King's Blades 03 - Sky of Swords Page 4

  speciality," Burningstar said when order

  returned. "Am I correct in thinking that a

  royal prisoner automatically belongs to the

  monarch?"

  Several men spoke up in agreement, including

  Valdor and even Kinwinkle, the former herald.

  "Whistle for him right away!" the Duke

  boomed. "Have him brought to Grandon posthaste.

  Bird in the hand, what? A king ought to be worth a

  king's ransom."

  "Not in this case," said Grand Inquisitor.

  "Granted he is rich beyond measure, he has

  no close family to ransom him, while he

  certainly has many rivals who would seek

  to block such a move. And his person is of no

  value, since kings of Baelmark are elected

  by the moot. The moment his capture

  becomes known, the earls will assemble to elect

  another. After that he will be just another pirate."

  "He may be willing to ransom himself,"

  Chancellor Burningstar said. "I agree with the

  Duke's suggestion that a troop of lancers be

  dispatched to Lomouth to remove the royal prisoner

  here. We should not give him time to buy his way out of

  jail."

  "Not unless he pays the rent to Her

  Majesty!" Brinton said, much taken with his own

  wit.

  Malinda sprang to her feet in fury. "I

  remind you, Cousin, that Radgar Aeleding murdered

  my father and broke a formal treaty to do it. All

  he will buy from me is a stroke of the headsman's

  ax and for that I will not charge him one copper mite.

  Constable? Go and get him!"

  THE TRIAL, DAY THREE

  "You killed him," the chairman rasped. "The

  moment you heard that the King of Baelmark had been

  taken prisoner, you dispatched a troop of lancers

  posthaste to Lomouth with a royal warrant to seize

  him and bring him back to Grandon. Is that not

  correct?"

  "Yes," Malinda said wearily. It had been

  a hard day, the third of three hard days. Dusk

  was settling on Grandon and its Bastion. Workers

  must now be heading home to their families, wives

  preparing the evening meal, footsore horses

  munching oats in warm stalls. On the river

  ships rode at anchor. In the Hall of

  Banners flunkies were setting out candelabra so

  the commissioners could see the witness and clerks

  record proceedings.

  The farce was almost over. She had almost ceased

  to care. Her first brave illusion of something

  approaching a fair trial had been as

  ephemeral as a rainbow. With distortions, half

  truths, browbeating, and his own lies, Horatio

  Lambskin had served her up to his master like a

  trussed calf. He had also intimidated the

  commissioners until they had abandoned any

  pretense of having authority. They asked no

  questions now. She was obviously guilty and they would

  vote as instructed.

  "So, without even an attempt at a trial,

  you struck off his head and stuck it on a spike.

  You put your husband's head alongside

  your brother's?"

  Some faint remnant of the famous royal

  temper stirred--"If Radgar was my husband,

  then my claim to the throne was invalid, so why did

  you pledge allegiance to me right here in this hall,

  Master Lambskin?"

  "The inquiry will take note that the witness

  refused to answer."

  "The answer is simple--I followed the

  advice of my Privy Council, to which you

  belonged. It was you who instructed us, Chancellor.

  If we wanted to execute the King of

  Baelmark, you said, we must do so quickly, before he

  could be demoted."

  "But did I not argue that so important a

  prisoner should first be put to the Question, or at least

  thoroughly interrogated?"

  "I do not recall." She half expected the

  inquisitor jailers standing alongside her to call

  her a liar, but she spoke the truth and they

  remained silent. "He had been thoroughly

  interrogated, in Lomouth, before my men even reached

  him. Interrogated most horribly! I did not

  see him myself, but I was told that, as Lord of the

  Fire Lands, he bore some sort of conjuration that

  made him immune to fire. Flame would hurt

  him but not burn him. He had already been tortured

  out of his wits.

  "Besides, I saw what the Question did to Lord

  Roland and I vowed I would never treat any man

  so, no matter how evil he was. Am I

  charged with being too soft-hearted? The Council

  agreed to Radgar Aeleding's execution and you were

  present at the meeting." She could not remember which

  way he had voted in the end, though. She

  certainly remembered the Radgar she had met

  briefly on the longship at Wetshore, and her

  conviction then that he was not the monster of his

  reputation. She remembered her revulsion at the

  thought of turning such a man into a gibbering rabbit.

  The chairman peered along the table, first left,

  then right. "The honored commissioners may well

  wonder whether the Bael's hasty execution was

  designed to suppress his version of what exactly

  passed between the two of them before her father was

  assassinated. A transcript of the testimony

  he gave in Lomouth will be placed before the

  commissioners in due course."

  "Testimony given under torture?" Malinda

  shouted. "Or did you write it yourself this

  morning?"

