“Including his life and those of his Acolytes. But if there had been need and the risk acceptable . . . you would have had her killed?”
His eyes were old, too, and weary from looking into a broken past and a golden future which would not come during his life. He said:
“We want a better world than this, Luke. Science and human knowledge are not ends in themselves. We use tricks and maneuvers, but we do not murder the innocent.”
He had given me my answer and I knew he spoke the truth. It was a good answer but all the same I felt regret. I had been ready to disown and repudiate them, to forget the dreams of a new age of peace and order, and think only of this city I had won and that other one beyond the Burning Lands. It would have been much simpler. I said:
“So it goes on.”
“It must,” Lanark said. “You have served us well, Luke, but more is to be done. Much more.”
• • •
When they had gone I sat alone in the little room. Through the open window came the sound of the din in front of the palace: the crowd cheering and shouting my name. Less than a week ago these same shouters had jeered me as murderer and traitor and jostled each other for a better view to see me burn. Now I was their hero and their Prince, crowned that afternoon by the High Seers themselves—an honor no Prince of any city had known before. In an hour or two the Captains would drink to me at the coronation banquet. And soon I must go out onto the balcony to let my people see me.
It was triumph, I supposed, but it brought no joy. I sat in the old chair in which my father had sat, and Peter after him. On the wall hung Margry’s painting of my mother. In skill it was not to be compared with those in the high-towered city of the north, nor with that small likeness of an old man in the ruined palace in the forest; but it touched my heart as those had not.
There had been so many deaths since hers. I had been a boy then, and now was Prince of Winchester. And the rain had washed the cobbles clean of my brother’s blood.
The distant voices roared:
“Luke! Luke!”
I knew I must go and show myself to them. And after that there were things to be done: the high and necessary duties of a Prince.
But I sat on as dusk drew down over the city, thinking of the unalterable past—and all my dead.
Read on for a peek at the final book in the series!
LESS THAN A WEEK AFTER I was acclaimed Prince of Winchester the pigeons brought a message of defiance from Petersfield.
That city had been taken by my father, Prince Robert. On the advice of the Seers he had kept it, rather than exact ransom as was the custom. He had made one of the Petersfield Captains his lieutenant, but the blue and gold flag of Winchester flew from its citadel.
When my father was killed by treachery and my brother Peter reigned, the men of Petersfield accepted him in turn. He was renowned as a warrior, and had killed the man who killed my father. He ruled both cities, and if there were any in Petersfield who objected they did not do so openly but only murmured in corners.
Then my brother’s Lady died, accidentally as it appeared. But when I returned from my journey beyond the Burning Lands to the city of the Wilsh, I found myself accused of her murder. In fact Ezzard the Seer had killed her, by means of the forbidden ancient power called electricity. It was done for my benefit—she was carrying the child who would bar me from succession—but I knew nothing of it.
Nevertheless my brother accused me, along with the Seer and his Acolytes. He ordered me to be burned alongside them in the palace yard. It was then that I challenged him and he accepted the challenge. We fought and his sword broke against mine—that which was forged for me by the Seers in Sanctuary. He flung himself against me, his weapon broken to a stub, and my sword took his life.
So at last I became Prince, as the Spirits had prophesied years before at the Seance of the Crowns. The crowd which had vilified me and shouted for my death cheered me instead. But that was in Winchester. In Petersfield there were other thoughts. I had won some reputation in the north but the news was not yet widespread. They saw me as little more than a boy, a Prince by accident. They thought the time was ripe to regain their freedom.
The message that came was brief and insulting. Michael, Prince of Petersfield, sent greetings to the Prince of Winchester. He would do him no hurt so long as he stayed behind his own walls. And he was sending a gift to help him while away the time there. He was also returning something which had been loaned by his predecessor, for which Petersfield had no further use.
The gift was not long delayed. I was called to the North Gate next morning. During the night the guard had heard the sound of horsemen, but on being challenged they had turned away. They had left some things outside the gate. A wooden sword and shield such as boys use when they play at warriors, and one of those wooden horses that children put between their legs and run with, pretending they are horsemen. There was also the body of Captain Markham, my brother’s lieutenant.
A crowd had gathered. They stood in silence. They were looking at the toys and the dead man. They were also looking at me. I saw Blaine and Harding, who had bowed the knee to my father and my brother but been their enemies nevertheless. They had pledged allegiance to me, too, but with the same lying tongues. They would pull me down if they could.
Greene was there as well. He was the Captain who had commanded the expedition to the north. I spoke to him, but loud enough for others to hear.
“Have this body taken up. Tell the Seer he will be buried with full honors in the Captains’ graveyard.”
Greene nodded. “I will see to it, sire.”
“Take up those other things also. Keep them carefully.”
He was silent. They were all watching me. I paused before I went on:
“We will tie them round Michael’s neck before we hang him.”
They cheered at that. Greene’s face spread into a grin. His fingers rolled the waxed ends of his mustache. As I had learned on the expedition he lacked inner certainty, but he obeyed orders and fought well and bravely. I said:
“How long will it take for the army to be ready?”
He said confidently: “They can be ready in three days.”
“No.” I shook my head; their eyes were on me. “You can do better than that. We ride north tomorrow.”
There was another loud cheer, echoing back from the city’s walls. I turned and left them.
• • •
I talked to Edmund in the little parlor behind the Hall of Mirrors. I sat in my father’s old wooden chair, with Margry’s painting of my mother hanging on the wall opposite. The morning had been gray, but with mists that were rising now. At times the sun lanced through. It would be hot in the afternoon.
Edmund was my friend, although my father had killed his and taken the crown. He had ridden with me on the expedition; and when my first sword broke in the fight with Peter it was he who had thrown me the Sword of the Spirits so that I could fight on. That sword lay now on a table by the window, unsheathed. Briefly the sun dazzled from the steel.
Edmund said: “It shines brightly.”
“Rudi has been putting a polish on it. Hans brought it back to me just now.”
Rudi was Master Armorer to the city. He was also a dwarf: armory was one of the trades the dwarfs kept, as an honor as well as a duty. Hans, his son, had traveled with us beyond the Burning Lands.
“A polish,” Edmund said, “but not an edge. Even Rudi could not improve on the edge it has.”
“No.”
The sword was said to have been forged not by men but by the Spirits. I did not want to talk of this to Edmund because even to him I could not tell the truth: I had given an oath of secrecy to the Seers. To change the subject, I said:
“Rudi has been busy with a new sword for Hans. He is determined his son will go into battle as well equipped as any warrior of Winchester, and better than most.”