The King of the Crags mof-2

by Stephen Deas

  'Again, Jehal, why were you trying to poison me? I cannot fathom what you would gain from it, yet I cannot see who else it could be.'

  Jehal furrowed his brow and shook his head. What are you talking about, woman? 'Your Holiness, I never have tried to poison you. In actual fact, despite all Hyram's little fantasies, I've murdered remarkably few people. Your daughter, for example. Notably not murdered, however politically useful it might have been. You. Also not murdered. And I can promise you, Queen Shezira, that when I aim to make someone dead, they die. I helped Zafir steal the Speaker's Ring from you, but poison you? No. I would have been quite happy for you to go back to Outwatch and fester. I've never tried to have you harmed in any way; in fact, since Hyram stupidly fell off his own balcony, I've done everything I can to keep you alive. Not out of any love for you, you understand, but, believe it or not, for love of the realms. Of everything. Of life. Zafir doesn't just want your head. She's going to execute King Valgar as well, and then she's going to move on to all three of your daughters. I'm trying to stop her.' He looked ruefully around the Tower of Dusk. 'Not with as much success as I'd hoped, it would seem.'

  Shezira snorted and shook her head. 'Why should I believe a word you say? Hyram called you a viper, and he wasn't wrong. We all should have listened to him.'

  'Your daughter Jaslyn sits on your throne. Almiri rules in Evenspire. With Zafir they will take all the realms into flames. You don't need me to tell you that.'

  'Jaslyn has Hyrkallan to guide her.' For a moment, Jehal wondered how the queen could possibly know that Hyrkallan had abandoned the Red Riders and returned north. Then he realised that she probably didn't know that the Red Riders even existed. 'Resides, she cares more (or her dragons that she does for me.' A touch of bitterness tinged Shezira's voice now. 'She won't go to war, not for me. The only person she truly cares about is her little sister, your Lystra. Keep her alive and safe and Jaslyn will stay in her eyries.'

  'Lystra is carrying my heir.'

  'So I've heard. Another reason to keep her alive.' 'I'm trying very hard to do so.'

  Shezira nodded her head. 'Good. Unfortunately, I rather fear for my daughter after she's given you what you want. So let me give you something that is both help and encouragement.' And with that, Shezira pointed the crossbow between Jehal's legs and fired.

  The force knocked him back across the polished marble floor; and then came the pain, unbearable, burning, blinding, shrieking pain that seemed to run like liquid fire along every nerve and bone.

  'Zafir will have to find another lover now,' said Shezira, although Jehal could hardly hear her over the roaring in his head. He couldn't see anything either. 'We are truly tied together now, blood to blood, Prince Jehal. If my bloodline dies, so does yours.'

  The roaring sounds, Jehal realised, were his own screams.

  22

  The Execution of his Duties

  Vale stood, still as a statue, as the Herald of Titles announced each and every sitting member of the council of kings and queens. Only the monarchs had any real say in what would be decided, but they'd brought a good few lords and ladies and a smattering of princes and princesses with them. Vale wondered if it made them feel more important. The other possibility was that it made them feel safe, a thought which he took as a personal affront.

  He, of course, was not sitting and was not announced. His soldiers stood quietly, scattered around the Chamber of Audience, some more obvious than others, deceptive in their numbers. A casual glance might say he'd brought only a dozen men to guard the speaker and her guests. The truth was closer to ten times that number. Some of them were also witnesses. Witnesses who would say that they'd seen Queen Shezira enter the speaker's rooms, invited in by the speaker's wordmaster. That they'd heard the speaker call out, shouting for something that they hadn't been able to understand. That they'd gone into his rooms and found Queen Shezira standing on his balcony with the speaker already lying dead below.

  But none of them actually saw the push. None of them saw him fall. He hadn't given it too much thought until the kings from the south and the east had started to arrive. Then they'd all started asking. Did you see it? Did anyone actually see Shezira murder Speaker Hyram. Narghon's queen, Fyon, she was the worst. By the time she was finished, even the wordmaster, who'd been adamant that Shezira was guilty, was having his doubts.

