Читать книгу The Serpentwar Saga - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 20

Roo stirred.

He felt a hand on his leg, and in his sleepy state he brushed at it weakly. He felt it clamp down and suddenly he was wide awake.

An ugly face loomed over his, leering and grinning. ‘You’re an ugly sod, boy, but you’re young.’ It was the nervous man with affected speech of the day before who was now fondling Roo’s leg.

‘Ah!’ shouted Roo. ‘Keep away from me!’

The man laughed. ‘Just having a joke, me lad.’ He shivered. ‘Damn cell will give a man his death. Now shut up and go back to sleep, and we can both get warm.’ The man turned over, back to back with Roo, and closed his eyes.

The brute called Biggo, who had regained consciousness an hour after being tossed into the cell, said, ‘Don’t terrorize the lad, Slippery Tom. This is the death room. He’s too much on his mind to be thinkin’ of romance.’ His speech had the lilt of Kornachmen of Deep Taunton, rarely heard in the West.

Slippery Tom, ignoring the jape and the accompanying laughter, said, ‘It’s a cold morning, Biggo.’

Seeing Erik now awake, Biggo said, ‘He’s not a bad sort for a liar and murderer, is Slippery Tom; he’s just scared.’

Roo’s eyes widened. ‘Who isn’t?’ he said with a frantic note in his voice. He closed his eyes tight, as if to shut out everything by force of will.

Erik sat back against the unyielding stone wall. He knew Roo had spent a fitful night, awakening several times shouting in his sleep as he wrestled with personal demons. Erik glanced around the cell. Other men slept or sat quietly in their place as the night wore on. Erik knew that the bravado Roo had exhibited since awakening in the cell the day before had been some sort of madness: he couldn’t accept the inevitability of his own death.

Biggo said, ‘Spanking young bottoms is common enough in the prison gangs, but Slippery is just looking for someone warm to cozy up to, lad.’

Roo opened his eyes. ‘Well, he smells like something died in his shirt last week.’

Tom said, ‘And you don’t exactly remind me of flowers, youngster. Now shut up and go back to sleep.’

Biggo grinned, and his bearlike face looked nothing so much as that of an overgrown child, one with broken and crooked teeth. The beating administered by the guards the day before had done nothing to enhance his appearance; blue, purple, and red lumps decorated his visage. ‘I like to sleep cuddled with someone warm. Like me Elsmie. She was sweet.’ He sighed as he closed his eyes. ‘Too bad I’ll never see her again.’

‘You talk like we’re all going to be convicted,’ said Roo.

‘This is the death cell, me lad. You’re here because you’re going to be tried for your life, and not one in a hundred who has sat here lived two days past his trial. You think you got a way to beat the King’s justice, boyo?’ asked Biggo with a laugh. ‘Well, good on you if you do. But none here are babes, and we all knew what the deal was when we took to the dodgy path: “get caught, take your punishment.” That’s the way of it, for a fact.’ He closed his eyes, leaving the two young men to their own thoughts.

Erik had been awake most of the night, falling asleep only a few hours before, wrestling with the same questions. He had never been a religious sort, going to temple on the festival days, joining the vineyard workers in the blessing of the vineyards every year. But he hadn’t given much thought to what it would be like to face Lims-Kragma in her hall. He vaguely knew that every man came to stand before her, to account for his deeds, but he always thought of that as some sort of priest talk, what Owen Greylock had called a ‘metaphor’ where one thing said stood for another. Now he wondered: Would he simply end? When the box was kicked out from under his feet and the rope either snapped his neck or choked the life from him, would it turn all dark and meaningless? Or would he awake in the Hall of the Dead, as the priests claimed, joining the long line of those waiting for Lims-Kragma’s judgment? Those found worthy were sent on to a better life, they said, while those found wanting were sent back to learn those lessons that had eluded them while living. There was talk that at some point those who lived pure lives of harmony and grace were elevated somehow, beyond human understanding, to a higher existence.

Erik turned his mind away from the question, again; there was no answer he knew, until he actually faced death. Either way, he thought with a silent shrug, it’ll be something interesting or I’ll not mind. He closed his eyes on this thought, finding it strangely comforting.

