XV. Charges
RETURNED THROUGH THE HIGHGATE IN THE STILL HOURS BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND DAWN, JUSSOUD MADE HIS WAY THROUGH THE STATELY streets that wound behind the east wing of the palace. The houses here belonged to old blood nobility. Even so late, the candle lamps cast fuzzed light over dooryards and carriageways, glinting on the glazed panes of sash windows. The beautiful town home surrounded by cherry trees had been in Taskin’s family for centuries. Though the seat of the earldom bestowed on the patriarch was a hall on a country estate, the house in the citadel was never unoccupied. Younger sons often served in the royal guard, or held a chancellorship in the crown council. For this generation, the tradition of palace residence fell to Commander Taskin.
Jussoud passed the carved lions flanking the entry, tired down to the bone. He knocked quietly, knowing a servant would answer, despite the uncivil hour. Admitted by a punctilious bald man in an immaculate jacket, the nomad healer shed his grass sandals. He accepted the house stockings he was offered, relieved that the servant had the grace not to comment on the spoiled state of his clothes. Then he padded where he was led, over floors spread with antique carpets, past ancestral portraits and darkened doorways that smelled of walnut oil and lavender. The servant admitted Jussoud to the drawing room, where Taskin’s widowed daughter sat beside a lit candelabra, the quilted wrap in her arms filled with a squalling infant.
‘Teething,’ she explained. Her shy glance towards the nomad held genteel apology, while the scarlet-faced child in her slender arms hiccoughed and kept on howling. ‘The little warrior wouldn’t quiet for his wetnurse.’
Jussoud smiled. ‘If I offered the remedy we use in the steppelands, your father might never forgive me.’
‘A Sogion bean mash?’ The young woman smiled, rocking the babe, as she probably had been, for hours. ‘The old soldier came home muttering the substance must be addictive, or why else would any sane human being suffer the hideous taste.’
‘The plants themselves aren’t narcotic,’ Jussoud said, searching the scatter of rich furnishings for a chair that was not ancient, and delicate with carving. ‘Infused, the roots and the leaves act as a tonic. Only the seeds react on the nerves. They cause numbness along with a mild euphoria, which is why they work best to ease pain.’
Porcelain fair, the young mother watched with amusement as her nomad guest awkwardly perched his large frame on a tasselled tuffet. ‘Well, that explains Father’s rigid disdain. He has always distrusted ebullience, wringing his happiness out of hard work.’
‘He’s awake, still?’ Jussoud inquired, hopeful.
The daughter shook her head, hands adorned with sapphire rings smoothing the child’s corn-silk hair. ‘Your commander’s asleep. He needs the rest. This uproar over the princess’s disappearance has worn him until he is driven.’ She regarded the healer’s stained sleeves, her social verve clouded to apprehension. ‘I expect you’ve come to report from the garrison? Is there aught that can’t wait until daybreak?’
Jussoud measured the pleading love in her eyes, sparked by a concern that was also fuelled by an unsettled, formless fear. ‘I can imagine Taskin would be exhausted. He was strained when I saw him, earlier.’ Too worn himself to shoulder another round of dissecting interview, the nomad firmed his decision. ‘Let the man rest.’
‘Father will be duty-bound to rise before dawn,’ the daughter said, gracious. ‘If you wish, I can have a spare place laid at breakfast. Be here, and I promise you’ll see him before anyone.’
Jussoud stood, a towering figure robed in spoiled silk, and the remnants of a sash that had once borne a magnificent work of embroidery. The uneasy trouble his presence implied sat ill in that chamber, amid the inherited comfort of genteel years of tradition. ‘I’d be grateful. Expect me. Only one message I carry is urgent. Tell Taskin by my word, sealed upon the blood of my ancestry, to trust Captain Mykkael above everything.’
‘Your commander will hear what you ask upon waking,’ the young woman avowed, while the attentive servant arrived at the door to attend the tall nomad’s departure.
