Devlin's Justice (2 page)

“Your Majesty,” the late arrival said, with a deep bow and an even more elaborate hand flourish than Magaharan had made. His manners showed that he had traveled little outside his own land, for while this might be the fashion in Selvarat, here such a display might be taken as mockery.

Although new to diplomacy he might be, the man was not one to be taken lightly. Maurant was not just any noble house, it was the house of Prince Arnaud, the royal consort of Empress Thania. And while he could not quite remember the intricacies of the imperial family tree, it would be wise to err on the side of caution. Simply because no title had been claimed did not mean that this Karel was without rank.

“Lord Karel, I welcome you to my court,” Olafur said. “I would make known to you my chief councilor, Lady Ingeleth, and Marshal Olvarrson of the Royal Army.”

Karel acknowledged the introductions with studious politeness. As Lady Ingeleth introduced the remaining Jorskian nobles to the ambassador’s party, King Olafur took the opportunity to study their visitors. He thought he saw a certain resemblance between Karel and Jenna, in the shape of their noses and their unusually small ears, which gave further credence to his belief that Karel was a member of the royal family.

Olafur had been disappointed when his equerry had reported that there was no senior military officer among the ambassador’s party. If the Empress intended to honor the treaty, then surely she would have sent along a general or a marshal at the very least, someone who could discuss the makeup and disposition of the Selvarat forces and how they could aid in the defense of Jorsk. But perhaps his disappointment had been premature. Sending a member of the royal family, however distant his connection to the Prince, must be taken as a sign of favor.

Whatever their intentions were, he would have to wait. He knew better than to expect that Count Magaharan would immediately reveal the messages he had been entrusted with. There were certain rituals to be observed. And it would not do to give the impression of desperation. Need, yes, but desperation would be taken as a sign of weakness and exploited accordingly.

“A feast has been prepared in your honor,” King Olafur said. Though
feast
was perhaps too strong a word, since the royal kitchens only had hours to prepare for their guests. Still, whatever was served was bound to be better than journey fare. And he had ordered the remaining Myrkan red brought up from the cellars, so there would be no cause for complaint there. “If you would join us?” Olafur asked.

“It would be our pleasure,” Count Magaharan replied.

Captain Drakken buckled the scabbard of her sword over her dress tunic, then tugged at the hem of her uniform until it hung straight. Seldom used in the winter months, a musty odor arose from the garment and she made a mental note to have words with the servant who oversaw her quarters. With the court about to commence its annual session, she could not afford to find her dress uniforms moth-eaten or rotted from neglect. King Olafur was known to be a stickler about such things, and her place in court was tenuous enough without incurring his wrath over such a trifle.

He was also insistent on punctuality. A glance at the sand clock showed that she needed to leave soon if she was to be on time for the dinner honoring the Selvarat ambassador. But she did not want to leave before Lieutenant Embeth had made her report.

Just as she had resolved that she could wait no longer, there was a sharp knock and the door to her quarters swung open before she could respond.

“Captain, your pardon.” Lieutenant Embeth paused to gasp for breath. Her face was flushed and she was panting.

“Wait. Breathe,” Captain Drakken said. There was no sense in listening to a report made incomprehensible from lack of breath.

“Report,” she ordered, when Embeth had gained control of herself.

“Captain Drakken,” Lieutenant Embeth drew herself to attention. “As you know, Ambassador Magaharan and his party arrived by ship just before the noon hour. They were met by a royal equerry who escorted them to the palace. In addition to the ambassador, there was his aide Jenna, two noblemen named Vachel and Guy, and a man called either Karel or Charles whose status I could not confirm. He was accorded his own chamber, so he may be another aide.”

Strange that Count Magaharan would have brought not one but two aides, along with a pair of advisors who had never visited Jorsk before, but then again this was no usual visit. Drakken knew full well that King Olafur was hoping for a renewal of the ancient alliance and for Selvarat to supply troops to defend Jorsk’s borders. The dinner tonight would serve to introduce the ambassador’s party to the court, but it would do no harm to check also with Solveig, to see if she knew anything of their visitors.

