A Perjury of Owls

by Michael Angel

  And then I heard my name spoken, followed by the sound of people laughing.

  Before I even thought about it, my fists clenched. I picked up my pace, though I sternly reminded myself to remain in control. In the back of my mind I recalled how, at the start, I was more than ready to let this world plunge into war, for all I cared. But now? I had friends here. I’d sacrificed to save this kingdom. And there was a ruler who’d stuck his neck out to raise me to a high, supposedly respected rank.

  I wanted to see what was so damned funny.

  The Great Hall’s doors had been thrown wide open. I stepped into the glow cast by extravagant torchlight, and abruptly realized where I was standing. I recognized this narrow, high-ceilinged room, from its brilliant tapestries to its fleur-de-lis marked chairs. This was the very room where I’d first met the Andeluvian nobility. There were a couple of small differences between that time and now. For example, there had been a table there at the time, one chaired by Magnus Killshevan in his guise as Duke Kajari. And I’d had Galen the Court Wizard at my side.

  What hadn’t changed a jot? The fact that I was still getting figuratively spat upon.

  The room was filled with many of the nobles that had been bowing to me less than an hour ago. I didn’t see Lady or Lord Behnaz, but I did spot a number of other nobles and knights I recognized. The grim-looking Lord Ivor skulked along the back wall. His son, the strapping knight Sir Ivor, stood with his back to me, his chain mail gleaming and half-drunk goblet of wine in hand.

  Two other knights, whose goblets of wine were empty, stood more or less in the center of the room, commanding the crowd’s attention. They’d probably drank most of their wine, based on how they staggered about on their feet, and their doublets were stained reddish-purple. The taller of the two let out a foully fermented belch before he spoke.

  “You might say that, Sir Varad, but I must caution you! The wench from another world might yet be the favored one of our lord and King!”

  The shorter one named ‘Varad’ let out a boozy snigger. “Favored only because she has some witchy magic between her legs!” The knight’s audience thought this was hysterical. He got roars of laughter in response from both the men and women. And of course, that egged the idiot on even further. “He says that she gave service to our kingdom? I’d rather she serviced my nether parts like a stoat in heat!”

  He dropped his goblet. Then he set his hands down by his hips, as if he were grasping a woman’s buttocks. He grunted lustily as he thrust his hips. This time, the roars of laughter echoed from the rafters.

  To everyone’s credit, the laughter died down as soon as people began noticing that I’d entered the room. Varad’s buddy took one look at my face and quickly disappeared into the crowd. As for Varad, he kept on air-thrusting until he noticed how things had gone quiet. He turned, saw me, and blinked stupidly.

  “Was there anything you wanted to say to me directly, Sir Varad?” I asked coldly.

  A myriad of emotions flitted across the man’s broad face. They ranged from a surprised ‘oh, crap!’ to a sulky ‘how dare you spoil my fun’. Something close to the latter won out. Varad’s voice took on a tone of indignant arrogance.

  “What of it?” he asked, as stray droplets of wine dripped from his straggly blond beard. “Just because you have been named a ‘Dame’ by the lusty urges of our wet-at-the-ears King, you think you merit respect from any of us here?”

  My face went flaming hot. I didn’t mean to get into a pissing contest within the first couple of hours of my investiture. But if I backed down now, I knew – I just knew – that I’d never hear the end of the whispers and jokes about the ‘trollop’ who beguiled the King.

  If I wasn’t taken seriously, then I could see what would happen. I’d lose the best bulwark against the dark forces that were moving behind the scenes. The same mysterious ‘him’ that goaded Hollyhock to destruction would roll over this kingdom like a surge tide.

  What could I do? My mind flashed, focusing laser-like on the guidance that Lady Behnaz had given me right before I’d left for the throne room.

  Suddenly, with one of my brain’s trademark clicks, I knew exactly what to do.

  I lacked the build to snatch up a broadsword and give this idiot a permanent headache.

  But I knew someone who did.

  Chapter Ten

  “Sir Ivor,” I stated. “Put that wine down and come to my side.”

