Humfreet leaned forward in his seat. His voice became almost a snarl. “When did I do that?”
Weile glanced at the spectators as if to channel their disbelief as well as his own. “Well, Sire, you’ve stated that, in the same situation, the Renshai must do so. And you’ve said you would have compromised with the pirates given the opportunity.”
The king shook his head. Kedrin saw the same loophole but felt certain Weile had the plug, which he would deliver as an inescapable coup de grace. Kedrin tried to stop him, whispering, “Your Majesty—”
Humfreet did not wait for the advice. “But I haven’t agreed that I’m in the same situation as the Renshai. You have no real claim to my lands. You’re an Easterner and, thus, have your own sovereign lands.”
Kedrin forced himself not to cringe.
“The Erythanian squatters also have their own sovereign lands.”
“The Paradisian Plains.” King Humfreet fairly crowed.
“Erythane,” Weile corrected. “These so-called Paradisians are, and have always been, Erythanian. They did not become Paradisians until the enemies of Renshai named them such as an excuse to drive the Renshai from their homeland. History makes no mention of any Paradisian Plains; and, believe me, I’ve read every archive in Béarn.”
Now King Humfreet implored Kedrin with his gaze.
Weile added, “If that’s all it takes to claim a historical homeland, I hearby decree that, from this point onward, my followers shall use the name Harkonians. And we claim the land beneath my feet as Hark, our homeland and birthright.” He looked up with sure and terrible calm. “We await our fair compromise.”
King Humfreet sprang to his feet, face purpling, finger extended to point at Weile Kahn. “Guards! Seize him!”
Before the guards could move, Saviar had both swords in hand; and long, black daggers seemed to magically appear in the fists of Weile’s men.
“Your Majesty!” Kedrin shouted. “I beg you, no!”
Screams erupted from the spectators, and they broke for the double doors in a panicked rush. The guardsmen in the back were swept away, while those on the dais ran to the fight. Four guards bundled up the king and prince, herding them toward the secret exit designed for their protection. The remaining five Erythanian regulars from the dais approached with obvious reluctance. As they drew their weapons, they looked to Kedrin for guidance, clearly in no hurry to impale themselves on a Renshai sword.
Kedrin leaped to the floor between them without pulling a weapon, keeping his back to the Erythanians. He wanted to quell the situation, not ignite it; and Saviar, at least, would see a turned back as a grave insult to his skill. “Please, stop. No one’s going to arrest anyone.”
One of the men at Kedrin’s back protested. “But the king decreed . . .”
Without taking his eyes from Saviar, Weile, and the bodyguards, Kedrin spoke over his shoulder. “Fine, Netan. Do as you’ve been ordered. The rest of us will watch and learn.” Sarcasm rarely entered the knightly repertoire; but, at the moment, Kedrin was not feeling particularly chivalrous. The guard had a better chance of getting them all killed than arresting Weile Kahn.
“Not necessary,” Netan sneered. “The alarm’s been sounded. In a moment, a whole phalanx will be bursting in here to arrest all of you, including a traitorous knight.”
“I’ll wait,” Weile said, without a hint of concern. Kedrin almost expected him to yawn.
Kedrin examined his grandson, already strapping at nineteen years. He held a warrior’s stance, crouched, with both swords at the ready. Nothing but determination filled his eyes. Like any Renshai, he would relish the opportunity to die in combat. Weile’s bodyguards’ expressions were well-schooled, wholly unreadable. As for Weile, Kedrin was reminded of the morning he watched a feral cat deliberately wander into the center of a circled pack of dogs. The tabby had glanced around aloofly, sat on its haunches and proceeded to extend one leg, licking the length of it. Apparently convinced of its might by that simple display, not one of the dogs had dared to challenge the cat, instead slinking off into the shadows to find less confident prey.
Kedrin had pledged his life and honor to the kings of Béarn and Erythane. Now, he hoped, he would not have to choose between Humfreet’s wishes and his interests. Just as he would ignore an order to leave the king’s side during battle, he would not start a fight that might, ultimately, result in unnecessary deaths. The Knight-Captain knew Weile had no real designs against the throne of Erythane; he had given up a grander title. He had merely found a uniquely dangerous way to make a point he considered vital.
