by Hilari Bell
Edoran scrambled to the top of the wall and stood, revealing himself for all to see. He was the one person there no one wanted to shoot.
“I am Prince Edoran,” he announced. “And if my friend is harmed, I’ll have you hunted to the far ends of Deorthas and hanged to the last man!”
For emphasis, he thrust both fists into the air.
CHAPTER 12
The Fool: wisdom of the heart.
The Falcon stared at his raised fists, and Edoran lowered them. He probably looked as ridiculous as he felt, but the signal had been sent. One hour. He had to stall for one hour. More, for it would take the swimmers time to reach the ships, climb aboard, and locate the powder store. An hour and a half? Two hours? And they had to create a diversion, to keep any watchers on the ships focused on the shore.
This was too complicated!
“What are your demands?” Edoran tried to sound regal and dignified, and not as if he’d been too stupid to understand the Falcon the first time.
Her brows rose. “I want you, the shield and sword, and Arisa, all sent out to me. In exchange I’ll give you Weasel, and he can go inside the fortress. Which we’ll leave intact, with all its defenders alive. If I have you, and the sword and shield, I don’t need to kill anyone.”
“You send Weasel to the gate,” Edoran countered. “Once he’s inside, we’ll throw the sword and shield down to you. That’s an excellent trade for a lowborn clerk, who no one else will even bargain for.”
If he gave in too soon, she’d become suspicious. If he stalled too long, the boats might blow up before they got there, and with Edoran and the sword and shield in her hands, she might end up ruling Deorthas after all.
Too complex. Madness, just as Arisa had said. Even if he surrendered himself with perfect timing, would the Falcon keep her word to leave Weasel and the fisherfolk alive? All those witnesses?
“Are you really prepared to stand there and watch me cut bits off your friend?” The Falcon’s voice sounded almost lazy, like the purr of a big lion, and Arisa shivered. She meant it, Edoran realized.
“Are you prepared to watch us cut bits off the shield of stars? I can have it, and an ax, up on this wall in moments. Anything you do to Weasel will happen to the shield. And if he dies, we’ll destroy the sword as well.”
Togger stirred uneasily, and the Falcon’s eyes narrowed. Had he hit on a threat that might work?
“I don’t believe you’d destroy them,” she said.
“I don’t need them,” Edoran replied. “My father, and grandfather, and all my ancestors back to Regalis, ruled just fine without them. I can do the same. You’re the one who needs all the symbols you can get.”
To his astonishment, Togger laughed.
The Falcon’s scowl deepened. “How about this. You come down, yourself, and give them to me. I’ll give you Weasel. Then we’ll talk about the rest of it. Face-to-face.”
“Do I look that stupid?” Edoran’s indignation wasn’t feigned. If she thought he’d fall for that, he’d been insulted.
“But you’d have Arisa inside,” the Falcon said.
Arisa gasped. The Falcon meant to abandon her there. It wasn’t as callous as it sounded—Togger’s refusal to send her out unless she wanted to go had revealed that the fisherfolk would do her no harm. Still…
“No deal,” said Edoran. “I’ll make you another offer. How about we throw down the sword. You send Weasel to the gate. And when he’s safe inside we’ll give you the shield. You have my word on that. My word as heir to the throne of Deorthas.”
Stall, stall, stall.
“You have to give them to me with your own hands,” said the Falcon. “Before witnesses. Or it won’t have the effect I need. And you’d still have the offer of regency to bargain with. If I took any of those things by force… well, it wouldn’t work. The people would hear about it, and sooner or later they’d rebel. But if you gave them to me… Yes, I’ll make that deal. The sword and shield, given to me freely before witnesses, for Weasel here.” Her gaze slid aside.
She really did think he was stupid. Edoran knew that if he left the protection of the fortress, he wouldn’t be going back in, no matter what she promised. And while being on the ships when they blew up would be a great way for Prince Edoran to die, it might kill plain Edoran for real. Stall.
“What if I refuse?” he asked.
“Then Weasel will start losing bits of himself,” the Falcon replied. “Just an earlobe at first. Just enough for him to hurt and bleed, and for you to see I’m serious.”
