by Dave Duncan
At this point a truly romantic hero would have leapt on his trusty warhorse and galloped off to cut down the would-be assassins on the palace doorstep, or at least warn the king that they were on their way. But eight years of study in the rural peace of Helmdon had not trained me to be a Lancelot, Roland, or Beowulf. I was at the end of my tether, out of my depth, dead on my feet, and I freely admit it.
I also faced some practical difficulties that heroes in romances never seem to. The young moon would long since have set, so I couldn’t leave before first light. Ruffian needed several days’ rest and Neil had taken our other horses, which meant that I would have to beg some substitutes from either Nicholaa or her father. Worst of all, I had no idea where the king was and I had no warrant to provide me with authority. I should have to travel as a freeman on his own business, and that would take more money than I possessed.
When the three of us gathered upstairs in the inner sanctum—with the door stoutly wedged open—I said, “The next thing we must do is get word to Master-at-arms de Grasse. I suppose there will be guards on the gates.”
“There should be two right outside,” Eadig said, between yawns.
I had forgotten them. “Still?”
“Corneille walked right by them and me too and they never even saw us.”
I proceeded to open the shutters and peer out. There, to my delight and astonishment, I saw the sentries I had ordered the previous evening, although naturally not the same men. One was seated on a stool, leaning back against the wall and dozing under a rug, while the other paced up and down in the cold. I did not recognize either of them, but clearly Master-at-arms de Grasse had his squad well trained.
“God bless,” I said. The man walking spun around, the other scrambled to his feet.
They chorused, “Sage Durwin?”
It crossed my mind then that, so far as they or any other outsiders were concerned, I must have spent the last ten or twelve hours locked up with the delectable Lovise, refusing to answer knocking on the outer door. How they must envy me! Then Eadig popped his head out beside mine, giving them something else to wonder about.
I said, “I assume Master-at-arms de Grasse is in bed and asleep, like any good Christian?”
“Aye, sir,” said the taller of the two.
“I urgently need to speak with him. If you don’t have authority to waken him, bring me whoever does. You can tell him that Sage Quentin and Adept Corneille are both dead. And I must speak with Mistress Elvire, also.”
“My reputation is utterly ruined,” said a quiet voice behind me.
I spun around to take her in my arms. “Now you have no choice—you will have to marry me.”
“I could enter a nunnery.”
“Over my dead body.” I kissed her.
“You don’t need me,” Eadig said, while dragging a rug out to the guard room. Neither of us answered.
“Besides,” I gasped, breaking off a kiss that was becoming too compulsive to pursue further outside of holy wedlock, “you saved my life, all our lives. What exactly did you write in their grimoires?”
“I don’t remember.” Releasing me, Lovise went over to sit on the bed. “Waken me when it’s Michaelmas.”
“Don’t sleep here! Your father will slaughter me. Elvire will find you somewhere to rest.”
“She had better be quick.”
I began pacing up and down, struggling to stay awake and battling with the problem of how I could send a warning to the king.
In an amazingly short time, a shout outside the window announced the arrival of Captain de Grasse. He was untidily clad in civilian clothes and his hair was a rook’s nest. With him was Elvire, looking immaculate by comparison. I roused Lovise, who was still awake, if only just, and led her out through the guard room where Eadig was already snoring.
Both de Grasse and Elvire recoiled when they caught a whiff of us.
“We are unharmed,” I said, “although we had a very narrow escape. I think the lady Nicholaa should be informed, for I need her help on a matter of the greatest possible urgency. Maid Lovise needs rest, and I know she must have new clothes, because her old ones will have to be burned.”
“We can manage all that. Come, dear.” The ever-efficient Elvire took Lovise by the hand and led her away.
I told de Grasse, “I must report to Lady Nicholaa as soon as possible, but I had better clean up first. What you smell on me is the stench of Hell. The immediate danger is past, but the future emergency is not. Indeed it is more urgent than ever.”