  I am the Night Watchman of the dragon-soldiers. We do not have doubt. The Guard are always certain of their cause. From birth to death. Nothing more, nothing less. Hyram fell. Shezira pushed. End. I'here is no other explanation that makes sense.

  Eventually they finished and Speaker Zafir summoned him to the Table of Judges to speak what he knew. He did exactly as he was asked. He had gone to the Tower of Dusk to confine Queen Shezira and her men. The queen was not present in the tower. He had sent other men to stand watch over Speaker Hyram. When he heard of Speaker Hyram's death, he had ordered the Tower of Dusk to be stormed. Yes, he'd lost a good few men. Yes, the defenders had thrown back his first assault, and were only turned to flight by the arrival of the remainder of the legion. Yes, he had been impatient and possibly foolish, and yes, several of Shezira's riders had escaped. Including, as it had happened, Queen Almiri.

  As soon as they had no more use for him, he bowed and walked away. Others would follow. His men. Good men. If there were any omissions or any falsehoods in what Vale had said, none of them knew it. They would tell the truth because they had no reason to do otherwise, but they would just as easily lie if he told them to. Orders. The Guard obeys orders. From birth to death. Nothing more, nothing less. Why do they always forget that?

  For most of the morning the questions went on. The speaker grew visibly impatient. King Sirion sat and twisted his fingers in his beard. The King of the Crags looked as if he'd fallen asleep. Only the two eastern kings, Narghon and Silvallan seemed to care about what anyone had to say. They all made up their minds before they came here. All of them except Hyram's cousin.

  He'd made up his own mind too. Made it up long ago. As he listened, he wondered whether he should consider again, question his belief and be sure. But that sort of thinking wasn't going to get him anywhere. No one had ever asked him for an opinion and he'd never offered one. The kings and queens of the realms would make their judgement and he would execute it. That was all.

  So why are my knuckles clenched white? Why is the inside of my head burning?

  'Enough!' Zafir stood up and slammed the point of the Adamantine Spear into the marble floor. The blade drove at least three inches into the stone. Vale wasn't sure that Zafir even noticed. She glared out from the Table of Judges at all the standing members of the council. 'The kings and queens of the dragon-realms will pass their judgement. I say Queen Shezira murdered Speaker Hyram. We have a hundred witnesses to say they were alone and that no one else could have been with them. My husband was old. He was sick and drunk and hardly able to defend himself, but not so sick and drunk that he'd simply fall off a balcony. Shezira was desperate and had every reason to want revenge. Further, I say that King Valgar and Knight-Marshal Lady Nastria were her pawns. I say that their efforts to murder me were at her command.' She turned her glare onto the sitting council. 'What say you? King Sirion, your judgement, please.'

  Sirion didn't move. He was shaking his head and couldn't have looked less comfortable. 'I'll not condemn another king on such flimsy evidence,' he said. 'If Shezira's knight-marshal was truly set on murder that night, she would not have taken her orders from anyone but Shezira herself. I say Valgar has committed no crime. Shezira…' He took a deep breath and shook his head even more. 'I don't know. Hyram was my cousin. My heart calls for justice and vengeance. But I cannot, despite the evidence, believe that Queen Shezira would murder him with her own hand. I simply cannot. I have nothing to say. I do not pass judgement.'

  Zafir's face darkened with fury. 'He was your cousin! Who else was there to push him?'

  'I have given my verdict,' snapped Sirion. He didn't look at Zafir w
hen he said it though. He looked like a man who'd be wondering whether he'd done the right thing for a very long time.

  The speaker sneered. 'And we all know that Shezira offered her daughter to Prince Dyalt. Has little Jaslyn not thought better of marrying a fool?'

  'You have my answer.' Sirion stood up. 'I will not be the one to start a war, Speaker, and if you mean to do so, I suggest you consider who are your allies and who are your enemies very carefully. You'd not be the first speaker who failed to see out their first year.' With that, Sirion walked away from the Table of Judges. The lords and princes of his entourage got up to follow him.

  Vale flinched. His hand moved to rest on his sword and he almost took a step forward, he was so sure that Zafir would command Sirion's arrest. What he'd said was nothing short of a threat. Yet Zafir watched him go in silence. She only spoke when he and his were gone from the Chamber of Audience.

