Tales of King's Blades 02 - Lord of The Fire Lands

by Dave Duncan

  he would not have touched them. Now enlighten me. Am

  I to understand that the whole unfortunate scene at my

  marriage was all my fault? Is that why you have

  virtually ignored me all these years? Disowned

  me?"

  The ambassador scowled at Radgar, as if

  contemplating ordering him out of the room. "It was not

  your fault originally, but by failing to defend your

  honor you shamed us all."

  "Oh, did I?" Mom was dangerously mad

  now, foot tapping audibly on the rug. "I'd

  say it was my menfolk who failed to defend it for

  me. Who tried to sell me to a leprous,

  lecherous old goat. Who failed to take

  adequate precautions only a few weeks after

  the sack of Ambleport. Who lacked the

  beallucas even to send me good wishes on my

  birthdays in case the inquisitors thought they were

  some sort of treason in code."

  For a moment there was silence. The ambassador

  had apparently been struck speechless.

  "I do hope," his sister continued, "that I am

  not to be held responsible for the war itself? Like

  What's-her-name being carried off in a thousand ships

  and the siege of Wherever-it-was?"

  "Go outside, boy," the Chivian said.

  "You stay right here, Radgar."

  "Yes, Mother."

  "Anything you have to say, Rodney, may be said

  before my son. He is somewhat involved in this

  discussion of his legitimacy."

  Her brother was growing redder than ever. "Am

  I to understand that you have no wish to be returned to your

  family?"

  "You understand correctly. However would you stand the

  disgrace of having a pirate's castoff slave

  underfoot? Aeled has been a model husband,

  loving, faithful, and generous. I do not approve

  of the manner of his wooing, but I have come to admire

  him and love him dearly, and my only regret

  at this stage is that I was unable to bear him more

  sons as fine as this one." She was sailing close

  to the wind now, because he had heard her describe

  Father in much less flattering terms right to his

  face. Quite frequently, in fact. Nor had

  Radgar ever been a model son before. "The last

  time anyone asked me that question was when your

  predecessor came bringing threats of war

  unless I was packaged up and shipped home.

  Aeled offered to let me go and give me a chest

  full of treasure to take with me. I refused

  because it--"

  "I should hope so!" the ambassador wheezed.

  "Having raped you, he would give you money and

  make you a whore?"

  "Had I accepted it would have meant his death and

  we both knew it. I had learned by then what

  manner of man chance had given me. You may not be

  able to understand the concept of greatness, but I assure

  you--"

  Lord Candlefen hauled himself to his feet.

  "There is nothing more to discuss. Clearly I need

  not consider your plight during the negotiations."

  "Plight?" Mother yelled. "You sit down,

  Rodney. Sit! I have not finished correcting

  your contorted and misguided illusions. We shall also

  discuss the matter of my inheritance now. Radgar,

  wait outside."

  His Lordship did not sit down. Radgar still had

  hold of his temper, but only by the tip of its

  tail. Perhaps Mother had guessed that. He was not

  lucky with uncles.

  "As you wish, mistress," he said. "Your

  Excellency, I wish we could have met under more

  favorable--"

  "Radgar!"

  "Let me finish, Mother. My lord, if you had

  thought to ask in the streets here you would have learned that

  my mom is cheered wherever she goes. I've seen

  warriors who sacked Chivian cities, seized

  its ships, waded in blood"--he was trying not

  to shout now--"watched them honor her most humbly

  and willingly, my mom, because she's the honored

  queen of this land and any treaty that says she has

  to go home won't get a single vote in the

  moot, not one! You ask anyone! All over

  Baelmark when they say, seo hloefdige, which

  means "the lady," they mean my--"

  "Radgar!"

  "Yes, Mom." He made a leg and stalked

  to the door. When he shut the door behind him, he

  leaned back against it for a moment, shaking

  violently. He had not lost his dragon

  temper, although he might be going to have the sick

  reaction that always followed it. He thought he had

  done quite well under the circumstances. Not a bad

  speech! He struggled to calm his breathing.

  Oh!--he had an audience.

  The corridor was gloomy and stuffy, the only

  window being at the far end. On his right, the top of the

  staircase was hidden behind Frecful and Hengest,

  Boehtric and Ordlaf--his bodyguards and

  Mother's--who together represented enough meat to feed all

  the wolves of Skyrria for a month. On his other

  side, the ambassador's swordsman leaned

  against the wall with his back to the light and the unruffled

  confidence of a cat looking down at four hungry

  dogs from the top rail of a safely high fence.

  Radgar bowed. "I am Radgar Aeleding.

  Welcome to Baelmark, my lord."

  The foreigner returned the bow gracefully.

  "Geste is my name, Your Highness. I am

  honored indeed to be greeted by the King's son, for

  I am a mere knight, no lord." He smiled but

  his eyes never left the other men.