  “What?” Ivor asked with a snort.

  “I speak as Dame Chrissie,” I said imperiously. “I speak as one directly raised to my station by your King. And I order you to put your wine down and come to my side. Now.”

  I didn’t exactly like Sir Ivor. The first time I’d met him, he’d proven to be prejudiced against centaurs and dismissive of me. The second time, he’d been busy trying to convince Fitzwilliam that I was unfit for the court. But in spite of these sterling qualities, he did have the exact grizzly bear build to deliver a chop that would take a man’s head clean off.

  For his part, Ivor gave me a quizzical look. Like most knights I’d met at the palace, he wore his chain mail and his weaponry pretty much round the clock. But he also wore a surcoat over his mail, one that bore the half-moon sign of his house. He knew the rules as well, if not better than I. But to his credit, he gave a tiny shrug as if to say, “All right, I’m curious where this will lead.” He put his goblet down on a nearby table and stood next to me, facing Sir Varad.

  “I am here, Dame Chrissie,” he said simply.

  “Wait! What are you doing?” Sir Varad asked with a quaver in his voice.

  “Sir Ivor,” I commanded. “Draw your sword!”

  Ivor’s weapon came out of its scabbard with a slithery sound. Varad’s eyes went wide as he noticed that the knight outweighed and outclassed him by at least forty pounds of pure muscle.

  The rest of the room had gone dead quiet.

  “Sir Ivor!” I shouted. “Hold your weapon at the ready and advance upon Sir Varad!”

  Ivor shifted the grip on his weapon so he was positioned to deliver either a massive thrust or limb-rending slash. Then the massive knight stepped towards the center of the room, his mail clinking loudly in the silence. People on Varad’s side of the room began to scramble away in a panic.

  Varad’s eyes glazed over in terror as he realized that he was all alone. He backed up a step, but in his drunken haze he tripped over the goblet he’d dropped. He landed butt first on the stone floor with a grunt, whimpering as he tried unsuccessfully to get to his feet, and a cry erupted from his lips.

  “Mercy, Dame Chrissie! I yield!”

  “Halt, and remain where you are, Sir Ivor,” I said, and the knight did so. To Varad, I added, “Stay out of my sight for the remainder of the day. Should I hear you defaming me again, I shall not consider that you have yielded until your guts are on the floor.”

  Varad nodded. Scrambling drunkenly to his feet, he lurched his way out of the room. I looked around at the rest of the guests who remained frozen where they stood. My mind flashed back to my performance in front of the High Elder at the Aerie. Once I was in, I had to finish what I’d started.

  “If anyone else would like to comment on my investiture,” I gritted, “Now’s the time. Because your friend Varad just used up the last of any mercy I plan to show.”

  No one took me up on the offer.

  Sir Ivor lowered his sword, his hard eyes gazing around the room. People began murmuring to each other, leaving the room as quickly as they could, scrupulously avoiding my gaze. I moved to his side as he deftly sheathed his weapon.

  “You certainly have given our nobles something to talk about for the next week, Dame Chrissie,” he said wryly. “I am not fond of you, but I will admit to some satisfaction. Varad’s a pig. A drunkard of a knight who deserves to be pickled in his own juices.”

  “You may not be fond of me,” I agreed. “The feeling is mutual. You still have my thanks.”

  “It was lucky that things did not progress further.
As an outworlder, you didn’t realize that you cannot order me into battle.”

  “Yes, I’m an outworlder, yet I know your rules. I never intended for you to fight.”

  Sir Ivor gave a start. “But you ordered–”

  “Not quite,” I pointed out. “I ordered you to come to my side. Then to draw your sword. And, finally, to advance with it at the ready.”

  “But–”

  “I never ordered you to do anything to Sir Varad, did I?”

  The young knight tried to formulate an answer. His face grew red as he struggled to reply. Instead, a strangely whispery voice sounded next to us as the knight’s father, Lord Ivor, spoke in turn.

