“Sorcerer,” Jeff said, staring at me. “You called him a sorcerer.”
“He wears dragon skin and carries a death staff, Jeff. With his, uhm, bent, it’s not a wholesome combination.” I felt the resistance, the refusal to believe that a member of a Great House could be something so foul. “What would you call him if his hauberk was human skin and his standard attached to human bones?”
“That’s different—” Thadro began.
“No, it’s not. Sir. They were people.” I looked back at Jusson. “Even before this”—I waved at my hair again—“happened, I didn’t want to be anywhere near the staff or hauberk, warded or not. Neither did anyone else—Trooper Ryson even avoided them. Slevoic is wearing one, has attached his House’s device to another—and it probably gives him great pleasure.”
“Pain always did,” Javes said. “But doesn’t he have to chew those mentha leaves the Faena cat gave you?”
“He could survive without them, sir.” I shrugged. “But mentha leaves are easy to get—I’ve seen them growing wild. He should have no problem finding them.”
“But he doesn’t know—” Javes began.
“Groskin, sir. I’m sure that Slevoic knows all about it.”
“All right,” Javes conceded. “But he still has to figure out what’s happening to him.”
“He knows, sir,” I said, sighing. “I called him a sorcerer to his face.”
Jusson sat still for a moment; then his eyes focused on my face. “A sorcerer, loose in my kingdom.” He saw my look and his mouth twisted. “I’ve sent out searchers into the City, and have men at the gates, but not only did Slevoic grow up here, he was stationed here too. I’m sure he knows who is open to a little judicious bribing.”
Or to a little judicious terror, I thought.
The king’s mouth quirked further. “The evil they have accused you of being, Rabbit, they themselves have become. I’m sure His Holiness the Patriarch could do a sermon or two about that.” He sighed and stood. “I suppose we should take the rabble outside back to the royal compound. But, before I leave”—the king’s smile became real—”I want to see where this infamous party took place. Teram was always over the top.” Esclaur and I did the honors, but the interior of Flavan House looked normal in the daylight, with no trace of skulls, toadstools or poisoned wine. I led the way to the courtyard, as Esclaur’s recollection at that point was very hazy, and I showed Jusson where the lordling had collapsed. As I reenacted the fight between me and the five assassins, Suiden squatted down on his heels as he studied the ground. “Here,” he said as he pointed out shoe and boot prints in the soft dirt and crushed grass.
“Do not worry, Captain Prince,” Jusson said. “I believed Rabbit the first time he told me.” The king turned and walked back towards the house, his entourage trailing behind him. “And a body was found early this morning in the river—unfortunately not an uncommon event. It was weighted, but the river patrollers had orders to search the usual favored spots. It was also tongueless and had a stab wound that matched Rabbit’s knife.”
Everyone in the house had been herded out into the street to stand in the middle of the square. The king remounted his horse and sat facing Teram, who had a rough bandage around his hand. Behind him were the witnesses, mercenaries, turncoat troopers and archers, and a crowd of servants. A guard (who looked an awful lot like the majordomo twins) read from a list of charges that had been penned at Teram’s own desk, his loud voice echoing in the square. Teram said nothing as the guard intoned about attempted abduction, poison, cudgels, broken swords and, of course, treason, but his head flew up when the guard got to the spiders.
“Fifteen Pale Deaths?” His eyes were wide in horror. “I did not!”
Rebellion, regicide and kinslaying he had no problem with, but apparently the weavers were a bit much.
“Slevoic,” Javes said.
“Yes, he’s mine,” Suiden said, flames leaping in his eyes.
“No, ours, Captain Prince,” Jusson said as the charges were nailed to Flavan House’s front gate. “We are king and so we have first dibs.” He reached out his hand to receive a copy of the charges, and passed it to a lordling. “See that this is posted throughout the City and all of Iversterre.” He looked back at Teram, holding his gaze. “Also see that the tale is told of how our cousin, Lieutenant Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan, stood in the Witness Circle and it burned bright as the sun as he swore to uphold this king and this kingdom. As it was in the days of old, when the real Locival and his companions rode, bringing justice to the realm.” Jusson’s smile was not pleasant. “Now that the Circle has come alive again, we are so looking forward to seeing how you fare there, Teram ibn Flavan e Dru.”
We posted guards at the house entrances, then loaded the wounded, the very young, and the infirm into some carts, and the dead into others, and moved out of the square. I looked out over the mass of people walking, noting that Teram’s wife Isalde was absent, and wondered if that was deliberate or just a lucky break.
We soon reached the bridge over the moat, and the brambles were just as thick and thorny as when we had left. Basel pranced up to the bridge and immediately the tangle parted, leaving a wide gap for us to go through. “Show-off,” I said as I went past. He ignored me as he struck a pose, antlers held high, only to have the prisoners pitch a fit as they took in the ghost—apparently for the first time.
“See?” screamed Teram. “See? I told you he was an evil sorcerer! Look! Necromancy!” A trooper reached over and slapped him on the head, and he stopped midshriek, his mouth hanging open at a common horse soldier daring to assault his exalted person. I watched as the realization sank in that there was nothing he could do about it. The trooper prodded Lord Teram with his foot and he stumbled forward, all protestations gone.
It was a rowdy bunch that swept up the stairs into the palace. There were catcalls, rude jokes and noises as we laughed at finding ourselves alive at the end of a battle. Lord Commander Thadro immediately separated our prisoners, sending Teram down to the dungeons, instructing the mercenaries and turncoat troopers to be moved to the garrison stockade “to make room,” and directing the rest to gentler but just as secure quarters.
“Put all the children in the palace nursery with their mothers,” King Jusson said, pulling his hauberk hood down and sighing in relief at the breeze. “But post guards.”
It was a pared down, but just as noisy group that followed the king into the throne room—only to fall silent as we came face to face with (guessing from his big hat and vestments) Patriarch Pietr standing near the rune circle. Next to him were Archdoyen Obruesk and Doyen Allwyn. The doyen had his head shaved and was wearing white penitent sacking. But I barely noticed that because my attention was riveted on what the patriarch and doyen carried in their arms.
“No.” My legs gave way and I sank to my knees.
“No.” Laurel, standing behind them, yowled with me in pain and grief as my eyes closed out the sight.
Chapter Forty-one
“Open your eyes, Lieutenant, or I swear I’ll pin them open for you!”
They flew open to meet Captain Suiden’s molten green ones glaring down at me. “This is not the time for moaning and swooning, do you hear me?” He grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet.
The patriarch walked forward a couple of paces, a little awkwardly. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but we”—he inclined his head to include Allwyn—”came for the meeting with Ambassador Laurel, only to hear of the insurrection you had to put down.” He shifted the burden in his arms, bells tinkling. “Is all well?” King Jusson threw me a sideways glance, then looked over at Laurel who was lamenting softly. “It was until now.”