by Dave Duncan
"I will cut off his skin and make him eat it."
"Good idea. Ahem! We have company."
Radgar sighed, braced himself, and turned
to meet the newcomer.
The man scurrying along the path toward them
appeared to be making a very hurried search for something
lost, but it was only the grotesquely bent
Ceolmund. When he came within reach, he
clutched Radgar's arm and addressed his belt
buckle.
"Just want a word in private with you, Atheling,
a warning."
"As many words as you wish, ealdor." Radgar
bent to listen, putting their heads close together and
turning a chat into a conspiracy.
"Leofric wants to see you as soon as you're
free," said the former chancellor. "But you wash down
his words with a mouthful of doubt, won't you?
Remember your father always said that Thegn Leofric
would rather fight than think and there was nothing wrong with his
fighting."
Radgar laughed. "I'd forgotten that."
"Leofric's too impetuous!" said
Ceolmund. "Don't let him rush you
into anything. Listen to me, son. You've heard about
the witenagemot, of course?"
"Just that the King has summoned it and the timing
seems like a very odd--"
"No, the King hasn't! The earls called
it! First time in a hundred years ...!"
The toothless old man was so excited that his
speech came out in a spray, and Wasp had
trouble understanding it all. "Few days ago ...
Earl Aelfgeat of Su`edmest ... raided
Su`edecg ... waded across at low tide ...
Su`edecg's fyrd absent, foering in
Skyrria ... massacre ... Earl
Ae`edelno`ed dead." Seemingly one
duty of Baelish kings was to keep internal
bloodshed within acceptable limits, and this time the
rules had been badly broken. The other earls
had called the moot to discuss it. "Which means
to discuss his part in it, of course--
Cynewulf's!"
"And what was his part in it?" Radgar asked
grimly.
"Oh, he provoked it. There will never be
evidence, of course, but no one doubts it."
"So now he's facing a revolution?"
Ceolmund shook his head as if scanning the
ground underfoot. "It won't come to that. They're
going to tell him very firmly they won't stand for being
murdered, and then all go home again. That's what
I want to warn you about. There are one or two of
them with ambitions, but there isn't anyone who can
rally anywhere near enough support for a challenge.
Ae`edelno`ed was the last throne-worthy candidate
in sight."
"Surely not! I remember him and he was
pushing forty even then. Jovial chap. Smart, but
no great fighter. I seem to recall Dad
saying he was a good strategist and a lousy
tactician. A Nyrping, wasn't he? But quite
a minor branch."
"He was the best we had left," the former
chancellor insisted.
"Flames!" Radgar muttered, shocked.
"So beware of loose talk tonight, my lad.
Some of the earls will promise you anything, but none of
them can deliver. Of course your uncle will hear
everything that's said. It's much too soon to look for
support."
"I shall be guided by you, wita."
The old man showed his gums in a smile.
"Whenever possible stress that you are a personal
friend of King Ambrose, as well as a relative
of his. The earls will like that; they don't want
war. The young fyrdraca thegns do, of course, but
they always do. The earls are happy with the peace.
Now run along and I'll follow."
"I am fortunate to have trusted and tested witan
like you to guide me," Radgar said.
A few minutes later, as he and his ward were
nearing the gate, Wasp was astonished to notice
him grinning like an idiot. Considering all that had
happened already that day and might happen before it ended,
this seemed a singularly inappropriate
reaction.
"Something funny?"
"Just thinking about Ceolmund calling Leofric
impetuous. My father used to say that Ceolmund
slept with a boat in his bedroom in case of
tidal waves."
Brawny Aylwin and four of his shipmates
stood outside the gate, all still wearing their
homecoming finery, complete with flashing gold and
jewels.
"Came to take you to Dad's house," he
informed Radgar. "He wants you to meet people, eat
something. This way." He took Radgar's arm;
and the rest fell in behind, repeatedly jostling the
Blade just on principle. "Me and the others here
have been talking to the rest of the lads, as many as we
could find."
"And what conclusion did you reach?" Radgar
asked blandly.
"We decided we're going to vote you in right
away. You're going to be a Faro`edhengest
thegn, one of Leofric's werod. None of this
Goldstan and Ro`edercraeft scytel! You're
one of us!"
"I am honored beyond words. But I am not yet
even a cniht."
His friend snorted. "Well, the moment you get
your heriot tonight, we'll all go out to the square and
vote you in."
"I am fortunate to have trusted and tested
shipmates like you," Radgar said.
