The King's Justice: Two Novellas

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Excrucia met his gaze as though to defy him. Nevertheless she closed her cloak around her and held it tight.

  Angered by this threat to my friend and ally, I overcame my fear with an attempt at hauteur. “We do seek parley. We have made our purpose plain.” I waved my halberd. “You will treat us courteously until your captain has heard us. Thereafter you may learn to regret your rudeness.”

  Vail’s brief glance hinted at approval. Excrucia’s gaze held firm on our foe’s spokesman.

  My reply was greeted with coarse chuckles and guffaws, but our captors offered no further threats. The spokesman answered only, “Follow me,” and turned away.

  Encouraged by cutlasses, Vail, Excrucia, and I obeyed.

  Soon we were upon the pier—and sooner still, Vail dropped into the wave-tossed longboat. That movement wrung a groan from him, though he mastered his pain quickly to assist Excrucia. For my part, I contrived to step from the pier and land on the floorboards without pitching myself overboard. A moment later, our captors embarked, now guarding us fore and aft. At once, the near-side oarsmen cast off, unshipped their sweeps, and joined their fellows rowing us headlong into the high tumult of the seas.

  When the longboat had been hoisted onto its hanger, and we had made shift to gain our feet aboard the ship, our escort accompanied us to the foredeck. There we found ourselves placed near the foremast at no great distance from the infernal bulk of the cannon. Piled near the mast and the rails were the usual equipage of a large vessel, chiefly massive hawsers coiled almost to my own height, ranks of belaying pins, and anchor-chains, but also long troughs lined with iron balls for the cannon, and iron-bound casks which doubtless held explosive powder.

  All along the rails and before the forecastle, men as motley as our guards studied us in silence—sailors, soldiers, marines, I knew not what. Most regarded us with an admixture of open animosity and glazed disinterest, though a small number appeared to regard us as freakish curiosities. All, however, were armed with cutlasses, and some bore dirks and truncheons as well.

  No one among them spoke.

  At my side, Excrucia surveyed the assemblage with her head held high and her eyes clear in the moonlight. Near us, Vail hunched over his wound, clamping one arm there to constrict the flow of blood, and breathing in low hisses through his teeth. While I searched myself for courage, I scanned the men, seeking one with an air of authority, one who stood somewhat apart from his fellows. However, I found none. To my eyes, they were all and none captains, as leaderless and incapable of restraint as a rabble poised for frenzy.

  Prompted by a glare from Vail, I raised my voice. “Who speaks for this vessel?” I had come for this, had I not? I had chosen this doom. Why, then, did I falter? “Who will parley with me?”

  From somewhere that I failed to identify, a voice that rasped like the cut of a saw commanded, “Disarm them.”

  At once, the uniformed member of our escort approached us.

  Ere he could demand or claim our weapons, Vail tossed his dirk aside, then swept his free hand down his length to indicate that he could not have concealed a blade, had he wished to do so. My dirk I also discarded, clinging only to my halberd with its flag—my promise of peaceful intent. As for Excrucia, she remained with her cloak closed around her. Her gaze dared the guard to lay a hand upon her person.

  He considered her for a moment, then dismissed her with a shrug. Clearly he did not fear harm from a woman. In his clotted accent, he stated, “I will have that halberd.”

  Now I did not raise my voice. Rather I spoke quietly, as though I were certain of myself. “You will not,” I said, “when you have considered that we are visible to those who defend my Queen’s redoubt atop the cliff.” A twitch of my head indicated the Domicile on its eminence. “While I hold the flag of parley, they will hope that some cessation of hostility may be attained.”

  Laughter greeted my words, and the man before me declared, “We do not desire cessation.”

  “Then you are a fool,” I retorted. “If my halberd is taken from me, we will be at war. You will be opposed by every man, woman, and child of our isle, and when you have conquered it—should you prove able to do so—you will find that it has been made useless to you, its people slain, its wealth destroyed.”