“There were also four clerks, a priest, a half dozen servants, and the ambassador’s personal honor guard.”

“Is that all?”

“That is the party that arrived at the palace. But we kept watch on the ship that carried the ambassador, and at dusk six persons left the ship and took rooms in the old city. They were dressed as sailors but they had the gait of landsmen, and at least one of them was wearing a sword under her cloak.”

“Soldiers,” Captain Drakken said. “Or mercenaries.”

“So I suspected. I stayed long enough to confirm the report, then ordered a watch kept on the inn where they were staying.”

“You did well. Make sure the watchers know to be discreet, and that they are to make a daily report of what these people do and whom they meet. If they see anything suspicious, they are to notify me without delay.”

“Understood, Captain.”

She dismissed Embeth with a nod, and the lieutenant saluted before making her departure.

A glance at the sand clock showed that she would have to make haste to avoid a late entrance at the dinner. Instead Captain Drakken crossed over to her desk and unrolled a parchment scroll that showed a map of the Kingdom. Along the Southern Road was a small spot, so faint that it might be mistaken for a flaw in the parchment. But in truth it was the latest position of the Chosen One, as she had verified by checking with the soul stone in the temple only that morning. He had made good time since leaving Duncaer, but in the last days his pace had slowed. By her reckoning Devlin was at least a fortnight away from Kingsholm. She glared at the map, but all her wishing could not make the leagues any shorter, and with an angry curse she rolled up the map.

Devlin had been gone too long. He should have been back over a month ago, but his errand in Duncaer had taken longer than expected. Now he was returning, presumably bearing the Sword of Light, but they could not wait another two weeks for him. They needed him here in the capital. Now.

The court was beginning its spring session. The ambassador from Selvarat had arrived, bringing with him the Empress Thania’s response to King Olafur’s request for military assistance. Intelligence had indicated that the Empress would respond favorably, but intelligence could be wrong. And even if she sent troops, it would take skill to deploy them to the maximum advantage.

Now was the time when decisions would be made that would secure the Kingdom’s safety, or see it fracture under the competing pressures from within and without. It was a time for bold leadership, but such was noticeably lacking. Devlin’s few friends at court had no influence with either King Olafur or his council. Marshal Olvarrson was neither a strategist nor a leader. He would do as King Olafur instructed, heedless of the long-term consequences.

Captain Drakken knew that many were expecting great things from the Selvarat alliance, but she herself was wary of strangers offering gifts. Ancient treaties or no, if Empress Thania was prepared to have her soldiers shed blood on Jorsk’s behalf, then it was safe to reason that she was expecting to receive something of equal value in return. Depending on what concessions the Selvarats might win out of King Olafur, the cure might well prove worse than the disease.

And if politics were not enough for Drakken to worry about, she also had six mysterious strangers who would have to be closely watched. Not to mention that she had yet to discover who had sent the assassins after Devlin last fall. For all she knew their paymaster might well be among those nobles who were even now arriving in the city for the spring council.

There were plots among plots, and very few people whom she could trust. For the past months she had done what she needed to do to ensure that Kingsholm would be ready for Devlin’s return. She had held her tongue, taking care that she gave the King no cause to relieve her of her command. But now she could no longer afford inaction. She owed it to herself, and to those whom she served, to make her opinions known. And she knew Devlin’s other friends, including Lord Rikard and Solveig of Esker would be facing similar dilemmas.

Only Devlin’s voice could balance the conservative forces of the court. She prayed to the Gods that his errand had been successful. If Devlin returned bearing the Sword of Light, it would be impossible for King Olafur and the courtiers to ignore him.

“Hurry back,” she said aloud. “We cannot hold on much longer.”

King Olafur led the way into the great dining hall, with Count Magaharan at his side. The rest of the party followed, and from the corner of his eye he saw Lady Ingeleth speaking to Lord Rikard. Rikard, who had been intended to sit on the main dais, found his way to a seat at the head of the center table along with Vachel and Guy, while Lady Ingeleth escorted Lord Karel to a place at the dais.

