She knew what the job of Berize was, and it was now her job to do it. She would continue it on, and try to dictate what happened. She would of course gather men and kill the troll, if he should show his face again, or perhaps they could even go back along the road and hunt it down, if it did not. Something would have to be done about her jailors also, she considered. She wondered how she might best wear out Sir Wulff, and she applied an old family axiom to that problem. She would send him off to kill the troll, and only one of them, and that problem thus prevail and remain.
She thought then about what might do to ruin the Traveler Knight her cousin had tasked as her keeper. He was safe in the church for now, and that jail cell cost her nothing. But that would not last. Well, there were a lot of battles that were going to be fought, and not all of them would be private. If not that way, then maybe she would practice seducing him, or set him against one of the other knights for her heart. That thought made her quiver, as he had both attracted and repelled her.
She had lost the maiden status in a coach wreck, and the rest of sex she figured, as she had unavoidably glimpsed in different forms when living with the trolls and goblins, was bound to be just a bit gentler. What they had taught her of relations between men and women at Kariks Abbey and at the various courts she had visited seemed misinformed, if not downright wrong.
She had lost great favor, and was perhaps now considered a pariah. Her marriage prospects were not just greatly dimmed, they were absolutely dark, and at this point any decent match seemed impossible. They were calling her a witch, or worse, and there was nothing to be done about it. Her aunt had commented once about another fortune-starved woman in their family, in similar low circumstances. That woman had not just chosen to grow old, and instead had become very bold.
And if the cow knight was killed, then there was a whole barracks full of Tourade at Zinsy. She could easily gain their favor through her connection to the house of Wallenz, and they had never known her before Berize. She could perhaps get even more than she had now through a carefully chosen liaison with one of the foreign men fighting in the war. She looked good in Galfan black and silk, from what she had seen of herself in the Bezet housecoat she had worn around the bugger camp. Perhaps she would get another one, and pair it with a long gold chain.
They climbed up to the landing and went on into the family chambers. She turned her attention and now was relieved to see that most of her things had been transported from Rydol, to make room for her uncle’s household, she realized. Some things were missing though, and she could tell after a cursory inventory what had been done. All of the jewels and trappings connected directly to the countship, or of greater majesty and rank than what she now deserved had been kept. She supposed she would have to find or make new ones to use here.
“Send for the builder named Ludt who arrived with us,” she told Sir Wulff, as she used her hands to signal to everyone else that they should leave. “I have things for him to do.”
She thought about all the different maps she had control of now, and of what she needed to do with them. They could have perhaps tried to hide her away at the capital, or in a nunnery, but Ewald Zhury had not allowed that to happen. She was it appeared, still working hard to make sure people were safe, and she now respected just how important that was.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
WAYLAND
ZINSY
“Catch this!” one of the knights of the Tourade said to Wayland, and he threw him an apple. Wayland caught it and looked it over, as the man walked the rest of the way to the church stairs. The apple was a little dry, and as hard and as cold as the wind that came at times under the church doors.
“Thanks for this,” he said back to him anyway.
“Ah, I thank you,” the man replied. “I won my bet on you.”
“Well I’m worth betting on,” Wayland commented, “if the odds are right.” Then he took a big bite out of the apple, and chewed its disappointment.
“They are going to hold an examination of Lady Sunnil’s charges against you, aren’t they?” the man asked him. He was thin, with a shock of brown hair tied back with a ribbon, as was the style in Alonze among the young, noble men. He wore the white coat of the crusade, the lily depicted in red silk, stitched tight upon it.
“Tomorrow, right here,” Wayland said, “if she comes in from Berize.”
“That can be a messy business,” the man considered, as he looked over another apple. “The ‘cloaks’ in Alonze do all kinds of things to people under examination.”
“I’ve fought and killed objectors, so my reputation is secure,” Wayland replied. “One way or another, I’ll win out. I’m not even from Gece: I’m a Tolly, by way of Marmad. The Traveler Knights will just send me off to do something else, hopefully far away from here.” The knight nodded and held out the other apple to him.
“They say that you’re the one who freed her in the West Lands. Does this have something to do with it?”
“Aye, she made a promise to a monster, and did not keep it.”
“To some devil there you say? It’s hard enough to get a woman to keep a promise, and almost impossibe if she’s noble born.”
“It is impossible, because of the manner in which it was extracted,” Wayland clarified.
“Well, you can’t really expect her to keep a promise to anyone made under duress. They have goblins and trolls out in the West Lands, don’t they? Was it made to one of those?”
“Yes they do, and yes, it was. And they also have thyrs and thrings there, and other beasties otherwise only found under a child’s bed.” Wayland put the other apple away, for later. The man’s curiosity had to have been well satisfied by now, and he felt that he had earned both pieces of fruit.
“Don’t think I’ll ever see a goblin, though I know they are real,” the knight said. “I’m Sevrin Couret, a squire in rente to Kasper Du Loes. We serve in the squadron of Sir Trois, the third son of the Yellow Duke.”
