The Crown of Dalemark (42 page)

“Sayings of the King,” Moril said, laughing.

They jogged toward the wagons, with Ynen and Kialan following more slowly. As Mitt reached the crowd milling round the wagons, Navis waved. People fell back respectfully to let Mitt through. Everyone's eyes for a moment fixed wonderingly on the crown. “What is it?” said Mitt.

“We invite you to look at this,” Navis said. And, with a smooth stare at Keril, he added, “Your Majesty.”

He waved again. Several hearthmen hauled on the dark weatherproof covering of one of the wagons. As they dragged it away, the trim green-painted cart underneath came into view.

Hestefan was on its driving seat. When he saw Mitt, Maewen, and Moril all staring at him, he writhed away backward. “I didn't do it!” he said. His fine Singer voice cracked into hoarseness. “I was made to! They forced me to come along!”

“What do the Southerners say about it?” Mitt asked.

Alk nodded to the nearest person from Aberath. “Go and fetch the Andmark captain to the King.”

The Southerners were sitting in a large huddle a little way off with their hands on their heads. Luthan and his hearthwomen were walking round and round them with their bayoneted guns. Luthan's clothes were ruined, and his arm was in a sling. He looked warlike and efficient as he nodded at the message and beckoned someone from the midst of the Southerners.

The man was most unwilling to move. In the end Alk strode over and brought him out of the huddle, almost dangling from his big fist. “Here we are, Majesty,” he said. “One captain.”

The prisoner looked at Mitt and looked puzzled. “It was supposed to be a woman we had to ambush,” he said. “What's going on?”

“Never mind that, Captain Fervold,” Navis said. “Just tell us what this Singer had to do with it.”

“Never forget a name, do you, Navis Haddsson?” said the captain. “It must be ten years since—”

“Twelve years,” said Navis. “Tell.”

“Simple enough,” said Fervold. Alk let go of him, and he straightened up, looking relieved. “Orders were to land secretly at Cressing Harbor, come up by night to the green road, and rendezvous with the Singer at dawn, and he would show us where Kernsburgh was. Then we were to ambush the, er—Anyway, get to them before they got the crown. And we'd have got you, too, if you hadn't been a day late. But we missed the green road in the dark both nights, and the Singer didn't turn up to put us right until well on in the morning. What did he do? Give us away? Our information was we'd only find five folk here.”

“Your bad luck,” said Alk. “So Hestefan was working for the South?”

“Has been for years,” said Fervold.

At this Hestefan cried out, “They made me! I tell you, they
made
me!”

Alk turned to him with his lawman's look. “And did they also make you murder Noreth of Kredindale?”

Hestefan straightened up and jutted his beard. “What nonsense is this? How could I have done? Look. She's standing there!” He pointed at Maewen.

“I'm not Noreth,” Maewen said. It was embarrassing to say it in front of all these people, but a great relief, too.

“And I have seen Noreth's murdered corpse,” said Alk. “The others who might have killed her are proved clear. I accuse you in law and before the crown of cutting Noreth's throat.”

“Never,” said Hestefan. “On my honor as a Singer. Never.”

“Better get that cup out,” Alk said to Navis.

Maewen had a different idea. She tugged at Mitt's sleeve. “This may not be right, because it was Kankredin who said it, but if he did kill her, he may have stolen a golden statue.”

“That statue!” said Mitt. “You know, that clean slipped my mind! Where would Hestefan hide something really valuable?” he asked Moril.

He had to nudge Moril and say it again. Hestefan was saying, “A Singer is honorable. Our word is our bond. We are sworn to speak true and purvey no lies. Nor do we do dirty deeds and dastardly acts. This accusation soils all Singers.”

Moril was staring at Hestefan as if he could not believe what he was hearing. “Sliding panel under the cart at the back,” he said colorlessly, and went on staring.

Mitt whispered to Alk. Alk passed the cup back to Navis and, leaving Hestefan still ranting, he strode round to the rear of the cart. It heaved. There was the sound of wood splintering. Alk came grimly back with gold shining in one massive fist. “Shut your mouth, Hestefan. Where did you come by this?”