  "Don't worry about them. They're only

  dangerous when they're sober. You're a Blade?

  I've heard about Blades." He could believe

  the stories when he looked at this soft-spoken

  tiger. He was small by the standards of the Catterstow

  fyrd and yet there was an unmistakable aura of

  menace about him.

  "Ah, well, I was a Blade. Now I'm

  not, not in the way you mean, just a knight in the

  Order. I'm no longer bound to a ward, that is."

  "But that's a cat's-eye sword? May I

  see it?"

  "Some other time, very willingly, Highness. At

  the moment it's on duty." Still the dark eyes

  watched the four bulls.

  "Please call me Radgar. We don't have

  Highnesses in Baelmark, just lownesses like those

  four." He was amused by the scowls of frustration

  on the thegns' faces. They must know just enough

  Chivian to tell he was making fun of them.

  "Pity. I was hoping the next king of

  Baelmark would be half Chivian."

  "The present king already is. I'm

  three-quarters, a mean and nasty mongrel. I

  think you're going to be out of a job very shortly."

  For the first time Geste glanced right at him. He

  was amused. "And why is that?"

  "Even as you stand here, my mother is tearing your

  ward limb from limb."

  The Blade chuckled. "She's

  outside my jurisdiction."

  The door flew open and his jurisdiction came

  lumbering out, almost
knocking Radgar over. He

  paused to glare down at his nephew.

  "So you're Radgar?"

  "And you're Uncle Rodney." The dragon

  temper twitched again.

  "Well, lad, I'll say this--I was quite

  pleasantly surprised. Your mother has taught you

  some manners."

  "You may be more surprised in future. My

  father is teaching me to fight."

  Sir Geste uttered a loud guffaw. Even the

  four walruses chuckled, probably judging more

  by actions and reactions than words. Lord Candlefen

  glared and marched away. They stepped aside to let

  him pass.

  The Blade sighed. "Duty calls. My

  respects to your royal parents, Prince

  Radgar." He bowed, less deeply than before,

  and strode off after the ambassador. The glowering

  watchdogs let him through and he did not spare them

  a glance.

  Radgar went back into the room. "Mother?"

  "Go away." She was standing at the window,

  looking out. He realized that she was weeping.

  "But, Mother--"

  "Go away, please, Radgar." She did not

  turn to him. "I'll be all right."

  He wondered if he should run and find Father,

  then decided it would be very foolish. He'd seen

  her weep often enough before. "Yes, Mother."

  He stepped out into the corridor and closed the

  door. "The Queen wishes to not be disturbed!" he

  informed Boehtric and Ordlaf. Being two of

  Dad's house thegns, trained and run by Marshal

  Leofric, they were good men.

  Frecful and Hengest, being Wulfwer's

  cronies, were not. Whatever else might happen that

  afternoon, no one would need or want Radgar Atheling

  for anything until at least sundown and the feast in the

  hall, probably not much even then. He opened the

  door opposite and went in, slamming it behind him

  confidently. Wulfwer knew his cousin's little

  ways, but Beauty and the Beast should not be a problem.

  Fortunately the room was not presently

  occupied, but he almost gagged at the reek. A

  dozen bunks were stacked in the tiny

  space and the owners had not washed their blankets in

  generations. He plodded over a thick litter of

  discarded clothing to the window, which was exactly like the

  small dormer he had inspected earlier,

  except that it faced south, of course. The

  vertical bar dividing the opening made it a tight

  squeeze even for him, but he pulled himself up and

  wriggled out feet first, having to turn sideways

  to get his hips and shoulders through.

  He sat on the sill with his feet on the

  shingles and wondered how much of a splat he would

  make if he slipped and fell all the way to the

  ground. Would he just splatter blood on the road

  or up on the walls of the houses too? He must

  ask someone. Thegns should know because topmen must fall

  out of rigging sometimes. Heights had never bothered

  him and he would be a great topman on his first few

  foerings, before he became a ship lord, and although

  Mother would certainly shriek if she saw him now,

  he was in no danger--his toes were at least two

  feet from the edge.

  He had a fine view southward to the long

  North Channel where he had sailed Groeggos

  earlier, and he could see more dragon ships

  approaching the port. In the distance Cwicnoll was

  a hazy mass, looking more symmetrically

  cone-shaped than it did from Waro`edburh. He

  worked his way sideways, clear of the dormer, then

  scrambled on all fours up the roof to the ridge.

