King's Blades 03 - Sky of Swords Read online

Brinton spluttered. "You implying the Dark

  Chamber spies on me too?"

  "Such matters should be discussed in private,

  Your Grace."

  "I take the matter extremely seriously,"

  Malinda said. "I am more concerned about Courtney

  than I am about Fitzambrose." To back

  Neville would be open rebellion--and there had

  been few signs of general support for him as

  yet--but many people who would draw back from that grim

  plunge into rebellion might see little wrong in

  forcing a juvenile queen into marrying a mature

  prince who was her heir and next of kin anyway.

  Even, perhaps, some of this very Council. Like grim

  old Horatio Gallows, there. Never

  treason! Oh no, just rationalizing the lines of

  command. ... How many of the other

  councillors were in his power?

  "Is it agreed that we summon Prince

  Courtney?" she said harshly and watched the heads

  nod. "Then, if there is no new business, we

  can adjourn. Perhaps you would bring me the warrant

  to sign in an hour or so, Chancellor?"

  It was the twentieth day of her reign. Already

  she had defeated one rebellion, and now she

  faced two more.

  The Queen's Chamber was the largest and finest

  room in the Royal Suite at Greymere,

  large, and commanding a fine view above huddled city

  rooftops to the hills of Great Common. It was

  renowned for its framed Duville tapestries,

  whose improbable shepherd youths and maidens

  frolicked in an idyllic landscape and a much

  warmer climate than Chivial's. Queen

  Haralda had often threatened to hang smocks on

  some of them.

  As a child Malinda had wondered why her father

  did not claim the best room as his own, but she had

  guessed the reason after the Night of Dogs; and

  when she returned to Greymere as queen she made

  the Guard show her the secret door and the

  spyholes concealed by the famous tapestries. They

  posed no real problem, though, because they led through to a

  bedchamber in the attendants' wing, and the door to that

  was fitted with a lock and a strong bolt. That was how

  Dog came calling after curfew.

  She had bathed, dressed in a comfortable gown, and

  was nibbling a snack of fruit and cheese when

  Chancellor Burningstar was shown in. As soon as

  her guest was seated and had accepted a glass of

  cordial, she went straight to what they both

  knew was the main reason for the meeting.

  "Is Lambskin playing me false?"

  Burningstar sighed. "I honestly do not know,

  Your Grace. I personally despise the man,

  but I feel that way about all inquisitors.

  To most White Sisters, a Blade smells like

  hot iron and an inquisitor of rot and decay.

  He reeks stronger than any. If your cousin

  is gathering and training an army, as you obviously

  fear, then you certainly have cause to dismiss your

  chief of security for not warning you of the danger."

  "The next question is: Can I do it?"

  "Indeed it is! Who defends the hunter from his

  dogs? Your father always appointed elderly persons

  to head the Dark Chamber, on the theory that

  none of them could ever be trusted for long, and it was much

  safer to let them die off than to try and remove

  them."

  Lambskin had not been many years in his post.

  Malinda could remember his predecessor, a

  huge and sinister woman, dramatically dropping

  dead at a concert.

  "Forgive my asking, but you are worth a

  hundred Lambskins to me. If he has any

  hold over you, I will sign a pardon for it, no

  matter what it involves."

  Burningstar smiled, obviously pleased by the

  compliment. "I have nothing on my conscience except

  maybe some sarcastic comments when Your Grace was

  much younger. I fear that others on your council are

  more vulnerable. Your honored uncle, for

  example."

  "Brinton?" Malinda said incredulously.

  "How can anyone blackmail a duke? Dukes

  can get away with anything." Perhaps not murder or

  treason, but she could not conceive of the bovine Brinton

  murdering anyone. Boring them to death, maybe.

  "Well ..." said the first minister of her

  government, "it is old gossip, and I swear

  I have never repeated it to anyone before ..."

  Malinda grinned and leaned closer. "But when it

  is a matter of fealty to the crown ...?"

  "Exactly. Do you know why he's never fathered

  any children?"

  "Um, no. Do tell."

  "When he was about ten," the old lady said in a

  conspiratorial whisper, "he watched a

  mountebank juggling axes. He was so impressed

  that he went off behind the barn and tried it himself."

  The Queen guffawed, much to her shame. "I can

  see why he would not want the tale told, but I

  don't think he would let it trap him into open

  treason."

  "It might sway his judgment if there were

  doubts. Add a few more cases like it, and your

  Council may have trouble supporting you against Grand

  Inquisitor."

  "I don't need its support in a case of

  treason," Malinda said grimly. "And this time

  I would not make the mistake of emptying my

  dungeons too quickly. But we have no proof

  yet. Let us see how Courtney responds

  to the warrant, and then decide."

