by Wendy Palmer
'If I was down there,’ he said, not to Mizzle. ‘I'd have him now.’ So well guarded, and a single lapse of attention in this confusion was all his dagger needed. And then Mikcul's reinforcements could go hang for all the help they could give.
Mizzle looked past him at the dust that was the rest of Mikcul's army, coming fast up from the south. She might regret her refusal to let him out against Mikcul, but she would never say it, not even with a look.
When he turned from looking south past frightened faces, Mikcul's banner had fallen.
'What happened?’ he said. Unbidden glee rose up in his throat. ‘Did Filipe get to him? Could you see?'
'It wasn't Filipe,’ said Faustus, hanging over the parapet like a little boy watching knights train. ‘The fog was in the way but it looked like someone in the guard.'
That didn't rule out Filipe, who, it was said, had people everywhere. Trick tried not to believe Mikcul had gone down with his banner, until the rebels on the field starting screaming out victory.
The forces of the Empress weren't rebels anymore.
The Imperial army, superior in size and training and with reinforcements almost to them, collapsed, streaming back south, fighting through mist and knots of savage triumphant men.
Lithia leant over with Faustus. Trick took a moment to realise she was shouting, ‘Don't kill them,’ through the cheers. The Imperial army was hers now, and she tried to pardon them.
The mist lifted abruptly, Mouse slipping down to sit on the ground, head against the wall. Trick touched his shoulder. He saw the reinforcements falter at the sight of the rest of their army fleeing towards them. He saw a group of Dalton's men poised to attack, and realised that Filipe under cover of the mist had led them down to counter the reinforcements.
It was no longer necessary. Mikcul's head was high on a spear. Lithia turned away and the captains of the Imperial army laid down their weapons and bowed to the silver sword banner.
Excitement and blood lust reigned on the battlefield below them, and Trick was distant from it all.
Mikcul, enemy of his dreams, was undoubtedly dead. It did not salve the hole where Linnet was, no matter he had always expected it would. Perhaps the blood had to be on his own blade and not some unknown and lucky soldier. Or perhaps such a thing would not have made Linnet happy, and therefore could not please him either.
He was bored before Filipe came back through the gates with Crethen and the subdued captains. Lithia's guards returned to her safe in the aftermath of the battle and she went to get ready to meet her allies and defeated foes.
Faustus had taken to sitting beside Mouse. Mizzle still stood with Trick. Now Filipe was back inside and the armies were making camp outside and apart, the gates were re-opened. ‘We should go out before anyone remembers us,’ he said.
Filipe had been too quick for him. Soldiers, just a few too many for an honour guard, came up the stairs. ‘You are commanded to the presence of the Empress.'
Mizzle stiffened and Trick reached out to stop her. His hand hovered an inch from insult and retreated. To touch her was to set her off, he knew that, and make himself the first target.
'Mizzle,’ he said. ‘We're not in any danger yet. Let's see what she wants first.'
She nodded, and pushed past the soldiers going down the stairs, decision made and no delay. She could be just that sudden, storm and threat and then ice. She started braiding her hair, walking to Skye. She was getting shove after shove and still he thought she did not use the stone. Something had to give. So she braided her hair as a sign to the world not to cross her. A sign a Bourchian would understand, certainly. But would a Livanian?
Her slide back to her DarkElvish ways was not complete. She had not bared her swords yet. He and Faustus and Mouse followed her to the horses and the soldiers came after, standing back and nervous. They should be.
They went through the streets to Dalton's palace, waved through the gate with many stares from the guards. The soldiers tried to take their horses. Mizzle held onto Skye's reins with enough fierceness to make the mare lay her ears back and the soldiers edge away.
Again, Trick intervened, trusting Filipe. ‘Let them take her, Mizzle.'
She glanced aside at him and let go of the reins. He had to feel astonished and hid it. Half their guard took the horses away and the rest led them into the palace and to a side room, small and crowded with only Lithia and Filipe and Mikcul's head.
And one other. It was Mizzle's turn to be astonished and Trick had never thought he would see her so.
