King's Blades 01 - The Gilded Chain Read online

  THE GILDED CHAIN

  A Tale of the King's Blades

  by

  DAVE DUNCAN

  BOOK JACKET INFORMATION

  FANTASY

  "Just the sort of marvelous yarn that lured me

  into reading fantasy and sf."

  ANNE McCAFFREY

  DAVE DUNCAN is an award-winning

  author whose fantasy trilogy, The Seventh

  Sword, is considered a sword-and-sorcery

  classic. A former geologist, his numerous

  novels include Strings, Hero, the popular

  tetrologies A Man of his Word and A

  Handful of Men, and the remarkable, critically

  acclaimed fantasy trilogy The Great

  Game.

  As unwanted, rebellious boys, they find

  refuge in Ironhall ... Years later they

  emerge as the finest swordsmen in the realm--

  THE KING'S BLADES

  A magical ritual of a sword through the heart

  binds each to his ward--if not the king himself,

  then to whomever else the monarch designates--with

  absolute loyalty. And the greatest Blade of

  them all was--and is--Sir Durendal.

  But a lifelong dream of protecting his beloved

  liege from enemies, traitors, and monsters is

  dashed to bits when Durendal is bonded till

  death to an effete noble fop at his king's orders.

  Yet Destiny has many strange and inscrutable

  plans for the young knight--for a mission, a contest,

  and, perhaps, a treasure await him in a faraway

  land. But he soon finds himself enmeshed in treason

  and foul intrigues, compelled to betray the king he

  had hoped to serve. The Blades have ways

  to protect their own, but death and madness haunt the

  path to salvation--and few ever return unscathed.

  "Classy ... irresistible ... a handsomely

  crafted commentary on honor and betrayal ...

  Duncan's people are marvelously believable, his

  landscapes deliciously exotic, his

  swordplay breathtaking."

  Publishers Weekly (starred

  Review)

  www.eosbooks.com

  DAVE DUNCAN

  "Dave Duncan writes one excellent

  book after another."

  Locus

  "He explores heroism, betrayal, and

  sacrifice, all within the context of breakneck

  adventure ... But in a Dave Duncan

  story, "rollicking" should not be mistaken for

  "insubstantial.""

  Calgary Herald

  THE GILDED CHAIN

  A TALE OF THE

  KING'S BLADES

  "A truly great story ... Duncan is a

  true master of his craft ... [He] has a

  rare talent with words and uses them to his

  advantage ... Buy this book, you won't

  regret it."

  SF Site

  "Fast-paced ... Sharp humor and

  swashbuckling action add charm and vigor to this

  fantasy adventure."

  Library Journal

  "Good characters; fine plotting; a lean and supple

  narrative."

  Kirkus Reviews

  "A rollicking and clever tale of adventure,

  loyalty, and derring-do set against a briskly

  sketched landscape of court politics and

  intrigue ... The quirky plot never quite goes

  where expected. Though this story stands well alone,

  it would serve nicely as the foundation for other tales

  of the King's Blades. If so, I want to be

  there."

  SFREVU

  Other Avon Books by

  Dave Duncan

  THE GREAT GAME

  PAST IMPERATIVE

  PRESENT TENSE

  FUTURE INDEFINITE

  THE KING'S BLADES

  LORD OF THE FIRE LANDS

  AND IN HARDCOVER

  SKY OF SWORDS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

  places, and incidents either are the product of the

  author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual events, locales,

  organizations, or persons, living or dead, is

  entirely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated with

  all my love to my grandson

  Brendan Andrew Press

  in the hope that one day he

  will find pleasure in it

  CONTENTS

  Part Page

  VOLUME I

  Prologue ......................... 1

  1 Harvest ......................... 8

  2 Nutting ....................... 103

  3 Everman ....................... 162

  VOLUME II

  3 Everman (continued) .............. 215

  4 Wolfbiter .................... 233

  5 Montpurse ................... 356

  VOLUME III

  5 Montpurse (continued) .......... 431

  6 Kate ........................ 469

  7 Quarrel ...................... 569

  Epilogue ....................... 641

  This braille edition contains the entire text of the

  print edition except illustrations.

  THE GILDED CHAIN

  Prologue

  Grand Master looked even older than the

  Squire, but he had a hard trimness that age had

  not softened, as if he would still be deadly with that

  sword he wore. There was a ferocity in his gaze

  that the boy had never seen before in any man's; so

  he forced himself not to flinch when those terrible gray

  eyes turned on him, meeting the stare as

  impassively as he could, determined not to show any

  sign of the tumult in his belly. While the two

  men discussed him, he stood in silence, clutching

  his cap in both hands. He had never seen the

  Squire be so most-wondrous polite to anyone

  before, fawning at Grand Master the way the goose

  wife did to him.

