by Patty Jansen
He could hear her scream, “Isandor! Isandor!”
People jostled him. He managed to get upright, and yanked his cloak out of the Knight’s hands. People were attacking the man from all sides.
Milleus’ gruff voice came from somewhere Isandor couldn’t see. “Mercy, let go of them. It’s a disgrace. How do you dare against a couple of children.”
Isandor shouted, “Milleus! Milleus, where are you?” It was so dark, and there were so many people fighting, and the rain was running into his eyes.
“Over here!”
Isandor spotted Milleus standing on the beam that connected the trailer to the truck. He wrestled through the crowd. Milleus stuck out a hand and hauled Isandor up.
“You hurt?” Milleus asked.
“Jevaithi. They took Jevaithi.” Panic clawed at his insides. All around, people were fighting hand to hand. He stuck his head out to look at the other side of the truck, but it was too dark to see who was who. Too dark to see any trace of Jevaithi.
Isandor screamed, as loud as he could, “Jevaithi!”
A couple of people took up the chant. “Jevaithi, Jevaithi.”
“Shut up, everyone. She’s missing! The Knights took her.”
More voices now chanted, Jevaithi, Jevaithi. Peria, Peria!
Isandor climbed on top of the trailer. “Shut up everyone.”
Several people made shushing noises.
“Hey, who are you?” a man asked.
There was nothing left to say except the truth. “I’m Isandor, Jevaithi’s twin brother. The Knights just took her. They’ll kill her if they get the chance. They’ve been trying to kill us ever since we escaped from the palace.”
There were gasps.
A man shouted, “Revenge! Revenge!”
“Glory to the queen and king!” someone else yelled. Other people repeated those words. Isandor cringed. He was no king, and the south definitely didn’t need another king. He only wanted Jevaithi to be safe. He had failed her.
When he saw the Knight behind him, it was too late to run.
Chapter 29
* * *
THE WORD CAME from somewhere uphill, and went through the Knight army. “We’ve got the Queen!”
While many around him cheered, Carro went cold inside. He’d know this would come, but had hoped that it wouldn’t, that Isandor and Jevaithi had found a way out of the refugee column and were safe in Tiverius. He wanted to ask if the report was true, and if anyone knew anything about Isandor.
His eyes met Jeito’s by the faint light of the impending dawn. Jeito’s face was grim, and Carro thought of Farey’s words. Jeito had family in the camp.
He followed the others up to the commotion on the hillside.
A ring of Knights who had cornered a group of at least a hundred citizens and a truck with a trailer. Carro’s heart skipped a beat. This was the truck of the old man who had given Isandor and Jevaithi shelter, and a couple of Knights marched downhill with a struggling prisoner who he recognised a moment later as Jevaithi.
She was cursing, her hair was tangled. As they passed, her eyes met Carro’s in a fleeting moment. There was mud on her face and her simple Chevakian peasant dress. The hot anger in her expression shook him.
Next came a couple of Knights carrying a blanket with a blood-covered body. A deep cold went through Carro. Isandor was dead? Was this the end of it? Jevaithi back under the influence of the Knights and her lover murdered? The only person who had ever cared about Carro without any motive other than friendship?
His head reeled.
Knights bustled around him, but he hardly noticed. Up on the hill, voices took up a chant. Peria, Peria, Peria!
That was the name of the southern land under the reign of the old king. Carro had never heard anyone say the name aloud and didn’t realise that anyone still used it. This was the Brotherhood’s doing. But why? Why revive a regime of a tyrant who tortured his people?
What were the Brotherhood fighting for? The right to torture again?
The conflicting emotions became too much for Carro. He clamped his hands over his ears, wanting to shout, Enough!
Most of the refugees were not Brotherhood people, they were ordinary citizens who cared nothing about the feud between the clans. Most of the Knights were not Pirosians. Many could see icefire and knew how dangerous it could be.
The Pirosian medallion burned against his skin. He and his father were spurring on this war by their very existence. The people were fighting just because they disliked the Knights’ hold on power, not because they wanted the Brotherhood to rule.
Enough, enough, enough. This war had to stop.
Carro’s heart jumped when someone put a hand on his shoulder. “Can you do something for me, son?”
His first, stupid, reaction was to salute.
The hand, of course, belonged to Rider Cornatan, and he laughed at Carro’s hasty salute, but his eyes showed concern. “Are you all right, son?”
“Uhm—yeah.” Carro’s heart beat furiously against his ribs. That had been a stupid thing to do. “Uhm—tell me what you want me to do.” By the skylights, what would his father do when he found out about all those thoughts Carro just had?
“I need someone reliable to stand guard. Come.” He led Carro downhill where two Junior Knights stood guard on either side of the entrance to a large tent. While going in, Carro met one of their gazes, wide-eyed. Was he going crazy or did he see fear for his father in everyone?
Inside the tent, a couple of Senior Knights stood around a table on which they had tied a woman.
Filthy and blood-smeared, Jevaithi was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. They had tied a gag around her mouth, but she growled insults that needed no explaining. Her grey eyes were vicious.
