by Dave Duncan
That was probably true, but Radgar could not
change his tactics now. He glanced around
to make sure his band was still with him and was amazed
to see that he had gained at least another fifty
men. The fence-sitters were entering now, and most of
them were joining his party. Perhaps he had misjudged
their motives.
"We shall not take sides, ealdor," he
said. "Go and count those who did."
As the old man hurried back to discuss the
bad news with his associates, Leofric
adjusted the thong that held his eye patch. Two
men left Cynewulf's supporters and strolled
over to join his dissidents. This devious strategy
had been suggested and arranged by Ceolmund, whose
thinking was as twisted as his backbone, and it worked
beautifully. Three innocents decided to follow
the shills' example and then four from Wulfwer's
side did the same. More came, and suddenly there
were hints of revolution in the air. The witan
began bleating; the King roared in fury.
A war horn's wail signaled the end of the
siding; the great double doors were slammed.
The judges announced that changes were not allowed and
every man who had moved must return to his
original team.
They would have done better to threaten Cwicnoll.
No one obeyed, and more men defiantly left the
sides and strode over to join Radgar's center
party. He turned to share glances with Leofric and
Aylwin, struggling to keep his face from displaying his
excitement. This was working far better than they had
predicted! He could not guess how long his
supporters would back him, or how far, but he
now had about as many as Wulfwer. Suppose he
finished up with more than either father or son? Or even
more than both together! If Cynewulf had
provoked this challenge to impress the
witenagemot with his support, then he had
harpooned himself.
A warning frown from Leofric spun him around
again and cracked his jubilation like glass. Queen
Charlotte had left her ivory chair and was
advancing along the hall to chide her unruly
son. Every eye in the hall was on her and every eye
would watch their meeting. It was another of
Cynewulf's sly tricks, and Radgar's
hatred burned up hotter. Never since his first
days in Ironhall had he ever truly lost his
temper. He had believed the dragon burned out
of him and gone forever, but now he knew it could rise
again. Alas, this was not a childish fistfight where
anger was both sword and shield; in a battle of
wits anger was snare and impediment. He wrapped
his mud-soaked cloak around himself and waited.
Queen Charlotte moved with grace in trailing
robes of rich burgundy. Jewels glinted on
her hands, at her neck and ears; a silver
coronet shone in her high-braided hair. She
did not look old, although she was of an age that
saw most women ravaged by childbearing
into toothless, white-haired crones. She held out
her hands. When he did not take them she clasped
them nervously before her. Peering up anxiously at
his face, she spoke only to him, although at least
a hundred men would hear.
"You have greatly angered your king, Radgar!"
"My king was murdered and that man helped."
"Silence! I will not listen to such sedition. Why
did you not come when you were summoned?"
"Because I feared for my life." He noted that
her voice was slurred, her breath reeked of
wine. Being married to Cynewulf would
drive anyone to drink, but perhaps his own behavior
had not helped much lately.
"That is madness!" she bleated. "The King
seeks only your advancement. He approves of
you and always did. Wulfwer has ever been a great
disappointment to him and now has had the folly
to challenge. You can see he has lost, the fyrd
siding against him. Your uncle--stepfather, I mean
--Cynewulf wants you to be his tanist now."
"Oh, Mother! Dear Mother! You always believe
whatever you want to believe, don't you? You
refuse to see the shadows or think what may
lurk in them. No wonder life always disappoints
you!" He wanted to shake her. He needed to hug
her. He fought down both impulses. "You are a
fool to believe one word that man says."
She frowned as if the world had become
difficult to understand. She whispered, "I can't
help loving him, Radgar."
His heart twisted. "No. And I can't help
loving you, Mother."
"Oh, Radgar!" Again she reached for his hands and
again he kept his arms bundled in his sodden
cloak.
"But him I hate." Rage burned in his
throat like lava.
"Pity him, Radgar! Pity him! Now he must
choose a champion to fight his own son. Help
him! He says you are the finest swordsman in
Baelmark?" She could not believe she had really
produced such a monster.
"Probably." If Wasp was not present--
Where was poor Wasp now?
"All he asks is that you will hurt Wulfwer
as little as possible. In return, he will appoint
you his tanist and in a year or two--no more than
three years, he promises--he will step aside
and let you be King of Baelmark. Oh, Radgar,
this is a wonderful--"
She stopped in dismay. The bitter laughter had
exploded out of him before he could stop it.
"Cynewulf wants me to fight Wulfwer for
him? Fight him and let him off with a slit nose?
