“See that we don’t,” Glade said.
Jondralyn’s plan had been sound. Jovan grilled each of them, ordering each of them to divulge Lawri’s location. But the three had remained true to their vow. Lawri was safe from the grand vicar for now. And that was the most important thing. Jovan did not know what to believe, though he nearly had Tala and the two boys flogged for what Sterling accused them of—attacking him and kidnapping Lawri.
Still, as Tala now watched Sterling remove the chain from around Squireck’s neck, she was racked with guilt. Lawri was still sick, alone, in a dark room in naught but a damp, sweat-coated smock whilst Tala stood comfortably in Sunbird Hall. She looked at Lindholf and Glade, who stood near. They were both of them in their new ceremonial battle armor, Glade strikingly handsome, and Lindholf, too. Armor did that to even the frailest and homeliest of seventeen-year-olds, turned them into men, that is.
“Is Laijon’s will to be served this day?” Squireck asked once Sterling had finished removing the rusted chain from around his neck. His voice was deep and commanded the attention of all in Sunbird Hall. “Am I now to be pardoned as is my Laijon-earned right?”
The grand vicar, his face emotionless, bade Squireck step forward.
By virtue of his height and muscular bearing, all now stood aside for the Prince of Saint Only as he strode, unfettered, toward Denarius. None wanted to hinder the arena champion now. Despite what abhorrence they’d once held for him and the crimes of which he was accused, Squireck Van Hester was the victor, blessed and innocent before Laijon, according to scripture and tradition.
There was silence as Squireck stood before the vicar. Everyone waited.
Jovan belched, eliciting a few snickers. The king appeared quite drunk, yet still calculating as his watchful gaze strayed over the crowd. He stepped toward Squireck, wine goblet in hand. “By the power invested in me as king of all Gul Kana, I release you, Squireck Van Hester, Prince of Saint Only.” Jovan held the goblet up in a toasting motion, looking at Squireck above the goblet’s rim like a lion would look upon a lamb. “As far as the Silver Crown is concerned, you are free to go.” Jovan lowered the goblet, and his raptorlike gaze turned to Denarius.
The vicar, removing a bull-horn flask of oil from under his cloak, spoke loudly. “That you have triumphed in the arena is a great thing.” Denarius motioned for Squireck to kneel before him. Squireck knelt on one knee, looking up toward the vicar.
Denarius poured a droplet of oil from the bull-horn flask onto the tip of his own finger. He took his fingertip, placed it gently on Squireck’s forehead just below the hairline, and slowly drew a line with the oil to the tip of Squireck’s nose whilst beginning his prayer. “In the name of Laijon, and by the powers of his holy priesthoods, I, Denarius, Bishop of Rivermeade, Grand Vicar of Amadon, do anoint your head with this oil that has been consecrated for the purpose of washing away sin unto righteousness.”
Denarius drew another line with the oil across Squireck’s forehead. “I hereby bless you with renewed stamina in the sinews and strength in the bones that your knees and shoulders may not be ever weakened. I also bless your mind, that your intellect will reign sharp and keen over the wraiths that haunt the soul.”
Denarius poured a dollop of oil atop the crown of Squireck’s head. “Now I, Denarius, declare before all men gathered: our great Laijon finds you, Squireck Van Hester, innocent of all things accused. May you now walk free and without stain before our Lord and all men. Amen.” He stepped back, slipped the bull-horn flask into the folds of his heavy cassock, and looked away, not meeting the Prince of Saint Only’s gaze.
Squireck stood. Tala breathed a sigh of relief. If not exactly gracious, the deed was done, and the final gesture of Laijon’s forgiveness—the holy vicar anointing Squireck’s head with oil and reciting the Arena Incantations—had now been proffered, albeit most grudgingly.
Jovan weaved on his feet, holding his goblet aloft. “And what have you to say of your release?” he asked. “What does the victorious Prince of Saint Only have to say?”
“I have something of great import I wish to say!” Squireck’s voice was a deep shout, thick with emotion. He raised his corded arms, palms up, and turned in a full circle for all to see. “That I passed through the gauntlet unscathed, nary a drop of blood spilled, speaks of Laijon’s great love for what I have done on his behalf!”