“I want you to make sure no one comes in here,” Rider Cornatan said in a low voice.
Carro nodded, his gaze on the Queen, and the way the torchlight gilded her skin.
“No one, right?” Rider Cornatan held up a finger. “Not even any other Knights, especially from the Council.”
“Yes,” Carro said, trying as hard as possible to appear calm and careless. He glanced around, but couldn’t see the blanket with the blood-covered body.
“There are subversive elements amongst us,” Rider Cornatan continued.
Carro’s heart skipped a beat. “There are?” His mouth felt dry.
“You heard Rider Barton at the meeting. Don’t trust him. Don’t let him into the tent.”
“Uhm—sure.”
Rider Cornatan gave him a penetrating look, then held the tent flap open. Carro went outside, where it had started raining again, and took up his position with the two Juniors.
He could only think one thing. Rider Cornatan knew that he had reservations. He had no idea how his father knew, or whether it was only a hunch, but he knew nevertheless. This was a test of his loyalty. He’d be watched. There would be spies somewhere.
But no matter how much he looked—and he didn’t dare crane his head too much—he could only see the two terrified Junior Knights, scrunching their faces against the biting rain.
Rider Cornatan had gone back inside the tent and left the flap open. Carro could see the queen’s legs through the gap, and the filthy cloth that held her ankles to the table.
His father said something that Carro didn’t catch, and next followed a scream and barrage of swear words from Jevaithi.
Rider Cornatan laughed. “That is uncouth language for a young lady, let alone our Queen.”
She spat. “If you think I’ll go back to living in your prison, you’re mistaken.” Carro shivered with the anger in her voice. “I will rather die than help you.”
The
Junior Knight next to him shifted, and his boots made squelching sounds in the mud. Carro glanced aside, but the young man was staring intently at the next tent.
Rider Cornatan said, “Then be prepared to die, Your Highness.”
The young Knight took in a sharp breath, noticed that Carro was looking at him, and turned his head so that Carro could no longer see his face. When he turned around, the young man on his other side did the same.
“I hate you,” Jevaithi said.
“You make one mistake, Your Highness.” Rider Cornatan’s voice was mocking. “You seem convinced that we need you alive.”
“I don’t care if you kill me.”
“I had something else in mind.”
There was a sound of fabric ripping, a snarl and then a hard slap of a hand on naked skin. Carro cringed. That had to hurt.
An angry growl, also from Jevaithi. And Rider Cornatan’s chuckle.
Carro shivered.
“Rape me, if you cannot get what you want elsewhere, you disgusting old man. I will never, ever give you the pleasure of seeing your daughter on the throne.”
Rider Cornatan laughed in his dangerous, amused voice. “We’ll see about that.” And a bit later. “Take her away.”
The tent flap rustled and Rider Cornatan came out. He stopped and smiled at Carro. “Good work, son. Another job for you. Take her to the farm.”
“Er—how . . . er . . .”
“Don’t be so shy. Grab these young men, and one of the drivers. Someone will look after your bird.” He turned to leave, but turned back. “And feel free to teach her a lesson in humility.”
“Er . . . sorry?”
“My dear son. Do with her whatever you want. You do remember how fuck a woman, don’t you?” He laughed, and then he was off.
Carro remained in front of the tent while the Knights were still fighting rebels in other parts of the camp. He could hear the cries and shouts, the pop of fire and the firing of Chevakian powder guns.
He turned aside to see that the young Knight was staring at him. He went into the tent, where a lone oil lamp flapped a sooty flame.
Jevaithi lay on the table. The ripping cloth he had heard had been her skirt. She was now completely naked. Carro stared at the rising mound of her pubic bone and the mussed-up black hair that covered it.
By the skylights.
The remains of the dress had fallen onto the ground and had been trampled into the mud. He picked the cloth up, but it was wet and disgusting.
One of the Junior Knights was peering into the tent. He met Carro’s eyes, flinched.
“You have a cloak or something I can borrow?” Carro asked.
The young man took off his cloak and handed it to Carro, who approached the Queen.
She turned her head, the only thing she could still move.
“I’m not afraid of you.” The anger in her eyes made him shiver.
Carro wanted to say, There is no need to be afraid of me, but he figured the less said, the better. He draped the cloak over her. A small frown crossed her face.
Carro’s hands trembled. The breeze that came in through the tent flap carried alternately warm and cold air. Dark figures moved at the edge of his vision, but he forced himself to think of other things. He had no time for hallucinations. If he was going to act, he had to do so before Rider Cornatan came back. It scared him witless, but there was no option. Mutiny.
He gestured at the Junior Knight. “Come inside, please.”
The Junior Knight did, his eyes wide, no doubt wondering what he had done wrong.
“What is your name?”
“Minno, sir.”
“Minno, do you want the Queen to be killed?”
The young man’s widened even further. “I . . . I don’t know, sir.” His gaze flicked to the table behind Carro, and acquired a telltale glitter.
Carro answered the question for him. “You don’t want the Queen to be killed. Do you want the Queen to be raped?”
