Usurper

by David Waine

  Avalind smiled again. “If I was attacked by this second man, where are my bruises?” Silence. “Certainly I carry a few, some from the fall when my horse reared and some from the probing fingers of your overzealous matrons, father. None of these, however, was caused by the prisoner. He did not touch me.”

  “Did not Master Vorst fell him before he had the chance?” Gledden could not keep the smirk from his lips.

  Avalind turned on him. “No. I was ahead of Master Vorst when he was attacked. The other man was right in front of me. I was entirely at his mercy.”

  “Permit me, Your Highness,” Gledden stepped forward again, face twisted into its most obsequious grimace, “was the man who confronted you armed?”

  “Yes.”

  “With what, may I ask?”

  “He carried a sword.”

  The chamberlain’s stuck his thumbs into the lapels of his robe and strutted before her, enjoying this opportunity to relive a little of his former calling as a lawyer. “And when you saw him from your unfortunate position on the ground, was the weapon sheathed?”

  “No.”

  “He carried it in his hand?”

  “He did.”

  “How did he carry it?”

  “It was raised.”

  “As if to strike?”

  “Yes.”

  “And is this what Master Vorst saw as he despatched the other brigand?”

  “Yes.”

  Gledden’s triumph was complete. He turned to his liege lord, smiling. “There we have it, My Liege. One brigand unseated Master Vorst and prevented him from defending the princess instantly, while the other advanced on her with upraised sword. Case proved! Your verdict was impeccably correct.” He bowed ingratiatingly.

  Rhomic nodded slowly. His wisdom, coupled with Avalind’s demeanour, told him that he had not yet heard all. He addressed her again. “Have you anything else to add?”

  “Yes, sir. Shall we see if I can question like a lawyer, Master Gledden?”

  The king frowned. “Are you suggesting that Master Vorst’s testimony was untrue?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Inaccurate?”

  “Not in so far as he knows.” Her face had lost its smile.

  The king sat back again. “Continue.”

  Avalind turned to Callin. “Master Vorst, what was the distance between us as you fought your duel with the other man?”

  Callin thought. “Twenty paces.”

  “The terrain?”

  “Rough ground, knee length grass.”

  She nodded. “How long would it take a man, such as yourself, to cover that ground in a desperate attempt to save a maiden, such as me?”

  Callin thought again. “I came as quickly as I could.”

  “I am sure you did,” she smiled, “would you retire twenty paces, if you please?”

  Confused, Callin looked at the king for guidance. Rhomic nodded. A pathway opened through the throng as he counted out the steps.

  Avalind continued calmly. “You have your sword?” Callin nodded. “Would you draw it, please, as you had it at the time in question?”

  Callin looked again to the king for permission to unsheathe his weapon in the presence of his sovereign. Rhomic nodded.

  “I can testify that you are dressed similarly to the way you were yesterday when we rode out together,” continued the princess. “Good. Chamberlain Gledden, I will ask Master Vorst to run towards me as fast as he can. Would you measure the time he takes to cover the distance?”

  Gledden spread his own arms in disbelief. “My Lord, I do not see the…”

  “Do it!” Rhomic ordered shortly.

  “Very well, Master Vorst. If you please.”

  Callin shot forward, skidding to a halt beside her moments later. She smiled her thanks. “How long, Master Gledden?”

  “Perhaps three seconds.”

  “And Master Vorst was running across a level stone floor. Yesterday he ran through knee length grass. Might that have slowed him down, do you think?”

  Gledden’s look of triumph had faded. “I suppose so.”

  “By how much?”

  A shrug. “Another second or two.”

  She nodded. “Another second or two. That gave the prisoner four or five seconds in which to kill me. I ask the swordsmen here whether he would have needed any longer?”

  This question was greeted by a universal slow shaking of heads.

  “What does this prove, Your Highness?” Gledden sounded indignant.

  “Master Vorst,” she continued, “I have already testified that when you despatched the other man, the one who approached me had his sword raised.” Callin nodded. “Was it still raised when you felled him?”

  Callin thought, his brow furrowed. “No, Your Highness, it was not.”

