The Sworn fkc-1

by Gail Z. Martin

  Six prosperous-looking merchants sat behind them, and Jonmarc noticed with a smile that one of the merchants was quite probably the head of the Whores Guild. She was a blonde woman with a figure to rival Jolie’s and, like Jolie, was in her middle years, although a casual glance might have said otherwise. Her dress was expensive and revealing, and her jewelry attested to a wealthy clientele. Beside her sat a man with a scarred face who was dressed in leather armor but lacking his weapons; obviously, the Master of the Mercenary Guild. The portly man next to him wore rings set with large gemstones, stones that also glittered from a pendant at his chest. Gem mining was the main industry in Principality, and the reason it had been carved out as its own territory centuries ago by agreement of the other six kingdoms, to stop the endless battling over its precious resources. The Gem Master looked wary and uncomfortable.

  The head of the Brewers Guild was a thin man who looked more like an exchequer than an ale master. To his right was the Merchant Guild master, a man Jonmarc knew was in the pay of Maynard Linton. It didn’t guarantee his friendship, but it would keep him from siding against them in a dispute. The head of the Smiths Guild was a strongly built man. Although Jonmarc did not doubt that he had cleaned up before the event, telltale soot still lingered beneath his nails.

  To Jonmarc’s surprise, Sister Landis, head of the Citadel of the Sisterhood in Principality City, sat apart from the others. He’d glimpsed her at court, and Carina and Tris had told him quite a bit about her after Tris had trained for months at the Citadel. Taru had added her own comments. Jonmarc remembered that Landis had been cool to the idea of training Tris even though the crown of Margolan was at stake. Landis was in her seventh decade, with short gray hair and a determined expression. Would the witch biddies really stand by and let the Black Robes bring about a War of Unmaking? He met Landis’s cool blue eyes, and decided that he didn’t want to bet money on the answer.

  Kolin and Laisren sat behind the guild masters, along with Anton and Serg. They were dressed in somber finery and looked to be the noble equals of the Council. Aidane sat beside Kolin. To Jonmarc’s surprise, Jolie had acquired a traditional serroquette ’s gown for Aidane. Dressed in the colors of flame, Aidane’s dark complexion was set off to its exotic best. Her black hair was loose, with golden combs. A river of fine gold strands seemed to nearly fill the deep-cut bodice of the gown, and gold bracelets on each arm attested to a position of status and wealth. Jolie never misses a trick, does she? Jonmarc thought and smiled to himself. The head of the Whores Guild had definitely noticed Aidane, and the look was both intrigued and hostile. I’m going to guess there aren’t a lot of serroquettes in Principality City. She’s probably worried Aidane will be a competitor.

  Jencin cleared his throat. “We’re gathered here to crown Berwyn, daughter of Staden, as the new Queen of Principality,” Jencin said in his most formal manner. He made a gesture that indicated that the guests should take their seats. “Since she has already received a field coronation upon the news of the king’s death, she wears the circlet. Today, she receives Staden’s crown, forged for King Vanderon, father of Aesille, father of the late king.”

  Jencin removed a velvet cloth that covered a carved wooden box that stood on a pedestal in the center of the room. Next to the pedestal was a cushioned kneeling rail. The cushion was a deep red velvet, and the crest of the House of Principality was worked into the finely wrought support for the gold railing.

  “If you please, Your Majesty,” Jencin said, with a fluid gesture motioning for Berry to kneel.

  Berry took a deep breath and made the sign of the Lady, and then knelt. She removed the circlet and gave it to Jencin, who put it into the box.

  “With this crown, I accept the throne of Principality. I will be the guardian of all its residents, living, dead, and undead. I will keep the covenants my fathers have made with the guilds, especially the Mercenary Guild, that protect our lands. I will honor the treaties with our allies, and so far as it is in my power, I will strive to live at peace with those countries with whom we are not allied.” Berry’s voice was clear and strong as she recited the vows, but Jonmarc could see tears glistening, unshed, in her eyes. “I will preserve the sovereignty of Principality and defend it with my life. Before the Sacred Lady in all her Aspects, I make these vows.”

