The Jaguar Knights (11 page)

He came forward in a whirl of rapier and the King’s Killer had no chance at all. Quintus drove him into a corner, pricking and jabbing without mercy, adding scars to his face with a surgeon’s precision, and all the time cackling.

“You don’t need all that much ear…. A little more leer…” Conjury could heal cuts, but not replace missing flesh. Soon Wolf was fighting with an arm over his forehead to keep the blood out of his eyes. Repeatedly Quintus cornered him, cut him some more, then let him break free, just to drive him back the other way. No swordsman in creation could have held him off and Wolf was convinced that
Diligence
was on her way to the sky of swords when his opponent suddenly hurled his rapier down and ripped his doublet open. And laughed.

“Oh, Lynx! You think he had a laugh when he was at Ironhall, you should have heard him then. The Yeomen two streets away heard him.”

Lynx’s eyes were still not back to normal, but he was interested enough to forget his own plight for a moment. “What happened?”

“I killed him. The point is that his ward was dead, Lynx. Elboro fell off the roof and saved Athelgar the headsman’s hire. Quintus’s binding snapped and he knew it right away.”

“So?”

“You still can’t sleep.”

Lynx shrugged stupidly, still bemused. “I fainted from lack of blood.”

“I said
sleep.
Your binding’s intact. Your ward’s still alive.”

Lynx’s eyes seemed to shine like a cat’s then. “Celeste? Alive?”

“She has to be. You’re still bound!”

She had not been taken for the sake of her jewels and dropped overboard. That was not the explanation.

B
y the time the morning bell began its clamor, Wolf had finished writing a full report of his progress so far, little as that was. He had wrapped the bizarre wooden mace for shipment to the Privy Council and copied out parts of Lynx’s testimony for Master of Archives, so that Fell and Mandeville would receive due honor in the
Litany.
He had also raided the kitchens for a quick breakfast. Snow was falling but the wind was veering to the south, which on Starkmoor usually meant a break in the weather.

He found Hogwood in a hallway, cornered by Tancred and Rivers, both of them smiling inanely as they practiced making conversation to a female person. Other boys slunk by at a safe distance, young ones smirking, others pouting enviously but knowing better than to intrude. She looked more exhausted than she had the previous evening, but if she had been using some sort of conjured stamina on the journey, she would almost certainly suffer aftereffects.

Wolf himself was still one huge ache, but he beamed cheerily and saluted. “Good chance, Inquisitor! Any instructions for me this fine morning?”

“Ride out in the blizzard and freeze to death,” she said sourly.

Rivers guffawed. Tancred frowned warily, trying to work out the play.

“I would, but I have to defend you from these lecherous characters.”

Tancred took Rivers by the elbow and led him away.

“Why do you pretend I’m in charge?” Hogwood said. “Wouldn’t Ironhall be pleased to know that the King had chosen a Blade in such an emergency?”

Wolf shrugged. “Just habit. A dagger up my sleeve. And I care nothing at all what Ironhall thinks. We must ride to Quondam today.”

She glanced at the white nothing beyond the windows. “When the weather improves.” The fear was back, suddenly.

“Come plague, earthquake, or tidal wave, I ride to Quondam today.”

“Let me know when you leave so I can testify at the inquest.”

“Soon. I’m on my way to interview the Baron.”

“I just tried.” Her eyes glinted at scoring a point. “He’s still unconscious. One casualty died in the night—”

“Which one?”

“The cook. One of the grooms is capable of answering simple questions now, but can add nothing new.”

“Good work,” Wolf conceded. “I’ll go and try my hand. If I’m not in the infirmary, you’ll probably find me in the gym.”

An hour later he was little wiser. The witnesses’ estimates of the invaders’ numbers ranged from eighty to a thousand, so he was inclined to trust Lynx’s guess of three hundred. There had been at least two of the cat-masked warriors on stilts, and the farmer who had witnessed Lynx’s fight with one of them confirmed that the freak had singlehandedly felled two Blades and another swordsman. He also insisted that the monster had managed to get back on its feet afterwards. That sounded impossible, but others had seen its corpse in the bailey later.

Wolf’s need to reach Quondam was urgent, for this was the fifth day since the attack. The wind was definitely dropping, though, and he could wait a little longer.

He went across to the gym and learned that Tancred could now beat him black and blue at sabers, as he had been able to do with a rapier for the last half year. The lad was a wonder. Bowman swore he was the best since Durendal, and certain to start winning the King’s Cup as soon as he joined the Guard. Some of the lesser lights ventured to try out against the killer, too, and a couple gave him a worthy workout. Aware that he lacked patience to be a good instructor, Wolf tendered what advice he could, and those who could recognize the gulf between fencing as a sport and real-blood sword fighting were eager to learn from a man with so many scars.

