The King's Justice: Two Novellas

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  “Clearly, Brother Intrix,” I observed, “the abilities of other alchemists, like your own, are wide-ranging and remarkable. Is it conceivable that an alchemist may turn his gifts to hieronomy?”

  My visitor shrugged heavily. “The gift is the gift.” He did not trouble himself to meet my gaze. By such signs, he expressed a profound disinterest. “Only purity, talent, and character vary. What is hieronomy but an attempt to expand discernment itself, albeit by external means? Yet the uncertainties of the future are both subtle and extensive. They thwart even an expanded discernment. Alchemists prefer tangible tasks, ones which may be effectively achieved.”

  He piqued me despite his manner. By external means? With an eagerness which I endeavored to conceal, I pursued my interest.

  “Brother Intrix, given that the alchemists of Indemnie are capable of such wonders, I must wonder why they cannot perform similar miracles with men.”

  The adept shrugged again, plainly wishing himself elsewhere. “I know not. We know not. We are certain only that any flesh possessed by a living mind cannot endure the effects of alchemy. Even the beasts of field and forest perish if growth is attempted upon them.

  “Some among us surmise that any mind—even that of a beast—cannot suffer its own increase, which must affect that mind as warping affects a tree. For myself, I have no opinion on the matter. It has no pertinence to my own labors.”

  So saying, he appeared to dash a hope that I had not expressed. Nonetheless I was not dashed. His elucidation—however grudgingly granted—sufficed to heighten an excitement which might come to serve as hope.

  Yet I did not pause to contemplate my own thoughts. Striving to unsettle my visitor, I stated bluntly, “You spoke of purity of blood, Brother.”

  He gazed at me with unconcealed exasperation. “Is even that unknown to you? I refer to lineage, to inheritance from the first families of Indemnie. Are you not gifted? Are you ignorant of your place among your kind? Your knowledge of history is scant indeed if you are unaware that those families were forsaken upon this isle because their gifts were feared. That alchemists—and hieronomers,” he conceded ungraciously, “do not now command this realm is of no significance. In our forgotten homeland, we learned that our lives are both more valued and less at hazard when we do not rule.”

  “A wise policy, Brother,” I replied, pretending a fatuous equability. “Fortunately my further queries will not transgress its bounds. Hearing you, I am made aware that the alchemists of Indemnie are capable of much which lies beyond my poor comprehension. Pardon, if you will, an inquiry which may surprise you. Being capable of so much, are you also able to expand our isle itself? Can the alchemists of Indemnie at work together create more land?”

  For a moment, he stared as though he confronted a madman. Then he coughed a harsh laugh. “You wander in your wits, Hieronomer. Have you considered the magnitude of the labor you suggest? If you crave more land—why, I know not—we cannot simply spread earth over the seas. The isle itself must be increased upward from its foundations in the depths of the ocean—depths, I hasten to add, which have not been fathomed, and which may well lie leagues beneath the waves. Such labor is not the work of one lifetime, or of several. Generations beyond number might pass ere a hundred alchemists, or a thousand, increased Indemnie’s land by as much as an acre.”

  In response, I laughed with better grace than he. “Then let that thought be forgotten. It was indeed as ill-considered as you have deemed it. I am humbled by your better apprehension.”

  Resuming my efforts to unsettle him, I again altered my heading. “As an adept of iron,” I remarked, “you, Brother, and others of similar gifts must have been in considerable demand recently.”

  Of a sudden, the alchemist’s manner became wary. “Why do you say so?”

  I offered my own shrug, watching him narrowly. “Baron Estobate and Baron Plinth have armies. Their soldiers are well-supplied with swords and helms of iron.”

  There Opalt Intrix hesitated. Briefly he appeared to reconsider his desire to challenge Slew’s strength—or perhaps the strength of Slew’s authority. If so, he must have concluded that he could not out-match my Queen’s man. His shoulders slumped in resignation.

  “Then I must confess that the demands of the barons have indeed been considerable. But of their purposes I know nothing. I care only that I am valued.” A moment later, he averred, “My allegiance belongs to the pure Queens of Indemnie.”