  Berry accepted the ornate crown from Jencin and turned it, feeling for a hidden clasp. A small, sharp point sprang from behind a gemstone, and Berry took another deep breath and then pressed the palm of her right hand against the point. She winced, and when she withdrew her hand, a few drops of blood ran down her palm. Berry turned the crown so that the large gemstone on the front faced her, and she covered the stone with her bloody palm. The crown seemed to glow in her hands, and the elaborate symbols on her cloak swirled, making it clear that their movement was not a trick of the imagination.

  The temperature in the room plummeted. Jonmarc saw Aidane grip Kolin’s arm, her eyes wide. A glowing mist began to form between the kneeling rail and the audience, and Jonmarc’s hand gripped the pommel of his sword, although he doubted it would be of use against a spectral foe. As they watched, forms took shape in the mist, growing more solid and identifiable.

  The figures of three men stood in front of Berry, and behind them, more shapes were obscured by the mist. Two of the men Jonmarc did not recognize, but the third he knew well. Staden.

  “I am King Vanderon, your great-grandfather, and in my time, ruler of all Principality,” the first ghost said, his voice clear and strong. Vanderon laid his ghostly hand on Berry’s shoulder, and Jonmarc could see her repress a shiver.

  “I am Aesille, your grandfather, also King of Principality, like my father and forefathers.” He laid a hand on Berry’s other shoulder.

  Berry’s eyes were fixed on only one of the ghosts. Staden’s spirit came to stand before her, and his eyes were sad, although he managed to smile. “My daughter,” he said, taking the hand Berry held out to him. She did not try to hide the tears streaming down her face. “How I wish that I did not have to leave you in such troubled times. This burden should not have fallen to you for many years.” He shrugged. “But our days are in the Lady’s hand. I will miss you, my dear.”

  “I’ll miss you, too,” Berry managed to whisper.

  Staden’s ghost placed a hand on Berry’s head. Jonmarc guessed it was the touch of blood that activated the crown’s magic, enabling the spirits to be seen and heard, and he wondered if it worked as well at coronations that were not on the eve of the Feast of the Departed.

  “The blood of the monarchs of Principality runs in your veins,” Staden said. “You’re our flesh, our bone, our breath. Let there be no doubt that you are the rightful ruler of Principality. You are Berwyn, Queen of Principality. May the Sacred Lady smile upon your rule and give you long life, good health, and a peaceful and prosperous reign.”

  As Berry looked up at Staden’s ghost with tear-filled eyes, the three specters began to dissipate. A moment later, the mist and the ghosts were gone. Jonmarc glanced at Jencin, trying to decide whether the seneschal had expected the ghostly visitors. Jencin did not seem to be as amazed as their audience, and Jonmarc wondered whether Jencin had actually seen something similar at Staden’s coronation, or merely read about the possibility. From the nervous way Jencin handled the wooden box, Jonmarc guessed it was the latter.

  “All hail Berwyn of Principality. Long live the queen!”

  Berry stood, and once again, the onlookers lined up to make their vows of loyalty. Jonmarc was first, and he gave Berry’s hand a reassuring squeeze as he took it to press her signet ring to his lips. She returned the squeeze, and the look in her eyes told him silently that she appreciated his presence even more than he might have suspected. Jencin followed, then Gellyr, and then the rest of the guests.

  Aidane was the last to pledge her fealty. Jonmarc heard a low buzz of conversation as the nobles and merchants remarked on the newcomer. He could tell that Aidane was nervous, but she walked forward
with assurance and knelt gracefully in front of Berry. She looked up at Berry and took her hand.

  “What gifts I have, I offer you, for the protection of your kingdom,” Aidane whispered. A flash of understanding seemed to pass between Aidane and Berry, although what the others made of Aidane’s pledge, Jonmarc could only guess.

  “I accept your pledge,” Berry said, and clasped Aidane’s hand with both of her own for a moment. A murmur spread through the nobles and guild masters, but Berry did not look up.

  Let them think what they want to, Jonmarc thought. Right now, Aidane just might be the key to saving Berry’s life, and the Winter Kingdoms.

  It was after midnight when Jonmarc, Gellyr, and Aidane slipped through the palace gates without fanfare. Aidane wore a traveling cloak that covered both her dress and her head, sparing them the glances of curious passersby. Gellyr led the way as they left the palace walls behind them and wound through the cobblestone streets to the grand homes and villas of the wealthy and powerful.

