Gold Throne in Shadow (20 page)

“Then let's bring the whole regiment out here.”

“The Captain will never let you strip his city of its defenses—which now include your men. He would probably lock you in your barracks if he thought he could get away with it. No, Christopher, if you would hunt ulvenmen, you must do it the way it has always been done. Rank by the handful and daring by the bushel.” Gregor was smiling at the prospect, which tempted Christopher to question his sanity.

But danger marched into his barracks. Right through his soldiers, and his advisors, and the hard stone walls, and the thick bronze-braced double doors. He
'
d barely shaken off the dust of the road and stopped looking around warily for an ambush when the Captain, a squad of city soldiers, and Joadan stomped into the courtyard.

“To what do we owe the honor?” Lalania asked, interposing herself between the intruders and Christopher.

“A simple question, which the Curate can easily answer, and send us on our way.” The Captain was pretending to be friendly, which could only signify true menace.

“I—” started Lalania, but Joadan cut her off.

“—have no place here, troubadour. I speak rank to rank, to the Curate only.”

Gregor folded his arms across his chest. Christopher felt things were getting out of hand, so he stepped forward.

“Thank you for not knocking down my door. But I have to say, this feels hardly less friendly, so ask your question and go.”

“Very well,” said Joadan, with a glitter of triumph in his eyes. “Were you not sent to dislodge me and claim my place?”

“Um . . . yes?” Christopher was still struggling with the syntax of that completely spurious “not,” so he did not notice Lalania biting her lip.

Joadan turned to the Captain and spread his hands, framing Christopher's answer like a show-pony.

“Indeed,” the Captain said, “a clear and present challenge to your station. By royal law you may respond with a challenge to your person.”

“Now hold on a minute,” Christopher said.

Joadan and the Captain ignored him, continuing their little play.

“I do so.”

“As Captain of the town and charged with maintaining the peace, I will oversee the terms,” the Captain said. “This is a personal challenge, between men of equal rank. There will be no secondaries and no stakeholders. Weapons shall be swords only, and all parties are forbidden from seeking revenge, whatever the outcome. Lord Curate, are you prepared?”

This was directed at Christopher, and now the entire yard fell silent, waiting for his response.

“No,” Christopher said. “I'm not prepared now or at any time in the future.”

“You assert cowardice in front of your own men?” The Captain tilted his head back, as if presented with a bad smell. “Then present your ransom and depart the city.”

“I cannot leave the city,” Christopher said. “The King ordered me here.”

“He ordered your regiment,” the Captain answered. “In your absence I will assume command of it. The city remains protected.”

Christopher floundered, reduced to desperation. “I'm not sure the King would agree.”

“I am sure the King would not let a coward lead a regiment.” The Captain looked like he was ready to duel Christopher himself. “But you can ride to Kingsrock and take it up with him. Just as soon as you present your ransom. One hundred and two pounds of gold. Or tael, as you prefer.”

That was a ridiculously large sum, even though it was only a fraction of what his last rank had cost. But that wealth was long spent; promoting Torme to first-rank had all but bankrupted him.

The Captain shrugged at his silence. “If your pockets are empty, then we must withdraw from your head. Kneel, and I shall make it quick.” The Captain put his hand on his sword.

Christopher had finally had enough. “Unless you're trying to get in line,” he said to the Captain, “you can knock it off.” He turned to Joadan. “Do me the courtesy of answering my own question first. You know my reputation. What makes you think you can win?”

“Reputation? A sword of lies and an unwitnessed miracle are less probatory than you might think. But the answer is simple: I have something worth fighting for. This is not the first risk I have engendered, and it will not be the last. The cause that drives me is worth any danger; the need I have for power and wealth cannot be tarried.”

“I could be an ally in that cause.”

“Perhaps you already are,” Joadan said. “The wealth from your head may lead to the final cure. If not, be assured it shall not go to waste.”

“Then it's settled,” the Captain said. “Here will do,” and he started scratching out a square in the dirt with his foot.

“Krellyan's law requires twenty-four hours before a duel. You cannot ask me to violate that.”

“This is not the Saint's land,” the Captain objected.

“But I am his man. And I don't want to have to face him after I've faced the lot of you. So go away and come back tomorrow.”

The Captain did not want to give up. “I could arrest you for failure to pay. I don't have to wait a day for that.”

Joadan put out his hand to stop the Captain. “No. I accept the delay. It matters not; the portents will be as good tomorrow as they are today. And if not, then let the gods decide.”

The Captain frowned at this betrayal, but he seemed to run out of threats. With an ill temper he marched his soldiers out again. Joadan followed them out, pausing at the gate only long enough to give Christopher a contemplative glare.

“Shiiiiiii—” said Gregor.