But noon was approaching and he must leave soon to reach Quondam before dark. He found Hogwood in the library, going over incantation scrolls with Intrepid, who was sitting very close to her. They looked up at the newcomer as if he ought to kneel.

“A clear need for Veriano’s Excoriation,” Intrepid said.

“Don’t bother, I’m leaving anyway,” Wolf retorted. “It’s a fine afternoon for a ride.”

“You can’t see your nose in front of your face out there, man. I know that you wouldn’t want to, but even you can’t be crazy enough to risk the moor in this weather.”

“Watch me. Have I left out anything, Inquisitor?” Wolf handed his report to Hogwood, who performed her usual instantaneous reading and returned it.

“The pattern of injuries,” she said. “I have seen no wounds except your brother’s that could not have been caused by clubs like the one Sir Intrepid gave us. Broken bones and cracked skulls are commonest. Cuts and puncture wounds are largely confined to the men-at-arms, and a couple of male servants, both large men.”

Annoyed that he had not seen that, Wolf sat down at the next table and reached for a quill and inkwell. “So the teeth were reserved for serious opponents? Why?”

“It would seem that the invaders hoped to disable rather than kill, but I cannot suggest a reason. Sir Intrepid, I need a few words with Sir Wolf.”

Intrepid’s face flushed to match the red in his hair. He sprang up and strode out the door, slamming it loudly behind him.

Wolf signed the report and sealed it. “The snow’s stopped, almost.”

Hogwood said, “You do not seriously intend to set out across the moors in this fog?”

“I have a compass.”

Her mouth and neck were tense with fear, but he could not tell whether she dreaded the journey or something waiting at Quondam.

“Sir Wolf,” she said with unusual respect, “will you answer a question?”

“Ask it and see.”

“This is not just nosiness. It is relevant to your mission today. According to Sir Intrepid, you have slain more Blades than I was informed. Eight, he says.”

“You are surprised that your bosses tell lies?”

“And I have also learned that the very first of your victims, Sir Hengist, was your closest friend here at Ironhall.”

The sort of friend a man finds only once or twice in his lifetime; the sort of friend a man would die for.
Wolf just nodded. Words to an inquisitor must be carefully dispensed.

Hogwood said, “There were witnesses when he died, including inquisitors. Deliberate cold-blooded murder, I was told.”

“An indiscretion. But Hengist was the first, and once a man develops a taste for blood it soon becomes a habit. It really is time to leave now. I’ll have Intrepid send a courier—”

Her eyes were very large and very dark. “Candidates Hengist and Viper were bound as Blades to the Duke of—”

“Don’t call him that! Garbeald was
trash
! And when even the King had to admit it and sign the warrant, someone had to arrest him.”

Only Blades could hope to arrest Blades, so Vicious went in person, taking twenty of the Guard. His scar and his hatred of inquisitors dated from that night. That was the start of the slaughter, although they hadn’t known then that the Thencaster Plot was coming and there would have to be many more arrests.

“Garbeald fled, with his Blades,” Hogwood persisted.

“Of course. But I fail to see what this has to do with—”

“They were cornered at Hobril. Garbeald was taken into custody, but only after Sir Viper had been killed and Sir Hengist gravely wounded.”

“Don’t forget the other casualties, Inquisitor. Be exact. Four guardsmen, two inquisitors, and six men-at-arms. Commander Vicious almost lost half his face that night.”
Oh, how those two fought! The entry in the
Litany
did not do them justice.

She grimaced. “The fighting was over, the Duke in custody. An inquisitor was applying conjured bandages to Sir Hengist, trying to save his life. You pushed him aside and ran your sword through the prisoner’s heart. It was cold-blooded murder.”

“Was that what happened? The witnesses disagreed.”

“The Blades all lied, yes. You escaped without even a reprimand.”

Not true. Vicious upbraided Wolf for being so public, but he was harder on Florian and Sewald for not doing their work properly earlier.

“Your best friend, and you murdered him!”

“When you are older, you will learn not to listen to gossip.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me like that!”

“Grow up. It’s time to go.” Wolf headed for the door.

He must not,
would
not, remember Hengist drenched in his own blood—gasping in agony, yet tortured even more by the intolerable shame of having betrayed his king and failed his faithless ward. He and Viper had fought like legends against impossible odds and now he faced certain madness when Garbeald was hanged, as he was. Cruelest of all memories was the dawn of hope in his eye when he saw his old friend arrive and the relief when Wolf reached for
Diligence….
The nod.

