by Dave Duncan
Lord Thernford, Warden of Grandon Bastion, had once been Sir Felix and before that a close friend at Ironhall. He greeted his new guest warmly and installed him in a comfortable suite of rooms—bright, airy, and large enough for Lord Roland to bring his wife to stay with him if he wished, and keep two or three servants as well. The following morning fresh orders arrived and a shamefaced Felix escorted him down to the dungeons. He was locked up in the very same cell Montpurse had occupied, many long years ago. It was clammy and cold and dim, and also infinitely boring, for he was allowed no visitors and no news, but at least he was not shackled as Montpurse had been. Queen Malinda was not quite so malicious as the late Inquisitor Kromman.
Nine or ten days later, he was taken up to a bright room and interrogated by Grand Inquisitor and one of his men. Why only two of them? And why did the interrogation last a mere hour or so? He must assume that they had already decided to put him to the Question and were trimming the preliminaries to a legal minimum.
Another two weeks went by. If the new Queen chose to exert the full letter of the laws concerning treason, not only would he be put to a very shameful death, but Kate and the children would suffer with him. His grandchildren would be left penniless orphans. Malinda had nursed her hatred of Lord Roland for many years, but now she could enjoy as much revenge as she wanted. There was nothing she could not do to him and his.
One afternoon, with no prior warning, two warders brought a bucket of warmish water and a bundle of fresh clothes. Clean and respectably dressed, the prisoner was taken back up to the world of light and fresh air. He had to wait a long hour in unnerving silence before he was led in to see the visitor, but he knew that he would not have been treated like this if he were to be put to the Question. That might come later, of course.
He knelt to await her pleasure, blinking at the winter sunshine pouring through the window behind her. She had always been a tall woman, heavy boned and powerful. In bearing three children, she had lost any trace of youthful charm, but at least she had the sense to dress in sober, matronly style. The diamond coronet that was her only adornment added dignity to a face both cold and arrogant. She looked convincing enough.
“We have read your statement. You plead guilty to murdering our royal father.”
“I did kill him, Your Majesty, with great sorrow.” His intention had only been to deprive Ambrose of another rejuvenation, but that was picayune hairsplitting. The intent and the results condemned him.
“Why?”
“Because I believed that the monarch I had served all my days was already dead. When he embraced that terrible conjuration, he became something not human.” More hair-splitting, legal rubbish.
There were only two other people present, both standing behind the Queen, both wearing the livery of the Guard. One was Commander Dragon, glowering darkly, but the other was young Hereward, and he was smiling. With that realization, hope twisted in Durendal’s heart like a dagger.
“So we owe our throne to your regicide?” the Queen asked.
Almost anything he might say in reply to that damnable question could kill him. “I did my duty as I saw it, Your Majesty, which is what I have always done. Your noble father was my liege lord but also my friend, inasmuch as a master and servant may share friendship. I shall honor his memory for whatever time is left to me, forgiving him that one final error.”
“You rank yourself competent to judge your sovereign’s errors?”
“Ma’am, he had access to that conjuration for twenty years and chose not to touch it. He was tricked into it during his final illness, when he was in a very distressed state of mind. If I judged him, then I judged him as my friend, not as my lord. If I have done nothing else, I believe I have preserved his memory from shame.”
The Queen pursed her lips.
He persisted. “I know this sounds foolish, ma’am, but I am sure in my own mind that the man I served so proudly and so long—the father you knew, ma’am…I think he would have approved.”
Silence. Then the Queen nodded almost imperceptibly. “My father died in a fire of unknown origin. A conjuration has been prepared that will prevent you from ever saying otherwise. Will you submit to that?”
“Gladly, ma’am!”
“Then we shall include your name in the general pardon.”
Fighting back tears, he bowed his head. “I am indeed grateful for Your Majesty’s mercy.” He would see Kate again!
Malinda had not done, though. “I have found little cause to like you over the years, Lord Roland.”
“If I ever caused Your Majesty distress, it was with deep regret, and only because I believed that I was doing my duty.”
“It is only because I know that and respect you for it that your head is going to remain on your shoulders, my lord. And I am not ungrateful. Sir Hereward, when the prisoner has submitted to the conjuration we mentioned, you may give him back his sword, but not before. Take him away.”
Durendal rose, bowed, and backed, and bowed again…. Hereward came forward solemnly, but grinned again as soon as the Queen could not see his face. At her back, Dragon was smiling, too.
