Knights Magi (Book 4) (65 page)

Rondal pursed his lips in thought as he considered what she said.  Yes, he had to admit, her pretense to social status had, indeed, ensured her security at the outpost.  There was no telling what would have happened if
Belsi had revealed herself as a common serving girl, even around disciplined men.

But what kind of man did she think Rondal was?  He would not have allowed them to molest her.  He had picked them on good recommendations from their commanders, and none had a reputation for such sport.  While he understood her fear in a chaotic situation, he and his men had given no sign that they meant her ill.  They treated her with the courtesy and respect any man who knew Ishi’s laws would.  “Why did you persist, then, when it was clear that my men and I were well-behaved?”

“Would you have extended me the treatment that you did if I hadn’t?” she demanded tearfully.  “Would you have looked upon me as a peer, not as a hindrance?  Would you have taken me seriously as common old Belsi, and not the noble Arsella?”

“Now we shall never know,” Tyndal said, unprompted.  His eyes were flashing angrily.  “Because of your lies, Maid
Belsi, you have inherited the legacy of their consequences.  Pretending to be a noble, pretending to own Maramor, pretending to a name not your own.  All are punishable offenses, in Castal, under civil law

“All that,” he said, waving it away with a hand, “could be overlooked, under the circumstances.  But,” he continued, his voice as sharp as a mageblade, “when
you tried to murder a good man, an innocent man, by bearing false witness . . . that, Maid Belsi, is too much for an honorable man to ignore!”

“I . . . I had no choice!” she insisted, her voice a pitiful wail.  “If he told you what really happened that night, if he told you who I really was . . . I would have lost my only chance at Maramor!”

“Maramor is lost,” Rondal said, his voice aching as he spoke.  “I told you that when I arrived.  Maramor is an abandoned estate behind enemy lines in a war zone.  It has temporary utility as a military outpost, but until this land is recovered, it is lost.  What would you have done had my men moved on the day after we arrived?”

“Begged to go with you,” she admitted.  “But as the gods delivered to me a chance, I took it.  Would you have done otherwise in my place?”

“Yes
,” both boys said in unison. 

Tyndal continued.  “We have done . . . less-than-honorable deeds in our lives, Maid
Belsi,” he said, his contempt for her deeds obvious.  “But we have
never
tried to murder in defense of our dishonor.  You tried not merely to murder Alwer, but tried to do so by proxy, implicating other men in your crime.  Through a sworn soldier of the King.  Under the banner of war.”  Each fact was spoken like an indictment.  “According to the Laws of Duin, such actions are tantamount to looting and treason.  Capital offenses subject to battlefield justice.  What say you in defense of your actions?”

Her eyes grew wide, and her face turned white.  Her tears did not cease, but she stopped making noise.  For some reason Rondal found that even harder to bear.

“I beg you, Sir Tyndal, be merciful,” she said, finally, breaking the awful silence.  “I knew not what I was doing!  I was merely trying to survive!”  She looked around desperately, seeking some means of escape.  Rondal could see it in her eyes – like a trapped animal, watching frantically as its doom closed in.

Suddenly her eyes alighted on him . . .  and to his shock so did her ire. 

“If you seek a traitor, look to
Sir Rondal,
my lord!  Regardless of his guilt or innocence, when I told him of the danger Alwer presented to you, he was reluctant to inform you.  Reluctant enough that he sent out no messenger –
I checked!
Every day I checked!  He had hopes that Alwer would be the assassin that would put an end to you!  Can you not
see
how jealous he is of you?” she asked, as if it was the most apparent thing in the world.

“Now why would Sir Rondal wish ill of me?” demanded Tyndal, scornfully. 

“Is it not
obvious?
” she snorted.  “He has ambition of taking your position once you are dead!  And, no doubt, my affections!  Trust me, my lord, I have heard him say as much, though he speaks subtly.  Once you were gone he—”

“Would have
twice
as much work to do,” laughed Tyndal, derisively. 