“I’m Wayland of Rezes,” he replied back. That’s the old Mancan port on the east coast of Tolwind. I was an east to west trader who got pressed into the service of the road.”
“Everybody has heard of you. You are the one called the Cow Knight. You’re in a story they tell about a Pendwise Knight who killed the witch of Lake Aven with the son of Grotoy, Johnas Tygus.”
“Aye, that’s me,” he conceeded. “But I’m more genuine right here, than in those tales, and this is what really happens in a man’s life. I had only a passing association with that whole story.”
“They say Johnas Tygus brought back a fairy princess from the West Lands and plans to wed her,” Sevrin said. “It’s some tall blonde, noble girl. She has a face like the Daughter, by all accounts.”
Wayland stood up off the church steps and looked around the street, feeling uncomfortable with the way Sevrin had just blurted it all out. He was disarmed by the wedding announcement, but not really surprised. He wondered for a moment if it was all some kind of trick to get him to wander away from the church.
“Going to marry her then, yes? Well, they are always great beauties in such tales, even if they are not. Was Johnas promised to anyone else?”
“It’s said that the Grand Prince wanted him to marry the daughter of one of the great Varrek lords. He went against his wishes.”
“And I bet his father, old Fork Beard didn’t say a thing,” Wayland commented. He had probably taken a look at Lady Tazah and allowed it, as her personality and beauty matched Johnas Tygus’ own arrogance and looks perfectly. But then he thought about the other implication of it, wondering if it was also ment as a slight against the Grand Prince for what he had done to Sunnil.
“He’s publicly gone against the Grand Prince before,” he said, “but they usually stick together on the defense of Gece. Still, things are perhaps worse than I thought.” And Wayland could only wonder what else the parties involved were up to. He couldn’t very well watch Lady Sunnil while in sanctuary, and he now wondered if her move against
him had been calculated, to immediately place him into check. He reached over and shook the squire’s hand.
“It was good to meet you Sevrin,” he said. “I hope you bet on me again at the examination tomorrow, and if not, then may luck at least find you out in the field.”
They had set up stools, chairs, and a table above the stairs at the front of the church, in the open before the street where a great throng had soon gathered to watch the proceedings. The Tourade had turned out in force, as well as a small group of Traveler Knights passing through, going south to the war. There were a few minor nobles and a magis of the town: the goldsmith, being an official witness now to the proceedings. A man was selling cobs of cooked corn on sticks and sweetbreads, as another provided people with cups of beer from out of one of the taverns.
Wayland came out and sat on a stool as he was directed. The Lady Sunnil had come in from Berize, and at least he was able to now verify her good health. She had filled out more, and her skin had a pinkish cast just then from riding in the cold. She would tap one of her ivory bracelets with a finger now and then, as she sat in an opposing chair, on a cushion, as fit her rank. The silver chain around her neck was now hung with a square of ivory carved into a gate, it falling upon the front of her red cape to complete the arms of Berize. Rumor had it that she had pried it off the honor’s court throne, which she had partially destroyed in anger over her predicament. He didn’t care: he was worried instead about what she would destroy today.
The prior called them all to rise and they said a prayer of harmony. He made the Trinity for all of them at the end, and then he had them take their seats. He called Wayland to rise and give his account of what had transpired on the Dimm, and then on the road north of Braus Palonz where they had fought the troll. The telling took an hour or more, with many calls and murmurs from the audience at the key points, either for or against. What was done was done, and when he was done telling it, he sat back down.
The prior then had Lady Sunnil stand up and swear on a bound and gilded holy book of the Daughter. When she had, he told her to give a brief description of her capture, and of how the troll Kulith had held her. She related of her original abduction after leaving Gilsflor Pools. She then talked about getting taken to Fugoe Castle, and how the troll Kulith had killed a monster named the Vagrim with the Tuvier blade. She continued then with his march south across the Stones of the Dimm with his army.
She related how he had fought a war of attrition with the living dead, and then sacked a great fortress on the biggest island, called the Stone Pile. She talked about the betrayal of the troll by his brother, and how they had ended up at Warukz. She related her capture there by the goblins and the torture she had endured at the hands of the thring witch, to which there were many harsh acclaims and shouts of sympathy.
In the street the Tourade was getting drunk, and they sounded like they wanted to kill someone every time she ended a part of her story. Wayland hoped Sevrin was getting his odds now. The Prior bade her go on after the noise, and they quickly quieted back down to hear.
She then told of her rescue, and there was a sudden outburst of cheering for Wayland from the Traveler Knights. Then she told of the incident on the road and they all again looked grim and brooding. He objected once to her story, when she referred to him as the Cow Knight. The prior thanked her and she sat down, to stare daggers over at Wayland with her green eyes.
“This is a dilemma,” said one of the priests, after he had stood up and got their attention. “We all know one good deed does not fully cancel out a bad one, or a whole string of bad ones. But the creature is not on trial here. We instead must look at the motivation of Wayland of Rezes, for not immediately and mercifully killing the beast. Wayland my son, please stand and tell us why you did not kill it when you had the chance, as she directed you to.” Wayland stood up.
