by Dave Duncan
to assassinate Aeled and kidnap Radgar--although
that last feat was more likely just an opening that chance
had offered and the expert fencer had exploited--then
why had Yorick not told his royal master where the
boy had been hidden?
Why had King Ambrose not mentioned that Queen
Charlotte still lived? He must have known that Radgar
would learn the truth very quickly now that he was free
to ask questions. Only very hard work by the
ever-mischievous spirits of chance could have kept him
ignorant for so long, for although the Ironhall
curriculum ignored Baelmark, it included
detailed study of the House of Ranulf. Wasp
could remember sitting beside Radgar when Master of
Protocol drew diagrams of its many links
to foreign royalty. There had been growls of
anger when he mentioned the shameful Baelish
connection and the Blades who had died at Candlefen
--but he had not thought to add that the
abducted lady was still Queen of Baelmark.
Web of errors, tapestry of questions. If
Yorick-Geste had been the assassin and acting
on his own, how had he entered the guarded house?
If he had been a Chivian agent and Chivial
had so much wanted peace, then why kill Aeled
before the treaty was formally signed? Why rescue
Radgar, lie to him, then abandon him? Had
Queen Charlotte been involved in the murder?
She had married her brother-in-law less than
a month after the horrible death of her first husband--
and son, of course, for everyone except Yorick
had believed Radgar dead. And Wulfwer. He
had survived and knew that his cousin probably
had. What would the tanist do now that Radgar had
returned? How did King Cynewulf manage
to keep the throne of Baelmark at fifty-one when
no previous king had been tolerated past forty?
Why ...
Wait! That last question might have some answers!
Ship Lord Leofric was nearby, holding the
steering oar easily with one hand, although he had let
younger men do the hard work on the open ocean. In
shabby smock and leggings tattered at the knees,
he looked no grander than his crew. Only his
shiny eyepatch marked him as a man of wealth.
"Ealdor, you promised to tell me of
political dangers in your homeland."
The thegn grimaced. "Flames! It is a
shameful matter to discuss with a foreigner and not one
I would dare mention in Radgar's presence if I
did not know him so well. But you should hear. Pass
the word for him."
Presuming that this meant, "Fetch him," Wasp
turned and headed aft. Radgar was pulling his
weight with the others, stripped to his sunburn and
making hard work of it. The werod had tried
to shame the Chivian cniht into joining in also and
had mocked him when he refused. Wasp caught
Radgar's eye and beckoned him. Of course the
sailor brutes started jeering when the atheling
shipped his oar, so Radgar arrived at the stern with
his face redder than ever. He was still wearing only
breeches, wiping sweat off his ribs with a bundled
shirt. "Ealdor?"
"Show me your hands." Leofric scowled at the
display of bloody blisters. "I told you to stop
before you got to that stage. Have Aylwin dress them for
you before we beach--that's an order, wer!"
"Yea, ealdor."
The ship lord smiled. "And may that be the last
order I ever give you, Atheling! Now, listen."
His expression grew grim. "I hate to sing this
sad song, but I must warn you. Don't know how
much Aylwin told you ... he may not even know it
all. You were wondering how your uncle has been
managing to hold on to the crown."
Radgar nodded. "He's bribing the earls with
my inheritance?"
"He can't be. That would take enormous
amounts of money, because every earl knows his own fyrd
would turn on him if he got caught. Your
uncle would have to sell off lands to finance it, and he
hasn't, not that I've heard of--not on
Fyrsieg, certainly. You may equally ask how
Wulfwer avoids challenge. The tanist is
good, but there are men around Catterstow who could take
him."
"Foul play," Radgar said, a sick
expression curling his lip. It was not a question.
Leofric nodded grimly. "Royally born,
throne-worthy candidates have had very short life
spans in Baelmark lately. Not counting
Swetmann, who played by the rules and lost,
two Tholings and a Nyrping have died since your father
burned--fine strapping young men. Sudden sickness
in two cases, a ship that vanished without trace
in calm seas in another. Nothing open, you understand,
nothing that could start blood feud."
"That's horrible! If taking bribes is a
crime, then why isn't that? Why doesn't the
country rise against him?"
Wasp suppressed a smile. Did Radgar
really expect honor among Baels? Could such
monsters obey rules, even among themselves?
"And who's to lead a revolution if not the
earls?" the ship lord snapped. "And in
Catterstow, who but the tanist?"
Radgar pulled a face. "There too?"
"Same picture. Remember
Ro`edercraeft Oscricing?"
"Vaguely. Older than me. About
Wulfwer's age."
"A friend of his," the ship lord said grimly.