Leofric's house in Waro`edburh was not
especially grand by local standards, although it would have
brought admiring gasps in Chivial. His home,
as Aylwin explained, was on Frignes, an
island Aeled had given him, and he only stayed
in the city when he had business. As now. There were
at least thirty people crammed into the main room,
quaffing ale or mead from horns while they waited
to meet the atheling. Obviously they were important
members of the local nobility, yet half a
dozen were women, which Wasp found surprising.
Not once was Radgar at a loss for a name and a
personal anecdote. These usually concerned some
appalling mischief of his boyhood. Either he was
deliberately trying to deter his admirers by making
himself seem irresponsible, or he had been such
a hellion in his youth that there were no other
stories. It made no difference. They were all
determined to welcome him back as a long-lost
son. He told the correct, Ironhall,
version of his story, dropping the Candlefen fiction
he had given his uncle. Asked whether he had
stayed away willingly or been a prisoner in
Chivial, he grew vague. As Wasp knew,
there was no simple answer to that question.
More ealdras drifted in later, including
Ceolmund, but when all the greetings had been
exchanged, it was Leofric, as host, who
presumed to climb up on a stool and offer
Radgar public counsel. The ship lord was
reveling in his self-appointed role of kingmaker,
eyepatch flashing fire.
"This witenagemot is a wonderful
opportunity!" he proclaimed. "The earls are
tired of the criminal who rules Baelmark
by terror. They are confused by the lack of an
obvious replacement. They will welcome the chance
to rally behind the Aeleding himself, Atheling Radgar, the
lost heir miraculously returned to us."
Pause for applause.
"Remember the Treaty of Twigeport, which
ended the war. Few of you here will know this, but Atheling
Radgar played a vital role in the negotiation
of the treaty, although he was only a child at the time.
Without him, it might never have been signed. It was
a good treaty, as written--a much better one
than Baelmark would have obtained without his efforts.
Had his father survived, the terms would undoubtedly
have been honored. Alas, they have not been honored
under his uncle! Tribute has not been paid,
forbidden duties are levied, ports are closed
to our shipping. Hardly a clause has not been
violated! This, too, must trouble the earls. Their
income is down, because trade is depressed
by Chivian duplicity and yet they are not allowed
to loot Chivial as they formerly were."
Pause for more applause.
"The King of Chivial is a rogue, who
goes back on his word! Atheling, you must distance
yourself as far as you can from Ambrose. Stress how you
languished in Chivian captivity these last six
years. Promise to restore Baelmark to the
greatness it knew under your father. Promise to enforce
the terms of the treaty, by war if necessary. The earls have
come to the witenagemot hoping to find a new king.
That day has not yet come for you, because you must first win
the tanistry and then the earldom of
Catterstow. But you are young, and a few more weeks will
not hurt. The witenagemot is a wonderful
opportunity for you to start rallying support,
lad!"
This was exactly the opposite of the advice
Ceolmund had offered earlier.
As Leofric stepped down from the stool,
Radgar stepped forward and hugged him. "I am
indeed fortunate to have trusted and tested witan like you
to guide me, Ship Lord."
In ones and twos the earls were arriving for the
morrow's moot, marching their werodu up the
hill to Cynehof. The visitors surrendered their
weapons at the door, but even unarmed they conveyed
menace.
Each earl paid his respects to the King sitting
on his throne in bloated splendor; each was offered
a horn of mead by the Queen herself. This charming
family gathering on the dais included neither
Radgar nor Wulfwer. The tanist's absence was
commented on, but Aylwin reported that even
Wulfwer's werod did not know where he was.
King Cynewulf completely ignored his newfound
stepson and if his wife protested this slight, he
ignored her opinions also. The atheling was
relegated to the milling crowd on the floor, where
he was almost impossible to defend properly. At
times the pack around him was so tight that Wasp could
not have drawn Nothing had he tried, but Aylwin
and his burly cronies were staying close, and in that
sweaty scrimmage their fists would be more
effective than a rapier.
Radgar was a new wolf in the sheepfold of
Baelish politics. Every earl wanted to meet
him and assess him, and so did every thegn in the
Catterstow fyrd. He knew almost all of them
by name. They asked questions--the same questions over and
over--and with admirable skill, he cut out a path
of his own between Leofric and Ceolmund's
conflicting advice.
One of the first to interrogate him was one they
called Big Edgar--the man who had slain Earl
Swetmann, now Earl of Hunigsuge. He was
by far the largest man Wasp had ever seen. He
had to stoop to speak to almost anyone, even in that
assembly.