Kedrin addressed Weile. “No phalanx is coming through those doors, is it?”
Weile smiled. “No, sir.”
Kedrin closed his eyes briefly and sighed. Worried for missing anything, he reopened them swiftly. “You haven’t done anything . . . irreversible?”
Weile said, “No casualities.” He added menacingly, “Yet.”
“I don’t like your methods.”
Weile crooked an eyebrow. “No one’s asked you to like them, Sir Kedrin. Nor, for that matter, to critique them.” He kept his attention wholly on Kedrin, as if the guards were beneath his notice. “Just because we share twin grandsons does not mean we’re cut from remotely similar cloth.” The eyebrow fell, and both beetled down together. “Although I did once believe the Knights of Erythane, especially yourself, eschewed prejudice and always embraced honor and morality.”
Kedrin refused to take offense or act out of reflexive anger. “We do our best, but we’re human. We make mistakes. Whether our stance on the Fields of Wrath is one of them, I’m not yet wholly convinced; but I’m certainly open-minded enough to consider the possibility.”
Another of the guards spoke next. “Captain, what do you want us to do?”
They were not technically under his command, but their last order placed them in a tenuous position. As the highest ranking official remaining in the room, Kedrin did have the authority to determine their next action. If he said nothing, they would have no choice but to carry out the king’s decree, a maneuver that would surely result in their deaths. If Kedrin countermanded that command, they were free to ignore it, but it placed the sole burden for disobedience on Kedrin’s head. Though he did not know how the king would react, Kedrin accepted the responsibility. “Stand down and await further instructions.”
Kedrin heard the shifting of weapons, the rustling of clothing. He backed up, attention still on Weile and his companions. “If you all agree to wait here peacefully, I’m going to have a discussion with King Humfreet.”
“With what purpose?” Weile demanded. “I can’t vouch for the safety of Erythane’s guard force much longer.”
Kedrin had no real idea how Weile was managing to keep the castle guards occupied, but he knew of no long-term way of holding men unconscious that did not also threaten their lives. Weile might, but Kedrin had no intention of relying on that possibility. “I’m just going to explain the full and current situation to the king in the hope of convincing him to continue negotiations or, at least, give someone the authority to make a decision in his absence.”
Kedrin knew who that someone was likely to be. If the king did not feel safe, he would not risk any other member of the royal line. More than anyone else, he trusted the judgment of his knights, especially their captain. Kedrin, however, did not currently share the king’s confidence in his top adviser. Weile’s good, too good. Am I really coming around to his point of view or is he dragging me there by trickery? Kedrin knew he had to figure it out . . . and quickly.
“Go, then,” Weile said. “But realize none of us has the luxury of infinite patience.” His gaze finally swept the guards. Blandly. “And if these guards are foolish enough to attack in your absence, we will have no choice but to dispatch them.”
Kedrin felt certain the guards knew their limits. “You have my word that I will accompl
ish this as swiftly as possible.” He knew he should use the regular doors, sweep around, and locate the king, but he could not afford to risk capture by Weile’s men. Instead, he slipped out the secret passageway through which the guards had evacuated their king.
Designed for quick egress, the passage took Kedrin safely through an empty corridor to a massive iron portal he knew was currently barricaded to protect the king and his prince. Kedrin tapped out the coded sequence that revealed his identity. The door cracked cautiously, several guards peered out, then it opened suddenly, spilling Kedrin to the floor in front of a pair of anxious guardsmen. They slammed the door behind him.
Kedrin regained his footing in the most dignified manner he could muster, readjusted his uniform, and took in the small, empty room. “I need to speak with His Majesty.”
The guards glanced at one another uneasily. “Now, Knight-Captain?”
“Any other time will be too late,” Kedrin explained.
The other added, “He is not in proper mood for receiving, Sir Kedrin.”
