The Enchanter General 02 - Trial by Treason

by Dave Duncan

  By dawn I had convinced myself that Eadig and Nicholaa were correct: Vernon would turn up in Lincoln by noon. Either he would be coming to find Piers, which seemed the least likely reason. Or he would be coming to escort me south. Or Piers might be with him, planning to carry on as if nothing had happened, and he had refuted the rumors of treason that had brought him there in the first place.

  So my best course of action was to wait for him to arrive and make my decisions then. With that I rolled over and drifted off to sleep, just as the roosters began to crow.

  If Sir Vernon were coming, he could not arrive much before dinnertime. I had to work out what I must do if he did not appear at all. The answer, if there was one, might lie in the sanctum, which had become our comfortable lodgings. The bed was only wide enough for one, but Eadig had slept well on a double thickness of fleece on the floor.

  “There must be a clue in here somewhere,” I said. “Ideally, the king gave Neil his instructions in writing and he left them behind somewhere here.”

  “Because he couldn’t read them anyway?”

  I was tempted to cuff his ear, but he was right, of course.

  With the help of Master-at-arms de Grasse, we inspected the cellar one last time, and then nailed the trapdoor shut with an iron spike.

  Upstairs we did find some documents, but of course they had belonged to the coven, not Sir Neil. I had already burned the five spell books containing the summoning spell, as I had told Lovise I intended. The ancient grimoire that I had found with them might have been in the castle almost since it was built, a century ago; it contained only legitimate healing spells, but we discovered some loose sheets in one of the chests, hidden above a false lid. There was also the scrap of parchment that Corneille had been writing on when Eadig responded to the summons. Possibly one of these documents included the spell that had been used to enthrall Odell. Others might show how the conspirators had come and gone unseen. But none of them helped us, because they were all written in the alphabet that I could not read.

  I emptied my pack and studied every spell I had there, and not one could provide any help in telling us how we could find the king. Then I recalled that I had left some of my scrolls at the Larson house, and suggested that we go and see if I could help with the healing.

  “That’s as good an excuse as any,” Eadig said snidely.

  “Or we could try the Hwá becuman chant. That would tell us if Sir Vernon’s on his way.”

  Eadig lost his smirk. The Hwá becuman had given him the headache of a lifetime exactly one week before.

  “All right,” he said gamely.

  Then I laughed. “But let’s go and ogle some pretty girls first.”

  I was curious to discover whether Nicholaa’s guards would even allow us to walk out the castle gates, but they saluted me respectfully and asked no questions. Had I tried to take my horse with me, I might have had more trouble. We walked halfway down the Danesgate hill and turned off to the Larson house. About six or seven people were lined up outside, which meant about as many again waiting in the house. Obviously I could expect no private talking time with my love.

  We found Harald chanting over a patient in his sanctum and Lovise doing the same in the kitchen. Lars seemed to be alternating between them, depending on which needed a cantor. I retrieved the scrolls I had left there, and the precious futhorc tiles. I managed to obtain another quick inspection of the grimoire that Harald never used, but nowhere did I find a spell that would be the least help to me in my current predicament.

  Eadig and I set off back up the hill.

  “Why can’t you just make up a spell to find the king?” he asked.

  I laughed. “You mean write an entire chant from scratch?”

  He said, “Yes!”

  I found his faith touching, but utterly unreasonable, and said so.

  He said, “Why?” That is the world’s most powerful word.

  “Because all the spells we know have been handed down from the ancient philosophers, who lived centuries ago and were far wiser than we are.”

  “I think you’re as smart as any of them old fogies.”

  “I am flattered but not convinced.”

  “Why not?” Not is the second most powerful word.

  “Son of Edwin, you are about as stubborn and annoying as Lady Nicholaa! Nobody in Helmdon has ever tried to compose an original chant. I suppose that possibly, in theory, I just might one day manage to put together some simple charm that would work, but I am certain that it would take months, or even years, of study and labor, and hundreds of trials to get it right. And we don’t have that sort of time. You know what’s going to happen.” The street was crowded and I dared not speak aloud the disaster we foresaw.

