by Tim Stretton
Lord Thaume looked at Guigot from behind hooded eyes. ‘My regrets at your fate are too numerous to list,’ he said. ‘That I must order the death of my brother’s son . . . even for Borel’s sake I could not spare you; but for his sake I grant you death on the block. It must proceed immediately.’ He nodded to Fleuraume.
Guigot looked around the room. ‘Will none of you speak for mercy? Thaume will take my head in any event, so your intervention will cost nothing. Oricien,’ he said with a harsh smile, ‘will you not intercede for your cousin? Siedra?’
Siedra said nothing. In a thick voice Oricien said: ‘You richly deserve your fate.’
‘Master Pinch,’ said Guigot. ‘You have been wont to present yourself as a voice of moderation in Thaume’s counsels. Will you not speak a gentle word?’
‘I have counselled Lord Thaume as to his most prudent course,’ said Pinch. ‘In this case it is hard to demur from his judgement.’
‘Sir Langlan?’
‘If I catch a fox raiding the chicken coop, do I appeal to its better nature to desist, or do I put it to immediate death? Why spare you to wreak yet more mischief?’
‘Ah, Seigneur Arren, skulking at the back, always skulking. Had you not hidden in the viatory with that trollop, I would be Lord of Croad tonight. Do you not feel guilt at your agency in my fate? Surely a counsel of mercy would become you.’
Arren’s lips twitched. ‘I saw you at Jehan’s Steppe,’ he said. ‘You stood by to let Oricien die. There is justice in the end.’
‘So be it,’ said Guigot. ‘I go to my fate a wiser man, and I need no viator to bring Harmony.’
The doors burst open and Lady Jilka rushed in.
‘Jilka! I told you to keep away. I will not hear remonstrances about the Lord High Viator.’
‘My lord,’ she cried. ‘The King is dead! Jehan is King of Emmen.’
6
The Amber Room fell into a shocked silence at the news of the King’s death. Arren, despite having known that the old man was unlikely to recover, felt a hollowness in his stomach.
‘How do you know, Jilka?’ asked Lord Thaume.
‘A messenger from King Jehan has come,’ she said. ‘King Arren died in his sleep nearly three weeks ago.’
‘Where is the messenger?’ asked Lord Thaume. ‘We must all pledge fealty to His Puissance. Fleuraume, make sure that the Lord High Viator is not on hand when the King’s messenger comes: in fact, I will receive him in my personal chamber.’
‘What of Guigot, my lord?’ asked Sir Langlan.
Lord Thaume’s mouth was a thin line. ‘Arren’s death changes nothing. The execution proceeds immediately.’
‘May I at least prepare myself in the viatory?’ asked Guigot in a calm voice. Lord Thaume looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
‘‘Execution”?’ asked Lady Jilka. ‘You mean to proceed, then?’
‘The matter was extensively debated in your absence. My sentence, though harsh, is irrevocable. On this occasion, Guigot, you have my permission to use the viatory next door.’
Guigot sneered. ‘Thank you, my lord. If, as it seems, I must die, I would do so with the comfort of the viators. I will await Sleech in the viatory.’
Arren wondered at this sudden access of piety from Guigot. There was no doubt that he had manufactured his recent attendance for Raugier’s benefit, and Arren was sceptical that the prospect of death had brought about a late conversion. He slipped into the viatory behind Guigot. There was no chance of escape: the only door led back out into the Amber Room; the altar stood against one wall, the alcove in which he and Eilla had overheard Guigot set into the other, and the other two ends of the room were taken up with coloured glass panels, a green one depicting Hyssen facing the sunrise, and an orange representation of Animaxia the sunset. The sun caught this latter panel to flood the chamber with an intense radiance.
Guigot, looking around the viatory, seemed to have little of Harmony on his mind. He saw Arren and his mouth curled.
‘I should take you with me,’ he said. ‘If I were armed, be assured I would.’
Arren stepped closer. ‘Bare hands make as good a weapon as any. You may try if you wish.’
‘If it were not for you, I should be Lord of Croad this minute. I do not fear death; it is the failure of my plan I regret. To have come so close . . .’
‘You should perhaps prepare yourself for what is to come.’