Jarrett waited there, mirror to Mizzle in his dark presence in the human room, swathed in a cloak, the hood thrown back. He must have come hooded across the battlefield and through the streets to avoid the daylight. His eyes were alight. ‘I bring you your enemy's head,’ he said, in DarkElvish. Trick understood that, well enough.
'Speak Bourchian,’ was Mizzle's only comment. The last time Trick had seen them together, they had been friendly. Mizzle was flat and cold now.
Jarrett looked to Trick.
Trick kept his face neutral but he waited to be given away to Mizzle. But Jarrett either did not recognise him or for his own reasons chose to keep his recognition quiet.
The DarkElf turned back to Mizzle.
'Is this Jarrett?’ whispered Faustus. He had heard a name in a mountain cave and guessed correctly.
Trick had his own idea. Mouse stood by the door as if to run. ‘Is this the DarkElf who aided Avenir against your master?'
And Mouse nodded. Trick had not expected it, not of Fingers.
Mizzle looked at Jarrett in the aftermath of that nod. ‘You worked for Mikcul.'
Jarrett waved a long-fingered hand towards the head, gory and leaking on to the precious rosewood table. ‘For a time. Until my chance. Then the mist came and took the sun away while Mikcul and his guard were distracted.'
Filipe spoke then, brave man. ‘He has aided us.’ He watched them all.
'And aided Mikcul first.’ Mizzle turned her silver gaze on him. ‘You think to trust a creature that changes sides so easily?'
'I did so you would trust me,’ said Jarrett. His words were conciliatory, his tone was not. ‘See how it is possible to live among and help humans.'
'I go to the LightElves and you will not dissuade me of that.’ Mizzle started for the door.
Lithia stood. ‘Please,’ she said, in Livanian, and ignorant of all tension in the room. ‘I invited you in to accept my hospitality.'
'We did nothing to deserve it,’ said Trick, just quietly, and wanting away from Jarrett who was not the Fingers he had known.
She held a hand out and let it drop. ‘You tried to. You would have. Please.'
Trick would have, and then Jarrett would never have been invited in as hero of the rebellion for doing what Mizzle had not let Trick try.
'She wants to go,’ Trick said.
'Stay the night. Ask her.'
Her green eyes swayed him. ‘Mizzle,’ he said, in Bourchian. ‘It's getting towards dark, it's food and shelter. Just one night.'
For the third time, Mizzle let him decide for her. She nodded, sent a burning glance at Jarrett and allowed them all to be taken upstairs. Trick glanced down into the hall, and saw the Imperial captains, waiting quiet and under guard. So Lithia, or Filipe, had decided to deal with them first.
Some of the captains looked happier than others. Well, they were all Livanians and Mikcul had not been liked. He just paid well.
* * * *
Trick took the luxury of a bath and a borrowed set of clothes and sat on his bed, alone for the first time in long enough, waiting for the call to the celebratory feast. He expected to be eating with a group of captains who bent the knee to their new Empress.
Dalton's clothes fit poorly but the cut and cloth were expensive. Looking at the sleeve, he wondered that there had been no son's clothes to lend, which led to the issue of an heir to Dalton's lands. Crethen, absent so far, was due a reward. So were Jarrett and Filipe. Lithia could n
ot be such a fool to give the province to any of them. Crethen would control the north if he owned any more of it then he did, and Livanians would not accept a foreign lord.
And not ever a DarkElvish lord, riding out of legend to take the head of his ally. Jarrett who seemed so prescient he sided with Mikcul to gain his trust in order to betray him for Mizzle, long before Mizzle ever left the DarkElves to be besieged by him.
A knock at the door interrupted him. He expected the call to dinner and rose as the door opened.
'Trick,’ Jarrett said, smiling. ‘Do you remember me?'
Trick took a breath to lie and thought better of it. ‘Fingers,’ he said, and moved aside to let him in.
'Odd company you keep, old friend.'
Trick stayed silent. Mizzle distrusted this one, Mouse shivered in fear of him, and he was not the DarkElf Trick had so loved on the pirate ship, substitute for a distracted father.
Jarrett sat on the bed. ‘She has infected you,’ he said. ‘I ever warned you so.’ He shook his head as if saddened.
