The Dog of the North (39 page)

Guigot shrugged. ‘Whatever decision you have arrived at, my intervention will not change it. It would be as well if you pronounced it now.’

Lord Thaume shook his head. ‘I am giving you a chance at repentance. I cannot show mercy without it.’

‘Very well,’ said Guigot in a flat voice. ‘I heartily repent my acts.’

The thin line of Lord Thaume’s self-control snapped. ‘Your father was my brother. No man could have loved and esteemed him more than I. Were it possible for me to spare you for his
sake, I would do so. I am clear, however, that your character is irredeemable, and as long as you live, you remain a danger to me. You have plotted my murder, and in this game of high stakes you
have failed. Tonight you shall be taken out and hanged.’ Arren noticed that his hand was shaking as Cyngier presented the warrant for signature.

Guigot looked back at Lord Thaume a long second. There was only silence in the room. ‘I demand to make a final statement.’

Lord Thaume nodded. ‘I cannot deny you the right.’

Guigot drew himself up. His face was unusually pale but otherwise he seemed composed. ‘If I die tonight,’ he said, ‘I die as the only true Lord of Croad. When Lord Gaucelis
died at the hands of the Northerners, with Borel at his side, the true heir to Croad was Borel’s son: namely, myself. Instead of ruling in my stead until I came of age, Thaume arrogated to
himself the lordship of Croad. I had always wondered if he was conscious of the great wrong he had done me. Then I found he proposed to marry me to Duke Panarre’s lackwitted daughter Klaera,
the embarrassment of one house united with that of another. If I chose to consider alternatives with the Lord High Viator, who can blame me?’

‘Lord Guigot,’ said Master Pinch. ‘You have used your last speech unwisely. Do not die with this bitterness on your lips. I am no advocate of the viators, but you are preparing
to die in Disharmony.’

‘Thaume,’ said Guigot, ‘I intend to exact a terrible vengeance on you and your house. Since I will find this easier alive than dead, I prefer to avoid execution by any method.
If you persist in the treacherous folly of murdering your own just lord, however, I demand my right as a nobleman to die by the sword rather than the rope.’

Lord Thaume looked at Guigot from behind hooded eyes. ‘My regrets at your fate are too numerous to list,’ he said. ‘That I must order the death of my brother’s son . . .
even for Borel’s sake I could not spare you; but for his sake I grant you death on the block. It must proceed immediately.’ He nodded to Fleuraume.

Guigot looked around the room. ‘Will none of you speak for mercy? Thaume will take my head in any event, so your intervention will cost nothing. Oricien,’ he said with a harsh smile,
‘will you not intercede for your cousin? Siedra?’

Siedra said nothing. In a thick voice Oricien said: ‘You richly deserve your fate.’

‘Master Pinch,’ said Guigot. ‘You have been wont to present yourself as a voice of moderation in Thaume’s counsels. Will you not speak a gentle word?’

‘I have counselled Lord Thaume as to his most prudent course,’ said Pinch. ‘In this case it is hard to demur from his judgement.’

‘Sir Langlan?’

‘If I catch a fox raiding the chicken coop, do I appeal to its better nature to desist, or do I put it to immediate death? Why spare you to wreak yet more mischief?’

‘Ah, Seigneur Arren, skulking at the back, always skulking. Had you not hidden in the viatory with that trollop, I would be Lord of Croad tonight. Do you not feel guilt at your agency in
my fate? Surely a counsel of mercy would become you.’

Arren’s lips twitched. ‘I saw you at Jehan’s Steppe,’ he said. ‘You stood by to let Oricien die. There is justice in the end.’

‘So be it,’ said Guigot. ‘I go to my fate a wiser man, and I need no viator to bring Harmony.’

The doors burst open and Lady Jilka rushed in.

‘Jilka! I told you to keep away. I will not hear remonstrances about the Lord High Viator.’

‘My lord,’ she cried. ‘The King is dead! Jehan is King of Emmen.’

6

The Amber Room fell into a shocked silence at the news of the King’s death. Arren, despite having known that the old man was unlikely to recover, felt a hollowness
in his stomach.

‘How do you know, Jilka?’ asked Lord Thaume.

‘A messenger from King Jehan has come,’ she said. ‘King Arren died in his sleep nearly three weeks ago.’

‘Where is the messenger?’ asked Lord Thaume. ‘We must all pledge fealty to His Puissance. Fleuraume, make sure that the Lord High Viator is not on hand when the King’s
messenger comes: in fact, I will receive him in my personal chamber.’

