Devlin's Justice (13 page)

He turned slowly in a circle, but there was no gap, and indeed new arrivals swelled their ranks until he was fenced in by cold steel. They made no move to attack, merely content to hold him at bay.

“Kneel down and raise your hands and you will not be hurt,” a man said, in heavily accented trade tongue.

Devlin shook his head. “No.”

From behind him he heard Lord Karel call out, in a language that Devlin did not recognize.

“I swear upon my honor that you will come to no harm,” Lord Karel said.

Devlin turned to face his captor.

“I swear upon the honor of my house,” Lord Karel repeated.

A trusting man might have believed him. But Devlin knew better than to put his faith in a noble’s honor.

“And what of your prince? Does your word bind him as well?” Devlin asked.

Karel frowned angrily. He opened his mouth, but Devlin had no interest in whatever lies he was about to say. Instead, he whirled to his left, releasing the ring bolt so the chain swung in a wide arc. The mercenaries closest to him took an instinctive step back as Devlin charged.

With more luck than skill he caught the sword of the nearest mercenary in the chain, and with a sharp tug disarmed him. But there was no time to reach down and grab the sword. As they closed ranks, he saw that some of the mercenaries were carrying cudgels instead of swords, a sign that they meant to take him alive and not risk killing him.

But alive did not mean unharmed, and he felt a slash across the back of his left leg. It was a mere slice, as was the next. Then he was amongst the fighters. Blows rained down on him from all sides as he took the ring bolt in his right hand and looped it around the neck of a woman who had carelessly gotten within arm’s reach. He pulled with all his strength and heard her neck crack. The sudden deadweight dragged his arms downward as he struggled to free himself from her corpse. He staggered as he felt a weight on his back, and an arm looped around his own neck. His opponent began to squeeze and Devlin’s vision grew dim. His lungs burned for air, but even as he fell to his knees, the pressure around his neck grew. He was dying, and as he fell into the darkness he felt a brief surge of satisfaction.

He had done his duty. They would not be able to use him. Then the darkness consumed him.

Nine

A
LL HEADS TURNED AS THE COUNCIL
chamber doors swung open, but it was only Councilor Arnulf, sweating and out of breath as he made his way to his customary seat at the long table.

“The summons came as a surprise,” he paused to pant. “I was in the old city, with, a, err, a friend. Thought I’d be late.”

Lord Sygmund, who was seated next to Councilor Arnulf, muttered a sympathetic phrase. Then, once again, the council room fell silent. In years past, the wrangling had begun as soon as the chamber doors were opened and King Olafur had often had to call his unruly advisors to order. Today in the changed mood of the court, words were rationed carefully and no one wanted to give even the appearance of disrespect. No doubt each person present was wondering at the reason why they had been hastily summoned, but no one would voice their thoughts aloud.

Not even the empty chair at the foot of the table, newly added since their last meeting, was enough to draw their comments, though more than one let their gaze linger upon it as they waited.

Some of the councilors fidgeted, but Captain Drakken kept her calm, mentally reviewing each of the one hundred and twenty-two standing regulations that governed the guard. She had gotten to regulation thirty-three concerning the punishment for one caught in dereliction of duties when the doors again swung open.

With the others she rose to her feet as King Olafur entered the room, trailed by the Selvarat ambassador and Baron Martell. The nobles bowed, while Drakken and Marshal Olvarrson offered their salutes. The King acknowledged them with a wave of his hand then took his seat. The Selvarat ambassador took the seat to his right.

As the councilors sat back down, Baron Martell made his way to the empty chair at the foot of the table. Now she knew who it was for, but not why. There should be no reason for the Baron to attend the council. Not unless he had a grievance to air or evidence to offer, and even then custom dictated that he remain standing throughout his testimony.

“I summoned you today so you may be the first to hear of the changes that will be taking place. Changes that will strengthen and secure our kingdom, preserving the inheritance entrusted to me by my forebears, ensuring that it is passed along for generations to come,” King Olafur began.

For a man who was informing the council of what should have been good news, he looked uncommonly grim.

“But first, I have unfortunate news to share,” he continued, as if reading her thoughts. “Devlin of Duncaer was killed a fortnight ago.”

King Olafur looked directly at her, and Captain Drakken did her best to appear shocked. And indeed she was startled, if only by the timing of the announcement.

“How? Where?” Lord Rikard asked, drawing the King’s attention away from her.

Lady Ingeleth raised her eyebrows at this breach of etiquette. One did not interrupt the King. Ever.

But if Olafur was angry, he gave no sign.

“He was journeying to Kalveland, or so we believe, when he was set upon by a band of robbers. A traveling merchant found his body and notified the local magistrate.” King Olafur shook his head sorrowfully. “We will never know why he chose not to return to Kingsholm, nor what duty called him north. But we are confident that Devlin was a loyal servant and remained true even in death.”

It was skillfully done, for in praising Devlin he had also damned him. Many on the council were not Devlin’s friends, and they would be quick to seize upon the implication that Devlin had turned rogue and deserted his duty.

“You will wish to hold a funeral service,” she heard herself say. “A tribute to one who served you so loyally and well.”

It had been at least a decade since anyone mourned the loss of one of the Chosen Ones. But Devlin had been different, a return to the heroes of old. And if Stephen and Didrik were to be believed, he had even wielded the Sword of Light, however briefly. Though this sign of the Gods’ favor had not been enough to save his life.

“I am certain the priest will do what is fitting,” King Olafur replied.