  “That was clever, Dame Chrissie. Not diplomatic, perhaps, but clever.” The elder Ivor’s eyes looked at me piercingly, as if reappraising my value. “You have surprised both me and my son, which is a rare thing. For that you have my thanks.”

  Lord Ivor gave me a curt nod, which I returned. Placing a pale hand on his son’s shoulder he guided him towards the exit. In a moment, I was alone in a room that smelled of spilt alcohol and rusty iron.

  I counted myself blessed on the ‘alone’ bit. I found a goblet that no one had gotten around to fouling yet. I poured myself a serving and downed it in one gulp, then waited a full minute for my nerves to stop tap dancing under my skin.

  Looking around I spotted a corridor at the far end of the Great Hall, one with walls draped in banners. With a sigh, I put down my drink before I was tempted to have a second, a third, and so on. Squaring my shoulders, I walked on towards my destination.

  What a great figure I’m cutting on my first day as a Dame, I thought ruefully. First the Noctua, and then this. Now everyone respects me, right?

  I passed by the swaths of cloth, only glancing at the multiple colors and stylized animals as I went by. I just wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the artwork right now. The hall led me to a wide spiral staircase that bent clockwise around a central stone pillar decorated with snakelike carvings. My steps echoed as I ascended the stairs.

  One flight up the landing opened onto a high-ceilinged room flanked by a pair of stone shelves lined with massive leather bound tomes. A wool rug covered the floor. Intricately carved wooden furniture inlaid with glittering pieces of glass had been placed strategically about the room. Spicy floral scents rose from the log smoldering in the nearby hearth.

  I timidly rapped upon the stone by the entryway. “Your Majesty?”

  “In here, Dame Chrissie,” came the reply. I took a few steps in, allowing my eyes to adjust to the light. King Fitzwilliam reclined in a chair draped in rich green fabric as he used the light from a nearby window to read one of the large books. “I take it that you have disturbed my repose because you have something to report?”

  “Yes, your Majesty,” I said, as I made my way over to him. I paused for a moment and bowed slightly before him.

  He grinned. “It is painfully obvious that our ways are new to you. But it is also obvious that you are working hard to make up the difference at the next tilt. That speaks well of your determination and character.”

  “I am trying to uphold the trust you have placed in me by giving me this position,” I said respectfully.

  “Indeed.” The King shot me a wry look. “Does that ‘upholding’ include threatening one of my knights with imminent decapitation at Sir Ivor’s hands?”

  Ouch. Fitzwilliam had already heard about the incident with Ivor and Varad.

  Just my rotten luck.

  Chapter Eleven

  I stammered as I tried to explain what had happened, but Fitzwilliam waved me to silence.

  “Be at ease. I am also aware that your discussion with the owls provoked them into an open display of arms. It seems that word of your deeds – or misdeeds – travel faster than a war-courser at full gallop.”

  “If you already know, then I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “On the contrary, there are things best spoken of in private.” Fitzwilliam indicated the chair across from him. I took a seat as he set his book aside. “As far as I am concerned, about that incident with Varad? He is a landless knight, and living proof that there are too many men in Andeluvia without enough warring for their tastes. You upheld your office without bloodshed, and that is the best I can hope for, given the state of the kingdom.”

  “The state of the kingdom? I’m not sure what you mean, Sire.”

  “That is because you are new. Not to Andeluvia, necessarily, but as to how power and influence work in a kingdom like mine.” He pursed his lips for a moment as he considered how to explain his thoughts. “I’m sure that you recall how I supported hiring you prior to your mission to the griffin aerie.”

  “I do, your Majesty.”

  I kept a poker face as I said the words. Fitzwilliam had initially supported the idea to make me the Court Forensics Examiner, but between the nobles of the court and the budget-blocking maneuvers of the owls, he’d been stymied.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered why I simply didn’t overrule all objections to your appointment? It is well enough for a king to listen to all viewpoints, but I am under no obligation to follow any compass other than my own. For example, I could have told Lord Behnaz that I planned to ignore him and just appointed you to the post.”

  I thought about it a moment before answering.