“Wait!” Hogwood shouted, jumping up and slamming her hands on the table. “Then Sir Jared, Sir Warren. And
Quintus
! The champion! You actually went in alone against two—”

Wolf turned in the doorway. “I am going to Quondam now, Inquisitor. If you prefer to remain here and jabber with all the old women, I will quite understand.”

“Listen to me! Those Blades wanted to die, yes?”

“Definitely irrelevant.”

“So do you!” she yelled. “Don’t you understand? Right now, you’re setting off across the most treacherous ground in Chivial in dense fog. That’s suicide! Ever since you killed Hengist you’ve been trying to kill
yourself
.”

“If you believe such nonsense, girl, you’re in the wrong profession. See that report gets sent to the Council.”

Wolf slammed the door on her.

T
am and two Ironhall hands were perched on kegs around a crate, playing a game of straws. They had three layers on top of the bottle and matters were getting interesting, with six copper groats at stake. Wolf waited until the next straw was in place. Nothing collapsed.

“Tam, good chance to you.”

Tam looked up warily. “And to you, Sir Wolf.”

“Can you guide me to Quondam in this?”

The boy glanced out the window, pushed hair out of his eyes, and said, “Naw, sir. Not today.”

Wolf flipped a golden crown, flashing like sunlight in the gloom. The men exchanged wondering glances. Stable hands never saw gold.

“Naw, sir. Too dangerous.” It was Tam’s turn to play. He added a coin to the stakes and chose a straw.

Wolf said, “Two crowns.”

“Stop it!” Hogwood said at his back. “Only an idiot would go out on the moor in this weather.”

“All men are fools for gold.” Wolf was conscious of other hands closing in to listen. “Not for two?”

Tam licked his lips, shook his head.

“How about four?” Wolf counted them from one hand to the other. “Four gold crowns to guide me to Quondam. That’ll buy you a fair wife and a share in two oxen.”

“Stop it!” Hogwood yelled. “You are tempting the boy to kill himself.”

“Six, then? Six crowns will rent a farm, buy a fishing boat.” Clinking coins, Wolf looked at the others and was surprised that none of them spoke up. “No takers on six? Then I’ll go by myself. Greg, saddle me a horse.”

“I won’t!” the hostler said harshly.

“Then I’ll do that myself, too. Come, Tam, you’ll feel guilty all your life if I die and stupid if I don’t. Name a price.”

Tam was sickly pale. He licked his lips. “Make it ten, Sir Wolf?”

Was that the biggest fortune he could imagine? “Ten it is. To be paid at Quondam gate.”

Tam touched a finger to the heap of straws, dropping them all. He stood up. Wolf surprised him by offering a hand to shake.

“Courage becomes a man. Brains are for cowards. Follow when you dare, Inquisitor.”

“Burn you!” Hogwood said. “Burn your guts for tinder! Saddle one for me, too, hostler.” She wheeled on Wolf. “And we’ll take a spare saddle horse in case one goes lame, and a packhorse with food and bedding, you hear?”

Wolf said, “If you insist.” He had been planning to do so. “See to it please, Greg.” He went into the stable office to wait by the fire. Hogwood followed.

“Finding the grownups’ league a little scary, Inquisitor?”

“Stop babying me!
I find your condescension as repellent as your morbid pursuit of danger.”

“You must have done well in vocabulary class.” He liked her glares. Other inquisitors he had worked with had kept their corpse faces in place all the time, and she rarely used hers. He must not start thinking of her as a desirable woman, though. That road would be scarier than the moor.

“Tomorrow morning would be safer,” she said. “We’d only lose a few hours.”

“Any job worth doing must be done right, which means losing no hours in this case.” He risked a smile, a real smile, not the permanent fanged leer that Quintus had given him. “It really isn’t that dangerous! The fog is not thick enough for us to fall off a cliff and the bogs are frozen. Tell me about dower rights.”

“The baron’s debts swallowed everything the King gave him to marry Celeste. If he died, his widow could claim all of whatever pittance was left. If he’d caught her in adultery, he could have divorced her and she’d have lost her dower rights. That’s what kept your brother out of her bed.”

Aha!
“So his sons had motive to make sure she died first.” There had to be a sane reason somewhere behind the madness.