"In Chivial," Radgar said. "In
Ironhall. That's a school for cnihtas."
"You were captive or guest?" growled the big
man.
"I was hiding."
Edgar's tone became menacing. He was known
to be a close crony of
Cynewulf's. "From your uncle?"
"From whoever murdered my father."
A blood feud made a perfect excuse for
his long absence. A boy could always be allowed time
to grow up before he had to seek vengeance. He did
not have to accuse the Chivians of keeping him
prisoner and he could not be accused of selling out
to them, because they had not willingly given him his
board. But Radgar had not previously mentioned the
murder in public, and Wasp wondered why he was
doing so now--what had changed?
"Murder?" the big man said. "Can you prove
that?"
"I have good evidence, yes."
Then Edgar asked what all the earls would ask
eventually, the question that had unexpectedly
overshadowed even the matter the witenagemot had
been called to consider: the death of Earl
Ae`edelno`ed. "What are you going to do now?"
"Track down my father's killer and kill him,
of course."
"It was almost six years ago. How are you going
to prove anything after all this time?"
Radgar smiled up confidently at the
giant's scowl. "There is evidence, ealdor.
I will have the true story before this night is out." More
he would not explain, not even to Wasp's whispered
entreaties.
So it went, as the day aged into evening and then
dark. Crammed to its walls, the great hall
buzzed like a giant hive while frantic
servants struggled to set up tables for the feast.
Cwicnoll rumbled menacingly in the distance. The
earls were furious about the Su`edmest affair;
several of them mentioned the broken treaty and one or
two even muttered about the other mysterious deaths.
They wanted a change of monarch in Baelmark,
but Wasp thought none of them was impressed by the new
candidate. He looked weedy alongside
brawny rowers. He had not been tested in
battle. When asked about contentious matters, he
had to admit complete ignorance of everything that had
happened in the last five years, even the endless
boundary disputes between shires that were the perennial
rash on the Baelish body politic. His
royal blood could not be denied, but that alone did
not make him throne-worthy.
His Blade was going insane. He could sense
danger ebbing and flowing through the hall like
smoke, but like smoke it eluded capture and
inspection. In the crowd he was unable to distinguish the
sources. The most obvious threats were
Cynewulf and his mysteriously absent tanist, of
course, backed up by the sinister Marshal
Ro`edercraeft and the house thugs; but other thegns
in the fyrd must have
ambitions to rule Catterstow and
some earls must consider themselves throne-worthy. If
the unknown who had killed King Aeled was not one
of the above, then he was another with a strong motive
to strike soon and often.
Admittedly murder in the middle of a state
banquet was unlikely, at least by open
violence, and Wasp was the only armed man in the
hall other than the house thegns. Assassination
by conjurement would take time to arrange. Poison was
another possibility, but Radgar was not drinking
anything. When the feasting began, Wasp would have
to watch that his meat and drink came from the general
supply--to try to act as taster at the King's
table would be gross insult.
Surely no Blade in the history of the
Order had ever faced a worse challenge so
soon after his binding.
Yea, life was tough.
It was only going to get tougher.
Several times Cwicnoll roared and made the
ground shake. Once he savaged the hall as a
terrier treats a rat, rattling it so fiercely
that scores of men fell over, the fires blazed
up on the showers of fat dropped on them, ceiling
beams creaked and groaned, weapons on the walls
rattled. The occupants ignored his tantrums
--not just the warriors, but women too. For a while
the reek of sulfur made all eyes weep and
all throats cough, but that was a good excuse
to drink more.
One promised event conspicuously failed
to occur. King Cynewulf must have forgotten his
morning promise to present his nephew-stepson
with a heriot and swear him in as cniht. Radgar
made no move to remind him.
The sky beyond the two triangular windows
turned to indigo; sizzling hearths shone brighter in
the gloom, gilding the limbs of the sweating,
near-naked thralls turning the spits. At last
the King called for candles, and slaves began
setting out food. Leofric and Ceolmund
dragged Radgar off to sit among the
Catterstow ealdras. Wasp did not presume
to join them on the benches. He stood at his
ward's back and gnawed juicy beef ribs,
dribbling grease on him.
Radgar was amazingly cheerful, as if battling
wits with men who might want to kill him was no more
stressful than Ironhall fencing practice.
He still refused to explain his mysterious hints about
evidence. "What can the witan do tomorrow?" he
demanded with his mouth full. "There isn't a single