Guigot gave a bark of laughter. ‘I never reckoned you among Sleech’s flock, Arren.’
‘You know I am not. Nonetheless, the imminence of death must surely elevate your thoughts.’
‘Imminence? You are pedestrian, Arren. I am not about to die, by blade or by noose.’
He rushed at Arren, knocking him from his feet, and threw himself head-first into the Sunset Window of Animaxia. The glass shattered and as the orange glow vanished, Arren had a sight of Guigot spiralling out towards the ground below. He scrambled to his feet and looked through the shattered opening: by accident or design, Guigot’s fall had been arrested by the sloping roof of the refectory below. Guigot eased himself down the slope of the roof, jumping the last ten feet to reach the courtyard. Immediately he scampered away.
‘I will be revenged on the whole pack of you!’ he called up.
Arren shook his head ruefully. Guigot’s grievances were real enough, but his indulgence of them had always tended to the melodramatic. He turned and ran back into the Amber Room to tell Lord Thaume what had happened.
‘Quickly! Find him!’ shouted Lord Thaume. ‘He cannot be suffered to escape.’
While Fleuraume drew up a squadron of troops, Arren and Oricien slipped back into the viatory and dropped down to the ground using the same route as Guigot.
‘Where would he have gone?’ said Oricien, looking around him in frustration.
‘He cannot hope to evade capture,’ said Arren. ‘Unless – the stables!’
‘Of course!’
Together they ran towards Thaume’s private stables. ‘Cornelis!’ Oricien called to the stable-boy. ‘Is Lord Guigot within?’
‘Yes, sir. He came but a minute ago.’
Oricien grinned. ‘We have him. Guigot! Give up. We have found you.’
From within the gloom of the stable rushed a huge black gallumpher, charging straight at them. Arren and Oricien jumped aside to avoid being mown down.
Oricien scrambled to his feet. ‘That’s Black Butz!’
Arren could not resist a smile. Not only had Guigot cheated the block, he had stolen Lord Thaume’s prize gallumpher to do so.
‘Cornelis! Saddles!’ called Oricien. Within a minute both he and Arren were mounted on their favourite gallumphers.
‘Where will he have gone?’ said Oricien, reining in his mount.
‘He cannot afford to dally. It will be the South Gate,’ said Arren, and they pelted through the streets, where walkers were forced to jump aside to avoid being ridden down.
Soon Guigot was in their sight. He was already at the gate, which the guards were opening to let him out.
‘Stop!’ called Oricien. ‘In Lord Thaume’s name, shut the gates!’
The guards stared back blankly.
‘The gates!’ shouted Arren. ‘You fools!’
From the castle came the long mournful note of the herald’s horn. The guards looked on in puzzlement as Guigot rode through, then they shut the gates after him. By the time Arren and Oricien arrived, the gates were proof against an army. But Guigot was outside them. He had made his escape.
7
Later that evening Lord Thaume reviewed matters in his chambers with Oricien, Arren, Sir Langlan and Master Pinch.
‘I have been awake since before dawn,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘In that time I have suppressed a plot against my life, scourged the Lord High Viator, sentenced my nephew to death, seen that nephew escape, and learned the King is dead. We shall not readily forget today.’
‘Long live King Jehan,’ said Oricien.
‘Indeed,’ said
Lord Thaume. ‘I must, of course, go to make my obeisance on the instant. Delay would be disrespectful.’
‘You need not travel immediately,’ said Pinch. ‘News takes time to arrive, even tidings so grievous.’
‘I would rather be in Emmen before Raugier,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘I cannot imagine his report of events will represent me in a flattering light.’
Sir Langlan smiled. ‘There are many circles in which beating that hypocrite would speak strongly in your favour.’
‘King Jehan’s court is not one of them.’
‘I knew him as a youth,’ said Sir Langlan. ‘He is not the milksop he is portrayed, nor the viators’ puppet.’
‘He lacks his father’s warlike temper.’
‘Nonetheless,’ said Pinch, ‘a man can be peaceable without being a puppet of the viators. He will wish to make peace with Gammerling, if Gundovald will sign a treaty. Such a move can only please the viators.’
‘How so?’ asked Oricien.