Captain Drakken continued to press, even though she knew such a course of action was folly. “Brother Arni can also oversee the next choosing ceremony. There are many who will be anxious to follow the path that Devlin laid out and serve as the next Chosen One.”

She herself would endure the trial, if no worthier candidate could be found.

“There will be no new Chosen One named,” King Olafur said. “Indeed, if Devlin’s life has taught us one thing, it was the folly of placing all our hopes and fears upon the shoulders of a single champion. No one could live up to that burden.”

“Many times I heard Devlin lament our custom, saying that we ought to defend ourselves rather than relying upon the Chosen One,” Lady Ingeleth observed. “He urged us to seek strength in numbers and forge new alliances.”

The King nodded and favored Lady Ingeleth with a small smile. “Precisely.”

Captain Drakken ground her teeth. She, too, had heard Devlin grumble about the custom of the Chosen One. He’d once said that a Jorskian would watch his house burn while waiting for rescue rather than grabbing a water bucket to fight on his own. There was some truth in Devlin’s words. The people had grown too used to depending upon someone else’s strength rather than looking to themselves.

But Devlin would not have advocated leaving the people helpless. And that was just what they would be. There would be no one to stand up to the King, no one to oppose his tyranny. No doubt that was the very reason why Devlin had been murdered. Devlin would not have stood idly by while the King ran roughshod over his people. One by one, all those who opposed the King were being eliminated. She knew it was only a matter of time before the King decided to deal with her.

“With the passing of the Chosen One, his council seat falls vacant. I have asked Baron Martell to join our deliberations, and he has graciously consented.”

The Baron rose from his seat and bowed in the King’s direction. “It is my honor to serve, Your Majesty,” he said.

So this was the price of murder. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that Martell had been involved in Devlin’s death. A council seat in return for an assassination. She knew that there were many who would consider it a fair trade.

She turned her gaze on Lord Rikard, who squirmed uncomfortably under the regard of his fellow councilors. Most had grudgingly tolerated Rikard’s presence, and few would be saddened by his absence. As the lone representative of the troubled borderlands, even when he held his tongue his very presence served as a reminder to the other councilors that all was not well in Jorsk. On the other hand Martell was the scion of an old house, from the conservative inland provinces. He would speak no controversy.

“All are agreed on naming Baron Martell the newest member of this honored council?” King Olafur asked. The question was for form’s sake only. Traditionally the councilors could oppose the King’s choice, but they had not done so in years.

The King was lucky that she did not have a vote, so she merely observed as each councilor cast their vote in turn. There were no dissensions.

As chief councilor, it fell to Lady Ingeleth to cast the final vote. “Baron Martell, I welcome you to our ranks,” she said.

Drakken had expected no less. Lady Ingeleth had worked hard to regain the King’s favor after her defense of Lord Branstock had put her own neck at risk. The countess was too canny a politician to make another such mistake.

“And now we come to the matter of our kingdom and its future. Earlier this spring Empress Thania and I renewed the vows of alliance, and the empress graciously sent her troops to defend our eastern provinces. We are grateful indeed for their presence, for the troubles in the region were even greater than we had been led to believe. Fortunately, our allies have not flinched from this challenge, and have expanded their offer of support. I have asked Ambassador Magaharan to explain the new arrangement.”

The King looked even grimmer than he had when he was recounting the news of Devlin’s death. She wondered just what it was that he had had to trade away for this additional support. Princess Ragenilda was already destined for a Selvarat consort, so what else did the King have to offer? They would beggar themselves to pay for this largesse.

“It is my honor to speak before this council, and to share the terms of Empress Thania’s alliance with your most gracious majesty, Olafur son of Thorvald. Privileged indeed are those who live under his wise rule,” Count Magaharan began.

Such empty flattery was the currency of the court, but long years of exposure did not make it any easier to bear. Captain Drakken waited impatiently as Ambassador Magaharan and King Olafur expressed their mutual admiration.

Finally, the ambassador got to the heart of the matter. “Our navy patrols your coastline, and our troops watch the shores,” the ambassador said. “But what good does it do to guard the door of the house if the thieves are already inside? The disorder in the provinces comes from within your borders as well. Realizing the sternest measures were called for, the field commander summoned reinforcements, who have now taken control and brought peace to these once troubled lands.”

She noticed he was careful not to name the field commander. Indeed, the exact makeup of the forces and how many troops had arrived were a closely guarded secret, and Marshal Olvarrson had firmly refused to discuss details with her. He had unbent enough to tell her that Karel of Maurant, who had accompanied the ambassador to Kingsholm, had been dispatched to the east to serve as liaison with the local troops. But beyond that she had heard nothing.

“How many troops have arrived?” Lord Sygmund asked.

The ambassador waved a hand. “I do not concern myself with the details, but I am assured that they are sufficient to ensure the peace.”

Was that a battalion? A regiment? Whatever the answer, she’d wager her last copper that the ambassador knew the precise number of soldiers in the field, and where they were assigned.

“Would the ambassador care to elaborate on what he meant by saying the provinces were under his protection?” Lady Ingeleth asked.

It was King Olafur who answered.

“We have established a special zone called the Selvarat Protectorate,” King Olafur said. “It extends east from the Southern Road, from Rosmaar down to Myrka. Those provinces within the protectorate will now take their guidance from Prince Arnaud, whom Empress Thania has named as governor of the new protectorate. The Prince and his advisors will ensure order and tranquillity, freeing our attention for other matters.”

Drakken’s jaw dropped in shock, and she heard others mutter startled exclamations.

“King Olafur remains the sovereign ruler of these territories,” Count Magaharan explained. “Our role is merely that of advisors.”