Oh, no! Go tell your pillow partner, Mother, that
if I ever see that brute spawn of his at the far
end of my sword, I will spill his bowels all
over the floor. And if I ever become tanist
I will do the same to him within the first hour. It would be
both duty and pleasure. Take that message
back to your fat friend."
She recoiled, ashen-faced. "Radgar! You
forget who he is!"
"No, Mother. I will never forget. He kills
by treachery and evil conjurations. The man who slew
Dad has testified that Cynewulf let him
into the house that night. He raped you with a conjured
potion and tried to slay me. He is dung,
Mother, sewage. Go back to your dung and spit
on him for me."
He was shaking, almost sick with the effort of containing
his rage. Leofric's hand gripped his shoulder in
warning. Queen Charlotte backed off in
horror, then raised her skirts and fled back
to the dais. All the hundreds present watched the
King's face darken as he heard her whispered
report.
More thegns drifted away from the sides of the
hall to join Radgar. Then a ship lord--a man
he did not know at all, even by sight--deserted
Cynewulf's side and came to him with his entire
werod following.
"Declare!" Cynewulf b
ellowed at the three
dithering witan in the center. Ro`edercraeft
shouted to the house thegns, who quickly spread out
along the line of royal supporters to block
any further desertions.
The judges conferred hurriedly. Now the center
obviously held more votes than the tanist's
side and possibly as many as Cynewulf's.
Two more werodu or so would make Radgar the
choice of more than half the fyrd, but he was not a
candidate. The witan hurried over to the King and
bowed to him as the signal that he had won. His
supporters broke into cheers, which were drowned out
by booing from the other factions.
"May all your victories taste as sour!"
Leofric muttered.
Ceolmund cackled. "I wonder what the
earls think of this?"
The war horn howled again to hail the decision.
Cwicnoll shook the hall peevishly. The
groups on the floor merged and began flowing
closer to the dais, but house thegns held them
back to leave an open space--there was a fight
to come. Most of the ladies rose, curtseyed to the
throne, and trooped to the far end of the hall, where one
flap of the door was opened briefly to let them
depart. They did not succeed in dragging their young
sons with them, and not one man went. Nor did the
Queen.
Wulfwer stripped off cloak, baldric,
tunic. Bare to the waist, he stepped down from the
dais and tried a few practice swings with his
two-handed sword. His coarse face puckered in
a gruesome smile, a killer scenting blood.
"Pick your man, Father! Who will die for you?"
At the far side of the hall, Cynewulf
ignored the jeer. He offered his arm to Charlotte
and led her along the platform to the center, then
turned to address the fyrd.
"Thegns, we thank you." He could teach a
pike to smile. "We shall endeavor to continue to be
worthy of your trust. And our dear lady thanks
you also. Now, alas, it is our sad duty
to empower a champion to redress the insult done
to our honor." He was good. Anyone who did not
know his slimy habits would find him a convincing
speaker. Potbellied little monster.
"Go on, Father!" Wulfwer yelled. "Find a
man to die for you. I'm waiting."
"Alas," Cynewulf said. "That the culprit
is our own flesh and blood hurts us deeply and
we can only hope that he will not pay too dearly
for his folly. Nevertheless, this is the price of
ambition, and those who venture for great prizes must
be prepared to pay great price for failure.
Kings and earls would know no peace if the penalty
were slight." He brandished his smile again. "We
shall be true to the tradition that says a king's
champion is showered with enough riches to inspire the
scops for a hundred years."
"Or his widow is given a wiser husband!"
Wulfwer's werod whooped at his wit.
"Quite so," Cynewulf agreed. "But first we have
a happier duty to perform." He snapped his
fingers and a gangling cniht paraded forward
proudly. He bore a red silk cushion, across
which lay a shining sword. He dropped to one knee
at the front edge of the dais, displaying it to the
werod.
"Honored guests," the King declared, "earls,
ealdras, thegns. It gives us abundant
pleasure to welcome back to his own country after
so long an absence, our dear nephew and
stepson, Radgar Aeleding. ..." He waited
for the cheering and booing to fade. And waited. And
waited, tiny eyes flickering from side to side as
he assessed who was making the most noise.
Eventually he began to speak again, and the noise
diminished until he could be heard.
"... and of our own father, Fyrlaf. The guard is
silver and bears the Seven Tears, a fabled set
of blue pearls handed down from forgotten ages.
