Well of the Damned (14 page)

He
crossed his arms. “I warned you. Lying at your hearing is a
crime. It’ll be added to your list of offenses.”

She
gaped at him, shocked he could discern the lie where the other shadow
reader couldn’t. She set her jaw angrily. “We had an
argument, all right? An argument about Daia. She was going to ruin my
chances for the promotion the guild master had promised me. Harsh
words turned to pushing, and pushing turned to fists. The next thing
I knew, she was lying in the dirt, and I was pulling my knife out of
her back. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do, and so I took
the knife I’d stolen from Daia, and put it into the wound.”
She looked up, willing tears to flood her eyes. She pinched the skin
between her thumb and forefinger to help. “I didn’t
intend to kill her. I was overcome with anger and lost my senses.
After that, I swore that I would never hit someone in anger again.”

“I
knew it,” Daia muttered. “Murderous traitor.”

Kinshield
ignored her. “Tell me about Brawna Beliril. How did she end up
with Sithral Tyr?”

Cirang
had to tread lightly here. She was innocent in this, but Tyr was not.
“Brawna was given explicit instructions to bring the rune
solver back with her from the rune cave, but instead she returned
with her fellow Sister’s dead body draped over her saddle.
Ravenkind questioned her about the rune solver — you as it
turns out — and later gave her to Sithral Tyr for safekeeping.”

“And
the stab wounds in her leg and abdomen? Were you responsible for
those?”

Cirang
shook her head vehemently. “I may have spat on her and
encouraged the other Sisters to do the same because we thought her a
traitor, but I didn’t hurt her, nor did Ravenkind. If she was
stabbed, then that was Sithral Tyr’s doing.”

“What
was your relationship with Sithral Tyr?”

“I
had none,” Cirang said. “I met him for the first time
that day and only spent an hour or so in his presence.”

“Was
Toren Meobryn with him then?”

“If
you mean the stony-faced blond battler, yes. The two of them took
Brawna away in Tyr’s carriage.”

“What
do you know about the green cat figurine Daia mentioned?”

“It
belonged to Sithral Tyr. Ravenkind was keeping it as a tool of
influence, and when Tyr gave him that sword you’re wearing,
Ravenkind returned the figurine. It was very dear to Tyr.”

“Let’s
talk about the kidnappings,” Kinshield said.

Cirang
held up her hands, palms out. “As I told the lordover,
Ravenkind’s magic gave me no choice. He commanded me to bring
those women and children. I had no power to resist.”

The
king studied her for a moment. “Are you saying you regret your
actions?”

She
sighed and let her hands drop into her lap. “I just told you I
didn’t do it freely.”

“That’s not what I
asked you.”

He
was trying to get her to admit to weakness. To express remorse. She
felt none, but she knew what words he wanted to hear. “Yes,”
she said, making no effort to hide her contempt. “I regret it.
I’m sorry for my actions. I wish I could have saved your
brother, but I couldn’t. Seeing him beheaded made me puke, and
for that display of weakness, Ravenkind fed me to his pet monster.”

Kinshield
raised his eyebrows. “How did you survive, when Ravenkind
didn’t?”

“I—
I don’t know. Maybe some ’ranter-mage showed up just in
time and healed me.”

To
her surprise, he laughed. “Think back,” he said, “to
the first time me and you met.”

Her
first memory of Gavin Kinshield the warrant knight was in a tavern in
Saliria. He was big and sweaty with an old, battered sword on his
back, not the gemmed one he wore now. But that had been Tyr’s
experience, not Cirang’s.

“You
had a necklace,” he said. “Where’d you get it?”

“Ravenkind
gave it to me. He gave one to Lila and two dozen of the most loyal
Sisters. He used it to control us. You know that.”

“What
about the other necklace?” Adro asked.

“No,”
Cirang snapped. “There was only one.” She realized she’d
made a serious mistake by telling Adro that story. He needed to shut
the hell up.

“What
other necklace?” Kinshield asked.

