A Man of His Word

by The Complete Series 01-04 (epub)

  2

  The council was gathered there, and some others, all waiting around in lamplight, for the windows were quite dark now. No one had yet noticed Inos in the doorway. Queens had no time for personal grief—she must look to her inheritance. She had discussed the problem often enough with Kade on the journey, and with Andor. Would Krasnegar accept a queen? A juvenile queen? The imps likely would, they had decided, but the jotnar were doubtful. Now her father had given her his realm, but he had not told his council; that might not matter very much, anyway, for the next move would be made by the hateful Yggingi, whose army held the kingdom. What would his terms be? Would she be forced to swear allegiance to his Imperial Majesty Emshandar IV?

  So they were sitting or standing there, waiting as they must have waited all day, talking quietly; and the center of the group was Andor, slim and graceful in dark green, tall for an imp. He was the key to the kingdom, she thought. If she was to marry Andor, the council would accept him as her consort. He was young and handsome and personable and competent. Even Foronod seemed to be engrossed, smiling now with the others at some tale that would likely have made them all laugh aloud in a happier time. If Andor was the key, then Foronod was the lock, for he was a jotunn and probably the most influential. If the factor would accept Andor as king, then likely they all would. Except perhaps Yggingi.

  Andor would not have returned with her had he not cared.

  Then she was noticed. They turned to await her in sympathetic silence. Mother Unonini was there, black-robed and bleak-faced as always. Aunt Kade in silver and pink had been sitting at the bottom of the stairs like a watchdog. Bless her!

  She hugged Aunt Kade and was hugged by the chaplain, smelling of fish. She wondered how she could ever have been frightened by this dyspeptic little cleric with her resentful air of failure and bitter exile.

  One by one the men bowed, and she nodded solemnly in return: Foronod, grim, lank in a dark-blue gown, winter pale, with his white-gold jotunnish hair glowing against the outer dark of a window; old Chancellor Yaltauri, a typical imp, short and swarthy, normally a jovial but bookish man; the much older Seneschal Kondoral, openly weeping; the vague and ineffectual Bishop Havyili; the others.

  “It will not be long,” she told them.

  Mother Unonini turned and headed for the stairs.

  “You must eat now, dear.” Kade led her to a table that had been laid out with white linen and silver and fine china, like a small oasis of Kinvale in the barren arctic, but bearing cakes and pastries that looked cumbersome and lumpish. And there—wonder of wonders!—balanced on its warming flame, Aunt Kade’s gigantic silver tea urn, like a forgotten ghost from Inos’s childhood. The day she had met Sagorn and knocked over that urn—absurd, irrelevant, vulgar thing! —Father had joked about her burning down the castle … That insidious, unexpected, irrelevant fragment of memory made a quick dash around her defenses and grabbed her by the throat and almost defeated her, but she averted her eyes quickly from the wretched tea urn and started to say that no thank you she couldn’t eat a thing. Except that her mouth was full of pastry. So she sat down and stuffed herself, drinking strong tea poured by Aunt Kade from that same monstrous urn, which was now only a very ugly utensil.

  Then she looked up to see that Mother Unonini had returned. Inos rose slowly and was given another fishy hug. “Insolan, my child—I mean, your Ma . .” The gritty voice hesitated, and then began a knell about the weighing of souls, and how much the Good had exceded the Evil in Father and all the predictable platitudes. Inos shut it out.

  It was over, and she would shed no tears today.

  It was a release.

  There was some good in every evil.

  There was also a medic, shuffling and awkward. She asked him, “What now?”

  He began to mumble about the lying in state. She remembered her mother’s lying in state in the great hall and the chains of weeping citizens filing by. So she told the man to go ahead, and some part of her was standing back, watching this masterly self- control of hers with amazement. Then there were more hugs from Aunt Kade and Mother Unonini, and a stronger one from Andor, and bows and mutterings from the other men, while she was vaguely aware that people were trooping through the room, heading up to the royal bedchamber. In a little while they carried the body back down, she supposed, but she turned her face away and ignored these necessary unpleasantnesses. Soon the great bell of the castle began to toll, slow in the distance, muffled and dread.