As the fine warrior he was, he accepted my words without question or argument. “I’m due for a bath myself this week. At this hour the water won’t be as hot as it should be, but why don’t we clean up together while you tell me what’s happened?”
How much I told de Grasse in the bathhouse, and how much he believed me, I cannot recall. Granted that I had just had a very narrow escape from what I can only think of as the worst form of abject slavery, is it surprising that my mind was not at its sharpest? Even worse, I was now certain that I was the only person capable of saving the king’s life. He ruled so much of Europe, that his death now, before his heir, Lord Henry, reached adulthood, might throw half Christendom into chaos.
But that night held yet another miracle, for I was able to unload my troubles onto the shoulders of a fifteen-year-old girl. Nicholaa de la Haye was destined to be one of the most remarkable women of her era, second in my mind only to Queen Eleanor, and she showed her mettle that day. She received me and de Grasse in her parlor, with Elvire present for propriety. I told her the whole story as well as I could.
While I talked, I somehow worked out details that I had missed earlier. Quentin had done the preparatory work—evicting Healer Bjarni and installing his other accomplices in the town. When all was ready, their leader, Corneille had arrived, making the coven complete. With their pentacle operational, they had been able to foresee the king’s men’s arrival.
The forged Courtney letter about treason had mentioned the possibility of magic, so the king would surely send a sage, who would be their greatest danger. So they set a trap for me, and I fell right into it by lifting the spell they had laid on Harald Larson, the only man in town who could assist me or even enlighten me on the situation. By Wednesday night they knew where I was, and by Thursday dawn they had ensorcelled Neil and Piers. Neil, now their eager accomplice, would have warned them that I, too, had the king’s ear, so I was both a potential danger and a potential second string to their bow if the D’Aire-lles’ attack failed for any reason. He had willingly told them my name so that they would be able to summon me.
It must have been a very muddled account, for I can recall Nicholaa’s frowns and quiet questions when I left something out or contradicted myself, but in the end she sighed and turned to de Grasse.
“Well, Master-at-arms? Do you believe him?”
“Not easily, my lady. It’s a nightmare.”
“With the king’s life at risk, do we dare disbelieve him?”
The old warrior smiled. “Certainly not, my lady.”
“Then you will lend me a second horse?” I asked, half in hope and half in dread. At that point I would rather have been chained up in dungeon, so that I could not be blamed for whatever was going to happen.
And this was when the lady Nicholaa truly began to show her quality. Faced with an epic choice, she kept her head and made the correct, but hard, decision. “No, I will not. Not right now. What do you say, Captain? Is the sage fit to ride?”
“No, my lady. I’ve seen men go to sleep in the saddle. They either fall off and break their necks or they get dragged, which is worse.”
“You are only human, Durwin,” she told me. “You need rest.” “But the king—”
“Yes, I understand. You have told me four times about Sir Neil being enthralled to seek him out and assassinate him. You have asked me three times to send a message to Healer Larson as soon as the gates are opened. You need to rest, Durwin. Grandiose heroics will
do no good now. Your only weapon is your enchantment skill, and for that you must have the use of your brains. You must outsmart the enemy, not outfight him. At the moment you are incapable of out-maneuvering a mushroom. At sunrise I will send to the square tower to ask if the sheriff is back and, if he is not, to learn when he will be back and where he is now. I will consult with my father, but only if I think he is strong enough to take on the burden. In the meantime, you are going to eat something and then go to bed. Is that clear?”
I nodded and said, “Yes, my lady. That is clear. And thank you.”
“I will find you a room somewhere in the tower.”
“No need, my lady. The bed in the sanctum will be fine. Bang on the outer door if you need me. The warding will only act if you try to open it.”
I have no memory of going to bed. When I awoke the sun was shining and there was food on a nearby table. I drank something, probably ate something, and went straight back to sleep. Rest is the greatest medicine, but it needs time.
