Judgment at the Verdant Court

by M. C. Planck

  As they climbed up the road to Kingsrock, the city sparkled above him in the twilight. If he ignored the smell of horseflesh, and the absence of the sound of traffic, he could pretend he was back home.

  The illusion lasted until he reached the gates. Surly men in chain mail, wielding halberds, glowered at him. Nothing modern about that.

  “Do you not recognize peerage?” Lalania glowered imperiously back at the men on the ground.

  One of them answered her with a jocular leer. “Fancy dress don’t make a peer, or we’d all be bowing and scraping to the tailor’s dummy.”

  “Would you like the Vicar to demonstrate his rank?” Lalania asked sweetly. Her horse took two steps forward.

  The guard drew back slightly, unconsciously moving his halberd a few inches to the center, as if it were a shield that would protect him.

  “Sure, and why not? We could use a show.”

  Lalania whipped out her thin sword. “Bring your ugly mug over here. After I stab it, the Vicar will heal you, and then you’ll know he’s really a priest.”

  “Dark gods, you crazy bitch!” he exclaimed, as his fellows leapt to the ready in a jingle of chain mail and the rustle of wooden shafts in leather-gloved hands. Now the guards stared at the mounted party down the ends of their halberds.

  Christopher’s men did nothing. As if that weren’t insulting enough, one of them chuckled.

  “May we pass?” Lalania asked, still saccharine sweet.

  The guardsmen fell out to either side of the gate, opening a path. Christopher rode through the forest of polearms and baleful glares. If the guards were planning an ambush, it was a perfect setup. They could fall on the mounted column from both sides, while the horses were in single file.

  They knew it, and they knew he knew it. It was another test of courage and trust. On Earth, you shook hands; here, you bared your throat to a naked blade.

  It was just a formality, though. Christopher’s men outnumbered the guards, and if it really came to a fight, they would be hard-pressed to kill him alone.

  “Is it always this difficult?” he asked.

  Lalania did that thing with her eyes, the earnest look she always gave him when he was being stupid. “That was a good thing, Christopher. The King’s common guardsmen do not bow and scrape to any wandering rank. This shows his strength, and their faith in him. Why, the only greater honor they could do him is to carry themselves like knights.”

  Christopher glanced back to where his young bravos on fine horses were winking languidly at the girls and grinning insolently at the men on the street.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  “Damned indeed,” she answered. “Luckily, there’s only a dozen. Everyone will assume you’ve knighted them. It would be the normal thing to do with a personal retinue.”

  They weren’t a retinue; they were just an ordinary cavalry troop on guard detail. All of his men would act like this. He had been worried about their attitude last spring, and now, after the ulvenman battle, he was petrified.

  “It also explains why you’re reviving them.” One of the horses in the train carried a body bag instead of a rider. “People will see what they expect to see, as long as you let them. I suggest you let them, as long as possible.”

  Lalania was the authority here. He sighed, knowing the answer would somehow cost him money.

  “What should I do?”

  “You are a peer. Act the part enough to not draw attention to yourself. That means”—she grinned at him mischievously—“dressing me in silks and furs. Any lord would want to show off such an appealing addition to his party. Other men like looking at pretty girls in fine clothes, even if you don’t.”

  He glared at her. She did a lousy job of pretending to be chastised.

  “The College has chosen not to keep my appointment a secret. Mostly because it will eventually come out anyway, and being clandestine would only draw attention to it. Also because they felt you needed their support. Your Church is your one loyal ally at court, but they are a weak voice, for all their rank.”

  “The College is a strong voice?”

  “No,” she admitted. “We are old and established, so we convey gravity. But we have little political clout.”

  That seemed hard to believe, given that they had such a strong intelligence-gathering ability. Could the Skald have mismanaged their affairs that badly?

  “Are you sure I’m the one profiting from this?” Maybe the College needed his prestige. He was the one with the victorious army.