The main doors were opened and the rest of the court filed in, along with the members of the ambassador’s retinue who had been too lowly to be presented to the King, but were too important to be consigned to the servants’ hall. Only a third of the tables had been set, for with winter just ended, most of his nobles were only just beginning to make the long journey to court. Still, there were enough courtiers who had wintered over in the capital to make for a lively gathering.

Conversation at dinner was general, as he had known it would be. Affairs of state were too delicate a matter to be discussed in such a public setting. Instead they spoke of trivialities. Count Magaharan described his journey on the newest ship in the imperial fleet, and how it was so comfortable one could scarcely believe they were on a ship instead of dry land. Olafur, whose own memories of sailing ships included misery and wretched discomfort, kept his doubts to himself.

For his part he spoke little, content to let Lady Ingeleth play the role of hostess—a part she was well suited for. Knowing the ambassador’s love of culture, Lady Ingeleth reported that a new poet had come into favor at the court over the winter, and offered to arrange a private performance for the ambassador and his party.

Such trifles kept them occupied until the last course had been removed and the final toast had been drunk. King Olafur dismissed the diners, and then invited Count Magaharan and Lord Karel to join him in his private chambers. Lady Ingeleth and Marshal Olvarrson accompanied them.

He waited with seemingly endless patience as the party settled themselves, and the servants served glasses of ice wine and citrine. At his signal the servants placed the pitchers on the sideboard, then took their leave, bowing low as they closed the doors behind them.

Ambassador Magaharan lost no time in coming to the point. “Empress Thania has sent a letter of greeting that I will give to your secretary. But I am authorized to tell you the gist of her message, which is that she honors the alliance between our peoples and has sent troops from our armies to assist in the protection of Jorsk.”

Olafur nodded gravely, though he felt nearly dizzy with relief. This was no more than he had expected, and indeed the last letter from Selvarat received before the winter ice locked the harbor had strongly hinted that such aid would be forthcoming. But much could change in three months’ time, and only now did he realize how much he had feared that she would have found some reason to refuse his request.

“When friends stand together there is none can divide them,” Olafur said. “As it was in the time of Axel and Jeoffroi, so shall it be with Empress Thania and myself. Just as our enemies are your enemies, we pledge that your enemies will be ours as well.”

It was a speech that he had rehearsed for days, yet had never quite been sure that he would have the opportunity to deliver.

Marshal Olvarrson cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him. “If I may, Your Majesty,” he said. “Count Magaharan, did I hear you say that the Empress had already sent the troops? Are they on their way even now?”

“Better than that, they have already landed,” Count Magaharan replied with a small smile. “Two hundred horsemen and a thousand foot soldiers have already disembarked on the coast of Korinth. Our ship accompanied the transports and witnessed their landing. By now they have secured the whole of the province.”

Lady Ingeleth’s eyebrows rose. “This is indeed unexpected,” she said.

It was more than unexpected. It was presumptuous, to say the least. True, Thania had been generous in the number of troops she sent, but he should have been consulted before they were deployed.

“I appreciate the Empress Thania’s loan of her troops, but I had expected to be informed before they set sail. My commanders will want to make best use of them,” King Olafur said. His pride was stung by the high-handed way in which this had been done, but he could not afford to offend those who represented the Empress. He needed those soldiers.

“Of course, but such consultations would take time, and the Empress wished to send her aid with all possible speed,” Count Magaharan said. “She did not want you to be caught unprepared, if there should be an invasion this spring. We knew of your concern over Korinth from our discussions last fall, and felt it was best to send the troops where they were needed without delay.”

He allowed himself to be somewhat mollified. Help that came too late was no help at all, and the journey between Selvarat and Jorsk could take several weeks, depending on the weather. Having asked for help to be sent with all speed, he should not quarrel if his allies had used their own judgment about the method of fulfilling his request.