  At this rejoinder, the guard glanced aside. Apparently receiving some sign that escaped my notice, he shrugged once more, bared his teeth at me, and withdrew.

  The shaft of my halberd I held with whitened knuckles. My palm and fingers were now slick with sweat, and I feared that my grasp would slip.

  Still concealed, the same rasping voice suggested, “Announce yourselves.”

  With a flick of his fingers, Vail indicated a place to my left, but I did not turn. Facing the forecastle and the guards who had escorted us, I proclaimed, “I am the voice of Her Majesty Queen Inimica Phlegathon deVry IV, beloved sovereign of this isle. While I hold the flag of parley, my words are hers.

  “With me are—”

  The man with the rasp interrupted me. “And you are? Give us your name.”

  I spotted him now, a hulk of a man among others at the rail, yet I could not discern his features or his raiment. He stood in the shadow of the forecastle, and those nearby had placed themselves to mask him in part. For some reason, either caution or mockery, he did not put himself forward. Therefore I continued to address the forecastle.

  “I have no name of stature. Here I am naught other than my Queen’s voice. I stand before you only because I am trusted. If you have some particular interest in my parentage, you must seek among the corpses when you have destroyed the isle.”

  Receiving no response, I resumed my announcement. “With me are Her Highness Excrucia Phlegathon deVry and Vail her servant. She is daughter to Her Majesty Inimica Phlegathon deVry, who offers her as hostage to assure you that I speak as I have been instructed. Her Majesty will honor every word that I utter in her name.”

  Apparently satisfied—or perhaps merely curious to regard Excrucia more closely—the hulking man now left the partial shelter of his comrades. When he had taken three or four long strides, he passed out of the shadow, and I saw him clearly.

  He was a head taller than Vail upright. His arms were bludgeons, and his chest a hogshead thick with muscle. By no detail of garb was his rank indicated—except, perhaps, by the golden band that secured the long plait of his beard. Two cutlasses dangled from his belt. Though his eyes were porcine, bulging in their orbits, they were quick and discerning. However, the feature that most drew my notice was his mouth.

  It resembled the maw of a beast that fed on flesh. His lips by moonlight were the precise darkness of blood, and when they opened, they revealed red-stained teeth and a tongue the fatal hue of a serpent’s.

  Five paces from us, he stopped, bracing his fists upon his hips like a man accustomed to reprimanding children. Briefly he gazed at me, and at Vail. Then he fixed his pronounced regard on Excrucia.

  With a nod of his head rather than a more seemly bow, he informed her, “Your Highness, I am Riddance Glave, captain of this vessel and commander of the forces that besiege your home. At a better time, we will speak of many things, you and I. You will tell me much that your mother’s voice”—he sneered the word—“will not. I make no claim that you will enjoy our exchanges, but they will give me pleasure enough for both. For the present, however, I will hear your mother’s little spokesman.”

  For a moment, he grinned at the swift flush that darkened Excrucia’s cheeks. Then he turned to me.

  “What of the lady’s servant?” he demanded, a scrape of sound that abused my hearing. “He is too coarse to be believed in that role. You meant to say that he serves you.”

  I could not honestly assert that I had forgotten fear. Nonetheless his address to Excrucia provoked an unfamiliar extreme of ire in me. Therefore I held his gaze as though I intended threats.

  “He doe
s not,” I replied. “Perhaps I should have said that he has been Her Highness’ bodyguard. Now, however, he serves Her Majesty. He has been commanded to witness all that transpires here, and to vouch for my conduct.

  “Also he has been strictly warned to inform you if I depart in the smallest particular from Her Majesty’s wishes.”

  This bald falsehood I ventured in an attempt to increase Vail’s worth to our foes. Thereby I hoped to improve his ability to escape should the need arise. However, I had not prepared my companions for this ploy. It brought a familiar frown to Excrucia’s brow, a frown both parched and endearing. Taken by surprise, she concentrated to guess my intent.

