The door opened once more and the chancellor stood. “Is the Council ready, Lord Commander?”
“Yes,” Pellan said, stepping into the room. He looked over at the elfin guard holding the knife to Doyen Allwyn’s throat.
“The human resisted when the chains were brought in, Commander Eorl Pellan,” the guard said.
Pellan nodded and walked across the room to the other door. “Bring them.” As the guards pushed us into the next room I caught a pattern in the floor and turned my head. The Witness Circle. I glanced around and discovered that we had entered the main audience hall through a side chamber. Pellan signaled us to stop so that we faced a long table on a platform, opposite to the Fyrst’s throne. And at the table, some sitting on chairs and some not, was the High Council. Or at least a portion of it.
Chancellor Berle swept to the front and bowed, making it clear that she was separate from us. “Gracious lords—” she began.
“If you please, Chancellor,” said an elf who was seated at the middle of the table. Ribbons woven into his pale blond hair indicated that he was a northern clan chieftain. I stared, trying to see if I knew him, but the sphere, apparently taking exception to my interest in the Council, floated in front of my face, and I lowered my head.
“There are a few things we must take care of before we can start,” the elf said, and I heard Laurel beside me growl. “Are you ready, Kareste?”
My head shot up; all of a sudden I didn’t care about evil spheres. Magus Kareste, though not a Council member, sat at me end of the table. He saw my look and gave me a wintry smile, laying his hand on something before him. I blinked as I recognized Laurel’s staff, and Kareste’s smile widened a bit before he turned to the elf. “Yes, I’m ready, Ilenaewyn.”
At Ilenaewyn’s nod, the hall’s main doors opened and Kareste stood, picking up Laurel’s staff, raising both it and his free hand. Laurel’s growl exploded into a bellow, and a guard, emboldened by the Council’s presence, backhanded him, knocking the cat to the floor. I turned around, my chains clanking, and my mouth gaped.
The haunts were coming into the hall but instead of their usual flowing, pouring and running, it was a halting progress as they fought each step they took. Honor’s arms were locked to her side and her head thrown back as she strained against whatever was pulling her into the room; Basel’s antlers were lowered as he too was dragged in stiff-legged, the unicorn, the leopard, and all the rest bucking, twisting, resisting. I shifted so I could also see the Magus, and his ice shard eyes were glittering as he began to move Laurel’s staff in a complicated pattern, murmuring. He brought the staff sharply down and there was an unbearable moment when the haunts distorted, their mouths stretched open in silent, prolonged screams. Then they were gone.
“No,” I said, ignoring both the metallic taste in my mouth and the sphere that floated back in front of me, splitting my view of the Magus.
Kareste dropped the staff onto the table with a thunk before he sat down. “A summoning, a binding, a banishing. Easy enough to do with ghosts—if one’s aspect is earth.” He gave another wintry smile. “Mine is not, but fortunately I do have a staff that once belonged to one whose aspect is.”
“Vile necromancer!” Laurel roared. He staggered to his feet. “You have twice murdered them!” His rune was white hot, light radiating from it as he began to raise his paw at the Magus. “By the Lady Gaia I pronounce you cursed—”
The guard hit him again, this time in the stomach, and Laurel bent over, gasping.
Kareste looked at Laurel as if the cat were horse droppings he’d just stepped in, then turned to the northern elf. “I’m finished, Ilenaewyn.”
“Very good,” Ilenaewyn said. He looked at Pellan. “Bring in the first group.”
Pellan bowed, signaled the guards at one of two doors, and the Fyrst, Molyu and Wyln were escorted into the hall. Molyu turned her head to take in our battered group, and I heard Berle’s swift intake of breath at her blazing gold eyes—so much like Jusson’s.
The guards led them to the dais and Ilenaewyn leaned forward in his seat, looking at them. “A binding has been placed on Her Grace Molyu. The High Council will have your paroles for good behavior, or she will bear our displeasure.” He waited for a moment, but the trio remained mute, their own faces blank as they stared back, and he nodded at the Magus. “Go ahead.” Kareste gestured at Molyu, and she stiffened, her mouth flattening out in pain.