“I had struck it once already in the body with my sword, and in the leg with the point, it going through the meat. It had three arrow shafts in it at least, and it was down on its knees.”
“In that instant I sought the Tuvier Blade, for what ends and guidance it might give to me. I drew it forth from the sheath the creature wore it in and tried to kill it, and was prevented. I could not, and instead was wracked with a great pain in the arm that held the sword. I took this as a sure sign that it was not what I was meant to do.”
“There you have it, it was an intervention by the power of God,” one of the other priest said, nodding to the others.
“Let us discuss this, and we will come back with our decision,” the prior said to the crowd, and all the priests rose up and went back into the church, leaving them and the parties there to wait. Wayland looked across at Lady Sunnil, sitting there very close to him.
“I have heard a rumor that Johnas Tygus will wed the Lady Tazah, against the wishes of the Grand Prince, may he be ever victorious. Have you that news also?” She stared at him and smiled. It was not a kind smile, but a tight, loathing one. Wayland dismissed it with a slow pass of his hand.
“I see this as a time of great struggle for the people of Gece. They should all band together now in this moment of need, and not march away following some drum of contention. Lady Tazah is beautiful in her way, and Johnas was very taken with her. I hope they are happy and that is that.”
“Thank you for your kind words, Wayland of Rezes,” she replied over to him officiously, then she looked out at the audience gathered there. “It’s good to hear such patriotism and martial words from the men in Gece, even if they be foreign born. If all the men here were of such a brave mind and heart, this war would be quickly turned and over.” That seemed like a challenge to the Tourade, or perhaps it was directed out at the locals, as if she wanted volunteeres to go up into arms. Kasper De Loes, a tall blonde knight from Wallenz, and who was also her cousin along with Sir Trois, gave her a rough look of displeasure. Wayland had a bad feeling in his gut as she turned and smiled over at him again. What had she done?
The priests came back out of the church doors, their hands clasp together within the sleeves of their robes, their belts ranging from a simple piece of rope to a gilded chain of plates, depicting scenes from the different passions. Some had beards while others shaved their heads, according to the customs of whatever saint they professed. They sat back down and looked at each other, to see who would speak for them. The prior rose, looked between the two parties, and then addressed the audience.
“The single act of giving a great and known monster mercy when he had earned death a hundred times before is the charge here. The Lady Sunnil has been pursued by this beast before, and fears she will be so again. This is what we surmise may now happen.”
“That Wayland of Rezes did not slay him was only through the intervention of a holy relic. This is not a miracle, for no one else witnessed it. We must simply take it on faith that the Holy Spirit was working through the sword just then, and uses this monster also as its instrument of justice, and that it may not be done with him yet.”
It was an onerous thing to portent to the crowd: the duality of the situation, but Wayland knew by reputation that this was the way the church often worked in Gece: keeping its followers off balance and in its control, so they could dictate what happened next. They had used words, and now they used the other thing, the thing that the Observers hated most about the orthodoxy.
One of the other priests brought out from a gilded box an object swathed in white satin. He revealed it to be a gray piece of marble, stained with red. The prior gestured to it.
“This holy relic is a piece from the Apalli Stair of Verux, which our savior was thrown down three times by the Mancan Emperor Spyles. See the stone, still stained over with our martyr’s blood!”
Everyone sensible enough in the crowd went down on a knee and bowed their head, making the circle of the seal. Most of the knights in the Tourade just stood quietly and watched. Perhaps they had experienced too much religious turmoil and disunity in Alonze to still blindly venerate it, or perha
ps because it was the relic of another nation that they looked upon.
“Lady Sunnil, come place you hand upon this relic and swear that you will not try to kill or imprison the Traveler Knight Wayland of Rezes, as he goes about his duties,” the prior asked her. One of the other priests took her arm and brought her over to place her hand on the stone. She did not want to do it, because it seemed like he was getting off, he thought. Then she gave in and trembling, put her hand on it. Some people in the audience seemed disappointed that it had not burned her, as it would if she were a witch.
“I so swear,” she affirmed. As she retreated back, the prior now looked over at Wayland.
“Letting such a creature go upon his way exposes us all to more hurt. He could return and harm the Lady Sunnil, or do hurt to others. That sword belongs on the hip of a knight who could do all the good in the world with it, and not much evil.” Wayland saw something else come out then, a white sackcloth jacket and an arming coat. Like the stone, it was also still stained with a little blood, around a cut near one shoulder that had not yet been patched up.
“This examination has decided that you must pay a penance for letting the monster live,” the prior said. “You will don the robes of the crusade, with a black armband, and go and fight in a battle with the squadron of Sir Trois. Come forward now my son, and swear with the Lady of Berize upon this holy piece of the Apalli Stair!”
A War of Stones: Book One of the Traveler Knight Page 72