  She read over the summons to her cousin, which the

  Chancellor had brought, then moved some

  plates to make a space for signing it. When she

  looked up, she caught Burningstar staring at the

  tapestries.

  "My great-grandmother's choice. I like the lad

  with the drinking horn. Impressive, isn't he?"

  "Oh, I beg pardon, Your--"

  "Don't apologize. Everyone reacts that

  way at first. For sheer beef, perhaps the one with the

  plow, and I don't mean the ox in front." For

  sheer beef, Dog put them all to shame. "I

  doubt if Prince Courtney will look much like that

  with his clothes off, but I know of course the

  Council wants me married, so--"

  "Not at all, Your Majesty! Far from it! You

  don't think we're enjoying ourselves? No, most of

  your Council ... if you will pardon my

  presumption, Your Grace ... we really think

  you are doing very well, andwitha little more experience ...

  and when we ourselves have more ... I doubt if any of

  us wants to see Prince Courtney wearing the

  crown matrimonial. Most detest him."

  "Thank you for this assurance. I am less

  worried by Fitzambrose's threats of armed

  rebellion than I am by an insidious

  campaign to pressure me into marrying my

  cousin."

  "Ah," the Chancellor said sadly. "That

  wasn't quite what I said. If Lambskin has

  sold out to him ... The Prince has been around

  court all his life and may be as well equipped

  to apply blackmail as Grand Inquis
itor is.

  Together they would be formidable indeed."

  "I wonder why everyone claims to despise

  Courtney and yet he always rises to the top?"

  "Scum always does," said the Lady

  Chancellor. "Begging Your Grace's pardon."

  "Pardon granted. What about that?" Malinda

  pointed out at the view of Great Common, still

  disfigured by rows of tents, a deliberate threat

  to the city. "I don't want the Black Riders

  there when Parliament meets."

  "Your Council recommends sending them

  to Pompifarth."

  "So you said in your letter. But to turn mercenaries

  loose on my own people! That is abhorrent! And

  unpd mercenaries, at that. I wish I could pay

  them off and ship them overseas." She had been

  glad of their help three weeks ago, but drawing

  a sword was always easier than sheathing it again.

  "We do not propose storming the town,

  Majesty!" the Chancellor said, looking shocked.

  "We merely want to invest it, to block

  Neville's call for an anti-Parliament

  to meet there. We expect very few lords or

  elected commons to attend, probably none, but

  he may claim that they have. If he puts on a

  puppet show, people may be hoodwinked."

  "Starve him out, you mean?"

  "Not even that. Pompifarth is a major

  port, which we cannot hope to blockade without

  attracting the attention of the Baels, who would

  love to feast on your troubles. We propose

  throwing a cordon of Black Riders around the

  walls and declaring a siege. The inhabitants will

  not starve. I doubt very much that Neville himself is

  even there."

  Malinda scowled at the window. The rain had

  started again, blocking out the view of Great Common.

  "Let us discuss it at a full meeting of the

  Council tomorrow," she said reluctantly. She could

  not hold back forever; she must do something about

  Neville.

  Continuing rain ruined the roads and threatened the

  harvest. With Parliament due to convene in another

  four days, members were still struggling toward the

  capital, and messengers returning from Mayshire

  were long in coming. Prince Courtney's reply to the

  warrant was a curt note pleading indisposition.

  By the time the Council assembled to discuss this

  defiance, Malinda was so furious that she could not

  bring herself to take her seat. The weather was murky

  outside and the mood inside even grimmer. Only

  the lashing of rain against the windows disturbed the

  silence as she paced back and forth on the rug; her

  ministers stood around the table and watched her. All

  except one.

  "Where is Grand Inquisitor? By the eight,

  if he does not appear in five minutes, I will

  send the Royal Guard to fetch him! What news

  from Pompifarth, Chancellor?"

  "No change, Your Grace. The town is

  sealed off from the land, but boats continue to enter and

  leave the harbor. There has been no fighting."

  "And no news from Mayshire?"

  "Nothing official ... rely on Grand

  Inquisitor ... more rumors, of course."

  Rumors, indeed! Lord Candlefen,

  Malinda's squirrel-brained cousin, had

  arrived from Westerth that very morning with a

  whole cartload of rumors. He had been more

  interested in describing the hardships of his

  journey, but when pressed he had passed on

  stories of Prince Courtney raising an army

  with the help of Isilondian military

  advisors.

  "Where is he getting the money?" she demanded,

  still pacing. "Constable, how much has he spent

  already?"

  "Depends how many men he has hired, Your

  Grace," Valdor rumbled. Before she could call

  him an idiot, he added, "Warm bodies come

  cheap, but assume at least one crown per man so

  far, including board and shelter. The problem will be

  weapons. Even a pike needs first-quality

  steel. Ash poles are cheap enough by the dozen, but just

  try to collect a thousand! Shields and arrows and

  helmets--all very specialized artifacts.