The door at the far end of the hall clanked open, iron bands striking cold stone. Two guards with drawn swords led a prisoner into the hallway. Another two guards walked before and after him, holding wooden poles looped through iron rings on a wooden yoke set around his neck. The pressure on the yoke kept the man from being able to reach either guard, and the awkward procession made its way to the door of the death cell.

The prisoner was otherwise undistinguished. He seemed a young man, little older than Erik or Roo, though this was hard to determine, as his race was alien to the two young men from Ravensburg. He was one of the yellow-skinned men from Kesh, from a province called Isalani. A few had passed through Ravensburg from time to time, but they were still the object of interest to the provincial residence of that town.

This man was plainly dressed, in a simple robe, with an empty carry-cloth – a large cloth used to carry belongings, in place of a backpack – hung around his neck. His feet were bare, and his head was uncovered, showing a thatch of thick black hair roughly cut above the ears, but falling long in back. Black eyes regarded the unfolding events without expression.

When the door was reached, the first guard unlocked it and ordered the prisoners to move to the far end of the long cell. Once they had obliged him, he opened the door and the two men with the poles steered the prisoner to the opening. With practiced dexterity, the lead guard unfastened the neck yoke and the two guards slipped the poles out. The collar was removed, and with unnecessary force the remaining guard put his boot to the prisoner’s back and shoved him into the cell.

The prisoner stumbled one step, but caught himself and stood motionless. The others looked on in curiosity.

‘What was that all about?’ asked one man.

The new prisoner shrugged. ‘I disarmed a few of their guards when they tried to arrest me. They objected to that.’

You disarmed them?’ said another prisoner. ‘How did you do that?’

The young man sat down on the vacant stone bench. ‘I took their weapons from them. How else would you imagine I did it?’

A few of the prisoners asked the newcomer his name, but no conversation was forthcoming, as the new prisoner closed his eyes while remaining seated upright. He crossed his legs before him, each foot resting upon the opposite thigh, and put his hands, palms upward, on his knees.

The other prisoners looked at him for a few minutes, then returned to sitting and waiting for whatever fate would bring them next.

An hour later the hall door opened again and a company of soldiers entered. The man Erik had met before, Lord James, walked in. Then the men in the cell began to mutter as a woman entered, followed in turn by a pair of guardsmen. The woman was old, or at least she appeared that way to Erik. Older than his mother, at any rate. Her hair was a startling white and her brows were pale enough for him to think her hair had always been this color. The lines in her face notwithstanding, Erik thought she was nice to look at, and she must have been beautiful when young. Her eyes were an odd blue, almost violet in the darkness of the cell, and she carried herself with the bearing of nobility, despite an expression of sadness on her face.

Erik wondered what could be the cause of this expression of regret: could she have some sort of feeling about the men who would be tried in the Prince’s chamber this day? She stopped before the bars, and the sullen prisoners were completely silent. For some reason, Erik found himself standing, feeling the urge to touch his forelock, as he would to any lady of quality who passed on the road in her carriage. Roo followed his example and soon the other men were standing as well.

The woman ignored the filth and wretched stench of the cell as her hands closed upon the bars. She was silent while her eyes searched out every face, and when her gaze at last turned upon Erik, he found himself suddenly afraid. He thought of his mother and Rosalyn, and thinking of Rosalyn made him think of Stefan, and suddenly he was ashamed of himself. He couldn’t look at the lady any longer and lowered his eyes.

For long minutes the woman stood silently, her rich gown becoming dirtied by contact with the rusty iron of the bars as she leaned against them. Erik glanced up and found that as she looked from man to man, only the new prisoner could return her gaze, and at one point he even smiled slightly. But for several of the men her penetrating gaze was too much, and they began to weep. Then at last her own eyes began to fill with tears and she said, ‘Enough.’

Lord James nodded curtly once and motioned for the two guards to escort her out of the cell. When they were gone, he said, ‘You men will face trial this afternoon. Kingdom justice is swift; those of you found guilty of capital crimes will be brought back to this cell and in the morning we will hang you. You’ll be given one last meal and time to make your peace with the gods. Priests of the twelve orders will come for those who ask for shriving, and for the rest of you who don’t wish to speak with a priest, well, you can spend time contemplating your sins. If you have an advocate, he will be allowed to speak for you before Prince Nicholas; if you don’t, you must speak for yourself or the Crown will convict you by default. There is no appeal, so make your brief persuasive. The King is the only man who can overrule the Prince, and he’s busy.’