Jussoud crossed the palace precinct and retired to his quarters, where, ground down by weariness, he warmed a goblet of sennia to soothe his lingering tension. Then he slept through the night, unaware of the price his kindly solicitude might exact from two men whose sworn vigilance defended the realm.
Two hours before dawn, when the teething grandchild at last quieted in the arms of the exhausted young mother, a thunderous pounding at Taskin’s front door upset the household’s routine. The same well-groomed servant answered the knock. This time, the candle lamp scattered reflections on jewels and gold, the maroon velvet of Devall’s royal livery, and a tight pack of official faces still puffy with sleep. No chance was given to make civil inquiry, or to observe the custom of house stockings. All but bowled aside, the servant could only bow and make way before birth-given rank and urgent authority.
Heading the pack, the High Prince of Devall eschewed court manners and demanded the Commander of the Guard. Just behind his shoulder came the seneschal, Lord Shaillon, looking harried in yesterday’s creased finery. At his heels trouped Devall’s perfumed retainers, half a dozen mailclad lowland honour guard, and two of Sessalie’s chancellors, brought up from the rear by Captain Bennent in his falcon surcoat.
The invasion aroused Commander Taskin. He arrived in the hallway, no less competent for the fact the disruption had caught him in bed. His silver hair was combed. Without slippers, he had thrown a dressing robe of dark wool hastily over squared shoulders. ‘Lord Shaillon, what is amiss?’
The seneschal spun, brandished a rolled parchment, then bobbed in deference to the High Prince. ‘Tell him, your Highness.’
‘Perhaps we should retire where your lordship can sit down?’ Devall’s heir apparent suggested. His veneer of state courtesy masked smouldering rage.
‘By all means.’ Commander Taskin inclined his head.
The flustered servant led the way into the formal dining room, then scrambled to light sconces and arrange chairs. Royal rank assumed precedence; Devall’s prince led his glittering retainers. Taskin granted a host’s deference and permitted the disgruntled chancellors to follow, the stout one shaking his head in apology, and the gaunt one stone-faced and silent. As the seneschal stalked past, the commander ventured an ice-clad whisper: ‘You had better hold a writ from King Isendon’s own hand to excuse this uncivilized intrusion.’
Lord Shaillon fielded the pressure in silence, his face showing smug satisfaction. Taskin trailed the ranks of his uninvited company, his last word to his captain to stand at the doorway. ‘Do you know what’s happened?’
Bennent’s demeanour stayed grim. ‘Let their own words inform you. It’s not good.’
Fine cloth rustled, and jewels flashed through the moving tableau, as the household servants scrambled to accommodate the party of distressed dignitaries, and foreign-born courtiers sorted their disparate stations. They settled at last, the high prince installed in the high-backed head chair, with his marshal and his advocate at right and left flank. Taskin selected the foot of the table, and by preference remained standing.
Lit from behind by the flare of fresh candles, he measured his guests with a glance coldly hard as any bestowed on his guardsmen. Then he addressed the High Prince of Devall. ‘Your Highness, I would hear what has passed, stripped of the dance steps of protocol.’
Through a disruption at the door, as Captain Bennent forestalled the distressed inquiries of the household, the High Prince of Devall inclined his fair head. His sculptured features seemed haggard, his circlet of rubies blood red in their burnished gold settings. ‘Your Captain of the Garrison has been charged with treason. The Seneschal of Sessalie holds the royal writ commanding his immediate arrest.’
Taskin advanced and received the parchment from Lord Shaillon’s lizard-thin hand. He snapped off the ribbon, unrolled the document, and read, quick to ascertain the fact the seal at the bottom was genuine. ‘I don’t see the king’s signature,’ he admonished.
While the partridge-round chancellor squirmed in his chair, the thin one cleared his throat. ‘My Lord Taskin, five of the high council have stood as signatories. Of eight, that presents a majority.’
