In the Eye of Heaven Part 52

Kandemar, in the meantime, had appeared.

"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen," spoke the Herald, "His Royal Highness, Ragnal, by the Grace of far Heaven, King of Errest: the Elder Kingdom of the Atthias, and realm of the Cradle's Cradle's Landing." Landing."

The drums called every man and woman to their feet. Only Radomor did not heed them.

The priests swayed forward, incense swinging. They parted around the table. In their wake, the Holy Ghosts filed in, forming a rank behind the dukes, as cold as ancient Kandemar.

Candlelight was golden. Incense bloomed.

Finally, into the stillness of the feasting hall, prowled Ragnal, King of Errest. An heirloom blade glinted at his hip, and, on his brow, the kingdom's black sapphire, the Evenstar, winked in its knotted band of red gold.

"Let us begin this foolishness," Ragnal rumbled, and at his word, the feast began. Ragnal's priest-arbiter said wise words over courses of heron and porpoise and ox, and lords pa.s.sed tokens among the brave. All the while, the gale built beyond the walls. Lightning snapped at the arrow loops with force enough to make the warriors flinch. Durand's hand hardly left the blade at his hip.

Through it all, Radomor neither spoke nor moved. According to every word Heremund had uttered, there were not enough votes to unseat the king. But here was Radomor in his fury. Soon every man at the tables had one eye on the dais, reading the smug looks among those who meant to vote the king down. Even the fools heard the storm. It was all about to fall in.

And, right in the heart of it, was Deorwen. She sat a few places up the table, but was nearer to the Rooks and the Champion and the dukes of Errest. She lifted a cup to her lips, and caught what must have been Durand's wild-eyed stare.

"What was it you called those black fellows?" asked Berchard abruptly.

Durand found Ouen squeezing his arm."-'Rooks' wasn't it?" Berchard said."I think it was, Berchard," said Ouen.

"You know. I met these two lads, engineers, taking a barge up the Green Road. I'm on this barge-caravan guardlike what with there being word of bandits on the Gray Downs south of Wood's End-"

"When ain't ain't there?" said Ouen. "Good pickings down that way. Half the trade from Errest runs up and down the Green Road. Or so I hear." there?" said Ouen. "Good pickings down that way. Half the trade from Errest runs up and down the Green Road. Or so I hear."

One of the Rooks glanced up, transfixing Durand in a hollow instant between heartbeats.

"Now," said Berchard, "I'm standing there with a crossbow in one hand, scratching fly bites with the other. These two lads are staring down at the river, and it's thick as fish oil in the heat, and the flies are hanging in clouds over us, and I'm mopping my forehead, stifling in the mail coat I'd got on, when I mumbled something about how b.l.o.o.d.y hot it was. And these two lads, they just took up laughing, saying they'd just got back from the South and how a man didn't know hot until he'd spent time choking on the dust in Totarra."

Now both Rooks had turned from the plucked carca.s.ses on the shared trencher before them, and were looking across to Durand, eyebrows raised. He could hardly breathe.

Somehow, Berchard kept talking. 'They'd just got back from working the siege of Pontiam. The one in the song?" He set a hand flat on his chest and sang out loud. "In Pontiam nine towers stood, though Barris stood alone. For Waldemar, old Barris would, though many more had flown." "In Pontiam nine towers stood, though Barris stood alone. For Waldemar, old Barris would, though many more had flown." He smiled into Durand's face. "Over the Weasand from Vuranna?" He smiled into Durand's face. "Over the Weasand from Vuranna?"

Transfixed by the attention of the Rooks, Durand held his tongue.

"Anyway, they got talking about King Waldemar down there-a hard man they said-and the rebellion, of course. These Rooks of yours sound like a pair in the rebel camp, what with the black robes and all. Worked in a n.o.ble's court. Used to be priests. Or so they said."

Across the hall, the Rooks were playing with him now, smug grins splitting their waxy faces.

"Priests?" breathed Durand, incredulous. breathed Durand, incredulous.

"So these lads said," said Berchard. "Scribes or arbiters at some court or other. Anyway, our friends must've got greedy cringing around the high table, tugging their master's brocade sleeves, crawling over silk carpets, sleeping in dank cells, sucking stale water while the n.o.bles slosh their gilded mazers of Vuranna's best all around."

As Berchard spoke, the two Rooks poured claret dark as blood. One licked his lips. Durand felt something strange under his hand, but he couldn't look away. Lightning flashed with the crack of thunder hard upon it.

"Seems their rivals had a habit of bowing out. After one feast, the castellan and three bailiffs got so ill that all died but the castellan. Said he lost every hair on his head."

