“I’m sorry,” said the first healer. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“Nothing anyone could do,” said the second, as kindly as he could. “We can only help the living.”
“And that . . . sounds like my cue,” said Raven.
He strode forward into the magic circle, and low murmurs spread quickly through the onlookers, at the sight of his night-dark robes. A few of them recognised the Necromancer, and crossed themselves. The two healers stepped back as Raven approached, and then they stood their ground and glared at him. He smiled easily back at them.
“You said there was nothing you could do,” he murmured. “I’m happy to say there is something I can do.”
“Get out of here, Necromancer,” said the first healer. “They’re dead. At peace. Leave them be.”
“Haven’t their families suffered enough?” said the second.
“But I am here to help the families,” said Raven. He turned to look at the two sets of confused parents. “I can bring your boys back from the shores of death. I can’t make them live again, but . . .”
“If you can do anything, do it,” said one of the women. “Give me back my son!”
“But, Mother,” said her husband uncertainly.
“You let him go into the circle!” his wife said fiercely. “You let him die!”
The father looked down at the ground, unable to answer her.
“I want my boy back,” said the woman, and the other parents nodded stiffly.
Raven smiled at them all and knelt down between the two bodies. He checked their pulses briefly, just to be sure. Their skin was already cooling. He leant over each young man in turn and spat into their open eyes. He muttered under his breath, in something that was not a prayer, and then stood up and stepped back.
“Rise up,” he said, and the two young men sat up slowly on their stretchers. Their faces were cold and empty, and their eyes did not blink, but still they moved. Slowly, clumsily, the two dead men rose to their feet to stand before the smiling Necromancer. The mothers and fathers cried out, wringing their hands together at their breasts in sudden hope. The woman who had begged Raven’s help started to move forward, to reclaim her son, but her husband held her back. And when she saw the empty, soulless look on her son’s face, the woman stopped fighting her husband. The two young men stood stiffly upright, not looking at their parents, not looking at anything. Their eyes were open, but anyone could see there was no one home behind the eyes, no soul present to see anything through those empty, unblinking eyes. The two sets of parents turned their faces away, sickened. Raven looked about him, but there was no applause from anyone watching. The crowd just looked coldly back at him, and the dead things he’d raised up. Raven shrugged.
“Tough crowd. All right, let’s try something a little more ambitious.”
He looked at the two dead men, muttering under his breath again, and immediately they stepped forward and took hold of each other, and began to dance. The crowd made a low, shocked noise, and the parents cried out miserably, as they watched two dead men waltz back and forth across the magic circle, to unheard music. Round and round they went, faster and faster, never missing a step. Their faces had nothing in them. Gillian stepped into the circle and strode up to her son.
“Stop this. Now.”
“Just putting on a show, Mother,” said Raven. “Give me some time to free up those muscles, and I’ll have them doing dips and bends.”
Gillian slapped him hard across the face. The sound was loud and harsh on the quiet, and the force of the blow was enough to snap his head round. Raven stood very still, and then slowly turned his head back to face his mother. One cheek burned bright red. He showed no emotion at all.
“Stop this now,” said Gillian.
“As you wish, Mother,” said Raven.
The two dead men fell to the ground, and lay still. Their mothers and fathers moved forward to claim them again. Placed them back on their stretchers, and carried them away. The two healers left with them, and the crowd broke up too, and followed them off. Raven was left alone in the circle, with his mother.
“I only gave them what they wanted,” said Raven.
“People have been burned at the stake for less than that,” said Gillian.
Raven smiled slightly. “I’d like to see someone try. I really would.”
“You’re not that powerful, boy,” said Jack.
“Ah,” said Raven. “Perhaps not, Uncle Jack. But I am protected, by the King and by Parliament. Because I have proven myself so very useful to both of them.”
“Place no trust in the kindness of Kings,” said Hawk. “Or the promises of politicians.”
“Your protection will only last as long as you’re needed,” said Fisher. “And that can change in a heartbeat.”
“And what makes a better scapegoat, than the man no one likes anyway?” said Jack.
“Find another line of work, Nathanial,” said Gillian.
They all walked away and left him standing there, with nothing at all showing in his face. Like the dead men he’d just raised up.
• • •
The family gathered together again before the main raked seating, where the last few champions of the day were being presented to Prince Richard. It was well past midday, and everyone was feeling it was time for some dinner. There would be presentation displays, and duels of skill and excellence laid on later, between past and present champions, for the delectation of the crowds, all through the long afternoon—but everyone was just that little bit impatient to get the last of the day’s business done, so everyone could hurry away and concentrate on stuffing their faces. Preferably with something from a food stall absolutely guaranteed to be bad for them. The last few appointed champions stepped forward, to be commended by the Prince and invited into the Castle for the ceremonial banquet. Everyone clapped loudly, to hurry things along.
