Heir to the Raven (The Pierced Veil, #1)

by J. Wesley Bush

  A searing light flared from the hay cart and by the time Larissa’s eyes cleared, Sosmun was engulfed in flames, his shrieks carrying over the frightened shouts of the people. The horses reared up and then bolted into the crowd, hooves skittering on the cobbles, the wagon hurtling behind. People surged in all directions. Larissa watched helplessly as a child fell from her mother’s arms and disappeared beneath trampling feet.

  Moments later the flaming cart disintegrated, scattering the dead man’s bones in the dust. Duke Lockridge and his party got their mounts under control and slowly reformed before finishing their ride to the godhall, leaving two soldiers behind to safeguard the dead man’s remains.

  Lockridge dismounted and stalked up the stairs. “That was the assassin!” he snarled at Larissa, grabbing her by the arm. “We needed his confession today! Why did you not protect him?”

  The fingers dug into her arm. She struggled to break free. “Protect him from what?”

  “From danger, you feckless peasant. Either Tancred killed from inside that box, or he has an accomplice!” He released her and stalked inside.

  Guards in Lockridge livery unbarred the rear doors of the black carriage and opened them slowly, their fellows standing by with weapons at the ready.

  Larissa saw Tancred kneeling on the floor, hooded and shackled, hands bound in those cruel manacles. The guardsmen gingerly pulled him from the carriage and marched him toward the godhall.

  Larissa hurried inside and joined Eldest Hoshaber and Justiciar Mackmain at the high table. Spectators thronged the benches and spilled over into every nook of the godhall, their excited chatter filling the air.

  Lockridge’s men led Magus into the hall, extinguishing every voice in an instant. Royal guards took custody from them, and dragged him toward the front of the room, the scrape of his sandals on flagstone echoing from the domes. They strapped him into the Chair of the Accused, cinching the restraints down tight. An axeman stood just behind the magus, hands twisting nervously on the grip of his weapon.

  Two people sat on the Witness Bench, an old man in faded silks and a giraffe-tall woman; Lady Harlowe’s maid, Larissa decided. She looked to see if Timble the Fool would bring anyone forward but caught no sight of him.

  In the musician gallery, far above the crowd, she could see King Randolf and a throng of courtiers. Happily, Sir Gladwin was at his side. Nothing too terrible could happen if Gladwin was nearby.

  Eldest Hoshaber stood and motioned for silence, then began to pray in a loud, quavering voice. Larissa barely heard it, her eyes on poor Magus. He looked so ragged and worn. Eldest raised palms to the sky as he closed the invocation, “Help us to judge rightly, Mighty God, High King of Heaven, and forgive us any blood that comes upon our hands this day. So be it.”

  It’s my job to cut the throat. The blood will cover my hands, not yours.

  Eldest Hoshaber stood and nodded gravely to the spectators. “We gather today for a terrible task, to judge a man who has faithfully served this kingdom for several years, but now stands accused of the blackest treachery.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “This trial will be unusual. In violation of all customs and law, King Randolf has decreed that Duke Lockridge, his Inquirer, will be granted two votes in determining guilt or innocence. Never in our history has the prosecutor held these powers.”

  Duke Lockridge stood and crossed to the testimony circle. “The king is aware of your opinion, Eldest,” he said in a respectful tone, then turned to the witness bench. “I first call Lord Rupert Harlowe, now Duke of the March. In accord with our customs, a member of the family will speak for the voiceless dead.”

  Huffing with effort, the old man stood from the witness bench and shuffled his way to the testimony circle. He wore a glossy, new hyena-pelt cloak; his unsteady walk and shifty demeanor gave him the appearance of a toothless, old hyena. Larissa hated him instantly.

  For the next ten minutes, Rupert Harlowe delivered a rambling, tear-soaked, and possibly wine-soaked, history of Garzei Harlowe. I think the man is drunk, Larissa thought scornfully. And if even half of this is true, the dead duke should be declared the bloody Tenth Augur.

  Lockridge assisted Rupert back to the bench, where the old man sat and wept, honking loudly into a square cloth.