Ouen laughed. "A lucky escape."

"-And a month later slipped on a stone staircase. Fell so hard they could hardly tell who he had been. It wasn't too long before our pair were the only ones left-where once there was a whole choir whispering in the rebel's ear.

"And they'd had their beaks in the wrong books: moldering tomes, scrolls. Things left in cellars from the Heshtarian days before the Crusade cleared the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds out. They fell to spending nights upon the wastelands, crawling among the catacombs and altar stones rotting beyond the eyes of Heaven and living men."

Under Durand's palms, the tablecloth seemed to tingle."If it's the same pair, they came to nothing."

Durand wrenched his eyes from the Rooks. "What?" "What?" He could not look further than Berchard's face. He could not look further than Berchard's face.

"Backed the wrong horse. Their pet rebel was too faithless for the faithless. With the Rooks in his ears he'd swear anything to anybody and break his word just as easy. Our villains, they slipped away just before Waldemar caught up with the rebel. What they did to that man..."

"Thorough?" Ouen laughed.

"So they said," Berchard allowed. "And thorough with the Rooks, as well, what they could find of them."

Back across the fire, the Rooks grinned. With a tiny ripple of his fingers, one roused the picked dove on his trencher. For an instant, it might have been some sleight of hand, but then the creature's walnut skull twitched up as if conscious of the pain of being cooked and picked to pieces. The Rooks smiled at Durand, as though they were sharing a joke.

"This is where my engineers came in, you see. Priests came down to deal with the Rooks' rooms, including two of the Patriarchs themselves. Laid each chamber open to the Eye of Heaven and razed the rebel's castle. But that weren't enough! No. They turned a river over the place. That That was what these engineer lads had been doing last. They hired on with the Conclave after they lost their contracts with the rebel. They wouldn't speak about what they saw when the Rooks' rooms came down or when they took the floors up." - The tablecloth sensation-as though he had his hands in something damp-nagged him till he looked down. Like a spreading stain, the whole of the cloth around him had turned black. As he lifted his hands, he saw their silhouettes, pale as the Lost but filling in. was what these engineer lads had been doing last. They hired on with the Conclave after they lost their contracts with the rebel. They wouldn't speak about what they saw when the Rooks' rooms came down or when they took the floors up." - The tablecloth sensation-as though he had his hands in something damp-nagged him till he looked down. Like a spreading stain, the whole of the cloth around him had turned black. As he lifted his hands, he saw their silhouettes, pale as the Lost but filling in.

"G.o.d in Heaven," Berchard said. Ouen grimaced, twitching his hands into the air.

Table, wall, bench, and food were all scabbed over. A half-finished leg of goose had sunk in on itself, putrid with mold. Maggots teemed. Behind the leering Rooks, a similar broad fan of mildew had bloomed over the plaster. Insects scrabbled down the table. One of Ragnal's own black functionaries plucked one of the running things-cat-quick-and popped it in his mouth.

The lads on Durand's bench leapt back. Durand could see the Rooks chuckling between themselves. Each man of the Holy Ghosts turned, half to Durand, panting with his hand on a sword, and half to the Rooks.

He saw Deorwen's eyes on him, flas.h.i.+ng deep and dark.

"Enough of this farce!" roared a voice from the head of the hall.

The warrior King of Errest stood poised over the high table. From the straw, Durand watched, feeling living things swarm under his boots.

"Let's have done with it" said the king. "We're all here; I see no reason to dance round this business all night. Beoran? Yrlac? What say you?"

Creation boomed outside as the bearded Duke of Beoran leaned on his elbow to savor Ragnal's show of temper.

Radomor, however, swiveled slowly. "Now, my cousin. Let it be now."

Ragnal regarded his opponent then: a man who had fought for him under the summer moons, a man who shared his blood. At the center of this wreck, Durand saw real hatred.

"A fearsome thing is the wrath of princes," said a voice. said a voice.

Durand nearly emptied his guts, for this was no whisper in his ear. It writhed in his skull like a fistful of worms locked tight behind his jaws.

The Rooks were looking his way from the midst of Radomor's green thugs. And, if they had been smiling before, now what fun the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were having.

"These jackals. Hardly fit for conversation, whatever their virtues elsewhere. Far more pleasant to chat with old friends. Have you told your das.h.i.+ng lord how you watched over his sister? Hours and hours. She and that poor baby. Do you suppose she took comfort, knowing there was a kinsman standing nearby?"

