Devlin's Luck (44 page)

“I would prefer to avoid useless bloodshed, but do not mistake this for cowardice. If invasion comes, we will exact such a bloody toll that your followers will curse your name with their dying breaths. The choice is yours.”

Quennel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I am a simple messenger,” he said. “I have no knowledge of such a fantastic scheme. I came here merely to renew our long-standing friendship with the Barons who have ruled this province.”

“Of course you know nothing of such things,” Devlin said. Two could play at this game of courtly deception and face-saving lies. “But you will remember my words, and share them with those that sent you.”

“Courtesy demands I do no less,” Quennel agreed.

“Then we are finished,” Devlin said, rising to his feet. It was time for this envoy and his party to leave. Now, before one of the servants-turned-soldiers dropped his weapon, or someone spoke a careless word, or any one of a hundred things happened that would reveal that Devlin’s proud words were but a hollow boast.

Quennel rose as well and bowed again.

“It has been a … pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said. “I hope we will meet again.”

“You will forgive my discourtesy, but I do not share your hope. The next time I see you in this Kingdom, your reception will be far less pleasant.”

Quennel gave a thin smile. “I concede your point.” He paused, then said, “If you would, indulge my curiosity. What made you suspect Lord Egeslic’s trea—er, the Baron’s indiscretions?”

Devlin thought furiously. Should he imply that the Baron’s treason had been well-known and try to give the impression that this trap had been planned long ago? Even as the thought occurred, he dismissed it. There was no sense tangling himself in more lies. Better to mix grains of truth in to bolster the deception.

“As Chosen One, it is my duty to secure the borderlands. Korinth is just one of my charges,” Devlin said, giving the official explanation for his mission.

The envoy shook his head. “There is no need to be coy. Korinth was your true destination from the very first. The other was a story meant to placate the foolish.”

Devlin kept his face very still. Such knowledge could only have come from Kingsholm. Only his allies and the members of the King’s Council had known that Korinth had been his true destination all along. To everyone else he had told the same tale as he had told his troops, namely that this was an expedition to inspect all of the border provinces. His blood ran cold as he realized that Baron Egeslic’s accomplice could well be a member of the King’s Council. Or someone who was close enough to a councilor to be privy to their secrets. He had known there was a traitor, but had imagined it to be another petty noble, one like Egeslic, who held little power and was scheming for more. Not even in his worst imaginings had he dreamed that the traitor could be a member of the court’s inner circle.

“Then let us say that the Gods led me here,” he finally replied.

“As you say. A foolish question, after all,” Quennel said.

“Ensign!” Devlin called, and the door swung open to reveal Ensign Mikkelson standing at stiff attention. “Ensign Mikkelson, please escort his excellency Quennel and his party back to the shore. See that their weapons are returned to them once they have rejoined their friends. Then return here and report to me.”

“It shall be done, my lord,” Ensign Mikkelson replied.

Devlin watched them leave, then sat down heavily in the nearest chair. He knew he should be rejoicing that so far their deception had held. But instead his thoughts kept turning toward Kingsholm and the traitor within the heart of the King’s court. The more power the traitor held, the more damage he could wreak. For all Devlin knew, the invasion of Korinth was but one of the schemes that the traitor had set in motion.

He tried to reassure himself that there was no need to worry. Even as he sat and fretted, Lord Egeslic was on his way to the capital. As soon as he arrived, the King’s magistrates would take on the job of determining the extent of the Baron’s treachery and discovering his accomplices. Whoever they might be.

But what if they found no one? What if even the Baron himself did not know the identity of his ally? Then it would be up to Devlin to find the traitor before he destroyed the Kingdom.

Twenty-five

THEY TRAVELED ALONG THE GREAT ROAD THAT LED to Kingsholm, and with every league that passed, hope dimmed that they would meet the forces of the Royal Army. Devlin’s mood grew darker as the days passed and he realized that there was to be no relief force. No rescue for the folk of Korinth.

Lieutenant Didrik and his party should have reached the capital over two weeks earlier. Three, if he had pressed hard and encountered fair weather and dry roads. Even if it had taken a week for the Royal Army to assemble the necessary troops, they should have covered more than half the distance to Korinth.

Either Didrik had not reached the capital, or he had arrived and then been betrayed. Perhaps the traitor was indeed a powerful member of the King’s Council, as Devlin feared, someone so powerful he could persuade the council to take no action, even in the face of such treachery.

It was this possibility that had haunted Devlin. Ever since he had spoken with Quennel, he had been unable to rid himself of the feeling that he had made a terrible mistake by sending Baron Egeslic to the capital. He had thought to use the Baron to expose the traitor within the capital. But instead the traitor might well shield the Baron, and then the folk of Korinth would be helpless if the invaders came.

After a fortnight of waiting, Devlin had grown so restless that he could wait no longer. Along with Ensign Mikkelson and Stephen he set out for Kingsholm, hoping that he would meet the soldiers coming from the capital. The empty roads they encountered served as but grim confirmation of his worst fears.

Devlin set a brutal pace for the journey. Each day began before true dawn and they traveled till they could no longer see the road and sometimes beyond. When their horses grew tired, Devlin commandeered fresh mounts, invoking his need as Chosen One. Their tempers grew short and they pushed their bodies to the point of exhaustion and then beyond. But after only a fortnight they crossed the River Nairne, and the city of Kingsholm came into view.