  But the attendants departed at last, and the door was closed, and she could not ignore the world forever. The night had longer to run yet. When she turned around to face the men again, she discovered a newcomer—the odious, square-headed Proconsul Yggingi.

  The king was dead; the ravens were landing. As always he was in uniform, clutching his crested helmet under one arm and resting his other hand on the hilt of his sword of office, an elaborate and gaudy thing of gilt. She feared him, she thought, but only him. Anything or anyone else she could manage.

  “Factor?” she said, knowing that Foronod was the most competent of the council. “What now? The city must be informed.”

  Foronod bowed and said nothing.

  Which was not very helpful.

  “Well?” she demanded. “When shall I be proclaimed queen?”

  The craggy face remained without expression, but she could sense the fury burning below its jotunnish pallor. “That decision is apparently not presently within the jurisdiction of your late father’s council, miss.” He was biting the words. “Imperial troops have taken control of the palace and the town. Sergeant Thosolin and his men have been disarmed and confined. I suggest you address your inquiries to Proconsul Yggingi.”

  He bowed again and stepped back against the wall.

  Inos restrained a mad impulse to burst into tears or throw herself into Andor’s arms. She had led the predator back to her lair and now she must turn and give battle to it, to the monster whose thugs controlled her homeland. She looked expectantly and coldly—she hoped coldly—at the proconsul.

  He lowered his head in a hint of a bow. “Perhaps we could have a word in private, Highness?”

  Andor and Aunt Kade both started to protest.

  “Highness?” Inos said.

  She saw a glint of amusement in the piggy eyes. “Beg pardon—your Majesty.”

  Well! That might be her first victory. “Certainly, Excellency,” Inos said. “Come with me.”

  Holding her chin up, she marched over to the doorway that led upstairs, wishing she had a long gown to swish impressively, realizing that she was still in her soiled riding clothes. Probably her hair was a mess, but at least she had not been weeping. She stamped up the stairs into the dressing room, with its wardrobes and chests and one large couch. It was really only a junk storage. She would have it cleaned out in the summer. The candles were inadequate, leaving the big room dim and crowded with shadows—which might be a good thing if it would help conceal her expression, for surely Yggingi was a much more experienced negotiator than she was. But she had nothing to negotiate. He was going to dictate his orders.

  She stopped beside the couch, spun around, and said, “Well?”

  He was still clasping his stupid helmet and his armor flickered with dozens of little candle flames. He was a square, broad man, a hard man, a killer. He moved too close, deliberately threatening.

  “Did you get it?”

  The question seemed so meaningless that she felt her mouth move and nothing came out.

  “The word!” he snapped.

  “What word?”

  He flushed angrily. “Did your father tell you the word of power? Inisso’s word?”

  She was about to say “No!” and then she recalled that among all the other gibberish her father had spoken about Inisso …

  Yggingi saw her hesitation and bared his teeth in a smile. “Do you know what it means?” he asked quietly.

  She shook her head.

  He took another half step closer and had to b
end his head to look down at her. His breath was sour, and told her that the palace wine cellar had now been liberated.

  “You have three things of value, little girl. One is a very pretty body. We may negotiate on that later, but I can find those anywhere, almost as good. You also have a kingdom—sort-of-have a kingdom. I never thought I wanted that, and now I’ve seen it, I’m sure. It certainly isn’t worth fighting over, but I’m told that the jotnar are on their way, so I may have to fight. But the third thing you have is that word. And that I want. That is what I came for.”

  Gibberish! She doubted that she could recall much of the nonsense her father had spoken, but if this horror thought that she had something he wanted …

  “What’s it worth?”

  He laughed. “Your looks. Your virtue. Your life. It’s worth more than all of those.”