Hestefan gaped at the statue. His face had gone gray and piteous. “I tell you I did not kill her! The woman is of the Undying and cannot be killed! I took that statue—yes, yes, I admit—the first time I tried to cut her throat, but she was alive again half an hour later on the green road. I had no choice but to go with her and kill her again. And as I knew she would not die, I sent word in Kredindale to Henda's agent there to send a boat South for an armed band to cut her in pieces. And sure enough, she did not die, though I killed her twice in Gardale.” He rocked about on the seat of the cart. “I had to do it. I had to do it for Fenna!”

“Deranged, I think,” Navis said, leaning wearily on the nearest wagon.

“How come—you did it for Fenna?” Mitt said.

Hestefan looked at him and did not seem to see him. “Fenna is in Earl Henda's dungeons. The Earl will kill her painfully if I do not do as he wants.”

“Oh nonsense!” said Navis. “You and I both know that Fenna is in Adenmouth recovering from a cracked head.”

“That,” said Hestefan, “is not my Fenna. That Fenna is the daughter of Henda's court musician. He sent her with me so that no one would know I had lost my daughter.”

“You think this is true?” Alk asked Navis. “
Is
it true?” he said to Fervold.

“No idea,” said Fervold. “But knowing our Henda, it could well be.”

“True or not, the man's confessed to murder,” Earl Keril said, stepping in to take command. He nodded to some of his hearthmen. “Take him down to Dropwater—it's nearest—and ask Earl Luthan to see him hanged.”

Mitt could see that Keril had stepped in because it was what he was used to. Keril was thinking of himself as the senior Earl here. It made him angry. In spite of all that had been said, Keril was simply discounting the crown on Mitt's head. And it made him even angrier that Keril had done to Mitt himself exactly what Hestefan said Henda had done to him—and Keril had not even seemed to notice.

“
Wait
a minute!” he said. “You can't hang him. We need him. Singers can go where other people can't.”

Keril stared at Mitt with his lips pressed together hard. He glanced round and saw that everyone else, including the hearthmen he had nodded to, had turned respectfully to Mitt. He pressed his lips together harder still. But he said nothing.

“Hestefan,” said Mitt. Hestefan looked up, still not really seeing Mitt. “Hestefan, I want you to go and tell Henda that you carried out his orders. Tell him Noreth is dead. Can you do that?” Hestefan nodded, blinking, as if he were beginning to be able to see again. “But,” said Mitt, “you're to go to Andmark through Holand. You're to go to Hobin the gunsmith in Holand—got that?—and tell Hobin that I've got the crown and he's to bring me the kingstone. Understand?”

“Well … yes…” Hestefan said slowly. “But if Henda hears I did that—No, no! I can't!”

“Oh yes, you
can
!” Moril said. “My father did that kind of thing all the time!
Do
it!” Hestefan turned to Moril, shivering so that his beard juddered. This made everyone look at Moril. Moril was as white as a person can be, so white that he was lurid, and the look of betrayal on his face made everyone look away again quickly. “Do it,” Moril said, “or I'll curse you, Singer's curse, with the power of this cwidder, so that the curse will follow you beyond your grave! You've betrayed all Singers!”

“Ah no.” Hestefan held up a shaking hand against him. “I only did what any man—”

“You aren't just
any
man!” Moril shrieked at him. “You're a
Singer
! I thought you were a good one. I trusted you. I know better now. So go to Holand. Go
now
!” He turned his back on Hestefan, looking as if he was going to be sick.

Keril turned to Mitt. “And what about our Southern prisoners?” he said, with a politeness and sarcasm that outdid Navis. “Are you finding a use for them, too?”

This was enough to make Mitt find a use for them on the spot. “
Of
course! This crown is the crown of all Dalemark. I'm going to need an army that comes from the South as well as the North. They can all swear to me on the Adon's cup, and the ones it doesn't shine for can flaming well stay here under guard. I don't want word out round the South until Hestefan's got through to Hobin.”

“And what will they do here? Sit with their hands on their heads?” Keril asked.

Mitt laughed. “No. They'll be digging. They can start on the foundations for the palace I'm going to build here. After that they can go on and flaming well rebuild Kernsburgh.”

“That's the stuff!” said Alk. “I'll be the guard. Want me to make some drawings for the buildings? That's much more my line than fighting. Let's see—Luthan's scribe had pen and paper.” He looked at the statue in his hand and then looked round for somewhere safe to put it. “Seeing you thought to look for it,” he said to Maewen, “just hold it for me while I do some sketches.”

He passed her the statue. As soon as her hands were on it, she was not there any longer.

KANKREDIN

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