The giant ambled over. “Right here, Gert. I took a sidestep when that wee lizard got loose. Didn’t want no Tiny statue.”
Gertie flapped a hairy arm at the departing ogres. “Go with the ogres and see that Gowyr’s taken care of. Bran mash mixed with dandelion and elderberry—that’s what he needs.”
“Sure thing, Gert.” Tiny’s brown eyes brimmed with tears. “This be a happy day. I be powerful glad His Royalness didn’t get turnt into a birdbath.”
“Me, too,” Gertie said. “Hurry along and thank you. I know I can depend on you.”
“Aw’right, Gertie.” The giant looked unhappy. “But I don’t mind telling you, I don’t care for that unicorn. A felly rutterkin, that Gowyr. He gots what was coming to ʼim, ifʼn you asks me.”
“I don’t like him, either, Tiny, but he doesn’t deserve to die,” Gertie said. “Now, do as I ask. Ogres are hopelessly dim.”
“Yessum,” the giant said, trundling after the stricken Gowyr.
Relkin blew the horn to restore order. “Clear the field,” he shouted. “The proceedings are not done.”
Many of the spectators had fled, rattled by the accidental release of the basilisk. Those who remained wandered back to sit in the stands. Brefreton, Raine, and the others returned to the pavilion near the judges’ table.
“What’s going on?” Raine asked, peering from the tent as Raven was once more dragged before the judges.
“There’s still the matter of punishment.” Brefreton turned to Glory, his expression grim. “I don’t suppose you’ve ‘seen’ the sentence?”
Glory shook her head. “Only that Raven will not be stoned.”
“Listen,” Alden said. “Something is happening.”
Stavv banged on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Reaven Gorne, you will be spared the basilisk. However, by your own admission, you have broken the law and must be punished. ʼTis the court’s decree that you be branded, henceforth marking you as an oath breaker.”
“No,” Raine cried in horror.
Malryn jumped to his feet. “He broke the law. By rights, he should be stoned. And so he would be if he weren’t the rowan’s son.”
With a growl, Gertie bounded across the grass to the judges’ table and snatched Malryn up. “He’s kept his vow the better part of three hundred years,” she said, shaking the warrior like a doll. “How long have you kept yours, pus pocket?”
“Let him go, Mor,” Raven said in a quiet voice.
The troll looked at him, her powerful chest heaving. With a growl of frustration, she threw Malryn aside and stalked back to the pavilion.
Hedda rose from her throne, the sleeves of her gown rippling in the breeze. “I fear there is a circumstance you have not considered,” she said. “Our esteemed ruler is a descendent of Finn and has inherited the founder’s extraordinary healing ability. Brand the bastard all you like—the mark will not remain. Your punishment is meaningless.”
The rowan gripped the armrests of his throne. “He will suffer the agony of the brand. Is that not enough?”
Hedda pursed her lips. “The pain will be fleeting. The memory of his crime will quickly fade, I fear.”
“I confess, we had not considered this,” Stavv said with a frown. “Still, there is no help for it. We have ruled.”
“If I may be so bold,” Hedda said, with pretty hesitation. “A rock troll’s blood is corrosive and should render a permanent scar. ʼTis fitting, do you not think, to mark the bastard with the blood of the creature he slew?”
“You evil bitch,” Gertie roared, lunging at the queen. “I should rip your face off and feed it to the dogs.”
Somehow, Raven got between them. “Mauric,” he said. “Bree? A little help, please.”
But it was Glory who interceded. Gliding from the pavilion, the willowy seer stepped in front of the raging troll.
“Enough,” Glory said. “Your temper has ever been your undoing. I understand your spleen, but you only make matters worse.”
The troll glared at Glory, her yellow eyes blazing with fury and her fur on end. “He’s my son. That vipata would hurt him apurpose, out of malice and spite.”
“Calm, Glogathgorag,” Glory said. “The storm rages still, but at the center, ʼtis calm.”
Gertie drew a shuddering breath. Turning, she spat at Hedda. “Someday, ʼtwill be a reckoning and you will pay in full.”