‘The Consorts’ power is increased if there is peace in Mondia. It spreads Harmony and – more to the point – makes it easier for the Viatory to exact alms. Men will be free to travel from Emmen to Vasi Vasar, paying dues and tolls wherever they go. Wars only make the smiths and the corn-factors rich.’
‘Be that as it may,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘I will leave for Emmen the day after tomorrow. Oricien, you will come and swear your own fealty.’
‘Yes, Father. What of my mother and Siedra?’
‘They will remain here. Sir Langlan and Arren, you too will stay behind. Darrien can captain my retinue.’
Sir Langlan chuckled. ‘I have little choice. There is still a price on my head in Emmen, unless Jehan chooses to lift the ban.’
‘That was long ago, Langlan. I am sure Jehan will soon offer a pardon. In any event, I require you to remain behind as Regent. I need a man I can trust to catch Guigot.’
Sir Langlan looked coolly ahead. ‘The hunting dogs are out tonight, and Fleuraume with them. Guigot has only a single gallumpher. He will be caught by morning.’
Lord Thaume stared into the fire. ‘Do not be so sure, Langlan. The boy may embody Disharmony but he is no fool, and he has luck – and spirit. He will not yield easily.’
‘Do not worry, my lord.’
Lord Thaume shot him a sharp glance. ‘I do – and so should you. Oricien will not sit safe after me if Guigot is not brought to book. He is spite incarnate.’
‘You should see the dogs when they are roused. Guigot will wish he had settled for the block.’
8
One morning, a week after Lord Thaume and Oricien had left for Emmen, Siedra came upon Arren reading in the gardens.
‘Will you take a stroll with me, Arren?’ she said. Her golden hair shone in the sunlight.
Arren was always suspicious of Siedra when she was friendly. Nonetheless, it would have been churlish to refuse, so he offered his arm and they walked in the mid-morning sun. Arren had to admit that she was looking more than usually becoming, and his book, Applied Principles of Fortification, by Urald of Taratanallos, had not made stimulating reading.
‘Have you been avoiding me, Arren?’ said Siedra with her cheeks dimpling. ‘I have hardly seen you since my father went away.’
‘Our pursuits are dissimilar,’ said Arren mildly. ‘My interest in needlecraft and fabrics is insignificant, and I cannot imagine my exploration of siegecraft with Cyngier is any more stimulating to you. The censorious might even regard our meeting privately in the garden as injudicious.’
‘The company of my mother and Lady Cerisa rapidly becomes wearing,’ she said. ‘In the circumstances I am prepared to risk the disapproval of gossiping old women.’
‘I was thinking specifically of Master Guiles.’
‘As I said: gossiping old women.’
Arren grinned. ‘In truth I do not much care either.’
‘Good! We can enjoy the sunshine without fear or guilt.’
They strolled in companionable silence for a while, the birds in the background and the freshness of Lord Thaume’s flowers making a pleasant solitude that no one could disturb.
‘Where do you think Guigot is now?’ asked Siedra.
Arren grimaced. ‘Wherever he is, he is alive. That is all that matters.’
‘How could he have evaded capture?’
Arren shrugged. ‘He has always been a rogue, but a resourceful one. Most likely he is hiding out in the hills somewhere.’
‘He said he would return and take vengeance – specifically on our family.’
‘He was always given to large pronouncements. Since he has no means of making good his threat, I should not worry, either for you or Oricien.’
‘I have been meaning to ask you: I never understood what you said at his trial about Jehan’s Steppe and letting Oricien die.’
Arren paused and looked into her deep blue eyes. ‘There is little to dwell on.’
‘Enough to make you call for his death.’
‘I thought he stood back when a Northman came on Oricien unawares. Fleuraume stepped in, and no harm was done.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I spoke to Fleuraume afterwards; he said I was wrong to be so certain. But I had no doubts then and I have none now.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You never told Oricien?’
‘I had no proof; and Oricien never trusted him in any event.’
‘Let us sit here,’ she said, as they came to a bench. ‘My father thinks highly of you,’ she said.
‘It was always his intention that Oricien should have a counsellor when he grew older.’
‘It easy to forget that you come from nowhere,’ she said with a half-smile, her cat’s eyes shimmering.
‘I have never sought to disguise it.’
