Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations Page 24

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I sense in you a reluctance to be here, Reuben. Am I correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It is because you are loyal to your princess, and you do not wish to be a part of anything which might harm her. That is an admirable quality. Still, you are also an honorable man, and as such, you must speak truthfully in your testimony before this court. So tell us, Reuben, what happened the night the king was murdered?”

  Hilfred shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other and then took a breath and spoke. “It was late, and the princess was asleep in her bed. I was on post at the tower stairs when the king was found. Captain Wylin ordered me to check on Princess Arista. Before I reached her door, she came out, startled by the noise.”

  “How was she dressed?” the lawyer asked.

  “In a gown, I am not sure which.”

  “But she was dressed? Was she not? Not in a robe or nightclothes?”

  “Yes, she was dressed.”

  “You have spent years guarding Arista. Have you ever known her to sleep in her gowns?”

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “But I assume you have no doubt stood outside her door when she went to dress for meals or to change after traveling. Does she have servants to help her dress?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “Three.”

  “And how long is the fastest you recall her dressing?”

  “I am not certain.”

  “Make a guess; the court will not hold you to the exact time.”

  “Perhaps twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes with three servants. That is actually quite fast, considering all the ties and toggles that require lacing for most ladies’ clothing. Now how long would you say it was between the discovery of the king’s body and the time the princess came out of her room?”

  Hilfred hesitated.

  “How long?” the lawyer persisted.

  “Perhaps ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes, you say? And when she came out of her room, how many servants were with her?”

  “None that I saw.”

  “Amazing! The princess woke up unexpectedly in the dark and managed to dress herself fully in a lavish gown in ten minutes without the help of a single servant!”

  The lawyer paced the floor, his head down in thought, a finger tapping his lips. He paused with his back to Hilfred. Then, as if a sudden thought occurred to him, he spun abruptly.

  “Tell us, how did she take the news of the king’s death?”

  “She was shocked.”

  “Did she weep?”

  “I am sure she did.”

  “But did you see her?”

  “No.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “She went to Prince Alric’s chambers to find him and was surprised he was not there. She then—”

  “Please stop there just a minute. She went to Alric’s chambers? She learns her father is murdered and her first inclination is to go to her brother’s room? Did you not find it odd she did not immediately rush to her father’s side? After all, no one had suggested any harm had come to Alric, had they?”

  “No.”

  “What happened next?”

  “She went to view her father’s body, and Alric arrived.”

  “After the prince sentenced the prisoners to death, what did the princess do?”

  “I do not understand what you mean,” Hilfred replied.

  “Is it true she went to visit them?” the lawyer questioned.

  “Yes, she did.”

  “And were you with her?”

  “I was asked to wait outside the cell.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Has she often asked you to wait outside when she is speaking with people?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Often?”

  “Not often.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “She called for monks to give last rites to the murderers.”

  “She called for monks?” the lawyer repeated with a clear note of skepticism in his voice. “Her father is murdered and she is concerned about the murderers’ souls? Why did she call for two monks? Was one not sufficient to do the job for both? For that matter, why not call the castle priest?”

  “I do not know.”

  “And did she also order the murderers unchained?”

  “Yes, to be able to kneel.”

  “And when the monks entered the cell, did you go with them?”

  “No, again she asked me to remain outside.”

  “So the monks could enter but not her trusted bodyguard? Not even when the known killers of her father were unchained and free? Then what?”

  “She came out of the cell. She wanted me to stay behind and escort the monks to the kitchens after they were done giving last rites.”

  “Why?”

  “She did not say.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “No, sir. As a man-at-arms, it is not my place to question the orders from a member of the royal family.”

  “I see, but were you pleased with these orders?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I was fearful more assassins might be in the castle, and I did not wish the princess to be out of my sight.”

  “In point of fact, wasn’t Captain Wylin in the process of searching the castle for additional threats, and didn’t he make everyone aware he felt the castle was unsafe?”

  “He did.”

  “Did the princess explain to you where she was going so you could find her after performing your duty to the monks?”

  “No.”

  “I see. And how do you know the two you escorted to the kitchens were the monks? Did you see their faces?”

  “Their hoods were up.”

  “Did they have their hoods up when they entered the cell?” Hilfred thought a moment and then shook his head. “I do not think so.”

  “So, on a night when her father is killed, she orders her personal bodyguard to leave her unprotected and to escort two monks down to the empty kitchens—two monks who decided suddenly to pull their hoods up inside the castle, hiding their faces? And what about the murderers’ possessions? Where were they?”

  “They were in the custody of the cell warden.”

  “And what did she say to the warden concerning them?”

  “She told him she was going to have the monks take them for the poor.”

  “And did they take them?”

  “Yes.”

