King's Blades 03 - Sky of Swords Page 2

  another forbidden outcome. Sir Dog's desire

  to visit his childhood cannot be satisfied by any

  means known to modern spiritualism."

  "And did you explain that to him in words he could

  understand, or did you amuse yourself by confusing him with

  technical jargon and overblown vocabulary?"

  Jongleur hung his head. "I did not understand

  that he was acting on Your Majesty's behalf."

  "Well you do now. You will go and find him at

  once and explain the problem in detail, until

  he is completely satisfied. Do you understand?

  Furthermore, since my request was directed

  to Grand Wizard, I shall expect a written

  reply from him to be delivered to my secretary,

  Master Kinwinkle, before I return

  to Grandon. Otherwise you may see the

  inside of the Bastion." She turned her glare on

  Lothaire. "And you, Master, will remember that

  Sir Dog's past is none of your business.

  Nor his future, either."

  She stalked back into the Forge, leaving them on

  their knees. The whispering there stopped abruptly

  when she entered.

  Now she had something else to worry about. She

  should not have lost her temper! Dog was her weak

  point. Enemies could strike at her through him.

  She did not have time to work up a good fret over this,

  though, before Audley came trotting down the steps

  and presented her with a dispatch just in from Chancellor

  Burningstar.

  The ports of Horselea and Tharburgh had

  declared for Fitzambrose. Neville himself had

  been reported in Pompifarth, claiming royal

  honors and issuing a summons for Parliament

  to meet there, instead of in Grandon.

  Members of Your Grace's Council, the

  letter concluded, respectfully recommend that

  Your Grace consider declaring Pompifarth to be in

  a state of insurrection and in breach of the Queen's

  Peace; and that Your Grace may wish to charge the

  Black Riders with freeing its loyal

  inhabitants from the traitors who have deflected

  them from their true allegiance and to bring all

  contumacious subjects under the royal mercy; but

  the Council will of course loyally wait upon Your

  Grace's instructions. The Council, in

  short, was not going to start a civil war without the

  Queen's command but was protecting itself in case things

  got worse before she returned.

  The Queen was in no mood to start a war,

  civil or uncivil, but as she rammed swords

  through fourteen young hearts that night, she found herself

  wishing that one of them belonged to Neville

  Fitzambrose. That one, she would cheerfully chop

  in slices.

  She still had to preside over the general

  assembly before she could leave Ironhall and

  race back to the capital. Knights and some

  private Blades had been flocking in ever

  since she arrived; and on the morning after the binding

  the Loyal and Ancient Order of the Queen's

  Blades assembled for the first time since 361, when

  Sir Saxon had been elected Grand Master.

  Master of Archives, that professional

  pedant, muttered that there was no record of a

  general meeting of the Queen's Blades, not ever.

  Now there was, for the Head of the Order, seated below

  the broken sword of Durendal, was Queen

  Malinda the First, bejeweled and wearing a crown.

  More than six hundred men had gathered in the

  hall. The entire Royal Guard was present,

  still in the old blue liveries, alas, because the

  Queen could not afford to outfit them with new.

  Snake and his Old Blades were there in force, as

  were knights so ancient that they could remember

  Ambrose II and would insist on doing so if

  given the slightest encouragement. Every private

  Blade in the land had begged and bullied his ward

  to attend, and many had consented. These non-Blades

  were shunted off to a safe, quiet corner to dispose

  of a butt of fine wine from the royal cellar, but

  no other strangers were present.

  The ceremony was brief and matter-of-fact,

  yet many an eye blinked tears. Grand Master

  read out a blood-chilling list of additions to the

  Litany, including a "Sir Wolfbiter,

  slain in a far country" and ending with Sir Abel.

  But the main business of the meeting concerned the three

  Blades who had been crippled at Wetshore:

  Sir Bellamy had lost a leg, Sir

  Glanvil the use of an arm, and Sir Dorret

  had been both blinded and horribly mutilated

  by a kick from a horse. For half a year they had

  lived in torment, driven by their bindings to defend

  their ward and balked by physical inability.

  The conjuration to release them could hardly have been

  simpler, yet only the sovereign could perform it,

  and Amby had not been capable. Each in turn

  knelt before the Queen with bared shoulders, and she

  dubbed him knight, touching his flesh with the sword that

  had bound him. Right after that, as Snake cheerfully

  remarked, they could go off and get roaring drunk for the

  first time in their lives.

  Commander Audley floated in bliss, ever at

  the Queen's side, being Leader before the entire

  Order, the youngest ever recorded. No other man

  had ever gone from Prime to Leader in just half a

  year, either. Much drollery was being lobbed around just

  behind his ears, on the lines of

  "do-you-suppose-his-fencing-will-improve-when-his

  comballs-drop," but he could pretend not to hear that.