  “Are you sure he’s still awake? The coronation took longer than I expected.” Jonmarc looked around the alleyway cautiously.

  Gellyr nodded, and pointed to the lit downstairs windows of the home in front of them. “He’s awake.”

  As was the fashion, the house had its own outer wall around a small courtyard and an iron gate with a guard. Gellyr spoke to the guard, who opened the gate for them. Jonmarc looked around at the garden with its fountain and benches. If this was a general’s home, then he had been successful by any standards.

  The polished wooden door to the home opened, and the shadow of a broad-shouldered man stood in the entranceway. Jonmarc turned to look at their host, and froze.

  “By the Crone’s tits! Is that you, Jonmarc?”

  Gellyr turned to look at Jonmarc. It took Jonmarc a moment to find his voice, but then he smiled broadly.

  “Valjan! So this is what becomes of an old War Dog!”

  Gellyr and Jonmarc were welcomed into the house with backslaps and embraces. “Dark Lady take my soul! I’d heard that you’d been at the palace with Martris Drayke last year, but I was leading a patrol out on the western border, and I didn’t get back until after you’d gone. They told me Staden made a lord of you, and gave you the biters’ refuge in Dark Haven.”

  Valjan was half a hand taller than Jonmarc and twenty years older. He wore a patch over one eye, and Jonmarc knew Valjan had lost that eye to a raider long before Jonmarc had joined his merc group. Although he was dressed informally in trews and tunic, the cut of his clothing and its cloth further attested to his success. He was tanned from years out of doors, and his arms and face carried the scars that marked him as a military man every bit as much as his stance marked him as a fighter.

  “Lady Bright! It’s true then? You’re the Queen’s Champion?”

  Jonmarc chuckled. “It’s true, all of it, although I doubt Staden expected it to come to this when he made me his liegeman.”

  Valjan brought a hand down on his shoulder, and he was still strong enough to have knocked Jonmarc off balance if he hadn’t braced for it. “Gellyr told me you had information, a source who says we’re in for trouble.” He looked toward Aidane, who had still not removed her hood. “This is your source?”

  Jonmarc nodded.

  Valjan drew them into a sitting room. To Jonmarc’s surprise, Hant was already seated there, along with one man Jonmarc had seen at the coronation, the head of the Mercenary Guild. “I took the liberty of asking them to join us, as they may have a stake in what’s afoot.”

  “Hello again, Jonmarc.” It was Hant who spoke, and a half smile crossed his thin features. His small, intense eyes seemed to look through the visitors as if he could see their bones. Staden might have considered his head of security as his “chief rat catcher,” but Jonmarc knew that for a spymaster to live to be Hant’s age, he must be very, very good at his job.

  “Hello, Hant.”

  “This is Exeter, head of the Mercenary Guild,” Valjan introduced the man who sat next to Hant.

  “You don’t remember me, I wager, but I knew of you when you were a merc,” Exeter said, with a glance that seemed to appraise Jonmarc head to toe. “I heard about Chauvrenne and Nargi. Your friend, Harrtuck, rode with us to the Margolan border when Martris Drayke took back his throne.” A dangerous smile crossed Exeter’s face. “If you recall, we were insurance, in case something went wrong.”

  “I remember.”

  “My nephew says that your source might not get a fair hearing from some at the palace,” Valjan said with a shrewd look toward Gellyr. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  At Jonmarc’s nod, Aidane lowered her hood and set her cloak aside. She was still dressed from the coronation, and it was clear from the reaction of the three men that they knew immediately what she was.

  “ Serroquette,” Exeter murmured, but Jonmarc could not tell whether it was recognition or a curse.

  “Aidane is a true serroquette,” Jonmarc said. “We’ve proven her ability to channel spirits, and we’ve tested her messages. Her power is real. She’s harboring the spirit of a vayash moru named Thaine, who was murdered by the Black Robes. While Thaine was a prisoner of the Durim, she overheard their plans. I’d like for Thaine to tell you for herself.”

  At Jonmarc’s nod, Aidane closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and let her head fall back. Her whole body trembled, and she startled, eyes wide, with a sharp inhale. As they watched, everything about Aidane’s manner changed, until Jonmarc knew before she spoke that it was Thaine, and not Aidane, who stood before them.