'What do you want?’ Trick's voice came out unexpectedly shaky.
'I worry for her,’ he said. ‘She goes to the LightElves only to be killed and to hand over the means for killing all others of her kind.'
Mizzle had ignored Jarrett's misgivings regarding that. Trick could hardly trust her judgment, but he trusted Jarrett less. ‘Do you care?'
'I left the DarkElves,’ said Jarrett. ‘I do not wish them harm.'
'Why did you help Mikcul?’ This was the heart of the matter, why Trick wavered in suspicion of the creature who had once been his friend.
Jarrett sighed. ‘Even we DarkElves can be fooled. I allied myself with a human who seemed a better candidate to rule Livania.'
The old Emperor had been a weak man, that was true. And some in Livania had prospered under Mikcul. Trick hadn't.
'Who are you to interfere in human affairs?’ Who are you to set the man who had my wife killed on the throne?
'Pride,’ said Jarrett. ‘I have learnt my lesson, with years spent trapped with Mikcul, too vindictive and well-guarded to act against. He never trusted me. If I stayed away too long, he would make Avenir hunt for me. When I was with him, he had me watched. He guarded against me at night, but he knew I could not harm him in daylight. Until the mist came down on the battlefield.'
Trick could not imagine Mizzle so ensnared. But Jarrett had always said the DarkElf females were a world apart from the males. So Jarrett had been stupid and weak-willed and had redeemed himself with a sword.
Trick nodded slowly.
Jarrett stood and bowed. ‘All I ask is that you speak on my behalf.'
Somewhere he had become Mizzle's handler for everyone else. He could not understand that. If she refrained from killing him, surely all else were safe to talk to her.
'She listens to you,’ Jarrett said, as if he had read his mind. ‘I travel to the capital with the Empress. Persuade her to come with us so I may talk to her.’ He went out.
Trick took a few deep breaths.
Another knock came. Filipe opened the door. ‘Coming, Trick?'
Filipe and not a servant came to fetch him. Trick waited for Filipe to start.
'So Mikcul is dead,’ Filipe said as they went down the hallway. ‘That must make you happy.'
Happiness had not featured for him for a long time and it did not touch him now. He stayed silent.
'He had your wife killed.’ Filipe pressed him for reaction.
It echoed the thought he had had with Jarrett. ‘So one of the people I blame is dead? There are two others.'
One was Hesperus, the First Priestess of the Moon-Cult. Let Filipe guess who the other one was and tread carefully around him, he who had ordered the Company to hide Lithia under Mikcul's vengeful nose. His targets were substitutes for the white-robed priests who had done the deed, but they were real enough.
It shut Filipe up for most of the way to the feast. Then he said, ‘We go to Lsuana. Will you persuade your DarkElf to travel with us?'
So Filipe's request was the same as Jarrett's. But Filipe always acted for himself.
'She does nothing for you.'
'She might,’ said Filipe.
Fortune knew what Filipe thought he could manipulate Mizzle to. Filipe led him to his seat and left him there with no further word.
He had made the head table, with Dalton's captains and Jarrett, and Crethen and Filipe on either side of Lithia further along. A moment later, Mizzle, Faustus and Mouse joined him. Mikcul's captains and the town leaders were at two longer, lower tables. The room was crowded and hot and Mizzle did not look comfortable. Her hair was still braided. That was a bad sign.
'This Empress forgives too much,’ she said, looking down at the table filled with the Imperial army captains.
'They pledged to her,’ said Trick. ‘She owns the Imperial army. She needs that army to hold power against those who put her on the throne and think they could take her off it.'
'What happens now?’ asked Faustus.
Servants brought out jugs of mead and decanters of Livanian brandy. Trick took a cup of the latter. ‘She rides to Lsuana. She still has the other provincial lords and the Moon-Cult to convince.'
As the first course, roast swan stuffed with nuts, was laid on platters down the table, Lithia herself walked down the line of people and said in his ear, ‘Will you please come to Lsuana with me?'
Now that smacked of Filipe's interference. Lithia went back to her seat.
Trick muttered, ‘I'm being made into a pawn and I don't like it.'