  “Yes.” She glared back at him. It failed to be intimidating, radiating out from her pretty eyes, which happened to be sky blue today. “We could have allied with any of the Aesir, if we wanted to. Indeed, Nordland will probably view our choice as yet another insult you have done him.”

  “So . . . why?”

  “You already know. It is a plain fact that our influence has waned over the years. It is, however, a question as to why. Now we have made you an enemy of whatever power works against us. Perhaps in moving against you, it will reveal itself.”

  “Thanks for nothing,” he said. They could have told him this before he accepted the deal.

  She lowered her voice. “It was always destined to be your enemy, Christopher.”

  If there really were octopus-headed monsters grooming the Kingdom for a harvest, Christopher’s plans to turn peasants into fire-spitting dragons would not make them happy.

  He turned into the stables of the Cathedral with relief. In all the Kingdom, this was the safest place he could be. And the cheapest. His men would not be served by pretty wenches, but they would be fed and stabled for free. The only price would be Guard Captain Steuben’s disapproving clucks.

  “I see you travel in style now.” Steuben already had a cluck ready for him. “A remarkable change from when you rode to our door, begging for money.”

  “What, this lot? I’d trade them all for another Karl.” Karl had opened that door for him. The Saint had trusted Karl’s judgment, not Christopher’s promises.

  “Even her?” Steuben frowned at Lalania. “Why did you bring that strumpet into the grounds of the Cathedral?”

  “I honor your Vicar,” she answered. “I have been attached to him as minstrel-in-service.”

  “You honor the wrong god, as far as I am concerned. Go back to your Blue-draped altar and split your legal hairs. We don’t need your distractions here.”

  This was very confusing, since Christopher happened to know that Lalania was actually Green and the Captain himself was Blue. But he understood the Church they chose was more important than their personal level of moral development.

  Lalania disagreed with even that much. “We do not serve the Aesir, Ser. We serve the Kingdom.”

  “Not any bloody better,” Steuben growled.

  “Ser!” Lalania pretended to be shocked. The words were close enough to treason to trip even Christopher’s unsubtle warning alarms.

  “What is the realm coming to, when a man can’t speak his own mind in his own stable?” Steuben blew out his cheeks and glared.

  “Your loyalty to your Saint is commendable, but the Saint is loyal to the King. So you have no need for concern.” Lalania smoothed over the conversation. She was always doing that, either covering things up or digging things out. It made Christopher dizzy. He decided to change the topic.

  “Can I see the Saint? I have a soldier to revive.”

  “Gods, man! We’ve just revived three score for you. Can’t you stop killing them long enough for us to catch our breath?”

  Steuben was a warrior, not a priest. He hadn’t done any of the work. Christopher decided to needle him back a little. “How did it go? Did I lose any?”

  The Captain glared at Christopher with real annoyance now. “No, you did not. They all returned, even that prancing pony from the Near Wild. You should have told us there was a Ranger in the lot. They won’t be pleased that you’ve corrupted their lad with your civilized ways.”

  Christopher wasn’t
sure if the Captain was angry because of his faux pas or because, once again, the laws of probability had bent on Christopher’s behalf. His men were highly motivated to return to the world of the living, and they did so with a frequency that could not help but disturb the Captain’s sense of proper order.

  “Well, let’s go,” Christopher said when it became clear the Captain wasn’t going anywhere soon.

  “Go on in. You’re old enough now you don’t need a nanny. I’ll see to your boys for you, get them some bunks and a proper meal. The harlot can stay here in the stable, I suppose.”

  Christopher frowned, but Lalania shook her head at him.

  “If the Captain wishes to keep me under close surveillance, I can only praise him for his wise precaution. No doubt he desires to keep his capable eyes on me himself. If you could arrange to send me a meal, I’ll try to convince the Captain of my good intentions over dinner. Oh, and perhaps you could send out a tub and some hot water? The road clings to me, and I am in need of a bath.”

  Steuben had brought this on himself. Christopher tossed his reins to a stable-boy, and left the Captain to lose his battle of wits on his own.

