The Monster War: A Tale of the Kings' Blades (32 page)

NIGHT CAME EARLY IN TENTHMOON AND SUNSET brought a dreary rain that did nothing to brighten the grim mood in the Snakepit. The Old Blades mourned their dead and wondered what sort of foe could slay their two best single-handed. Magically enhanced swordsmen were not unknown, but the Blades had always held them in contempt. The King’s Cup was open to all comers, but only Blades had ever won it.

As miserable as anyone, Stalwart decided to take his throbbing head off to bed right after the evening meal. Then Snake informed him tersely that Lord Roland wanted to see him.

This news raised such interesting possibilities that he went up the stairs three at a time, headache forgotten. He had never been inside Greymere Palace, but he was certain that no visitor could reach the Lord Chancellor’s office without being seen by the Royal Guard. Hastily he donned the uniform he had kept so carefully pressed and stored for just such an occasion. It had been made for him on his one and only visit to Nocare, another palace, and he had worn it only once, at a private supper with the King. He was delighted to discover that the jerkin had become tight across the shoulders. The sleeves were too short, the hose too tight. He was making progress! He added the four-pointed diamond brooch that marked him as a member of the White Star, the senior order of chivalry in the land. He had never had a chance to flaunt that in public, either. Just wait until Orvil and the rest of the lads saw that!

When he trotted back downstairs, Snake’s only comment was a sardonically raised eye-brow. Under his arm he carried two sheathed swords, undoubtedly Chefney’s
Pacifier
and Demise’s
Chill
. He was wearing full court dress—resplendent, grandiose, and enormously expensive—and notably a star whose
six
points meant he was an officer in the order. Everyone knew about that, but even Felix, who was with him, obviously had not known that Stalwart was a member. His eyes widened.

“When did you collect
that
bauble, brother?”

Wart shrugged. “Couple of months ago.” What use was an honor nobody ever saw?

“Congratulations! I couldn’t keep quiet about it that long if it were mine.”

“King’s orders,” Stalwart said glumly. He had guessed from Snake’s reaction that his hopes of parading star and livery where the Guard would see him were about to be dashed, and he was right. Instead of setting off for the palace, Snake led the way into the back corridors that led through to 17 Ranulf Square. He had not mentioned earlier that this was to be a
secret
meeting.

Emerald, meanwhile, had been hustled back to Greymere to report the afternoon’s events directly to Mother Superior, whose obvious displeasure made even the formidable Mother Spinel seem mild and benign.

“
Very
bad news!” she barked. “I cannot assign much of the blame to you, but the consequences may be dire indeed.”

The two old ladies then proceeded to cross-examine Emerald at great length on the enchantment she had detected on the killer—mostly fire, some water, and traces of earth and death. There were no greater experts in the Sisterhood than that pair, but neither of them could recall encountering such a spell in the past or guess what it might accomplish. She suspected they did not believe her analysis of the elements involved.

“
Well
!” Mother Superior concluded, obviously meaning
not well
! “By all accounts, this Silvercloak man is utterly deadly. Inform Mother Petal that from now on you are to be posted in close attendance on His Majesty whenever possible. And if you catch even the
slightest
hint of that sorcery
ever, anywhere
, you are to give the alarm
at once
! Do you understand? Even if you have to scream at the top of your voice in the middle of an ambassadorial reception, you will alert the Blades
instantly
!”

From Emerald’s point of view, this was very bad news indeed. Close attendance on the King was always wearing and frequently boring. It involved endless traveling. At this time of year he spent days on end chasing game in the royal forests. Courtiers muttered darkly of cramped and drafty hunting lodges.

Besides, tonight Sir Fury had been going to take her to see a play being acted by the King’s Men. Duty came first.

She thanked Mother Superior, curtseyed, and hurried off to assume her new duties.

But that was not to be. She had just changed out of her travel-soiled clothes when she was informed that Lord Chancellor Roland required her presence. She had barely time to write a hasty note to Sir Fury before she and Mother Spinel were rushed away in a carriage, escorted through the rain-filled streets by a dozen Yeomen lancers on white horses. Night was falling.