Sweet Dolores gave him a look worthy of Vicious in one of his well-named moods. “Two middle-aged farmers struggling to keep their households fed hire a few hundred cutthroats to paint themselves brown, run half-naked through a Secondmoon freeze, break into a fortress, kill dozens of innocent bystanders, and abduct a baroness? And they keep it all secret? His Majesty’s Office of General Inquiry had no forewarning of this atrocity at all, Sir Wolf!”

“The raiders departed in ships, so the cutthroats were hired abroad.”

More eye-rolling. “And where did the money come from to do that?”

“Her jewels!” he said. “They took her jewelry as well!”

“Surely it have been cheaper just to poison her? And you are overlooking the club, or mace. It makes your theory absolutely untenable, Sir Wolf.”

“What about the mace?”

At that point old Greg came to say the horses were ready.

Starkmoor weather could change in minutes. Compared to what had gone before, the fog was merely damp, not frigid. It seeped inside clothes like cold sweat and beaded the horses’ manes. They rode in single file, with Wolf in the rear sneaking glances at his compass and growing steadily more impressed by young Tam’s performance. He found the
Newtor turnoff easily enough, lost the road once, found it again, and brought them safely to the Great Bog. From then on there were no trails and no landmarks. He began veering to the west.

“Hold!” Wolf said, riding forward. “You’re going in circles. I’ll lead now.”

Tam’s face was white as milk, his eyes wide with terror. “I’m gone lost, sir!” He knew every rock and bush on Starkmoor and had never seen a map in his life.

“No, we’re not lost. We’ll head southwest until we reach the coast road, then cut back east again and come to either Quondam or Newtor.”

It would not be quite that simple, of course, but the only really serious risk was that of the weather changing. The bog was actually easier going than the uplands, because the reeds and moss and general flatness had held the snow better, so there were no thick drifts hiding sudden hollows or rocks.

In a little while Hogwood rode up alongside him.

“If I’m trying to kill us,” he said, “why are you here?”

She glanced sideways at him, studied the fog ahead for a moment, and finally said, “It’s true, you know. You fit a pattern—your perfectionism, like polishing your boots all the time, your lack of close friends, your deliberate courting of danger. Quintus and Warren cut you in ribbons, I heard. You could have served your ward without having to endure that. People are not always aware of their own motives.”

“My only motive is to guard the King. I was asking about yours.”

Again a hesitation, but shorter than before. “Ambition.”

“Grand Inquisitor Hogwood?”

“It’s possible!” she said indignantly.

“I know. Women have been Grand Inquisitor in the past.”

She seemed mollified, perhaps surprised that he knew that. “If I make a success of this assignment, I can expect to be promoted at least two grades. Maybe even
three,
Grand Inquisitor said.”

They had started a conversation, which was promising. “So your family will be proud of you?”

“That remark is insulting! You are no gentleman.”

“I never claim to be. Spare me girlish tears. You’re doing a man’s job,
so I treat you like a man. You want compliments? Very well. Few men could have kept up with me on that ride from Grandon. You’re tougher than most Blades I’ve known.”

“How sweet of you to say so, Sir Wolf! Your honeyed words will completely turn my foolish head.”

Wolf laughed. “If you can discover who abducted the baroness and why, you very likely will be in line to become Grand Inquisitor. You will certainly have a wonderful future in the Dark Chamber.”

“Now you know my dark secret,” she said, studying him under the winnowing-fan lashes. “I know your past. What of your future, your ambition? What will you do when you are knighted?”

If Athelgar ever dared release him. “Find a job. Men do not become rich in the Guard.”

“That’s not much of an ambition. What sort of job?”

What had she expected him to say? That he would marry and breed children? What woman would have him? “Assassin. I’m good at killing people and it probably pays well. My turn now. Why did Grand Inquisitor choose you for this mission?”

“I told you! I’m an expert conjurer. A major stronghold fell without even a warning.
How
it was done matters even more than
who
did it or
why, Sir Wolf.
Tell me why you stabbed Sir Reynard in the back.”

“Tell me why it matters.” That ended the conversation.

A
s daylight was fading, the travelers heard sounds of surf and crying seabirds, and soon arrived at a cliff top. By then the fog was so thick that the sea below was totally obscured, but they headed east, following tracks in the snow, until the towering ashlar walls of Quondam solidified out of the murk. The battlements overhead were invisible, and the great, gloomy pile seemed big as a mountain.

“Half an hour later and we’d have been spending the night in a snowbank,” Hogwood complained.

Wolf thought he’d done quite well, all things considered. “Do so if you want to.”