Without another word, the Duke of Krondor turned and left the cell block. A guard waiting in the connecting hall reached in and pulled the door shut behind him.

The men stood silently for a long minute, then one, the man called Slippery Tom, said, ‘Something about that witch gave me a chill.’

‘It was like having me mum finding me with my brother’s sweets on festival day,’ said another.

Slowly they sat, and when every man was back in his place, Roo turned to Erik and asked, ‘What was that all about?’

Erik shrugged. ‘You know as much as I do.’

‘She read your minds,’ said the newcomer as he returned to his contemplative pose.

‘What?’ came from several of the men. ‘She read our minds?’

Without opening his eyes, but with a very faint smile, the newcomer said, ‘She was looking for some men.’ Then suddenly his eyes opened and he glanced from face to face. ‘I think she may have found them.’

His eyes lingered on Erik and he said, ‘Yes, I think she has.’

The midday meal was plain but filling. The guards brought in a platter of bread loaves and a round of hard cheese, as well as a bucket of a vegetable stew. No knives, forks, or other potential weapons were permitted, but dull-edged wooden bowls were provided for the stew. Finding himself suddenly hungry, Erik shouldered through the press at the bars as the guards handed out the food.

‘Here, now!’ shouted a guard. ‘There’s enough for all of you, though why you’d have any appetite when you’re going to hang tomorrow is beyond me.’

Erik took a bowl and grabbed a loaf of bread, broke off a hunk of cheese, and returned to where Roo sat. ‘Aren’t you going to eat anything?’

Roo said, ‘If the guard’s not lying, there will be more when I get to the bars.’ He rose slowly and moved to where the press of prisoners was lessening, then took his bowl and held it close to the bars as the guard filled it with a metal ladle. Then a loaf of bread and some cheese was given to him, and he returned to Erik’s side.

One of the prisoners said, ‘The food’s better here than at me mum’s!’

That brought a weak laugh from two of the men, but the rest ate in silence.

Shortly after the meal, the guards came to escort the prisoners to the Prince’s court. Each man’s leg irons and shackles, wrist irons and collars, and all the chains were inspected. The newest prisoner, the Isalani, stood silently as the wooden collar was presented to him. He said, ‘I will cause you no difficulty.’ Then with an enigmatic smile he said, ‘I am interested in what is about to occur.’

The guard sergeant seemed to think about it, but the man walked quietly out of the cell and stood in place behind the man who had been led out before him. The guard sergeant made a curt nod, indicating it was all right, and the other prisoners were put in the line.

‘All right, any of you makes a break, we shoot you down and that’s the end of it. So if you prefer a crossbow bolt to the rope, now’s your chance. But be warned, if the bolt doesn’t kill you outright, it’s a messy, pitiful way to go. Saw a man with his lung punched out of him; that was a sight. Now, move the prisoners along!’ The company of crossbowmen lined the hallway where they marched, and the prisoners, now numbering twelve, were led through the palace, up to the Prince’s hall.

Dirty, poor, and miserable, these men were ushered into the presence of the second most powerful man in the Kingdom, Nicholas, Prince of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles, brother to King Borric, Heir Apparent to the Crown. The Prince was a man of forty-some years of age, and his dark hair was still almost entirely without grey. His eyes were dark brown and deeply shadowed; the stress of burying his father was obvious, etching deep lines on his face.

He wore mourning black, and his only badge of office was his royal ring. He sat in the large chair at the end of the hall, raised upon a dais. The chair next to his, used by his mother when his father ruled only days before, was empty. The Dowager Princess Anita was in seclusion in her quarters.

Standing beside the throne was the Duke of Krondor, Lord James, and beside him, the mysterious lady who the Isalani said read minds.

The prisoners were ushered into the Prince’s presence and the guard sergeant had to order them to bow. The men made an awkward attempt, and at last the court was called to order.

Several onlookers lined the sides of the halls, and Erik noticed Sebastian Lender among them. That made him feel slightly better than he had in days.