  His emphasis upon purity urged me to draw inferences which I could not then examine. Believing that I had disturbed his composure, I chose rather to pursue my advantage. “That being said, good Brother Intrix,” I continued as though my inquiries were the ordinary and predictable outcome of his answers, “I must now ask how alchemy is performed. My service to Indemnie’s present pure Queen requires an understanding of the preparations, methods, and materials necessary to your gift.”

  “Ha!” His expostulation rattled in his chest, the cough of a man who would have preferred to bring up his lungs. “You are a fool indeed if you imagine me fool enough to disclose my knowledge to you, gift-kin though you may be.”

  Ere I could reply, a dirk appeared in Slew’s fist. With his other arm, he clasped my visitor’s shoulders. His blade he rested on the loose flesh of Opalt Intrix’s throat.

  Slew’s instant support both startled and steadied me. Relying upon it, and encouraged by the alchemist’s quick fear, I addressed Opalt Intrix in a cautioning tone.

  “Yet you must do so, Brother. You must do so for your life, if you will not for your rightful sovereign. Slew may have a flaw or three in his nature, but hesitation is not among them. Indeed, he may be entirely innocent of scruple. If you will not answer, Indemnie will lose an adept of iron—and the loss will be scantly grieved.”

  “No!” the man protested. “I must not! The secrecy of our knowledge preserves our lives. More, it wards those who lack our gifts. Our knowledge will prove fatal to all who attempt its use without the aid of our blood. Disclosure will cost lives, Brother, and not only among the alchemists who nurture the realm’s prosperity!”

  “Nevertheless,” I insisted, reassured by the man’s urgency. “On this matter, Opalt Intrix, I will not relent. However, to appease your fears, I will vow upon my own blood that your secrets will not be shared beyond this chamber. We are not Baron Venery, Brother. We are able to keep our own counsel.”

  “It is certain,” growled Slew, “that I am. I can seal my mouth as easily as I can shed your life.”

  “What of—?” The alchemist’s scrubbed hand indicated Excrucia’s shadowed form.

  Of her I had no doubt. “My word binds our silent companion.”

  Still he strove to muster some protest that I might heed. Twisting his throat away from Slew’s blade as best he could, he pleaded, “Yet the essence of my secrets is known to you.” His catarrh appeared to choke him. “You are aware that gifted blood is necessary. I have spoken of the role of natural inclination and talent. What more do you desire?”

  “Preparations,” I repeated. “Methods. Are incantations needful? Are there rituals which must be performed?”

  “Paugh!” In his desperation, he coughed phlegm and scorn. “Does hieronomy rely upon incantations? Do you enact rituals here, in the privacy—the secrecy—of your laborium?”

  The revelation that I sought now trembled upon his tongue. I had only to provoke its utterance, knowing that my own small gift depended solely upon itself. I had no use for incantations and rituals, and was now assured that he had none.

  “Brother Intrix,” I replied with an air of nonchalance that pleased me, “I am not altogether as ignorant of history as you suppose. I have discovered that when our ancestors first endeavored to live upon this isle, barren as it then was, their alchemists lacked one material required by their gifts.” Then I allowed my years of loneliness and ire into my voice. “I am aware that our ancestors would
not have survived their abandonment without the scrying of hieronomers to discover that one material.” Harsh as a scourge, I said, “I demand of you only that you name it. For my Queen’s sake, I must know by what means the gifts of alchemists are transformed from illusion to effect.”

  Still Opalt Intrix closed his mouth. Beneath their flesh, his jaws knotted as though he intended to remain silent forever.

  Lifting my shoulders in a last shrug, I nodded to Slew.

  At once, he set the point of his dirk and pressed until blood began a ready trickle from the alchemist’s jowl.

  Swift panic glared in my gift-kin’s eyes. His mouth appeared to open of its own accord. His thick lips flapped as he cried, “It is chrism, you fool! A natural ore, and rare. A catalyst! The deeds of alchemists require only blood and talent and will and chrism.”

  There an instant of elation overcame me. Though I was myself as fearful as my victim, and held in far less regard, I had achieved a portion of my purpose—perhaps the most vital portion. I now needed only one further disclosure from the alchemist, no more, and my use of him would be complete.