  She pushed down terror. She had expected him to order her to sign away her inheritance, or possibly to announce her engagement to Angilki. She had never expected this nonsense about words. “Why? My life for a word?”

  “Do you know who’s paying my troops? Your precious aunt, or whatever she is to you, the duchess of Kinvale.”

  Ekka! So it had been that damned hag after all! Inos tried to replace fear with anger, but failed. She did not speak.

  “Two thousand imperials she gave me to bring you here, plus whatever I can squeeze out of Krasnegar. All she wants is you, with that word—sent back to marry her idiot son.”

  “Never!”

  He grinned. “I agree. I never liked that deal. Besides, it’s not possible. I closed the road, didn’t I?”

  She just looked at him in silence, bewildered, fighting to keep herself under control. She was crushed back against the couch and could not retreat.

  “No way out until the ships come,” he said. “I closed the road, I roused the goblins. I wanted to keep certain friends of mine from coming after me, but it also means that no one can get out! We’re trapped!”

  “How much?” she said with sudden wild hope. “How much to ransom Krasnegar?”

  He chuckled. “Just the word—the word to ransom it from the jotnar. I must have that word!”

  “Why?” He must be totally mad, and certainly there was a very strange look in his eyes.

  “Because I ’m a soldier! I have a talent for stamping out vermin. With a word—” Then he seemed to realize how little she understood of this raving. He wheeled around, marched back to the door, and shot the bolt. Then he tossed his helmet down on a chair and stalked her, as she retreated, until finally he had her against the wall. He grabbed her shoulder and grinned at the sight of her terror. He licked his lips.

  “You begin to believe I’m serious? Well, I’ll make you an offer, little miss. Give me the word, and I’ll see you’re proclaimed queen. I’ll defend your throne from Kalkor, and from your rebellious subjects, too, and I promise I won’t hurt you. Marry that Andor man if you want—I don’t care about that. But otherwise I shall start now by breaking your pretty little nose, and go on from there until no man will ever want to marry what’s left of you. I think my offer is worth considering, don’t you?”

  It was an extraordinary offer. It was better than she could have ever dared hope. No one could question her rule if she had Yggingi’s armed might at her back. But could she believe him? Could she trust him? And could she recall the gibberish her father had spoken, and could Yggingi tell the difference if she simply made up some more gibberish of her own?

  “Well?” he shouted. His fingers dug deeper into her shoulder. She tried to break loose and was appalled at his strength.

  “I—”

  A sudden noise from above?

  Yggingi raised his head and regarded the shadowed ceiling. “What was that?”

  She did not know either. It had sounded like furniture moving above them, in the bedchamber, and she had thought all the medics and undertakers had gone. Dark with suspicion, Yggingi wheeled and marched over to the doorway to the staircase up, drawing his sword as he went.

  Inos fled to the other door and began to wrestle with the bolt, and for a terrifying minute it seemed to be too stiff for her, then it moved. She hauled the door open and fell into Andor’s arms.

  Well, one of his arms. He was holding his sword in his other hand. “All right, my darling?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I think so.”

  He pulled the door shut and used both arms, holding his sword behind her. Much better! He tried to kiss her, but she was frightened that a kiss might snap the thin thread holding her together, so she declined the kiss. But it was wonderful to be held.

  “He’s a horror!” she mumbled into Andor’s shoulder.

  “The worst sort of dreg,” he agreed. “You go on down to the others and leave the proconsul to me.”

  She pulled away, startled. “No! Andor! He’s a soldier—”

  Andor flashed his teeth in a confident grin. “I shall be in no danger. It will be a pleasure.”

  “Fight him?”

  “I’m quite capable, my princess. I just prefer not to do it before witnesses, so you go down.”

  He had never told her that he was a duelist—wonderful man! And no one had ever offered to commit a murder for her before. Just for a moment, she teetered on the brink of hysteria, then she recovered. “No, Andor! He has two thousand men here. You mustn’t!”

  “This may be my only chance to get him alone, Inos.”

  “No! I forbid it!”