Taskin slapped the parchment down on to the table, where it rolled itself up with a hiss. ‘Where are the other three worthies who did not set their mark? Still in bed?’ His blue eyes flickered back to Lord Shaillon. ‘As the king surely is, also, at this hour.’ Arms folded, he stalked back to his place, his sangfroid unmoved by the hot-blooded haste crowding the chairs in his dining hall. ‘I will breakfast, and dress, and consult with his Majesty once he arises.’
Which unhurried authority at last broke the high prince’s patience. ‘Shining powers above!’ His fists slammed the tabletop. The cut-glass salt cellar jumped, sheeting costly white crystals over the lace doily beneath. ‘Your princess is in deadly danger! While this desert-bred officer stands at the heart of conspiracy, free to seed ruin at will, how can you think of delay? Action is required, not breakfast, not dalliance with consulting a witless old man!’
‘Who is my sworn king!’ Taskin cracked. ‘Take care how you speak of the sovereign whose realm graces you with guest welcome.’
‘You will act to guard Anja!’ the high prince erupted, ‘or by the nine names of the demons of hell, I will see you cut down for obstruction.’
The mismatched pair of chancellors pitched into the clamour, one stammering to placate, and the other adding the threat of high council authority. While Devall’s retinue coalesced, seething, the seneschal’s distressed appeal to see reason razed through the noise.
‘Commander, you hold a lawful writ, set under seal of the realm!’
Taskin glared. ‘I have seen a sealed parchment scribed with empty words. No proof! No grounds whatsoever to depose a crown officer.’ As his rebuttal imposed a strained silence, he added with forceful finality, ‘Nor will I stir one man of the guard to call down another for treason with no shred of evidence in hand.’
‘But we do have evidence,’ said the seneschal with shattering dignity. His expectant glance swung towards the head of the table, where the heir apparent of Devall nodded his affirmation.
Taskin returned no trace of thawed warmth. ‘Show me.’
Rubies glittered as the high prince gestured to his marshal-at-arms. ‘Bring the sword.’
That muscular worthy arose at his prince’s bidding. His hands were a fighting man’s, ringless and direct, as he laid a cloth-wrapped bundle on the tabletop.
‘Lord Taskin,’ invited the high prince. At his gesture, the marshal slid the object across the waxed wood. ‘See what you make of this weapon.’
Heads craned, while Sessalie’s crown commander flipped back the cloth. The folds fell away to unveil gleaming steel, raised to an exquisite temper. The sword’s handle was strapped in black leather, the guard ring at the hilt a foreign style engraved with symbolic patterns.
‘Assassin’s blade,’ Taskin identified. ‘Though I don’t know what sect.’ He glanced up, his eyes as relentlessly ruthless as the sheen on the weapon before him. ‘Does this belong to Captain Mysh kael? If so, I would ask how he came by it before I jumped to suspicious conclusions.’
‘That blade is not Mysh kael’s,’ the high prince corrected. ‘It belonged to the man just dispatched to kill him.’
Unmoved by drama, Taskin shrugged. ‘Dead?’
‘Violently so,’ burst in the seneschal. ‘Your desert cur all but slashed him in half before the eyes of the Lowergate garrison!’
‘This should concern me?’ Taskin provoked. ‘If the captain’s still standing since the attack, he’s certainly competent to mind his affairs without intervention on my part.’
The seneschal bristled, all but launched from his chair. ‘If his affairs run counter to Sessalie’s wellbeing, your concern becomes paramount.’
‘Then get to the point!’ Aggressive, impatient, Taskin poised to stalk out. ‘Show me there’s a threat to the realm beyond circling, cat-and-mouse rhetoric’
The High Prince of Devall raised a placating, ringed hand. ‘I’ll speak. My marshal assembled the evidence, after all. If the princess is restored to us, living and well, her recovery may ride on the fact he recognized the pattern on that hilt for the mark of a barqui’ino do’aa.’
While the seneschal subsided, and the chancellors watched with uneasiness, Taskin’s blistering glance encompassed the marshal’s bull-necked complacency. ‘How do you know? You have no such training.’