"A close friend. Ro`edercraeft's your
uncle's marshal, and he either doesn't keep the
house thegns under control or he has them under much
better control than he should. When I was marshal,
I never asked a thegn to do anything I would be
ashamed to do myself, because I would have
expected him to refuse a dishonorable order.
There have been rumors. ... A couple of young
ship lords vanished without trace; two others were
crippled in fights that no one witnessed. These were
all men who were being encouraged by their friends
to challenge the tanist. No proof, of course, but
Ro`edercraeft and his thugs cast long shadows."
Radgar shook his head as if violence in
Baelmark was beyond belief. "I can't begin
to imagine what Dad would have thought."
"That's not all," Leofric said. "Brimbearn
Eadricing?"
"Yes! Great fighter, wonderful man.
Remember him spending half a day teaching a
bunch of us kids how to tie knots."
"One of the best, a Cattering of the @thaerymbe
line--not truly royal, but certainly noble enough
to be earl or tanist. He could have taken
Wulfwer if anyone could. He had just started
rallying support when a rabid fox wandered into his
house and bit him." Sunlight flamed on the
eyepatch. "Guard your ward, Sir Blade.
Baelmark needs him."
Radgar still looked incredulous. "You are
telling me that my father's brother--who is also now
my mother's husband--will try to have me murdered, or
else my cousin-stepbrother will?"
"Atheling, I would never insult your noble line
by suggesting anything so shameful. I merely warned
your Blade to beware of treachery." With a sad
smile, Leofric leaned on the oar, bringing
Faro`edhengest around a headland.
"You are only at risk if you're a threat
to them," Wasp said. "Can you renounce all
claim to the throne?"
Radgar hesitated. Oars creaked, creaked,
creaked. The rowers finished one song and started
another.
"Well?" The ship lord's one-eyed smiles were
peculiarly sinister. "Answer his question, Atheling."
"I could renounce thegnhood, so I could never
be counted throne-worthy." He glanced at Wasp
to see if he was being believed. "It's been done
often enough, even by some of my bloody-minded
ancestors."
"Will you?"
Radgar could be as inscrutable as the bottom of the
sea when he wanted. "I may. First I must
sneak ashore unobserved and arrange a secret
meeting with my mother. She will have advice
to offer, I'm certain."
In Drachveld he'd said he could never be king
and wasn't qualified anyway. Now he was
less sure. Thegn Leofric seemed pleased by the
change.
Had Radgar not been dazzled by the sight of his
homeland he would have been paying better attention.
He would have guessed what the sailors were up to.
He had barely set foot on the shingle before
Aylwin and Oswald grabbed him and hoisted him
up on beefy shoulders. His shouts of warning were
drowned out by a roar of approval from the others. The
entire werod set off in parade.
"Aeleding!" they shouted, "Aeleding!
Aides sunu!" In moments they were riding a
human wave. Everyone threw down tools and
joined in. Louder and wilder grew the acclaim.
Soon a thousand, then two thousand people, were clamoring
through the streets, bearing Radgar to the seat of his
ancestors as if he were already earl and king.
Cwicnoll rumbled and the crowd roared right back.
"Radgar! Radgar Aeleding cume@th!" They made it a marching song:
"Rad-gar Aeleding!"
Helpless, Radgar could only sit up there and
wave to friends. They were all his friends, apparently,
the whole population. That was illusion, because ahead
stood Cynehof, where a king who had clearly
outstayed his welcome crouched in his web--a king with
unscrupulous house thegns, with dark unspoken
ways of averting rivals, with a tanist who never
had to face a challenge. Leofric was behind this
demonstration, burn him!
"Aeleding! Radgar! Aldes
sunu!"
Where was Wasp? He would know that this riot was
well intentioned, but could his binding accept that?
Radgar's fragile ambitions would die in the
shell if his bodyguard began slaughtering his
followers.
Across the great yard before the hall swept the
crowd, almost to the shallow steps that spanned the
full width of the porch. Radgar yelled a
warning. Aylwin and Oswald cursed and halted.
A drawn sword barred their way. The
swordsman's chalky pallor and the madness in his
eyes were enough to stop the commotion on the spot.
"Wasp!" Radgar shouted. "It's
all right! Set me down, you idiots! Wasp,
they mean no harm!" He was dropped on his feet
ungently. "Wasp?" The crowd surged around,
enclosing them all, clamoring to know what the
holdup was.
"Where are they taking you?" Wasp spoke through
clenched teeth. His rapier flicked to and fro like a
cat's tail, responding to every move made
by anyone, causing those within reach to back hard against
the press of the mob, leaving a space around him.
"We're going to see the King, of course,"
Radgar said. He had no choice now; Mother must
wait. "Put away your sword. Now,
Wasp!"
