We weren’t truly flying. We weren’t moving through the air or hovering high above the ground. But then, we weren’t down in the moat with the fishes either.
We stood above the water, those on horses and on foot describing the arch that the bridge had formed over the moat before it collapsed. While the rest of the men (and horses) tried to assimilate that we were standing on seeming thin air, Jeff dismounted and probed with his sword whatever was holding us up. Fortunately for the troop’s peace of mind, it did not yield.
“Trooper Jeffen, stop that and remount,” Suiden said.
If we were stunned, the garrison troops and gate guards were flabbergasted. A few managed to escape, running off shrieking “Sorcery,” but the rest stood gape-mouthed and unresisting as the King’s Own relieved them of their swords and shields—though Laurel aiming his staff at them might have had something to do with it. The troops behind us had a little fight left, but Laurel, still holding his staff on the ones in front, lifted his paw against the ones in the back, the rune shining bright. (We parted down the middle as if someone ran a comb through us, even Basel making sure he stood to the side.) The garrison soldiers were convinced that it was better to be quiet and reflect on their sins— before the Faena shoved them down their throats.
Laurel rumbled. “No care given at all to whom else they may kill.” He looked at me. “You have garnered some very callous enemies.”
“Yes,” Esclaur murmured. His blue eyes were almost black in anger. “Forty degrees on one side and thirty-two on the other is making some people rather nervous. All those lines to Iver and the throne.”
I frowned. “But I don’t want the throne—”
“Those who covet cannot believe that others don’t lust after the same thing,” Laurel said. “Stay here, honored folk.” He followed Captain Javes to the rear and a low moan rose up from the garrison troops, which turned into terrified cries as vines shot up from the water (a few of our own also squeaked), twisting into planks and pylons until it became a living bridge beneath us. After a moment it burst into flower and was almost immediately mobbed by birds and bees. Spring in Iversly.
I looked at Basel. “Left that a bit late, didn’t you?” The phantom stag shrugged.
With the garrison troops turned prisoner, we crossed the green bridge, leaving royal guards behind to replace the now-in-custody gate guards. We followed the rest of the King’s Own through the winding broadways and avenues of the compound until we reached the palace proper. Contrary to Lord Commander Thadro’s fears, we weren’t prevented at the palace proper, and all of us—ambassador, lord, physician, ghost, the ghost’s body, officers, butterflies, troopers, prisoners—spilled into the formal throne room. It was vast, with columns pacing down the length of it and soaring up to the high vaulted ceiling, and made bright by tall windows that the sound of the sea poured through. I looked down the long room towards the dais, worried about whom I’d see sitting on there, but even from that distance I could tell it was King Jusson, wearing his simple crown of gold, but sitting on a much more imposing throne than he had the night of the reception.
And on the floor before the throne looked to be a circle. At first I took it for decoration, but as soon as I got close enough to make out the details I stopped, allowing everyone else to flow around me. I caught sight of brown fur and looked to the side of me. Laurel had also stopped and was examining the floor insets. His eyes then shifted and, doing the same, I stared at the steps that led up the dais to the throne. Heigh-ho.
I saw why the king had no problem with what was etched on my palm, as his throne looked down upon a large weighing scale, with both pans balanced, circumscribed by the repeated runes of truth and justice. On each dais step were the ones for wisdom, knowledge and discernment. I looked around but didn’t see advocate mercy or forgiving charity anywhere, and I locked my knees to keep from backing away. It was a very hard place and I didn’t want to be near it, much less stand upon it, as I had no desire to bare my words, motives, or soul for judgment. As I wondered if Jusson knew what he had on his throne room floor, Laurel shifted as if he too would rather be somewhere else. “It is an elfin palace, no?” he murmured, moving back a pace.
The king’s Court stood at the bottom of the dais, consisting of the men in waiting, Foreign Chancellor Berle, and other faces I recognized from the reception the night before last, and, of course, more royal guards. But no Lord Gherat. As I worked on that, one of the majordomo twins stepped forward and began announcing us, but the king waved a hand, cutting him off.