"So be it cousin," cousin," Ragnal was saying, "and as I am still ruler of this land, I call the Great Council to begin, and, though I am the subject of its debate, I claim my right to preside." He turned his glare on the a.s.sembled company. "Be you ruled by ancient custom, the judgments of the kings and the word of our patriarchs. No man speak false or bare steel till we've done with this business, on pain of d.a.m.nation." Ragnal was saying, "and as I am still ruler of this land, I call the Great Council to begin, and, though I am the subject of its debate, I claim my right to preside." He turned his glare on the a.s.sembled company. "Be you ruled by ancient custom, the judgments of the kings and the word of our patriarchs. No man speak false or bare steel till we've done with this business, on pain of d.a.m.nation."

Durand thought he heard a murmur of a.s.sent bubble up from the throng around him, but his head was taut with the seething malice of the voice.

"And now we shall hear it" the voice said. the voice said.

Ragnal loomed over the table, almost sneering as he spoke. "Here is the matter: To furnish this realm with an army to pacify the marches, I borrowed coin from this council. As surety for the sum, I have pledged"-he plucked the Evenstar Crown from his head-"this bauble and all the trouble it has brought me. Now that the term of this loan is concluded, I am informed by my treasurers that there can be no repayment." There was an apologetic ruffle from the black functionaries. "Therefore, I must pet.i.tion this, my Great Council, to forgive the debt."

Leaning there, with his mane and beard of copper gold, the King of Errest looked up and down the high table.

"Who," he rumbled, "will speak for forgiveness?"For a moment, no one could move.

Someone nearby was saying, "Durand. Durand what is the matter with you, boy?" Then it was Deorwen's voice, and someone telling her, "For G.o.d's sake, go."

"Who will the brave one be?" said a whisper grinding and slithering in his brains. said a whisper grinding and slithering in his brains.

Durand closed his eyes, gulping for air and clenching his fists.

At the high table, he saw a tall lord stand: the Duke of Garelyn, neighbor of Duke Abrava.n.a.l. They had bound their duchies through the marriage of their children. He looked like a wild Marcher, with his long mustaches, or some arcane lord from the deep of Fetch Hollow. The duke smoothed his long surcoat and knelt before the king.

"I would have the honor, my King, if it pleases you to grant it."

"He is well-spoken for a country lord, do you agree? Like a dog trained to walk on its hind legs"

Durand clasped his head in both hands. He could feel his friends close around him, but he could do nothing to answer them.

"Have we given you our thanks for old Gol? That plan was all his own-his ambush-though he may have made certain a.s.sumptions. It is strange how like children grown men can be. In the end, he only wanted back into Radomor's good graces. But we had no need of him any longer. All that blood, and his own knife. He would have held it a thousand times, and then for it to grate among the bones of his neck..."

Durand could taste blood. He could feel the veins and tendons in his throat. He could feel the catching edges of razor steel. The words writhed and twisted. People were trying to drag him from the hall. He shook himself free.

"You have fought by our side, Garelyn," Ragnal said, "and been our staunch ally. We can think of no man better."

Garelyn nodded deeply and stalked into the s.p.a.ce before the high table as the gale churned and wailed like Lost souls at the arrow loops. The man had to pitch his voice loud over the storm.

"Your Majesty, your Highness, and honored lords of the Council. I will speak plainly. Our silver was not squandered. It was not spent on horses and hunting lodges. It has not bought mansions in Eldinor or wine from Vuranna. In short, it wasn't spent as I might have spent it." Some of the gathered n.o.bles laughed. 'The silver was spent where we were told it would be: on putting down Mad Borogyn and his Marchers. It went to knights and marshals. It went to stablemen and common soldiers. It bought remounts and victuals. It bought these things, and, with them, it bought peace and security on our eastern marches. We have not fattened our king's purse with this money; we have bought safety and freedom for our merchants and tradesmen and our brothers in the marches. Were we mistaken in rendering this money to the king? Was His Majesty mistaken in calling upon us? Should we send back our hard-bought peace for the return of cold silver? I say we should not. My king has bought my peace with my money. I, for one, will not-"

As he spoke, the whole castle shook.A bolt crashed against the rock of Tern Gyre itself, sending the tall lord staggering. Durand pictured turrets sliding into the sea. He felt the jolt through straw and hands and knees.

"He had been doing quite well. Let us hope the storm has not disturbed his pretty speech."

The duke, eyes darting at the high row of arrow loops, made to continue.