  "The witness will speak only when addressed. But

  let us by all means discuss Lord Roland, since

  you mention him." The chairman bared yellow stumps

  of teeth. "The traitor Roland. Now that one was

  put to the Question, whereupon he confessed to treason against

  the Council of Regency, the supreme authority

  in the land. Before he could make a full and

  detailed statement, your agents took over the

  Bastion and you ordered the prisoner released from his

  cell."

  "I did. I still have nightmares about what you had

  made of him. How do you manage to sleep at

  all, Chancellor?"

  "You ordered the prisoner moved to--"

  "He was not a prisoner then."

  "Be that as it may, that night he was murdered.

  Who killed him?"

  "I do not know." The Blades, of course, but

  she did not know which.

  "Who do you think killed him?"

  "My suspicions are not evidence."

  "The inquiry takes note that the witness

  refuses to answer. Was he not murdered so he would

  not testify to your part in his foul treason?"

  "I do not know why he was killed."

  "The witness is lying!" barked one of the guards

  alongside, her chair.

  "All right, he was murdered out of pity!

  Murdered by one of his best friends--and I do not know

  which--because your horrible conjurations had turned him

  into--"

  "Silence! The witness will speak only to answer

  a question." The chairm
an sighed. "Radgar, Roland

  --I am sure the honorable commissioners have noted

  that witnesses to your crimes had very brief lives.

  Now let us consider Pompifarth. You sent the

  mercenary troops known as the Black--"

  "You were at that meeting! You know how I fought to have

  the terms of engagement restricted! You know--"

  "If you persist in interrupting the court," the

  chairman said hoarsely, "then I will have the guards

  gag you and allow you to testify only by gestures.

  Your seal was on the warrant by which those mercenary

  brutes sacked Pompifarth. Those violent men

  were ragged and hungry, yet you sent them to storm a

  city you claimed to rule. The killing, rapine, and

  looting were done in your name and by your authority."

  "Is that a statement or a question? In either case

  it is a lie. Souris was strictly

  forbidden to enter any part of the city other than the

  fortress that abuts it on the north. The

  massacre was ordered by--"

  The chairman nodded and a hard, rough-skinned hand

  clapped over Malinda's mouth, banging her head

  back against the wood of the chair. Other hands

  grabbed her arms, immobilizing her.

  "This is your last warning. The next time you

  speak unbidden, you will be gagged and bound." The

  chairman glanced to left and right. "At this hour

  we usually adjourn for the day. Howsoever, I do

  believe that we can wind up this tedious business

  fairly rapidly now. May I suggest that the

  honored commissioners take a brief break

  to partake of some of Governor Churle's

  splendid hospitality and then reassemble in about

  an hour? At that time we can question the witness about the

  last and perhaps most terrible of her crimes, the

  murder she committed with her own already

  blood-soaked hands."

  We see most clearly out of the backs of our

  heads.

  FONATELLES

  News of the Pompifarth disaster reached Grandon

  early on the fourth of Tenthmoon. Malinda's

  first notice of it came while her maids were

  dressing her--Chancellor Burningstar was in the

  anteroom, begging an audience at Her

  Majesty's earliest convenience. She called for a

  robe and the visitor and shooed the girls away.

  Burningstar came hurrying in, her flustered

  manner utterly out of character. She bobbed a small

  curtsey at the door, came close, and then

  lowered herself unsteadily all the way to her knees.

  "Something is wrong," Malinda said, offering a

  hand. "And that is not a good position for clear

  thinking. Here, let me help you up."

  "But I am tendering my resignation, Your

  Majesty. I have failed most--"

  "Your resignation is refused. Come and sit

  here." Rejecting protests, she led the old

  lady over to the chairs by the fire, and only when

  they were both seated would she listen. "Bad news,

  obviously." Was there any other kind?

  Out it came: Pompifarth, sack, murder,

  looting, mass rape ... Within minutes

  Burningstar was close to tears, and the redness of her

  eyes said she had wept hard and long already.

  "Even the Baels are never that bad!" she

  finished. "They leave the towns standing so the people can

  generate more wealth to be looted the next time. This

  was total destruction. I cannot continue as Your

  Majesty's--"

  "You will continue." Malinda felt no desire

  to weep. She wanted to kill someone. "I think you

  have been doing amazingly well, and you know I speak

  the truth. Did I fall into the same pit as

  Granville, trusting unpd mercenaries?

  Souris has switched sides again, obviously.

  Who put him up to this?"

  "Fitzambrose himself, of course! The fake

  call for an Anti-Parliament ... it was a

  trap and I led you into it. His men opened the gates

  for the killers, I'll swear! Look at the timing

  --Parliament meets tomorrow and now everyone thinks you

  made an example of the city."