  After settling his latest account with the Saint, he wanted to spend the rest of the day in the church library, reading, of all things, law books. He couldn’t leave until tomorrow anyway, forced as he was to wait for the revived soldier to be well enough to ride. He’d barely figured out the indexing scheme for the legal codices before Lalania interrupted him.

  “Did you know one of the best tailors in the realm is just down the street?”

  “What are you doing in here?” Hadn’t Steuben made a big deal of keeping her out of the Cathedral? Guiltily, Christopher realized he’d been looking forward to the peace and quiet.

  “I’ve taken the measure of the man, and stitched together a solution that pleases us both. By the way, I must warn you, the Captain is not the iron-hard soldier he fancies himself to be. His bed is too soft for that.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud!”

  He did, then, his eyes watering. Lalania had slapped him.

  Red-faced and furious, she told him off. “Call me to your bed, and you can tell me who to bed with. Until then, shut the hell up.”

  Would it be cheating to cast a spell and take the sting out of his face? “I’m sorry, Lala. I just . . . Do you think it’s wise?”

  “I am not you, Christopher. I have needs. I can’t sleep with your soldiers anymore. Steuben is a puffed-up fool, for all his steadfast loyalty. If I can put him on my side—our side—while consoling my loneliness, then yes, it is wise. He is handsome enough, strong as a bull, and he has that certain quality I apparently find irresistible. Namely, that he is so full of his own righteousness that he cannot see past the end of his nose.”

  Had she really said anymore?

  “Am I so bad?”

  “Worse, because most of the time I find your righteousness compelling. You risk blinding me as well.”

  He sought for a peace offering. Valuing her contribution was the best he could come up with. “Tell me how soft we’re talking.”

  “He has spent too long in comfortable security, without considering danger. You heard him in the stable. We all have our own loyalties, but to openly speak of favoring them over the King is . . . troublesome.”

  “It wasn’t that open.” Weren’t they talking about it pretty openly right now?

  “A stable offers many places for eyes and ears to hide. Scrying is not the only way to spy on people. Now if you are truly contrite, you could take me shopping by way of apology. It is not fit that a minstrel should dress as a troubadour, even if you will not feather me as a songbird.”

  So now his conversations with Lalania would be both painful and expensive. He had to hand over an entire purse of gold to get rid of her.

  Riding between Copperton and Fram, he was temporarily gratified to see that at least the road in this part of the Kingdom was professionally built and well maintained. Until he remembered he had paid for it. They spent the night in Fram town, where he spent just as much gold on innkeepers as he had on the way to Kingsrock.

  Consequently, he was in a bit of a mood the next day, and so they skipped Knockford, doing no more than waving politely at the gate guards as they rode past. Knockford hadn’t had a gate until he’d shown up. The Vicar Rana hadn’t been happy about building one, and Christopher would spend just as much feeding his men in her town as he had everywhere else. Best to ride on home to the village of Burseberry and feed the men out of his army kitchen, where food was charged by the ton instead of the plate.

  They came up to the village in late afternoon. He could feel the peacefulness settling on him. Old Pater Svengusta would laugh at him, Helga would bake a pie, Big Bob would serve bad ale, and everything would be as it should be. A week of calm, orderly boredom, while he wrote up his treatise for the College and fattened up his horses. Nobody would sneak naked into his bed; the village girls were much too tame for that. His assassin did not dare trouble him here, while he was surrounded by squadrons of soldiers and the unyielding loyalty of the peasantry. No other nobility would deign to make the trip, since Burseberry was utterly lacking in anything remotely interesting to the upper classes.

  Except himself. His nameless assassin and the dreadful Baron Black Bart had both come out here just to kill him. So had horrible Ser Hobilar, twice, and the wizard Flayn. The knights Cannan and Gregor had traveled this way, intent on depriving him of his sword. In fact, a barrelful of nobility had rolled into Burseberry with no better reason than to bother him.