These precious gems have graced many crowns and
scepters and the flesh of great queens. The scops
can sing their history for hours. Radgar, my son,
come forward and accept from us this precious heriot."
Radgar's feet froze to the floor. What
new treachery was this? Now the King had survived the
challenge, to refuse his command would be an
unfri`ed. Where had he seen that sword before?
Leofric whispered in his ear: "Don't go!
It's another trap!"
At the same moment Ceolmund muttered
to his elbow: "You must go or be counted craven."
Nobody had ever said politics would be easy.
Healfwer had very nearly run out of time. Steaming
water lapped close to the octogram, fire was
licking at the forest canopy over his head, and the
air was so full of smoke and fumes that it seemed
impossible to breathe. Yet still he was screeching out
a conjuration and reeling around on his staff, a
bizarre figure silhouetted against the curtain of
flame.
"Stop!" Wasp croaked. "Stop it! What
are you doing?" The enchanter either did not hear or
else paid no attention.
Wasp was floundering through hot water that at times
was almost chest deep. His progress was slowed
by drowned undergrowth and floating debris, including
the remains of the log cabin that had once stood
here. Steady seepage of blood from his crushed hand
had drained his strength. He could make no speed
as he struggled toward the madman on the bank,
yet his instinct screamed that Healfwer must not be
allowed to complete that conjuration.
The ground moved and a major quake thundered through
the crater. The poisonous lake surged.
Crazy old Healfwer on the bank fell
headlong. The backdrop of fire roared even
louder, dropping branches, hurling burning
trunks to the ground. Wasp staggered and paddled with
his good hand in a desperate effort to remain upright
as flaming debris hissed in the water all around.
Gradually the tortured mountain fell still again,
and the clamor of falling rock faded into the constant
roar of the fire. With wild contortions the
old sorcerer struggled upright again and took up where
he had left off. He had stripped naked, and the
fires' light displayed all his horrible
mutilation--old man on one side and on the other
a moving corpse, a human cinder with no arm and
barely enough stump of leg to hold the straps of the
wooden extension.
"Stop! Stop!" Through streaming eyes, Wasp
could see that there was something humped on the ground in the
center of the octogram.
For the first time Healfwer heard. He looked
around, puzzled, and saw Wasp wading toward him.
At once he began chanting faster than ever,
pirouetting around the octogram on his staff from
point to point.
But the water at last became shallow. Wasp
could lurch into a run, scramble up the
final
slope, slithering and blundering. He waved his
sword.
"Stop or die!"
Healfwer did stop, leaning limply on his
staff, his chest heaving, although it almost seemed that
only the human side moved. He barked with a
spasm of coughing. His one eye streamed tears, but
the grimace that twisted the living half face
registered triumph. "Done!"
The smoky air above the octogram glowed with a
pearly light and the ash-covered eight-pointed star
itself shone even brighter, as if written in fire.
The thing in the center was an eagle. It was alive,
fierce eye glaring at Wasp, but its legs had
been tied to a log. How had a cripple
managed to catch an eagle? A bull was how
Aeled's firedrake had been described, but the
one that destroyed Cu`edblaese had been likened
to a great bird.
"You were conjuring a firedrake!" How could any
man be evil enough to do such a thing?
The conjurer let out a screech of laughter.
"Cynewulf's crimes compel revenge. But he
will not escape me now. Stand aside."
"If you loose a drake here, how can you
control it? You mustn't! It may kill Radgar
as well as everyone else."
"My foes to fiery fates I send. Radgar
is fireproofed! Let all others perish but the
noble Aeleding as I slew the Gevilians."
"No! Stop it!" Wasp had no doubts that
Radgar would see it as his family duty to do
battle with the monster if it appeared.
"Too late, slave! The elements are
summoned."
The light in the octogram shone through the smoke,
brighter than a noonday sun. The eagle stretched
its wings and screeched. Burning twigs fell like
rain, and Wasp's lungs were bursting. He was
going to pass out from heat, loss of blood, lack
of air. ...
"If you won't stop it, I will!" He stepped
into the octogram and stabbed Nothing through the
eagle's heart.
Radgar had lost his temper. He had not been
conscious of doing so, but he was very glad of it now it
had happened. He had forgotten how good it felt
to throw off the shackles, to be free to do anything
he wanted without counting the cost. Hard it is
to kill a king ... No, very easy, if you did
not care whether or not you lived to brag of it. He
smiled at the sight of all the house thegns
watching him like cats. He was going to kill their lord
right in front of their eyes and they would be helpless
to stop him when he made his move.