“And you think blackmailing me into giving you the sword and shield, blackmailing me before witnesses, isn’t going to spoil your effect?”
The Falcon shrugged and looked away once more. But it wasn’t his gaze she was avoiding, Edoran realized. Arisa was staring at her mother, eyes burning in her white, determined face.
“I don’t think I’ll have to go very far,” the Falcon told him. “I think the first spurt of blood will bring you down here.”
“But if everyone sees I’m being forced,” Edoran argued, “won’t it—”
The Falcon drew her knife.
“Wait!” Edoran cried. “Wait a minute. I know you’re rotting serious. I’ll come down.”
“Don’t!” Weasel shouted. “That’s what she wants. You never do what your enemy wants.”
One of the officers clapped a hand over his mouth, muffling further advice.
“He’s right, lad,” Togger muttered. “Doing what your enemy wants always makes things worse.”
“But she’s going to do it,” Edoran said. “She doesn’t care about witnesses.”
She didn’t care what the fisherfolk saw. Because she didn’t intend to leave any witnesses alive. She would storm the fortress as soon as Edoran was safely in her hands. But if he didn’t go down, she’d cut Weasel to bits. And then storm the fortress anyway.
He had to get Weasel into the fortress, or he’d die. And if the ships didn’t blow before the fortress fell, they’d all die. Surrendering himself wouldn’t save the people of Caerfalas, whatever she said. The only thing that might save them was cutting off the pirates’ escape route… he should have signaled for half an hour, an hour was way too long. But he had to try.
He saw the same realization on the faces of the fisherfolk as he climbed down the ladder. When his feet touched the earth, the sound of hundreds of hoofbeats, galloping closer and closer, rang in his ears. Edoran staggered, almost falling. A sensing. Were the guards finally coming? Or was his desperate need deceiving him, sending his strange perceptions far into the distance, too far for anyone to arrive in time?
If he could stall the Falcon till the ships blew, could he get himself and Weasel back into the fortress under cover of that distraction?
With escape cut off, surely she’d run for the countryside, especially if she had the sword and shield with which to buy her freedom.
Togger had remained on the wall, but Moll stood near the gate with the sword and shield in her hands.
“Lad, I don’t like this. I don’t think you’ll get back in, even if you can keep her talking till the ships blow.”
“I know.” Edoran hoped the Falcon couldn’t read him as well as Moll could. “But she’ll cut Weasel to pieces if I don’t go out. Then she’ll kill him.”
“Once she has what she wants, she’ll kill you,” Moll said. “Sooner or later she’ll have to.”
“She’ll have to kill me first.”
Arisa stood before him, knife in hand. Her face was still the color of chalk, but her eyes were alive with grim purpose. “From this moment forward, I’m his bodyguard.”
Even the most determined bodyguard could be overcome. At best, Arisa would only buy them a few more moments of time… but every moment might count.
“Open the gate,” Edoran commanded.
Arisa went out before him, keeping herself between him and the Falcon as they walked across the open ground. Weasel was struggling in the officer’s grip. Looking over the
crowd behind the Falcon, Edoran saw that the navy sailors wore the same expression he’d seen on the faces of the fisherfolk—if anything, the sailors looked even more dismayed. They would soon be ordered to kill their own people, and they didn’t want to. Some of them were slipping back through the crowd, and others, who’d reached the rear, were drifting into the hills, running from a fight they wanted no part of.
So all the decent men on the other side would soon be gone. Wonderful.
They were halfway between the gate and the Falcon when Arisa flung out her arm to stop him. Edoran stopped.
“You can talk from here,” Arisa told them both.
The Falcon was staring at her daughter, and her face had gone white. For the first time, Edoran saw a resemblance between them.
“I’m sorry, love,” the Falcon said softly. “But this is… One day you’ll understand.”
“I understand now,” said Arisa.
The Falcon winced and turned to Edoran. “The sword and shield, Your Highness. Or he dies.”
Edoran had no idea how long it would take the swimmers to reach the ships. Were the fuses burning now? Not enough time had passed.