  Ere I could master my exultation, however, my door swung open, and I sprang immediately to my feet. There was but one personage in all the realm to whom Vail would have granted admittance.

  With the light of my candles glittering in her eyes and a heave of haste in her bosom, Inimica Phlegathon deVry entered my chambers.

  That she was fraught with wrath was plain. That she was of a mind to claim heads—mine first among them—seemed probable. Yet I had come far in her name, and now found myself disinclined to falter. With an exertion of will, I resumed my seat. This was my laborium, and I intended to preside over it.

  “Your Majesty,” I said as though her arrival had been agreed between us—as though my posture upon my stool were not in itself an unpardonable affront—“we are speaking of chrism.” Though I trembled, I held to my purpose. “Opalt Intrix has just informed us that it is vital to the deeds of alchemists—and that it is fatal to all who do not share the blood-gift of our ancestors. I was about to inquire whether it may be used to test those who lay claim to pure lineage.”

  With her finery and loveliness—with what I must call her splendor—my Queen by her mere presence caused my workroom to appear soiled and tawdry, a place where unsavory deeds were performed by a despicable man. Yet she addressed no word to me. Briefly she glanced at her daughter hooded and cloaked in the corner. Her gaze rested for a moment on my tables, no doubt marking the absence of fresh blood. Then she turned to confront Opalt Intrix and Slew.

  “Slew Immordson,” she began, “I give thanks daily for your service. Now I do so again that you informed me of this gathering, and that you remained to stand guard on my behalf. Had you not asked in my Hieronomer’s name for authority to summon an alchemist, I would not have granted it. And had you not informed me of my Hieronomer’s alliances, I would not have allowed this inquisition to proceed so long in my absence. I will not sully your loyalty with promises of reward. Know, however, that my gratitude is yours.”

  To this comparative effusion, Slew replied with no more than a blunt nod. If my Queen’s thanks either pleased or irked him, he gave no sign.

  To all appearances, she expected none. Rather she shifted her attention at once to the alchemist.

  “And your answer, Opalt Intrix?” she inquired. “Can this chrism be employed as my Hieronomer suggests?”

  In reply, he stared as though he beheld his life in ruins. Sweat beaded upon his brow, and his mouth attempted words for which he had no voice. He had spoken easily enough of allegiance and pure Queens. Confronted by Inimica Phlegathon deVry herself, however, he appeared lost in fright.

  Frowning, she uncoiled a silken ire studded with barbs. “Do not think to refuse me, Alchemist. In matters that concern your life and your secrets, my rule is supreme. You have a supply of this chrism upon your person?”

  From the depths of his self-regard, Opalt Intrix summoned a timorous nod.

  She allowed him no pause for reflection. Holding out her hand, she commanded, “I will have it now.”

  His dampness and pallor were such that I feared he might faint. It was fortunate for his dignity, then, that he remained standing. With quaking hands, he opened his robe, reached for a hidden pocket, and drew forth a leather pouch of a size to fill the palm of my hand.

  “A lifetime’s worth, Your Majesty,” he gasped thinly. “It is potent. Be sparing.”

  Taking the pouch from him on the instant, my Queen untied its neck and peered within. “A powder,” she observed, doubtless for my benefit. Dipping one finger inward, she withdrew a few fulvous grains. When she had granted me a moment to regard them, she lifted her finger to her mouth and licked it.

  “Tasteless,” she pronounced it—and after an interval during which her gaze appeared to absent itself, “Pleasurable.”

  As though such actions were common between us, she offered the pouch to me.

  There I found myself as frightened as the alchemist. I had prepared neither my expectations nor my resolve for such a test. I had scant confidence in my lineage. My gift—such as it was—had not manifested itself in my immediate family, or in any of my relations. Nevertheless I recognized at once that both my service and my life depended upon my response. And during the space of a heartbeat I realized that I desired this test. If I wished to know how I might contrive to serve Indemnie as well as my Queen, I must first know myself.

  In the corner, Excrucia had risen to her feet. However, she did not advance toward me or uncover herself.