The first prisoner was called before the Prince, a man named Thomas Reed, and to Erik’s surprise, the man called Slippery Tom moved before Nicholas.

Nicholas looked down on Slippery Tom. ‘What are the charges, James?’

The Duke of Krondor nodded to a scribe, who said, ‘Thomas Reed stands accused of theft and aiding and abetting in the murder of the victim, a spice merchant named John Corwin, late of Krondor.’

‘How do you plead?’ asked James.

Slippery Tom glanced around the room and tried to present as pleasant an expression as possible to Nicholas. ‘You Majesty –’ he began.

‘“Highness,”’ interrupted James. ‘Not “You Majesty,” “Your Highness.”’

Grinning as if this social gaffe were his worst offense, he said, ‘You Highness, it were this way –’

James interrupted, ‘How do you plead?’

Suddenly angry eyes regarded the Duke as he said, ‘I was attemptin’ to explain this to His Highness, sir.’

‘Plead first, then explain,’ said Prince Nicholas.

Tom seemed to think of his options a moment. ‘Well, strictly speaking, I guess I would have to say I was guilty, but only in a sense of it.’

‘Enter the plea,’ said James. ‘Do you have anyone to speak on your behalf?’

‘Just Biggo,’ said Tom.

‘Biggo?’ said Nicholas.

James said, ‘The next defendant.’

‘Oh, well, then tell me your story.’

Tom began to spin an improbable tale of two poor workmen attempting to do the right thing in a bargain gone sour with a spice merchant of dubious character who cheated the two basically honest workers. When confronted with his perfidious acts, the spice merchant had pulled a knife and in the ensuing struggle had fallen on his own blade. The two wronged men, regretting the malefactor’s death, had taken his gold only in the amount they were owed, which happened to be all he was carrying. ‘And that’s not all he owed us,’ said Tom.

Nicholas looked at James. ‘Corwin?’

‘Honest, for the most part,’ said James. ‘What I could find out tells me he occasionally received some Keshian spices without benefit of duty, but that’s not unusual.’

Nicholas said, ‘Why did John Corwin owe you money?’

With a feral light in his eyes, Tom said, ‘Well, truth to tell, You Highness, we was bringing the merchant some Keshian spice, without bothering to call it to the attention of the duty office at the Port Authority, if you see. We was only doing it to support our families.’

Nicholas glanced at the woman who had remained silent, and Erik followed his gaze. She looked at Tom for a moment, then briefly shook her head no.

Nicholas said, ‘What’s the state’s request?’

James said, ‘Thomas Reed is a habitual criminal, a self-confessed member of the Guild of Thieves –’

‘Wait a minute, lord!’ shouted Thomas. ‘I was just making some idle boasts, trying to get some respect from the guards –’

James ignored the interruption. The state asks for death.’

‘Granted.’

With that single word, Slippery Tom was sentenced to die the next morning.

Erik looked at Roo and wondered if the terror he saw in his friend’s eyes was as apparent in his own.

Slowly each man was brought before the bar of justice, and each time at the end of the plea, Erik saw the Prince look at the woman. Each time she shook her head no, save for once, when Biggo was on trial, when she nodded yes slightly. But it seemed to make no difference, for Biggo was condemned to the gallows with the others.

When there were fewer than half to be tried, the scribe called, ‘Sho Pi!’

The Isalani was brought before the Prince, and James recited the charges: ‘Sho Pi, a citizen of Kesh, Highness. Arrested for brawling. He killed a guard.’

‘Your plea?’ asked the Prince.

The Isalani smiled. ‘Plea? I have none. Highness. The facts are as recited.’

‘Then enter the plea as guilty,’ said Nicholas. ‘Have you anything to say before sentencing?’

The smile broadened, and the Isalani said, ‘Only that facts and truth are not interchangeable. I am but a poor student, formerly a monk of the order of Dala. I was sent to find my master.’

‘Your master?’ asked Nicholas, seemingly interested in the story, decidedly different than the run-of-the-mill pleas heard so far today. ‘Who is he?’

