Oath of Fealty

5

“Are you hurt, Roly?” Mikeli knocked Verrakai’s blade aside before it fell. Was that a stain near the tip? Was it poison? He looked around the room, now crowded with the men he had asked his friends to summon. Sonder Mahieran, Duke Marrakai, Counts Destvaorn and Kostvan; his friends crowded behind them, near the door, eyes wide.

“N-no. I—I just—I killed him.” Roly was still trembling. Mikeli felt his own hands shaking; he knew what Rolyan was feeling. Neither of them had ever killed a man before; neither of them had ever been so near violent death. He’d been told it was like hunting: it wasn’t. The stench of blood and death in the room sickened him. He wanted to spew; he did not want to shame himself in front of the others; he hoped he did not look as green around the mouth as Rolyan. He swallowed, hardening his jaw against the rush of nausea.

“Gods be praised for that,” Juris said. He, too, was pale. He glanced at his father and Duke Mahieran, now inside the room. “You saved us, Roly. He was going to kill all of us and blame me and my family.”

“Gird’s blood, what a mess!” That was Duke Mahieran, kneeling beside the Knight-Commander’s body. “Beclan … oh, Beclan …” Tears ran down his face into his beard; he kissed his dead brother’s hand. “And the Marshal-Judicar.” He turned and closed Donag’s eyes gently. “It’s hard to believe anyone would kill a Marshal-Judicar, a Knight-Commander—”

“And using magery,” Duke Marrakai said. He looked as dangerous as Verrakai had.

“Don’t remind me,” Mahieran said. “I remember your warnings.”

“I’m sorry to have been proved right,” Marrakai said. Under his beard, his jaw muscles worked. “A sad day for Tsaia.”

“A dangerous night,” Kostvan said. “Pardon, my lord dukes, but Verrakai may have a secret way into the palace, and he has a brother as dangerous as himself. We have no time for mourning now—we must act. Your younger brother, Your Highness—is he safe?”

Mikeli gathered his scattered wits. “You’re right, my lord count. Terrible as this is, worse may be coming. Uncle, will you take command of the palace guard, and Duke Marrakai, will you take command of the Bells, and order them out? Camwyn should be in his chambers, but if he’s not—”

After a piercing glance, his uncle nodded, stood, and shouldered his way out the door. Marrakai paused. “Juris?”

“I need him here,” Mikeli said.

“Very well,” Marrakai said, and went out, his cloak swirling behind him.

Kostvan bowed. “My lord, the messenger who came—where is he? He might have more to say—”

“I sent him with Belin Destvaorn to eat and rest.”

“Verrakai would want him dead,” Kostvan said. “Shall I check, and also alert the household staff?”

“Thank you, my lord,” Mikeli said. Kostvan turned to go, just as a squad of palace guards arrived.

“What is happening?” asked one from outside.

“Treason,” Kostvan said. “The first one’s dead, but there are others. Guard your prince.”

Count Destvaorn beckoned to the guards. “We need to lay out the High Marshal and Knight-Commander with all due respect. In the Knights’ Hall, or the grange, do you think?”

“Knights’ Hall,” Mikeli said. He wanted to sit down; he must not sit down.

The sergeant gulped, then glanced at Verrakai’s body. “And him?”

“He was the traitor. He killed them, and tried to kill the prince. Make sure he’s dead, and search his body for … for anything that might give us a clue what else we might face.”

“What about that one?” He pointed at Rolyan, still sprawled on the floor, looking sick.

“He saved us,” Mikeli said. “If Roly hadn’t come back from the library and hit Verrakai … we’d be dead.” He moved closer, avoiding Verrakai’s blood. “Roly—are you all right?”

“I—I will be.” Rolyan blinked; tears tracked down his face. “I never—never killed anyone—before.”

Mikeli could not think of anything to say.

“Come on,” Juris said to Rolyan. “Let’s get you up and out of that mess.” He held out a hand, and Mikeli held out his. Rolyan took hold; and they pulled him up. He looked better standing up, though bloody to the shoulder on his right arm. “You’ll want clean clothes,” Juris said. “My lord prince, may I take him off to clean up?”

“Not yet,” Mikeli said. His mind whirled, tossing out ideas, images, faster than he could grasp them. “We don’t know if there’s someone else—Verrakai’s brother, his son, Kirgan Verrakai—we should stay together, not wander about.” He focused on Rolyan’s face, still paler than normal, his gray-green eyes wide and staring. “Roly—did his blade touch you anywhere?”

“I don’t—don’t think so. It’s just—”

“Get him into the other room,” Count Kostvan said. “His first kill—he needs to be out of this smell, out of this mess. You all do. I’ll take care of it.” He turned to the sergeant. “Here—find something clean and warm in the Knight-Commander’s cupboard for Kirgan Serrostin to wear. Kirgan Marrakai, fetch a can of water if you please. Cold will do. You and the prince can help him clean up. He’ll do better then.”

The Knight-Commander’s outer room, furnished as an office, was cooler and the stench of death much less. “I’m fine,” Rolyan said. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Nothing to be sorry about. You saved us both,” Juris said. “I couldn’t even move.” He sounded angry; he was usually the leader in their activities, a stronger fighter than Roly.

“Nor I,” Mikeli said. “Sit down, Roly—” It was easier to be calm, he noted, when he was taking care of someone else; his hands weren’t shaking now.

“I’ll get blood on the chair,” Rolyan said.

“No matter,” Mikeli said. “Ah—here’s the sergeant with some clothes.” The man laid a stack of clothes and towels on the scribe’s table.

“We’ll get this off you,” Juris said. He rolled up his own sleeves; Mikeli followed his lead and in moments they’d removed Rolyan’s dinner capelet, unlaced his doublet, then his shirt, while Juris rolled up the bloody sleeve, then the clean one, and pulled the shirt over his head. With the tail and back of the shirt wetted in the can of water Juris had brought along, they cleaned the blood from him.

“I can’t wear his—” Rolyan began, as Juris handed him an undershirt.

Mikeli took his hand. “You can’t walk about the palace half-naked, Roly. We need you. And my uncle Beclan would want you to have them. Now get dressed. It’s going to be a long night.”

Rolyan managed a shaky parody of his usual grin. “At once, your royalness.”

That sounded more like the real Roly. Mikeli turned to the sergeant. “We’ll need those plans and things Roly brought. They’re on the floor in there—”

“At once, my lord.” The sergeant bowed and went back to the inner room. More palace guards arrived, with litters for the bodies, and a servant appeared with a jug of sib and a plate of pastries.

“My lord Marrakai said to bring this—” he said. Mikeli gestured to the table; the servant set it down.

“We can’t just eat,” Juris said.

“If your father meant us to,” the prince said, “we had better. Come now—we were interrupted at dinner. I doubt we’ll see a bed tonight; we need something.”

Food and sib restored Rolyan’s normal coloring even as a distant clamor rose, nearing as Knights of the Bells gathered in their hall.