“Are you dead or alive?” Eadig asked.
I opened one eye. “Mind your own business.” Then I sat up and said, “Omigod! What time is it?”
“About an hour short of sunset.”
Panic! “But I have to go, should have gone long since!”
He poured some wine into a beaker and handed it to me. The food, I noticed, had gone. So had the heap of clothes on the floor. The room itself was tidier than it had been. Eadig had enjoyed much more sleep the previous night than I had.
“Lovise?”
He flashed the little-boy grin that was as distinctively Eadig as a coat of arms. “I was told that Lars was dozing outside the castle gates when they were opened at dawn. He took her home, but a little while ago she came calling on Lady Nicholaa, to ask how you were.”
As I threw off the cover, he grinned again. “Shouldn’t you put some clothes on first? I mean at least until you’re properly married? Besides, what will Lady Nicholaa think?”
He had found some clean garments for me. I needed a shave, but that would have to wait for another day. Time, time! I had slept away a whole day when I should have been riding in pursuit of the killers. What sort of familiaris was I turning out to be, sleeping when my liege lord was in such danger? I headed for the Lucy Tower at a pace that had Eadig running to stay with me.
Now the little parlor was crowded. Lady Nicholaa sat in her personal chair, which wasn’t a throne but somehow seemed to be. The second chair was awarded to me. Lovise and Eadig both had stools, while Lars sat on the floor, squeezing his bulk into a corner. Elvire was absent, possibly because the room was packed to capacity without her. Wine was handed around. We established that we were all in good health.
“How is Lord Richard?” I asked.
“Making progress,” Nicholaa said. “He was relieved to hear that you had solved the Quentin and Corneille problem, but I did not burden him with the details. And did my prescription heal the healer?”
“I am much improved, thanks to it, my lady. But it was not I who dealt with the Satanists. It was Lovise.”
Lovise just smiled at me.
“She claims that you taught her how,” Nicholaa said. We all knew that the problem we faced was grave, and yet I sensed that Nicholaa was enjoying herself. She was very young and could not compare to Lovise in either beauty or intelligence, but she had been born to command, her father was out of danger, she was running the castle once again. She would decide what happened next.
Eventually we had to discuss business.
I said, “I feel guilty, my lady. I should be on the road. I have wasted an entire day.”
“It wasn’t wasted, Sage. At our last talk you could barely keep your eyes open or complete a sentence in the language you began in. By tomorrow you may be functioning again.”
“By tomorrow my horse should be rested also, and ready to go.”
Nicholaa smiled. “Go where?”
“To find the king and warn him!”
“And where is the king?”
Um . . .
The king was in France—somewhere in France. I knew that France was a very big place. Brittany probably, but Brittany also was a very big place. I had a good horse, but Neil had taken Bon Appétit, and I would not by choice leave Eadig behind in Lincoln to walk home to Helmdon, although in such a crisis I might have to. I had very little money, and no knowledge of the road to the ports, or how much it would cost me to cross the sea. I had only to look at Nicholaa’s smile to see that she had worked all this out already.
“I think, my lady, that I had better head over to Nottingham Castle, and consult with Sir Vernon Cheadle. He must know where the king is, or at least how and where Sir Neil was told to report to him.”
“Indeed?” Nicholaa sipped her wine with the grace of an troubadour plucking a harp. “Adept, tell him what you told me.”
Eadig shot me a guilty look. “He won’t believe you, master.”
I thought of Vernon with his monster mustache and fancy piebald steed. I imagined me explaining that his commander, the king’s friend Sir Neil d’Airelle, was now a devoted servant of Satan and currently on his way to—
He wouldn’t believe me if I talked for a century.
“From Adept Eadig’s description of the noble knight,” Nicholaa said, “I would strongly suggest that you do not go anywhere near Nottingham Castle, Sage. My guess would be that Sir Vernon is much more likely to judge you guilty of murdering Sir Neil and his brother. He may well have Sheriff Everard throw you in the dungeon.”