“We know everyone that we should, and if there are any that we don’t, we are sure that they will be made known to us in due time.” The king’s voice was as dry as the major-domo’s face. Jusson then looked us over, his gaze sharpening as he took in the picture we made. He slowly stood. “What has happened?” His brows met. “What are Royal Garrison soldiers doing here and why are they taken prisoner?”
“A garrison trooper collapsed the moat bridge while we were crossing it, Your Majesty,” Suiden said. “While his fellows blockaded us.”
“What?” The king hadn’t raised his voice, but it echoed through the chamber.
Lord Commander Thadro came to the foot of the dais and bowed. “It’s true, sire. If it weren’t for the magical, we would’ve been fish food.” The wind murmured at the stealing of its moment of glory and I looked at Laurel to see if he heard it. Apparently he hadn’t as he still watched the king, his ears pressed forward.
“I’ve just been informed that a couple of guards were sent to Commander Loel when my second saw the garrison troops go out.” Thadro said. “They haven’t returned.”
“Are we cut off from the city?” King Jusson asked, starting down the stairs.
“No, sire. Our men hold the gate, and we don’t have to raise the bridge—another one sort of grew there. It seems sturdy enough.”
“Bring our armor. We will meet whatever is coming to greet us.” The king’s eyes blazed gold. He then caught sight of the ghost and stopped on the dais steps. “Who is that and why is he here in our throne room?” The Court froze, their heads turned towards us.
“He was Trooper Basel, Your Majesty, of the Freston garrison, the Mountain Patrol,” Suiden said. He pointed over to the bier. “He was killed today.”
“Let us see,” Jusson said, continuing down the steps. A royal guard walked over to the bier and pulled back the flag shroud.
“Well, we may be mistaken,” the king said, “but that looks more like a stag than a soldier. Though we’ve known men who …” Jusson’s voice trailed off along with the nervous laughter that had started at his remarks as Basel’s shade shifted back into his stag persona. At that the wind swept through the entire throne room, once more smelling of sweet grass and plowed earth.
“He was murdered by Lieutenant Slevoic, Your Majesty,” Suiden said.
“Was he?” Jusson asked as he reached the bottom step. Then he got close enough to see Suiden’s eyes and his own widened. “Captain Prince?” His gaze shifted, taking in Javes and Esclaur, before lighting on me. “Cousin?” The wind laughed and swirled around me, lifting my hair while the butterflies danced.
“He is come into his full power, honored king,” Laurel said. “Each mage is marked in some way, and Lord Rabbit’s hair appears to be his, hmmm, badge.” Running footsteps sounded and several servants came into the throne room, carrying the king’s battle dress. A couple of them tried to remove Jusson’s coat and shirt, but he impatiently pulled away. “We’ve been told. But what has happened to Prince Suiden and the rest?” He took his sword from a servant and allowed the scabbard to slide to the floor, baring the blade. “Is this your doing, Faena?”
“No,” Laurel said. “It’s not.” He lifted his paw, his truth rune alight, and I could hear the runes in the Witness Circle on the floor start to softly hum. I moved a little away.
Jusson’s eyes snapped to me. “Do you know why this has happened, Rabbit?” He glanced at Basel. “And why is the murdered trooper’s ghost ha
nging about you?” The Court’s attention returned to me and I heard mutters of “Sorcery” and “Witchcraft” with a couple of “Necromancies” thrown in.
“Your Majesty—” Suiden began.
“Silence!” Jusson said. “We asked our cousin!”
“It’s a long story, Your Majesty,” I said. “But I am your man.” I went to grab my own sword but my hand closed over empty air, and I remembered that I didn’t have one any longer. I looked around, wondering if flourishing Jeff’s sword would have the same effect, and my eyes collided with the rune circle once more. I looked up. Most of the Court wouldn’t meet my eyes—and those who did made warding signs against evil. I felt the force of their rejection and suddenly I had enough. For years they’d turned a blind eye to Slevoic and the merry house of Dru, yet here I was being treated like the chief demon from hell. I was ready to walk away and leave them to their insurrections, their corruption, their looming war with the Border. They weren’t my problems.