  “My next witness should have been Sosmun, Duke Harlowe’s cupbearer, who confessed his guilt to me and wished to atone by telling the truth in this court. Now he will never have the chance. This… warlock killed him with the aid of dark faie!” Lockridge thundered, thrusting an accusing finger at Magus. “Guard, remove his hood. Let the world see the true face of a warlock.”

  Thrilled whispers rushed through the hall like rustling leaves as the hood came off. A man in the front row slipped from the bench and fainted dead away. Larissa had to admit that Tancred looked ghastly, with empty cheeks and eyes that burned hatefully at Lockridge. The gossip’s muzzle prevented him from speaking, but Larissa could see his jaw grinding within it.

  “I have only one more witness, but no more will be needed. Edine Langton of Almsport, come forward.” Duke Lockridge stepped aside and the tall woman took his place in the circle. “My dear Edine, please tell the judges what you overheard in Nineacre Castle.”

  The woman seemed to wilt under all the attention, turning so pale it looked as if she might swoon. Larissa could hardly blame her. With thousands of bodies packed into the Godhall of Augur Maedoc, the air was thick and noisome. “I was in the keep the night before the murders, Your Grace,” she said in a trembling voice. “It was after the fourth bell of morning. I was returning to my room…”

  “And why were you out at such an hour?”

  Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I am ashamed to say, Your Grace.”

  “You are in a hall of God, child,” Eldest Hoshaber said gently. “No sin is beyond his mercy.”

  The woman nodded, but her cheeks darkened. “I was returning from my lover, a married man. We had met that night in the undercroft.” Her hands twisted at the soft wool of the dress. “As I made my way up the stairs, I heard voices coming from the botlery room. I hid and waited for them to leave.”

  “Did you recognize these voices?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Sosmun and I have served together for many a year. And the magus has a voice like no other. Like the feel of velvet on the cheek.” The crowd laughed at that, and she gave a tearful whimper. Larissa felt sorry for her.

  “Tell me, Edine, what did these men discuss?”

  “Sosmun wanted free of something. A gash?”

  “A geas.”

  She nodded. “Sosmun asked the magus to release him from it, once the king was dead. He made the magus swear it.”

  “How was he to kill the king?”

  “They discussed how he would slip in the poison once the hearthguards had tested the food. Haunt’s bile, he called it. Said it was magical.”

  “She’s lying! That woman is a liar!” a man shouted in a quavering voice. Larissa craned her head, scanning the packed crowd to see who was yelling. The spectators parted as Timble the Fool stepped into the light, leading an old man by the hand.

  “Restrain them! Remove these men from the proceedings.” Was there worry in Lockridge’s voice?

  Three guards in royal livery stepped forward, clutching their long axes like quarterstaves. This is the moment, Larissa realized. “No! Allow them to speak!”

  “Your Majesty,” Lockridge said, ignoring her and appealing to the king. “I ask for your aid. We have no time for foolery.”

  “King Randolf!” Larissa shouted up to the gallery. “I spoke with this man last night. He has important evidence. Please let us hear him out!” She prayed it was true and not a jester’s prank.

  “Please allow me to eject him, Your Majesty. This simpleton is disrupting royal business.”

  Larissa caught her breath. If anyone was a simpleton, it was the king, and Tancred’s life depended on his judgment. Gladwin leaned in close to the king and whispered. Larissa clenched her hands to
gether tightly, trying not to fidget in the chair. The king nodded to Gladwin and then stood. “We would hear from this fool. He was present at the murders, and my hearthguard believes him valuable.”

  Whey-faced, Edine Langton returned to her seat. Letting go of Timble, the old man hobbled into the testimony circle. “That woman is a liar,” he repeated hoarsely. “Edine Langton was my daughter. She rests at the bottom of the Hidden Sea.”

  “And who are you, sir?” Justiciar Mackmain asked.

  “Master Hugh Langton, a merchant of Almsport.” He crooked a finger at the witness. “Edine was lost to me five years past. This woman is Millicent Marten – anyone from Almsport can tell you.”

  Mackmain lifted his chin, scenting the air like a hunting hound. As he sighted fiercely down his long nose at the woman, Larissa could see why he was the king’s justiciar. “What do you say to this?”

  She trembled on the bench, her hands shaking like a palsy. “I am Millicent, my lord. My husband was attainted and executed, and I couldn’t live with the shame.” Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. “When poor Edine died, it was my chance to begin anew.”