‘Your address is that of a gentleman, aside from your prowess on the field. And I do not forget the way you fleeced those rogues at the Molo.’
‘I should never have allowed that situation to develop as it did.’
Siedra plucked a leaf and crushed it between her fingers. ‘You are more of a gentleman than Lord Dinarre.’
‘That is a minor compliment. Dinarre shows every sign of growing into one of the most depraved and dissipated men of Glount.’
Siedra threw the pulped leaf aside. ‘You are talking, perhaps, of my future husband.’
‘Then I pity you. But your father’s plans may be changed with the accession of King Jehan.’
Siedra shook her head. ‘If he had intended me to captivate the court at Emmen, he would have taken me. He still wishes me to marry Panarre’s son, to bind them closer and to save gold by merging my dowry with his tribute to Panarre from Jehan’s Steppe.’
‘You should not be so pessimistic,’ said Arren after a pause. ‘Many things can happen between now and a betrothal. Panarre may marry him to another bride, perhaps at Emmen.’
‘You are thoughtful to offer such hope. You do not know how I have petitioned Animaxia for Dinarre’s death.’
‘I did not know you visited the Viatory.’
‘Of course not! I Find the Way in my chambers: the viators oppress me with their sermons.’
‘Technically that is the Gollain Heresy. I could denounce you for following the Wheel,’ said Arren with a grin.
‘Arren! You know that I do not care in the least for such nonsense. Wheel, Way, it is all nonsense. The viators fleece everyone and the Gollains have not the courage to reject the whole notion of the Way of Harmony.’
‘Now that is heresy. To deny the Way altogether . . .’
Siedra laughed. ‘You are shocked!’
Arren frowned. ‘I am sure we all question the Way at times; deep down some may indeed feel it is false. But I have never known anyone admit it.’
‘In some places my views would be unremarkable. They say that Garganet is a haven of free-thinking.’
‘Overt heresy will not increase your chances of a good match.’
‘My arse to a good match. You are not r
epelled beyond measure by my views?’
‘No, but others—’
‘I am more concerned by your good opinion.’
You have it,’ said Arren. ‘But there are other, better judges you may wish to impress.’
She leaned against him on the bench. ‘At this moment there is no one else around, nor any prospect of there being. If you look upon me as I look upon you . . .’
‘Siedra – I do not understand . . .’
‘Or you choose not to.’ She ran her hand across his chest. ‘If I must marry Dinarre or some dissipated old lecher, first I would know something of how men and women should be. Am I not beautiful, Arren?’
Arren looked into her eyes. ‘Beyond a doubt, Siedra. You are fated to a higher destiny than me,’ he said with a catch in his throat.
She stood up and pulled him from the bench by his shirt. ‘Let me worry about that, Arren.’ She pushed her face into his and kissed him.
9
That afternoon Arren lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. Sleep would not come. The morning’s events with Siedra had been extraordinary, sudden and unexpected. He had no idea that she had such feelings, or was willing to express them with such abandon. He should be delighted, he thought. Siedra was ardent, passionate, delicious. No man could fail to be flattered by her attentions. He did not delude himself that he was ill-favoured: he was already a warrior of repute, with a quick intellect besides. Nonetheless, he was uneasy. There was no possibility that a dalliance with Siedra could have any happy outcome. She was destined for a political match, if not to Dinarre then to some other lord of her father’s choosing. He had already shown Thaume considerable disrespect by consorting thus with his daughter. Lord Thaume’s temper had always been quick, and recently he had been more ready than ever to decree flogging or hanging for those who displeased him. It would be wrong to call Thaume a tyrant, but his keen sense of justice took a mordant slant. It would be better for him never to find out about this morning’s episode.
Arren realized that even this, bad as it was, was not the whole nor even the worst of his malaise. If he truly cared for Siedra, he would be less concerned about Thaume. The truth was, flattered as he was by her attention, and overcome as he had been by her allure, he did not regard her with any true ardour. She had the character of a cat, charming and malicious by turn, and never motivated by anything other than self-interest. Unbidden, the image of her as a child blackmailing Sir Langlan after Illara’s performance in The Hanged Raider came to his mind. She was a young woman now, but her beauty concealed a warp in her heart. She was not a safe associate, particularly in a situation as secret as theirs would have to be.