Squireck lowered his arms, his eyes steely. “For the truth is”—he lowered his voice to a menacing growl as his eyes found Denarius—“I am guilty of the crimes I was charged with.” There was a collective gasp from those gathered in Sunbird Hall as Squireck continued, undaunted by the wave of murmurs traveling through the crowd, his deep-throated voice carrying over all. “I did steal portions of The Moon Scrolls of Mia from the archives of the quorum of five. I did slay Archbishop Lucas when he tried to stop me!” The gasps and murmurs now turned to shouts of outrage from the quorum of five, Archbishop Spencerville’s voice the loudest, drowning out the others, shouting sharply that the king should execute Squireck now. Many swords were drawn, including that of Sterling Prentiss.
Jovan hurled his wine cup at Squireck. “You dare insult the Silver Throne!” The goblet struck, splashing red wine over Squireck’s flesh before clanging to the floor.
The Prince of Saint Only ignored the king and glared at the grand vicar, wine now running in rivulets down his taut skin. “I follow the will of Laijon!” Squireck’s booming voice echoed in the hall. “For the voice of Laijon came to me as I debated what to do with the archbishop who found me with the scrolls and then barred my exit from the crypt! With Laijon as my witness, I slew Lucas, for I knew it to be better that one man die than an entire kingdom continue under the deceit of false doctrine, that in ages past the time was not right for the secrets of The Moon Scrolls of Mia to be revealed! But that time is now! Archbishop Lucas’ soul now sits beside Laijon for his sacrifice! My victory in the arena is Laijon’s proof that the Brethren of Mia are to be trifled with no more!”
Never before had the Prince of Saint Only’s large, imposing frame been more evident. All present, even the hardened Dayknights like Sterling Prentiss, appeared to recoil from him. For they had seen the carnage Squireck had wrought in the gladiator pit; they had all watched him demolish his opponents with gruesome ease. Terror was in their eyes. He stood before the entire court of Amadon in nothing save a loincloth, large and brutish, intimidating a room full of men, many of them armored knights, with naught but the command of his voice and his startlingly grandiose presence.
He commanded all but one, that is.
“I’ll have you put back in chains,” Jovan hissed. The predatory glint had returned to his eyes.
“You shall do no such thing.” Squireck towered over him. “Lest I have you stripped of your crown as a false king and denier of Laijon’s will! You disgrace your father!”
Jondralyn stepped between Jovan and the gladiator, taking the Prince of Saint Only by the arm. “Perhaps its best we get you away from here, Squireck,” she said. “Before they heap new accusations upon you.”
“Yes, sister, do that,” Jovan laughed drunkenly. “I heard that you washed the feet of Squireck as if he were Laijon himself and you one of his Warrior Angels. Now you leap to the rescue of this coward just as his own treasonous words put him exactly where he was before.”
But Jondralyn ignored her brother, and with Squireck, strode toward the huge double doors at the western end of Sunbird Hall. Many trembled and parted before Squireck. When they reached the twin doors, the Prince of Saint Only turned and roared, “Absolution is upon us!”
And the two doors swung open, seemingly at his command.
Two surprised knights, dressed in the maroon-and-gray livery of Rivermeade’s Wolf Guard, stood there in the darkness beyond, a wooden crate held between them. Many more knights in maroon and gray were coming up behind the two, soon filling the doorway. Squireck’s deep voice sounded through the hall again, and the timbre of it now shook Tala to the
core. “War is upon us!”
Squireck and Jondralyn stepped back, and everyone stared at the open double doors and the knights pouring into Sunbird Hall; behind the two carrying the wooden crate, Glade’s older brother, Leif Chaparral, was the last knight to enter the hall. His black-rimmed eyes cut through the crowd. He wore the black-lacquered armor and silver surcoat of the Dayknights. The silver-wolf on a maroon-field crest marked him as of Rivermeade nobility. The sword of his rank, with the black opal–inlaid pommel, hung at his side. He held a chain in one hand, the length of which drooped to the floor and back up again to connect to the shackled wrists of a blond-haired warrior woman. This grim-faced yet pretty woman wore silver battle armor of a curious make, over which was a white surcoat emblazoned with a blue cross.
Squireck and Jondralyn slipped out the double doors, disappearing from Sunbird Hall and into the darkness of the corridor. Tala watched their exit. But few others, if any, had seen them leave. All eyes were on Leif Chaparral, who, limping from his childhood boar injury, guided the warrior woman toward Jovan.