‘This I do not know. I was an indifferent student at the monastery where I was trained, save in the art of fighting. I admit to being unworthy of the calling; the Abbot sent me out, telling me that if I had a master he was outside the order, and to seek him in a city where men brawl daily.’ The man shrugged. ‘Often in jest, truth is revealed, and I meditated for days upon what my former Abbot said. Given some insight by hunger, I decided to seek my master in your city, though it was far from my own land. I traveled and worked, and found myself in Krondor but a week ago.’

‘Since then he’s been arrested three times,’ said James.

The man named Sho Pi shrugged. ‘Unfortunately, this is true. I have many flaws, and a temper is among them. I was being cheated at cards, and when I objected, a struggle ensued, and when I pleaded my innocence to your city watch, I was attacked. I merely defended myself.’

‘During the struggle he killed a guardsman,’ said James.

‘Is this true?’ said Nicholas.

‘Regrettably, but in my defense may I say that it was never my intent to kill the man. I was merely trying to disarm him. I had taken his sword from him when he unexpectedly twisted away from me, pushing himself into his companion, who threw him forward upon the sword I was now holding. It is very sad, but it happened.’ He spoke as if he were reciting a lesson, without emotion, not pleading for his life.

The Prince looked at the woman, who nodded slightly. Then he said, ‘What is the state’s request?’

‘The state requests thirty years’ labor in the prison gang.’

‘Granted,’ said Nicholas.

For reasons Erik couldn’t understand, Sho Pi seemed amused at this as the guard escorted him back to the prisoners’ dock.

Two more men were ordered to their death; then, when Erik and Roo were all that were left, their names were called. Sebastian Lender stepped forward with Erik, and James said, ‘Your Highness, we have a special case here. Erik von Darkmoor and Rupert Avery are charged with the murder of Stefan, Baron von Darkmoor.’

‘How do you plead?’ asked Nicholas.

Before either young man could speak, Lender said, ‘If it pleases Your Highness, I would ask that it be recorded that the two youths before you plead not guilty.’

Nicholas smiled and leaned back in his throne. ‘Lender, isn’t it? You used to cause my father no end of irritation. Now I see why. Very well.’ He looked at Erik and Rupert. ‘Do you have something to say?’

Again, before either young man could speak. Lender said, ‘I have here, Highness, documents sworn before the High Constable in Darkmoor and two priests of local temples, under oath, on behalf of these young men.’ He opened a large leather document case and pulled from it a copious sheaf of papers. ‘Not only do we have the sworn testimony of one Rosalyn, daughter of Milo, owner of the Inn of the Pintail; I have a testimony from several guardsmen who were witness to events leading to the conflict, and from Baron Manfred von Darkmoor as to his brother Stefan’s state of mind before the incident.’ He handed them to James, who looked irritated at the need to peruse such a large amount of information in a short time.

‘While my Duke of Krondor looks over these documents, Master Lender, I would be pleased to hear the young men tell what happened.’

Erik looked at Roo and, with a nod, indicated he should begin. ‘It started at the fountain, Your Highness, the one before the Growers’ and Vintners’ Hall in Ravensburg. I was there with some others, just talking, when Rosalyn came looking for Erik. While I was talking to her, Stefan and Manfred, the Baron’s sons, come – came up to us and began talking to Rosalyn. Manfred kept telling Stefan they needed to get back to their father, Otto, who was dying at the time, but Stefan kept talking about “Erik’s girl,” and how she was too sweet to waste on a bastard blacksmith, and things like that.’

Nicholas sat back and seemed intent on the story as Roo recounted all he could remember up to where Erik took off after Stefan, and the ensuing fight. When he was done, Nicholas asked Erik for his story. Erik told it calmly and without any attempt to avoid responsibility for his taking his half brother’s life.

When the story was told, Nicholas said, ‘Why did you run?’

Erik shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It seemed …’ He looked down a moment, then back up, locking gazes with Nicholas. ‘It seemed impossible that I could kill the swine and not be hung for it.’

‘Did you hate him that much?’

Erik said, ‘More than I thought, Highness.’ Inclining his head at his friend, he said, ‘Roo saw it coming long before I did. He told me once that I might have to kill Stefan someday. Stefan and I met only three times before that night, and all three times he sought me out to cause problems, calling me names, insulting my mother, claiming I wanted his inheritance.’

‘Was there any truth to it?’

