Covenants (v2.2)

by Lorna Freeman

  “Why?” I managed to get out, still working on Pellan’s betrayal of his Fyrst.

  The fae’s wings rippled with her shrug. “Dragoness Moraina isn’t the only one who can do farseeing, and we were both curious and wanted to make up our own minds.”

  “Curious about what—” Javes broke off as the common room doors opened and Commander Pellan walked in. He stopped short when he saw us facing him, unsurprised at his appearance. Captains Suiden and Javes shifted to stand in front of us and were joined by the Enchanter, while Laurel and Groskin moved to my side.

  “What are you doing here, nephew?” Wyln asked, his face calm but his eyes still ablaze.

  Commander Pellan lifted a hand and several elves from the City Watch came through the open doors. He pulled a pouch from his belt, his face expressionless. “You all have been summoned to the High Council—”

  “Before their appointed time,” Laurel said, his tail lashing. “Without all the Council members.”

  “A special session has been convened—” Pellan began.

  “Oh,” Esclaur said. “I know all about those. Done in secret with no witnesses—I mean audience.”

  “—to address accusations of murder, slavery, the practicing of dark arts, and other charges,” Pellan finished.

  “Did you truly deliver His Grace over to them, Pellan?” Wyln asked, sounding as if he really wanted to know. The two castle guards joined him.

  Pellan met his uncle’s gaze for the first time since entering the room. “What else could I do? It’s by the Council’s orders.”

  “I see,” Wyln said. “So you, who are the Fyrst’s kin, felt no compunction in betraying him, while Harbormaster Lin, who isn’t even of the same race, held true to her oaths.”

  Reminded of the diminutive faerie, I started to look around for her, but was distracted by the wind howling and slamming against the windows. I turned my head to them and the windows shook harder, the latches rattling, and I frowned.

  “You think I betrayed my oaths?” The commander gave me a cold look, and the haunts pressed closer until they were a dense ring about me. “The Fyrst made a human Cyhn, a descendant of the same one who murdered our families and stole our birthrights. Do you remember, my mother’s brother? The flames and soldiers and anguished cries as our blood was spilled? How no mercy was shown and even the smallest was slain?”

  “Pellan was a child when we left Morendyll,” Wyln said to the rest of us, “but he remembers our leaving very well—and the fact that his parents did not.”

  Pellan indicated the Watch standing behind him. “Not just my parents,” he said, “but their mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, uncle. Just as your wife and children. Even the Fyrst’s daughter. His only child killed, and yet he takes a son of Iver Bloody-Hand into his household.”

  Wyln smiled at the commander. “Tell me, did you ask His Grace why he’d done what he had?”

  “I didn’t need to,” Pellan said. “I heard the Faena—cousin to a human king he says looks elfin.” He shrugged. “Her Grace Molyu is unable to bear more children, or perhaps the lack is with His Grace himself. So he seeks to continue his line with human filth.” He indicated the Watch again. “You can see that the city is not too happy about it.”

  “So they’ll be happy with you, kin-betrayer, as their new Fyrst?” Wyln asked.

  Pellan gave the same gentle smile as his uncle. “Those who matter.” He gave a signal and the Watch surrounded us, two going into the doyen’s chamber. “You are summoned to stand before the Council,” Pellan said once more.

  The city guards returned to the common room, pushing the doyen before them.

  “My lords, what’s happening—” Doyen Allwyn broke off as a guard shoved him hard between his shoulders, causing the doyen to stumble against the table. He muffled a cry as one of the chairs caught him in the ribs.

  “Any resistance will be severely dealt with,” Pellan said.

  Doyen Allwyn started to straighten but the second guard knocked him down on his hands and knees. The guard drew back his booted foot to kick him.

  Hearing scabbards rattling, I glanced over my shoulder to see Javes, Esclaur and Suiden all holding their swords as they advanced on the Watch. Groskin stood with a knife in each hand. “Come on, boyo,” Groskin murmured to the city guard facing him. “Please.”

  I pulled my own sword but the city guards paid no attention to me. The windows rattled again in a gust of wind, and I turned completely to face them, taking a couple of steps in their direction.