“Uhm . . .” The glitter became more prominent.
“No, Minno, you don’t want the Queen to be raped. No matter that she’s Thilleian.”
The man looked at the ground and shook his head. “No, sir. I don’t want the Queen to be raped.”
“Serving the Queen is one of the honours of the Knighthood.”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Minno, were you happy with what you were ordered to do here?”
“It’s not up to me to say, sir. I follow orders.”
“But if I asked you, as a man, not as a Knight?”
The man’s eyes widened. Carro thought he understood. Again, the less said, the better. “Minno. This is important. I want you to go and get Rider Barton for me. Tell him that he knows what this is about—”
“But what about my orders to guard the tent?”
“Fuck your orders. We’re going to do what I should have done a long time ago. Run. Quick.”
Minno’s whole attitude changed. He smiled. “Certainly, sir.” He ran out.
Carro turned to the table, freeing his dagger from its sheath.
Jevaithi’s eyes were wide. She said nothing—probably too scared—but surprise did not need words to show itself.
No time to explain. He bowed. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I’m going to have to touch you.” He lifted the cloak, inserted the dagger between the wood and the fabric that tied her ankle to the table leg and sliced through in one movement. Then the other leg, her upper body and her arms—her stump and her wrist on the other arm. She sat up, stiffly, her stump rubbing her shoulder. Her feet were bare, and he would have to carry her.
“Keep the cloak. You’ll need it when—” Splashing footsteps sounded outside. “Ah, there is—”
The tent flap rustled and in came . . . Rider Cornatan. He stopped. His gaze went from Carro to Jevaithi seated on the table.
“You told me to move her,” Carro said, trying to sound as innocent as he could. His heart was thudding against his ribs.
Rider Cornatan’s hand moved so fast that Carro didn’t see it until it, and the staff with the sink at the end, hit his face. He reeled back. When he wiped his face, the back of hand came away covered in blood. It ran from his nose down his lip and chin, from where it dripped onto his shirt.
“Fight, you coward. Straighten up.” Rider Cornatan poked the staff in his side.
Carro straightened, his head still reeling. He licked his lip, but new blood trickled down almost immediately.
Rider Cornatan had taken up a fighting stance, with his legs apart and both hands holding the staff. That thing didn’t work here in Chevakia, did it?
Carro stumbled a few paces so that Jevaithi was at his back.
“Stand aside so I can take the girl, if you’re not going to do it.”
“She is the Queen.”
“She’s a just dumb girl. Stand aside.”
“No.” Carro was trembling. He clutched the hilt of his dagger so tightly that his fingers hurt.
“What’s this nonsense? Instead of incompetent, are you now dumb as well?”
“No,” Carro said, louder this time. “I am a Knight and swore service to the Queen—”
“I recall that I just say you could service her—”
“Don’t talk of her like that!” Carro lunged, raising his dagger. It was an automatic gesture, learned while hunting Chevakian creatures for roasting on the fire.
Rider Cornatan swung the staff just in time. It hit Carro’s hands and dislodged the dagger from his grip. It bounced over the muddy ground before coming to rest under the table where Jevaithi still sat, wide eyed.
Rider Cornata
n came closer. “My dear son, just what are you up to?” His voice was cold as a blizzard.
“I am a Knight. I have sworn to the Knight’s pledge: Obedience, honour, honesty, humility and silence.”
“And you will obey me.”
“There is no honour in attacking our own people. There is no honesty in ordering your slaves to kill the Queen. There is no humility in encouraging rape, and there may be silence in not saying anything about any of these despicable things, but I am sure that this is not the type of silence the motto intended.” He was angry, oh, he was so angry that he trembled all over.
Rider Cornatan’s voice lowered. “Do I hear that right? You dare challenge me? I have done so much for you. Given you a good home. Fished you out of the cesspit of the Apprentice Knights . . .”
Carro wanted to say that the merchant had not provided a good home, that the merchant had mistreated him, but he had not. The merchant had hit him only a few times, when he was little, and when he deserved it.
He fought images of the merchant coming to the table in the central room of the limpet, bringing the box of dice for a game. Carro loved those word games.
Rider Cornatan put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, son. Let’s just forget about this. Let’s stop this nonsense and take her—”
“I am not your son! Here . . .” With trembling hands, Carro fumbled under his clothes and pulled out the Pirosian medallion. He flung it onto the table, where it came to rest against Jevaithi’s leg. “You can take that back. I don’t want it. I thought the Knights were about honour and courage, but they’re about repression and thuggery, about serving yourself at the cost of others. That is not the Knighthood I joined, or one I want to be part of.”
Rider Cornatan’s face hardened. “All right, if you want to play like that.” He retreated a step, and swung the staff. A hissing trail of steam zipped over the ground.
Carro jumped aside. By the skylights. He’d thought it didn’t work here. If Rider Cornatan attacked him with that thing, he was as good as finished. He tried to back away, but the edge of the table bit into his back.
If only he could reach his dagger . . . He lunged for the table.