There was a silence. Then Vindax growled, and Shadow looked up in surprise. "We forgot to think up a suitable title, my friend! I am not used to this king stuff. Duke? No, perhaps we can make you a prince. King of Arms?"
The old man whom Shadow remembered from the dressing room of so long ago came limping forward; he bowed and waited.
Duke of Hiando? Prince Sald? Shadow's skin crawled. It was all a sham now. There were no slaves and no skymen, either. No one could hold a dukedom--today a man's land ran the length of his bowshot. The court itself was about to fade like a puff of dust. To become a noble would be a mockery.
"We can appoint a prince, can we not, King of Arms?" the king asked.
If the old man was disgusted at the thought, it did not show on his craggy features. "Your Majesty is the fount of honor; you may confer any title. Not, I fancy, a royal prince, although you could certainly decree an equivalent precedence."
"Pick a name, Sald," Vindax said.
"Sire..." Shadow said, then hesitated. He wanted two things only from Vindax, and a title was not one of them.
The heavy brows scowled. "Well?"
"Shadow," said Shadow.
Surprise showed on the king's face, then a frown, then a royal smile. "Why not? So be it! We name you Prince Shadow and grant you precedence after ourself and our royal mother. We deed you the royal estates of Kragsnar and Schagarn as your fief, to you and your heirs forever. Record it, King of Arms. Arise, Prince Shadow!"
Courtly honors were already history, so it didn't matter. Shadow muttered thanks and stayed where he was.
"I crave a boon, Majesty."
He wanted two things only: a proclamation to flee the eagles--and release. The thought of escape to Hiando Keep was a great ache, a haunting, an irresistible yearning.
Vindax scowled. "Later! First the punishment."
Reluctantly and uneasily, Shadow rose and stepped back to the side of the throne.
Now the courtiers saw him; he was the object of dozens of furious glares. They were angry not about the title or the land, probably, but the precedence. Fools!
Vindax leaned back and rubbed his palms. "We shall proceed to justice! Earl Marshal? Bring in the prisoner, Foan."
Shadow cringed and wished he could think of any excuse in the world to leave. He had promised Vindax his revenge, and now it must be delivered. Had he killed so many just for that?
On a chair of state at the side of the dais sat the dowager queen, Mayala: a wraith, a legend. She alone had dressed in black, a plain robe which covered her totally except for hands and head. She wore no jewels or ornaments. Her hair was tied starkly back, partly hidden by a black mantilla, and her face was the same shade of white. She had been the first to pay homage; since then she had sat like a figure of ice, seeming not even to blink, staring over the heads of the crowd. Strangely, a trace of her former beauty showed again. No, it was not quite beauty, but the fading of fear had returned her grace and dignity. Now she slowly turned her face to study the horror on the throne.
The first man in the procession was the executioner, brawny, raven-hooded, bare-chested, carrying a knife and a rapidly cooling branding iron as symbols of his art. Guards followed, and within them the duke of Foan. He had been decked in sackcloth, his hair filled with mud, and he could barely walk under the weight of chains. Thus by law one accused of high treason was required to come to judgment. When he had shuffled to the front of the throne, he was forced down on his knees.
Vindax smiled.
There was no more expression on the duke's face than there was on the queen's, but Shadow was shocked at the sight of him. Yesterday in this same courtyard he had been nobility in defeat; now there was only defeat. How had they stamped on him so quickly?
The queen was studying him, but he had not looked at her.
"Executioner," Vindax said. "Review for us the punishment prescribed for traitors."
Shadow closed his mind to the litany of horrors. The courtiers rippled silently. Rank had its privileges, and freedom from that sort of systematic public demolition was supposedly one of them. And Foan was the premier noble.
The executioner fell silent.
"Barbaric!" Vindax said. "But if that is the law...We shall see about changing it--someday." The courtiers squirmed in unison. Foan's expression did not change.
High on the wall an eagle spread its wings and then folded them again--IceFire was trying to attract Shadow's attention.
"One-who-came-through-the-dark, there are many-many-many people going through the gates, all bearing kills."
This whole monstrous performance was a charade. The troopers who enforced the law were all dead; when the food ran out, the palace would starve. The servants knew, obviously, and as soon as the king had lifted his blockade, they had loaded up and started to move. While the court hierarchy was standing here watching the king gloat, the understructure of the government, the cooks and the cleaners and the gardeners and the footmen, were heading for safety as fast as their feet would go with whatever their hands could carry. Shadow could think of no reason to stop them. As soon as these bemused aristocrats discovered the truth, they were going to become a mob of ordinary people. Possibly a maddened, out-for-blood mob. He still had his flying army at his beck, so the sooner they made the change, the better. He moved fingers unobtrusively at his waist to acknowledge.
Had Vindax realized that his power rested entirely on Shadow?
Now the executioner had finished; the king licked his lips and addressed the prisoner.
"You are charged with high treason in that, knowing me to be alive, you continued to support the usurper. How do you plead?"
"Guilty," Foan said, and was cuffed by a guard for failing to add the proper form of address.
Vindax looked disappointed. "Do you wish to beg for mercy?" he asked hopefully.
Foan merely shook his head and was struck by the guard on the other side.
This, Shadow reminded himself, was the king's father. But how could a man not beg for mercy when faced with such torments?
"Well, it wouldn't do any good, anyway," Vindax said. "We find you guilty. We sentence you to loss of all titles, ranks, honors, and lands, and then to death as ordained by law. We shall start the first session shortly, I think, as the court is already assembled. Move him over there..."
He waved a flipper, and the guards dragged the prisoner off to one side. He fell when they released him, and was unable to rise because of his chains.
The bell in Shadow's empty head tolled again:You can't turn a straight furrow with a bent plow, lad.Karaman had seen in Vindax what Shadow had not. Shadow had not dared to dream of a republic, only a better kingdom, and again Karaman had been wiser.If the soil is fertile.
"Bring in the prisoner, Elosa Foan," the king said.
The earl marshal dropped to his knees.
"She is dead, sire."
"No!" Vindax roared. "Who killed her? I'll have him flayed. When? How?"
The earl marshal had turned gray with terror. "She took her own life, Your Majesty, some eight days ago."
Obviously the duke had not known that the previous day.
Vindax pounded both arms of the throne without producing any sound. "I wanted her to see what she had done! Why?" He turned his head to look at the prostrate form of the former duke. "Bring him back here!"