Turning, Gertie stalked back to the tent.
“Your Majesties,” Glory murmured, going after the troll.
Hedda gave a brittle laugh. “Tro, but she is full of spleen. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the rock troll blood. As it happens, I keep a small amount in my stores to use in etchings.” She touched the rowan’s arm, ignoring his instinctive flinch. “You’ll recall, perhaps, my love, the breastplate I gave you last Trolach? The blood is harmless, unless sunlight touches it.” She smiled serenely at the judges. “Shall I have someone fetch it?”
The judges put their heads together. After a moment’s discussion, they broke apart.
“The matter requires further discussion,” Stavv said. “While we confer, have someone bring the blood to the field to expedite matters.”
Hedda sank gracefully back onto the throne. “Carr, you know where I keep my supplies. The blood is in a crockery jar and plainly marked. Mind you don’t drop it.”
“Mother, please don’t do this.” Carr looked at his father. “Sire?”
“Carr.” The rowan raised a shaking hand to his eyes. “Do as she bids.”
Carr bowed stiffly and strode away.
Brefreton approached the throne. “Your Majesty, the death sentence has been lifted. Yet Raven remains in chains.”
“A salient point.” The rowan motioned to the guards. “Unshackle him.”
“Is that wise?” Hedda asked. “The judges still debate his punishment.”
The rowan’s temper snapped. “I had him chained at your insistence lest the impartiality of these proceedings be questioned. That was a mistake. Frankly, I no longer care what you or anyone else thinks. He is my son. He doesn’t have to be chained to face a stoning, much less the brand.”
He motioned, and the guards unchained Raven. The waiting continued. After a time, Carr returned with the clay pot. He placed it on the judges’ table and stepped back, his face set.
“Carr?” Hedda motioned him near. “I would speak with you. Carr? Carr.”
Turning his back on her, Carr walked away.
“Your poison spreads,” the rowan said. “In seeking to harm my son, you wound your own. Carr admires Raven.”
“His infatuation will end once Raven is branded for all to see,” Hedda said.
The judges stepped out of the tent. Once more, Raven was brought before them. The crowd began to mutter.
Stavv held up his hand for quiet. “After lengthy deliberation,” he said, “the judges have ruled eight to one that the accused shall be branded with rock troll blood.”
Ilgtha gave a shuddering howl.
“Anyone want to hazard a guess which judge voted against branding?” Brefreton murmured.
“Raven saved Ilgtha’s life,” Glory said. “She loves him for it.”
“Are you ready?” Stavv asked Raven.
Calmly, Raven tied his black hair away from his face with a strip of leather. “I am ready.”
Stavv nodded to a nearby warrior. “Give me the brand.”
“No.” The rowan shoved to his feet. “I will do it.”
“Sire,” Stavv said. “Given the circumstances, I thought perhaps—”
“That I lacked the stomach for it?” The rowan gave the judge a look of such ferocity that the man inhaled and stepped back. “I will do it.”
A warrior handed the rowan an iron rod. He flipped the cork lid off the crockery jar. At the sun’s touch, the toxic blood in the container bubbled over
the top of the jar and onto the table. Raine watched in horror as the caustic fluid dissolved the container and ate a hole in the table, forming a sizzling puddle on the ground below.
“Dear God, no,” she whispered. “This cannot be happening.”
The rowan thrust the end of the iron shaft in the rock troll blood. Turning, he faced Raven, holding the smoldering bar in his shaking hand.
“Why do you tarry?” Hedda demanded from the throne. “Do it quickly, before it eats the metal.”
The rowan’s stark gaze did not waver from Raven’s face. “ʼTis not a thing I would do.”
“I know,” Raven said.
Grasping his father’s wrist, Raven thrust the end of the brand against his right cheek. His flesh smoked and burned; Raven stiffened in agony and groaned.
Gertie gave a shuddering howl as the caustic stuff ate Raven’s flesh. The troll packs joined in, echoing her sorrow and regret.
Raine cried out. “Raven. Oh, my God.”