The prince quelled his man’s nettled surge to arise. ‘No training, that’s true. Yet Devall has wealth, exposure and enemies. My lineage has lost kings when men bearing such weapons crossed inside of our borders. When the powers that hired them found us, or our allies, too troublesome, necessity compelled us to know things your backwater realm need never address in detail.’
Taskin hooked a chair, and conceded enough to sit down. ‘I am listening, your Highness. Tell me facts, not conjecture, since I am informed enough to realize that no barqui’ino master ever sells his oath-sworn as assassins.’ As though he wore royal surcoat and sword, and not a plain woollen dressing robe, he directed his drilling regard down the length of the table.
The High Prince of Devall inclined his head, bright as a gilt icon against the dark panes of the casement. ‘Let my marshal explain to your lordship directly’
‘The do’aa don’t hire out assassins, this is true,’ Devall’s ranking guardsman conceded. ‘But they do send them to carry out deaths on their own account. An oath-sworn who breaks their tradition of integrity is cut down so, without quarter. Since an outcast initiate will sell his sword, and since his trained background makes him all the more deadly, we in Devall have studied barqui’ino traditions. Your Mysh kael is such a creature, forsworn.’ The high prince’s officer concluded his case with patronizing assurance. ‘The man your desert-bred gutted tonight was sent from Kaien’s do’aa to dispatch him. Your proof is the pattern engraved on this sword. That your captain broke loyalty is beyond any question. Three men at the Lowergate garrison saw him search the corpse. He found and removed a seal fashioned of wood and gold wire that had been quartered in fragments. Such a token would have been ritually broken by the master whose tradition he dishonoured. Sergeant Jedrey has the names of your witnesses, if you wish to crosscheck for veracity.’
The seneschal rushed to drive home the inequity. ‘The king’s trust was based upon Mysh kael’s past record. You heard his Majesty state that condition, with the Duchess of Phail in attendance.’
‘Sessalie’s council must support the arraignment,’ ventured the slender chancellor down the table. His pearl studs and lace emphasized his distress, as he swept a hand towards the unwrapped weapon. ‘Here we have proof the foreign captain is forsworn, and unfit to invest in crown service.’
‘That’s a long leap, from the inference of one broken promise, to cry a man down for treason,’ Taskin remarked. His glance raked over the assembly. ‘Should King Isendon choose to dismiss him, and we don’t know that his Majesty will—the case has not been heard—Mysh kael would be still entitled to freedom. The council’s writ for arrest is not legal. I cannot call out my guardsmen against a man who has committed no crime against Sessalie.’
‘Then it is my realm’s honour your planted feet will offend!’ the high prince interrupted with heat. ‘I want that desert-bred captain detained! Let the wretch answer to my charge of treason against my future wife’s standing as queen of Devall.’
‘Your suit for marriage has not yet been signed,’ Taskin responded, unmoved. ‘Your slighted honour at this point rides upon nothing more than conjecture.’
Accosted by a spitting explosion from the chancellors, and condemnation from the seneschal concerning disastrous losses to trade, the crown commander held firm. His enamel eyes bored into Devall’s high prince. As his survey detected the masked signs of unease, reflected again by the slight, fretted movement that stirred through the royal retinue, Taskin resumed his sharp challenge. ‘What aren’t you telling us, your Highness? What hidden motives lie outside Princess Anja’s feminine charm? For whatever harm has breached our borders, I presume to suggest that Devall’s might and wealth would be the more likely attraction to set her Grace under threat in the first place.’
‘You place our high prince’s dignity below an outcast foreigner whelped like a stray dog in a ditch?’ the crown advocate pealed in struck shock.
Before Taskin’s withering contempt, the heir apparent flushed, pride reversed into startling contrition. ‘No, this is not what you think! I don’t speak out of spiteful prejudice.’ He adjusted his chair, then glanced down at his hands, torn and suddenly reticent. ‘Devall has enemies,’ he confessed in discomfort. ‘Very deadly ones, at this jointure.’
Taskin sharpened his nailing regard. ‘Better talk plainly, your Highness, and fast, since you think they’ve endangered our princess.’