Erik shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. I never thought much about being noble, or having office. I’m a smith, and I’m the best horse man in Darkmoor – ask Owen Greylock, the Baron’s Swordmaster, if you doubt me. I only wanted a guild badge and my own forge, no more than that. My mother only wanted me to have a proper name. It was her passion that made Stefan fearful. But even if she dreamed I might someday be a noble, it was never any dream of mine. I had the name already.’ His voice lowered, and his tone became almost defiant. ‘That was, at least, one thing my father did allow me. He never publicly denied me the name von Darkmoor, and I’ll take that to the grave with me.’

Roo visibly winced at the phrase. Nicholas sighed. ‘This is very convoluted. Lord James, have you a suggestion?’

James was still leafing through the papers given to him by Lender. ‘Highness, may I suggest you take this case under advisement, and after supper I’ll have the state’s recommendation for you.’

‘Granted,’ said Nicholas. ‘Court is adjourned.’ Guards motioned for the prisoners already in the dock to leave, and Erik and Roo found themselves being marched back to join the others.

Erik looked at Lender. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

Lender didn’t look hopeful. ‘He’ll think about it. You should know after supper.’ Watching the Prince rise from his throne and leave the hall to enter his private chamber, Lender said, ‘It will be decided by morning, either way.’

Guards moved them into line behind Sho Pi, and Roo said, ‘What do you think is going to happen?’

‘If you had not run, and had told this story at once, I think Nicholas would have been inclined to believe you, but you ran, and that counts against you.’ He was silent as the guards chained the prisoners into line, and Lender said, ‘If it goes badly, the gallows. If it goes better, thirty years on the work gang. The best I can imagine is service in the Royal Navy for ten years.’

The guards ordered them to move out, and suddenly Sho Pi looked over his shoulder at Erik. ‘Or something else.’ He smiled enigmatically at the remark. Erik thought his behavior odd for someone facing thirty years of hard labor.

The prisoners marched out of the hall, back to the death cell.

Those who had been condemned to die alternated between numb despair and frantic rage. Slippery Tom was the most antic with fear; he paced the long death cell concocting plan after plan to overpower the guards and escape the palace. He was convinced the Mockers were waiting for any sign of revolt to launch a raid into the palace to set their captured brethren free.

After a hour, Biggo stood up and said, ‘Give it a rest, lad. You’re going to hang.’

Slippery Tom’s eyes widened and with a scream he lunged at his friend, grabbing him around the throat. Biggo gripped hard on Tom’s wrists and forced the hands away from his throat, and as he spread his hands, Tom’s face came close to his own. Suddenly Biggo head-butted Tom, whose eyes rolled up into his head as he lost consciousness.

Biggo deposited the limp form of Slippery Tom in a hay-strewn corner. ‘That should quiet things down for a while,’ he said.

Another man said, ‘Is that what you want? Peace? Well, you’ll have all the peace you’ll ever need come tomorrow morning, Biggo. Maybe Tom’s right and we should die fighting guards.’

Biggo laughed. ‘With what? Wooden bowls?’

‘You anxious to die?’ demanded the man.

Biggo rubbed his chin. ‘Everyone dies, laddie; it’s just a question of when. As soon as you took to the dodgy path you were doomed to the gibbet, like it or not.’ He sighed and looked reflective. ‘Doesn’t seem right to be killing guards for doing their job. We’re going to die anyway, so why spread the misery? Some of them have wives and children.’ He leaned back, resting his elbows on a ledge behind the stone bench he sat upon. ‘Hanging may not be so bad. Either your neck’s cracked’ – he snapped his fingers – ‘and you’re gone, or it chokes you. Choking’s not so bad, I’m thinking. I was choked once in a fight. You get sort of light-headed and everything collapses around your vision, and there’s this bright light … No, me boyo, it’ll be over quickly.’

Another man said, ‘Give it a rest, Biggo. We’re not temple-goers like you.’

‘It was that very choking I spoke of that made me a religious man, Aaron. Why, if Shaky Jake hadn’t busted a chair over Billy the Sly’s head, I’d have died right there. I decided then it was high time I got righteous with the gods, I did. So I went off to Lims-Kragma’s temple and talked to a priest, and gave an offering, and I don’t miss a holy day unless I’m too sick to walk.’ He sat back and crossed his arms. ‘Tomorrow, when I’m in the Death Goddess’s hall, and she says to me, “Biggo, you’re a liar and a thief and a murderer, even if you didn’t mean to be one, but at least you’re a pious bastard,” I’ll smile at her and say, “That’s right. Your Goddessness.” That should count for something.’

