Tales of King's Blades 02 - Lord of The Fire Lands

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