“Yes, Majesty—to their king, but also to their serfs.”
“Obligations to serfs! You would dare?”
“I would, and so would their councils. Who is your heir?”
The last question froze the king. Gar waited.
Finally, His Majesty said, “A dutiful monarch must always open his ears to the plight of his people. I shall return to the castle, Sir Gar. You may meet me in the audience chamber in half an hour, with the people you speak of.”
Gar bowed his head. “As Your Majesty wishes.”
The soldiers opened a pathway back to the keep. The king turned and rode back with as much dignity as he could muster.
Inside the keep, he threw himself into a flurry of activity, snapping out orders right and left. “Archers into the musician’s loft! Spearmen dressed in butlers’ livery! Knights—”
He stilled, realizing that there were no knights around him—and, worse, that the few soldiers about him were listening very gravely, but doing absolutely nothing.
Then the sergeant gestured, and two soldiers stepped forward, bowing. “Help His Majesty out of his armor,” the sergeant said. “Majesty, Sir Gar has sent us to see that you are escorted to the throne with all the ceremony we can muster.”
The king spat a string of curses that should have raised blisters on the soldiers and singed the sergeant’s beard. They waited it out with grave, courteous expressions. In the end, the king went with them.
As they were about to go into the throne room, a soldier pushed his way through to Gar and Dirk. “Masters! Duke Grenlach’s loyal men overcame our rebels! He marches to relieve the king, and all the soldiers who escaped our sweep will rally to him!”
“Grenlach is a hundred miles away!” Coll said, amazed. “The word travels like lightning!”
“With every cell already standing? Word can travel faster than any messenger, yes. Still, five hours is amazing.” Gar frowned. “A hundred miles, you say? And an army will do well to march twenty miles a day—more likely only a dozen. We have at least five days.” He turned to Dirk. “Come, let us present our arguments to His Majesty! We must be very persuasive.”
“I thought you told me to leave the thumbscrews in the dungeon.”
“Not that kind of persuasion!” Gar turned to the messenger. “How many men are dead?”
“Fewer than there would have been if this battle had begun, my master,” the messenger said.
Gar stared at him for a moment. Then he said, “Yes.” And, “That is the only thing that matters, isn’t it?”
He turned back to face the throne room doors. “Let’s try to make His Majesty see the sense in that.”
16
Your noblemen come to your gate, under a flag of truce,” Gar informed the king.
The king narrowed his eyes. “You have not been up to the tower. How do you know this?”
“Because I have founded a secret society among your soldiers, and all the dukes’ soldiers,” Gar told him. “Throughout your whole kingdom, in fact,” Dirk put in. The king gave him a look that would have stretched him on the rack and made hot irons dance on his flesh, if he’d had any men who would have obeyed his command. “Some you will know now,” Gar said, “for they are the soldiers who are not bound and tied, but still bear arms. Still, you can’t know who their leader is. That, too, is secret, and is known only to myself.”
“Secret!” the king roared. “Nonsense! You are their leader, clearly and obviously! If I kill you, this rebellion ends!” He swung a huge blow with his sword.
A dozen men shouted and leaped to hold him, but Gar blocked with a quick movement of his own blade, then bound the king’s sword and whipped it down. “Even if you could slay me, Majesty, another leader would take up the reins—and if you slew him, another would rise in his place. None but he would know of it, for all that the soldiers know is that orders are sent to them—they don’t know who issues them.”
“You are saying that it’s impossible for me to kill the chiefs,” the king interpreted.
Gar nodded. “And impossible, therefore, to kill the rebellion. There are simply too many people, and too few of them are known.”
Surprisingly, the king didn’t erupt again; he only nodded with a cold, calculating look. “Ingenious. I shall have to devote myself to discovering a way to foil the plan.”
“You shall fail in that,” Gar assured him. “For the moment, though, your companions in frustration approach your gate—and I think you may find you have more in common with your lords than you thought. Will you see them?”
“Whose idea is this parley?” the king demanded.
“Mine,” Gar affirmed. “Their Graces are given little choice in the matter.”
“Then I shall see them,” the king declared.
Gar bowed. “Shall we open your gates and bring them into your keep?”
“Why ask me?” the king said bitterly. “Are you not the master here?”
“No,” Gar told him firmly. “Neither I nor the soldiers’ councils will try to tell you what you must do. We will only tell you what we will not do.”
“And, therefore, what I cannot do,” the king said dryly. Gar bowed again. “But it is for you to say what you will do.”
“Why, then, open the gates and let them in,” the king said. “My lords and I may yet find some way to frustrate your designs.”
Gar bowed and relayed the order.
The dukes rode in all together, with a sergeant beside them holding the white flag. They dismounted and went to the ornate chairs set out for them in the middle of the courtyard. Their own soldiers formed a crescent behind them, three rows deep. Before them, the king sat in a chair higher and more elaborate than any of theirs.
The dukes bowed, as protocol demanded. “Your Majesty! ”
“My lords,” the king returned, then gestured to Gar. “This ragtag free lance who dares to call himself the son of a lord is the author of all our misfortunes. I shall let him explain before I address you.”
“I thank Your Majesty.” Gar stepped forward at the foot of the throne, then turned to face the dukes. “My lords, your armies have made it clear to you that you cannot wage this war, for they refuse to fight it for you.”
“Aye, you traitorous toad!” Trangray spat.
Gar ignored the insult. “However, if mere soldiers can prevent great dukes from fighting, surely all the lords together can prevent the king from doing anything they deem unjust.”
The king stiffened, and the lords stared in surprise. Then they turned thoughtful, and the king narrowed his eyes as he glared at Gar.
Again, the giant ignored him. “You have but to refuse to obey his laws, and to tell him that you will not obey because they are unjust.”
“Let me see if I understand you,” Duke Trangray said. “You say that we can tell the king which laws to make and which to strike down?”
“You can.”
“But he will send his armies against us,” Duke Ekud said, with a shrewd gleam in his eye. “Do you say his armies cannot prevail against us, if we all act together?”
“He could never have that many knights and men,” Gar confirmed.
“But what if the soldiers think his law is just?” Duke Ekud countered. “What if they refuse to fight?”
“Exactly,” Gar said, with the tone of a teacher delighting in a pupil’s insight. “From this day forth, you will never be able to rule without the consent of those you govern.”
The lords broke into a furious chorus of denunciation. Gar waited it out, until finally the king broke it off with a clarion call. “My lords!”
The dukes fell silent, turning to him in surprise at such a tone of authority from one so young.