Harvest, Hereward explained later, had been located in the ashes and refurbished at Ironhall. The new cat’s-eye was less bright than its predecessor and the armorers had some doubts about the quality of the blade, but they assumed that Lord Roland would not be putting it to any strenuous use in future. Lord Roland agreed with that prediction and kissed her.
No longer welcome at court, he lived quietly at Ivywalls with Kate until she died in the summer of the following year. Thereafter the mansion seemed an absurd extravagance for one bored old man of almost sixty. He yearned for the company of his peers and something useful to do. When Andy came back from sea the next time and announced that he was through with voyaging to far quarters of the globe, his father happily gave him the house and estate outright. He belted on his sword, mounted Destrier, and rode off to the west.
Epilogue
“That was very good,” Grand Master said. “I did not expect you to catch those last two.”
“Kids’ stuff!” The boy sneered.
“You think agility is of no importance to a swordsman?”
“Um. Suppose tis.”
“You are exceptionally agile. I think you would do very well, but the choice is entirely yours, not mine or your grandmother’s. Yours. If you wish to enlist, I accept you. If you do not, then I shall tell your grandmother that I refused you. I warn you that you will be embarking on a whole new…”
As he went through the set speech, he watched the play of emotions on the pinched and sullen face: fear, contempt, a distrusted dawning of hope and excitement. The spindly limbs showed no signs of rickets, so a few good meals would do wonders for them, and a little pride would heal the wounded soul. What boys of fourteen needed were fences to climb over. If the gates were left open, they assumed nobody cared. They could never understand that, though, and if this young terror walked out of here today, he would be hanged within a year.
“Have you any questions?”
“What about the other stuff?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s forgotten. Your name is forgotten. What people think of your new name will depend entirely on what you do in future.”
“Who chooses my new name?”
“You do.”
“I want to be Durendal!”
“Oh, do you?” Grand Master chuckled. “I’m afraid you can’t have that one yet. He’s still alive.”
“He is? But Grandmother says—”
“He’s very old, but still quite healthy. Master of Archives will help you choose another. There have been many fine heroes whose name you can take. Pick a good one and try to live up to it.”
“Durendal was the best!”
“Some say so. Now, what is your decision?”
The boy looked down at his bare feet. Grand Master held his breath. In five years he could turn this young rogue into a first-rate swordsman. If he didn’t have five year
s left, others would finish the work.
“You really want me? After what she told you ’bout me?”
“I do.”
“All right. I’ll try. I’ll try real hard.”
“Good. I’m pleased. You are accepted. Brat, go and tell the woman waiting outside that she may go now.”
About the Author
DAVE DUNCAN is an award-winning author whose fantasy trilogy, The Seventh Sword, is considered a sword-and-sorcery classic. His numerous novels include three Tales of The King’s Blades—The Gilded Chain, Lord of the Fire Lands, and Sky of Swords—the popular tetralogies A Man of His Word and A Handful of Men, and the remarkable, critically acclaimed fantasy trilogy The Great Game.
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Praise
DAVE DUNCAN
“Dave Duncan writes one excellent book after another.”
Locus
“He explores heroism, betrayal, and sacrifice, all within the context of breakneck adventure…But in a Dave Duncan story, ‘rollicking’ should not be mistaken for ‘insubstantial.’”
Calgary Herald
THE GILDED CHAIN
A TALE OF THE KING’S BLADES
“A truly great story…Duncan is a true master of his craft…[He] has a rare talent with words and uses them to his advantage…Buy this book, you won’t regret it.”
SF Site
“Fast-paced…Sharp humor and swashbuckling action add charm and vigor to this fantasy adventure.”
Library Journal
“Good characters; fine plotting; a lean and supple narrative.”
Kirkus Reviews
“A rollicking and clever tale of adventure, loyalty, and derring-do set against a briskly sketched landscape of court politics and intrigue…The quirky plot never quite goes where expected. Though this story stands well alone, it would serve nicely as the foundation for other tales of the King’s Blades. If so, I want to be there.”
SFRevu
Eos Books by
Dave Duncan
THE GREAT GAME
FUTURE INDEFINITE
PRESENT TENSE
PAST IMPERATIVE
THE KING’S BLADES
IMPOSSIBLE ODDS
PARAGON LOST
SKY OF SWORDS
LORD OF THE FIRE LANDS
THE GILDED CHAIN
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE GILDED CHAIN. Copyright © 1998 by Dave Duncan. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © JUNE 2005 ISBN: 9780061827242
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