  Jonmarc and Gellyr watched the men’s reaction as Thaine told her story. Hant leaned forward, tenting his fingers, his lips pursed. Exeter’s arms were crossed and his face had a hard set to it. The eye patch made his expression difficult to read. Valjan’s frown grew deeper as he listened, and his face colored with anger. When Thaine finished her tale, Valjan rose to his feet.

  “On Chenne’s sword! If they mean to move on Haunts, it’s tomorrow night.”

  Exeter had not unfolded his arms. He had not moved at all. “How do we know she’s telling the truth?”

  Jonmarc and Gellyr exchanged knowing glances. Aidane moved forward, and her expression and bearing shifted, letting Jonmarc know she was herself again. She concentrated for a moment, as if listening to voices they could not hear. Then she met Exeter’s eyes unflinchingly.

  “You lost a lover when you were eighteen, before you ever thought to become a merc. She died in a house just beyond the city walls, trying to bear your child. She died cursing your name. Her parents cast her out because of the baby, and your parents withdrew your birthright. You were alone with her when she miscarried, when she bled to death on the floor. Would you have me bring her to you now? Do you remember Bellajera?”

  Exeter had gone pale. “No. No, I believe you.” He took a shaky breath and pulled himself together. “I believe.” He was quiet for a moment, and then he looked up at the others. “Gentlemen, we have a very large problem.”

  It was third bells before Jonmarc and the others returned to the palace. Come morning, Hant and Valjan would take the news to the other generals, hiding Aidane’s identity as the source. Exeter also vowed to have his mercs among the feast day crowds, watching for signs of danger amid the throng. Gellyr had delivered the letters of introduction Sister Taru sent with them, and Jonmarc fervently hoped that there would be some word awaiting him back at the palace. They were too tired to sleep, and too exhausted to function, but they headed back to the palace knowing that they had done everything possible to guard against the Durim’s attack.

  “That went reasonably well,” Gellyr remarked.

  Jonmarc sighed. “Considering that they didn’t throw us out, laugh in our faces, or pack us off to the madhouse, yeah, I’d say so.”

  “Tomorrow, once I’ve rested, I’ll see what the spirits can tell me,” Aidane said quietly.

  Jonmarc gave her a sideways glance. “Can you do that? I mean, with Thaine a
lready in there?”

  “Being possessed by more than one spirit at a time isn’t comfortable, but I’ve done it before.” A shadow crossed her face, giving Jonmarc the idea that “not comfortable” was an understatement. “What choice do we have? If the Black Robes are in the city, then they may have done some killing. Their victims might want revenge.” Her eyes became distant. “So many ghosts, calling. Oh, yes. Fresh kills.” She began to shake her head. “Buka. Buka.”

  Gellyr came to a dead stop, with a look of horror on his face. “Buka,” he whispered.

  Jonmarc looked at him warily. “What did you say?”

  Gellyr shook his head as if to clear it. “Sweet Chenne, I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. What Aidane just said about the Durim killing here in the city. She’s right.”

  They were nearly at the palace walls. Gellyr indicated for them to get inside the palace before he finished. “I’d had some word of it before we came back to Principality City, from the couriers who came to Jannistorp, and the letters my men got from home. There’s a murderer loose in Principality City. He’s a slippery one. I’m ashamed to say it, but since he tends to prey on cutpurses, drunks, and the absinthe strumpets, it hasn’t gotten an all-out manhunt. They call him Buka. It’s a lowlands term for ‘slayer.’ ” Gellyr shook his head. “He’s a butcher, that’s what he is. Make a career in the ranks, and you see a few of that type. I thought he was just a madman. But now-”

  “Either it’s an amazing coincidence, or he’s working with the Black Robes,” Jonmarc finished. “Maybe even part of the Durim themselves.”

  Aidane’s eyes were haunted. “We knew that kind in Nargi. Not long before I was captured, there was a killer loose there as well. I lived among those cutpurses, drunks, and absinthe trollops,” she said, quietly reproachful. “Sometimes the whole bodies would show up; other times, only pieces.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “No one looks too hard when they think the killer is only hunting vermin.” Her voice was soft, but there was a note of hurt in it, and the last word stung.