The winner of the knife-throwing event was called forward, one Angelica Rawley. She stepped out of the crowd, bobbing her head nervously, a small, mousy thing, barely out of her teens, with wide eyes and a shy smile. She bowed before the Prince, whipped out her knife and threw it at Princess Catherine. The wicked little blade flashed through the air. Catherine froze on her throne, caught off guard. But Richard reacted the moment he saw the knife appear in Angelica’s hand and threw himself forward in front of Catherine. The knife slammed into his chest, all the way to the hilt. The impact threw Richard backwards into Catherine’s arms. She held on to him tightly, crying out his name.
It all happened so quickly, the security guards just stood where they were. Catherine hugged Richard to her, saying his name over and over. He tried to say something, but his mouth was full of blood. And down below, Angelica Rawley put back her head and laughed and laughed.
“For Redhart!” she cried. “No Peace without Honour!”
The security guards hit her from every side at once, slamming her off her feet and throwing her to the ground. She fought them fiercely, still laughing even as their great fists hit her again and again. And then her voice broke off, her back arched, and she stopped struggling. It took the guards a moment to realise she was dead. They let go of her and stood back, baffled. One of them looked round, as Hawk and his family hurried forward.
“We didn’t kill her! It was all we could do to hold on to her!”
“It wasn’t you,” said Raven, quietly professional. “This was a prearranged death spell, to keep her from being interrogated. I’ve seen it before.” He looked up at the two thrones in the raked seating, where Catherine was still holding Richard in her arms and weeping hot, bitter tears. “I’d better get up there. See if I can do anything.”
“You leave the Prince to me, boy,” Jack said sternly. “Your business is with the dead. Bring that assassin back, get some answers out of her.”
“Yes, Uncle,” said Raven.
Jack made his way up the raked steps as quickly as he could, leaning heavily on his wooden staff. Catherine looked up desperatel
y as he approached, her face wet with tears.
“Can you do something? Please! He’s still breathing! He took a knife for me . . . Don’t let him die!”
“Not on my watch,” said Jack, smiling reassuringly at the Princess. He leaned forward and placed one hand on the Prince’s chest, right next to the massive bloodstain round the knife hilt. “No good man dies on my watch.”
He concentrated, praying silently, and the knife jumped right out of Prince Richard’s chest, falling away to clatter on the floor. The Prince’s eyes snapped open, and he drew in a large and vibrant breath. His hand went hesitantly to his chest, and when he looked down there was no wound there at all. He looked at Jack.
“I heard a Voice, and then . . . Why am I not dead? Who are you?”
“Jack Forester, at your service, your highness. A humble man of God. These days. Thank Him for your salvation, not me. It’s all about the prayer, not the man. Now if you’ll excuse me, I mean to have a few words with your assassin.”
He stomped off back down the steps, humming tunelessly to himself. Richard realised he was lying in Catherine’s arms, and started to sit up. He was still so weak she had to help him, but soon enough he was back on his throne, looking about him uncertainly. Catherine was still holding on to his hand, and he squeezed hers just as tightly.
“You’ve been crying,” he said. “Don’t cry. I’m fine. Really.”
“I can’t believe you risked your life to save mine,” said Catherine.
“Neither can I,” said Richard. “I just saw the knife . . . and knew what I had to do. Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right! You sit still. I want you checked out by your best healers, just in case.”
“But . . . there are things I should be doing . . .”
Catherine looked down to where the Necromancer was crouching over the dead knife-thrower. “They’re being done,” she said.
“I’m alive,” Richard said wonderingly. “How about that?”
“Bravest thing I ever saw,” said Catherine.
They looked into each other’s eyes, and knew something had changed between them.
Richard insisted on getting to his feet, and in the end Catherine and Gertrude got on either side of him and helped him up. He swayed a little, and then forced the last weakness out of him with an effort of will. He breathed deeply. He’d never felt more alive in his life. He started steadily down the raked steps, to join the people gathered round the dead assassin, and the crowds watching cheered and applauded loudly. Catherine wanted to go with him, to see who it was who’d tried to kill her, but Lady Gertrude hung on to her, almost hysterical at the thought of her precious going anywhere near the assassin, dead or not. Richard stopped and called the security guards on the stand to come forward and surround Princess Catherine with drawn swords. And only then, when he was sure she was safe, did he continue on down the steps.
The people parted to let him through. Raven was kneeling beside the dead body, staring into the knife-thrower’s open, unblinking eyes, and frowning thoughtfully.
“Can you bring her back here?” said Richard. “Or do you need some privacy? I have questions for this person.”
“I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that, your highness,” said Raven, not looking up. “I’m having . . . difficulties. The death spell implanted inside this poor unfortunate was specially designed to keep her from being called back by people like me.” He smiled, briefly. “Fortunately, there is no one like me. By the powers I invoke, by compacts entered into, by the forces I command, come back to us.”
The dead woman opened her eyes, looked at him, and said, “Go to hell.” And then she closed her eyes and went back to being dead again. Everyone looked at Raven. He sighed slowly, like a teacher with a particularly recalcitrant pupil.
“Don’t make me come down there and get you.”
The dead woman’s eyes snapped open. She glared at Raven, and then smiled nastily. Everyone around her fell back a few steps, except for Raven, and Prince Richard, who screwed his face up in disgust but held his ground. Angelica Rawley ignored the Prince, focusing all her attention on the Necromancer.