  He was not allowed to hear the praise, of which there was

  considerably more; the Guard had developed an

  affectionate respect for its mascot

  commander. He had made no mistakes, and that was a

  talent swordsmen valued highly.

  Malinda, for her part, could breathe more easily.

  As long as she had the power to release Blades,

  she was sovereign. They recognized her, their

  bindings recognized her, and no one could deny her.

  That situation might change very rapidly, though,

  and her intention was to leave as soon as possible.

  If she went by midday she could reach Bondhill

  by sunset and be home before noon tomorrow. She would

  find more trouble waiting there, she had no doubt. So

  she fretted through the ceremonial meal--which was

  barely appetizing, because Ironhall was neither

  staffed nor equipped to create banquets--and through

  some very windy speeches after it. She cut her own

  remarks to a barely decent brevity and departed,

  knowing the knights would now indulge in a memorable

  orgy of drinking at her expense. Companions were

  kept sober by their bindings.

  Even in Ironhall she went nowhere without an

  escort, and she was dogged upstairs by fourteen young

  men who could hardly endure to let her out of their

  sight. She went straight to the royal chamber, a

  solitary oasis of luxury in Ironhall's

 
; stony austerity, furnished with her father's taste for

  overstuffed, overcrowded mishmash. There she found

  Dian laying out her riding clothes, but she also

  found Winter.

  "What are you two getting up to?" she said

  cheerfully, then saw that he had more on his mind than

  Dian. She dropped the smile. "Spit it out!

  And I don't mean your thumbnail."

  "Your Grace ... I've been talking

  to knights." Winter was rarely so hesitant.

  Either he had not finished solving his problem or he

  could not convince himself of the answer he had found.

  "There are knights from all over Chivial here."

  "And?"

  "There's something strange going on just west of

  here." He pulled his hat off and scratched his

  hair. "At Lomouth, Waterby, Ashter ...

  all around Westerth, southern Nythia ...

  Mayshire."

  She waited, knowing that interruptions would only

  slow him down. Hunter and Vere were quietly

  inspecting the room for hidden assassins, while the

  rest of the fourteen had packed up in the doorway

  and corridor behind her, reluctant to push past

  their sovereign.

  "Lots of knights," Winter

  mumbled. "Sir Florian from Waterby mentioned

  it first, then Sir Warren, who's running a

  private fencing school near Buran. ...

  They're good men, my lady! So then I started

  asking, and hunting out others to ask, and I got

  eight or nine certains and a couple of

  probablies. ..."

  "Tell her!" Dian snapped.

  "Please do," Malinda said.

  "Hiring swordsmen, Your Grace! And

  men-at-arms. And even farmhands. Strong arms and

  weak heads, if you know the expression. Several

  hundred, at least. I think someone's building a

  private army out in the west, here, Your

  Grace." He stared nervously at Malinda, like

  a child expecting a scolding.

  She was training herself to take time to think. So she

  took time to think. Her first conclusions remained

  unchanged. In troubled times, men of property

  naturally wanted protectors, no matter what

  the law said about private armies. Half a

  dozen bullyboys to guard a mill or dockyard

  were of no account. A thousand or two with weapons and

  veterans to train them would be something else

  entirely. But who could find the money to do that? She

  couldn't!

  "Is it only hereabouts? Have you asked?"

  Winter nodded vigorously. "There's some of it

  going on all over, yes. Fitzambrose is

  openly hiring in the north. Farmers everywhere are

  screaming about a shortage of hands to bring in the

  harvest. But, it does seem a lot just west of

  here, Your Grace."

  What else was bothering him? "Any idea

  who's behind it?"

  "Mayshire seems to be the center, Your

  Grace." Winter drew a deep breath.

  "Several people mentioned your cousin, Prince

  Courtney." He waited anxiously to see how

  Her Majesty liked hearing her heir being accused

  of treason.

  Until death do us part.

  CHIVIAN MARRIAGE CONTRACT

  The members of the Council rose when their

  sovereign entered--three women and sixteen men

  around a paper-littered table. She and her

  Guard had spent the night at Bondhill and

  been on the road again before dawn, pounding along in

  a blustery wind that threw rain and sleet

  by turns. At Abshurst she had told Audley

  to send his best two horsemen on ahead to warn

  Chancellor Burningstar to call the Council

  into immediate session. She stalked in with Audley and

  Winter, all three of them soaked, windswept,

  and muddy.

  "Please be seated, Excellency, my lords and

  ladies." Malinda squelched down on her

  chair at the head, facing down the length of the table

  to Chancellor Burningstar.