“You’re going to regret taking me on a boat,” he told the Falcon. “I get seasick. I might even die of it. Some people do.”
He’d heard that somewhere, hadn’t he?
“Don’t worry about it,” said the Falcon. “Your Highness won’t be so inconvenienced.”
Edoran frowned. How could he not get seasick if they escaped in a ship? Then it hit him.
“You’re going by land? I don’t believe it! There are troops looking for you everywhere!”
“They were looking everywhere,” the Falcon told him. “Until they learned we’d escaped by sea. Now most of them have been pulled back to assist the navy. So we’ll be traveling by land. Master Giles was very helpful in carrying messages to my men.”
Were the hoofbeats he’d sensed those of her men’s arrival?
“I get sick in a coach, too,” Edoran said desperately, “if it travels too fast. I’m not accustomed to riding all day either.”
Master Giles pushed his way to the Falcon’s side. “That’s not true, my lady. He’s stalling!”
The Falcon looked at Edoran and nodded. Then, before Edoran had time to realize what she was doing, she grabbed Weasel’s ear, drew her knife, and cut off the lobe.
Weasel yelped, and so did Edoran.
“Stop! All right, you can have them!”
He darted around Arisa’s frozen form and hurried forward, the sword and shield in his hands. Blood was streaming down Weasel’s neck. Even with his eyes fixed on the Falcon and his friend, Edoran was aware that more of the sailors were melting out of the crowd, perhaps a few officers as well. Enough to weaken the Falcon’s force too much for her to take the fortress? Probably not.
Arisa was running to catch up to him, but he had reached the Falcon already. He dropped the sword and shield to the ground at her feet. “Take them. They’re not worth even a piece of Weasel’s ear.”
Only hunks of wood and metal, Justice Holis had once said. And Edoran knew it was true.
The crowd had fallen silent.
The Falcon sheathed her knife and picked up first the shield, then the sword. She held the sword as if she knew how to use it.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” She turned to the officers beside her. “Let the boy go.”
Weasel fought free of their loosening grip and hurtled to stand before Edoran. “Of all the stupid, lamebrained, idiotic stunts!”
He was between Edoran and the Falcon now, and Arisa pushed past the prince to stand with him. Weasel on the right and Arisa on the left. The image of the cards Arisa had laid out floated through his mind: the fool, with the storm protecting him and the hanged man guiding him true.
No matter how powerful the sword and shield were supposed to be, Weasel and Arisa mattered more.
“Of course,” the Falcon’s quiet voice was clear in the stillness, “I never agreed to let anyone but Weasel go. But thank you for giving me these,” she added. “Willingly and freely.”
She lifted the sword and shield for all to see.
Edoran could have argued the willing and free part, but suddenly, in a dizzying flash, the truth came clear. How could he have missed it? How many of those statues had Edoran seen over the years? Dozens of different men and women flanking their king… holding the symbols of their office.
“I do give them to you,” he announced. “Of my free will. Because this is my sword.” He laid a hand on Arisa’s shoulder. “And Weasel is my shield. What you hold are only pieces of iron.”
A muffled roar arose, from the sailors behind the Falcon, from the fortress behind Edoran. In that roar he heard dozens of voices babbling, “He’s claimed them! The king has claimed them!”
Edoran frowned. He wouldn’t be king for years. And he’d always claimed Weasel and Arisa—
Sandeman shoved his way through the crowd to stand before Edoran. Where in the One God’s name had he come from? His clothes were rumpled and dirty, and he was sweating despite the cool breeze.
His appearance was so sudden that the Falcon stepped back a pace, her hand tightening on the sword. But the Hidden priest wasn’t armed.
“The king has claimed the sword and shield,” he said, in a voice that carried to the farthest edge of the crowd. “Now I offer him his crown.”
Edoran was wondering how he’d claimed a sword and shield that he’d just handed over to the Falcon, when Sandeman seized his left hand in a strong grip, pulled out a penknife, and slashed a cut across Edoran’s palm. Before Edoran even had time to flinch, Sandeman fell to his knees, dragging Edoran down with him, and slammed his cut palm flat on the earth.