  “How, then, did he carry it?”

  “He didn’t, it was on the ground.”

  “Did you see me take it from him?”

  “No.”

  “Could I have taken it from him without your seeing?”

  “No, Your Highness, you were on the ground and he was standing. I mean no disrespect, but he was a big man…”

  Avalind smiled, “No disrespect taken, Master Vorst.” A low chuckle ran round the room, not shared by Callin or his family. Avalind pressed her point. “Was there another person, not yet mentioned, who took it from him?”

  “No, there was nobody else there.”

  “Then how did it go from his hand to the ground?”

  Callin coloured, realising that he should have thought of this before. “He — he must have dropped it, Your Highness.”

  Avalind smiled again, warmly this time. “Thank you, Master Vorst.” She returned her attention to her father. “In his haste to defend me from this alleged threat, Master Vorst struck the man from behind. He could not, therefore, have seen his face.”

  Rhomic was now grave. “You confirm this, Master Vorst?”

  Callin nodded. “Yes, sire, I struck him from behind.”

  The silence was intense. Having sheathed his sword, Callin moved back to his original position just behind the princess.

  “Tell us about his face,” said Rhomic quietly.

  “When the horse threw me,” she continued softly, “I saw him advance upon me with sword upraised. There was hate in his eyes.”

  “There you have it!” spat Gledden defiantly.

  “There you have what, Master Chamberlain?” she returned, equally defiantly.

  Gledden was silent.

  “Then I saw him change, father,” she continued simply, “the rage died in his eyes and he lowered his sword. For a second, I had a glimpse of the honourable man he had once been. He dropped his weapon to the ground. I knew then that he would never hurt me.”

  “I repeat, sire, there you have it!” cried Gledden. “On Her Highness’s own evidence, the man approached her with upraised sword and hate in his eyes. How much more proof do we need?”

  “If a man intends to burgle a house, but then changes his mind and leaves it alone,” shot back Avalind sharply, “is he still guilty of burglary?”

  “No,” replied Rhomic thoughtfully, “for the house has not been burgled.”

  “Then how can you charge this man with attempted murder?”

  A slow smile curled Rhomic’s lips. He knew his chamberlain was defeated. So did Gledden. He retired to his place at the side of the hall, back stiff with indignation. The king sat back, wishing that he had the presence of mind to investigate this properly himself the day before. “Are you suggesting that I pardon this man?”

  “For a crime he has not committed, father?”

  “Yes, he has committed a crime. He was the accomplice of Master Vorst’s assailant and he did, at least, threaten you.” Rhomic stared hard into his daughter’s eyes.

  “Then bring him back here, charge him with threatening me and give him a fair trial,” she responded. “I will gladly speak in his defence.”

  The smile now showed through Rhomi
c’s whiskers. “There we have a problem. He has escaped. I was about to punish his gaolers when you arrived.”

  “Pardon the gaolers,” she smiled, “they were duped by one they would not dare distrust.”

  Rhomic’s eyebrows rose. “By whom?”

  “By me. I released the prisoner.”

  The silence was broken instantly. She had just confessed to a crime punishable by the maximum penalty permitted under Vandamm Law. The king held up his hand to calm the hubbub.

  “You are aware of the penalty for assisting a condemned prisoner to escape?”

  She nodded. “I must take his punishment for him.” She spoke confidently, although her insides were turning over at this point. She did not really believe that her father would have her executed, but pressure from courtiers with something to gain could yet force him into harsher measures than he would wish. “So, am I to hang?”

  Rhomic sat back. He would have cleared the room there and then had not his innate wisdom advised him that justice must be seen to be done.

  “Explain yourself,” he said shortly.

  “Master Vorst,” she called. Callin stepped forward. “Do you know the name of the man you killed?”

  “No,” he shrugged.

  “His name was Lork.”

  “The prisoner told you that,” said Rhomic flatly.

  “I visited him in his cell just before midnight.”

