“Or . . .” Weile added thoughtfully.
Saviar waited for him to continue. When he did not, Saviar prompted. “Or?”
“Well, I hardly think morons should have full say in the disposition of hundreds of the world’s most competent warriors.” Weile glanced around the silent group, then back at Saviar. “Do you?”
Saviar tried to read Weile’s thoughts, always an impossible task. “Morons meaning . . . the king and courts of Erythane.”
“Naturally.”
Saviar continued to think aloud. “And non-morons meaning . . .” He left a long blank, finally filling in, “. . . me?”
“Us,” Weile corrected.
Saviar’s mood soared. “You mean you’ll help me save the Renshai?”
“My grandson is Renshai,” Weile reminded. “And his brothers. And others I consider important.” He did not specify, but Saviar suspected he referred to Subikahn’s lover, Talamir.
With those details, Saviar had little trouble putting the entire story together. The only thing he could not fathom was why the Renshai had not slaughtered every one of the lazy slobs currently occupying the Fields of Wrath. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”
Weile shrugged. “I’d be disappointed if it were.”
“And dangerous.”
“With any luck.”
Saviar’s appreciation for his twin’s grandfather, already immense, rose to new and dizzying heights. “When can we start?”
Weile glanced at the angling sun, then at the few of his men in plain sight, then back at Saviar. “Right now works for me.”
Saviar could think of no better time.
Between the blazing hearthfire and the usual lot of guardsmen, Erythane’s courtroom felt uncomfortably hot to Knight-Captain Kedrin. The spectators had rolled up the sleeves of their light satins and silks, and a few of the women had sneaked off their wood-soled, velvet shoes, laying their bared feet delicately on top so they could quietly slip them back on with no one the wiser.
At times like this, Kedrin appreciated the finely woven linen of his uniform, its cooling properties and its ability to absorb copious quantities of perspiration before staining. Security and advising, not comfort, remained his priorities, but he found it easier to concentrate on those without sweat trickling down his forehead and beading beneath his clothing.
The current case, a minor property dispute, had finished. The litigants trod up the central carpet, one behind the other with a guard between them. The heads of both men drooped, a sure sign neither was wholly happy with the king’s decision, the hallmark of a successful and fairly arbitrated case.
The double doors burst open. A guard thundered around the litigants and bowed. He held his position, as protocol demanded, though he could not quite keep still. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and his hands trembled.
King Humfreet did not leave him in this state. “What is it, Mandell?”
The guard replied so quickly, he nearly trampled on the king’s words. “Forgive me for interrupting, Your Majesty, but there’s a man who just arrived and I think we need to see him next.”
King Humfreet scowled, stroking his beard. His gaze swept the spectators in the center of the massive room, their ranks split into two rows by the long central carpet up which every citizen, noble or common, walked in order to gain audience with the king. Myriad torches lining the walls lit the room like day, assisted by hearthfires on the right- and left-hand walls. A chandelier in the exact center of the chamber held hundreds of unlit candles, their wicks blackened from previous use. Elevated on an elongated dais sat two thrones, the higher one holding the king and the slightly smaller one beside it Crown Prince Humbert, eleven years old and just learning protocol.
Currently, nine guardsmen stood on the dais with Knight-Captain Kedrin, one on either side of the thrones, three behind each, an extra at Humfreet’s right hand and Kedrin standing between prince and king. Others took up various posts around the periphery of the massive room.
Mindful of his son’s education, King Humfreet said carefully, “This is most irregular. We have protocols for a reason, and the order of audience is usually inviolate.” It was not wholly true, but nearly enough to school young Humbert.
Mandell glanced at the boy, then cleared his throat and addressed the king again. “Apologies, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t bother you if I didn’t believe it absolutely necessary.” He glanced behind him, as if worried he was being chased. His tone held an edge that made it clear to Kedrin he considered “no” a dangerous answer. “Captain Callan is in agreement, Your Majesty.”