  Strong boots, warm bedding. Horses and oxen and

  carts. But weapons first. A good sword, even,

  can cost more than a matched team of horses; the

  Lord Protector stripped the country to arm his

  garrisons."

  "So Neville Fitzambrose has them all

  now? Very comforting!" Still no sign of Horatio

  Lambskin ... Had he fled to join his master,

  Courtney? "Commander Audley, since Grand

  Inquisitor has refused our summons to this--"

  There was a knock on the door.

  Audley, whose brows had risen very high at the

  thought of arresting the head of the Dark Chamber, said

  quickly, "By your leave, Your Grace ..." and

  opened the door a crack. And then wider,

  to admit the gaunt, gibbet form of the missing

  inquisitor, who entered clutching a bulky mass

  of papers under his arm.

  He bowed to the Queen. She sat down and

  gestured for everyone else to do the same, leaving

  Lambskin still on his feet, heading for his usual

  seat.

  "We are not accustomed to being kept waiting."

  He looked at her reproachfully, making her

  wonder if he had deliberately staged this

  entrance.

  "I humbly crave Your Grace's pardon.

  I tarried to finish gathering some savory tidings,

  and I trust that they will compensate for my tardiness."

  "My cousin is not raising an illegal

  army?"

  Shaking his head sadly, Grand

  Inquisitor laid the papers on the table.

  "Indeed he is, Your Grace. About a thousand

  men, as near as my office can calculate.

  Abandoning subterfuge, he has now concentrated

  them in a camp just outside Lomouth."

  "So we face two armed insurrections!"

  Malinda looked around at the shocked faces of

  her Privy Councillors and wondered which rats

  would start launching lifeboats first. "I thought you

  said you brought good news?"

  She had never seen Grand Inquisitor

  actually smile before. She hoped she never would

  again.

  "It seems very good news to me, Your Grace.

  Two nights ago, the Baels landed in force near

  Lomouth and attempted to seize the city. As I

  said, the Prince had just established his camp there.

  He organized resistance and sent out a sortie

  that engaged the Baels in battle and routed them.

  They withdrew to their fleet and attempted to depart,

  but another contingent of the Prince's forces had so

  damaged the longships on the beach that a great many of

  them sank when they were launched. Hundreds or

  thousands of the invaders were drowned. At latest word

  the survivors were being hunted down in--"

  The room exploded. Even the Chancellor was

  on her feet shouting, waving her arms overhead,

  looking ready to start dancing. Never in the long and

  b
lood-soaked struggle had the Chivians ever

  managed to bring any significant Baelish

  force to battle. There was no precedent for even a

  real fight, let alone a victory. That

  Courtney should be able to claim credit! Among

  all the tumult of joy, Malinda sat in

  silence, wondering why the spirits of chance were being so

  kind to her cousin and so unfair to her.

  No, this could never be coincidence! She had

  feared all along that Courtney was being backed

  by Baelish gold, because Radgar Aeleding had more

  money than anyone. Must she believe that the

  invincible Bael had blundered so badly?

  When the pandemonium faded enough for her to be

  heard, she said, "Are you quite certain this battle was

  genuine, Grand Inquisitor? Is there a

  reliable body count? Can we really believe such

  an improbable story?"

  The room fell silent, and the councillors

  sheepishly resumed their seats. This time Grand

  Inquisitor sat down, too.

  "I believe it, my lady. There are

  some questions still unanswered, yes. The messenger

  arrived just after dawn, exhausted, having ridden

  all night. He was still being interrogated when I

  came away to attend this meeting. I left

  instructions that I was to be informed at once if

  deeper probing revealed any inconsistencies in

  his story."

  Malinda shuddered. "What does "deeper

  probing" mean? You put your own agents to the

  Question?"

  "Oh no, nothing so severe, just a mild

  conjuration to search out details or omissions. The

  subjects rarely show much permanent impairment.

  The man is merely a part-time agent, you see.

  A trained inquisitor can be emptied like a

  bottle."

  "It is not like the Baels to leave their ships

  vulnerable," Constable Valdor rumbled.

  Grand Inquisitor favored him with a

  snakelike stare. "I hear of hundreds of dead

  and a large number of prisoners. Including one

  whom Her Majesty may wish to identify

  personally." He paused to let the implications

  penetrate, eyes to widen. "Radgar Aeleding."

  Amid the renewed tumult his words had

  caused, ancient Horatio Lambskin sat in

  brooding stillness like a reef in surf, but his

  gaze was restless, assessing everyone's reaction.

  Malinda was doing the same. The Chancellor had

  smiled at first, but now she was frowning. Master

  Kinwinkle was another who had seen that this seeming

  triumph held dangerous implications.

  "Military protocol is not my