But Wasp continued to flick Nothing around.
"Going to see the King where?" he snarled. "Armed
or unarmed?"
Flames! Why had Radgar not thought of that
problem before a Chivian saw it? In theory he
had two choices. If he veered off to the right,
he could go through the gate into the palace enclosure.
There would be cnihtas on guard, but they would
admit an atheling and his Blade without argument.
Or he could head for Cynehof itself, which would
normally be empty at this time of day. Except it
obviously wasn't. There were cnihtas aplenty
in the porch and armored house thegns, including--now
that Radgar took the trouble to look--a very large
one standing in the doorway with his arms folded. His
scarlet cloak and crested helm identified him
as the marshal, Ro`edercraeft. King Cynewulf
must be holding court inside.
No one entered a mead hall bearing arms
except the cnihtas and thegns of the King's own
werod. To do so was challenge. Radgar was not
armed, but Wasp was and no foreigner should bear arms
without royal permission. Ro`edercraeft could
arrest him if he wanted--or die trying,
maybe.
Storm and fire!
Everyone began talking at once. Leofric:
"You'll have to leave him behind--" Aylwin: "Make
him put that thing away!" Oswald: "He's
crazy!"
"I can't leave him behind," Radgar said. "He
can't leave me and he can't give up his sword.
Ship Lord, present my respects to the marshal
and explain."
"Marshal can't admit him." Leofric sighed.
"I'll appeal to the King. You wait
here." He strode off angrily.
"All right, Wasp. Put up your sword.
I'm not going anywhere without you."
With an obvious effort of will, Wasp slid
Nothing back in its scabbard. The triumphal
procession had collapsed.
It had been a very near thing--a Blade should not
be expected to watch his ward being mobbed by a pack
of filthy Baels. Even when Leofric
returned with royal permission, Wasp was still
shaking. He followed Radgar up the steps, past
the glowering house thegns in their mail shirts and
steel helmets, past cnihtas no older than
himself. Many thegns had gone on ahead, yielding
up their swords at the door. Others followed.
Led by Marshal Ro`edercraeft, the procession
headed into Cynehof.
Even on a hot afternoon, fires smoldered on
the central hearths; but the great space was cool and
dark after the glare outside, pungent with odors of
ancient meat and drink, smoke and men. With no
windows except the two open gable ends, vast
wooden walls soared up to a web of blackened
beams. Their upper reaches bore sooty, greasy
shapes like fungi, probably ancient battle
honors. Enthroned
on the low platform at the end
of the hall sat the King, with a dozen house thegns
at his back and a golden crown on his head. There
was no sign of the Queen, but she must have heard the
news by now. Wasp assumed that a mother would prefer
to hold such a reunion in private, although he
remembered little about his own mother. He did know
something about kings' behavior--mostly
Ambrose's, of course, but the lectures had
mentioned others. Cynewulf was holding court, which
was not something done very often, because crowns were actually
highly uncomfortable things to wear. The gathering could
not be a welcome for Radgar. There would not have been
time to organize it even if a messenger had
galloped a horse up from the beach.
Wasp trod at Radgar's left heel all
the way to the dais. Not surprisingly, he sensed
the same black glow of danger on Cynewulf
that he had seen on Ambrose. Perhaps all kings
would look like this to him now because all kings were
potentially dangerous. The house thegns scowled
at the armed foreigner, ostentatiously clutching their
sword hilts. Did they really think
they could stop him if he intended to harm their King?
No private Blade would be allowed this close
to King Ambrose.
Radgar bowed and then waited with eyes lowered
to be recognized. The hall fell silent.
Wasp did not bow, because Blades were treated as
invisible at formal ceremonies. Admittedly
Baelmark might not know that Chivian custom.
He could see no one there fitting the description
of Wulfwer, and if anyone should toll his Blade
alarm bell loud and clear, it ought to be the
nefarious cousin.
Cynewulf was older than Ambrose, a fat
little man, instantly repellent. His bright henna
fringe of beard looked dyed and somehow accentuated
the sagging flesh around his mouth and the scrolling red
veins on a bulbous nose, while the splendid,
bright-hued velvets and silks and furs of his
clothing made their occupant seem coarse and
dissipated. His fat fingers and even his thumbs were
loaded with gold and gems. When at last he
spoke, his voice rasped like a blunt saw.
"Radgar Aeleding, our beloved nephew and
stepson! You are welcome back after so long."
Radgar bowed again. "And glad indeed to be here,
most gracious uncle."
"We mourned you for dead. Where have you been these
many years?"
"In Chivial, lord."
His Majesty's pout conveyed Royal