“Leif!” the king yelled in drunken greeting as he wobbled toward his friend. “Well met indeed, but what brings you from Lord’s Point to Amadon?”
Leif’s piercing eyes were as deep blue and fathomless as the ocean, and both his black armor and silver cloak were dust-stained from the road. It looked as if he’d been traveling hard. His face was weary, yet brimming with excitement as he turned and motioned for the knights behind him to pick up the crate and carry it forward.
Leif forced the warrior woman to kneel before Jovan. “I bring you a gift, my lord.” Leif snatched a handful of the woman’s blond hair and jerked her face up so she was looking squarely at the king. “Blodeved Wynstone,” he announced, “a soldier of the White Prince’s army.”
There was a collective gasp from the room. Whether the gasp was in reaction to the news that the woman was from Sør Sevier or that she was a soldier—a woman soldier—Tala couldn’t tell. But the sight of this warrior woman sparked something within Tala. It was clear: things were different in Sør Sevier. In that kingdom, the women clearly fought alongside the men.
Blodeved’s eyes were dark and fierce as they bored into Jovan’s. Even though she was captive and kneeling in a roomful of enemies, she seemed unafraid. “You’ll all be dead within the year,” she said calmly, with a confidence bred of certain knowledge. Tala admired her for her poise. Few females in Amadon—save perhaps Seita, or maybe her sister, Jon—would dare to remain as brave as they knelt in the court of the enemy.
“Like a feral cat she is,” Leif said. “Never to be tamed. And trust me, I tried. I’m sure she’s wet for another go.” There was a smattering of laughter from the Wolf Guard of Rivermeade behind Leif, though Tala thought she saw Jovan flinch at the quip.
Leif’s eyes lit up when he saw Glade there in the crowd. “My brother,” he said. “What has it been, a year?”
Glade stepped through the crowd and bent his knee before Leif, took his brother’s free hand in both of his, and held it to his lips, kissing it. “Indeed, more than a year, brother.”
“Ah, you look a sight,” Leif said. “Twice as grown as before. Thrice even. Am I right, Jovan?”
Glade blushed as he stood. It was clear; the boy was in awe of his older brother. Leif was by far the prettiest, most well-proportioned man Tala had ever seen. His dark hair hung straight and perfect down over his shoulders and back, framing a squared jaw under high cheekbones. His blue eyes were captivating—though a few years ago, Leif had black ink tattooed around the rims of his eyes, as was fashionable among some of the young Silver Guards at the time. They claimed that it made them look more fearsome. However, Tala thought the tattoos just made them look slightly girlish, almost as pretty as his sisters, Jaclyn and Sharla Chaparral. Either way, there wasn’t one single woman in Sunbird Hall who wasn’t drawn to him. The slight limp from his childhood injury only added to his allure.
As for Glade, Tala was still conflicted. He had his uses. Especially with Sterling Prentiss. But he made her angry in so many ways. She felt little affection for him now, where he’d once held her in thrall at all times. She could barely stand the sight of him.
“What do you think of the she-demon I’ve captured, brother?” Leif asked Glade, a sly grin forming on his face. “Perhaps I’ll let you have a go at her,” he laughed, rattling the chain in his hand. “Would you like that, Glade? To share in your brother’s spoils? To bugger the foul enemy whore?” Glade’s eyes lit up briefly and he laughed a sickening, spoiled little laugh that made Tala’s stomach curdle.
“It was Patryk and Marcus you buggered as we traveled here,” the Sør Sevier woman snarled, looking up at Leif. “You never laid a hand on me.” She turned to Jovan. “He took to fucking my two male companions. Warriors each. And he killed them while using them in his twisted pleasures—”
“I do not suffer lies,” Leif hissed, his demeanor like ice, his words a spear tip. He ripped a dagger from his belt, grabbed Blodeved by the hair, and roughly tilted her head back, exposing her neck. He then slit her throat with a quick slice and pull.