Javes cast a side glance at the chancellor. “Your new allies, Berle,” he murmured.
The chancellor hunched a shoulder. “Can’t have eggs for breakfast without breaking a few.”
“Your parole, Loran, Wyln,” Ilenaewyn said. He waited a moment, then signaled Kareste again, and Her Grace gave a grunt, her face drawing. A spot of blood appeared at the corner of her eye, dark red.
“I give my parole,” Loran said, and Kareste started to lower his hand.
“No,” Ilenaewyn said. He looked at Wyln. “You too, Enchanter.”
Wyln said nothing, and Ilenaewyn signaled once more. Kareste raised his hand again, making a fist, and Her Grace jerked and gave another grunt, the blood welling up and spilling over.
“I give my parole,” Wyln said, and Kareste lowered his hand. The tension abruptly left Her Grace’s body, but Her eyes remained fixed on Ilenaewyn as a single drop of blood coursed down her face.
“Good,” Ilenaewyn said. “Take them to the other prisoners.”
The guard guided the Fyrst, Her Grace, and the Enchanter over to where we stood. As they reached me, they stopped, ignoring the guard’s efforts to move them behind us. Loran turned and faced the High Council, his face calm as if he weren’t standing dispossessed in his own hall, having just watched his wife being tortured. Molyu, however, gave me a searching look, taking in the glory sphere and the chains, while Wyln looked at Pellan, his face still blank but his eyes flame filled. The commander frowned and started to move toward them.
“Let them be, Pellan,” Ilenaewyn said, and the commander stopped. “They’re impotent.” Dismissing us, he turned his head to look down one side of the table and then the other. “Are we ready?”
The Council members made various noises of assent.
“Good.” Denaewyn looked back at Pellan. “Bring them in.”
Pellan signaled once more, the other guarded chamber door opened, and Lord Gherat ibn Dru and Ambassador Sro Kenalt walked in. Archdoyen Obruesk smiled and gave a slight bow to Chancellor Berle—before he went to join them at the front of the dais.
Heedless of the iron collar, I threw my head back and howled with laughter. “Fools!” I cried. “Fools, fools, and three times fools!” A guard hit me again in my lower back, and I doubled sideways in pain, still laughing as tears rolled down my face.
Chapter Sixty-five
It was Chancellor Berle’s turn to stand with her mouth hanging open as she stared at Gherat, Obruesk and Kenalt arranging themselves in front of the High Council, making it clear that they were invited guests.
“I say, Berle.” Javes had managed to keep his quiz glass and now raised it to his good eye. “I thought you said that you were the only turncoat here.”
“You’re looking a little worse for wear, Javes,” Gherat said from where he stood, smiling. “Not quite your natty self.” He looked at Lord Esclaur and shook his head. “You also look beat, Esclaur. Rough day?”
“What’s—” The chancellor stopped and tried again; her voice rasped. “My lords, what’s happening here?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Berle?” Esclaur lisped around his split and bleeding lip. Even though one arm was dangling useless, he used the other to raise his own quiz glass at the trio by the council table. “You’ve been duped, indeed yes.”
Ilenaewyn looked up from where he and the rest of the Council were conferring. “What’s happening, Chancellor, is an investigation into charges that those close to Jusson of Iversterre, with his knowledge and approval, engaged in the murder and enslaving of the People.”
“But I—” Berle stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “I told you about them, about how the king didn’t know.”
“So you did,” a gnome Council member said, stroking his beard. “We don’t believe you.”
Gherat gave a genial smile.
“Vicar Obruesk and Gherat Dru’son have both testified to the Council how the human king encouraged the ‘poaching’ for sport and profit,” a sprite wearing water lilies and very little else said. She turned her gaze on me. “As they have also testified about his encouragement of Rabbit Two Trees’son’s sorceries.”
“A sorcerer,” Kenalt said, sounding shocked. He turned his gaze on Suiden. “My cousin, what have you done? You had so much, and now look at you. All because of a concubine. If only you had admitted your fault to the amir and begged his forgiveness!” He shook his head, his beaded braids clacking. “But now! Friend of dark wizards and others of ill intent. And smuggling! When you were once heir to the empire.”