  After a moment’s hesitance, I accepted the pouch. Emulating my sovereign’s air of certainty, I used the tip of one finger to shift a minute portion of chrism from the pouch to my tongue. Then I closed my eyes to await the outcome.

  When I opened them again, I met my Queen’s gaze. “Tasteless,” I assented. More I could not say while an urge to gag choked me. When the impulse had passed, however, and I had swallowed a measure of bile, I was able to confess, “And sickening. Distinctly unpleasant.” In a limping tone, I added, “Fortunately the sensation is brief.”

  Masked by shadows, Excrucia resumed her seat like a woman collapsing.

  Two mysteries were thus revealed. We now knew the nature of the powder with which Baron Indolent had indirectly tainted Excrucia’s wine. And I had confirmed that my blood lacked sufficient purity to forestall Indemnie’s dooms.

  In addition—a thought that occurred to me belatedly—I had discovered that Excrucia was concerned for my well-being. Previously I had gauged that she had allied herself with me because my queries interested her, and perhaps also because she desired some use for her days that was not constrained or defined by her role as her mother’s daughter. To believe that she valued my life for its own sake demanded an effort of which I had not then been capable.

  For her part, Inimica Phlegathon deVry derived conclusions with a celerity that I could not match, and reached decisions as swiftly. To all appearances satisfied by my replies, she turned again to the alchemist.

  “Opalt Intrix,” she commanded with the imperious calm of a monarch who had no cause to fear disobedience, “you are dismissed. Return to your labors. Say no word of our exchanges in this chamber. For the present, I have no further need of you.”

  The alchemist’s mouth opened and closed without issue. Another man might have offered some protest. This man may have wished to plead for the return of his chrism. But if his voice declined to serve him, his wits remained adequate to estimate the perils of his straits. Assisted by Slew’s hand upon his shoulder, he jerked a bow. Without daring to raise his head, he backed toward the door, which Slew opened to expedite his departure.

  When he was gone, my Queen stood silent a moment. Then she said in a musing tone, as though she spoke only to herself, “Now I comprehend Indolent’s ploy. By testing my daughter’s blood, he sought to d
etermine whether she would suffice to command the support of Indemnie’s alchemists in my absence. They would be loath to stand against a successor of pure lineage. But should her blood fail of purity, he could hope to win some or all of them to his cause, and my rule would be at an end.”

  So much I now understood. Seeking to comprehend more, I ventured cautiously, “Other attempts have been made as well, Your Majesty. Are they also Baron Indolent’s doing?”

  “No.” Her reply was a snap. “Indolent is too subtle for such crudeness. Plinth has honor, Panderman is besotted, and Venery’s mouth betrays every intention. The instigator is Estobate. He aims high. My daughter’s death would end the Phlegathon deVry line. Thereafter he conceives that he would supplant me, either by marriage or by force of arms, and the line of the Estobates would begin.

  “He is deluded. He does not grasp—though his prompter Indolent does—that he cannot rule Indemnie without the fealty of alchemists and augurs.”

  I did not contest her assertion. It conveyed conviction. Rather I dared to suggest, “Then, Your Majesty, we must speak further of alchemy.”

  It was in my mind to urge the formation of an army for the Domicile’s defense. Such an endeavor would require quantities of iron to match the equipage of Baron Estobate’s men, and of Baron Plinth’s.

  But the force of my Queen’s eyes—indeed of her entire manner—as she turned on me froze my thoughts in my head. She appeared to shout with rage, though in fact she spoke quietly.

  “Must we, Hieronomer?”

  I confess that I quailed before her—or I did so until I saw that Excrucia had again risen to her feet. Whatever my friend’s emotions may have been, her effect upon me was one of supplication. For her sake—or for ours—she appeared to ask of me that I stand firm.

  By small increments, I squared my shoulders, straightened my spine. As well as I could, I faced Inimica Phlegathon deVry.

  “You know this, Your Majesty.” My voice was a dry husk in my throat. “Throughout its history, Indemnie has relied upon alchemy. By the transformations of alchemy, we have become what we are. Without it, we cannot become more—a deed which we must accomplish, lest our dooms prove beyond our strength.”