by Victor Milán
“I want to give my testimony, if I may,” Gaétan croaked. He struggled to sit.
“Please, brave boy, don’t trouble yourself,” Bogardus said.
“No. I won’t lie like a lump. I need to speak. You need to listen.”
Like an eel through rocks his sister Jeannette made her way through the crowd to kneel at his side. With the help of his litter-bearers she helped him sit, half upright and propped in her lap. The thin sheet that covered him fell away from the bandages wound about his chest.
Violette said nothing. But her lips compressed to the vanishing point and her eyes turned briefly to slits. Brave girl, thought Rob, to risk the wrath of that one.
He knew the powerful Council member could make his sometime-lover’s life in the Garden into Old Hell on Paradise. But he feared worse, somehow. Violette and her supporters had taken on an edge, recently. Something he couldn’t put a name to.
He couldn’t see Violette lowering herself to wielding a dagger herself. But she and her cohort Longeau had been willing, eager even, to adopt a rabidly aggressive strategy even as they continued to mouth words of pacifism. He didn’t find that reassuring.
Haltingly, Gaétan spoke. “We’d marched a kilometer or two west from Pierre Dorée, that village abandoned last year after the bastard Guillaume sacked and burned it. Master Rob’s scouts reported they’d found Salvateur’s forces not far past a rise just ahead. Captain Karyl ordered us to take up positions blocking the road, in and in front of the woods we were just passing through, where the goblins couldn’t all come at us at once.
“Then suddenly the town lords were out in front of us, asserting their ancient right of command, so-called. Longeau gave a rousing speech about how we had to attack at once. And most of our people went charging forward, obedient as dogs.”
Gaétan paused. His face twisted briefly. Rob could only guess at the pain from his wound stabbing through his chest.
“I wanted to go with them,” Gaétan said. “I really did. But Karyl ordered us to hold back. I obeyed.”
The audience recoiled, with a joint hissing inhalation. “Stop helping us,” Rob muttered under his breath. “Any more such favorable testimony and the mob’ll forget all about hanging or beheading and jump straight to pulling us apart with nosehorns.”
“And Karyl was right,” Gaétan said. “We felt the awful terremoto that broke our brothers before they got within bowshot of the enemy. Watched them stream back over the rise toward us in panic flight. Watched them ridden down by a couple dozen of Salvateur’s cavalry and a handful of dinosaur knights. With nothing in the world we could do.
“You all know Lucas, the genius lad who painted this place? He was Karyl’s special student at swordsmanship. He learned fast and well. I saw him empty a courser’s saddle of a Crève Coeur knight. Then another one killed him.”
Seeing an opening, Sister Violette slid in words like a silver knife. “So Karyl lured our greatest painter away on this mad errand of his, got him killed—and didn’t even avenge him?”
Rob saw Karyl flinch as though struck. His face tightened, went pale and stark. A scar Rob hadn’t noticed before glowed like a white thread down the right side of his forehead.
Grief throbbed in the silver-haired Councilor’s voice as well as anger. And they’re both genuine, he thought in surprise, or she’s as great an actress as ever Lucas was an artist with a brush.
He wasn’t sure he liked knowing what that told him. Easier by far to think of Sister Violette as nothing more than a cynical foe, a viper coiled in the ground cover, awaiting the opportunity to strike.
Gaétan shook his head, grimaced again. “No. Karyl didn’t avenge Lucas. I did, for all that’s worth. Shot the Brokenheart bastard who speared him right out of the saddle.
“No, all Karyl did then was save us all.”
Yannic was glaring through his bandages as if deranged. His lips opened as if to speak. Melchor grabbed his arm to silence him. The fat man’s grip must have been unexpectedly strong; Rob could see his fellow lord wince through his bandage-mask.
“Karyl shot the leading morion through both cheeks with his hornbow,” Gaétan said. “She threw her rider and turned right about, knocking over two other duckbills who were following too close behind. The dinosaur knights were all clumped together, you see.