‘What of Guigot, my lord?’ asked Sir Langlan.

Lord Thaume’s mouth was a thin line. ‘Arren’s death changes nothing. The execution proceeds immediately.’

‘May I at least prepare myself in the viatory?’ asked Guigot in a calm voice. Lord Thaume looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

‘‘Execution”?’ asked Lady Jilka. ‘You mean to proceed, then?’

‘The matter was extensively debated in your absence. My sentence, though harsh, is irrevocable. On this occasion, Guigot, you have my permission to use the viatory next door.’

Guigot sneered. ‘Thank you, my lord. If, as it seems, I must die, I would do so with the comfort of the viators. I will await Sleech in the viatory.’

Arren wondered at this sudden access of piety from Guigot. There was no doubt that he had manufactured his recent attendance for Raugier’s benefit, and Arren was sceptical that the
prospect of death had brought about a late conversion. He slipped into the viatory behind Guigot. There was no chance of escape: the only door led back out into the Amber Room; the altar stood
against one wall, the alcove in which he and Eilla had overheard Guigot set into the other, and the other two ends of the room were taken up with coloured glass panels, a green one depicting Hyssen
facing the sunrise, and an orange representation of Animaxia the sunset. The sun caught this latter panel to flood the chamber with an intense radiance.

Guigot, looking around the viatory, seemed to have little of Harmony on his mind. He saw Arren and his mouth curled.

‘I should take you with me,’ he said. ‘If I were armed, be assured I would.’

Arren stepped closer. ‘Bare hands make as good a weapon as any. You may try if you wish.’

‘If it were not for you, I should be Lord of Croad this minute. I do not fear death; it is the failure of my plan I regret. To have come so close . . .’

‘You should perhaps prepare yourself for what is to come.’

Guigot gave a bark of laughter. ‘I never reckoned you among Sleech’s flock, Arren.’

‘You know I am not. Nonetheless, the imminence of death must surely elevate your thoughts.’

‘Imminence? You are pedestrian, Arren. I am not about to die, by blade or by noose.’

He rushed at Arren, knocking him from his feet, and threw himself head-first into the Sunset Window of Animaxia. The glass shattered and as the orange glow vanished, Arren had a sight of Guigot
spiralling out towards the ground below. He scrambled to his feet and looked through the shattered opening: by accident or design, Guigot’s fall had been arrested by the sloping roof of the
refectory below. Guigot eased himself down the slope of the roof, jumping the last ten feet to reach the courtyard. Immediately he scampered away.

‘I will be revenged on the whole pack of you!’ he called up.

Arren shook his head ruefully. Guigot’s grievances were real enough, but his indulgence of them had always tended to the melodramatic. He turned and ran back into the Amber Room to tell
Lord Thaume what had happened.

‘Quickly! Find him!’ shouted Lord Thaume. ‘He cannot be suffered to escape.’

While Fleuraume drew up a squadron of troops, Arren and Oricien slipped back into the viatory and dropped down to the ground using the same route as Guigot.

‘Where would he have gone?’ said Oricien, looking around him in frustration.

‘He cannot hope to evade capture,’ said Arren. ‘Unless – the stables!’

‘Of course!’

Together they ran towards Thaume’s private stables. ‘Cornelis!’ Oricien called to the stable-boy. ‘Is Lord Guigot within?’

‘Yes, sir. He came but a minute ago.’

Oricien grinned. ‘We have him. Guigot! Give up. We have found you.’

From within the gloom of the stable rushed a huge black gallumpher, charging straight at them. Arren and Oricien jumped aside to avoid being mown down.

Oricien scrambled to his feet. ‘That’s Black Butz!’

Arren could not resist a smile. Not only had Guigot cheated the block, he had stolen Lord Thaume’s prize gallumpher to do so.

‘Cornelis! Saddles!’ called Oricien. Within a minute both he and Arren were mounted on their favourite gallumphers.

‘Where will he have gone?’ said Oricien, reining in his mount.

‘He cannot afford to dally. It will be the South Gate,’ said Arren, and they pelted through the streets, where walkers were forced to jump aside to avoid being ridden down.

Soon Guigot was in their sight. He was already at the gate, which the guards were opening to let him out.

‘Stop!’ called Oricien. ‘In Lord Thaume’s name, shut the gates!’

The guards stared back blankly.

‘The gates!’ shouted Arren. ‘You fools!’