  The lawyer softened his address. “Reuben, you do not strike me as a fool. Fools don’t rise to the rank and position you have achieved. When you heard the killers escaped, and the monks were found chained in their place, did it cross your mind that maybe the princess had arranged it?”

  “I assumed the killers attacked the monks after the princess left the cell.”

  “You did not answer my question,” the lawyer said. “I asked if it crossed your mind.”

  Reuben said nothing.

  “Did it?”

  “Perhaps, but only briefly.”

  “Let us turn our attention to more recent events. Were you present during the conversation between Arista and her uncle in his study?”

  “Yes, but I was asked to wait outside.”

  “To wait just outside the door, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Therefore, could you hear what transpired inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it true the princess entered the archduke’s office, where he was diligently working at locating the prince, and informed him that Prince Alric was clearly dead and that no search was needed? That he would make a better use of his time”—he paused here and turned to face the nobles—“to begin preparations for her coronation as our queen!”

  There was a decidedly unpleasant murmur from the crowd, and a few of the court whispered and nod
ded to one another.

  “I do not remember her using those words.”

  “Did she, or did she not, indicate the archduke should stop looking for Alric?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did she threaten the archduke, insinuating she would soon hold her coronation, and once she was queen, he might find he was no longer the lord chancellor?”

  “I believe she did say something to that effect, but she was angry—”

  “That will be all, Sergeant-at-arms. That is all I asked. You can step down.” Hilfred began to leave the witness box when the lawyer spoke again. “Oh, I am sorry—just one last thing. Have you ever seen or heard the princess cry over the loss of her father or brother?”

  “She is a very private woman.”

  “Yes or no?”

  Hilfred hesitated. “No, I have not.”

  “I am prepared to call the cell warden to corroborate the testimony of Hilfred if the court feels his account of the events is not truthful,” the lawyer told the magistrates.

  They conferred in whispers, and then the chief magistrate replied, “That will not be necessary. The word of the sergeant-at-arms is recognized as honorable and we will not question it here. You may proceed.”

  “I am sure you are as perplexed as I was,” the lawyer said, addressing the bleachers in a sympathetic voice. “Many of you know her. How could this sweet girl attack her own father and brother? Was it just to gain a throne? It is not like her, is it? I ask you to bear with me. The reason should become quite clear in a moment. The court calls Bishop Saldur to testify.”

  Eyes from the gallery swept the room, looking for the cleric, as the old man slowly stood up from his seat and approached the witness box.

  “Your Grace, you have been in this castle on many occasions. You know the royal family extremely well. Can you shed some light on Her Highness’s motivations?”

  “Gentlemen,” Bishop Saldur spoke to the court and judges in his familiar warm and humble tone, “I have watched over the royal family for years and this recent tragedy is heartbreaking and dreadful. The accusation the archduke brings against the princess is painful to my ears, for I feel almost like a grandfather to the poor girl. However, I cannot hide the truth, which is … she is dangerous.”

  This brought a round of whispers between the spectators.

  “I can assure each of you she is no longer the sweet innocent child whom I used to hold in my arms. I have seen her, spoken to her, watched her in her grief—or rather, the lack of grief—for her father and brother. I can tell you truly, her lust for knowledge and power has caused her to fall into the arms of evil.” The bishop paused, dropping his head into his hands and shaking it. He looked up with a remorse-filled face and said, “It’s the result of what happens when a woman is educated and, in Arista’s case, introduced to the wicked powers of black magic.”

  A collective gasp issued from the crowd.

  “Against my advice, King Amrath allowed her to attend the university, where she studied sorcery. She opened herself up to the forces of darkness, and it created in her a craving for power. Education planted an evil seed in her, and it flowered into the horrible deaths of her father and her brother. She is no longer a princess of the realm but a witch. This is evident by the fact she hasn’t wept for her father. You see, as a learned bishop of the church, I know—witches cannot cry.”

  The crowd gasped again. Braga heard a man say, “I knew it!” from somewhere in the gallery.

  The lawyer called Countess Amril to the court, and she testified that two years earlier, Arista had hexed her when she had told the squire Davens that the princess fancied him. Amril went on to describe how she had suffered horribly of sickness and boils for days as a result.

  Next the lawyer called the monks, who, like Countess Amril, were eager to relate how they had been ill-used by the princess. They told how she had insisted the thieves be unchained, despite their assurance it was not necessary, and explained they had been attacked the moment she had left the room.

  The crowd’s reaction grew louder, and even Lord Valin looked troubled.

  Percy Braga observed the audience with satisfaction from his seat at the rear of the magistrates. The faces of the gentry were filling with anger. He had successfully coaxed the spark into a flame, and the flame would soon be a blaze.

  In the crowd, he spotted Wylin moving in the wings toward him.

  “We have them, my lord,” Wylin reported in a whisper. “They are gagged and locked in the dungeon. A little banged up by two of my overzealous men but alive.”