The drawbridge over the dry moat was down and the outer gates stood open, but he was not surprised to see the far end of the barbican blocked. Any garrison would be vigilant so soon after a massacre, even more so if the great Durendal was in charge. A voice called down a challenge.

It amused Wolf to answer with “Open in the King’s name!” While he waited, he pulled out his purse. “Tam, your wages.”

The boy shook his head wildly, making hair flap. “Didn’t earn him, Sir Wolf. ’Twere you guided me.” “Take it.”

“No, sir. Didn’t earn ’im. You’d been finding th’ place swifter enough witharn me.”

“I wouldn’t even have found the Great Bog before dark,” Wolf said.

“Take it!”

Tam flinched and held out a large and grubby hand, into which Wolf counted ten gold crowns. “This is for courage. The King has lots more where it came from.”

Hogwood sniffed. “You are liberal with your sovereign’s gold, Sir Wolf.”

Wolf did not reply. Did she think they were not being watched? The story would loosen tongues and speed feet in his service.

The great gate creaked open far enough to admit a horse and rider. Wolf led the way through, into a bailey so depressingly huge that no end to it was visible, just towers and ramparts fading away into murky Secondmoon dusk. Men-at-arms in leather and steel closed in around. Resenting their suspicious glares, he dropped flatfooted into the slush to splatter them, then turned to see if Dolores needed help.

“Oh, an excellent choice!” Grand Master pushed through the throng and thumped his shoulder. “Welcome, brother Wolf! You bear the king’s writ?”

Lord Roland was still tall for a Blade and bore his years as if he had
thrown away a score of them. Age had not withered him. He wore an opulent sable cloak and a wide hat with osprey plumes, both of which would have attracted admiration in Greymere itself, and yet he made such garb seem totally appropriate even in that remote medieval stronghold. He had moved fast to be there and greet the newcomers, for he was noticeably dry in a company well wetted by the fog.

Wolf saluted. “Grand Master, may I present Inquisitor Hogwood? She was sent to investigate these odd events you report. Regard me as senior henchman.”

Lord Roland bade her welcome, doffing his fine hat to bow, but his eyes were as bright as a pigeon’s. “Before I turn over my highly questionable, self-proclaimed command here, Inquisitor, I should probably inspect your commission.”

Hogwood gave Wolf a what-do-you-expect look. He produced the warrant, which Grand Master unrolled just far enough to read the name on it. He returned it with a knowing smile.

“As I said, an excellent choice. And young Tam Trevelyan! In this fog? Laddie, I never believed your dad when he bragged you could find your way over the moors blindfold and backward. Well done, Tam! Walt, see he is made welcome.” He glanced up at the gloom, then at Wolf and Hogwood. “You have earned a fireside carouse, both of you, but there is one thing you should see as soon as possible.”

Hogwood said, “Then lead on, my lord.”

Lord Roland guided them through muddy slush, between decrepit sheds and paddock fences. They passed the looming mass of the Great Tower that Lynx had mentioned and the glazed windows of the baronial living quarters, slate-roofed, quaint, and shabby. Quondam had stood guard on its cliff for centuries, but the world was passing it by. However massive the great curtain wall, Athelgar’s Destroyer General could batter a breach in it now in a few days. That was not what the intruders had done, though. They had known a better way.

“What news of Lynx, Wolf?”

“He is well, Grand Master, thanks to Master of Rituals’s skill at commanding elementals. He seems likely to recover completely.”

“I am joyfully moved to hear that. I did not dare to hope. The Baron?”

“Intrepid has not conceded the battle yet.”

“He is a wonder.” Roland chuckled and led the way up a long stair to the top of the wall, where only a low and rickety railing separated them from a forty-foot drop to the courtyard. On the outer side, two steps led up to the battlements. Wolf went up and leaned out between merlons, but saw nothing but fog. Surf rumbled very far below him. He followed the other two, walking along the rampart, noting that the slush had been well trodden.

In places the walls were capped by outlook turrets, crenellated and corbeled outward like swallows’ nests to give the defenders an unobstructed field of fire. Grand Master halted when he reached the nearest.

“I don’t suppose you can see, but the invaders came up the cliffs just below here. Their tracks were obvious when I arrived, straight up from a small beach called Short Cove. It would be a hard climb even on a dry summer afternoon, a path to tax goats.”

Hogwood said, “Then straight up the walls, too? Human flies?”

“No. From here they went around to the gates and in through the barbican. There is a narrow path around the base of the walls, not one I should care to try at night.”

“So treachery opened the gates?”

“Perhaps.”

“Someone must have lowered the drawbridge and raised the portcullis,” she insisted.