  Gench nodded his confirmation but did not dare speak. The princess might have saved him from punishment for failing to keep the prisoner in his charge, but if it emerged that the man had escaped while he and his comrades were rutting with a whore instead of attending to their duties, he could still see himself swinging from the gallows.

  “I wanted to know why he had intended to attack me and why he did not press his attack,” continued Avalind.

  “He told you?”

  She nodded. “Yes, he did. Do you know his name, father?”

  Gledden, who had sunk into a rather sulky retreat, now came forward once more. “Yes, sire, his name was…”

  “Adiram Cabral,” she cut him off.

  “Cabral!” snarled a voice from the back of the room.

  All heads turned. The corpulent Baron Loda Dumarrick was thrusting his weighty form forwards. Finally he arrived, purple and heaving, opposite the princess.

  Rhomic allowed him a moment to regain his breath before greeting him politely. “Good morning, Baron Dumarrick, I trust you are well.”

  “I would have been better, My Liege, not to have heard that name,” came the snarled reply. “Cabral was my vassal. I dismissed him from my service some months back.”

  Rhomic mused a moment before turning back to Avalind. “You knew of this?”

  She nodded. “He told me.”

  The king was tiring of these proceedings. He had no intention of meting the exact measure of the Law on his own daughter, whose action he was now secretly applauding but the presence of an irate Dumarrick was another matter. “Please explain this.”

  The baron stuck his chin out so that the early sun caught the sprouting bristles. “He questioned my justice and refused to obey my orders.”

  “Your justice!” snapped Avalind, rounding on him. “Have you informed His Majesty of the ‘justice’ you meted out?”

  Dumarrick stuck his thumbs in his belt defiantly. “My Liege, does Her Highness have the authority to…”

  “I am princess royal and I outrank you!” cried Avalind, her index finger jabbing straight towards his nose. “In the interests of true justice, yes, I do!” She gave him no opportunity to respond. Instead she launched into a detailed account of the story Cabral had told her the night before, finishing with the confirmation that she had seen his stripes personally.

  The king sat in stony silence. Dumarrick was a powerful ally. He could not afford his enmity. He turned to the corpulent aristocrat courteously. “My Lord Baron, can you confirm that the princess’s evidence is accurate?”

  “Am I on trial here, sire?” replied the baron indignantly.

  “No,” replied his liege lord. “We are investigating an alleged attack on my daughter in which you had no part. I simply require confirmation or rebuttal of my daughter’s claim of how this man was dismissed from your service.”

  “The facts are as she has stated them, My Liege. The interpretation is another matter. Have I contravened any Kingdom laws in dispensing justice within my domain?”

  Rhomic thought carefully. He well knew Dumarrick’s cruelty and delight in excesses, yet the man was correct. He had power of life and death within his own domain and if he chose to exercise that power ruthlessly, he could do so. He turned back to his daughter.

  “Baron Dumarrick dispenses justice in his own province,” he said quietly.

  “Was that justice?” She paused, chest heaving. There was a dread silence in the room, every eye on the shaking girl in the yellow gown. Dumarrick did not try to contradict her. A tear trickled down her cheek; she made no attempt to brush it away. Finally she spoke again, this time in a voice laden with humility.

  “Father, you have brought me up to honour right and revere justice. You have ever reminded me that it is not beyond possibility that I may be queen of this land one day. Out of regard for you and for Soth I pray that day never dawns, but I am mindful of it.

  ‘At the heart of this trial I have been labelled the victim, yet I am unharmed. At the crucial moment I was no longer even threatened. The true victim is Adiram Cabral. Flogged, cast out and blacklisted for defending a man who had been ordered to perform needless butchery. His livelihood, his reputation, his self-respect were all stripped from him and he was left with no choice but to follow the path of brigandage, against his will. He told me that he refused to become a soldier of fortune in a foreign land, lest he be ordered into action against his own people. Outlawed or not, he remains a loyal Kingdom man. As a brigand, he has never killed.

  ‘If I am charged with aiding a condemned criminal to escape, then I am guilty. If, however, your guiding influence is true and natural justice, as I believe mine is, then I gave justice to a miserable man who had been denied it for too long.”