  The boy had expected the famous Ironhall

  to look like a castle, but it was just a cluster of

  buildings all alone on barren Starkmoor,

  black stone walls and black slate roofs. The

  inside was even bleaker: bare walls, plank

  floor, wooden ceiling; a cold wind sighing in

  one unglazed, barred window and out another. Two

  big chairs, a table, a shelf of books, a

  grate so clean that it was hard to believe any

  fire had ever burned there--no prison cell could

  be grimmer. If this was Grand Master's room,

  how did the boys live?

  "Vicious!" the Squire said. "Intractable.

  Don't suppose even you can make a man out of

  such trash." He had been telling everything--the

  boy's entire life from his shameful birth out of

  wedlock fourteen years ago to last week's

  attempt to run away and the subsequent whipping,

  with not one prank or misdeed overlooked. That was

  no way to sell a horse. After that catalogue

  of wickedness there could be no chance at all of his being

  accepted. He was going to be sent home

  to Dimpleshire most-wondrous fast.

  Grand Master drained his wine and replaced the
/>   goblet on the table. "You will withdraw, please,

  while I speak with the lad."

  The boy watched uneasily as the Squire

  rose, bowed low, and departed. What was the use of

  prolonging the matter? Why not throw them both out and

  be done with it? The iron-studded door thudded shut.

  He was not invited to take the vacant chair.

  He met the gaze of the terrible gray eyes and

  steeled himself not to twitch, fidget, or

  even swallow. After several long minutes, Grand

  Master said, "Why did you steal the pony?"

  "It's mine. My mom gave it to me before she

  ... long time ago."

  The old man smiled grimly. "If it was

  only this high, couldn't you have walked faster on your

  own two feet?"

  The boy shrugged. "They'd always caught me on

  foot. Thought it might confuse the dogs."

  "Worth a try," Grand Master admitted.

  He reached his left hand into his doublet and brought out

  a bag. It clinked. Now what? "You don't

  get to keep this money--I take it back. Put

  your cap on the table."

  The boy obeyed suspiciously.

  "Go back to where you were standing. Catch!"

  The boy caught the coin. Most-wondrous!

  "Can you throw it into your cap? Good. Ready?"

  Another coin.

  The boy caught it and tossed it beside the first. The

  next throw went wider. Then higher, so he had

  to jump--and there was another coming already and he was throwing

  and catching at the same time. Soon he was going in

  four directions at once, grabbing and throwing with

  both hands.

  The barrage stopped. He had put every one in the

  cap.

  "That was impressive. Very impressive!"

  "Thank you, my lord." It wasn't bad.

  Kids' stuff, though.

  "Call me Grand Master. Your grandfather was

  certainly correct when he said you were agile. But

  he did tell me one untruth, didn't he,

  although he uttered no deliberate falsehoods?

  What is the real story?"

  The boy resisted a need to lick his lips.

  Would he rather be thought wicked or stupid? The old

  man must be using some sort of conjurement to detect

  lies, so stupid it would have to be.

  "The girl, Grand Master. That one was not me."

  The old man nodded. "I guessed that from your

  reaction. The rest don't matter--only signs

  of a spirit caged. Violence against women is

  otherwise. Yet you took the punishment without

  protest? Why?"

  Because I am stupid! "He's a serf's son.

  They'd have hanged him. She was only scared, not

  real hurt."

  "And suppose the next time he does rape

  someone? Won't that be your fault?"

  "I don't think he's truly evil,

  Grand--"

  "Answer my question."

  The boy thought for a moment. "Yes."

  "Do you regret your decision now?"

  "No, Grand Master."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I don't think he's truly evil,

  Grand Master."

  "You have confidence in your own judgment. Good.

  Well, the choice is yours--not mine, not your

  grandfather's. Yours. If you wish to stay, I

  accept you. If you do not, then I shall tell your

  grandfather that I refused you. I warn you that you will be

  embarking on a whole new life, a life of

  complete obedience. It will be made a hard life,

  deliberately, for we have no use for the soft. For the

  first few weeks you will not even possess a name; you

  will be only the Brat, the lowest of the low. You will be

  free to leave at any time--and many do--but what

  happens to you then will be no concern of ours. You will

  walk out of the gate with nothing and never return.