Suiden said nothing, his green eyes fixed on his cousin.
Kenalt turned to the Council and bowed, hands and arms waving. “Sroene, I am exceedingly sorry to report that Prince Suiden, through rascally associates, sold goods and slaves stolen from the Border in our markets. This has been stopped and the amir is hunting down the miscreants to visit his wrath upon them.”
“Thank you, Ambassador Sro Kenalt,” Ilenaewyn said. “It is clear that the human kingdom is once again doing violence against us with such brutality that the Council has no recourse but to declare war—”
“No!” Berle clenched her fists. “You cannot—”
“Someone shut her up,” Ilenaewyn said. “She wearies me.”
A guard struck Chancellor Berle across her face and she jerked, as much from startlement as from pain. Suiden moved to stand in front of her, and the guard drew back his fist.
“Don’t hit him,” Ilenaewyn said. “Despite Sro Kenalt’s intimations, the Amir of Tural hasn’t disinherited the prince and I’m sure the amir will be glad to get his heir back reasonably whole.” He ignored Kenalt’s sudden scowl as he turned his head to look at me. “Just as Kareste is glad to have his apprentice returned.”
The wind gave a sudden howl, shaking the windows hard and long.
“Hear how the wind cries for him,” a sylph said, her voice like the rustling of leaves in a summer breeze. The air elemental looked at me with large sky blue eyes full of scudding clouds, and I realized who’d blocked me. “Are you sure this is wise?”
“What do you mean?” the water sprite asked.
“Giving the human to the Magus,” the sylph replied. “He managed to get away once.”
“I also have reservations,” a firedrake hissed. “It’s taken a glory sphere, chains, and an elemental to contain him.” He rustled his leathery wings. “But where else can we put him?”
“Nowhere,” a gossamer-winged faerie said. She also turned her moss green eyes on me. “It’s either that or kill him.”
“Don’t worry, honored folk,” Kareste said. “This time Rabbit will be bound tight enough so that he’ll stay put.” He gave his wintry smile again. “The sphere alone will ensure his obedience.”
Ilenaewyn nodded again and settled back into his chair, looking at Berle. “We will send you back to your king with our declaration of war, Chancellor.”
Chancellor Berle, her hand to her cheek, whispered, “But the parliament—”
Ilenaewyn ignored her, turning his attention to us. “Bring the accused forward to stand before the Council.” He waited until the guards prodded, shoved and pushed us into position before the dais. “The Council will hear what you have to say in your defense, before we render judgment.”
“Against what charges?” the Fyrst said. “Have they been published?”
Ilenaewyn smiled and held out his hand, and the gnome handed him a scroll. “These charges, Loran, given into Pellan’s hand and published by him. As he will attest.”
“Including the human vicar’s accusations?” the Fyrst asked. “He could have made them only a short while ago, as he has just escaped the ship’s brig. Have you had time to write his charges out and publish them also? Will Pellan attest to that?”
Ilenaewyn’s smile disappeared as he gave the Fyrst an annoyed glare. He then turned to Pellan. “Bring us paper and writing implements.”
Pellan nodded and sent a guard scurrying. Ilenaewyn beckoned Obruesk to the table, Gherat and Kenalt following, and we were once more shuffled off to the side.
“Why are they bothering?” Esclaur said. “They’re going to kill us anyway. Might as well get it over with, and pox rot all this sodding nonsense.”
I supposed Esclaur’s posturing came of hanging about with royalty to whom dying valiantly was, at least in bards’ songs, better than victory. But I didn’t want multiversed eddas of how I died a hero’s glorious death. I didn’t even want a refrain. I wanted to live, and live free of the Magus. The glory sphere kept interfering with my view of the Council, but I caught glimpses of Kareste. While he wasn’t outright gloating, he oozed a terrifying subtle satisfaction, reminding me of a spider in its web anticipating a leisurely meal of a particularly plump and juicy fly.