I started to turn and came face to face with Basel, watching me. Dead because of Slevoic’s malice towards me, and now wanting me to make it right. I looked beyond him and saw Jeff and the rest of the troopers, their eyes on me also. Dragged into this solely because I was part of their troop. None of them were warding, none were turning away. I met Suiden’s green gaze, his face calm as he watched to see what I would do, while Javes, quiz glass forgotten, did the same.
“Are you, Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan?” Jusson asked. “Are you mine?”
I looked back to the king. I hesitated, then swallowed and stepped onto the mosaic scale, a foot on each weighing pan. And the hum burst into a full chord.
A gasp went through the room and King Jusson’s mouth parted in shock as I stood in the middle of glowing runes. “Once for memory, twice for witness, three times to establish, Your Majesty.” I raised my hand and the rune on it shone bright, as bright as the ones on the floor, as bright as the sun, written in light. “I swear to uphold all oaths that I have made to you, in all my offices. Fiat.”
“Rabbit,” Laurel rumbled—and stopped, becoming thoughtful.
I stood in my own personal windstorm while Jusson stared at the rune circle. “Only in the tales of Locival has it ever done that.” He raised his eyes and considered me for a moment, then turned his head, looking at his Court. “Well?” he asked.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Diligent questioning of the prisoners had elicited the information that the plan was to take me captive, to be produced at a later time as proof of both the Border’s and Jusson’s degeneracy. But if they couldn’t take me, then I was to be killed to keep me from corrupting the army and throne further. And while the regular troopers bought into the story that the Royal Army was both purging itself and protecting the kingdom, the major muttered a name: “Lord Teram.” Esclaur had been right. My lines to the throne had made someone very nervous—my Flavan cousin.
The wind was quiet as I listened, the butterflies on one shoulder, rooting me to the earth. I looked away from the soldiers kneeling on the floor with their hands bound behind their backs, and my eyes met Groskin’s. He blinked and then lowered his head.
After the prisoners were herded down into the palace dungeons, I picked over their swords, choosing one that felt balanced in my hand. I also found something to tie my hair with again, though it seemed to have stopped growing. It was a thick braid that reached my waist, playing havoc with my hauberk. I had to leave the hood down and my helm off as they wouldn’t fit, and I prayed very hard that no one would take a swing at my neck or head. Laurel watched my preparations from where he stood next to Foreign Chancellor Berle. “You will return from this, honored Rabbit,” he rumbled.
My brow quirked. “Farseeing or wishful thinking, Laurel Faena?”
“Perhaps a little of each.”
I shrugged at him as I buckled on the new sword belt. “Maybe so, maybe no. What will happen, will happen.”
Laurel’s whiskers swept back. “And fatalism does not become you at all.”
I laughed and left him to join my troop.
“You will stay here,” Suiden said to Groskin as I walked up.
“Sir,” Groskin said, “Let me—”
“No. Be glad that you’re not down in the dungeon with the rest. I would’ve put you there, but the king asked that I hold off until everything is settled.” Groskin stared for a moment, then once more lowered his head and nodded.
Before we started out, Jusson sent another, bigger and better armed detachment to the Royal Garrison. “No heroics,” the king said to the detachment leader. “If you are challenged and cannot get through, return to us.”
It was a hodgepodge of soldiery that rode behind King Jusson. Riding on one side of Jusson were his lordlings, including Lord Esclaur who had won another battle with the royal physician. Gone was the mincing, affected lord. His tabard matched those of his fellows—a snarling wolf which was repeated on one of the banners. On the other side was Lord Commander Thadro, carrying the king’s shield, and the Royal Guard, their device a griffin, also repeated on a banner. And, of course, the lead bearers carried the king’s standard: a plain sword crowned. To lead, rule and defend.
We fast cantered towards the entry gate, the King’s Own we had left behind as guards coming out of the guardhouse and shaking their heads at Jusson’s query if anyone had passed. Just then we heard hooves thudding and the exploratory detachment rounded the bend of the road that led to the Royal Garrison at a gallop, augmented by the remaining garrison troops, mostly plain horse soldiers with a sprinkling of officers, plus the two missing royal guards.