Erik found it hard to find anything amusing in his present circumstances, and Roo was close to tears for fear they would be joining those sentenced to die. The only three men not under the death mark were Sho Pi, Erik, and Roo. Sho Pi would be transferred to the work gang after the hanging, which he would watch as a lesson. He seemed unfazed by the prospect of spending the next thirty years hauling rocks out of the royal quarry or dredging out the royal harbor. It was rumored some young men had survived their thirty years, so it was possible he might emerge alive, someday, a broken man in his fifties who might somehow forge a life. For most men it only put off death.

The door at the far end of the cell opened, and Erik jerked around to see who was there, half hoping, half fearing it would be Lender. Instead it was guards with the evening meal. More bread and cheese, but this time the stew had beef in it, and there was a cup of wine for each prisoner.

Erik found himself hungry, despite his worry, but Roo simply ignored the food, curling up and falling into a sleep of emotional exhaustion. Most of the men ate in silence, save the Isalani, who came to sit next to Erik. He said, ‘You think you will go free?’

Erik looked off into space for a minute. ‘No, I think had we stayed and faced down our accusers, maybe. Had they seen the blood flowing from my shoulder from Stefan’s sword, maybe then.

‘As it is now, I think we are probably going either to be hung or to spend out our lives working next to you on the labor gang.’

The Isalani said, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘That woman. I don’t know why, but it was important that she see what we were thinking when we were before the Prince.’

‘If she was reading minds, like you claim, then it was to see if we were telling the truth.’

‘No, something else.’

‘What?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe what kind of men we are.’

Erik finished his meal, and when Roo offered no protest, he drank his wine as well. The evening stretched on, and the door opened again.

Erik turned and was astonished to see Manfred von Darkmoor enter, flanked by two guards wearing the livery of Darkmoor and two others wearing the Prince’s colors. Manfred motioned with his head to Erik to come to the far end of the cell where they could speak privately.

Erik got up slowly, and the guards stood away as the two half brothers reached the far end of the cell. Erik said nothing, waiting for Manfred to speak.

After looking at Erik a moment, Manfred said, ‘Well, I suspect you wonder why I’m here.’

‘I would think that was obvious,’ said Erik.

‘I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, truth be told. Perhaps it’s because I have lost one brother and am about to lose another, whom I don’t know.’

‘I may not be lost, brother,’ said Erik dryly. ‘The Prince has taken the evidence under advisement, and I have a very gifted solicitor arguing on my behalf.’

‘So I have heard.’ Manfred looked Erik up and down. ‘You do look a great deal like Father, you know. But I suspect you have your mother’s steel in you.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘You never knew our father; he was a weak man in many ways,’ Manfred said. ‘I loved him, of course, but it was difficult to admire him. He avoided fights, mostly with Mother, and he hated being in the public eye.’ With an ironic smile, he added, ‘I, on the other hand, find that I rather like it.’ Picking an imagined speck from his sleeve, he said, ‘I don’t know if I should hate you for killing Stefan or thank you for making me Baron. But either way. Mother is up talking to the Prince right now, ensuring you go to the gallows.’

Erik said, ‘Why does she hate me so?’

Manfred said, ‘I don’t think she hates you, really. Fears you is more like it. It was our father she hated.’

Erik looked surprised. ‘Why?’

‘Father liked the ladies, and Mother always knew he had been forced into marrying her. From what I gathered, after I was born they were man and wife in name only. It was Mother who ensured we had only male servants or ugly women working in our castle; Father had an eye for pretty young girls. Even with Mother’s precautions, Father found every pretty woman within a day’s ride of the castle. Stefan was a lot like him in that respect. He really thought he’d hurt you if he took your girl and had his way with her.’

‘Rosalyn wasn’t my girl,’ said Erik. ‘She was more like a sister.’