The shock reverberated through him like a too-near lightning strike. Like someone had struck a huge bell with a sledgehammer, not to ring it, but to shatter it.
Edoran didn’t shatter, but his head was spinning when Sandeman folded his fingers over a handful of bloody mud and pulled him to his feet. Then the priest opened Edoran’s fingers, took a pinch of the mud, and drew a gritty line across Edoran’s forehead.
It crashed down like an ocean wave, swamping him, drowning him in sensation and knowledge, and he could only snatch at bits as the flood whirled through him. Somewhere in Deorthas a huntsman killed a deer, his shot so close to the beast’s heart that it only staggered one step before it crumpled and died. Somewhere a couple was married, the girl eager and proud, the young man far more nervous than she. There was a kitchen, full of the scent of baking bread, where an older woman stirred a bowl, with one granddaughter helping her and another clinging to her skirt. A wheelwright tried to tap a spoke into a wheel, and swore when it snapped. A mill gate opened, sending water over a wheel, and the wheel above it began to turn. Somewhere in the straits, a fishing crew dropped a net full of fish to the deck. A dyer pulled a load of saffron-colored yarn, dripping, from the vat. A small boy dragged a platter of sweet cakes off a counter and burst into tears when the plate fell and shattered.
The images filled Edoran’s mind, flowing past and past, washing him away till he couldn’t even snatch at them. But slowly one image grew stronger than the others. Somewhere men were fighting a battle, filled with fear and purpose. The strike of a knife over an arm felt as if it cut his own flesh, and Edoran remembered that he had flesh. He could hear the furious shouts, not only in his mind, but with his ears. Edoran focused on physical sensation, held on to the sounds, and dragged himself back into his body, struggling to push that staggering… awareness aside.
He opened his eyes. He was on his hands and knees, the mud soaking into his britches. And it hadn’t been a trick of his sensing—there was a battle going on around him. He raised his head just in time to see a pirate’s knife sweep Arisa’s blade aside, and his fist push past her guard to connect solidly with her jaw.
She fell like a dropped rag doll. Edoran started to crawl toward her, but Weasel kicked his wrist. “Stay put
! They’re after you, not her.”
Weasel was in front of him, between him and the pirates, and Sandeman was with him. But other men were running toward them, their footfalls pounding through the earth into his hands.
Edoran lifted his hands and stared, as a wave of shouting guardsmen crashed into the pirate forces around him. The clash of swords, the blood and shouted curses, helped center him in this place and himself, though he still couldn’t summon enough sense to be terrified.
He did stagger out and grab Arisa’s collar, intending to haul her back to safety, but a strong hand seized his arm and another reached down and took a handful of Arisa’s shirt, pulling both of them out of reach of the fighting.
Edoran blinked up into General Diccon’s furious face. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, you rotten little… Your Highness,” the general said through gritted teeth. “We’d have found you weeks ago if that meddler Sandeman hadn’t been laying false trails. I should have his hide for that.”
“Don’t be hasty,” said the Hidden priest soothingly. “If I hadn’t spent the past few weeks running you around the countryside, I wouldn’t have been able to locate you so quickly when I recognized that girl from Caerfalas. Riding a lathered horse far harder than she would have if it wasn’t urgent.”
“It’s still urgent,” said Diccon, gazing over the battlefield.
Edoran knew without looking that the Falcon’s men were being pushed back toward the beach. But there was a ring of guardsmen now, surrounding him and Weasel and Arisa. He could feel the exact moment the Falcon realized that and decided to cut her losses.
“Into that fortress, Your Highness,” the general said. “I’ve got pirates to capture. Sandeman, see to it.” He strode off to take control of the battle.
“Your Highness?” Sandeman gestured to the fortress. Moll had opened the gate and was gesturing for them to come in. “It sounds like a good idea to me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Edoran said. “We’re safe here, as long as the troops stay.” His certainty was clear in his voice, and Sandeman looked at him with an expression Edoran couldn’t interpret.
