Devlin's Luck (34 page)

They were all agreed on what needed to be done. But they had no means to compel the King’s Council to agree with their plans. And yet that had not always been so. By law, the Chosen One was equal in rank to the King’s Champion and the First Councilor, whose authority was superseded only by the King. He was entitled to a seat on the King’s Council and a voice in their deliberations.

Time had eroded both the respect given to the Chosen One and the power he was able to wield. Not since the days of King Olaven had a Chosen One sat on the council. Devlin had the rights but not the power to back up his claims. And if he tried to assert his privileges he would bring himself into open conflict with the King and his councilors—a conflict that he could only lose.

The position of Chosen One existed because of tradition, and because the King willed that the tradition be carried on. If the Chosen One became difficult, the King and his councilors could enact laws stripping him of the ancient rights associated with the office. Which would leave Devlin still bound by his oath and the Geas, yet unable to count upon the resources he needed to fulfill his duties.

And yet if Devlin did not assert at least some of his power, he would be of no use to anyone.

“The council will give you no errand. They have no use for you,” Erling said, breaking his customary silence. Till now he had been merely an observer, saying little except to profess his contempt for Lady Ingeleth and the other conservative members of the council for their refusal to help his native city.

All eyes turned toward him, and Erling flushed under their scrutiny. “I mean no disrespect, my lord, but it is what I have heard. Your earlier success is taken as an affront, and they will give you no other task. You must wait until one of the provinces asks for your aid.”

Devlin nodded. Erling’s words made sense, and as someone who until recently had been part of the inner circle of the court, no doubt he had sources of information that the rest of them could not match. It was why they had welcomed Erling’s presence in their discussions, though until now he had offered little in the way of useful advice.

“What if the Chosen One is summoned to deal with a swamp witch or some such petty nuisance?” the elderly Lady Falda asked. “Such an errand would take time, and would serve our purposes not at all.”

Devlin had to agree with her. He felt uneasy staying in this place, awaiting whatever summons would next trigger the Geas, forcing him to act. It would be a shame to give his life for nothing when there was so much more that he could do.

“Why should I wait?” Devlin asked, as the thought came to him. “Where is it written that the Chosen One must sit tamely in Kingsholm until he is summoned?”

Stephen rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “There is no law, but it has been the custom—”

“It has been the custom because the Chosen Ones before me had no wish to go out and seek their deaths,” Devlin interrupted. “But I have something different in mind.”

Lieutenant Didrik nodded. “I could talk to Captain Drakken. I am sure if we thought on it, we could find a reason for her to send you on an errand outside the city.”

“No,” Devlin said firmly. “Meaning no disrespect to the Captain, but I do not need her to invent an errand. That would defeat my purpose. I mean to show that I am willing to serve without the Geas to drive me.”

“But where will you go?” Solveig asked. “Perhaps Ringstad? With spring, the border raiders will return, and I know the lord of Ringstad would be grateful for your help.”

“Myrka’s sea trade is bedeviled by pirates,” Lord Rikard countered. “They are choking our very lifeblood.”

“Do not forget the troubles in Tamarack,” Lady Falda said. “The strange blights that have afflicted their crops are surely the work of some enemy rather than nature.”

His advisors began to argue among themselves as they offered suggestions as to where the Chosen One’s presence would do the most good. Devlin’s head ached as he considered the possibilities. Northwest to Ringstad and Esker? Southeast to Myrka? South to Denvir? West to Tamarack? Should he go where there was the greatest need or where his presence would offer the most political advantage?

There were troubles on every side of the Kingdom, and he began to feel a reluctant sympathy for King Olafur. He could not help them all, so how was he to decide, knowing his decisions might mean the difference between life and death for those affected?

He realized that the room had fallen silent and looked up to find himself the center of attention.

“It is up to you. We cannot agree,” Solveig declared.

Devlin sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Let us see the map,” he suggested, since his grasp of the geography of Jorsk was still somewhat sketchy.

He rose, and they gathered around a table as Solveig unrolled a map of the Kingdom. Succinctly she described each of the troubled areas, and the reasons for and against his journeying there. Her tone was dispassionate, and she gave no more emphasis to the needs of her father’s ally Ringstad than she did to the troubles of Myrka far to the south.

When she had finished, Devlin tapped his finger on the one border province that had not been included in her recital. “What is happening in Korinth?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied.

“That is not quite true,” Lady Falda said. “The young Baron of Korinth complains often that his subjects are ungrateful and rebellious. But there have been no troubles reported there.”

“They have the Gods’ own luck,” Lord Rikard said bitterly.

Something in his words raised the hairs on the back of Devlin’s neck. He stared at the map, willing it to make sense. Why was this one border province spared when all the others were not?

“Korinth,” he said. “I will go to Korinth.”

“But why?” Lieutenant Didrik asked. “They have not asked for aid.”

“Because I do not believe in luck. There is some other reason why this one province is spared the hardships that have beset the rest of the borderlands, and I will discover it.”

“It is a fool’s errand,” Lady Falda grumbled.

“It is my choice and it is done.” He could not explain to the others, but somehow he knew he had made the right decision.

“Is the King’s Council meeting today?” he asked.

“This afternoon,” Solveig replied.

“Then I will tell them of my decision,” Devlin said.

“You cannot simply walk in there unbidden,” Lady Falda said. “You must wait for the King to summon you.”

Devlin smiled mirthlessly. “Oh, but I can. After all, everyone knows I am an uncouth peasant with no manners and no sense of my station.”

“A disgrace to the Kingdom and to the ranks of the nobility everywhere,” Stephen added in a falsetto voice, giving a wickedly accurate imitation of Lady Vendela’s sneering tones.