“That stopped them cold. As for the Crève Coeur chivalry, few wore full plate—why put themselves to the heat and bother, to trample a handful of peasant scum like us? Instead most wore chain and open helmets. So as they closed with us, even our shortbows were able to hurt them. Karyl and I emptied some saddles with our Ovdan bows. The crossbows may have gotten some too.”
He shook his head wearily. “Then I got stuck. I—I can’t tell any more. But if Karyl hadn’t kept us archers back, none of us would be here now. That … I know—”
His blue eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped against his sister. Rob felt like applauding. If that was genuine—and it certainly appeared so, especially the way Jeannette cried out and began to weep—Gaétan’s body, at least, had a Fae’s own sense of timing.
Into the silence that gathered like spirits of the dead around the young woman’s sobs, Bogardus said, “Who can tell us what happened next? You, you—”
He gestured at Reyn and Pierre. “Come close, my friends, if you please. What happened after gallant Gaétan fell?”
Despite his earlier defiance, Reyn shot Yannic a fearful glance. But he complied. Pierre strode forward as forthrightly as his limp would allow. There walks a man who feels he’s little left to lose, thought Rob.
“Some of us who’d run rallied behind the archers, took up a stand in the woods,” Pierre said. “We were afraid, still. But we—I—I saw the rich boy Gaétan fall, and the lord Karyl stand. They could’ve run away as soon as they saw us come over that cursed hill with Old Hell on our heels. Instead they risked their own lives to give us a chance to keep ours.”
“Do you seriously expect us to believe that a few paltry archers and some frightened peasants crouching in the underbrush not only stood off Crève Coeur knights, but routed them?” asked Violette in a bone-dry tone.
“It’s true,” said Reyn. He sounded glum. Clearly he didn’t like the choice he was making. But then if he hadn’t found it more palatable than the alternatives—silence, or a lie—he wouldn’t have chosen it, thought Rob.
And there’s your cue, lad. He stood up and walked toward the dais.
Halberds clashed in front of him. Rob extended a finger beneath the X they made and pushed upward.
“Out of my way, pencil dicks,” he told the town guardsmen. They raised their weapons and stood aside. “Smart lads.”
“This man’s on trial!” exclaimed Longeau. “How can he be permitted to speak?”
“In justice, how can he not, my friend?” Bogardus asked. “What have you to tell us, Master Korrigan?”
Nothing bloody Karyl shouldn’t be saying in his own bloody defense, Rob thought. He successfully fought off the urge to glance over his shoulder at his codefendant. In for a penny, in for a pound.
As he reached the clear space between dais and dining tables Rob took a step to his left. No point blockin’ the Council’s view of the lovely Jeannette and her fallen-hero brother now, is there?
“Eldest Brother,” he said, “please understand: it’s not as if we chased the Brokenheart knights away. We just made them think better of pressing the issue at that particular moment. They pulled back up the rise to wait for their foot to catch them up.”
“I don’t understand,” said Councilor Telesphore. His whey-bland face looked genuinely puzzled. Rob quailed: if not an ally of his and Karyl’s, Telesphore was one of the least overtly hostile on the Council, and no friend to Violette. “Knights are renowned for courage. Rashness even. How could they be so easily … discouraged?”
“Ah, and it’s true: not for nothing are they called bucketheads, your Worship. But they’d ridden over that hill expecting easy meat. Instead we g
ave them a faceful of steel, the like of which they found not to their taste.”
“Are you saying they were afraid of you?” Violette asked.
“Not that. But like wasps we stung them. Knights don’t much fear death, Sister. But they fear ignominy. Scarce a one of them could make much of a noble cause out of hunting for scratchers to steal and women to rape. They weren’t set in their minds for battle, you see, but for mischief. The same does not make for a death long sung in ballads.”
“So now you’re a mind reader?” Violette sneered.
“No. But I’m a dinosaur master by trade. I know how a nobleman’s mind works. If such a thing can be said to exist.”
“It happened the way he says,” Reyn said. “They didn’t run. But they did stop chasing us, and they did draw back to the height.”
Pierre uttered a caw of laughter so loud and wild it made even Rob jump. “Why are we even arguing about this?” he demanded. “We’re here, aren’t we? What Karyl did worked. Or we wouldn’t be!”