“On
the way here,” Adro explained, “she told me you extorted
a priceless necklace from her. Those were the words she used.”

Kinshield
smiled, showing the gap between his teeth and looking more like the
peasant he was than a king. “Now I understand,” he said.
“She’s not Cirang anymore.”

“She
must be,” Daia said. “No one else would know about
JiNese.”

“And
nobody but Sithral Tyr would know about the necklace stolen from
Queen Calewyn’s tomb.”

Chapter 16

“I’ve
heard enough,” Kinshield said. He beckoned Edan to join him at
the window at the far end of the room while Daia and Adro guarded
Cirang. They whispered for a minute, seeming to debate some point
until Kinshield cut short the discussion with a sharp hand gesture.
They returned to their previous places, though now Kinshield stood
erect, hands clasped together.

Edan
bent over the desk and scribbled on the papers for a moment, and then
set his quill down. He held the paper before him and began to read.
“On the matter of Rogan Kinshield’s death, you’ve
satisfied His Majesty of your innocence.”

Cirang
couldn’t have stopped her lips from curling if she’d had
her head in the jaws of a beyonder. Soon she would be walking out of
the palace a free woman, ready to carve out a new life as a
mercenary. She thought perhaps she would go first to Lavene, where
merchant ships brought exotic supplies from other lands.

“On
the matter of the remaining crimes, aiding the escape of the murderer
Brodas Ravenkind, kidnapping ten people that resulted in the deaths
of two, and murdering the Viragon Sister JiNese, His Majesty finds
you guilty. The sentence for those crimes is death.”

Cirang
gaped at Kinshield. “What? No. No, you can’t.”

“The
sentence will be carried out one month from today,” Edan
continued, “at which time you’ll choose whether to be
executed by hanging or beheading. You will have time to reflect on
your crimes and be given the opportunity to compose a letter of
apology to the victims and their families. Should you fail to choose
a manner of death, one will be chosen for you. Do you have any final
words before you’re returned to your gaol cell to await your
sentence?”

“Yes!”
Cirang said. She lapsed into Tyr’s Nilmarion accent, trying to
distance herself from the battler being judged. “Now that you
know who I truly am, you know those crimes weren’t my own. As
you yourself have discovered through your adept questioning, I’m
not Cirang Deathsblade. She died at the claws of the demon you so
expertly defeated. I’m merely a pilgrim of sorts — a
traveler, who found himself marooned upon this...” She gestured
at her body. “...foreign shore. In a manner of speaking, I’m
another unfortunate victim of the crimes she committed before she
died. In fact, Your Majesty, her death sentence has already been
carried out. To execute me for her crimes simply because I happen to
look like her would be the ultimate injustice.” She stood and
took a step towards him, intending to use her female charms to sway
him, but Daia and Adro both drew swords.

“Keep
your distance,” Daia said.

“Sit
down,” Adro said.

She
sat back down, annoyed. Perhaps it would be better to appeal to his
sense of fairness. “You’re a just man. Don’t
condemn me to die for someone else’s sins.”

Kinshield
crossed his arms and tipped his chin back to regard her through
lowered lids. “Awright,” he said, “if you’d
rather face justice for the crimes of Sithral Tyr, let’s list
them instead. As Tyr, you assaulted the museum curator Laemyr
Surraent, tried to kill Daia, kidnapped the blacksmith Risan
Stronghammer, stole my sword, and tortured Brawna Beliril for
information about me. Are those the crimes you’d rather be
judged for?”

Cirang
swallowed. They weren’t trivial crimes, but at least Kinshield
didn’t know about the murders Tyr had committed.

“Let’s
see,” he went on, “the kidnapping would’ve got you
a brand on one arm, the attempted murder another, and the assault
would’ve been the third. Those three crimes alone would have
been grounds for execution, and that doesn’t even count the
theft or the torture of the Viragon Sister. A warrant knight friend
o’mine’s been hunting you for selling children into
slavery. I’m betting he’ll have plenty o’proof
o’those offenses, too. So you can die for the crimes o’Cirang
Deathsblade, or you can die for the crimes o’Sithral Tyr.”

