“Fetch Captain Powell,” she said. “I have brought him the Assassin.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
We should execute the fiend immediately!” declared Sir Powell, the roar of his voice thundering through the camp. He glared at Selinda, eyes bulging, veins throbbing in his forehead. He was as worked up as she had ever seen him. “Burning him at the stake would be only fitting justice for the crimes he committed against Lord Lorimar and his family. You’ve seen it yourself-the proof of his guilt is right there, in that purloined fabled sword!”
“I will thank you to watch your tone,” Selinda replied coldly. “You will not win this argument by shouting me into submission!” The two of them stood alone in the dark night, away from the men of the company. Wind rustled through the apple trees, and a bright campfire crackled nearby.
The captain, his mustache quivering with indignation, stepped closer to the princess. With a visible effort he lowered his voice. “We have him in chains, now, thanks to you, Princess, but he has already killed one man in Caergoth, trying to escape. Then, too, he carried with him the sword of Lord Lorimar-the weapon that vanished at the time of that noble lord’s assassination! I told you that he had renounced the knighthood-took off the breastplate of the Rose and cast it aside! What more proof of his guilt do you need? These are crimes that cry out for justice-and that justice can only be served by putting him to death!”
“You make a damning case, Captain,” she replied. “I am merely suggesting-no, insisting-that the decision to execute be deferred until the prisoner can be taken to Palanthas so that my father can make that choice with the aid of a proper court of law!”
“The man is wily, desperate-a killer! The road to Palanthas is long and trying, as you well know. We are not set up for such a task, keeping a desperate prisoner. What if he escapes, does more harm? Will you accept the responsibility if he gets free and kills again?”
“What about the Oath and the Measure?” she retorted. “What kind of justice do the Solamnic Knights stand for? Killing a man merely because it’s inconvenient to arrange a trial?”
“Pardon me for saying this, but need I remind you, my lady, Lord Lorimar was a great friend of your family? Is it not unseemly for you to make such a vigorous defense on his assassin’s behalf?”
“You do not need to remind me of anything, sir!” Selinda hissed, her face flushing. “Dara Lorimar was a playmate of mine since childhood. Do not dare to presume that I wish her killer to have any special favors!”
“Then why take chances?” Powell pressed, shaking his head in confusion. “We can hang him right here! Or lop off his head. Even burn him at the stake-your lady’s preference, of course.”
“My preference, sir, is that he be bound, and delivered to Palanthas. There in the great city of Solamnia, justice may be served under the watchful eyes of the lords and the gods,” the princess stated. She turned and walked a few steps away, trying to bring her raging emotions under control.
“But the risks-”
“Truth is worth risk!” she shot back. “There are still mysteries here, mysteries about this man and about the murders! Why did Coryn the White aid him, as I’ve told you, if he is an enemy of Solamnia? You yourself have admitted there were others who had cause to hate, to fear Lord Lorimar. What if one of them ordered the killing? Even if Jaymes Markham performed the deed, it might have been at the bidding of another! Who would be happier than that man to see the assassin executed, his secrets destroyed with him. No, Captain, we need to discover the whole truth!”
She circled around the silent, fuming Powell in the firelit clearing. In truth, Selinda wasn’t certain why she thought an immediate execution was such a bad idea. When she thought of Dara Lorimar, bleeding to death beside her father’s savagely battered corpse, her hands clenched and bitter tears came to her eyes.
It was true that this man, Jaymes Markham, had borne the dead man’s sword away from his ruined mansion.
She looked at Sir Powell, who, though he glared at her, had apparently exhausted his arsenal of opposition. Indeed, the veteran officer looked old, weary, dejected. Selinda felt sorry for him.
He straightened to full attention as she resumed the argument, his demeanor frosty but obviously, now, resigned.
“Don’t you wonder why the Lorimars were killed?” she asked.
“Yes. Yes, I often think about it,” Powell admitted. “But what makes you think this villain is capable of telling the truth?”
“At least in Palanthas he can be questioned by all the experts in my father’s realm! Clerics and mages can query him, and maybe their unique skills will ferret out the truth!”
“That may be so, but the danger! The chance of escape, or rescue. Remember, he has three accomplices still at large, need I remind you? There are too many risks involved-”
“Oh, come on, Uncle Siggy,” she said, employing the pet name she had lavished on him when, as a little girl, she had bounced on Sir Sigmund Powell’s knee. “Do you think a dwarf and two gnomes are a threat to a hundred worthy knights?”
She sighed, put her hands on his arms, felt the strength there and the loyalty for which she loved him. “I know you only have my best interests at heart, and I don’t mean to cause you any more grief.” She raised her hands to his shoulders, squeezing. “Really!”
His posture remained rigid, but she saw the gradual softening in his eyes. Slowly, he relaxed, finally raising one of his hands to cover her own. “The man is a villain! A treacherous assassin, and who knows what else he has done as an outlaw?” he said. “If he should bring any harm to you-”
“He won’t,” Selinda said firmly. She smiled slyly. “Just think, if we had returned to Palanthas by sea, as you had planned, we never would have found him. You should be congratulating me for bringing us this way, allowing you to capture the most celebrated fugitive in all Solamnia! The least you can do is obey my wishes in this one simple matter.”
“Ah, my lady. As ever, I obey you. But this matter is far from simple. I remind you again: What if he should escape?”
“That is something, dear Uncle Siggy, I shall count on you to prevent!”
Jaymes felt the rough bark of the apple tree chafing against his back. His arms were shackled behind him and around the trunk of the tree, so there was little he could do to ease the pain. When he twisted his head, he could see the big fire, glowing between a ring of trees, and he sensed that the princess was over there, talking about him with the leader of the knights. The knights had found the sword, Giantsmiter, and of course they had taken away his crossbow and dagger. His magic ring, a gift from Coryn, remained on his middle finger of his right hand, all but useless behind his back.
It didn’t take any great stretch of imagination to realize that Princess Selinda had played him for a fool, lulling him into a sense of security before springing her trap. Why had he listened to her? If he had simply knocked her over the head, he would be far away from here by now, across the stream and safely onto the plains. Instead, he had followed her like a bumbling puppy.
How Jaymes had underestimated the princess-to think he had been so busy admiring her courage, her cool assessment of risk and danger, when all the while she had been playing a game, pulling him around like a pet with a ring through its nose.
Still, regrets were a waste of time. What was done was done. He wondered about Dram and the two gnomes-there was no sign of them. They must have escaped in the confusion. The loyal dwarf, no doubt, would remain nearby for a while, looking for an opportunity to stage a rescue. Jaymes shifted, counting ten knights within sight of where he was sitting. Half were watching him. The rest were staring into the surrounding darkness. A whole regiment of dwarves couldn’t rescue him under the circumstances. Far better to hope that Dram, Carbo, and Sulfie were far away and safe.