Bogardus nodded. “Thank you both. Clearly, we all see with different eyes. You’ve certainly opened mine.
“I thank you all for your testimony. With the best faith in Paradise, we all can see each one of you has spoken the truth as best you know, out of partial knowledge. Now I’m satisfied we’ve heard the whole.”
The hall went silent. Jeannette had given off crying and looked up at the Council with her pretty young face beseeching. Bogardus smiled at her.
“On behalf of the Garden I thank your brother for everything he’s done,” he said. “You as well, Younger Sister. Please, take him where he can rest and heal.”
Nodding gratefully, she eased her brother’s head back down to the pillow and stood. The sweat in his hair had stained her nut-brown smock. The bearers picked him up gently. She followed them out of the hall.
When they were gone Bogardus rose. “I’ve come to my decision. Clearly, everyone acted as they thought best, out of nothing but concern for our people, our province, and our Garden. And clearly Karyl acted rightly. He saved what could be saved, so that we may yet hope to defend ourselves against Count Guillaume’s depredations.”
He held out his hands. “Voyvod Karyl, approach, please.”
Exuding quiet dignity, Karyl walked forward. He didn’t bother leaning on his staff.
“Lord Karyl, Master Korrigan,” Bogardus said. “Evidence compels me to find you innocent of all charges. Your liberty is restored. You shall continue in charge of our army, if you will.”
Lady Violette turned a hot purple glare on Longeau. Standing close by, Rob was half surprised the Councilor’s robe didn’t catch light. Longeau nodded, as if reluctantly, and slowly got to his feet.
“Brothers and sisters and children of the Garden,” he said. “People of Providence. The time has come to face the truth, unpleasant as it is to behold. Our good Eldest Brother has taken too much upon himself. It’s time he stand aside, and let the Council’s will rule Providence.”
* * *
They reached the border of the next county as shadows lengthened away from what would soon be the setting sun. They had left the woods behind, and rode through broad fields green with ripening grain.
“That way lies Castle Feather itself, señorita,” Tristan said, pointing north of their track, which ran generally northwest. “Countess Eulalie would doubtless be honored to host you for the night. Or as long as you wished to stay.”
“I thank you, Mor Tristan,” Pilar said. “It’s so rare to meet a knight of your intellect. I can’t remember when I last had a more diverting conversation.”
“I assure you, ma’amselle, the pleasure was mine.”
And sweeping a final bow, he turned his blue and yellow dinosaur and sent it trotting back along the road, with his six riders following. Even the mounts seemed glad to be shut of the women.
Pilar sagged in her saddle. “Whew,” she said. “Let’s find shelter, shall we, Princess? I don’t think I’ve got another performance like that one left in me.”
“Me neither,” said Melodía meekly.
Chapter 4
Los Creadores, The Creators, Los Ocho, The Eight—The gods who made our Paradise and all things that live upon it out of Old Hell: Chián, Father Sky or the King; Maia, the Mother Land or Queen; Adán, the Oldest Son; Telar, the Oldest Daughter; Spada, the Middle Son; Bella, the Middle Daughter; Torrey, the Youngest Son; and Maris, the Youngest Daughter. Each has a usual appearance and attributes, yet can manifest opposite gender—and opposite attributes. Each has a unique trigram of three solid or broken lines drawn one above the other. The Creators are served by seven Grey Angels of nearly divine power and often terrifying aspect.
—A PRIMER TO PARADISE FOR THE IMPROVEMENT OF YOUNG MINDS
“Who said you rule Providence?” a voice shouted from somewhere in the crowd. But everyone ignored the outburst.
Bogardus turned a hooded look toward Longeau. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly.
“We have treated our Eldest most unkindly.” The words seemed to pour from Longeau’s mouth and spread out over the hall like honeyed oil. “We’ve asked him to carry the burden of our physical welfare as well as spiritual. Can any mortal bear so much weight? I know I couldn’t.