Though trained in them to a fault, Kedrin did not have time for formalities. “He will see me. There is no other way.”
“Very well, Knight-Captain,” the guards said, almost in unison. They rapped out the proper sequence on another hidden door, then opened it cautiously to reveal the last two guards standing at attention in front of Prince Humbert, who was huddled in miserable silence. Nearby, King Humfreet paced like a wild animal in a cage, his cheeks a feverish scarlet, his eyes rolling, his hair wild.
Kedrin ignored the king’s disheveled state. At the moment he had attention for nothing but his duty. “Your Majesty, forgive my intrusion, but it’s essential that we speak immediately.”
The guards cringed, almost imperceptibly. Prince Humbert tipped his head in evident curiosity. The king froze in mid-pace. “What!” he roared.
It was not the response Kedrin expected. King Humfreet relied on his counsel and, in the current circumstances, should have hungered for it. Whatever other talents he might have, Weile Kahn had a knack for enraging royalty beyond reason. Though Kedrin knew the king had heard him, he dutifully repeated, “It’s essential that we speak immediately, Your Majesty.”
Humfreet continued to look in the direction he had been pacing. “This cannot wait?”
“Not one more moment, Your Majesty.” Kedrin regulated his voice to a slow and monotonous calm. He could not risk further sparking the king’s temper. It might make him volatile or, worse, foolishly impulsive. “Please.” He motioned toward the empty room.
Humfreet finally turned to face Kedrin and his escort, eyes flashing. “You two,” he commanded his guards. “In with the others.”
Though surely uncomfortable, the guardsmen scurried to obey. The king had essentially left his security solely in the hands of Knight-Captain Kedrin. And, while they had every reason to trust the knight’s loyalty and competence, they had to worry whether he could handle such a serious threat alone. Soon, the door slammed shut, with the guards and prince on the inside, leaving Kedrin and Humfreet alone.
The king’s features sagged, the color drained from his cheeks, and he turned Kedrin a weary look. “What is it, Kedrin? What’s the situation? And, please, no flowery speeches or minced words. Is that horrid little man in custody?”
Kedrin swallowed hard. The king was not going to like what he had to say. If anyone else said it, they would probably be joining the fate of “that horrid little man.” “No, Your Majesty. I’m afraid . . . that’s not going to happen.”
Rage snapped through the king’s eyes, replaced much more swiftly than Kedrin expected by tired resignation. “How many casualties?”
Good news had never seemed more difficult to speak. “None, Your Majesty.”
The king’s head snapped up. “What? How can that be?”
Kedrin could not recall having seen someone simultaneously appreciative and angry before. “It’s a four-to-five standoff in the courtroom, Your Majesty. I left it that way to discuss the situation with you.” Kedrin knew he walked a fine line. He could not tell the king what he wanted to hear, nor could he lie. Finding the proper phraseology to inform, compose, and advise without sparking unreasoning rage seemed nearly impossible.
“How... ?” the king started.
As commanded, Kedrin did not mince words. “Your Majesty, I’m afraid I countermanded your order.” He waited for the ax to fall. Netan was right; it was a form of treason.
But the king remained silent, awaiting an explanation.
“I thought it best, Your Majesty. Better you execute me than doom all but these four guardsmen.” Kedrin made a motion to indicate the last of Humfreet’s guardians, now enclosed with the prince. “Saviar alone could handle three or four. Weile Kahn’s bodyguards are trained killers; and I’ve heard he’s no slouch as a fighter, either.”
King Humfreet blinked, staring at Kedrin as if he had gone mad. “Knight-Captain, are you suggesting four interlopers could best my entire guard force? Even my army?”
“No, Your Majesty. However, I have no doubt they would have undone the five guards you sent against them. And me as well.”
Humfreet still did not understand. “You speak as if I have only these nine dais guardsmen.”
Kedrin sighed deeply. He lowered his head. “At the moment, Your Majesty, you do.”
“What?!”