There was a gasp from many a lady in Sunbird Hall. Tala heard a stifled, guttural choke and saw blood pour out dark red over the Sør Sevier woman’s armor. Leif released his hold on Blodeved, who slumped back from her knees to her buttocks, clutching her neck with her shackled hands, trying to breathe. The woman sat that way for a moment as her blood flow became weaker. Tala watched her struggle to rise again. But Blodeved fell sideways to the floor, her cheek thudding wetly in a pool of her own blood.
Glade’s self-satisfied laugh filled the hall again as his eyes darted with an almost-baffled pride from his brother to the Sør Sevier woman and to the crowd.
A coldness gripped Tala’s heart at having just witnessed the proud and brave Sør Sevier woman, who was probably not much older than she, die like that. Though he was handsome, Tala had always suspected Leif to be a bad-intentioned person. The cold-blooded murder of Blodeved did nothing to change her opinion. And Glade’s smug glee in the murderous act only solidified her downward-spiraling opinion of him.
“If the enemy warrior was my gift”—Jovan broke the silence—“I would have preferred to question her before you knifed her.”
“She was of no account.” Leif bade the Wolf Guard behind him to remove the lid from the wooden crate. “The true gift is in the box. Though be warned, to be sure, it is a grim gift indeed.” Two of Leif’s Wolf Guard knights pried the lid off the crate, then stood it up on end so all could see what lay within.
Tala’s initial thought was that it was a short, bearded man—a dwarf perhaps. Roguemoore. The small fellow was totally naked but for a strip of cloth over his groin. Soon the blood began to curdle in her veins at the true horror her eyes beheld.
It was a delayed reaction all around. It seemed that the others in the room were realizing just what it was that they looked upon as gasp after gasp began to echo through Sunbird Hall. It was a bearded man to be sure—and he looked familiar to Tala—yet his arms and legs had been shorn above the elbows and knees, thick black tar smothered the stumps, and two silver daggers protruded from the arms. The sight of the Sør Sevier woman lying in her own pooling blood now paled in comparison to this man in the box.
“Baron Jubal Bruk,” someone muttered from behind Tala, and she instantly recognized the man’s face. She recalled the old Dayknight fondly; he’d been one of her favorite knights in her father’s retinue. She remembered his handsome son, Jenko. She remembered the ash-wood bow Jubal Bruk had given to Lindholf one summer.
Jubal Bruk blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the hall’s dancing torch flame. His arms moved as he adjusted himself in the box; then he overbalanced and tottered forward, landing face-first onto the cobbled floor. Two of Leif’s knights picked him up and set him back upright in the box.
Leif spoke loudly for all to hear. “It was the woman who lies dead on the floor, along with her two companions, who d
elivered Jubal Bruk to me at Lord’s Point. They arrived by Sør Sevier war galleon bearing the news of the sacking of Gallows Haven—a small coastal fishing village on the southwestern fringe of Gul Kana.”
The room now buzzed. Many noblewomen near fainted at the news, whilst more than a few noblemen and all the knights brandished their swords. Heated exclamations and words of distress began building to a slow roar.
“Enough!” Jovan shouted, and the room came together in silence.
Leif addressed Jovan. “Lord Kronnin desires to march his Ocean Guard south and engage the enemy at once. I advised him to hold off until I had word from you. I thought it of more urgency that I bring Jubal directly here myself. We made use of the king’s tolls. I wished to reach you with utmost haste, Jovan.”
Tala had once traveled the King’s Highway with her father using the tolls. The tolls were a series of outposts along the highway provisioned with fresh palfreys and draught horses along with wagons and carts of every size. There was ample food stored at the tolls too. One could travel nonstop the two hundred miles’ distance between Amadon and Lord’s Point in only four or five days using the king’s tolls—it was an express system of travel, meant only for royalty or the wealthy.
“Jubal Bruk bears news from the White Prince.” Leif looked at the legless man as he spoke. “Don’t you, Ser?”
Jubal’s eyes were wandering and unsure, his wiry hair and beard all gone awry from his time in the box.
“Well, out with it,” Jovan demanded. “Or did they shear your tongue, too?”
“The White Prince is on Sør Sevier soil.” Jubal Bruk’s voice was a hard-to-comprehend raspy gurgle at first, but as he talked, the scratchiness in it wore off. “It is true, Aeros has taken Gallows Haven. Slaughtered all but a few who dwelled there. Aeros did this to me, hacked off my limbs.”
The Forgetting Moon Page 57