  Laurel stalked over to the doyen, his rumbling growl echoing in my bones, while Wyln, bracketed by the two castle guards, moved towards Commander Pellan, his long fingers tracing fire in the air. “This will cease now—”

  “Yes, it will,” Pellan agreed, opening the pouch he’d been holding, and a glowing corpse green sphere with angry red and dull black streaks floated out. As it rose in the air, the haunts piled up behind Honor Ash and, ghostly eyes wide, they moved back—way back. Wyln skidded to a stop, all color draining from his face, while Laurel’s growl stopped as if someone had shut a spigot.

  The windows rattled once again and, still holding my sword, I slipped past city guards and haunts, and went around the embassy staff huddled together in front of the fireplace, all watching Pellan.

  “My sister’s son, her only child, what have you given yourself to?” the Enchanter whispered.

  I reached the window and the wind gusted against the panes, the latch shaking. I lifted my hand.

  “I wouldn’t, human mageling,” Commander Pellan said, and I spun around to find the sphere hanging in my face. I flinched back, the back of my head striking the fireplace mantel. “It’s a slow, painful way to die.”

  “Sorcery,” I said, not bothering to rub the lump on my head as I glared past the slowly spinning abomination at the commander.

  Pellan shrugged again. “You shouldn’t have been so strong in your aspect.” He glanced at the rattling windows. “Even now the wind screams its frustration because it can’t get to you.”

  “The Council,” Laurel said, looking at the sphere. His paw came up in an automatic warding gesture, the rune bright. “They’ve blocked Rabbit.”

  I looked down at my own rune. It was dark.

  “What is it?” Suiden asked, his eyes narrowed, still holding his sword in front of him.

  “A glory sphere,” Wyln said. “It’s the corruption of pestilence and the grave.” Pellan gave another faint smile, once more looking like his Enchanter uncle. “If the human had stayed with his master, he would’ve recognized the block sooner, perhaps to overcome it. Instead you and the cat decided to keep him for yourself and what you couldn’t teach him has become his undoing.” The smile died as he looked at the city guards. “Take their weapons.”

  The City Watch relieved us of our swords and knives (Groskin’s had grown to eight), and Laurel’s staff. “You have been declared reprobate, Laurel of the Black Hills,” Pellan said, “and all your appointments and privileges are so forfeit.”

  “They’ve not that right,” Laurel said, his claws unsheathed in his rage. He turned a snarling face on a guard as he reached for the staff.

  The commander gestured and the sphere floated a hairs-breadth away from my nose, and I fought not to move or cross my eyes. “Your choice, cat,” Pellan said. He shrugged once more at Laurel’s growl as the staff was yanked from him. “You can take it up with the Council,” he said as the guard passed Laurel’s staff to him.

  We were herded out of the common room, Pellan leaving two of the Watch to guard the embassy staff that was still clumped together in fright by the fireplace. The haunts tried to follow, but Pellan once more threatened me with the glory sphere and they moved back into the room. When we reached the stairs, I offered an arm to Doyen Allwyn who was limping badly, but our guards took exception. I felt the air change behind me and ducked just as one of the Watch swung at my head, catching the blow on my shoulder instead. I staggered and fetched up against
the stone wall, just stopping myself before I fell down the stairs. My muscles tightened as I started to lunge back, but the bloody sphere was in front of me again.

  “Be easy, Rabbit,” Laurel said, moving so that he was between me and the guard. The guard raised his fist again and the cat looked over his shoulder past him to Pellan. “I am still of my clan, Commander. I would dearly love to see the High Council declare them null and void.”

  The Black Hills clan must’ve been formidable, because Pellan frowned. “No bruising,” he said.

  The guard hesitated, then allowed his arm to drop. Laurel dismissed him with a flick of an ear and helped Allwyn down the steps.

  Commander Pellan led us down several flights of steps that grew narrower and darker the deeper we descended.

  We finally reached a passageway that was just as narrow and dimly lit, and we were marched along it until we came to a series of doors. While there wasn’t any dungeon stench, I expected to see chains and cages when the door was opened. Instead we were pushed into a bright, spacious room decorated in the same style as the rest of the keep. Several of the Watch followed us in and Pellan shut the door, turning the key in the lock. A moment later it shimmered as it was warded. Footsteps then sounded against the passageway’s stone floor as the commander took Wyln and the castle guards away. Two of the Watch moved to a door on the opposite side of the room, but we paid them no attention as our own eyes were on Chancellor Berle and Archdoyen Obruesk sitting at a table by the lit fireplace, enjoying a repast of tea and dainties.