  “Sire, you once told me how useful Lord Behnaz is, and why you had to free him from prison after I’d brought his past actions to light. I supposed that you were concerned he might be tempted once more into disloyalty. Or worse.”

  “Those concerns exist. Oh, Behnaz seems to be useful enough at keeping order in the Western Reaches. And he seems to be loyal enough, at present. But there’s the word that gnaws at one’s sleep in the wee hours. Seems.”

  “How is that, Sire?”

  “Have you ever considered that, until recently, you have had more experience dealing with Lord Behnaz than I?”

  I shook my head.

  Fitzwilliam’s eyes took on a faraway look. “When I was a boy, so young that I could barely even lift a sword, I was hostaged and brought up in a far land. That is, my life was given as security for the fulfillment of a treaty that my father, King Benedict, wanted very badly.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, your Majesty.”

  “Oh, my life wasn’t unpleasant. I was brought up as one of the ruler’s own sons. I was treated well, and even given chances to learn how to govern effectively. But the fact remains that no one here knows me, and I in turn know none of them.”

  I remained quiet, trying to understand what Fitzwilliam was sharing. Not only were these the private thoughts of my new boss, but it was helping me learn the ‘how’ and ‘why’ behind his decision making.

  “To prosper, a kingdom needs a strong ruler, backed by loyal vassals who are sworn to protect both land and crown. That comes before all else, which is why I can only push so far for what I want.”

  He sighed and went on. “My memories of my father were of a jolly, red-cheeked man with a taste for strong wine over wise statecraft. Certainly, he was beloved by the common people. Yet I can never forget that so many of the nobles here knew of his assassination. They knew, and decided that it was in their best interest to go along with a usurper who never even wanted the crown! That is how poorly my father ruled these nobles. All of them – Behnaz, Ivor, the lot – still bridle at the touch of my royal authority. Which brings me back to you.”

  That surprised me. “I don’t see how I relate to any of this.”

  “The nobles who claimed you were not worthy to attend my court were only one source of opposition. If you recall, the owls who run Parliament also refused to approve my budget if I tried to hire you.”

  “I still wonder why this carried such weight, Sire. Is the owl’s approval of your budget really the key to running the kingdom?”

  “Alas, it is, and it far predates my or my father’s reign. It is not widely known, but the owls do more than write tax codes. They h
ave also always run the office of the Exchequer. They are the ones who collect the taxes, hold the treasury under guard, and approve what I can disburse back to the lords of my kingdom. That in turn allows them to pay for everything outside of their immediate demesne – the upkeep on their roads, payment for the companies of knights-at-arms, and much more.

  “In that case, I’m doubly thankful that you went to bat for me, your Majesty.” At his puzzled look, I added, “That’s an expression from my world. It means that you tried your hardest to support my cause. Even if the effort ultimately failed.”

  Fitzwilliam smiled. “Who said I failed?”

  “But didn’t they stop–”

  “Consider what happens if I bow to the demands of the owls. I would lose face as surely as you would have, had you not stood up to Sir Varad. Therefore, I made my stance very clear just before you left for the Reykajar Aerie. Your mission was to prove that you were fit for my court, not to get the forensic examiner job I’d originally offered.”

  I finally understood the point of Fitzwilliam’s machinations. By making me a Dame, he’d bypassed the owls’ objections and brought me into his fold in a single action. I was so impressed by this, I almost missed his next question.

  “So you are a Dame now, but one without lands. Do you plan to marry one of our eligible lords or knights to gain an estate? At least within the next fortnight?”

  “What?” I gulped. “I mean, ‘No!’. That is, ‘no’, your Majesty.”

  “As I thought. Alas, all the prime land is spoken for, but I’m sure I could allocate some rocky highlands two day’s ride to the south as your demesne.” He rubbed his chin as he considered. “You’ll also need peasants to work the land and pay you rents. I suppose I can find around fifty commoner’s families to put under your care. I would suggest that you start out simple, with farmers who know their trade with the poorer soils. You’ll need a couple of families with blacksmiths, a carpenter, perhaps a weaver or a tanner.”