  'It seems King Sirion does not share my opinion.' She was all smiles now. 'King Silvallan, what say you?'

  'You can have Valgar if you must. I venture no opinion on his guilt or otherwise. But you may not have Shezira. She did not murder Speaker Hyram.'

  Zafir nodded slowly. 'Are those your words or Jehal's?'

  'They are mine, Speaker.'

  'And you, Narghon? I imagine your words will be exactly the same, almost as though someone had written them down for you both. Although they are your words, I am sure.'

  'I share King Silvallan's views. Shezira cannot be condemned without a witness who saw Hyram fall. Accept your defeat with some grace, Your Holiness, and accept that it is for the good of the realms that Shezira goes free.'

  'Then it seems I am alone. They sent an assassin after me and then, when she failed, they killed my husband. Yet none of you will condemn them.' Vale bit his lip. This is how Jehal said it would be. Shezira will go free. There will be no war between the north and the south, and the legions I command will not be hurled into battle against a sky filled with dragons. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. The Adamantine Men were made for battle. Forged for it from the day they could walk and talk. They had no other purpose to their existence. The thought of war made Vale's heart race and his blood run hot. His head filled with visions of glory, of slaughtering riders and scattering their dragons. Any of the Adamantine Men would think themselves lucky and honoured to be called to war. After all, that's what they were told from the day they took up their first training spears.

  On the other hand, he was the Night Watchman. They were his men, and his second duty, after his devotion to the speaker, was to them. To their strength and to their lives and to their health, not to honour and glory. The Viper was right about one thing. Wars were bloody. Very many would die and few would be dragon-lords.

  'King Valmeyan. Since you have graced my palace with your presence, what say you? Do you have an opinion to offer, or do you intend to doze until all the matters of this council have been closed.'

  The King of the Crags barely opened his eyes. 'I've heard one voice either way for King Valgar, am I right? I've never met him and probably never will. If I remember the law, the speaker casts the final judgement if the council is tied, so I will offer no opinion. King Valgar's fate rests entirely in your hands, Speaker. As for Queen Shezira, she I have met. She came to my eyries a decade and more ago, seeking my support to ensure Hyram sat where you sit now. I say she is quite capable of murdering a man. Perhaps she did, perhaps she didn't. I leave her fate in your hands too, Speaker Zafir. Shezira is guilty.' He uncoiled himself from his slouch, slowly stretched and turned to look Zafir in the eye. 'You hold a very sharp spear in your hand, Speaker. Who will you cut with it?'

  The smile that curled across Speaker Zafir's mouth made even Vale's stomach turn. The feeling was strange and new, until he realised what it was. Not fear, that was too strong a word. Anxiety. Yes, he was anxious.

  She was looking at him now. 'Then they are both guilty. Yes. Since it is the duty of the speaker to cast sentence, they are both guilty and they are to be beheaded. Their remains will hang in cages by the gates of the Adamantine Palace, one on either side, until they have been picked clean by the crows. They will serve to warn all others who would overthrow the laws of the realms.'

  King Silvallan hammered the table with his fists. 'You cannot do this!'

  'I can and I will. Today, Night Watchman. As soon as possible. Valgar first. Let Shezira see! Go! Do it now!

  The Table of Judges was in uproar. Silvallan and Narghon were on their feet. Jeiros and Aruch were shouting at each other. Only the King of the Crags seemed unmoved. He'd slumped back into his seat and if anything looked as though he'd fallen asleep again. Vale hesitated. All his instincts said he ought to stay, that there was every sign of the council coming to blows. But he'd been given an order, clear and unambiguous. Reluctantly he bowed towards the chaos, turned and walked away. The Adamantine Men who served as his officers were all quite capable of taking his place. When it came to war, they had to be.

  Outside, he set about the execution of his duties. Orders were given. The Guard had quietly prepared for this for days, just as they'd prepared for Shezira to be released. They all knew what to do. One company of men would bring out the headsman's block and sword and throw plenty of sand down into the Gateyard to soak up the blood. Another company would drag Valgar out of the tower where Zafir had imprisoned him. He'd get Shezira himself. The cages were a little unexpected. They'll need some quick work to get ready but at least we have a little more time with those. She never said what she wanted us to do with the heads. Mounted on spikes would be usual.