“Oh, hush,” Lalania said. “It is too early to panic. Wait until tomorrow. Then we can panic.”

“Don't you have work to do?” Christopher said to the gawking soldiers. They quickly resumed their tasks or invented ones if they happened to not have any.

“What the hell was that all about?” he asked, once his little group had regained some sense of privacy.

“If ever there was a time to lie, that was it,” Lalania said. “Against no other would Joadan march in here and demand they indict themselves out of their own mouth. And yet the blame lies with you, Christopher. You have been indiscreet. Someone has heard of your instructions from the Cathedral and carried the tale to your enemies.”

“Wait,” said Christopher, “how did you know what Krellyan said?”

“Because you just told me,” she snapped. “Now you have indicted the Saint as well. Can you not learn the virtue of silence?”

This would have been the perfect time to cast the spell of that same name. But he hadn't memorized it again, having been too ashamed of the echoes of the first time he'd used it.

“You assume the Curate is displeased with this turn of events,” Torme said. He was trying to defend his boss. Christopher knew he didn't deserve it.

“Nope, I blew it.” He tried to think of whom he'd discussed the matter with. Oda, but only in general terms, and she would seem to be above reproach. Other than that, he'd hardly spoken to anyone from this town, except . . .

Alstanf.

He'd thought of the man as a friend. He had forgotten that in feudal politics, there were no friends; only vassals and rivals, only the subdued and the soon-to-be subdued.

“Okay, what do we do now?”

“There's not a lot we can do,” Gregor said. “Unless you're hiding a fortune in your pants, and even then, I would council against it. You cannot let a challenge like this stand unopposed, or every sell-sword from East to West will be here on the morrow looking for their payout.”

“Joadan's not stupid. He wouldn't challenge me if he didn't have an ace up his sleeve.”

“Oh, he does,” Lalania said. “A dirty trick, and probably more the source of Krellyan's law than gentleness. He cast an augury. He's probably been casting them for days, waiting for one that was unambiguously favorable. And thus he bravely walked in here knowing that the gods had predicted his victory—at least for the next hour.” Despite the scorn in her words, she sounded like she approved of the strategy.

“So why throw it away by accepting a delay?”

“Because you earned his respect,” Gregor suggested.

“More likely, he realized that he had already won his victory—by winning the argument to force a duel. Thus, the augury was expired,” Lalania said.

“Or he just hates you
that
much
,” Torme said.

Christopher looked to Karl, the man he always turned to for the final decision.

“Ser Gregor is right: you must fight. The Captain is also right: you must win.”

He had armor now, and rank, and a strong body unencumbered by old injuries. But Joadan had armor as well—the Yellow priest had been wearing a beautiful golden breastplate with elaborate curlicues and matching greaves—and the same rank, plus years more experience with magic despite being a decade younger. His sword looked a lot more expensive than Christopher's. The only advantage Christopher could see was that he was a few inches taller than the other man. Having been routinely trounced by short Japanese sensei for decades, he didn't feel that was an edge worth betting on.

“I need to think,” Christopher said.

But he couldn
'
t think about Joadan without thinking about Alstanf. Finally, to clear his mind, he went in search of the traitorous weasel. Lalania let him go with only a small squad; there was little danger that anyone would try to kill a man who was already under a death sentence. She had used her wonderful intelligence skills to determine that the city generally assumed he was doomed. While Joadan was not notorious as a duelist, he was famously unimpeded; many other problems had been plowed through in the young man
'
s quest for fame and fortune.

Christopher could relate; he understood the impetus.

He found Alstanf in front of another brownstone, overseeing several shirtless young men loading a wardrobe into a wagon. When Christopher spoke his name from behind, he leapt into the air like a startled rabbit and cowered behind the furniture.

“Just tell me why,” Christopher said, his anger evaporating in the face of such terror.

“Flying buttresses,” Alstanf squeaked.

Christopher turned up his empty palm to show that was not an answer. But only his right hand; these days his left stayed hitched onto his sword hilt.

“I want to build flying buttresses. And I will never, ever build them here. The Captain promised to let me go. He said he would grant me release from the Wizard's service. Forgive me, Christopher, but that was a boon that all your wealth and knowledge could never buy.”

And so it was. Christopher left the man in peace, thinking.

He could name at least one drawback to Krellyan
'
s rule. Spending twenty-four hours contemplating a fight did not make it easier to face.

Lalania and Gregor had quizzed him over his first encounter and then given him the benefit of their tactical wisdom when it came to selecting his spells. For instance, he had assumed that the panther or whatever it was would not be an issue, having seen it blasted into smithereens. Gregor had gently set him straight while Lalania stared at him, and Torme had found a defense suggested in one of his novice-training books.