‘Who else could have possibly struck at her Grace?’ the high prince cried with breaking anguish. ‘I value her spirit, would never have risked her to harm! But the burdens of crown responsibility sometimes cause a man to make unpleasant choices. Yes, I love Princess Anja! Yes, I courted her for her exceptional wit and her exquisite beauty. But I must tell you now, she is also desirable to Devall because Sessalie could offer my heirs a safe haven should our lowcountry lands be invaded.’
Taskin cut across the shocked clamour that ripped through the gathering. ‘You say Devall has attracted the enmity of a sorcerer?’
The high prince swallowed, his stiff bearing in shreds. ‘I fear so.’ Pinned down under Taskin’s relentless scrutiny, he divulged the shaming truth. ‘Mercy on us, we have. The threats are direct, but not public. For that reason, your garrison captain could easily be the hand of that evil, among us. Mysh kael is an oath-breaker, condemned by Kaien’s do’aa. And our enemy has been well known to contract such outcasts and send them as weapons against us. For the wellbeing of your princess, I beg you, constrain him! If he has been hired as catspaw to strike down my alliance with Sessalie, your royal family will see blood and tragedy, I promise.’
The heavyset chancellor appealed directly to Taskin. ‘Can you swear, or show proof that this desert-bred’s not acting under the pay of a foreigner?’
‘No.’ Taskin addressed that shortfall without flinching. ‘Such things can be checked.’
‘But an investigation in depth will take time,’ his lean colleague argued. ‘Dare we allow the creature his liberty, with Anja’s safety in question?’
‘The council can appoint Sergeant Jedrey to take charge of the garrison,’ the seneschal pressed, the parchment bearing the writ for arrest tucked back under protective fingers.
‘Cade’s better suited,’ Taskin snapped, while the High Prince of Devall stood back from the argument, and Captain Bennent, from the doorway, gave professional opinion that even young Stennis handled the men more effectively.
‘But Jedrey’s their senior, and born above Highgate,’ the seneschal took pains to point out. ‘On the heels of a traitor, the nobles would raise less complaint over one of their own.’
‘I will agree to detain Captain Mysh kael!’ Taskin cracked across the raised climate of vindication. ‘He’ll be held for questioning until his word to the crown can be tested. Yet until my investigation establishes guilt, or unless King Isendon’s personal ruling sets the crown seal to his arraignment, he is a commissioned officer of the realm, and not to be named as a traitor.’
‘We are satisfied.’ The High Prince of Devall flicked a nod at his marshal, and as one, his liveried retinue arose. Although he was entitled to royal prerogative, he graciously allowed the seneschal and chancellors to leave the chamber ahead of him. As they filed towards the doorway, conferring in subdued tones, Taskin signalled for Captain Bennent to let the room clear without hindrance. Unmoved, except to rise to his feet, Sessalie’s Commander of the Guard waited, dispassionate, as the heir apparent of Devall detached from his retinue, and strode to confront him face on.
‘We have been at odds, your lordship. I am regretful for that.’ Chin raised, his neat hair caught back in a ribbon beneath the diadem of worked gold, the high prince displayed his wealth and refined breeding with unabashed grace in adversity. ‘Can we lay our differences aside? Sessalie and Devall are now joined as allies. We share the same wish for her Grace’s secure future. The hope of her swift recovery assuredly aligns us on the same side.’
Taskin returned his most freezing regard. ‘We may hold the same wish for the princess’s safety, your Highness. Yet after the truths you have disclosed today, never again presume to suppose that we might join hands in alliance.’
The handsome prince stiffened, gold eyes flashing fire. ‘I will marry Anja. She will be honoured as queen in my realm. If she dies, or sees hurt because you stayed your hand, or if you fall short of your word to kennel your desert-bred captain, then I promise: I will see redress. In Devall, such insolence as yours would be broken, one bone at a time, on the wheel.’
