Green Rider (66 page)

As Devon approached, Jendara sprang away. "Over here, old hag!"

Devon changed course again and again, seeking Jendara's voice. Jendara moved about the room, luring her away from Amilton and trying to tire her out. A few of the nobles, forgetting their new allegiance to the self-proclaimed king, shouted encouragement and directions to Devon. It only seemed to confuse her as she looked this way and that.

"You are too slow, old hag," Jendara said.

But in saying so, she nearly lost her life. Devon sprang at her, her sword humming through the air.

Stevic clenched his fists, his body rigid. "Someone should help her."

Sevano touched his wrist and shook his head. "You must let them finish it," he said. "And look around you."

The dozen or so soldiers stationed in the throne room watched the proceedings attentively. The two with crossbows had bolts cranked to the ready should anyone make a wrong move.

"This is between the two Weapons," Sevano said.

"But Devon will—"

"She seeks it," Sevano said. "This is the way Weapons like to die. They do not want to die in their sleep, they do not want to die of old age. Devon can do the most good by having the Jendara woman kill her or by killing Amilton."

Stevic shook his head. It was painful to watch the old woman being goaded around the throne room as if a cloth had been tied about her eyes.

"Come, old hag," Jendara taunted, darting from side to side.

Castellan Crowe banged the butt of his staff on the floor. "This is quite enough," he said. "We can lock her up if we don't want to kill her."

Devon suddenly veered off course away from Jendara's taunts. She pivoted and thrust her sword at the unmoving target of Castellan Crowe.

"Traitor!" she bellowed. She drove her sword through him until the hilt met his breastbone.

Crowe's eyes went wide, then rolled to the back of his head. His staff clattered to the stone floor, and he folded over into a clump. Devon jerked her sword from his body. The length of the blade was stained red. The whole of the throne room went silent. One of the soldiers aimed his crossbow at Devon.

"No," Jendara told him. She circled around Devon, stepping over Crowe's body. "Well done, old hag. If he served as a traitor to Zachary, who is to say he would not betray King Amilton? Hmmm?" Jendara circled around and around, Devon folowing her with the tip of her sword. "But he was unarmed and unmoving. Can you get me?"

Devon answered with her sword and this time Jendara met her. Their blades hissed and clanged, their feet barely moving, their swords just extensions of their arms.

"I see you have not allowed your dotage to enfeeble your reflexes," Jendara said.

"Every day I practice." Devon slashed at Jendara's neck, but Jendara blocked it.

All in the throne room stood as silent witnesses to the fight. The nobles had quieted after Crowe's death, and watched apprehensively, at the same time relieved Amilton's attention was fixed elsewhere. Indeed, he seemed thoroughly entertained by the spectacle and had resumed his seat in the throne chair. He leaned over the arm, murmuring to Lady Estora and stroking her cheek, his eyes all the while following Jendara and Devon. Estora shuddered at his touch and closed her eyes tight. Whatever words he spoke were for her ears alone.

Jendara continued to toy with Devon. For her, it was a simple exercise to block and parry the old woman's moves. Devon, on the other hand, was slowing down, her movements faltering. Her breath rasped loudly.

"Tiring, are we?" Jendara said. "Put your sword down, and you can rest. King Amilton will see to it you are comfortable."

"I will not stop…" Devon said between breaths. Her body shook. "I will not stop until one of us dies."

"Then your heart will burst first."

Devon paused, and a smile crossed her face. "My heart is strong as ever, and more pure than any. You will meet your fate as Saverill did, traitor, and may Aeryc and Aeryon judge you as they will."

Devon leaped at Jendara, and Jendara held her sword up ready to fend off another blow, but it did not come. Devon dropped her sword and ran herself onto Jendara's blade.

Jendara's face turned a sickly white beneath all the bruises. She watched as Devon slid slowly off her blade and sank to the floor.

The silence in the throne room was broken by Amilton's low laughter. "Well, well, Jendara. The wrath of the Weapons will be upon you."

Her expression remained one of disbelief, and now fear. She glanced at Amilton. "They will be upon you, too."

"I think not," he said.

Before he could say more, a soldier entered through the great oaken doors and trotted down the runner. He bowed before Amilton.

"My lord, the Lord-Governor Mirwell has arrived."

A smile split Amilton's face. "Excellent. Send him in."

The half moon was just discernible through one of the tall windows on the west side of the throne room. Stevic calculated they were into the wee hours of the morning and it seemed the nightmare was no closer to ending. It had only deepened.

He watched as the stout old lord-governor, looking gray and haggard, limped into the throne room. An officer in scarlet kept to his side, supporting him as he made his slow, awkward way down the runner. They were followed by another soldier with his helm visor down, and someone cloaked entirely in gray. Stevic felt dread as he looked upon that one, for he carried a basket, its bottom stained with blood.