Despite how distraught he felt over Arsella’s – Belsi’s – deception, the thought of being solely responsible for all that Master Min had in store for them was, indeed, terrifying.  At least with Tyndal around, he did not have to bear it alone.  On that basis alone he would have fought through a legion of goblins to rescue Tyndal right then, despite whatever ill-feelings might still stand between them. 

He looked at Belsi with a new light.  Anyone who might mistake his feelings toward Tyndal for hate, hate enough to arrange his murder, truly did not understand him.

“I assure you, my lord, he did nothing to alert you to the potential of danger—”

“Which turned out not to be dangerous,” Tyndal pointed out.

“Nor did he look forward to your arrival as a good comrade should,” she continued, ignoring his jibes.  “He all but cursed the news!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Tyndal said, “I’m quite the asshole, most of the time.”  It amazed Rondal to hear him say it, although he wasn’t surprised at how perversely proud of the fact he seemed to be.  “Sir Rondal and I have always had a rivalry,” he continued, thoughtfully.  “But in fact he did send word to me by arcane methods . . . about
all
of his concerns,” he said, turning to her accusingly.  “
After
he managed to save my life – curious behavior for a backstabbing traitor, don’t you think? – we discussed them in detail.”

“If you think this man is your friend, Sir Tyndal,” she said, her eyes dark and desperate, “then you mistake yourself.”

“Friend?” Tyndal asked, as if the word was strange in his mouth.  “We are fellow apprentices.  Comrades at arms.  We grew up in the same village, near-enough.  And we’re both knights magi, whatever that may come to mean.  But I do not doubt he was not eager for my arrival, the same way I do not doubt for a moment that the idea of putting me in harm’s way unnecessarily never crossed his mind.  Ishi’s tits, I do enough of that on my own!

“But most of all you are mistaken, Maid
Belsi, because Sir Rondal has no ambition to take my position.  Why would he? 
He is my commanding officer.
”

Belsi gasped, her head turning to stare at Rondal.  “
You
. . . are the commander?”

“I am,” Rondal admitted, looking at her coolly.  “In charge of the entire mission.  Including the man you would have me put a dagger in.”

She looked from one of them to the other, her mouth open in shock and surprise.  “My lords . . .” she said, but nothing else was forthcoming as she struggled to reassess her position.  “I admit my mistake,” she said, finally, her eyes tearful and downcast.  “I abjure my falsehoods, and I . . . I appeal to your chivalry and your grace.”

That last pleas seemed to make Tyndal even angrier.

“My
chivalry?
  You invoke that honor after you sought to use that institution as a weapon to protect your stolen position?  How are you then entitled to its protection?  Nay, chivalry flows from grace, and you have not earned that grace, in my eyes.  You are false, Maiden,” he said, condemningly.

“I am not!” she insisted.  “I’m not!  Please!  If you bear me any love at all—”

“And now she speaks of
love
,” he sneered harshly.  “Your love is as inconstant as the sands, Maid Belsi!  First you made eyes at brave Sir Rondal,” he said, scornfully.  “Your admiration for him was clear to all – until
I
arrived.  Then his heart was a phantom to you.  Thinking I was his commander, you flashed your skirts at me instead to further your ambitions.  Love?  What cause have we to love you, madame?  You who have conspired against us?”

“I have not, I have not!  I just wanted . . . wanted . . .”

“Will we not have the truth?” Rondal growled. 

“I have
told
you the truth!” she pleaded. 

“I don’t think you have,” Tyndal said, conversationally, as he knelt in front of her.  “And a knight mage must always seek the truth.  So let us ensure that the truth is, indeed, spoken this night, before anything permanent is decided.  I would not have your pretty neck stretched for a lie,” he said, darkly.

“And how do you propose to do that?” Rondal asked, crossly. 

He felt miserable.  He
did
like Belsi.  He could understand her fear and her trepidations.  But her aspirations to what did not belong to her disturbed him, and her willingness to use others so callously offended him.  He remembered the few days they had enjoyed together, before Tyndal had arrived, when he felt as her protector.  She had seemed so vulnerable, then.