  The Saturday crowds were even thicker in the market space at the top of the hill, between the castle and cathedral, and it was not until we were through the gates that we were able to walk side by side again.

  “And besides,” I said, “the king is hundreds of leagues away, across the sea. I don’t know of any enchantment that works at such a distance.”

  “Well, why can’t you just make some changes to a spell you know that does something else?”

  “That’s absurd! No one can do that nowadays.”

  “Lovise did!” Eadig said with a wicked gleam in his sky-blue eyes. “Didn’t she? Which one would you start with?”

  “Oh fie!” I said. I was tired of stupid questions that I couldn’t answer. “Lovise didn’t know any better.”

  Which reduced the argument to absurdity, and Eadig knew enough to leave it there.

  To reach the sanctum we had to pass the kitchen building, and its tantalizing smells were a reminder that the sun was high and it was almost time for dinner. Half the day had gone, with nothing accomplished. Neil and Piers d’Airelle would be twenty or thirty miles closer to their quarry.

  A worried-looking page was pacing up and down in front of the sanctum. He lit up with relief when he saw us, and came running.

  “Sage Durwin, Your Wisdom, Lady Nicholaa wishes to see you in the solar.”

  I turned and ran, fearing that the constable had suffered a relapse, but he had not. The news was good.

  No householder ever welcomes an invasion by a squad of armed riders, but those who live in castles have ways of keeping such people out. The lookouts on the Lucy Tower had recognized the approaching dust cloud for what it implied, and had sounded the alarm—for the first time since the king’s last visit three years earlier, Nicholaa told me.

  Of course when the king came visiting, there would be flags, trumpets, and cheering crowds. The constable would come out to greet him, bearing the keys to the castle. Sir Vernon Cheadle was not the king. When Sir Vernon Cheadle arrived at the gates, soon after I received my summons, they were closed and archers lined the battlements.

  Queried through the spy port, he identified himself as being on the king’s business and requested audience with Constable Richard. Informed that the constable was indisposed, he demanded to meet with his deputy. Both he and his men then had to suffer the indignity of surrendering their weapons and, once they were admitted, of attending to their own horses, although that was predictable for so large a party.

  Neil and Piers were not with him, which ruled out one of my guesses. And he was not asking for them, which ruled out another. Neil, then, must have called in at Nottingham and issued fresh orders. That conclusion cleared the board considerably.

  Master-at-arms de Grasse conducted Sir Vernon to the solar at the top of the Lucy Tower, and presented him to Nicholaa, who was genteelly embroidering. I rose from my stool and bowed. Eadig was listening behind the bedroom drape with Lord Richard.

  Vernon glowered. No one would have spoiled the joke by warning him that the acting constable was female and a mere slip of a girl—not even Sir Neil, because he had not met her during his brief visit.

  She looked up with a regal smile. “You are most welcome, Sir Vernon. Do please be seated. Sage, if you would be so
kind . . .”

  I did the honors, pouring and passing around the wine that had been set out. de Grasse declined both a seat and a drink, and took up position alongside the door.

  Nicholaa raised her goblet. “Bonne santé, Sir Vernon . . . How is dear Sheriff Everard?”

  Vernon strained some wine through his floor brush mustache. “Past his best. The king ought to replace him.”

  “Then I hope that you will so advise His Grace. To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”

  “Sir Neil D’Airelle asked me to convey his apologies to your father for his impetuous departure. He believed that the message he must convey to His Grace justified the most exigent urgency.”

  “Mercy me!” Nicholaa’s eyebrows rose and she took another sip of wine. “My father took no offense. He understands the necessity of hiring more archers for the Breton campaign as soon as possible. It was most kind of you to ride all this way for so piddling a purpose.”

  “There is more,” Vernon growled. He might be starting to realize that his hostess was wiser than her years, and perhaps wiser than his years too. “He instructed me to conduct Sage Durwin to the king to report on whatever magic he discovered in Lincoln.”

