Corlas’s brow furrowed and he seemed about to say something. The look changed to frustration and he remained silent.
Baygis sighed. ‘I’m afraid I must question you again, Corlas,’ he said. ‘Under the influence of magic. I’m sorry.’ He sent magic into Corlas, lubricating his throat so the truth would slide out. ‘Now again,’ he said, ‘tell us everything you know of these events.’ Even as he intensified his truth-coaxing magic, Corlas kept his mouth firmly closed. ‘Corlas?’ he said forcefully. ‘What can’t you tell us?’
A fine sweat broke across Corlas’s scalp but, in a remarkable display of will, he remained silent.
‘This taciturnity does not aid you!’ said Baygis, growing angry.
He has a will of iron! he sent to Fahren.
‘Corlas …’ said Fahren pleadingly. ‘What can’t you tell us, my friend?’
Eventually, exercising an enormous amount of control, Corlas opened his mouth. ‘I am sorry, Baygis, Fahren, but I will not answer your questions.’
Baygis stood angrily, and Fahren looked dismayed.
‘So be it then!’ exclaimed Baygis. ‘If only you would speak with me, I’m sure we could work this out! But if you’d rather remain under suspicion, then congratulations, for that is what you have achieved! Guards!’
Guards appeared at the door.
‘Take the taskmaster to the holding cells! He hasn’t left me any choice!’
Corlas stood, huge in the small room. He did not look into Fahren’s hurt eyes as he walked, haltingly, out the door.
‘I must speak with the Throne,’ said Fahren.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I felt a block in his mind when you asked about the weaver. It’s part of why he could resist telling us the truth.’
Baygis raised an eyebrow.
‘Corlas has made a deal of some kind,’ said Fahren sadly, ‘with the enemy.’
Corlas sat in his cell wondering how it had come to this. His hate for the bird, which he’d thought could not possibly grow any stronger, grew stronger. In the years since his crime, Corlas had hoped Frera and Essie would have got on with their lives, eventually putting behind them the tragedy that had befallen them. If it hadn’t been for Iassia, that might have been the case. He could picture the bird stirring up old emotions, opening old wounds, reawakening old nightmares and spurring his wretched puppets into a journey of revenge that benefited nobody.
Much as he hated the bird, however, Corlas knew he could not absolve himself of blame. He had committed the crimes he stood accused of. The man he’d killed had been a peacekeeper whom he’d refused to obey, and that was a serious charge no matter his state of mind at the time. With a cold acceptance that grew lump-like in his gut, Corlas knew he would be found guilty. Iassia had successfully engineered his downfall, though to what spiteful end Corlas couldn’t guess. Maybe the bird simply sought revenge for the years spent waiting for him beyond the wards. Or maybe, with a creature like that, evil was its own reward.
He knew he couldn’t withstand another bout of Baygis’s questioning. Answers had been creeping along his tongue, knocking on the back of his teeth. It had taken all his will to remain close-mouthed, and he suspected that next time he would not even try. He decided he’d rather make his admission willingly than have it forced out of him, to tell it in his own words. If only they’d never come to take his child all those years ago. Damn Kainordas and Fenvarrow both! If they had both just left him alone!
‘Mirrow,’ he whispered. ‘Forgive me that I will come to you through shame such as this.’
Would they execute him? He wasn’t sure. If they did, what would happen to his soul? Would Arkus even accept him into his Well? The thought came suddenly: would she be there if he did? Her soul had been commended to Whisperwood. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but now it hit him with force. He could not be executed in Kainordas! He had to get back to Whisperwood, lest he spend all time separate from her!
There was a click at the door; Corlas knew who it was.
‘Father!’ said Bel, rushing into the room. Corlas stood and they embraced, arms locked, chests crushed against the columns of cold steel that ran between them. Bel pulled free with angry eyes. ‘How can they charge you with these crimes?’ he said. ‘How do they dare it?’
‘My boy,’ said Corlas, his eyes dropping to the ground. ‘I will not lie to you.’
‘What?’ said Bel. ‘What are you –’
‘Bel,’ said Corlas, so wearily that Bel fell silent. The resignation in his father did not speak of innocence, and he took a step back when he saw it.
‘Yes, son. I am guilty.’
Bel stared at him disbelief.
‘It was just after your mother died.’ Corlas sighed. ‘I was angry. When I met the peacekeeper, he challenged me. I tried to leave but he attacked. I did not mean to kill him, only to defend myself. Then …well, you know what happens to the likes of you and me in such circumstances. He brought out the blood fury in me.’
‘Then it was his fault,’ said Bel darkly.
‘He was a stupid boy indeed,’ agreed Corlas. ‘Bel, listen – they must not be allowed to execute me here.’
‘Execute?’ repeated Bel, eyes blazing. ‘Execute? No, I think not! Not unless they want me to execute them !’
Thirty-three
Bargain Fulfilled
Rage coursed through him as he strode along. It boiled and bubbled, filling up the spaces within him where his other had been stripped away. Even his eyeballs felt hot.
The guards who tried to bar his way found themselves lying on the floor with heads throbbing. He burst through the doors into the Throne’s chambers with a crash. Naphur and Fahren, who had been talking at the edge of the room, looked up in alarm. Guards rushed in behind Bel, drawing their weapons.
‘No!’ said Naphur, raising a hand. ‘It’s all right, soldiers! Stand down!’
The soldiers glanced from Bel to the Throne and, although they didn’t like it, backed away rubbing their bruises.
‘Close the door!’ ordered Naphur. When they did, he stepped forward. ‘Now Bel,’ he said, keeping his voice calm, ‘Fahren has just told me about your father. I don’t know what these charges are, but –’
‘Quiet,’ said Bel, and struck a nearby statuette off its pedestal, shattering it to splinters. Naphur stopped short at the display, shocked. ‘There is talk of execution,’ Bel went on.
‘I have given no such order,’ said Naphur. ‘And I will not. We don’t even know if the charges –’
‘They are true,’ said Bel. ‘My father has admitted it to me himself. He met the keeper on his journey here, to find me. The man tried to stop him, attacked him without real provocation, and Corlas gave him the death that he deserved. So, what do you say now? I have seen how reluctant you are to intervene when it comes to this land’s precious laws. If you will not bend them for a thief, will you break them for a murderer?’
Naphur and Fahren glanced at each other uncertainly.
‘Do not even consider execution as an option,’ said Bel. The fire in him was daunting, even to these two powerful men. ‘Mark me well.’ With that, he stalked out, almost ripping the door from its hinges as he slammed it open.
A hesitant guard peeped around the creaking door. ‘Is everything all right, my lord?’
‘Leave us!’ snapped Naphur. ‘Close the door!’
The guard quickly obeyed.
‘Corlas,’ muttered the Throne. ‘I placed great trust in him. I tried to repay the wrong that was done to him. Arkus knows, I did what I could! Now he throws it back in my face. Murdering, and striking bargains with weaver birds …’