I was not about to be distracted. “Doesn’t death seem like a rather stiff penalty for trying to rob a silk caravan?”
“Don’t go all moralistic!” Hugo cried. “The castellan to whom we’re taking these bandits may well hang them all if they’re multiple offenders. I know King Haimeric never hangs anybody, but justice is sharper a lot of places outside of Yurt.”
“You still can’t act as judge and executioner yourself,” I said sternly. I was rapidly starting to feel out of my depth. Since I, unlike Evrard, had not become a wizard out of fascination with the end of the Black Wars, and because Yurt really was very peaceful, I tended not to think about the morality of judicial execution, or for that matter much about deep moral issues at all.
“Even the Church recognizes killing in self-defense and the possibility of a just war,” said Hugo.
“This was not self-defense,” said Joachim.
I had been wondering when the chaplain was going to join this conversation. Priests were supposed to worry about morality. Wizards just try to keep as many people as possible alive and well.
“And killing someone,” Joachim continued soberly, “even in self-defense or to save another innocent life, still leaves a stain on the soul.”
Hugo, who had turned toward the chaplain, seemed abashed. I myself sometimes still found Joachim’s burning dark eyes intimidating. “Well, I didn’t kill him, and I didn’t mean to kill him.”
I expected he was telling the perfect truth-at all the tournaments in which he had taken part, everyone would have been wearing armor, and he would not have even thought about the effects of a razor-sharp sword on a man who did not have mail under his cloak.
But I was tired of worrying about morality myself. So when Hugo suddenly looked up and said, “What a castle!” in an entirely different voice, I was happy to change the subject.
And it was quite a castle. Among the tumbled hills before us rose a high ridge of red sandstone, at least a hundred feet tall. Cut into the sandstone were narrow windows, and perched on top, staring sternly down at the fields surrounding it, was the castle itself. Pennants whipping in the wind from the tops of the towers looked tiny, making us realize how high the castle really was.
We all pulled up for a better look. The castle was so well situated for war that we were momentarily stunned. “It would be impregnable,” said Ascelin. “There’s no way to scale the sandstone cliffs, especially with men inside shooting out. And I expect the stairs inside, going up to the castle, are very narrow and could easily be blocked against an enemy.”
“I’m sure the castellan there does indeed have rights of high justice,” commented the king with a chuckle.
The castle rose higher and higher above us as we approached. Encircling the base of the sandstone ridge was a tall curtain wall, also built of red stone, but the gate stood open. Two soldiers stepped forward menacingly as we approached.
“Greetings,” said the king. “We would like to see the lord of this castle. We have captured some bandits.”
The soldiers took a good look at us and our pack horses and then abruptly fled with startled cries. Giving each other surprised glances, we dismounted and came through the gate on foot.
“It’s a good thing we caught these bandits,” said the king, “if even the sight of them bound terrifies the people here.”
“It’s a good thing the castellan has such a fine castle if his soldiers are all cowards,” replied Dominic.
Inside the walls were all the working parts of a castle that someone would not want to transport up narrow stairs cut inside a cliff: the stables, the kennels, the armor shop, the mews, the kitchens, and the big grain storage bins. Down at the far end stood a set of gibbets; this castellan did indeed practice high justice.
We waited politely for someone to come meet us, but for a few minutes there was only panicked shouting and scurrying. I even wondered momentarily if some bizarre spell had made everyone here think that we were dragons. But a quick probe found no spells other than my own.
After a while, one of the soldiers came back. “Are- Are they dead?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I paralyzed them with magic.”
He hesitated. Something very odd indeed, I thought, was happening here. Did they think we were another band of ruffians ourselves? But if so, why did they make no effort to resist us?
“You’d better go up to the castle,” the soldier said at last, “and talk to the constable.”
There was a brief pause while we tried to decide if it was possible to carry the bandits up the stairs. Finally I broke the spells that held them. They looked disoriented and confused as we untied them from the pack horses, then pulled them to their feet and tied their hands behind them. As we started up toward the castle, Ascelin, Dominic, and Hugo each had a bandit in front of him, a dagger point resting against the back of his neck.
The first flight of stairs was wide enough to give us few problems, even though the steps were uneven and extremely dark. There were no windows, and we had to feel our way. The sandstone walls were gritty on either hand, and I heard Dominic cursing quietly as he bumped his head.
We came out into what appeared to be a guard room cut into the stone. A single window gave a little light. On the far side, the stairs started up again, much narrower and even darker.
The soldier leading us glanced at Dominic and Ascelin. “We’d better take the outside stairs,” he said.
The bandits, who had said nothing, all turned toward a door set in the room’s outer wall, next to the window. The soldier opened the door, which led to wooden stairs built on scaffolding on the outside of the cliff. These were much wider than the inner stairs though the gaps between steps made them potentially treacherous.
I glanced down as we came out into chilly daylight and saw that we were already forty feet up. This was indeed an admirable castle for war. Even if an enemy made it as far as the guard room, he would still have to climb either the narrow, inner stairs, which could easily be blocked, or the outer, wooden stairs, which could be set on fire.
But how had the bandits known that the doorway led to the stairs?
All of us except the bandits were breathing hard when we reached the top of the cliff and entered the castle itself through another door. We came into a great hall, well lit by tall windows looking out in all directions across the countryside.
“They can afford windows, being up so high,” I heard Dominic say appreciatively to Ascelin. “In Yurt, all our windows open onto the courtyard.”
But I was thinking about the bandits rather than castle architecture. Was it because they been captured and brought here for justice so many times that they had known where the stairs were and had been able to climb them so readily, even with daggers pressed against their necks? If so, why had they not yet been hung?
The constable of the castle came forward, looking at us with wide eyes. “What- What is it that you want?”
King Haimeric greeted him formally and told him what had happened. I was pleased to note that he did not say that he was king of Yurt; maybe he, like me, was starting to wonder if the castellan here had made some nefarious pact with the bandits.
“And so,” finished the king, “we are bringing these bandits to your lord for judgment.” The three bandits, listening, all looked unaccountably amused.
“You caught these men,” said the constable, “but you aren’t trying to ransom them? You brought them here- You brought them so that the lord of this castle might exercise justice?”
“That’s what I said,” said the king patiently.
“But-”
The leader of the bandits answered for the constable. “But I am lord of this castle.”
There was a short silence while we all struggled to keep our faces straight. “In that case,” began King Haimeric sternly, “I must warn you, as an aristocrat and a giver of justice, to stop your wicked attacks on the defenseless.”