But more than the thought of being back in the Magus’ hands, more than the betrayal by Berle, more than the looming death of my friends and war with the Border, the memory of Honor Ash, Basel, and the rest of the haunts struggling as they were compelled by the Magus’ summoning, and their look of terror and agonizing silent screams as they were banished, kept prying at the edges of my mind. Anger crept up on me, a knot in my chest. I took a deep breath trying to ease it—and got a faint smell of sweet grass and rich earth. I shot a glance to Laurel, but he stood staring at the Council, his tail lashing back and forth.
“They must follow the form, even if the substance is gutted, Esclaur Dhawn’son,” Wyln said, “so that they’ll be blameless when the true session begins and they announce that we’ve been executed for crimes against the People.”
I looked over at the council table, trying to see if the scent was coming from those who had the earth aspect, but the damn sphere floated in my face and I lowered my head, only to get another whiff of green life. I lowered my head further and inhaled, filling my lungs. It was coming from where I stood.
“But why?” Berle asked, her hushed voice anguished, her hand still on her bruised cheek. “Is it because of the smuggling?” Her fox eyes were wide on Gherat. “Do they truly believe that I lied? That Dru is innocent?”
“No, Chancellor,” the Fyrst said. “You had secret meetings with certain Council members, yes? Before they officially arrived?”
Berle’s unbruised cheek turned red. “Lord Pellan took me to them, Your Grace,” she admitted.
“And they asked you not to reveal to me that Dru was involved in the running?” the Fyrst continued.
“Yes, Your Grace. They said if it were to get out, it would undermine any chance for peace.”
“No, it would’ve undermined them.” The Fyrst turned to look at the Council. “They know exactly who was felling and running and where it all was going, because they initiated it.”
“Their own people?” Javes asked, his uninjured eye wide as he looked at the Fyrst. “Slaughtered and enslaved and sold to us! What on earth for?”
“It’s a spur, Javes Merchant’son,” Molyu said. She shifted her stance so that she partially blocked my view of the Council—and theirs of me. “They will blame your king, thereby roweling the People with such rage and grief that this time when they go to war they won’t stop until the entire human kingdom is swept into the sea.”
I inhaled again, feeling intoxicated.
“If you continue chattering, I will nail Molyu to the hall doors,” Ilenaewyn said, raising his head from speaking with the archdoyen.
“You will harm the surety for our parole though we’ve not broken it?” the Fyrst asked. “That’s not wise.”
“And then I will kill the vicar and rub your faces in his blood,” I
lenaewyn snapped, goaded. A guard placed his knife once more against Doyen Allwyn’s neck.
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Wyln asked, sounding interested.
“Not to me,” Allwyn said, his voice calm. “My soul is prepared to meet my God.” He looked at Obruesk. “Is yours, Your Reverence?”
“Perhaps a little flaming will convince them to remain quiet,” the firedrake suggested before the archdoyen could respond.
“Flame me, Senass?” Wyln asked, just as interested. He shifted to look at the guards around him and, parole or no, they eased back.
“Perhaps we just should kill them anyway,” the faerie said. “We have the prince and the apprentice. We don’t need anyone else.” She smiled, showing pointed, sharp teeth. “How about an escape attempt? Those can be lethal.”
I inhaled again, the fragrance of the earth suffusing me, and I was once more behind a plow on my parents’ farm. The sun was warm on my back as I followed the horse, the fertile loam a song of spring and new beginnings. I stumbled and, looking down, I saw a branch reaching up from the ground towards me, a single ripe fruit hanging from it. My hand yearned towards the fruit’s smooth fullness and I slid my fingers around it, gently pulling. As I did, the branch came up also and, catching it in my other hand, I saw it was really a staff of ash wood—
“Where did he get that?” Ilenaewyn shouted.
My head snapped up to see the glory sphere flying at me. I knocked it away with the staff, my chains rattling.
“Stop him!” Kareste jumped up, knocking over his chair.
Laurel roared, his claws raking, as he fought to get to the table and his own staff. Kareste snatched it up and started backing away, his free hand weaving, his fingers crooked as he muttered. The firedrake flamed at the cat, and Laurel flung up a paw, deflecting it. The water sprite shrieked as the fire stream hit the table and she cupped her hands, pouring water over the flames.
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