  It made sense and Millicent-not-Edine was so miserable and sincere that even Larissa wanted to embrace her. She felt like crying, too. If this was all the jester had, then Tancred was damned.

  Lockridge nodded. “A motive we can all understand. You went into Lady Harlowe’s employ and served her faithfully. Until this fresh tragedy robbed you of your new home.”

  “She still should not have taken my Edine’s name.” The old man protested feebly. He cast about with unfocused eyes. “Should I sit now?”

  “We have no other questions for you, Master Langton. You may take a place on the witness bench,” Eldest Hoshaber said. Timble guided him away by the arm.

  Not daring to hope, Larissa asked over the noise of the crowd, “Sir Jester, do you have anything else?”

  The fool gave no indication of hearing until Master Langton was seated. He turned about, mischief lighting his face. “What worthy fool has only one trick?” Larissa watched amazed as he curtsied to Duke Lockridge, then spun and doffed his coxcomb hat to King Randolf. “With such grand company, I always aim to entertain. For my next feat of conjuring, I will transmute this lovely, if towering, widow into a wild-eyed murderess.”

  “I’ll ask you to show respect,” Lord Mackmain began, but Timble shouted over him.

  “Captain Timotei of the Mudskipper! Come forward.”

  A squat fellow with baggy trousers and a shiny leather shirt pushed his way to the front. He opened his mouth to speak, but Millicent began shrieking. It was a tooth-aching sound, equal parts madness and despair. “It was him! He made me do it!”

  The crowd chattered and hooted enthusiastically. This was the spectacle they had come to see!

  Strange moments passed, with Captain Timotei arguing his side of things, Millicent shrieking at him, Timble interjecting comments until Duke Lockridge chased him away, and Lord Mackmain shouting savagely for everyone to act civilized.

  Timble ducked under Duke Lockridge’s grasp and then flashed Larissa a puckish wink. The corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile that hardly creepy at all.

  It was hard to make sense of anything in the cacophony.

  Once order returned, Lord Mackmain barked, “Edine, or Millicent, or whatever your name is – how do you know this man?”

  Millcent turned to Duke Lockridge, but Lord Mackmain shouted, “Don’t look at him. I asked you a question!”

  “Answer him, Millicent,” Lockridge said, disappointment palpable in his voice. “Understand that you are on dangerous ground here. A trial is a sacred thing and your testimony may have consequences.”

  “I smuggled a parcel for him into Nineacre Castle.”

  “That’s a bloody lie!” Captain Timotei said. “Half a lie, anyway. I was bribed to bring a package to Harlowe’s Ford. Didn’t know what it was, nor about smuggling it into the castle.”

  Duke Lockridge forward. “Lord Mackmain, it is clear this plot is more complicated than we realized. We are in danger of spilling valuable intelligence here in the presence of hundreds, information that could help the conspirators evade justice.” He motioned toward the witnesses. “I will take them into custody and privately question the two of them.”

  Larissa remembered the dark, terrible cell underneath Lockridge’s townhouse. “That’s not fair to Captain Timotei.”

  All eyes shifted to her. They felt heavy. Larissa ignored them, focusing on Lord Mackmain and Eldest Hoshaber. They were the ones to convince. “The captain came willingly. He’s doing the right thing. It’s not fair to imprison him. Is it?”

  “Can’t have him leaving,” Mackmain answered. “No telling which way this investigation will go.”

  “Perhaps a chamber in the king’s castle,” Eldest Hoshaber said. “Surely the palace guard can safeguard one man?”

  “And what about Tancred?” Larissa asked hopefully. “I don’t think there’s any…” She searched for the unfamiliar Oberyn word. “Any evidence against him now, is there?”

  “The kingdom needs an experienced magus during this dangerous time,” Hoshaber said. “No offense intended, young Larissa. I say we free him.”

  “Agreed,” Mackmain said with finality. “Guards, strike the bindings from Magus Tancred and fetch him refreshment.”

  A very different Duke Lockridge came to the testimony circle. For all his fine clothes, he looked like a beggar who had just been whipped. “I offer my apologies to both this court and to my king. I was deceived. Having failed to kill King Randolf, Leax hoped to destroy our magus instead. If not for this…” His throat bobbed as if trying to swallow a horned melon whole. “…this brave young jester, our enemy might have succeeded. We owe him a great debt.”