  Nicholaa and I exchanged glances. Of course Neil would have been assuming that I was now possessed like him. Or would he? How much Satanic guidance could he call on now that he had been recruited into the forces of darkness? Had he been somehow warned that the conspirators’ attack on me had been turned back on them? And if he had, had that happened in time for him to instruct Vernon accordingly? I must always keep in mind that the d’Airelle brothers were now servants of Satan, and might wield dark powers stronger than anything I had available or even knew of.

  A trickle of ice water ran down my spine as I tried to work out the tactics here. It was past time for me to say something, anything. “That was a kind thought. I am presently ministering to Lord Richard. I am happy to say that he is making progress, but I cannot in good faith abandon him yet. And then I shall have to see Eadig safely back home to Helmdon. Just tell me where the king is exactly, and I am sure I shall be able to find him.”

  Vernon was no intellectual giant, but he had a warrior’s cunning, and I should not have blurted out my prime concern so soon. His expression became foxy. “Sir Neil will leave up-to-date orders for us where we disembark in France.”

  I could hear no warnings from my tambour enchantment, but that was probably because ancestral survival instincts were already screaming at me that I must not trust myself to Vernon’s tender care. “Your offer is welcome, sir, but I needn’t keep you from your duty. If you just give me some instructions, I am sure I can find my own way to the king.”

  “Sir Neil’s orders were for me to escort you there—even if I have to put you in chains,” he said. Now it was his turn to blunder.

  “What!?” Nicholaa lowered her embroidery. “Why on earth? What is Sage Durwin supposed to have done?”

  “Murder.”

  Nicholaa threw her embroidery on the floor. “Murder? Sage Durwin? What sort of nonsense . . . ?”

  “He killed Francois, a man-at-arms, my lady. Sir Neil and his squire both saw it.”

  “Then they had better report him to Sheriff Alured.”

  “No, he’s a king’s man, so Sir Neil thinks the king will want to judge the case himself. I am to take him with me, back to France.”

  Nicholaa looked to me. “You’d better tell him the whole story.”

  I had no option, I knew, but I was also certain that he wouldn’t believe it. “Did Sir Neil say he’d spoken with Sir Courtney?”

  “Didn’t ask.”

  “Did he tell you what he had discovered here in Lincoln that required him to report to the king with such urgency?”

  “Not my concern.” Vernon drank some wine.

  “It is very much your concern,” I said, “and I shall tell you why. Sir Courtney died the very day the warning letter was sent, and it was a forgery, full of lies. Sheriff Alured and Bishop de Chesney are both out of town, Constable Richard was smitten— not by a sickness but by a curse, which I was able to remove. The castle was at the mercy of Sage Corneille, a Satanist, and they deceived His Grace into sending two of his familiares here to investigate. Both Sir Neil and his squire are now possessed by devils, and they are heading to France to kill the king.”

  The sky is green. Pigs can fly.

  Vernon drained his wine and set the goblet down. “And where is this alleged Satanist now?”

  “In Hell, where he belongs,” I said. “He and his collaborators tried to bind me to their evil purposes as they had Sir Neil and his squire, but my helper at the time, a local healer, managed to deflect their enchantment, and the Devil took them, instead of me.”

  Vernon said, “Ha!” with utmost scorn. “Do you believe this rubbish, my lady?”

  “I certainly do. Master-at-arms?”

  “So do I,” said de Grasse.

  “Of course. You are bound by loyalty.” Vernon was veering very close to calling de Grasse a liar, risking challenge and combat. A girl’s opinion was not worth a thought, of course. “So when is the sheriff due to return?”

  “Not for another week,” Nicholaa said.

  “Then I require you to deliver this man to me in shackles, so that I may bring him before His Grace for judgment.”

  Nicholaa bristled. “By what authority do you give me orders?” “By the authority of Sir Neil D’Airelle, one of His Grace’s familiares.”