  “Excellent, and has there been any movement on the roads? Has there been any indication nobles loyal to the traitor Arista may attack?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I came directly from the sewers.”

  “Very well, get to the gate and sound the horn if you see anything. I’m concerned there may be an assault from Pickering of Drondil Fields. Oh, and if you see that wretched little dwarf, tell him it’s time to bring the princess down.”

  “Of course, Your Lordship.” Wylin pulled a small parchment rolled into a tube from his tabard. “I was passed this on my way in. It just arrived via messenger addressed to you.” Braga took the missive from Wylin and the master-at-arms left with a bow.

  Braga grinned at the ease of it all. He wondered if the princess in her distant tower prison could sense her coming death. Her own beloved citizens would soon be begging—nay, demanding—her execution. He had yet to present the storeroom administrator who would attest to the stolen dagger that had later been found in Arista’s possession. And then, of course, there were now the thieves. He would hold them until the last and drag them out to the floor gagged and chained. The mere sight of them was likely to start a riot. He would have Wylin explain how he apprehended them trying to save the princess. The magistrates would have no choice but to rule against Arista and grant him the throne.

  He would still have to deal with the possibility of Alric’s attacking, but that could not be helped now. He was certain he would defeat Alric. Several of the more disgruntled eastern lords had already agreed to join him the moment he was crowned king. Once the trial was complete, and Arista dead, he planned to hold the coronation. By the next day, he would marshal the kingdom. Alric would cease to be a prince and become a fugitive.

  “The court calls storage clerk Kline Druess,” the lawyer was saying, “who was in charge of keeping the knife used to kill the king.”

  More damning evidence, Braga thought as he unrolled the scroll that Wylin had presented him. It had no seal, no emblem of nobility, only a simple string tie. He read the message, which was as simple as its package.

  You missed us in the sewers.

  We now have the princess.

  Your time is growing short.

  The archduke crumpled the note in his fist and glared around at the numerous faces in the crowd, wondering if whoever had written it was watching him. His heart began beating faster, and he stood up slowly, trying not to draw attention to himself.

  The lawyer caught sight of his movement and gave him a curious look. Braga dismissed his concern with a slight wave of his hand. He left the court, forcing himself to walk slowly and calmly. The moment he passed through the chamber doors and out of sight of the crowd, he trotted through the castle halls, his cape whipping behind him. In his fist, he held on to the note, crushing it.

  It isn’t possible, he thought. It can’t be! Hearing footfalls approaching rapidly from behind, he stopped and spun, drawing his sword.

  “Is there a problem, Braga?” Archibald Ballentyne inquired. He held his hands up defensively before the point of the archduke’s blade. Braga silently threw the crumpled note at him and resumed his march toward the dungeon.

  “It’s those thieves, those damned thieves,” the Earl of Chadwick called out as he ran after Braga. “They’re demons! Magicians! Evil mages! They are like smoke, appearing and disappearing at will.”

  Archibald caught up with Braga and they descended the stairs
to the detention block, where the door guard dodged aside just in time to avoid the archduke. After trying the door and finding it locked, Braga hammered on it. The warden promptly left his desk and brought his keys for the red-faced archduke.

  “My lord, I—”

  “Open the cell to the prisoners Wylin’s men just brought in. Do it now!”

  “Yes, my lord.” Fumbling with his great ring of keys, the warden moved quickly to the cell hall. Two castle guards stood watch to either side of a door and promptly stepped aside at his approach.

  “Have you two been here since the prisoners were brought in?” Braga asked the guards.

  “Aye, my lord,” the guard on the left replied. “Captain Wylin ordered us to stand guard and to allow absolutely no admittance to anyone except him or you.”

  “Very good,” he said. Then, to the warden, he added, “Open it.”

  The warden unlocked the door and entered the cell. Inside, Braga saw two men chained to the wall, stripped to their waists with gags in their mouths. They were not the same men he had seen the night of the king’s murder.

  “Remove the gags,” Braga ordered the warden. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “M-m-my name’s Bendent, Your Lordship. I’m just a street sweeper from Kirby’s End—honest. We weren’t doing nothing wrong!”

  “What were you two doing in the sewers under this castle?”

  “Hunting rats, sir,” the other one said.

  “Rats?”

  “Yes, sir, honest, we was. We was told there was a big event here in the castle this morning and the castle kitchen was complaining about rats climbing up from the sewers. ’Cause of the cold, you see, sir. We was told we’d get paid a silver tenent for every rat we done killed and brought out—only …”

  “Only what?”

  “Only we never seen no rats, Your Lordship.”

  “Before we found any, we were knocked out by soldiers and brought here.”

  “See? What did I tell you?” Archibald told Braga. “They took her already. They stole her right from under your nose just like they took my letters!”