I could escape from a dungeon, unless I were gagged, but then I would still have no horse, no money at all, and with the addition of a price on my head. Plan Two?
“Today is Friday, isn’t it?” That morning I had been due to report to Sir Neil at the door of the cathedral, and if he did not turn up—which he obviously hadn’t—then I was supposed to head over to Nottingham. Which I obviously hadn’t.
Eadig said, “I think Sir Vernon will be here by noon tomorrow.”
Nicholaa nodded agreement. “Or soon after. And here he cannot arrest you, because I won’t let him. So enjoy another night’s sleep, and then decide what you will do if Sir Vernon doesn’t believe you and refuses to tell you where the king is.”
I wanted to argue and could not think of any way to refute her case. Curfew was at hand, so she sent the Larsons off home. I walked Lovise to the east gate. Lars and Eadig followed us, a tactful distance back.
“I owe you my life,” I said yet again.
“I would have done what I did for anyone. I thank God it worked.”
“I love you.”
She smiled without looking at me. “Yes, I know. And it’s catching. Except . . . what did Legion mean when they said you were not a virgin?”
“Satan is the Father of Lies. You mustn’t believe a word that nightmare said.”
“How many?”
“Three,” I admitted. “A long time ago. The first time wasn’t my idea, and I was terribly clumsy.”
“Um.”
“Father Osric gave me absolution.”
“I suppose experience must count for something.”
“Then you will marry me?”
“My father wants to know where you live, what prospects you have, and by what means you can support a family.”
My turn to um. “I can’t answer that yet. I am truly one of the king’s familiares, which should guarantee me a good living.” Of course I might find myself tucked away in some corner of a castle in France, endlessly copying out spells for Enchanter General Aubrey de Fours.
“Provided you can warn him in time, else you will probably get a quick trip to the gallows for failing to do so.”
“I intended to imply that I want us to marry after I have saved the king’s life, not before. And I will be executed with an ax, not a noose.”
“An ax is faster, but messier.”
We had reached the gate. I must leave in the morning, and I still had not persuaded her. “If I do save
the king and if he does provide me with an honest living and if I can answer all your father’s other questions to his satisfaction, will you marry me?”
“In a flash.”
There in the twilight I kissed her. Eadig and Lars were watching. The guards were waiting to close the gate. But the kiss did not end until the spectators all began to clap.
chapter 22
not surprisingly, I could not sleep that night, twisting and turning and trying to decide what I must do. Back on Wednesday—which was only three days ago—Sir Neil had told me what to do if he missed our rendezvous on Friday morning, but he had not told me what instructions he had left with Sir Vernon. Was he supposed to wait where he was until he received further orders, or rush over to Lincoln, or send a warning message back to the king . . . or seek out the regent . . . or what?
That was one set of problems. Another was that I did not know what the demonized Neil and Piers had done after leaving Lincoln. Had they ridden straight off toward France, or had they gone around by way of Nottingham? If the latter, had they taken Vernon and his men south with them, or . . . or what?
That line of thought led me to consider Corneille and Quentin. After enslaving Neil and Piers, they had expected to catch me and treat me the same way. They could have forced me to seek out the king, but what about Vernon and his men? The Satanists would not have wanted that force blundering around in Lincoln, raising Cain in a search for their lost leader. In all this fog I eventually decided that Corneille would have ordered Neil to go back to Nottingham, which would not have taken him far out of his way.
From there he might have led his escort south with him, as if all were normal and he had completed his mission—it would be easy enough for him to invent a story to explain why Eadig and Francois and I had remained behind. The argument against that plan was that two men could travel a lot faster than a platoon, and it left me, assumed to be another traitor by now, to find my own way to France. Or possibly one of the Satanists might have planned to accompany me. But why not let Vernon serve as my guide?