  “Sage Durwin is another familiaris.”

  Vernon turned his angry glare on me.

  “That is so,” I said. “I, too, am a king’s man. Two years ago I put my hands between his and swore to serve him as a familiaris. You know that the first thing Sir Neil had to do in England was to include me in his mission. You cannot give me orders, Sir Vernon.”

  “Nor me,” Nicholaa said, rising. “Master-at-arms, see that Sir Vernon and his men are given food by way of Christian charity, but then they must leave the castle and are not to be allowed back in.”

  chapter 23

  te moment the door closed on Vernon and de Grasse, Constable Richard emerged from behind the drape with Eadig right behind him.

  “That was beautifully done, my dear. I think I shall retire at once and advise the king to appoint you constable in my place.” He took the seat Vernon had just quitted. I handed him the goblet that de Grasse had refused. I had examined him before Vernon arrived, and been pleased by his progress. He was still frail after his long bed rest, but fully alert now. That he should leave the negotiations to his daughter had been his idea, not mine, although I approved of his decision. I was sure he was not joking when he foresaw Nicholaa succeeding him; he was training her for her future duties.

  “He was a horrible man,” Nicholaa said. “Had he been as beautiful as Durwin, I could never have insulted him as I did.”

  “Quite!” The constable cleared his throat disapprovingly and turned to me. “Sage, I applaud your wisdom in not following any orders that originated with Sir Neil.”

  “Indeed not, my lord. Or even orders that Sir Vernon says originated with Sir Neil. And I am grateful to your daughter, for had she not stopped me, I would have ridden to Nottingham yesterday and fallen into Sir Vernon’s clutches. She would not have been there to defend me as she did just now.”

  “However, we still don’t know how you will find His Grace to warn him of the assassins’ approach.”

  My chances of arriving in time were already very slim, and would disappear altogether if I didn’t set out soon.

  “I can’t see any use in trying to follow Sir Vernon,” I said. “I do not know for certain that he is on his way to the king. I would lose him at the coast, because I would have to take passage on a different ship.”

  Nicholaa said, “And he could have the wit to lie in wait for you on the road. Not likely, but possible.”

  The constable set down his goblet and clasped his hands. They were still the large hand
s of a warrior, but now they were knotted and twisted by age.

  “The best help I can give you is a letter from me, confirming that you are on urgent business for His Grace, and requiring all persons to assist you to meet with the justiciar, the earl of Leicester. He is usually in London, often in Winchester, but his secretaries will honor my seal. We’ll send our courier, Iden, along with you. He knows England like his mother’s face.”

  I thanked him, for his offer of a letter bearing his seal was very encouraging; it would give me a hearing at least. “Tell me, my lord, when the king held his great council at Northampton, two years ago—the one where the traitor Archbishop Becket fled by night and quit the realm—did the justiciar attend?” “Undoubtedly so. All the great barons of the realm were there.”

  “After the council ended the king went hunting, but he stopped briefly at Barton. That was where he swore me in as his man. Would Earl Robert have been there, do you suppose?”

  “Like the king, he is a keen hunter, so very likely.”

  Better yet! As the chief officer in England, the justiciar must have watched King Henry accept homage thousands of times, but his acceptance of a crippled Saxon yokel had made the courtiers twitter like a basket full of sparrows. He would remember me.

  What else? “I shall need to borrow a horse for Adept Eadig, because Neil stole one of mine.”

  “We’ll give you a horse!” Nicholaa said. “We owe you at least that much for all you have done.”

  “And money, too,” her father said. “You will need to eat, and fare for the ferry. When will you leave?”

  I thanked them and was about to say that I would leave right after dinner, but Nicholaa forestalled me. “Wait until tomorrow, Sage. If Sir Vernon’s intentions are as sinister as you fear, I would not put it past him to linger in the town, hoping to ambush you.” “Again, wise advice, my lady. And I shall put this afternoon to good use, I hope. I have one faint hope of an enchantment that might guide me directly to the king.”