Neither
choice was especially appealing. She’d heard of Kinshield’s
history with Ravenkind. Perhaps he would soften towards someone with
a similar experience. “Surely you can find it in your heart to
offer leniency. I know I’ve done some unpleasant things, but
you knew Brodas Ravenkind as I did. You know the kind of powerful
influence he had on a man. Not only with his magic – he was a
powerful wizard as you know – but with his threats. The things
he would hold over you – the safety and well-being of the
people you most care about. I have a son, my liege. A son who needs
me.”

Daia looked at Kinshield. “In
all the years I’ve known Cirang, she has never mentioned a
son.”

“He’s
not Cirang’s son,” she said. “He’s the last
of four sons I fathered with my wife in Nilmaria. The others have all
died.” Sithral Brae would have been eleven years old then, if
her recollection was true. Until that moment, she hadn’t given
the boy or his mother much thought. They belonged to another life,
one in which Sithral Tyr had been a different man. A weaker man.

“That’s
the strangest thing I’ve ever heard,” Edan said.

“Listen,
Cirang or Tyr or whatever you want to be called,” Kinshield
said, “I don’t know what happened to you, but there’s
a darkness in you that makes you dangerous to everyone you meet.
Normal people have a balance o’light and dark, soft and hard.
Normal people can be redeemed. They can change their behavior if they
want to. Your nature is purely kho — the dark, hard, cold
nature — with no softness, no compassion, no warmth. You’re
like a beyonder inside but with the intellect of a human. I can’t
let you walk free. Every citizen o’Thendylath is a potential
victim to you.”

Because
compassion was a quality Kinshield valued, she tried to appeal to
his. “What would you have done to save your daughter?” A
pained expression crossed his face, and she knew she’d hit the
right spot. “I wouldn’t be before you today if it weren’t
for my son, Brae. He’d fallen ill, and I was willing to do
anything to save him. Ravenkind made me do things in exchange for the
magic to cure Brae’s illness. I had to save the children of my
village. They would’ve perished without that cure. Have you
never done something you regretted for the greater good?”

“What
we do reflects who we are, but people change. You aren’t
that... person anymore. You’re the worst kind of malefactor —
the kind that can’t be brought around by reason or magic or the
threat of death.”

Cirang
was desperate for an argument that would change his mind. She grasped
angrily for his sense of fairness once more. “I knew you
wouldn’t be able to judge me fairly. You despise me. It’s
obvious your loathing of me has unfairly influenced your judgment.
Admit you couldn’t be impartial because you hated me from the
moment I walked in. How can you render a fair verdict under those
conditions? I demand the Lordover’s judgment be honored.”

He
scowled and turned his eyes to Adro. “How’d she know
about that?”

“One
of the lordover’s soldiers told me of it when I went to
retrieve her. She must’ve overheard it.”

Cirang
seized the momentum. “In exchange for sparing my life, I can
offer something you’ll find very valuable. Something that would
be worth thousands of aurum were I to sell it. To you, it would be
priceless.”

Kinshield
looked tired. “What is it?”

“It’s
the journal written by none other than Crigoth Sevae, King Arek’s
royal mage.”

She
expected to see excitement and disbelief on the king’s face,
but there was only impatience or perhaps boredom. He leaned over and
picked up the journal from the desk and tapped it with the backs of
his fingertips. “You mean this journal?”

She
smiled slightly. “That’s the one you found among Brodas
Ravenkind’s belongings in the cottage, is it not? The one
describing the use of the summoning rune. I gave him that journal,
but there’s another. The one I’m offering you has
information about the wellspring that inspired Crigoth Sevae’s
disloyalty to King Arek.”

Judging
from the looks on the faces of all three of them, Cirang knew it was
the wellspring they were after. Did they know why Sevae had been so
passionate to control it? Did they believe the stories about the
magical properties of the water?