She seemed vulnerable now, but not in a delicate way.  She was wretched, sobbing as she struggled for some response that might save her.  It disgusted Rondal that someone he had respected had fallen so far from his estimation.  As much as part of him still wanted to spare her any further humiliation, he knew his duty. 

“Blue magic,” Tyndal reminded him.  “Ilsar’s Truthtelling. I know it well.   A very potent version.”

“Doesn’t that risk leaving her an idiot?” he asked.  He wasn’t certain – he’d heard of such misfirings of spells before.  It happened, with Blue Magic, from what he understand.

“I’m not certain we’d know the difference, after this,” he smirked.  “Let’s cast this and see what the little . . . maiden
really
thinks.”

The threat was delivered calmly, but as soon as Belsi heard it her eyes opened even wider.  “No!  No, milords, I have spoken the truth to you I swear—!”

“Then we shouldn’t hear any surprises then, should we?” asked Rondal, his nostrils flaring.  “Go ahead, Sir Tyndal.  On my authority.”  He was angry, and he knew a commander shouldn’t make decisions based on his emotions.  He was trying to be fair.  How could this be unfair?  “Let’s hear the truth.  Then we’ll decide what shall be done with you.”

Tyndal closed his eyes and made a few movements with his hands, but then he seemed finished with his casting.  There was no visible effect on the woman.

“If she utters a falsehood, now,” Tyndal assured him,  “that could well make her the most dangerous woman alive.  But let’s test it.  What’s your name?”

She barely hesitated.  “Belsi of Maramor, daughter of Sir Hagbel, rightful heir of Maramor Manor.”

“Who was your mistress?”

“Lady Arsella of Maramor,” she said, her tear-stained cheeks flushing.

“Who was your first kiss?” Tyndal continued.

“Roric of Regsiway,” she said, staring at him angrily.  “I was
twelve
.”

“Sounds like it worked,” nodded Tyndal.  “Your prisoner to interrogate, Commander.”

Rondal made himself comfortable in front of her.  “Tell me about the night the goblins came for the folk of Maramor,” he ordered her.

“We . . . we were inside, in Arsella’s chamber,” she began after heaving a great sigh.  “We were trying to decide where to try to find some supplies, as ours were running low.  The . . . the other servants were waiting for orders, and they were not happy we came back.  We were scared.  We weren’t supposed to be there, and I didn’t want to go back in the first place, but Arsella insisted – she was always bossy,” she said, almost fondly . . . but with a tinge of resentment.

“Then we heard the noise at the gate.  We went to the window to look, and it sounded like a wolf pack was outside.  But Arsella just laughed and bragged how strong the walls of Maramor were.  Then something, a troll, ripped the gate off of its hinges, as we were headed downstairs.  By the time we got to the door they were already in the yard.  The troll punched Gythar so hard his head snapped back.  The goblins were howling and laughing and stabbing at everyone.

“I saw Arsella freeze.  She was fascinated.  She wanted to watch, the stupid girl.  I realized that the hiding place her father had prepared for her was open . . . I had been entrusted with its location and access by her father, as her ‘loyal’ maid.  I realized she wasn’t going to move unless I prompted her, and when I saw Bukkal fall to those bloodthirsty animals I knew we were lost.

“So I ran.  I ran to the stairs, and it wasn’t until I made the landing that Arsella figured out what I was doing.  She followed me, screaming – stupid thing to do, when the goblins were everywhere.  I didn’t scream.  I ran.  I got to the chamber and rolled myself into the space.  It was cramped.  Only meant for one.  It’s even warded against magic.  I closed it just as she came in.  She was . . . she was pounding on the outside with her little fists,” she said, sobbing uncontrollably now. 

“I could hear them, too, just little girl fists making soft little bangs on the wood.  She was screaming.  She was screaming . . . my name.  Begging me to let her in.  It was awful.  It was pitiful.  But . . . I didn’t let her in.  It would have meant both of us would be captured.  I didn’t think she deserved to survive, stupid girl.  I was faster.  I was older.  I should have been the lord’s daughter, not her.  I . . . loved her, the foolish girl, but . . . but it was her or me, and I was faster.”