Though the youngest of several Erythanian captains, Callan would not have authorized the deviation from procedure if it did not have merit. No group was more wedded to rigid rules than the Knights of Erythane, but Kedrin believed it wisest to follow the wishes of the guard. When the king looked in his direction for advice, Kedrin gave him a single solid nod of approval.
“Very well,” King Humfreet said. “Bring him in.”
Despite his insistence, Mandell made no move to obey. “Your Majesty, the man has an entourage.”
This, in itself, was not unusual. There were rules regarding the number of people who could approach the king at once, though. “How many?”
“Three.”
Kedrin’s brow furrowed, as did the king’s. It was not outside the established allowance.
“Very well,” Humfreet said, with a touch of impatience.
Mandell explained, “Two have no weapons to declare, but the third is Renshai, Your Majesty.”
No further explanation was necessary. A Renshai would sooner give up a limb than his sword, even on a temporary basis. At the present time, also, the tribe was not kindly disposed toward the rulers of Erythane. King Humfreet beckoned for Kedrin to approach.
The Knight-Captain immediately did as the king bade, bowing with a formal flourish, then kneeling to place his head closer to the king’s. He understood the conversation was to remain confidential.
As soon as the knight was in place, the king whispered, “Do you suppose they’ve found counsel?”
It was possible, though not the normal way of Renshai to rely on anything but their own training and skill. As they all specialized in swordcraft and war, they had no one to turn to among their own. Kedrin imagined an advocate who enjoyed a challenge might take the case, although he was not wholly certain the generally despised Renshai could find one. He had anticipated the cases becoming the province of the knights, who would assure fair adjudication. He did not know if the hiring of a professional advocate would ultimately help or harm their case. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, though one would expect him to wait for the first trial rather than interrupting court proceedings. If we knew the identity of this particular Renshai, it might give us a clue to his intentions.”
King Humfreet sat up straight to address the guard again. “Who are these people?”
The guardsman grew even more fidgety, if possible. “The leader says he will introduce himself only to you, Your Majesty.” He gestured toward Kedrin. “The Renshai, I believe, is the Knight-Captain’s grandson.” He turned his attention fully on Kedrin. “The one who resembles you.”
Kedrin could not imagine Saviar becoming involved in anything untoward. Of the three, he was the most level-headed. Usually. He leaned back in toward the king. “Under the circumstances, I see no reason to worry over weapons.” Renshai rarely came before the kings, but when they did, Griff and Humfreet routinely allowed them to keep their swords.
Humfreet’s features were bunched. He seemed not to notice Kedrin’s words, focused on the more obvious affront. “Their leader refuses to abide by our rules? By what right?”
Mandell quailed beneath the king’s mighty stare, but he still managed to reply. “Your Majesty, their leader is obviously a man of great power and breeding. Using only the politest of words, th
e sort you might hear from a Knight of Erythane, he made his needs unquestionably clear.” He swallowed hard. “Your Majesty, he wishes to see you at once. If denied, he stated, in the most gracious terms, that he would be regretfully forced to seize the castle—”
Humfreet sprang to his feet, his features purpling. “What!?”
Mandell took several backward steps but managed to finish. “—Neither I, nor Captain Callan, doubted for a moment that he could do exactly as he stated.” The guard’s brows dipped lower, as if confused by his own actions. Clearly, he wondered why he had so fully believed a statement that would normally seem outlandish.
The courtroom erupted into simultaneous conversations.
King Humfreet gripped Kedrin’s arm painfully tightly, as if to drag the knight into his lap. He spoke through tightly pursed lips. “What sort of scum does your grandson consort with?”
Trained to think before he spoke, Kedrin discarded the flippant and defensive replies before honing in on truth. “Saviar is an adult, Your Majesty. I have no control over his associations, though he’s always shown reasonably good judgment in the past.” Only then, the possible identity of the so-called leader who accompanied Saviar came to his mind. Kedrin turned on the guard. “Mandell, this leader you speak of. Is he a mature man of Eastern origin?”