Seeing us, they came to a stop, the detachment leader riding up to the king and saluting.
“Commander Loel and the rest of the officers are not there, Your Majesty,” the detachment leader said. “It appears they all left the compound by the sea escape.” The guard indicated the troopers. “These were locked in the stockade.” Loel had earlier imprisoned those who would oppose him, and when the few troopers who had escaped from the bridge alerted those who remained in the garrison that their attempt failed, they did a bunk out the back door. Suiden shifted on his horse next to me, frowning as he stared out over the blue waters, and I stared too, seeing the white dots of ships’ sails.
King Jusson detailed some of his Own and troopers to man the garrison, sending them back. Next, he turned his horse around and contemplated the green bridge. He raised his head and looked over at Trooper Basel who stood next to me in his stag persona. (He had been impervious to all hints that he stay behind with Laurel Faena.) They watched each other for a moment; then Jusson urged his horse onto the bridge, Thadro riding right behind holding the king’s shield. It held and everyone relaxed. His standard-bearers hurried in front of him, and we crossed the moat, ducking the odd bumblebee.
Once we were across, Jusson sent a couple of guardsmen down to the naval yard to warn them of the escaping deserters. Then we picked up speed, only to skid to a halt at a trooper’s cries behind us. We all slued around in our saddles and saw brambles spring up thick and green, then darken as they hardened, blocking the entrance to the bridge. Basel, looking pleased with himself, delicately picked his way back to my side.
“You do know,” I said as the haunt reached me, “that we have to go back that way, don’t you?” Basel ignored me as we started down the street. “Have it your way then, but the king won’t be too happy if he has to hack through it in order to get home.” I thought I heard a faint raspberry.
As wild rides go, it wasn’t much of one, Jusson keeping us to a canter at all times. When we reached one particular square, he briefly stopped and sent detachments off, some to secure the city gates and one with a wolf pack lordling to “bring whomever you find at the House of Dru to the palace.” We took off again, and I remained where I was, planted amid my mates, neither pushing forward nor falling behind, wedged between Suiden and Javes with Jeff having my back.
The streets were deserted as we clattered through them, e
ven the commercial squares and avenues quiet and void of people. I kept scanning ahead, expecting to meet up with some sort of opposition, and was rather unnerved by the oppressive silence broken only by us—the city seemed to be holding its breath. I thought of the fighting dragons over our farm, and wondered if the citizenry here were cowering in their own cellars.
We rounded a corner and poured into a square, and I sat up straighter in my saddle as I recognized it. My eyes picked out the soot stains on walls from torches and I felt my lips pull back from my teeth. Cousin Teram’s house. As we drew nearer, I heard the sounds of hooves against cobbles, and mounted men carrying a standard rode out from one of the side streets that bracketed Flavan House. The bannermen shifted, revealing their standard—and I blinked. It was a lion rampant, crowned.
“Oh, spare me!” We moved closer and I could see their tabard devices. “Right out of the same damn pantomime!”
“It’s all about symbols, Rabbit,” Suiden said. “Goodness and light against twisted and dark—and with this Teram’s casting himself as light’s champion and the kingdom’s deliverer.”
Even in battle, Captain Javes wore his quiz glass and he lifted it now, peering through it. “And here comes Locival now with his broadsword Lion’s Heart, ready to smite the evil sorcerer.” Teram, wearing the same outfit from the masque, rode behind the bannermen. Javes did his bugger me silly smile. “That’s you, I suspect, Rabbit.”
The glare I gave Javes was evil, though it probably lost something with the butterflies fluttering around me. (Fortunately, the wind seemed content to leave my hair alone.) “I am not—” I began.
“Bones and bloody ashes!” Jeff said over me as a shocked murmur went through our men. I snapped forward again and saw the missing Royal Garrison troops mixed in with Teram’s own men pouring out from the side street to form ranks behind Lord Teram. Both mercenaries and renegades were led by the Royal Garrison commander, Loel.
“Oh, I say,” murmured Javes. “Lunkhead himself.” His brows rose. “I wonder who bunked out the sea escape?”
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