“Every time you do this, you damn your soul further. Is it worth it, Nathanial? Really?”
“Might as well be damned for a sheep as a lamb,” Raven said easily. “Now be still, unquiet spirit, and speak only as you are bid.”
“Right . . . ,” said the dead woman. “That’ll be the day. Even in death I am protected by my masters, who are greater than you, little necromancer. Everything I once knew about them, I have forgotten. Including the names of those who made me forget.” She giggled suddenly, a horrible, disturbing sound. And then she looked past Raven, and the Prince, to Hawk and Fisher.
“He is coming. And there is nothing you can do to stop him.”
She shuddered violently, and then just fell apart. Her whole body rotted and decayed away in moments, till nothing was left but a mess of seething corruption, sinking slowly into the earth. Everyone fell back even farther, crying out at the awful stench. Soon there was nothing left of Angelica Rawley save a dark stain on the ground and a foul smell, already dispersing. Raven rose unhurriedly to his feet, looked at the Prince, and shrugged apologetically. And then everyone looked round as King Rufus came forward, accompanied by his Seneschal, and surrounded by armed guards. Everyone bowed and curtsied. They had only to look at the King to see he had returned to his full faculties, for the moment at least. The King took his son in his arms and hugged him hard for a moment; then he pushed Richard away and addressed him steadily.
“Did you get any useful information out of the knife-thrower?”
“No, Father. Her masters protected themselves very thoroughly. But that in itself shows they must be men of station, and power. Names we would know.”
“There is more, your majesty,” said Raven. “I don’t think Angelica knew she had been prepared as an assassin until someone close at hand said the magic words that activated her. And to activate the death spell the speaker must have been really close.”
Everyone looked around them, to find everyone else looking back. The King just nodded, slowly.
“Then the real assassin is still here. Among us. Waiting. Laughing at us, behind a mask of concern. Find out who these people are, my Necromancer. All my security guards, all my other magic-users, are at your disposal. Get me the truth! From now on everything you do, you do in my name and with my authority. Find these people before they strike again!”
Raven bowed. The King turned to the Seneschal.
“What . . . was I going to say? Yes. Shut down the Tourney. No more events, no more competitors. Send the people home. Who knows who else might be hiding in these crowds . . . I don’t want anyone in the Castle who doesn’t belong there.”
“Yes, Sire,” said the Seneschal. “But there is still the matter of the day’s champions, invited in for the celebration banquet. A matter of long and noble tradition. Am I to cancel that too?”
“No,” said Richard immediately. “Let them in. They have earned that honour.”
“As you wish,” said the King. “Though we haven’t had much luck with banquets recently.” He smiled at the Prince. “You did well, son. Very brave. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
He took Richard’s hand and shook it firmly. There was a low murmur of approval from the watching crowd, who didn’t want to intrude on the moment. Catherine came forward, still surrounded by her guards. She went straight to Richard and held both his hands in hers, while the King nodded solemnly. And then the crowd just couldn’t stand it any longer; they exploded with joy, cheering and shouting and hammering their hands together till they ached.
• • •
And so the champions of the Grand Tourney attended the banquet in their honour, set once more in the Great Hall. Only this time there were far fewer tables, and the much smaller group of people seemed almost intimidated by the huge space surrounding them. After everything that had happened, most o
f the people who would ordinarily have turned up to honour and laud the day’s champions, and bask in their reflected glory, had decided to stay at home. Prince Richard and Princess Catherine sat at the high table, without the King. His latest effort had exhausted him. The champions sat around two long tables, packed close together. They chattered loudly, complimenting one another and affecting not to notice that they had been abandoned by the very people they’d struggled so hard to entertain. There should have been toasts, and celebrations all round, compliments and laughter . . . but since there weren’t, they all just talked that little bit more loudly.
No one spoke about the assassination attempt. But a lot of people glanced at the Prince and Princess when they thought no one was looking. No one actually said anything, but many of the champions thought their thunder had been stolen.
Hawk and his family had commandeered one end of one table for themselves, with Chappie curled up underneath. He wasn’t officially invited, but he wasn’t the sort of dog you could keep out. Everyone was impressed, and more than a little surprised, at how Jack had brought the Prince back from the very edge of death. He smiled and nodded for a while, and then gave them all a hard stare.
“God works through me in whatever I do. Whether it’s protecting the innocent, or punishing the guilty. Beating up Forest brigands, or laying on hands. I don’t get to take the credit.”
“Are you holy?” Mercy said bluntly.
“Not . . . as such,” Jack said carefully. “Even when I was still the Walking Man, I don’t think you could have called me that. I always saw myself as just a man, doing a job. Because somebody had to.”
“Have you always been able to heal people?” said Raven.
“Yes,” said Jack. “Just wasn’t much call for it, usually, in my line of work. Another good reason why I gave up being the Walking Man.”
“Seems to me it hasn’t given up on you,” said Hawk. “You still have all the powers that go with the title.”
Jack stirred uneasily in his chair. “I am a monk now. A man of peace. I will not kill again.”
Once In a Blue Moon Page 41