‘Even better,’ said Manfred. ‘He would have delighted in knowing that. If he could have taken your mother while you watched, he’d have liked that even more.’ His voice lowered. ‘Stefan was an evil bastard, Erik, a mean-spirited pig who delighted in causing pain. I should know, because I was on the receiving end of it most of the time. It was only when I caught up with him in size and could defend myself that he left me alone.’ Almost whispering, he said, ‘When I first saw him dead, I was angry enough to have killed you myself that minute. After the shock wore off, I realized I felt relief that he was gone. You did the world a favor by killing him, but I’m afraid that fact won’t help you at all. Mother’s going to see you hung. I guess I’m here to tell you that at least one of your brothers doesn’t hate you.’

‘Brothers?’

‘You’re not father’s only bastard, Erik. You may have a score of brothers and sisters out there. But you were the oldest, and your mother made sure the world knew it. I guess that’s really the reason you are going to hang tomorrow.’

Erik tried to muster as much courage as he could. ‘We’ll still see what the Prince has to say.’

‘Of course,’ said Manfred. ‘If you do somehow come out of this without being hung, and after you’ve spent your time on the prison gang, send me a letter.’ He turned and walked away, then turned to look back at Erik. ‘But don’t enter Darkmoor if you wish to stay alive.’

Erik stood alone for a minute after Manfred left, then returned to his place next to the sleeping Roo.

Time dragged on and Erik found himself unable to sleep. Several others fell into fitful dozes, and only Biggo and the Isalani seemed able to sleep comfortably. A couple of the men sat in silent prayer.

At midnight, the door opened and a handful of priests entered, from various orders, and each stood across from the prisoner who wished to take comfort. This continued for an hour or more; then the priests left, and still no word from Lender.

Erik at last fell into a half-sleep, with panic waking him up several times, his heart pounding and his chest constricted, as he fought against the rising terror.

Suddenly a loud clang echoed in the otherwise silent cell block and Erik was on his feet as Sebastian Lender entered the room. Erik lightly kicked Roo awake, and the two hurried to the far end of the cell.

Erik looked at what Lender carried and his chest constricted in terror. A pair of boots, fashioned out of soft leather, with high tops that folded down, were clutched in the old man’s hands. They were a horseman’s boots, well made and artfully crafted, and Erik knew why Lender carried them.

Erik said, ‘We’re to die?’

Lender said, ‘Yes. The Prince gave the order less than an hour ago.’ Lender handed the boots through the bars to Erik. ‘I’m sorry. I thought I had built a persuasive brief, but the mother of the man you killed is the daughter of the Duke of Ran and has much influence in this court as well as the King’s. The King himself was consulted, and in the end you were both sentenced to death. There is nothing that can be done.’ He pointed to the boots that Erik now clutched before him. ‘These were your father’s last gift to you; I thought it would be unfitting for you not to have them at least for a few hours before …’

‘They hang us,’ whispered Roo.

Erik pushed the boots back through the bars. ‘Sell them, Master Lender. You said the gold he left me wouldn’t cover your fees.’

Lender pushed them back toward Erik. ‘No, I failed and I will give your gold to whoever you instruct me to. There is no fee, Erik.’

Erik said, ‘Then send the gold to my mother, at Ravensburg. She’s at the Inn of the Pintail and she has no one to care for her. Tell her to use the gold wisely, for it is all I will ever be able to give her.’

Lender nodded and said, ‘I pray the gods will be gentle with you, Erik, and you as well, Rupert. You have no evil in your hearts, even if you have done this violent thing.’

Lender looked close to tears as he turned away, leaving the two young men from Darkmoor alone in the far corner of the death cell.

Erik looked at his boyhood friend and said nothing. There was nothing to say. He sat and stripped off his common boots, and pulled on the rider’s boots. They fit as if they had been fashioned for him. High, to mid-calf, they were soft and clung like soft velvet instead of harsh hides. Erik knew that if he worked for a lifetime he would not have been able to afford their like.

He sighed. He would at least wear them for part of one day, from the cell to the gallows. He only regretted he didn’t have at least one opportunity to test them on horseback.

Roo sat on the floor, back against the bars. He looked at Erik, his eyes wide with fear, and whispered, ‘What do we do now?’

Erik tried to smile reassuringly at his friend, but the best he could manage was a crooked grimace. ‘We wait.’

Nothing more was said.