  So it was with little surprise that he found a woman in green silks sitting on his chapel steps, waiting for him. His troop brought their mounts to a halt at the edge of the village green, the horses pawing at the ground in a display of impatience, the soldiers frowning in suspicion and their hands close to their carbines. It was with equally little grace that he trotted up to the woman on his imposing warhorse, and growled from the saddle, “What do you want?”

  “You are the Lord Vicar Christopher, High Priest of the Marshal of Heaven, are you not?” Her voice was melodious, but all he could register was that she had laid on the titles with a liberal hand. That meant she wanted something from him.

  He shrugged, his identity unmistakable.

  “My son tells me you have pledged vengeance upon the kin-slayer Cannan.”

  He twitched his warhorse’s reins, telling it to stop prancing. He slapped down his own embarrassment at having been so churlish. This woman must be the mother of Ser D’Kan, his young Ranger, who was also brother to the Druid Niona, who had once been married to the knight Cannan, who had saved his life on more than one occasion and who was now accused of his wife’s murder.

  “I counted your daughter as a true friend, Lady, and I would see justice done.”

  “Then I bring you glad tidings.” The green-clad woman stared up at him with hard eyes. “We have found his trail.”

  3

  A DISH SERVED COLD

  It wasn’t Christopher’s idea of good news. Hey, we found your friend, now let’s go kill him. He hadn’t expected to have to make good on his promise to D’Kan so soon.

  To be honest, he hadn’t really considered it at all. Finding Cannan had seemed like a remote possibility, safely confined to a distant future. People could disappear into the wilds back on Earth by accident, and that was with helicopters and satellite-photography maps. If Cannan wanted to vanish here, all he had to do was walk a day or two in the wrong direction.

  That was before he’d known about scrying. Why hadn’t he asked the Skald to look for Cannan? Why hadn’t Lalania reminded him to?

  So many questions. He settled for one that would be less likely to annoy his audience. “Where?”

  “South, and east. Days of hard riding, through untamed wilderness, fraught with peril. Best you should rest, and leave in the morning.”

  “The Vicar sets his own schedule, Lady.” Torme, his knight turned assistant priest,
had come out of the chapel doors. Christopher was immensely relieved to see him.

  “Torme, invite the Lady inside and offer her some refreshment while I stable my horse.” No point in leaving her sitting on his chapel steps.

  “I have, my Lord Vicar, these last nine hours. And the day before, to no avail.”

  Christopher frowned at his attaché, surprised at his failed hospitality.

  “Do not blame your servant,” the woman answered in his place. “I did not wish to profane your chapel.”

  Now Christopher was annoyed with her. “Any Bright is welcome in any church of the White. We are all on the same side.”

  She matched his gaze with her glittering eyes. “As it please you.”

  “It pleases all of us, Lady Io. We are indeed all on the same side.” Lalania’s tone was formal without being either stiff or obsequious. “Now we must see to our beasts, who have served us well today. Please excuse us.”

  “Of course.” The lady did not smile, but she turned away graciously enough.

  Christopher flicked Royal’s reins, and the horse happily trotted toward Fenwick’s, where he had once lived in all the luxury of a favored pet. Christopher decided not to argue. Fenwick’s boys would take good care of him. Lalania followed him while the rest of his troop went off to the new cavalry stables south of the village.

  Inside Fenwick’s barn, while he was unsaddling his horse, she told him what he faced.

  “Her husband is a Ranger, ranked as a baron, but the druids have no titles. Though she is equivalent to your Curate rank she will answer only to Lady or druid. If you want to seem friendly, call her Lady Io.”

  Niona had never introduced herself as anything but Niona. She had told Christopher her life story, but somehow had left out the part about being the daughter of a peer.

  “Isthalia is one of the smaller counties of the Near Wild. Beric, her husband, failed to achieve the rank of Lord Ranger by a decent age, and no doubt never will. Nor will the Lady Io ever hold the chair of High Druid. All they have in this world are their children, and you have stolen two of them away.”