Devlin thought for a moment. “Didrik, tell Captain Drakken that I will want to take a dozen of the Guard with me. We will call this a training mission, so have her pick a steady sergeant and those younger guards who need their skills sharpened. Tell her I will want to leave two days hence.”

Didrik saluted. “It will be as you say.”

“I will be ready as well,” Stephen said.

Devlin blinked. He had not expected the minstrel would want to accompany him into danger. For danger there would be, he could feel it in his bones. At the very least, the assassins that had stalked him in the capital might find themselves emboldened once Devlin left the safety of the palace walls.

Not to mention whatever awaited them in Korinth. Yet if Stephen wished to come, Devlin would not forbid it. Stephen had proven his courage, and his friendship.

“Your presence would be most welcome,” Devlin said.

Though normally he cared not what he wore, that afternoon Devlin donned the gray silk shirt, suede trousers, and gray overtunic that made up the formal uniform of the Chosen One. On his feet he wore not the slippers of the court but riding boots, each with a dagger showing openly in its side. As a final touch, he buckled around his waist the sword belt, with the long sword that Captain Drakken had given him on the day of his Choosing.

He had come to realize the power of symbols, for was not the Chosen One simply a living symbol of all the Jorskians hoped and feared? It was time he reminded the King and his council that they had to deal with the reality of his existence.

Lieutenant Didrik and Stephen were waiting outside his chambers when he emerged. Didrik looked thoughtful as he took in Devlin’s appearance, and his eyes lingered for a long moment on the sword belt.

“Is the council in session?” Devlin asked.

“They are just about to start.”

“Good. Let us see what we can add to their deliberations.”

As Devlin approached the council chamber doors, the two guardsmen slanted their spears across the door, signifying that the council was now in session.

“Stand aside,” Devlin ordered.

The guards looked at him, and then at Lieutenant Didrik for guidance.

“Our orders are to allow no one in,” the senior guard explained.

“Your orders do not apply to me,” Devlin said. “By right of my office I order you to stand aside, on peril of your lives.” His right hand fell as if casually to his sword belt, but he knew no one was deceived by his apparent nonchalance.

“But—” the guard protested.

“I would do as he says,” Lieutenant Didrik advised. When the guards hesitated, he added, “If there is any blame, it will fall on me.”

The two sentries exchanged glances, then lifted their spears to the upright position.

“Wait here,” Devlin said. He grasped the door handles and pushed the doors open.

As he entered, the councilors fell silent. Devlin’s eyes swept the room. Duke Gerhard appeared slyly pleased. Lady Ingeleth looked angry. And the King himself looked as he always did, fretful and uncertain.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” Lady Ingeleth asked, rising to her feet. “I demand that you leave at once, or I will summon the guards.”

“There is no need to summon them, for they are right outside,” Devlin countered. “And surely the Chosen One has the right to speak to the King and his council? Did I not do you the service you requested last summer? At your command, I dispatched the beast that had troubled the folk of Esker. I did not expect gratitude, but I do expect the courtesy of a few moments of your time in return.”

Lady Ingeleth resumed her seat. “Very well, you may speak. But we have no intention of approving your foolish scheme.”

Devlin’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. There was something in Lady Ingeleth’s tone that made him think she knew more than she was telling.

“I see Erling has been busy,” Devlin ventured.

Lady Ingeleth turned white with anger and he knew his guess had been correct. So Erling had betrayed them. He wondered what they had offered him. Vengeance? Coin to pay for all he had lost at Vilfort? It did not matter.

“Why do you mention the name of this Erling?” Duke Gerhard asked.

“Because it is clear someone has tried to betray my confidence. If not Erling then another. No matter,” Devlin said, with an elaborate shrug. “I am accustomed to the treachery of Jorskians.”

An older councilor hissed at the insult.

“You see, Your Majesty, it is as I said,” Duke Gerhard commented. “One cannot reason with such a man.”

“I did not come here to reason or to beg. Or even to argue, though a blind man could see that your present course is one of folly,” Devlin said, circling around the council table and advancing toward the head where the King sat. “No, I came here to inform you that I will be leaving in two days’ time.”

“On what errand?” Lord Baldur asked.

“On none but my own,” Devlin replied. “I see no reason to wait in Kingsholm. If trouble comes, it will come to the borderlands first. And so I will journey hence, to do what good I may.”

King Olafur shook his head. “Such is against all custom. Far better that you wait here, until we know where you best may serve.”

“I disagree,” Devlin said. “I have idled away the winter, and now it is time to act. I have decided to take a squad of the Guard with me, to make of this a training exercise.”

“So the Chosen One fears to risk his own life?” a gray-haired councilor asked.

“I will do what I must, but there is nothing that says the Chosen One need make himself an easy target,” Devlin countered.

“I do not like this,” Duke Gerhard said slowly.

To all appearances the Duke’s words were simple caution, and support for his King’s views. And yet there was something about the Duke that rubbed Devlin’s nerves raw. He could not help but look for hidden meanings behind the man’s every utterance, wondering how many plots were concealed behind that bland expression.

This was the tricky part. If the King forbade his leaving, Devlin could not go. And yet it was not the King he needed to convince, but Lady Ingeleth and Lord Gerhard. In the end the King would do as they advised.

Devlin reached the head of the table, close enough so that he could reach out and touch the Duke if he chose. He caught the Duke’s gaze with his own.

“Duke Gerhard, often have I heard you say that the position of the Chosen One is an anachronism, and that there is no good that one such as I can do. So if my efforts are useless, what care you whether I remain in the city or roam the countryside?”