  At the same time, Vail astonished me by adding, “I have no other purpose. You see that I am incapable of attack or defense.” With a grimace, he shifted his arm to display his wound weeping blood. “Yet I am devoted to Her Majesty, and to Her Highness. I obey their commands.”

  Ignoring Vail, Riddance Glave considered my words—or perhaps my manner—for a time. Then he showed his teeth in a grin entirely unlike that with which he had insulted Excrucia, a grin suggesting that he would cheerfully set his jaws in my throat.

  “Very well,” he conceded harshly. “Speak, voice. I will hear your Queen’s pleas for mercy.”

  I did not flinch. I did not waver. Though I remembered fear, I did not recall uncertainty. “As I have said,” I began, “Her Highness is offered as hostage to ensure the verity of my words, and also to encourage negotiation. Though we are not a war-hungry people, we do not lack force of arms. We will defend our isle if we must. Still Her Majesty wishes to know the terms upon which she may avoid further harm to her realm.”

  The captain returned a laugh empty of humor. “Know then, voice,” he replied, “that we have come at the invitation of one Thrysus Indolent, a baron among you. He has offered much, and may be given much in return. In particular, he has assured us that your beloved monarch is even now beset by revolt. It may well be that she is already dethroned and beheaded, thereby reducing your pretentious airs to the lowing of cattle.

  “Our purpose is to rule this land and take what we wish. We have no interest in negotiation. You cannot stand against us.”

  On the instant, I found that I had much to say, too much to be said at once. Though I was distraught by this further sign of Thrysus Indolent’s betrayal, I was not surprised. Yet I did not understand it. Therefore it was the first of several matters to compel utterance.

  “How did Baron Indolent contrive to treat with you? None of his ships have ever returned. You are glib, Riddance Glave. Tell us how your dealings with him were communicated.”

  He snorted through his beard. “None of his ships that you know. We captured one of his vessels. In its master’s cabin, we found letters addressed to some nameless enemy of your isle. They spoke of rebellion. They promised an easy conquest. They described that which we have come to take. They asked a considerable reward—a request that we may elect to honor. And they included charts with the precise location of your isle, of your Queen’s residence, and of this harbor.

  “When we recounted the prize that Thrysus Indolent offered to our commander, and were given our orders, we conduced further communication by means of fishing schooners dispatched from the Baron’s private harbor. Those letters suggested the time of our assault.”

  Fishing schooners, I thought. The time of our assault. Heated by this evidence of Indolent’s farsighted treachery, I retorted, “Then I must inform you that the Baron’s tidings have misled you. He is too confident of his cleverness. There is now no revolt. It has ended in disarray. One conspirator has been slain. Another has returned to Her Majesty’s service. And Thrysus Indolent himself is her prisoner. You will have no easy conquest.”

  “I care not,” asserted the captain, sneering. “With or without slaughter, we will take what we wish. If your Queen cares aught for the lives of her subjects, she will surrender ere sunrise.”

  I was conscious of the glare of fury in Vail’s eyes. I felt Excrucia’s suspended breath as though it were my own. Yet I did not glance aside from my enemy. By the simulated ease of my tone and demeanor, I claimed his attention.

  “Such threats,” I observed, “are easily bandied about. They are more difficult to effect. How can Her Majesty surrender—how can I advise her to set aside her sovereignty—when you have not named your terms? She must know what she must surrender and what she will be permitted to retain.”

  In smoldering ferocity, Riddance Glave answered, “Your words waste breath, voice.” His mouth emphasized each utterance with red vehemence. “There are no terms. When her surrender is absolute, we will determine the use that we will make of her.”

  Fearing that Vail would abandon restraint—that Excrucia’s resolve would fail—I exceeded mere hauteur. I attempted overt scorn.

  “Then, Riddance Glave, you are as much a fool as the one who sought to claim my flag of parley. Your threats expose your desires.” One vessel could not conquer Indemnie. It could not. “You have come because Thrysus Indolent described a prize that you covet greatly. A man in my place must ask of himself, what prize does our isle possess that justifies a long voyage, a fearsome expenditure of supplies which cannot be replenished, and the loss of many lives, both ours and yours? And how does it chance that Thrysus Indolent knew this prize would be coveted by any foe?