"We are forced," he said. "We are forced to speak in base terms-terms of commerce-when the very security of this realm is at issue. Only because this council would not grant its king the aid his cause required is this payment called 'loan' at all. Only because this council would not take up the duty its honor demanded was our king forced to hazard his crown. Where a soldier in the field risks his life to defend his home and honor, our liege lord risks his crown to defend our our homes and homes and our our honor. This debt is not his shame, but our duty. Only by taking up our duty will we be free to lift our heads." honor. This debt is not his shame, but our duty. Only by taking up our duty will we be free to lift our heads."

The tall duke stood a moment, grim-faced with his long mustaches. The storm flickered. He really might have been a Fetch Hollow man.

"So says Garelyn," he concluded. "Let him who wishes deny it."

The Rooks were clapping their hands, laughing, while Durand's head crawled with their whispers.

On the dais, Ragnal turned to fat h.e.l.lebore, smug Beoran, and the Duke of Yrlac.

"Who among you would speak against forgiveness?""Great King," said Beoran, "if it pleases you."

"Another performer! And we had thought to entertain with our little puppet show. We might have saved our efforts."

Durand pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Beoran took Ragnal's snort as permission to stand and bowed from the waist-looking every bit a c.o.c.ksure s.h.i.+p's master. "Your Majesty, your Highness, members of the Great Council."

Durand looked up to see Beoran smiling, splitting his iron beard in a genial grin full of teeth. "If the storm will allow me, I'm afraid that I have been left to pose the obvious question: Is the king not to be held to the same standard of honor as even the meanest of his subjects?"

Durand heard snarls around him."My!" exclaimed the writhing voice. exclaimed the writhing voice. "He is a daring traitor, is Ludegar of Beoran. Ware pride, Your Grace! Ware pride!" "He is a daring traitor, is Ludegar of Beoran. Ware pride, Your Grace! Ware pride!"Durand could barely breathe.

The Duke of Beoran waited with his hand spread over his inflated chest Finally, he raised that hand.

"I do not intend to be flippant. The matter is serious. If our king gives his word, is he not to be held to that oath? If he vows a thing, is he free simply to discard it? I think we know what the answer must be.

"I say His Majesty undertook just just this risk when he begged his loan from this Council. Would we have granted it to him if we had known that we would never see it back? Are we all so wealthy? I fear that His Majesty knew what he did. I fear that he understood that we could not afford so great a gift and so must be cajoled. That we must be given some hope of seeing our fortunes again, or we would not open our hands. In short, I think he'd have promised us a moon." this risk when he begged his loan from this Council. Would we have granted it to him if we had known that we would never see it back? Are we all so wealthy? I fear that His Majesty knew what he did. I fear that he understood that we could not afford so great a gift and so must be cajoled. That we must be given some hope of seeing our fortunes again, or we would not open our hands. In short, I think he'd have promised us a moon."

Durand stared up through the whispers. Lamoric's men were all round him now.

"Our king is not some roving gallant free to beguile his realm with false promises."

"Oh pride, pride, Beoran"

"Every plowman owes the service he's sworn to. Should not the king be held to the same high standard?" Beoran asked. "He has made his promise, and to his promise he must hold. Through guile he has pocketed our money, and now the time has come to repay it And, if he has not the coin, then he must pay the forfeit." Now half the hall was roaring, baying like hounds. Half the hall was on its feet. 'The forfeit he, himself, chose!"

Jeers and shouts resounded in the feasting hall, but Radomor sat on, grave as the dead. His Rooks took it all in, amused at the braying and howling around them.

"Enough!" p.r.o.nounced Ragnal.

He was up, both hands braced against the high table. Even the storm seemed to heed him.

"While I am still king here, we will have silence or sweep this hall of rabble. The Heavens' protest is enough."

All around Durand, friends and strangers stood cowed.

'Wow we see the king as the battling warlord, berating his Council and his lords before their vote." we see the king as the battling warlord, berating his Council and his lords before their vote."

But the hall did not remain silent, and soon murmurs stewed and lightning flashed.

Durand noticed that Ragnal's black-clad functionaries were still picking at their food.

"You have heard the arguments for and against," said Ragnal, "and now I call upon my priest-arbiter."

The stooped prelate stood, smoothing the brocade over his chest. An Eye the size of a gold plate bobbed there. Finally, he nodded that he was ready.

"Is this a matter for the Great Council?" Ragnal demanded.

"It is, Sire. The issue is between the sovereign and his Great Council. His is the debt, and theirs is the power to forgive it."

"And the Crown?"

"It is within the rights of a king to set his kings.h.i.+p aside, as evinced in living memory by the ..." The man hesitated. "By the abdication of Carondas, King of cherished memory."