  That evening, Larissa, Magus, Gladwin, and Timble the Fool reclined on cushions in the library of the Fieldstone Tower. A low table held supper, though no one seemed to be hungry except Timble, who had stripped an entire goose to the bone. Gladwin and Magus were deep in conversation, so Larissa was free to observe the odd, fascinating little man. He was constantly watchful, nibbling furtively as if someone might take it away.

  “Aren’t you going to eat, Magus?” Larissa was worried about her mentor. Gray hairs speckled his beard now and his robes hung much too loosely.

  “Later, child. My stomach must be reacquainted with food. Lockridge fed me but little.”

  “How did Lockridge kill Sosmun?” Larissa asked abruptly. “Does he have a pactmaker?”

  Everyone stared at her at once.

  “Are we certain Lockridge is behind all of this?” Gladwin said. “He’s one of the most honorable men I have ever known. During the Herring War, he was the universal pick to adjudicate ransoms and spoils.”

  Magus nodded. “Even rival dukes have brought him in to arbitrate disputes. Lockridge isn’t loved, but he’s always been respected.”

  “Which is why his current actions trouble me so,” Gladwin said. “Enough to suspect madness or malign influence.”

  “To answer your question, Larissa, the murder was intended to look magical, but I don’t believe it was.” Magus broke off a scrap of bread and dipped it in broth. “My best guess is that pyrophor was used. Likely a clay pot and a lit wick hidden among the rotten vegetables the crowd was throwing.”

  “Sargoshi flame,” Gladwin said, scowling. “Makes sense. I saw it used aboard ship during the Herring War. Nasty stuff.”

  “Do we know Lockridge is guilty?” Timble asked. “I promised Selwyn Harlowe I would find the killer. A pity it wasn’t you, Tancred, but I’ll settle for Lockridge.”

  The magus stared across at Timble, sharp eyes searching his face. “I thank you for helping me today. Do we know each other? Your words are strange, coming from the man who just saved my life.”

  “I know you all too well, Tancred. Now answer the question. Is Lockridge guilty?”

  “We know two things. One, whoever planned the
murder was in league with Belgorsk. And two, Lockridge saved the king from death,” Gladwin said musingly. “If Lockridge planned the murder, then Duke Harlowe was his true target. But why?”

  “For reasons you are too loyal to see, dear Gladwin.” Magus chewed and swallowed another hunk of bread. “Garzei Harlowe was the fiercest lord in Jandaria and King Randolf the weakest. In one blow Lockridge put the March in the hands of a beardless child and gained the confidence of King Randolf. Executing the magus would have left him practically ruling the kingdom.”

  Gladwin sighed. “I fear you are correct. Lockridge has been secretive throughout his inquiry and much too quick to silence contrary voices. Millicent Marten comes from his duchy. And it was Lockridge who stirred up civil war with Selwyn Harlowe, dividing us when we needed unity the most.”

  “Millicent was his from the beginning,” Timble cut in. “I did some asking in Almsport. At the same time she went to serve the Harlowes, her son received a place in Lockridge’s household, quite an honor for the son of an attainted knight. That must have been the bargain – Millicent spying in return for her son’s promotion.”

  “I guess it was his hearthguard who poisoned the food,” Larissa reflected. Everyone stared at her again. She hated that. “Well, wasn’t he tasting the food that night?”

  “Sir Maddox and I each did.” Gladwin stood and began pacing the room, then paused in front of the hearth. His voice grew distant. “We stood behind the screen to the kitchen, trying each dish. Then Sosmun would take them to the high table.”

  “Did Maddox have opportunity?” Timble asked.

  Gladwin rested a hand on the mantle and stared into the flames. “Tradition demanded a great feast. That was why we were all on duty; the dishes were coming out in a flood. It would have been easy for him to add poison to one while I was distracted with another.”

  “I’ll admit to bias where Lockridge is concerned,” Tancred said, “But Sir Maddox is guilty. Think of it, Gladwin. Sosmun was innocent, and all the dishes were tasted by either you or Maddox. We bear each other little affection, but I would sooner believe in dry water than you as a murderer.”