He said it in Livanian out of respect for Mizzle's sharp ears. That was the third request to go with the Empress to Lsuana. Would soldiers coerce them when politeness failed?
Sighing, he turned to Mizzle. ‘We should go to Lsuana with them.'
'No.'
'Why is that always the first word out of your mouth?'
'Trick!’ Fortune, but Faustus had on his righteous stiffened face again. That he should talk back to Mizzle, the height of outrage. Mouse on the other side gave him one of his wide-eyed looks.
Trick ignored them both. ‘Mizzle, we would be travelling with an army. Safe.'
Three times today she had bowed to him and his decision. She had been, he suspected, disorientated with blindness and unpredictable humans and second-guessing all decisions as too DarkElvish.
Now she denied him and did not reconsider, not giving him so much as a second shake of her head. She stared through him even as he spoke.
He saw Lithia glance their way from up the table. Filipe studiously avoided looking at them. On the far side, Jarrett watched Mizzle like a cat.
Was it the stone or Mizzle he pursued? Trick could not decide. But he did not think there was harm in him. Except that under the eyes of this other DarkElf, Mizzle was silent and DarkElvish once again.
Except—Fortune's eyes, his thoughts were going in circles while he ate roast swan and tried to think how to get Mizzle to Lsuana—except Jarrett wasn't a DarkElf, not really, not by conscious decision. It might be hard to shrug off a mantle of breeding and ancestry, but he did better than Mizzle.
'You could learn from him,’ he told her.
Finally, Mizzle's silver eyes focussed on him. He wished they hadn't for a traitorous second. But he had already decided he would never be frightened by her and even if he was, she would never know it. So he held her gaze unblinking.
'I have made a decision,’ she said.
'The wrong decision.'
'Trick, she said no.’ Faustus was agitated where Mizzle was ever calm.
She looked calm but he felt a wave of fury that she pushed away, as she had done at the old couple's cottage when faced with his and Mouse's stubbornness.
She did not use the stone.
He was, unexpectedly, proud of her, and had to distract himself from what that meant. ‘Is it your upbringing on your knees to Fortune that makes it so easy, cousin?'
He thought he might persuade Faust
us to hit him but the Ullwyn throttled it down and half-turned his back to look at the rest of the table. Trick drank his cup of brandy. A servant appeared at his elbow and filled it. He poured this into his flask, ignoring stares, and got another re-fill for the cup.
Lithia was using Dalton's wealth with abandon, to be so free with the moon-brandy and swan. Their next course was lobster with butter and lemons, rare in Livania with its inhospitable coastline. Trick noticed neither Mizzle nor Jarrett touched the sea-meat. Jarrett had never eaten any fish on the pirate ship either, preferring the dried meats and other stored rations, and fresh milk and cream when he could get it.
The table went silent. Trick realised Filipe was speaking to Lithia and Crethen, causing conversations to falter as the rest of the table tried to hear.
'When we reach Lsuana,’ he was saying. ‘It remains to be seen if the southern lords will recognise you.'
'They will with the combined forces of the Imperial army and my men,’ said Crethen. Lithia looked steadily at her plate and Dalton's captains murmured. Trick knew the source of their unease. Did Crethen exclude them, or did he subsume them into “his men"?
Trick saw trouble in this. The way Filipe avoided Crethen's eyes said the same. Now Dalton was dead, Crethen was the only lord who had stood in support of the Empress. He expected reward, and he should get it. He could not hope for marriage for himself, with his wife at home, but he had to have sons. Or if he didn't, he sat in his neighbour's heirless lands.
But Crethen was already too powerful, in a way Dalton hadn't been. Filipe had set the situation to make Dalton the hero, leaving Crethen as the reinforcement. Crethen might have saved the day with his larger army but Dalton would still have stood first in any line for reward.
Mizzle had a way of upsetting the best-laid plans. Crethen waited now to be told his reward for marching to the aid of the Empress.
Filipe said, ‘We perhaps do not need quite such a large army or the other lords will think we have already declared war.'
'Careful, Filipe,’ said Trick to his cup and seeing Crethen's eyes narrow. Don't slight this one in front of the Empress.
'Empress?’ said Crethen, direct challenge to Filipe's authority.