DECEPTION

It was as if all in the throne room were frozen in time as Mirwell and his companions halted before Amilton. The nobles, guards, Mirwell, and even Amilton, stood rigid and pillarlike. Only the light and shadows showed life as the flames of oil lamps flinched in a draft as though the dark of night threatened to deny them even that simple golden glow. Stevic wondered how the night could possibly get worse.

"It is about time you arrived," Amilton said. "I began to worry our plan had failed."

The Mirwellian officer inclined her head. "Everything went as expected, my lord, but the strain of battle on Lord Mirwell delayed us."

Mirwell glared at the woman. He tried to shake his arm loose of her, but she clung to him.

"My lord Mirwell," she said with an edge to her voice, "you are exhausted." Then she looked about the throne room, briefly eyeing the corpses of Devon and Crowe, and the nobles huddling together. Her face showed little surprise. "Would it be possible for someone to find a chair for Lord Mirwell?"

Amilton clapped his hands and a guard came forward. "Get a chair."

"Yes, m'lord." The soldier trotted down the runner and through the double doors.

Amilton gazed past Mirwell, his eyes settling on the gray cloaked figure. "You have brought something for me, my friend Master Gray One?"

Stevic held his breath as the gray-cloaked figure took one precise step after another, his booted feet making not a sound on the floor, the hem of his cloak swaying at his ankles. He stopped an arm's span from Amilton and reached beneath the folds of his cloak. A gleaming circlet of silver clenched in a gray gloved hand emerged. The night, Stevic decided, had gotten worse. Much worse.

"Finally!" Amilton's voice rang out in the stock stillness of the throne room. He reached for the fillet eagerly, but stopped himself. An impish smile crossed his face. "I would have my Lady Estora do the honor of crowning me."

He walked to her and took her hand. Obediently she stood up and allowed him to lead her to the Gray One. To Stevic, she seemed to be walking in a trance.

"You have been a good friend, Master Gray One." Amilton stroked the black stone at his throat as he spoke. "You have brought me gifts that have made me strong and powerful."

The gray hood nodded, and the gloved hand held the crown out so it shined like a ring of light.

"My lady Estora," Amilton said, "would you do me the honor?"

Lady Estora blinked as if just waking up. She glanced at the Gray One, then at the crown, and back to Amilton.

"No." Her voice was so quiet that Stevic had to strain to hear her.

"What?" Amilton's brows drew together, his anger aroused once again. He was as volatile as a blacksmith's forge.

Lady Estora lifted her chin defiantly and in a louder and stronger voice, she said, "No. I'd sooner spit on you than crown you. You will never be the king your father or brother was."

Amilton's fist flung out, and Lady Estora dropped to her hands and knees with a cry. Mirwell's cold officer watched impassively, and the lord-governor leered as if enjoying some private joke. They were monsters, the lot of them.

Stevic schooled himself to silence, to still his outrage and frustration at Amilton's cruelty. He was helpless against the magic of Amilton Hillander, helpless to stop him.

As a clan chief and one of the leading merchants of Sacoridia, powerlessness was not something Stevic G'ladheon was accustomed to. He had always faced problems quickly and decisively, whether it was averting a clan feud by intervening with tact and a few well-chosen words, or defending cargo trains from thieves. Inaction, in his mind, equated disaster. This time, however, the stakes went far beyond guarding cargo and even his own life. He must exercise restraint and patience, for action could mean disaster.

Yet, he was not helpless to render aid and he crept cautiously to the woman huddled on the floor hiding her face with her arm. He knelt beside her and took her face into his hands. Her lip bled, her fair features would be bruised, but nothing worse, though this was likely the worst treatment she had ever received in her whole life.

"Can you stand?" he whispered.

His estimation of the woman surged as she steeled herself and nodded. Not a single tear threatened to spill from her eyes, though he could feel the trembling of her body as he helped her rise.

Amilton seized the fillet from the Gray One himself and held it high above his head for all to see. "I am king!" He walked among the cowering nobles, displaying the crown so there was no mistaking it.

"It is my birthright," he said. "I would have been king if my brother had not usurped me." He slowly lowered the crown onto his head. "Aeryc and Aeryon as my witnesses, I name myself
King
of Sacoridia."

Silence. Silence and dread as palpable as the granite walls that surrounded them.

Amilton glared at the nobles, prompting them to clap with great enthusiasm.

"You had better clap," Stevic whispered to Lady Estora.

"I cannot applaud for… for
that
," she said, gesturing at Amilton.

"I should not like to see him get any angrier with you," Stevic said. She reluctantly joined in.

Amilton strutted around and among the nobles, ensuring that each person got a good look at him with the crown on. He then climbed up onto the dais and stood tall and straight. "My dear Lord Mirwell," he said, "you have served me faithfully. I grant you, as you requested, the lands comprising Adolind and L'Petrie Provinces."

Lord Nethan L'Petrie emitted a strangled cry. Mirwell's own response was a throaty chuckle.

"Now we are truly doomed," Sevano whispered to Stevic.

It was one outrage after another, Stevic thought.

Amilton seemed pleased with himself for bestowing such a gift. He was likely even more pleased he possessed the power to do so.