  “I tell you plainly, Riddance Glave, that open war will destroy as much of what you seek as it does of what you disdain. When you have mastered our isle—if indeed you are able to do so—you will learn that it is no longer worth what you have expended to acquire it.”

  My foe appeared to expand before me, filling his lungs for a bellow or a blow. However, he had not attained his present rank through a lack of self-command. When he spoke, his tone was raw derision.

  “And you are certain of this, little man?”

  “I am,” I avowed, upheld by my mask of boldness. “I know it by your reluctance to name your terms. If you did not fear to disclose your desires, you would not hesitate to accept the comparative ease of our surrender. You would not prefer the cost of a long and bloody conflict.”

  In a crimson fume, he demanded, “You dare speak so? To me?”

  “Having naught to lose,” I answered, “I have naught to fear.”

  “Naught to fear?” He laughed as though to display his cruelty. “Do you not fear what will become of your precious hostage? Your Queen’s daughter?”

  By no flaring of gaze or tightening of muscle did Excrucia betray herself. Knowing her as I did, however, I perceived that she was appalled.

  Still I clung to my purpose, and to my halberd. “She has come willing to her plight. She will suffer whatsoever it requires of her.”

  For a moment, the captain regarded me as though he deemed me deranged. His teeth bit his flagrant lips in apparent bafflement. Was he uncertain? Did he question my boldness—or his own? Did he struggle to contain frank rage? I knew not. I knew only that any flicker of hesitation on my part would undermine my duty. For my Queen’s sake, and for Indemnie’s, I required Riddance Glave to name his desires.

  When he had achieved his decision, he spat his demands at me as though they were drops of blood.

  “Then listen well, voice. Here are my terms.

  “Your Queen will gather together every alchemist who inhabits this isle”—he pointed one thick finger at my heart—“of which I believe that you are one. I will grant her a fortnight to comply. During that interval, I will not cease my bombardments. I will do what I will to your harbors. And when the fortnight has passed, she will surrender her alchemists to me. Then—only then, mark you—we will discuss her abdication and my ascension in some fashion that does not necessitate slaughter.”

  There I had him. Revealing himself, he also revealed how he might be opposed. I did not believe that Indemnie’s alchemists would consent to forsake their sovereign. And while t
hey were not inclined to conflict, either by their gifts or by their long history of peace and respect, they could accomplish much that would aid the isle’s defense.

  Still I sought more from my enemy. My Queen would need to know the nature of the passion that drove Riddance Glave and his ship against her. She would need to know the why of his cupidity.

  “I understand,” I replied, resuming my false calm. “I will deliver your terms to Her Majesty. Vail will confirm that I have served her honestly.” Seeing that the captain was done with me—that he meant to turn away—I hazarded asking, “Yet ere I depart, will you permit one query for my personal edification?”

  At once, he confronted me with his fists knotted on the hilts of his cutlasses. “So that you will know what you must say to your fellow alchemists? Tell them this, little man. You will learn that they relish it.

  “We resemble brigands. At one time, we were. But now we are commissioned rovers committed to an empire bent upon expansion.

  “The empire’s most recent conquest was your former homeland, a miserable place scarce able to sustain itself. From documents found in archives, we learned that our new subjects had once been prosperous and wealthy—and that their bounty had been provided by the power of alchemy. Yet some madness had overtaken them. Entirely deranged, they concluded that ease and plenty were not desirable. Bounties and power were curses that stifled the spirit. Rather than seek expansion—rather than discover some worthy use for their prosperity and wealth, as sane men would have done—your forebears elected to banish their alchemists. You were abandoned here, and the spirit of your homeland fell into decay.”

  As he spoke, he gathered force until his words resembled thunder. “We will not decay. We are an empire, and will grow until the world entire is ours. At any cost, we will acquire your alchemists. We will have them so that they may support our greater glory.”