“Not, of course, that I presume to compare myself to our Brother Bogardus, the brightest and most beautiful bloom in our Garden. Yet even the most splendid flower can wilt when subjected to too many stresses. Is it not true?”
The crowd began to murmur. To Rob, standing dubiously between them and the Council, they sounded at least receptive.
“What’s the devil up to now?” he muttered to Karyl.
“What you’d expect,” the other said imperturbably.
“Some of us who fought Baron Salvateur’s marauders may have been overhasty in our assessments. Yet, the unfortunate facts remain. Our army failed. The raiders carry fire and sword into the very heart of our province. Shouldn’t the army’s commanders—foreign hirelings, after all, not Providencers born—be held to account for that failure? No matter how successful they proved at containing its disastrous effects?”
“That’s truth,” a man shouted from the audience. It may even have been spontaneous.
Longeau smiled sad indulgence. “No one here holds greater esteem for our Eldest Brother’s wisdom, insight, and goodness than I. Yet clearly, we must ease his burden. Take up our share. Therefore I propose that certain core Council members—Brother Absolon, Sister Violette, and, asking forgiveness for the presumption, my own humble self—form an advisory committee, to make everyday policy and trouble Bogardus only when necessary. Gardeners, brothers and sisters of the Council, what say you?”
He looked around the high table. Absolon looked surprised, Violette smug. The others seemed merely confused. Startled babble ran through the hall.
Karyl nudged Rob. “Your cue.”
“Me?”
“You’re the showman. Show them.”
Rob cleared his throat. “Titan shit,” he said loudly.
That shut them up. Longeau actually goggled at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said, and I quote, ‘titan shit.’ You were fools to send the army against Count Guillaume’s dinosaur knights and gendarmes in the first place, when we were too few and far from ready. Only through Karyl’s actions did you ever have an army to begin with. Only through his actions do you have anything that can be called an army now.”
He was in fine voice. His words echoed from the vine-painted rafters. The crowd heard. They listened. Up on the dais Violette was almost spitting and Longeau had gone first red, then white.
“Surely this is intolerable!” he shouted.
Rob smirked at him. You lose points for yelling, lad, he thought. Yell louder.
“That this outland—mercenary—be allowed to speak in our sacred Garden Council, and to spread such calumnies—”
“I thought our Garden embraced everything that grew,” a woman cried from the rear of the room. Rob was astonish
ed to recognize Jeannette’s voice. He swung around to see her stalking back in through the door out which her brother had just been carried, glowering like a whole storm front.
“Everyone has the right to speak here, foreign or not,” she said. “I for one want to hear them. And if you want to throw the word ‘calumny’ around, what about you trying to give the lie to the testimony my beloved brother rose from what could be his deathbed to deliver to this assembly?”
“Oh, brava, child, brava,” Rob muttered into his beard. He damned well doubted Gaétan was going to die unless somebody smothered him with a pillow. He’d seen enough battlefield injuries to know that if Gaétan’s were going to kill him, they’d have done so by now. Jeannette surely knew that as well as he: their father’s healers, the best the family’s extensive fortune could secure (which was to say, the best) would have told her that much. But both his poet’s soul and his self-interest, key influences in Rob Korrigan’s life, applauded her performance.
He bowed to her. “Thank you, Sister Jeannette,” he said. “And now I have something further to contribute to the debate. Send in Little Pigeon and friends.”
All the comings and goings had completely discombobulated the town guards manning the door. One made a halfhearted clutch as Rob’s child spymaster and two other ragged urchins darted in. They easily evaded him, and he succeeded only in dropping his halberd with a comic clatter.
The identifiable boy and girl who came in with the androgynous child acted reluctant. Little Pigeon, who had no more fear than a ferret, seemed to tow them after by sheer personality. She or he stopped right in front of Bogardus with chest thrust out like its namesake.
“These children of Providence town must surely be known to some of you,” Rob said with a grand gesture. “As I sat at the back of the room, these children came to me with a most curious story. Will you tell it again, Little Pigeon?”
“Yes,” the child said, quite calmly.
“Bogardus, this is absurd!” Longeau said. But his face had gone ashen, and his lips showed a bit of quiver.