From the castle came the long mournful note of the herald’s horn. The guards looked on in puzzlement as Guigot rode through, then they shut the gates after him. By the time Arren and
Oricien arrived, the gates were proof against an army. But Guigot was outside them. He had made his escape.

7

Later that evening Lord Thaume reviewed matters in his chambers with Oricien, Arren, Sir Langlan and Master Pinch.

‘I have been awake since before dawn,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘In that time I have suppressed a plot against my life, scourged the Lord High Viator, sentenced my nephew to death,
seen that nephew escape, and learned the King is dead. We shall not readily forget today.’

‘Long live King Jehan,’ said Oricien.

‘Indeed,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘I must, of course, go to make my obeisance on the instant. Delay would be disrespectful.’

‘You need not travel immediately,’ said Pinch. ‘News takes time to arrive, even tidings so grievous.’

‘I would rather be in Emmen before Raugier,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘I cannot imagine his report of events will represent me in a flattering light.’

Sir Langlan smiled. ‘There are many circles in which beating that hypocrite would speak strongly in your favour.’

‘King Jehan’s court is not one of them.’

‘I knew him as a youth,’ said Sir Langlan. ‘He is not the milksop he is portrayed, nor the viators’ puppet.’

‘He lacks his father’s warlike temper.’

‘Nonetheless,’ said Pinch, ‘a man can be peaceable without being a puppet of the viators. He will wish to make peace with Gammerling, if Gundovald will sign a treaty. Such a
move can only please the viators.’

‘How so?’ asked Oricien.

‘The Consorts’ power is increased if there is peace in Mondia. It spreads Harmony and – more to the point – makes it easier for the Viatory to exact alms. Men will be
free to travel from Emmen to Vasi Vasar, paying dues and tolls wherever they go. Wars only make the smiths and the corn-factors rich.’

‘Be that as it may,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘I will leave for Emmen the day after tomorrow. Oricien, you will come and swear your own fealty.’

‘Yes, Father. What of my mother and Siedra?’

‘They will remain here. Sir Langlan and Arren, you too will stay behind. Darrien can captain my retinue.’

Sir Langlan chuckled. ‘I have little choice. There is still a price on my head in Emmen, unless Jehan chooses to lift the ban.’

‘That was long ago, Langlan. I am sure Jehan will soon offer a pardon. In any event, I require you to remain behind as Regent. I need a man I can trust to catch Guigot.’

Sir Langlan looked coolly ahead. ‘The hunting dogs are out tonight, and Fleuraume with them. Guigot has only a single gallumpher. He will be caught by morning.’

Lord Thaume stared into the fire. ‘Do not be so sure, Langlan. The boy may embody Disharmony but he is no fool, and he has luck – and spirit. He will not yield easily.’

‘Do not worry, my lord.’

Lord Thaume shot him a sharp glance. ‘I do – and so should you. Oricien will not sit safe after me if Guigot is not brought to book. He is spite incarnate.’

‘You should see the dogs when they are roused. Guigot will wish he had settled for the block.’

8

One morning, a week after Lord Thaume and Oricien had left for Emmen, Siedra came upon Arren reading in the gardens.

‘Will you take a stroll with me, Arren?’ she said. Her golden hair shone in the sunlight.

Arren was always suspicious of Siedra when she was friendly. Nonetheless, it would have been churlish to refuse, so he offered his arm and they walked in the mid-morning sun. Arren had to admit
that she was looking more than usually becoming, and his book,
Applied Principles of Fortification,
by Urald of Taratanallos, had not made stimulating reading.

‘Have you been avoiding me, Arren?’ said Siedra with her cheeks dimpling. ‘I have hardly seen you since my father went away.’

‘Our pursuits are dissimilar,’ said Arren mildly. ‘My interest in needlecraft and fabrics is insignificant, and I cannot imagine my exploration of siegecraft with Cyngier is
any more stimulating to you. The censorious might even regard our meeting privately in the garden as injudicious.’

‘The company of my mother and Lady Cerisa rapidly becomes wearing,’ she said. ‘In the circumstances I am prepared to risk the disapproval of gossiping old women.’

‘I was thinking specifically of Master Guiles.’

‘As I said: gossiping old women.’

Arren grinned. ‘In truth I do not much care either.’

‘Good! We can enjoy the sunshine without fear or guilt.’

They strolled in companionable silence for a while, the birds in the background and the freshness of Lord Thaume’s flowers making a pleasant solitude that no one could disturb.

‘Where do you think Guigot is now?’ asked Siedra.

Arren grimaced. ‘Wherever he is, he is alive. That is all that matters.’