But the face she turned upon her brother was full of something colder than hate, and more implacable than anger.
"Hello, Char," she said, her voice echoing as from across a vast canyon. "You have a very great deal to answer for."
* * *
Tarma led two dozen bone-weary Hawks back into Petras that morning; they made no attempt to conceal themselves, and word that they were coming -- and word of what they carried -- preceded them. The streets of Petras cleared before their horses ever set hoof upon them, and they rode through a town that might well have been emptied
by some mysterious plague. But eyes were watching them behind closed curtains and sealed shutters; eyes that they could feel on the backs of their necks. There was fear echoing along with the sounds of hoofbeats along those streets. Fear of what the Hawks had done; fear of what else they might do --
By the time they rode in through the gates of the Palace, a nervous crowd had assembled in the court, and Stefansen was waiting on the stairs.
The Hawks pulled up in a semicircle before the new King, still silent but for the sound of their horses' hooves. As the last of the horses moved into place, the last whisper coming from the crowd died, leaving only frightened, ponderous silence, a silence that could almost be weighed and measured.
There was a bloodstained bundle lashed on the back of Raschar's horse, a bundle that Tindel and Tarma removed, carried to the new King's feet, and dropped there without ceremony.
The folds of what had been Char's cloak fell open, revealing what the cloak contained. Stefan. though he had visibly steeled himself, turned pale. There was just about enough left of Raschar to be recognizable.
"This man was sworn Oathbreaker and Outcast," Tarma said harshly, tonelessly. "And he was so sworn by the full rites, by a priest, a mage, and an upright man of his own people, all of whom he had wronged, all of whom had suffered irreparable loss at his hands. We claim Mercenary's Justice on him, by the rights of that swearing; we executed that Justice upon him. Who would deny us that right?"
There was only appalled silence from the crowd.
"I confirm it," Stefansen said into the silence, his voice firm, and filling the courtyard. "For not only have I heard from a trusted witness the words of his own mouth, confessing that he dishonored, tortured and slew his own sister, the Lady Idra, Captain of the Sunhawks and Princess of the blood, but I have had the same tale from the servants of his household that we questioned last night. Hear then the tale of Raschar the Oathbreaker."
Tarma stood wearily through the recitation, not really hearing it, although the murmurs and gasps from the crowd behind her told her that Stefan was giving the whole story in all its grimmest details. The mood of the people was shifting to their side, moment by moment.
And now that the whole thing was over, all she wanted to do was rest. The energy that had sus-tained her all this time was gone.
"Are there any" she heard Stefansen cry at last, his voice breaking a little, "who would deny that true justice has been dispensed this day?"
The thunderous NO that followed his question satisfied even Tarma.
* * *
Quite a little family party, Tarma thought wryly, surveying the motley individuals draped in various postures of relaxation around the shabby-comfortable library of Stefansen's private suite.
:Enjoy it while you can,: Warrl laughed in her mind, :lt won't be too often that you can throw cherry-stones at both a King and a Crown Prince when they tease you.:
It was only Roald, and he was asking for it --
Stefansen had been officially crowned two days ago, and Roald had arrived as Valdemar's official representative, complete with silver coronet on his blond head -- and with a full entourage, as well. The time between the night of the rebellion and the day of the coronation had been so hectic that no one had had a chance to hear the full story of the rebellion from either Tarma, Kethry or Jadrek. So Stefansen had decreed today that he was having a secret Council session, had all but kidnapped his chosen party and locked all of them away. Included in the party were himself and Mertis; and he had taken care that there was a great deal of food and drink and comfortable seats for all. And once everyone was settled in, he had demanded all the tales in their proper order.
The entire "Council" was mostly Sunhawks or ex-Hawks; Sewen and Tresti; Justin and Ikan; Kyra, Beaker and Jodi. Tarma herself, and Kethry, of course. Then the "outsiders" -- Tindel, Jadrek, and Roald.
It had taken a long time to get through the whole story -- and when Kyra had finished the last of the tales, telling in her matter-of-fact way how Idra had ridden out of the cloud of mist and moonlight, you could have heard a mouse sneeze.
"What I don't understand is how you Hawks took that so calmly," Tindel was saying. "I was as petrified as Char, I swear -- but you -- it was like she was -- real."
"Lad," Beaker said in a kindly tone (to a man at least a decade or two his senior'), "We've ridden with Idra through things you can't imagine; she's stood by us through fear and flood and Hellfire itself. How could we have been afraid of her? She was only dead. It's the living we fear."
"And rightly," Justin rumbled into the somber silence that followed Beaker's words. "And speaking of the living, you will never guess who sauntered in two days ago, Shin'a'in."
Tarma shook her head, baffled. She'd been spending most of her free time sleeping.
"Your dear friend Leslac."
"Oh no!" she choked. "Justin, if I've ever done you any favors, keep him away from me!"
"Leslac?" Roald said curiously. "Minstrel, isn't he? Dark hair, swarthy, thin? Popular with women?"
"That's him," groaned Tarma, hiding her face in her hands.
"What's it worth to you," he asked, leaning forward, and wearing a slyly humorous expression, "to get him packed off to Valdemar? Permanently?"
"Choice of Tale'sedrin's herds," she said quickly, "Three mares and a stallion, and anything but battlesteeds."
"Four mares, and one of them sworn to be in-foal."
"Done, done, done!" she replied, waving her hands frantically.
"Stefan, old friend," Roald said, turning to the King, "Is it worth an in-foal Shin'a'in mare to force a swordpoint marriage by royal decree on one motheaten Bard?" Roald's face was sober, but his eyes danced with laughter.
"For that, I'd force a swordpoint marriage on Tindel!" Stefansen chuckled. "Who's the lucky lady?"
"Countess Reine. She's actually a rather sweet old biddy, unlike her harridan sister, who is -- thank the gods! -- no longer with us. I'm rather fond of her, for all that she hasn't the sense of a new-hatched chick." Roald shook his head, and sighed. "A few years back, her sister went mad during a storm and killed herself. Or so it's said, and nobody wants to find out otherwise. I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on her, to keep her out of trouble."
"How delightful."
"Oh, it isn't too bad; she just has this ability to attract men who want to prey on her sensibilities. They are, of course, all of honorable intent."
"Of course," said Stefan, solemnly.