  Everyone had noted Her Majesty's evident

  displeasure and was trying to appear noncommittal,

  with varying degrees of success. The new Mother

  Superior, especially, tended to simper or chew

  her lip as conditions warranted. She was a pale

  little spider of a woman; it seemed she and her

  predecessor belonged to different factions of the

  Sisters, because they obviously detested each other.

  Today lip biting was in vogue. The Dowager

  Duchess of De Mayes was doing it too. None

  of them could come close to Grand Inquisitor's

  graven inscrutability. Master Kinwinkle

  remained standing at his writing desk.

  Malinda chose to give the suspect a chance

  to redeem himself. "What bad news do you have this

  fine day, before I tell you mine?"

  The Chancellor peered over the eyeglasses she

  had recently adopted. "The members of your

  Privy Council are, as always, deeply

  honored to have you join their deliberations, Your

  Majesty. We were considering a map Master

  Kinwinkle has prepared, showing the insurgent

  garrisons."

  A paper was hastily passed along and spread

  out before the Queen. She frowned at the red names

  disfiguring the outlines of her realm like festering

  pox. The north was especially bad, for

  Neville's supporters were concentrated near the

  Wylderland border, but there were pustules less

  than a day's ride from Grandon itself. The absence

  of trouble spots in the southwest now seemed

  ominous.

  "None of this is especially new. Can we

  continue to deny that we have a revolution on our

  hands?"

  "Local unrest," grumbled the Duke of

  Brinton. "Horse of a different

  color. These towns are being held against the

  Queen's Majesty by armed bands of malcontents.

  The inhabitants in general are, we can be

  certain, loyal subjects of the crown."

  "Is that true, Grand Inquisitor?"

  Malinda asked.

  Lambskin spread his hands. "We have conflicting

  information, Your Grace. In some case yes, in

  others no."

  "So you see no imminent armed rebellion

  springing up?"

  "Certainly not imminently, no."

  He had been given his chance. He had failed.

  "Setting Fitzambrose aside for a moment,

  I believe the Council should hear certain information

  we obtained at Ironhall. Sir Winter?"

  Winter stepped forward and began to recite. He

  was more confident now, having had time to prepare, and

  he spouted a damning stream of names and places.

  The last name, of course, was that of Prince

  Courtney.

  "Have the honorable members any questions to put to the

  guardsman?" Malinda inquired sweetly.

  Most of the honorable members were staring hard at

  Grand Inquisitor. It isn't just me, she

  thought. They all suspect him. They don't

  think it's just age and incompetence.

  The old man glanced calmly around the table,

  waiting for others to speak first.
r />   Burningstar, who detested him, said, "Grand

  Inquisitor?" Her cheeks bore little red

  rosebuds of anger.

  "It is an impressive indictment," he

  said. "All hearsay, of course, but still disturbing.

  If I may presume, without prejudice to your

  royal cousin's loyalty, Your Grace, would it

  not be advisable, in these uncertain times, to summon

  His Highness to court to explain what, if anything,

  may lie behind these rumors?"

  "What can, other than treason?"

  Lambskin cracked his knuckles.

  "Defense. Baelish ships have been seen

  skulking in the Westuary several times in the last

  few months. The locals fear a major

  Baelish raid, which is something we have all dreaded

  since the collapse of the treaty last spring. Before

  Your Grace was born, King Aeled scored the

  greatest triumph of his bloody career by seizing,

  looting, and razing Lomouth. While still not what it

  was, the city is now prosperous enough

  to repay another rape. Since his son has never

  touched it, Lomouth would not be an unlikely

  target for him to choose now." He scanned the

  company again, as if assessing reaction. "Your

  boy may merely have stumbled on traces of many

  landowners looking to their own protection. To assume

  that His Highness the Duke of Mayshire is behind

  all the recruiting is to jump to unwarranted

  conclusions."

  Butter should be so smooth. Malinda kept

  tight hold of her temper. "We fully intend

  to summon him before this Council. Would you care

  to explain why we learned of the situation at a

  drinking party, instead of from our Office of General

  Inquiry?"

  He shook his mummy head sadly.

  "Overtaxed resources, mainly, Majesty. The

  inquisitors have been concentrating on

  Fitzambrose. I did withdraw five agents

  from the north last week and dispatch them to the west

  country to investigate why our permanent

  personnel in the Prince's household had

  fallen behind in their reports."

  "What in flaming britches do you mean by,

  "permanent personnel," eh?" the Duke

  demanded, suddenly scowling. "You dare to plant

  spies on a prince of the realm, the Heir

  Presumptive?"

  Grand Master's glassy stare avoided him,

  wandering around the rest of the company instead. "Her

  Majesty's Office of General Inquiry

  keeps watch on anyone who might present a

  threat to the Queen's Grace."