  “If you wish.” Looking disappointed, he sheathed his sword. “He’s only the first, you know.”

  “What?”

  “The first one after your word of power. It’s common knowledge that the kings of Krasnegar inherited one of Inisso’s words. Everyone will assume that you have it, whether you do or not.”

  She broke loose. “I don’t understand.” Why was the proconsul not already coming after her?

  “It would take too long to explain.” Even in the darkness of the narrow stairwell, concern glowed on that handsome face. “You mustn’t tell the word to anyone!”

  “No,” she said.

  “No one!” he insisted. “They’re dangerous to know, but much more dangerous if you tell anyone.”

  “Yes,” she said, not understanding. “I’ll remember.”

  He studied her for a moment. “There’s no real defense, Inos, but there is one thing you could do that would help a little. It might make Yggingi hesitate a bit, and it would certainly cut off one line of attack.”

  She was totally confused now. “What’s that, Andor?”

  “Marry me. There’s a chaplain down there. She can marry us on the spot. Tonight. Now.”

  “Andor!” Again she was at a total loss for words. Too many things were happening too quickly. Finally she said, “Dear Andor, that’s a wonderful thought, but I can’t decide something like that right now. And it would put you in danger, also!”

  “No!” he said excitedly. He took her hand and began to lead her down the narrow stairway, speaking rapidly as if he were working it all out. “The factor says that Kalkor’s coming to claim the throne. He’ll be here as soon as the ice goes. Kalkor’s a terror. No matter what Yggingi thinks, he’ll wad up those imps and throw them away. But then he’ll want to marry you.”

  “I thought he was married already?” she protested, before remembering what Aunt Kade had once told her about Nordlanders.

  And Andor now confirmed it. They were already at the bottom of the stairs, outside the door of the withdrawing room, where everyone must still be waiting to hear the proconsul’s terms. “Thanes change wives like shirts. Probably more often. But he can’t marry you if you’re married to me.”

  “He could solve that problem!”

  “Only if he can find me!” Andor laughed. “I’m a good man at disappearing. Don’t you see, Inos? That’s your escape! Marry me, and I’ll stay out of sight—I promise you I can do that easily enough, but I haven’t got time to explain now. We’ll let the jotnar kill off the imps. Th
en we’ll go back to the Impire together in the spring!”

  Again she wondered why Yggingi was not coming down the stairs after her. “And lose my kingdom? No, darling, I have a duty.”

  He smiled, and she heard it more than saw it in the dimness. “Good for you!” he said admiringly. “Inos, I love you! And if the kingdom is what you want, then we’ll have to save it for you—and marrying me is still your best strategy!”

  He was right, she thought. And then he had gone down on one knee before her. “Queen Inosolon, will you marry me?”

  Her first, insane, thought was that she was filthy and bedraggled and wearing riding clothes, shivering in an icy stairwell lighted by one spluttering candle. All those wonderful gowns she had worn at Kinvale, in ballrooms, on terraces under moonlight—none of them had provoked a proposal. And her father … Then she told her mind to stop evading the question. With Andor she could face all of them.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He jumped up and this time he did kiss her. Oh, Andor! Why had she not called him in to meet Father? Andor, Andor! Strong, and reliable, and—

  “Quick, then!” He glanced up the stairs, so he also must be wondering what was keeping the soldier. “Now, my darling? Right now?”

  “Yes!” She pushed open the door and marched in, holding Andor’s hand. All across the big circular chamber, the spectators started in surprise. Those who were sitting on those flimsy gold and rosewood chairs rose slowly to their feet.

  “Your Highness, your Holiness, Mother Unonini, gentlemen,” Andor said. “Queen Inosolan has consented to become my wife.”

  She tried to see everyone’s reaction at once, but they were too spread out. The imps, she thought, all looked pleased. Certainly Chancellor Yaltauri beamed. Bishop Havyili was asleep. Foronod frowned, but then he often did that. He did not speak. Aunt Kade … Aunt Kade was not smiling as she should be.