aside. All he could think of was the time they were wasting. Time that could be better spent by increasing their distance from Elbasan. “How can you eat eels for breakfast?”
Annice shrugged and swallowed. “I like eels. The Riverfolk eat them all the time.”
“You’re not Riverfolk.”
“So?” She yawned, scraped the bottom of her bowl, and reached for his. “No point in wasting it.”
“Something wrong with the food?”
“Not a thing.” Annice smiled up at the innkeeper. “Jorin‘s just in a rush to get to Vidor. He’s got a bet on with his cousin.”
Dimpled arms folded over a featherbed bosom, the innkeeper clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “He makes a bet, and you’ve got to rush. And in your condition, too.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. After all, half the profits are mine.”
“Health first, profits second,” she declared. “Why didn’t you wait for the river? Current’ll be down and they’ll be able to hoist sail by the new moon. You could go to the festival—there’ll be a bard to Sing up the wind—then ride to Vidor in comfort.”
“Riverboat passage costs coin.”
Pjerin opened his mouth and Annice kicked him under the table. She didn’t know what he was about to say and she didn’t want to. The story would be easier to keep track of with only her telling it. “Besides, we haven’t the time to wait.”
“Traders. Rushing here, rushing there. When are you due?”
“Just into Second Quarter.”
“So soon? You don’t look big enough. When I was that far along, I was much bigger. And you’re carrying too low. You don’t get enough rest, that’s the problem.” She turned a dark gaze on Pjerin. “You’ve got to see that she rests more. Look at those circles under her eyes. Now then, my sister’s boy, Bartek the carter, he’s heading for Vidor this morning. If you leave now—and I only suggest this since you seem to be in such a hurry—you can still catch him. It’ll cost you coin, but you won’t have to wait, and you,” a sausage finger jabbed at Annice, “won’t have to trot along under a double load.”
“Thank you.” Annice’s smile had frayed a little around the edges. “That’s a big help, believe me.” She finished the last mouthful of what was supposed to have been Pjerin’s breakfast and stood. “Good business, innkeeper.”
“Good business, trader.”
A few moments later, they were hurrying toward the carter’s yards.
“I wish you’d stop telling people to believe you,” Pjerin growled.
“Why?” Annice belched and began to think the second bowl of eels had been a mistake. “It’s the easiest way to allay suspicions.”
“I don’t like you putting ideas into people’s heads.” He half turned and glanced behind them. “I know what it’s like from the other side.”
“This isn’t the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?” In memory, he heard his mouth speaking with someone else’s voice. How much difference was there between that and being charmed into a false belief? “Even you agreed that what happened to me could have been done by a bard.”
“Yeah?” She was too tired to be diplomatic. “In balance, try to remember that it’s a bard saving your butt.”
“From the kigh!”
“So?”
“The kigh are controlled by the bards!”