The royal road was unusually crowded for a summer afternoon, and as they approached the western gate, the crowd swelled till it blocked the road.

“What is this commotion?” Devlin asked.

“For the festival, of course,” Stephen replied.

“What festival?”

“Midsummer’s Eve,” Stephen said, as if it should be obvious. And indeed it was, for as Devlin looked closely, he could see that these were no ordinary travelers but revelers dressed in their finest, sporting gaudy yellow ribbons tied around their sleeves or braided in their hair.

Devlin smiled mirthlessly. Midsummer’s Festival. It was an ironic coincidence. A year since the day he had first set foot in Kingsholm, seeking the post of Chosen One and his own death. Now he was returning to the city, no longer a nameless stranger. He had thought he had gained respect and power during the past year, and yet perhaps that had been only an illusion.

A crowd milled aimlessly in the square before the western gate, for only a few could pass through the gate at a time.

“Ensign, clear a path,” Devlin said.

Ensign Mikkelson stood in his stirrups. “Make way! Make way!” he called. “Make way for the Chosen One!”

A few of those closest to them turned to look in curiosity. Devlin’s eyes swept the crowd, and those whose eyes met with his began to back away. Slowly a space around them cleared and they advanced.

The commotion attracted the attention of the guards. As soon as they recognized the party, they began using their long spears ruthlessly to push aside the folk and clear a path.

As Devlin reached the gate, he drew his horse to a halt next to the guard Patek.

“Did Lieutenant Didrik reach the city?” Devlin asked.

“Aye, that he did,” Patek said.

“And what of Lord Egeslic?”

“There’s strange doings at the palace. Captain Drakken left word that you were to seek her out as soon as you return. She can tell you best how things are,” Patek explained. His face looked troubled.

Devlin did not need to hear any more. If the Baron had been convicted of treason, then Patek would have known of it, as would every resident of Kingsholm. Devlin’s fears had come true. Justice had not been served.

He spurred his horse through the gate, leaving it to Stephen and Mikkelson to keep up as best they could.

Devlin’s anger grew as he fought his way through the crowded streets. By the time he reached the Guard Hall, he could scarcely contain himself, and brushing past the startled clerk, he threw open the door to Captain Drakken’s office.

The Captain raised her head from the papers she had been contemplating. There were lines on her face that had not been there in the spring, and she looked nearly as tired as he felt. But he had no sympathy to spare for her, or indeed for anyone. There was but one thing that drove him.

“What happened?” Devlin asked.

She did not hesitate or pretend to misunderstand.

“I failed. And we were betrayed,” she said simply.

“Who? How?” His voice was clipped.

“Sit,” she said. “It is a long story.”

He remained standing. “Make it short.”

Her eyes flashed briefly with anger as she stood up and came out from behind the desk to face him. “If I knew who had done this or how, I would not be sitting here,” she said.

“Then tell me what you do know.”

“When Lieutenant Didrik arrived, and announced that Lord Egeslic was accused of treachery, it caused great consternation in the court. Many did not want to believe such a thing. Instead of being imprisoned, the Baron was confined to apartments within the palace while the council debated whether the Baron should be tried by the magistrates or by the King and council. The evidence you had sent was placed in a storeroom under guard. My guards.”

She paused.

“Go on,” Devlin prompted.

“After three days it was decided the Baron would stand before the council. The chief councilors sent for the chest of papers to review the evidence. When it was opened it was discovered that the papers were so badly water-stained that they were unreadable.”

“How did this happen?”

“I do not know. I saw the chest myself as it was put in the storeroom. There was no sign of damage. And yet three days later you could see the leather was mildewed and rotting, and the papers stank as if they had lain at the bottom of a lake for a year.”

“The chest was tampered with,” Devlin said.

“Of course. But we cannot prove it. The council blames the Guard. Either Didrik was careless during his journey, or my own guards were careless during their watch and allowed someone to destroy the evidence. I had picked the guards personally, and they were all trustworthy veterans. They swear that no one went into or out of that room. So that puts the responsibility back on Didrik. Either way we failed. I failed—for these are my guards.”

The sudden rot did not seem natural. “Could it have been magic? Some foul spell?”

“I thought that as well, but the council dismissed the idea as ludicrous and refused to allow me to send for Master Dreng to discover if it had been tampered with magically.”

This only strengthened his suspicions. The actions of the council went beyond their usual bickering and maneuvering for power. There was one who had a very good reason not to want the papers examined, and that traitor was guiding the councilors’ decisions.

“But what of Lieutenant Didrik’s testimony? Surely he could bear witness to what he had seen?”

Captain Drakken sat down on the edge of the desk. “They would not hear him nor any of the guards who had accompanied him. In their eyes he was guilty of negligence or worse. Some even went so far as to suggest that there never was any evidence against the Baron, and that we had destroyed the very documents that would have cleared his name.”

Devlin felt a cold rage begin to build within him. Once again the courtiers had chosen to play their games of power and influence, ignoring the fact that the Kingdom was crumbling around them. “And what of the Baron?”

Captain Drakken shrugged. “He is free. An honored guest, here to enjoy the festival and to accept the King’s hospitality.”