All the clerks and flunkies had gone home, leaving the offices of the Court of Conjury dark and echoing. The meeting room was a gloomy, deeply shadowed chamber, lit only by the dancing light of candles set on a small table in the center. Two naked swords gleamed there beside them. There were no chairs, because the King believed people sitting down talked too much.

Sir Snake and Sir Felix were already present. Beside them stood a blond young man in Royal Guard livery—Sir Stalwart as Sir Stalwart wanted to be, flaunting his diamond star, a cat’s-eye sword slung at his thigh. Emerald smiled at him; he winked and grinned back proudly. Honestly, though, he still looked like a boy dressed up.

A familiar stench of rot warned her who was coming before Master Nicely rolled in, wearing formal black robes and biretta. With him stalked Grand Inquisitor himself, like a gallows taking a stroll. The two of them made an unlikely pair—the squat, tubby Nicely and his enormously tall, elderly superior. The only good thing to be said about Grand Inquisitor was that he made even Nicely seem human.

No one spoke. Inquisitors stared fishily across at Old Blades; Old Blades sneered back at inquisitors. Why was Emerald needed? Her report could hardly be simpler and she could add nothing more to it. She was starting to suspect that there might even be worse things in store than “close attendance upon His Majesty.”

The familiar dry odor of hot iron announced the arrival of Blades, in this case Sir Bandit and Sir Dreadnought, who were, respectively, Commander and Deputy Commander of the Guard. Bandit concealed warmth and courtesy behind the bushiest, blackest eyebrows in the realm; Dreadnought was blond and usually brusque. They bowed to the ladies, nodded coldly to the inquisitors, and strolled over to join Snake and his men. Stalwart slapped the pommel of his sword in salute.

“Fiery serpents!” Dreadnought said. “No wonder I can’t make the payroll accounts come out even! When were you bound, brother?”

“I’m not.” Wart’s face had gone wooden in an effort to hide his feelings, but he must be deeply hurt that even the Deputy Commander had not known about the secret guardsman.

“Admitted by special royal edict,” Bandit explained.

“I didn’t know that was possible!”

“First time for everything. Brother Stalwart has proved amply worthy. He won that ornament at Quagmarsh, which was his doing—and Sister Emerald’s.”

Dreadnought saluted each of them in turn. “I am impressed!” He was flaunting a diamond star of his own, which he had won by saving the King from a chimera monster. Very few Blades in history had ever been appointed to the White Star—as Wart had explained to Emerald more than once—and all three of those still living were here in the room: Snake, Stalwart, Dreadnought.

“So am I,” Bandit said. “That uniform looks a little snug, guardsman!”

Wart lit up like a tree struck by lightning. “
Yes
, Leader! I’ll order another tomorrow.”

The Commander laughed, not unkindly. “Don’t be too hasty. His Majesty is very impressed by the work you’re doing with the Old Blades. He wants to keep you under wraps a little longer.”

Wart deflated with a sigh. “Yes, Leader.”

A click as the door closed turned all eyes to the impressive figure in crimson robes standing there, looking over the company as if counting. When he headed for the table, everyone else bowed, curtseyed, or saluted, as appropriate. Lord Chancellor Roland was another knight in the Loyal and Ancient Order of the King’s Blades, the former Sir Durendal. He wore a cat’s-eye sword and a diamond-studded brooch alongside his gold chain of office—an
eight
-pointed star. Emerald had forgotten to count him. He was a full companion in the White Star, the highest rank possible. It went with the job of being the King’s first minister, head of the government.

For a moment he stared down in silence at the two swords, shaking his head sadly. No one spoke—Roland had the knack of being the center of any room he was in. Everyone else had become pupils before a teacher.

“I hereby give notice,” the Lord Chancellor said, “that these proceedings are Deep Counsel as defined in the Offences Against the Crown Act. That means that any mention of them after the meeting ends is automatically classed as high treason unless you can prove that His Majesty’s safety required you to speak. That includes mention to anyone else who was present.”

He allowed a moment for that dread pronouncement to sink in.

“Let us begin with a quick review of the facts. Sir Snake, will you outline this afternoon’s events?”