  The archdoyen set his cup down and smiled at us all. “Grace to you, messirs.” He met my eyes, nodding. “Lord Rabbit.”

  “Berle?” Lord Esclaur said as he started to walk towards the table, only to be thrust back by a city guard.

  “I’d obey them, Esclaur,” the chancellor said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “We don’t want to cause a diplomatic incident.”

  Esclaur made a sound between a gasp and a growl. “You absolute, traitorous—” He broke off as the guard hit him hard, making him stagger.

  The chancellor’s russet fox eyes swept over us to rest on Laurel. “Well, it seems as though promises made are not going to be kept after all, are they, Ambassador? Even with all the will in the world.”

  Laurel rumbled, but no one dared to stop him (the Black Hills clan must’ve been extremely formidable). “The day’s not over yet, Chancellor.”

  “Such optimism,” Berle marveled, reaching for a small cake.

  “Such treason,” Javes drew back before Laurel could reply. The guard made up for his weakness with Laurel by grabbing Javes’ arm and twisting it up his back, forcing him to his knees.

  “Oh, no, not treason,” Berle said, ignoring Javes’ pain. “We don’t want to overthrow the throne. To curtail it, though, yes, with perhaps a more balanced allotment of power so that the faults and failings of one person do not shake the kingdom to its foundations.” She made a moue of distaste. “King Jusson had allowed such unsavory characters free rein! If only he had paid closer attention, we wouldn’t have had lawlessness, rebellions and threatened wars with neighbors.”

  “That’s very true, Chancellor,” Obruesk said. He selected another cake. “However, if it weren’t for His Majesty’s inattention, there wouldn’t be this chance for change.”

  “Change?” Suiden asked. He was another one the guards left alone.

  “The High Council will agree to not pursue war if we make certain changes in the governing of Iversterre,” Berle replied, “the first being a parliament through which all appointments and laws shall pass.”

  “Is this their idea or yours?” Suiden asked.

  “Oh, I may have planted the notion.” Berle took a sip of her tea. “But once I did, they immediately saw the advantage.”

  “Whose advantage?” Suiden asked. “Yours when you become grand vizier?”

  “That’s a Turalian office,” Obruesk said, wiping his fingers with a napkin. “We would have a first minister.”

  “And Chancellor of Foreign Affairs is not so bad for the daughter of a mere governor of no particular House,” Berle said. “I’m content where I am.”

  “I see” said Esclaur, shifting away from the guard nearest him. “Jusson a figurehead, while your cronies run the kingdom, and you play the power behind the throne—ah, council.”

  “Not just me, Esclaur,” Berle said. “There are others too—a certain vice admiral among them—who were very concerned about Lord Gherat’s influence not only over the king but also the Lord Admiral and other high officials.”

  Please no, I thought as I stared at the chancellor, not Uncle Havram.

  “Whose influence is now broken, but you’ve done this anyway,” Javes said.

  “Because Jusson has no discernment whatsoever and allows his sudden whims and caprices to dictate who gets close to the throne,” Berle said, looking at me. “So we will make it so that it doesn’t matter what fancy His Majesty has next.”

  “You actually think the king will allow this?” Suiden asked. “You think the Great Houses will?”

  “Or the patriarch and the Church?” Doyen Allwyn added.

  “Ah, Pietr,” Obruesk said, his deep voice filling the room. “Not a bad man, you understand, but weak and easily led.” I blinked, trying to reconcile Obruesk’s statement with the man I had met on Iversly’s docks. I failed.

  “Treating gently and even blessing an accused sorcerer.” Obruesk shook his head. “Turning a blind eye to the persecution of those who dare oppose wickedness in high offices. Even allowing smuggled wood from the Border to be used as Staves of Office throughout the realm.”

  “Of course, your hands are clean,” Esclaur said. “It is amazing how everyone from the patriarch on down had one of those spritewood staves—except you.”