  There he found a slight breeze at last. Now

  all the world was spread out all around him under a

  cloudless blue sky--the tiny dots circling high

  up must be fish eagles, and gulls watched him

  curiously as they floated by. The town, the

  cliffs, two harbors, Swi@thaefen's shiny

  waters, and the grayer expanse of ocean northward

  ... The shingles were hot under his hands and

  buttocks, but smoothed and silvered by many years of

  weather, speckled with bird droppings, even

  mossy in places. A few buildings away some

  ceorls were repairing a roof. He waved to them and

  they waved back. Last year there had been a big

  hole in the town where a dozen houses had burned,

  but it seemed to have been rebuilt already.

  If anything in life was certain, it was that

  Hengest and Frecful could not work their shoulders through

  that window; not even far enough to put their chins 'round the

  corner and see where he was now. When they discovered

  he had eluded them, their tiny minds would expect

  him to head for the stables and Isgicel, so

  he wouldn't. He had been assuming he would have

  to wait out here for them to leave, but now he saw that

  another of the palace buildings abutted this one at

  right angles, its roof only a few feet lower

  and equally well supplied with dormers. All the

  shutters would be open on this sweltering day, so he

  could go and find another staircase. He walked

  along the ridge to the end, scrambled down almost to the

  eave, and stepped over onto the other wing. Then it

  was merely a matter of finding an open window and

  slithering inwards, although that proved to be trickier

  than coming out. The room he had found was a sleeping

  chamber with some fairly decent furniture in

  it--and he had a sudden worry that the door might

  be locked, but it wasn't.

  He trotted downstairs, passed the guards

  on the gate without challenge, and set off

  to explore the town, starting with the north port.

  Despite Dad's warnings about kidnapping, he

  was certain no one would take that risk just yet.

  Once everyone saw where the talks were headed, then

  the weaker side might resort to violence. Not

  today.

  It did not occur to him that there might be more than

  two sides.

  As the sun dipped down behind the western wall

  of the canyon, he came trailing back to the

  palace compound. He was admitted when the

  Catterstow house thegns among the guards on the

  gate vouched for him; they gave him directions to the

  royal lodging. He was hot, weary, and more than

  a little nauseated. An hour earlier he had

  discovered a woman peddling marvelous honey

  cakes with raspberry custard in them, and had offered

  a silver sceatt for as many as he could eat on the

  spot, which had turned out to be eight. While

  wondering what excuse he could give to stay away

  from the coming feast, he managed to get lost in the

  maze of high buildings. He knew he had found

  his destination when he saw Leofric himself standing

  outside a door talking to house thegn Ordlaf,

  who looked like a giant lobster in chain mail and

  steel helmet. Except lobsters didn't

  sweat.

  The marshal acknowledged the atheling with a nod and a

  studied frown. "You feeling all righ
t, lad?"

  There were times--many times--when Aylwin's dad

  seemed to see better with one blue eye than other

  men did with two good green ones. When the boys

  had been small, they had believed his claim that the

  emerald on his silver patch let him read their

  thoughts. Even now, Radgar sometimes wondered.

  "Ate too many cakes, ealdor." Minor

  sins were best confessed right away, especially those

  that had brought their own penance.

  The thegn was less amused than expected.

  "Wulfwer was looking for you."

  "Wulfwer couldn't find his face in a

  mirror. Can't think why he'd want to, of

  course."

  This time the frown was more serious. "I have seen the

  thegn soaked in blood within a circle of dead

  Chivians he has slain. I've seen him

  turn a battle around single-handed. What feats

  do you set against those? Have you wounds to show, loot

  to flaunt? Is your birth so much more noble than

  Wulfwer Atheling's that you are entitled to mock

  him?"

  Yes! Wulfwer was thrall-born. Besides,

  since dumpy Cynewulf had never fathered any

  other children, plenty of people thought hulking Wulfwer

  couldn't be his spawn anyway. But Leofric was

  Dad's best friend, the only man in the kingdom who

  could give the King's son a thorough thrashing and be

  sure of the King's blessing on it. He'd done it

  before and was capable of doing it again, by force if need

  be.

  "Sorry, Uncle."

  The eyepatch glinted. "Are you still a child that you

  call me uncle and play stupid tricks?"

  "No, Marshal. I was foolish. I will go

  to Atheling Wulfwer at once and set his mind at

  rest." Shouldn't be difficult--his mind was never

  very active.

  Leofric set his jaw for a moment before he

  decided to accept that apology without further comment.

  "Top floor. We found you a room to yourself."

  "I am honored." It would be in character for

  Wulfwer to snore like a pig.

  "With very small windows."

  "Oh."

  Leofric hesitated, glancing briefly at

  the listening Ordlaf. He did not want the story

  generally known, obviously. "I should report to your

  father."

  "He has a lot on his mind just now,

  ealdor."

  "Yes, so I won't if you give me your

  word."

  Radgar managed a bow, which his overfull

  belly did not enjoy. "I promise I'll be

  a good boy."

  "I suppose there's a first time for everything," the