Snake spoke swiftly, tersely. He began with Emerald’s arrival at the Snakepit, went through to the prisoners being formally assigned to the inquisitors, and then doubled back. “The door was magically booby-trapped. Stalwart is no ox, but none of us could throw him around like a pinch of salt. The felon then slew Demise and Chefney and escaped into Quirk Row. Unfortunately Sir Torquil and Sir—”

“Who saw the killer?” Roland must know the answer; he wanted it to be a matter of record. It was soon established that Stalwart was the only one who would be able to recognize the man again. Torquil, Julius, and the rest had seen only his back as he fled and could not even agree whether he had been left-handed or right-handed—a matter of much concern to swordsmen. Even Emerald, who was now called upon to describe her encounter, had not seen his face.

“Just a young man in a pale-colored cloak and a floppy hat. I would know his magic, again, though. It was unusual—fire and water, mostly.”

“A disguise spell?”

“Not like any that I was taught to recognize at Oakendown.”

“Young, you said. He moved nimbly, I assume, like a swordsman?”

Emerald hesitated.

“Take your time, Sister,” Lord Roland prompted gently. “If you have more to contribute, we are anxious to hear it.”

“There
was
something…odd about the way he moved, my lord.” She could not place it. “Sir Stalwart said he seemed familiar, and I felt the same.”

“Interesting! It might be helpful if you two prepared a list of all the people you have both met on your adventures. That might trigger memories.”

The Lord Chancellor paused, and the room waited. Emerald wondered why Wart was looking so almighty pleased with himself all of a sudden. Eventually she worked it out. She was the only Sister who might hope to recognize the notorious assassin by the enchantment he used, and only Wart had glimpsed his face. So Wart, too, was going to be posted in close attendance on the King from now on. His days of undercover work were over and he would be moving his lute to the palace at the close of this meeting.

Roland sighed. “We are dealing with most potent sorcery! I am not without knowledge of fencing myself”—the Blades grinned widely—“and I assure all of you that, even years ago, when I was in my prime, I could not have disposed of Demise and Chefney together like that. So we have two of the King’s men slain and an illegal octogram. We can be certain that heads will roll or necks stretch.”

“Let us hope that royal blood does not flow!” Master Nicely said. “Had Snake followed proper procedures instead of rushing off in the pursuit of personal reputation, this catastrophe would never have happened.”

The temperature in the room shot upward. Snake’s bony features flamed red. His hand went to his sword. “It was not my reputation that concerned me, Inquisitor. That is safe enough. It was security.”

“You need not shout,” Nicely retorted, although Snake had barely raised his voice. “You are accusing someone of treason?”

“Keep personalities out of this!” Lord Roland said. “But if you have charges to bring, Sir Snake, we’d better hear them.”

Snake must be in considerable trouble if even his friend Roland was taking that tone with him. Emerald wondered just how angry the King was over the day’s events. Oh,
why
had she not minded her own business?

“We know the conspirators have spies at court,” Snake growled, glaring at Nicely. “We also know that the Dark Chamber employs more sorcerers than even the Royal College of Conjury. I suspect that some are not above doing favors for old school friends. Or accepting some of their ill-gotten gold. If we had followed the rule book as you suggest, I’m sure we would have found twenty-five Quirk Row an empty shell.”

“You may be sure, but have you evidence to persuade others of your lies and slanders?”

“Yes I do. You take charge of all prisoners. Explain to me why three of the men we arrested today are men we have arrested before? Did they receive royal pardons? Or did they
buy
their release from their jailers?”

The inquisitors’ fishy stares gave no clue to what they were thinking. No one liked inquisitors, but very few people dared quarrel with them openly like this. The idea that the Dark Chamber might betray the King was terrifying—who could call it to account?

“Is this true, Grand Inquisitor?” the Chancellor demanded.

The gaunt old man displayed long yellow teeth in what could only loosely be termed a smile. “Five days ago we released several suspects—two who had been arrested at Quagmarsh and three from Bosely Down. There was, in the justices’ opinion, insufficient evidence to proceed with their cases.”