  Malinda sighed. "You are right, I fear.

  Well, write the truth into my speech and let's

  hope they believe me." She looked at the

  Chancellor's careworn expression. "There is

  more?"

  A nod. "A letter from Prince Courtney. I

  beg your pardon, my lady, but I forgot to bring

  it. If I may send--"

  "Just tell me. I think I can guess."

  "He wants ... he demands that you marry

  him, my lady. He wants the crown

  matrimonial."

  Malinda sat in silence for a while. It was a

  month since Amby died. They had not given her

  much of a chance to show how a queen would rule.

  The next day, she addressed Parliament.

  Although she had never met one before, Malinda had

  enough experience in public speaking to recognize a

  hostile audience. As she paraded after the

  sergeants-at--arms with their maces and Blades with

  drawn swords, down the aisle between the kneeling

  Lords and Commons assembled, she could smell

  hatred in the air. When she sat enthroned, with

  Audley standing beside her holding Evening, she

  looked out over an ocean of angry stares. The

  Lords were splendid as kingfishers, robed in

  scarlet and ermine, crowned with coronets--a real

  crown was a horrible thing, and she was going to have a

  deathly sore neck by the time this nonsense

  ended--but in back of them the Commons were a flock

  of drab sparrows, two knights from every shire and

  two burgesses from every town.

  She swore the enthronement oath again. The

  ancient promises flew away like bats into the

  sullen silence. She read her speech. No one

  was rash enough to boo a monarch, but several times she

  sensed a low rumble of disapproval--notably when

  she mentioned her renewal of the campaign against

  evil enchantment. Only her account of the capture

  and execution of Radgar Aeleding won a cheer, but

  everyone knew that Courtney deserved the credit.

  They even knew that Courtney had been

  industriously torturing the monster until the

  Queen's men stole him away; they thought that a much

  better idea than just chopping off his head.

  Courtney was not present. Courtney had not

  resisted when her Yeomen seized the captive

  Baelish king, but his refusal to appear before the

  Privy Council and now his absence from Parliament

  were acts of rebellion. How could she denounce

  him when chance had made him the greatest hero in the

  land? She could condemn Neville, of course, and

  did so. She laid the blame for the Pompifarth

  massacre on him, but who believed her?

  When she spoke at last of the crown's

  desperate need for money, she thought she heard

  knives being whetted, but perhaps it was only teeth

  grinding. Parliament traditionally demanded

  redress of its grievances before voting supply,

  a
nd this Parliament was going to pile corpses at her

  door--Granville, Pompifarth, the carnage

  at Wetshore, Sycamore Square.

  Parliaments impeached chancellors quite regularly,

  but none had ever tried to depose the monarch. That

  record might be about to change. Her Heir

  Presumptive was the new national hero, Prince

  Courtney.

  Dog came to her that night as soon as Dian

  had left, and their lovemaking was even more urgent and

  passionate than usual. Either he took his cue

  from her or he had worked out the situation for himself.

  Later, in the lull after the storm, she broke the

  news. "It is nearly over, love. We have very

  few nights left."

  He just grunted. He rarely spoke much, and

  it was almost impossible to make him speak of bad

  things.

  "We always knew it could not last. We

  have enjoyed much longer than I expected."

  "I have brought shame upon you," he said

  bitterly. "You heard what they were shouting at you in

  the streets. They know you have a lover named Dog."

  "Perhaps just coincidence," she said, but not believing

  that. "Not the scandal ... Parliament will force me

  to marry Courtney so it can make him King. No,

  don't offer to kill him for me. I know you would if

  I said please, but that would probably mean

  Neville succeeding, so killing Courtney would

  only make things worse."

  "How can they force a queen?"

  "By refusing me money." She sniffed away a

  tear. "He's a lot older than I am.

  I'll outlive him, I swear! I'll be older

  then, and have some experience, and ... Oh, Dog!"

  She started to wail, so he kissed her and went on

  kissing her. It wasn't possible to kiss and

  blubber at the same time. After that he would not let

  her speak about the future at all.

  The following morning Parliament set to work.

  At first there was only angry talk, but soon

  resolutions were being moved, bills read,

  committees formed, petitions introduced, questions

  asked. A motion declaring a female chancellor a

  breach of parliamentary privilege was defeated, but

  narrowly. The crown's appeal for supply was

  ignored.

  Day by day Burningstar's reports to the Queen

  grew grimmer, until, at the end of a

  turbulent week, the first bill cleared both

  houses and arrived at the palace for the Queen's

  signature. It was very brief and unambiguous,

  and exactly what she had feared it would be.