Mauric squeezed her shoulder. “Easy, lass. Even now, he heals.”
The terrible wound on Raven’s face knitted and smoothed, until all that remained was a black scar.
The rowan dropped the smoking brand on the ground. “It is done.”
“Raven?” Raine ran up to him, her face contorted with grief. “Dear God, I’m so sorry.”
Swaying a little, he gave her a blank stare. He turned to his father. “The penalty has been paid. Am I released?”
“Aye,” the rowan said. “ʼTis over.”
Raven gave him a jerky nod and walked away.
“Leave him, lass,” Mauric said when Raine would have gone after him. “Branding he can bear, but not your pity. He needs time.”
“Mauric is right,” Brefreton said, joining them. “This is a hard thing. Let Raven be.”
Trembling and sick, Raine watched Raven walk across the meadow toward the Bear Gate. He made a lonely figure, lost and desolate. She had done this to him. He had killed Blederak because of her and now he had paid the price.
Leaving the throne, Hedda glided up to her husband. “You distress yourself unduly, my Lord,” she said. “ʼTis but a slight mark—a small price to pay for so great a crime.”
“A slight mark, Mother?” White-faced, Carr stared at her. “How can you be so cruel? I don’t know you. I don’t think I ever have.” He bowed to the rowan. “Sire, I would see to my brother.”
“Your kindness does you credit, my son.” The rowan clasped Carr’s shoulder. “Go after him.”
Carr nodded and left.
“I’m adding this day’s work to the list,” Gertie said to Hedda. “You have much to answer for.”
“Behold. The rowan’s shaggy mongrel bares her teeth.” Hedda laughed. “Bah, you do not frighten me.”
“Then you are a fool, Hedda,” Glory said, leaving the tent. “Turn from this course, ere it is too late.”
“I think not,” Hedda said, motioning languidly to Korek. “Malryn? I would return to the fast. All in all, this has been a delightful day, but I find the present company tedious.”
Chapter 29
A Different Road
Malryn walked the queen across the green to her carriage. They climbed in and departed.
Brefreton scratched his neck. “This new cloak itches. I need to change. See you back at the fast.”
“There are carriages aplenty,” the rowan called after Brefreton as the wizard started across the field.
“I thank you,” Brefreton said, raising his hand, “but the walk will do me good.”
“Bree, wait.” Balzora hurried out of the stands and across the green. “I would speak with you.”
Brefreton waited for her to catch up, and the two of them strolled away, their heads together.
Seratha sauntered up to Alden. “Shall we depart, Trivan? The trial is over, and the roark has eluded the basilisk.”
“Yes,” Alden said. “We leave at once.”
“You’re leaving?” A spasm of dismay crossed Glory’s serene features and was gone. “Where are you going?”
“To finish the task you set me.” Alden flashed her a grin. “I am on the trail of the item we seek. ʼTwas in the giant’s possession, but he lost it. Fear not. Seratha and I will find it.”
“What is this?” Mauric said, going to Seratha. “You would leave without saying goodbye?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, by Tro, it matters. Ain’t you been paying attention?”
The Durngesi woman looked baffled. “What do you want from me, warrior?”
Mauric grinned. “Everything.”
Seratha flushed. “You dally with me. I am Durngesi, not some silly girl to have her head turned by a warrior’s pretty words.”
Alden clapped Mauric on the shoulder. “Regard, she finds your words pretty, my friend. This is progress. Never fear. You and Seratha will meet again.”
“What are you up to, Alden?” Gertie said, scowling at him. “What are you after?”
“Forgive me, Ancient One, but that is a matter between me and the beauteous Gloriana,” Alden said with a bow. “Once a seeker accepts a task, he is bound unto the finish. Know that you have my esteem and the affection of my people. Our knives are yours, should you ever have need of them.” He turned to Glory. “I leave my heart in your keeping, my siren. Guard it well.”
He kissed her fingers and was gone, and Seratha with him.
“I need a drink,” Gertie said. “A lot of drinks.”