Kedrin understood why his every pronouncement seemed to elicit the same one word response from Erythane’s king. “I’m afraid it’s true, Your Majesty. It appears Weile Kahn has neutralized the entirety of Erythane’s castle guard force, quite possibly her military as well.”
“That’s impossible!”
Kedrin could only shrug. “He makes this claim. I don’t currently have the wherewithal to substantiate it, but I can assure you no backup units responded to the alarm.”
“He’s bluffing.” King Humfreet dismissed Kedrin’s concerns with an off-handed wave. “No one man could destroy my entire army.”
“Not destroyed. Neutralized, Your Majesty. He says he hasn’t harmed a single man.”
“That’s preposterous!” Humfreet pinned Kedrin with his gaze. “Why would you entertain such an assertion? You know it’s not possible.”
“No response,” Kedrin reminded, “to Erythane’s highest level alarm, Your Majesty.” He added carefully, “And Weile Kahn is not precisely ‘one man.’”
“He’s triplets?” Humfreet broke in sarcastically. “With a single body?”
Kedrin had to remain calm, though he felt nearer to explosion. He was not angry, particularly at King Humfreet. He felt bombarded by ideas and emotions. Nothing seemed right or real, and he could not afford to give shoddy advice or to make a bad decision from pressure, fear or uncertainty. “He’s the face and voice of a multi-country conglomerate of treacherous individuals. As I understand it, he has spent decades organizing the most dangerous and terrifying among us: assassins and killers, thieves and con men, traitors and villains of every description. Men who would shiv their mothers for a copper follow him with the devotion of a priest. One might argue that he is the most powerful, and yet one of the least known, rulers in current existence.”
The king studied the highest-ranking Knight of Erythane as if seeing him for the first time. “And we should concede to someone of dubious repute simply because of his ties? His power?”
The idea itself rankled, but the king’s suggestion that Kedrin ascribed to such a notion was the direst of insults. “Certainly not, Your Majesty. I would die in the worst agony rather than bow to corruption or injustice.”
The king upraised both palms in question. “So what makes this case different? Why are we even listening to this bounder?”
“Because, Your Majesty, what makes Weile Kahn so powerful is not only his connections. It’s his uncanny ability to be . . .”
The king’s brows ro
se in anticipation.
Kedrin hated to fill in the last, necessary word. “. . . right. I’m afraid his immodest suggestion that he’s nearly always the wisest man in the room, that he never makes mistakes, is exasperating, irritating, and vexing. But, also, true.”
“Are you saying you believe his assertion that we’re all favoring the Paradisians because we’re biased against Renshai?”
Kedrin was not yet ready to admit that. “He has managed to convince me we hold Renshai to a different standard than any other group of people.”
The king’s features crinkled. He shook his head, but he questioned rather than denying the accusation outright. “How so?”
Kedrin deliberately chose an example Weile and Saviar had not addressed, since those had, apparently, not convinced the king. “You know the Knights of Erythane have moderated many duels, Your Majesty. We’ve often been asked to assure the weapons are fairly distributed.”
Humfreet nodded. He seemed calmer, more open to listening to disparate viewpoints.
Encouraged, Kedrin continued, “But in their duel with the Renshai, the Northmen added a condition we had never before considered, and we went right along with it. They refused to pit their best warrior against the Renshai’s best, instead insisting the competence of the warriors themselves must be evenly matched.”
The king clearly missed the point. “So? Doesn’t that make it a more fair battle?”
“A more even battle, certainly, Your Majesty,” Kedrin conceded. “But that begs the point. We’re discussing whether or not we hold Renshai to a different standard than others, and we definitely did so in this case.”
“Thus making it a fairer fight.” Humfreet pointed out again.
“Maybe.” Kedrin could not forget Saviar’s argument in the courtroom. Whatever he felt about Weile Kahn, he knew his oldest grandson had a good head on his shoulders. “But it sets a strange precedent I had not previously considered. Are we now obligated to judge students only against others of equal intelligence or ability? How can we justify racing horses of varying speeds against one another? Are we now doomed to assuring that every battle, every race, every contest ends in a perfect tie?”
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