  “Isn’t it?” Obruesk said. “But that may be because I’ve accepted the call to purity and righteousness, no matter the cost. Unlike certain of our elders.” He gave Doyen Allwyn an earnest look. “Perhaps it is time for the patriarch to step down so that the Church may recover under strong leadership.”

  “Such as yours?” Groskin asked, his voice a rumbling growl.

  Obruesk smiled. “Among others.”

  “Not Uncle Orso!”

  Obruesk merely smiled again as he picked up a peach and bit into it.

  “Most times it’s the simplest of sins that will snare a person, gracious people,” Doyen Allwyn said. “Behold Covetousness, coupled with Unchecked Ambition.”

  “They and Teram Flavan’son,” Laurel said, “have suckled at the same teat.”

  “Indeed, yes. They’re all reavers and they will all tear the kingdom apart,” Esclaur said, his eyes still fixed on the chancellor.

  “Oh, no, not us,” Berle said. “It is the king who has brought us to threatened annihilation. It is our efforts that will save us and create a stronger kingdom.”

  “Of course,” Suiden said. “And your wants and desires have nothing to do with it.”

  “I was told to obtain peace,” Berle said, her voice light. “I did. This is its price. As for the king and Great Houses—” She shrugged just as lightly. “It’s all in the presentation, messirs. ‘Yield, or die in a war you can’t win and thereby have everything you hold dear destroyed’ usually works.”

  I lowered my head to stare at the floor, as a vision of Iversterre ravaged from warfare both with the Border and with itself rose before me, and I wondered if the chancellor was naive in her estimation of the Great Lords’ responses and so a natural fool, or willfully blind to how they would fight for their people and land, and therefore a deliberate one.

  The wind picked up again, shrieking and slamming the panes, causing everyone in the room to look at the windows, and a couple of the guards near them edged away. In the relative quiet inside the room, it dawned on me that I couldn’t feel the butterflies anymore, and glanced at my shoulder. They weren’t there. I looked around the room for Harbormaster Lin. She wasn’t there either. I was won
dering if Pellan had taken her with him when the door to the hallway opened and I heard a clinking noise. I jerked my head around to stare at a guard carrying chains and shackles heading my way.

  “Ah.” There was a rustle as Chancellor Berle shifted in her chair. “As in any negotiation, there is give and take, and I’m afraid you, Lord Rabbit, have just been taken.”

  Obruesk laughed as I took a step back.

  “But then, you are a runaway apprentice and, regardless of any promises made or degrees to dead and distant kings, should be returned to your master.” I retreated another step and a guard struck my lower back; pain radiated down my legs. He hit me again, and I fell to the floor with a deep groan, rolling away from a well-aimed boot. The sphere swooped to hover in my face and I continued rolling, terror lending me strength to rip my tabard at the seams. As the sounds of scuffles, shouts and Laurel’s deep growl filled the room, I came up on my knees and flung the tabard over the abomination, figuring that it could corrupt my ruined clothes all it wanted. Gripping the ends of my tabard with one hand, I started to rise, as the wind shrieked and crashed against the windows—only to have it go quiet inside the room.

  “Oh, hell,” Groskin said into the sudden stillness, and I looked up to see Doyen Allwyn on the floor, a guard’s boot in his back. The guard bent forward and gripped the doyen’s hair, lifting his head. Blood trickled from Allwyn’s mouth as the guard stretched his neck, placing a knife just under his ear, and the doyen’s eyes met mine, his hot and ashamed that he’d been unable to fight harder.

  Groskin and Suiden lowered the chairs they had grabbed and Laurel dropped his paw. Esclaur was against the wall, his arm at a strange angle, and Javes stood in front of him, one eye swelling shut. Esclaur allowed his head to drop and Javes closed his other eye as I let the tabard go and was hauled to my feet. I stood unresisting as guards attached manacles to my wrists and, pulling off my boots and stockings, placed fetters on my ankles, the weight of them cutting into my skin. One guard snatched the covenant feather off my braid and dropped it on the floor, grinding it under his boot heel. He then fastened an iron collar around my neck, the bolts dropping into their holes with loud clanks, and Chancellor Berle gave me her wry smile as she drank her tea.