“Aye,” the rowan said. “Let’s go back to the fast and get drunk.”
“After this day? There ain’t enough ale in the world, Gorne,” Gertie said. “Still, I’m willing to give it a try.”
They started across the green for the rowan’s carriage with Mauric. Raine hung back to speak to Glory.
“When are you going to tell them you hired Alden to steal the Eye?” she asked the seer. “I’m tired of secrets.”
Glory hesitated. “When the time is right. You have my word.”
“How did Tiny wind up with the Eye?”
“I do not know.” Glory’s gaze grew cloudy. “But the giant has played his part.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Raine demanded.
“That the giant’s task is done.”
“Which means a big fat nothing,” Raine said, gazing at Glory in exasperation. “You know, Gertie’s right. You make no sense.”
“ʼTis the lot of a seer to be misunderstood.”
“Lass?” Mauric called, turning to wave at them. “The carriage is waiting.”
They rode back to the fast in silence. The events of the day swirled in an endless cycle in Raine’s brain: the trial, the verdict, the sentence. Wash, rinse, repeat. She saw Raven’s face, heard the acidic sizzle of the rock troll blood when it touched his skin. Smelled the odor of burning flesh and heard his groans of agony.
Raine tried to think of something else, but her mind kept doggedly returning to the branding. By the time they reached the castle at the top of the mountain, she was exhausted, mentally and physically. They rolled into the bailey and found it crowded with wagons and people returning from the trial. The yard was noisy. Wheels clattered, drivers shouted, and servants hurried to help passengers alight. An ox lowed in protest as the wagoner ahead of them cracked a whip over the animal’s head, urging it through the gates.
“Make way,” the driver of their carriage bellowed. “Make way for the rowan.”
The other wagons moved aside to let the king’s carriage through, and their party reached the steps to the landing. Gertie bounded over the side and disappeared into the castle, while Glory alighted in more decorous fashion, floating up the steps and into the castle without looking back.
The rowan got out. Pausing on the steps, he barked out a series of orders to the lackeys and stomp
ed inside.
“Poor lass,” Mauric said, helping Raine from the carriage. “You’re spent. You need a hot bath and supper in your room.”
“That sounds wonderful.” She swallowed, thinking of Raven. “Will you check on Raven? I’m worried about him.”
“Aye,” Mauric said, “and you can be sure Gertie will do the same.”
“He’ll leave the Citadel now, won’t he?”
“I expect so.”
“Where will he go?”
“Back to sea, I expect.”
A tear trickled down Raine’s cheek. She wiped it away. “Will I see him again?”
“I won’t lie to you, lass. I don’t know. ʼTwould be hard to remain in Finlara with that mark on his face.”
Raine nodded numbly. They climbed the steps and reached the landing overlooking the bailey. As they neared the huge doors that led into the castle, a shadow passed over the fast. The people in the bailey scattered, screaming in terror. Raine looked up. For a wild moment, she thought the winged shape was Flame, and her heart quickened with joy. Then the creature plummeted into the courtyard, bringing with it cold and despair, and her hope died.
The thing was tall and cylindrical, grayish-brown and hairless, with bony wings that filled the bailey. The leathery toes on its feet were long and ended in claws. It was identical to the demon Xai in size and shape, with one notable and ghastly exception. Xai’s head was eyeless, with a cruel, sharp beak. This demon sported a human head, the skull pitifully small on the vulturous body.
Mauric swore under his breath and drew his sword. “A demon, and wearing Joresh’s head, unless I’m mistaken.”
“It is Joresh,” Raine said, feeling sick.
Joresh’s head swiveled at the sound of her voice. “Gograh,” he croaked. “The Imperial Mage sends greetings and his deepest regret that you have chosen to remain here.”
The doors of the fast flew open, and Gertie and the rowan stalked onto the landing.
“What brings you here, demon?” Gertie demanded.
“Glonoff has learned of the coming ledderad. He is pained that he was not invited,” Joresh said. “He sends his earnest hope that the rowan will reconsider and relinquish Rana Bel-a-zhezar into his tender care.”
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