The guard froze in position, mouth partially open. He clearly would have preferred to flee. “I . . .” he started, then stopped. “He . . .” Again, he paused, brows drawing even further downward, lips twitching into a frown.
The difficulty describing a man with whom he had had such a serious confrontation clinched the identification. Not wishing to further discomfort Mandell, especially in front of the king, Kedrin dismissed his own question. “Thank you, Mandell. That’s all I needed to know.”
The guard’s mouth snapped shut.
Kedrin addressed King Humfreet again, still pitching his voice below the din of conversation. “Your Majesty, I would highly recommend you see this leader and his entourage at once. And I would take him at his word. He has commandeered larger kingdoms than Erythane.”
Humfreet’s fingers gouged Kedrin’s flesh. His eyes widened, and he turned this expression on the Knight-Captain. “He has taken over entire kingdoms?” He shook his leonine head, then belched out a laugh. “He and his three men?”
“Not the same three men, certainly. It was before Saviar’s birth.” Kedrin knew if anyone else had spoken to the king as he had, they would have been laughed out of the courtroom. Only because of his status as a knight, quite possibly only because he was the captain of the knights, the king was still listening. “If this man is who I think he is, we see three men because he wants us to see three men. He leads a vast network of the type of quiet, competent followers who operate in shadows. He not only seized the high Eastern kingdom, he erased the previous royal family from sight, mind, and history. Think back, Your Majesty. Who ruled the Eastlands prior to King Tae?”
King Humfreet’s expression suggested Kedrin had gone raving mad. “Why it was . . .” He paused abruptly, nostrils flaring. “. . . you know. That Easterner.” It clearly bothered him he could not dredge the name from memory. “I haven’t forgotten. We exchanged some communications. Trading issues. He was not unreasonable. Far better than the swinish, dimwitted scoundrel before him.”
Kedrin’s arm had gone numb below the king’s grasp. “I’m not suggesting he magically destroyed the collective ability to remember him or his predecessors, Your Majesty. I’m not even saying it wasn’t an improvement. I’m just pointing out that, for better or worse, the prior royal line vanished practically overnight.” He added carefully, to make his point but not overly boldly, “Your Majesty.”
Apparently, it worked, because the king’s fingers clamped on even more tightly. The pain grew excruciating.
Only his training allowed Kedrin to maintain his composure enough to ask, “Your Majesty, if it pleases you, could you release my arm?”
King Humfreet’s gaze went to his gripping fingers as if they belonged to someone else, but he did release Kedrin. The abrupt restoration of blood flow felt nearly as painful as the hold. Though he schooled his features well, the king could not wholly keep discomfort from his tone. “Guard, see the man and his entourage in.” He glanced at Kedrin for reassurance. “The Renshai may keep his weapons, so long as they remain sheathed.”
Biting his lip against pain, Kedrin nodded his approval. He doubted anyone could stop Saviar from drawing and killing whomever he pleased, but the point needed making. Other than with the guards, weapons did not belong in a king’s courtroom.
Mandell made the appropriate gestures of obeisance before heading back to the double doors. Kedrin expected him to scramble, but the guard demonstrated impressive decorum. Either he had recovered from his initial discomfort or he fretted as much for interacting with Weile and his band as he did over upsetting his king.
When the doors closed behind Mandell, the courtroom fell into an abrupt and eerie silence. Apparently, the spectators had finished with their speculations, now awaiting the reality of what might follow. Kedrin noted that, despite the opening in procedure, no one chose to take his or her leave. If they feared the upcoming confrontation, they gave no sign of it, only the tense anticipation of coiled springs.