  At the doors to the Tower of Dusk, Vale stopped. His head was filled with all the little details; underneath, something much bigger was stirring. He was old enough and wise enough to know what that meant. Doubts. He had doubts about what he was doing. And since Adamantine Men never had doubts, he was trying to hide them.

  Come on then, doubts. Speak your piece and be done. There will be war, is that it? Shezira's daughters will fly out of the north on wings of fire. And out of the south too, perhaps. What of it? Many will die, but what of it? Is it my doing? Have I gone to their eyries and commanded their riders to fly against the speaker, who is their law? No, I have not. Or do I doubt that we will win? Well, doubts, if that's the case, I've seen enough of these kings and queens over the years to know that Zafir is safe. If any of them truly have the spine to take up arms against us, as likely as not they will be stabbed in the back by their own sons and daughters, hungry for a throne of their own. So be gone, doubts. My conscience is clear.

  His doubts didn't seem convinced but they knew their place. They slid beneath the surface of his thoughts to lurk in the depths of his dreams. He ordered the door to the Tower of Dusk to be opened and entered with a dozen men behind him. He went in with care because Queen Shezira did have a crossbow, after all, and there was just a chance she hadn't done what he'd hoped and used it on Jehal. But he soon saw that he needn't have worried. The floor was stained by a big pool of blood, still sticky to the touch. Jehal, assuming that's from whom the blood had come, had obviously survived for long enough to drag himself away.

  Not very far though. Thick brown streaks led away from the blood to a second pool. Jehal looked dead at first, curled up, both hands pressed between his legs. The Viper was still breathing, though. The breaths might have been ragged and shallow, but if he'd lived this long then he probably wasn't going to bleed to death.

  Pity. This was meant to wound. If Shezira had meant to finish him, she had ample means. He stooped to look closer. The crossbow bolt he'd given Shezira was gone. Shezira was still dangerous then. Then a huge grin spread across Vale's face as he understood what the Queen of Stone had done to the Viper. He glanced around him, the sudden thought of finishing Jehal off running wild in his head, but there was no way to do it without being seen. Too many of his own men.

  His grin faded. He kicked Jehal in the face and moved on. Shezira was waiting for him, calm and peaceful, holding the
crossbow he'd given her, casually pointing it in his direction.

  'What's it to be?' she asked. Vale didn't answer, didn't break stride. He saw the tension in her face, saw her finger on the trigger straining. He saw the moment she understood that he'd come to taker her to her death. He saw her pull the trigger and stepped sideways exactly at the same moment. The bolt struck one of the men behind him, who grunted. He saw the fright in her face, a momentary fleeting thing, and then he reached her. He tore the crossbow out of her hands with a casual force and threw it away. Doubtless she held some idea of walking with calm dignity to her death, but Vale was having none of that. You murdered Hyram. Murdered a speaker. For that he had her dragged out of the tower by her hair. By the time he got back to the executioner's block, Valgar was already there, pushed down, held over the basket that would hold his head after his body no longer had any need of it. A few dozen of the Adamantine Guard stood around. Several dozen more were running into the Chamber of Audience. The council of kings and queens, it seemed, had spiralled out of hand. As expected.

  Do it now! That's what the speaker had said, and so Vale didn't wait. He lifted the headsman's sword, a strange weapon with its weight and balance all wrong for fighting, but perfect for this one specific duty.

  Hold her head and make her watch,' he said of Shezira. 'Those were the speaker's order s. She has to watch.' At least Shezira wasn't begging or pleading or shouting. She was as calm as anyone could reasonably be. She was afraid though, badly afraid, and that made her less than the men holding her. She kept trying to tell Vale something about Hyram and the night he'd died, but he wasn't listening. Whatever she had to say, he had no wish to hear it.

  He turned back to Valgar and lifted the sword. 'Whatever you have to say, there's little point. No one is here to hear it and no one will remember it. No one has come to witness your end, either of you.'