  A broadening beam of light through a high window fell upon her, igniting the carnelian strands of her hair and settling a deep glow into the folds of her garment. Her head now hung on her chest. Her rage had left her. Now she simply stood, trembling, tears flowing freely, awaiting her fate.

  The silent moment drifted. Slowly and uncertainly, but with growing conviction, first one pair of hands, then two, then more and more joined in the applause. Finally only Dumarrick, Rhomic and Avalind herself were not clapping. Even Gledden joined in the applause, albeit reluctantly.

  The king held up his hand for silence.

  “Baron Dumarrick is not charged with any offence,” he intoned levelly. “It is our express wish that he govern his province with true justice and mercy. We remain his liege lord and loving friend and will continue our goodwill towards him, valuing his loyalty and friendship as ever.”

  Dumarrick bowed stiffly. Rhomic, aware that Avalind had just made a dangerous enemy, whom he would now have to placate, nodded to him go before continuing in the same tone.

  “The charge of attempted murder against the prisoner, Adiram Cabral, is dropped. He was, however, a brigand and the accomplice of another, who most certainly did attack and try to kill Callin Vorst. Thus he is an accessory. As my daughter has demonstrated, Cabral’s brigandage was not through choice and he consciously refrained from its worst excesses. Therefore I will spare him the severest measure of the Law. From this day, he is banished from the Kingdom for a period of one year. At the end of that time he may return as a Kingdom citizen with full rights. Should he return before the due date, his original sentence will be reimposed without further trial.”

  A murmur of approval spread about the room. Avalind lifted her tear-stained face to look her father in the eye.

  “As for you, Avalind Vandamm, you have demonstrated the skill
of a lawyer in exposing the shortcomings of the original investigation and having that man's charges reduced, but you have also flouted the Law and given opprobrium to one of this land’s most prominent citizens and my especial friend. You could have pleaded the man’s case without releasing him and, thus, leave justice in the hands of your king, where it rightfully belongs. It is not for you, or any other subject, to countermand the rulings of your sovereign.

  ‘You will retire from public life for a period not exceeding six months, during which you will remove yourself to Nassinor and assume the duties of mistress to Count Vorst’s household, there to learn patience and humility, which you will add to your undoubted talents. I trust that this will be acceptable to Count Vorst?”

  Count Amerish bowed low. “It will be an honour to extend our hospitality to Her Highness, Your Majesty.”

  Rhomic nodded curtly. “At the end of six months, or upon recall, you will return to Brond a wiser person.”

  Avalind stared him straight in the eye, bottom lip quivering slightly.

  *

  Leagues away, in her bedchamber well within the walls of her father’s castle in Yelkin, Lissian Dumarrick emitted her twelfth glorious fart of the morning.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Callin’s new home was more spacious and comfortable than any he had ever known. He could walk more than two steps without bumping into anything. A shaded wall boasted a large fresco, depicting a knight despatching some scaly beast while a pale damsel with an unnaturally tall forehead looked on with hands clenched in prayer, lest her hero unexpectedly lost.

  He did not think much of the picture. Perhaps it was the impassive lack of expression on their faces or the pristine nature of the knight's armour. His own experiences on the training field had long taught him that even a few minutes of physical combat would leave him coated with sweat and dust, if dry, or — worse — mud, when wet. Still, it was a large dash of colour in an otherwise plain, white room, and he was grateful for that.

  Much better was his adjoining antechamber, complete with tub and wood stove on which to heat water. Following Rhomic’s lead, his father had instituted a regime of regular bathing in Nassinor. In Vorst fashion, however, the water had always been unheated. This could be pleasant on hot, sticky summer days but a matter of endurance in winter. Callin experimented when he took his inaugural hot bath — water heated by that appealing little serving maid, Mussa — on his first evening. On hot days he still preferred the water cold, but the occasional cooler spell encouraged him to have that stove kindled It also presented him with the opportunity to admire Mussa’s excellent rump as she busied herself. Whether she knew this, he had no idea, but she always contrived to be facing directly away from him when bending over. He wondered how that rump would appear without the intervening skirt.