  "On the other hand, if you survive your

  training, you will have achieved a position of some

  honor in society. You will very likely live at

  court, one of a very select brotherhood, the finest

  swordsmen in the known world. Again, you will be embarking

  on a life of complete obedience. You will serve

  your King or whomever else he decrees. You will

  have no say in the matter. Indeed, this decision you

  take now is in a sense the last decision you will

  ever make of your own free will."

  And the first one, too. The boy had not expected

  to be offered a choice.

  Grand Master said, "Have you any questions?"

  "Who picks my new name?"

  "You do, usually from the list of former Blades,

  although other names are sometimes accepted."

  That was fairer than he had expected. If he

  left, he would never know whether he could have been

  man enough. Being the Brat in Ironhall could not

  be much worse than being a bastard son in a

  family with very little money and no social

  importance. The alternative was to be

  apprenticed to some craftsman or merchant, a

  nobody evermore. He would not be the Brat for

  long. "I wish to stay, Grand Master."

  "Don't be too hasty. There are many things you

  do not know. Ask more questions or just think about it. You can

  have five minutes."

  "No, Grand Master. I wish to stay."

  "To make such a decision lightly can be taken

  as a sign of folly."

  "I have confidence in my own judgment, Grand

  Master."

  The dread eyes narrowed. "If you were already a

  candidate, that remark would be treated as insolence."

  The only safe answer to that was, "I understand,

  Grand Master."

  The old man nodded. "Very well. You are

  accepted. Brat, go and tell the man waiting

  outside that he may go now."

  HARVEST

  I

  "Treason," Kromman whispered. He

  repeated the word, mouthing it as if he found the taste

  pleasing: "Treason! Your treachery is uncovered

  at last. Evidence has been laid before the

  King." He smiled and licked his wizened lips.

  Human wood-louse!

  Roland considered drawing his sword and sliding it

  into Kromman until the blade would go no farther,

  then taking it out again--by another route, for variety.

  That would be an act of public service he should have

  performed a lifetime ago, but it would create a

  serious scandal. Word would flash across all

  Eurania that the King of Chivial's private

  secretary had been murdered by his lord

  chancellor, sending courtiers of a dozen capitals

  into fits of hysterical giggles. Lord Roland must

  behave himself. It was a pleasing fantasy, though.

  Meanwhile, the winter night was falling. He still

  had work piled up like snowdrifts, a dozen

  petitioners waiting to see him, and no time to waste

  on this black-robed human fungus.

  Patience! "As you well know, Master

  Secretary, such rumors go around every couple of

  years--rumors about me, about you, about many of the

  King's ministers." Ambrose probably started

  most of the stories himself, but if his chancellor said sor />
  to Kromman, Kromman would tattle back

  to him. "His Majesty has more sense than

  to listen to slander. Now, have you brought some business for

  me?"

  "No, Lord Chancellor. No more business for

  you." Kromman was not hiding his enjoyment; he was

  up to something. Even in his youth, as a Dark

  Chamber inquisitor, he had been repugnant

  --spying and snooping, prying and plotting,

  maligning anyone he could not destroy. Now, with

  age-yellowed eyes and hair trailing like

  cobwebs from under his black biretta, he had

  all the appeal of a corpse washed up on a

  beach. Some days he looked even worse. Even

  the King, who had few scruples, referred to him

  in private as rat poison. What secret

  joy was he savoring now?

  Roland stood up. He had always been taller

  and trimmer than this grubby ink slinger, and the years

  had not changed that. "I won't send for the Watch.

  I'll throw you out myself. I have no time for

  games."

  "Nor I. The games are over at last."

  Kromman slithered a letter onto the desk with all

  the glee of a small boy waiting for his mother to open

  a gift he has wrapped for her. Definitely

  up to something!

  Over by the door, Quarrel looked up from his

  book with a puzzled expression. No voices had

  been raised yet, but his Blade instincts were

  detecting trouble.

  Roland's face had given away nothing for

  thirty years and would not start doing so now.

  Impassively he took up the packet, noting

  that it was addressed personally to Earl Roland of

  Waterby, Companion of the White Star, Knight

  of the Loyal and Ancient Order of the King's

  Blades, et cetera, and closed with the privy

  seal, yet it bore no mention of his high office.

  That odd combination warned him what he was going to find

  even before he lifted the wax with a deft twist of his

  knife and crackled the parchment open. The

  ornately lettered message was terse to the point of

  brutality:

  is therefore commanded to divest ... will absent himself