They did not have long to wait. The doors swung open, held in place by two of Erythane’s guardsmen. A moment later, four men entered the courtroom. Saviar was the largest, his copper-colored hair in its usual snarl, his linens unpatched but rumpled and travel-stained, a sword sheathed at each hip. The other three had silky black hair, olive-toned skin, and dark eyes; but, there, all likeness ended. The one who caught and held Kedrin’s eye was the slightest of the group, though third in height. He recognized Weile Kahn at once, more from his bearing than appearance. He dressed simply, in dark linens and a hooded cloak, but that took nothing away from a grandeur that seemed to radiate from him. He moved like water and, though he said nothing, everything about him projected confidence and unspoken danger. One of his entourage stood only two finger’s breadths shorter than Saviar and was nearly as broad, the other squat and barely as tall as the Renshai’s shoulder.
Saviar executed a bow befitting a knight, clearly taught by his father or learned, perhaps, while watching Ra-khir or Kedrin interact with the court of Béarn. Weile also bowed, though less formally and with fluid grace. The other two men remained in place at Weile’s either hand. Though they stood silent and mostly still, their eyes never stopped moving, taking in everything. Kedrin doubted a spider could slip past their notice.
King Humfreet raised his head in an aloof manner. “Introduce yourself and state your purpose.”
Weile kept his head level as if he, not the king, had the higher position. He seemed not to notice that this left him gazing at the king’s knees. “My name is Weile Kahn, and I’ve come to reclaim the land belonging to my people.”
Kedrin looked at Saviar, who returned a mild stare and expression. Whatever the plan, he intended to allow Weile to reveal it.
King Humfreet glanced at Kedrin, who could only shrug. He had no idea to which land Weile Kahn referred. In a clear attempt to regain the upper hand, Humfreet used the information Kedrin had given him earlier. “Weile Kahn. Weren’t you once the high king of the Eastlands?”
If the revelation startled Weile, he gave no sign. He continued to look straight ahead, at the king’s legs still seated on the throne. “I am that Weile Kahn.” They were simple words, spoken without malice, yet they had the effect of making the king look a bit silly for the question. It was highly unlikely another Weile Kahn existed. And a king, it seemed, ought to recognize another, even after he passed the title to his son.
An artery throbbed in King Humfreet’s temple, but he gave no other sign the exchange had bothered him. He cleared his throat. “Which lands are you asking to reclaim?”
“I am not asking, Sire. I am
merely informing.”
They were fighting words, of a sort, yet so mildly spoken they seemed benign. Humfreet amended his question. “Which lands are you claiming?”
Weile tipped his head ever so slightly. It allowed him to meet the king’s gaze without raising his head. “These lands of course, Sire. The ones beneath this castle.”
A collective gasp passed through the courtroom. Kedrin expected conversation to erupt, but it did not. Instead, they grew even more quiet, as if afraid to miss a single word of the inevitable exchange. He felt certain Humfreet wanted to shout, to find a swift and horrible punishment, to set his guards on this would-be usurper and drive him from the courtroom. But, mindful of Kedrin’s warning, he humored the demand, at least for the moment. “Are you asking me to relocate my palace?”
“No, Sire.” Weile’s tone never changed; and, if he realized he played a dangerous game, he gave no indication. He stood his ground as if he had asked for nothing more substantial than the air he was breathing. “By convention, the castle comes with the land.”
Humfreet silently beseeched Kedrin again, but the Knight-Captain still had no answers. He had no idea where Weile was taking the conversation, but he felt certain the Easterner knew exactly what he was doing. Every syllable, every gesture, accomplished something. Weile had faced off with more kings in one lifetime than most men could name. This situation had the potential to turn catastrophic for someone; and, if he had been the betting type, Kedrin would have put his money on Weile. That placed him in the impossible position of keeping King Humfreet and the people of Erythane safe without losing face or fairness. Weile Kahn had made demands they could not possibly indulge.
Kedrin made a subtle gesture for the king to continue the discussion. For now, it seemed the only prudent course of action.
King Humfreet obliged his adviser, though the expression he turned on the knight suggested he would not continue to do so for long. “On what grounds are you claiming ownership of this land?”
Kedrin thought he saw a ghost of a smile flit across Weile’s face before he responded, “Obviously, Sire, on the same grounds the Paradisians have laid claim to the Fields of Wrath.”
Fields of Wrath Page 50