Taskin smiled with a punctilious precision that mocked. ‘But this is not Devall, your Highness. Since my service to Sessalie does not involve making arrests in a dressing robe, you alone are responsible for preventing me from direct execution of my duty.’
‘Then I commend you to action, your lordship. I insist, we should not be at odds.’ As a last, gallant gesture, the prince extended his hand.
The crown commander no more than looked on, his stance stilled to frosty amazement.
Stonewalled, as the young royal jerked his offered touch short, a recoil as abrupt as a scalding. ‘Forgive me, your lordship! I should have expected your insular pride might refuse a foreigner’s familiarity.’
Taskin returned a bow of dispassionate correctness. ‘As a foreign royal, given guest right under my sovereign’s protection, I must ask your Highness to remain under guard in your quarters. I will assign men to address your security. For if Devall’s enemies have moved against Sessalie through your proposed suit to our princess, logic follows that the acts of such heinous conspirators might also place you at risk.’
The prince stiffened. ‘You overstep your authority, Commander!’
‘Do I, your Highness?’ Taskin matched the younger man’s fury, his features unmoved as cut marble. ‘Then present your complaint to the king when he wakens. I’d ask you in for the audience, anyway. Whether or not you’d choose to be present when Captain Mysh kael answers your charges, be certain I will have Isendon’s ear when I interview you at exhaustive length. Once I return, you will explain the peril you have drawn to our heart through the ties to your kingdom’s enemies.’
Unasked, both marshal and retinue moved in. They surrounded their prince, then escorted him out in their circle of liveried protection.
To Bennent, still on station by the door, Taskin gave disposition. ‘Hear my orders, Captain. See to the high prince’s security. Assign eight men with sharp eyes and keen ears. I will dress, and attend what needs to be done to fetch Mysh kael in from the garrison.’
Captain Bennent absorbed this, the implication of posting surveillance turning his frown deeply troubled. ‘You don’t completely trust Devall’s motives?’
Stepped back to the table, Taskin regarded the sword, then snatched the veiling cloth overtop as though the sight of the steel gave offence. ‘His Highness of Devall is a coward,’ he said.
‘That’s harsh,’ Bennent murmured. ‘The princess adores him.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Taskin tugged the lapels of his robe close, as though he suffered a sudden chill. ‘A statesman will always use his best attributes. This one has shamelessly snared her Grace’s affection and wrangled our merchant’s ambitions to buy the toehold for an alliance. The prize glittered, and blinded us. Our failing king blunted sound judgement. We saw our princess as a jewel of incalculable worth, and quite failed to weigh our kingdom’s stability as our most precious asset. Powers above! Who thought rich and powerful Devall might broker a bid for survival? Shame on us all, if our Anja should pay with her life as the pawn of lowcountry entanglements. How dare the crowned King of Devall think so low, to play Sessalie’s peace on a game board encroached on by sorcerers!’
A jagged pause followed, while the candle flames shimmered, and the stilled air hung like liquid glass.
‘Do I trust his Highness?’ Taskin straightened trim shoulders as though to dislodge a stinging fly. ‘Captain Mysh kael does not. By his ornery nature, he’s told me straight out. Now, that could be because he’s employed by Devall’s enemies. Or he could be loyal, and Isendon’s sworn man, in which case, I want the high prince kept under tight watch until we know whether these accusations hold any substance.’
Framed against the dimmed corridor, Bennent showed surprise. ‘You think Devall’s charges are spurious?’
Taskin scarcely hesitated. ‘Let’s just say that, given what I know, I don’t see that desert-bred accepting the employ of any faction that associates itself with a sorcerer.’
Now Bennent looked troubled. ‘Without the king’s direct intervention, you have no legal choice but to bend to the will of the council. The arrest their hasty vote has demanded will have to be carried out.’
‘That’s the meat of the problem, exactly’ Taskin brushed past towards the stair, the hem of his dressing robe slapping his bare calves to his tempest of testy irritation. ‘If you say prayers for any one thing, beg the powers that be for a miracle. Let Captain Mysh kael be convinced to abide by convention, and come into custody quietly’