The three final attackers lay tumbled on the hall floor; they’d had no real skill and no plan, easy kills for the Royal Guard soldiers now cleaning their blades. So many dead already, when she had hoped to bring peace and security to her new realm’s people. Had they all been Liartians? Dorrin went to Grull’s body—and yes, he wore Liart’s symbol on a chain around his neck. When the guards checked, so did the others.
Dorrin walked around the bodies and toward the huddle of servants. Before she could speak, they all knelt. Dorrin sighed. It must do for now, but she did not want this kind of submission, clearly more fear than anything else. She touched them lightly with magery, and found no more who harbored evil intent. For now, at least.
“Well, then,” she said. “This room will be used for those going to Vérella in the morning. Which of you are the nurserymaids?”
Six women shuffled forward on their knees.
“Get up now—you will have charge of the youngest children. Give this man”—she pointed to one of the Royal Guard—“the names of those ten winters and younger, point them out, and then you will take them to the nursery and keep them there. Supper will be sent up later. Which of you are kitchen staff?”
Others came forward, headed by a stout woman who exclaimed when she saw the nearest dead body. “He’s tooken my best carving knife, that wicked Votik, and him no more than a kennelman! If that’s nicked, I’ll—get me that back, lord Duke. And I don’t doubt them’s my pokers from the kitchen fires!” Her indignation almost made Dorrin laugh, but instead she sent the cook grumbling back to the kitchen, with orders to prepare a meal for the younger children.
Soon, the nurserymaids and younger children were upstairs, far from anything that might happen, Dorrin hoped. Now to disarm the Verrakaien prisoners—for she was sure they would all have weapons of some sort, most likely poisoned.
“The rest of you servants,” Dorrin said, “will change clothes with the prisoners. This will be a brief inconvenience.” The women servants looked at one another; a few grinned and one younger maid, in drab, even giggled, stifling it with her hands when an older woman cuffed her.
“Do any of you know if there are prisoners in the old keep tower?”
Most shook their heads; a few nodded. Dorrin beckoned those to the front: two women and a man.
“What do you know?”
“Us’n heard screams,” one woman said.
“Them guards left,” the man said. “Days agone, that was. But after they dragged in those poor folk from the vill.”
They could give no clear account of when the prisoners had been brought, or how many, or when the guards had left. Dorrin let them go; she must deal with the Verrakaien prisoners first, or it would not be safe to investigate the keep.
She turned to the Verrakaien women and eased off on the control she had forced on them; they opened their eyes and sat up. The women still looked angry, but the children were frightened.
“Now—one at a time, at my direction, when I release your bonds, you will strip to the skin, unloosing your hair if it is bound, and change into the clothes those wear—” She gestured at the servants standing near the inner passage.
Her aunt Jeruvin spat. “You cannot make me change here, in front of them, and wear peasant clothes—”
“I could have you stripped naked and hung by your feet from the tower,” Dorrin said. “I suggest you change, and be quick about it. You are supplicants; your lives are forfeit unless the Crown grants you mercy. You would do well to act humble, however you feel.”
On some of the younger women’s faces, she saw now the dawning realization that this was real—the Order of Attainder existed, and they were indeed in mortal danger. She felt a concerted nudge at her magery, their attempt to break free of the power that bound them. Dorrin said nothing; best if they did not know she even felt it. She knew Falk had lent power as well; Falk had been magelord himself; he knew more of magery than she ever would.
Than you do now, knight of my heart. Her heart skipped a beat, raced, steadied again. What was that? Not Falk himself, surely! A soft internal chuckle, very unlike the harsh laugh of the earlier attack. It is your heritage, your birthright, and you have finally freed it. Dorrin just managed not to shake her head visibly. One thing at a time … get these women into safe custody.
As they undressed, she noted the number of weapons both physical and magicaclass="underline" all of them had more than one dagger, all had amulets and rings, charms hung on necklaces and bracelets. She could feel the magery, as she could detect the poison on the blades.
“It’s a wonder you didn’t kill yourselves, just dressing and undressing,” she said. Her troop gathered the daggers into one basket and left the rest for the time. The women, now in their undershifts, glared at her but said nothing. “Now take down your hair—completely. No braids, no pins.”
She expected trouble, and was not surprised when Jeruvin, unpinning the top coil of braid, suddenly flung a pin at one of the soldiers—a hand long, the two spikes undoubtedly poisoned. Dorrin snatched it from the air by magery and tossed it back; it struck in Jeruvin’s neck, and the woman gasped, staggered, tried to wrench it free, and fell to the floor, writhing.
“You were warned,” Dorrin said. Hate flashed from Jeruvin’s eyes before they glazed in death. Dorrin looked from woman to woman. “You were all warned. Anyone who tries to harm me, any of these troops, or the Royal Guard will die. Now take down your hair.”
A shower of clips, combs, pins, and ornaments clattered to the floor. Most were probably harmless, but Dorrin was taking no chances.
“One at a time, starting with you—” Dorrin pointed to her mother. “Go there, with those soldiers.” Women she had had Selfer choose, experienced enough to be wary and thorough. Two others held a blanket for a semblance of privacy. Behind it, one at a time, the women were stripped naked, then given peasant clothes already searched for hidden weapons.
Furious as they were, the women offered no more resistance. They came from behind the blanket in house livery or drab peasant dress and sat on the floor where they were bidden, watching as Dorrin’s troops carried Jeruvin’s body out of the house, as their clothes and ornaments were examined and separated into piles—dangerous, safe, uncertain.
Dorrin knew they had not been converted from resistance: merely, for the moment, outflanked. She wished again that she’d had a Captain of Falk, Marshal of Gird, or paladin along with her. Selfer came to report.
“Aris’s arm will heal; that blade wasn’t poisoned,” Selfer said. “My horse—well, he’s lame, and like to be lame forever, if he lives.”
“I’m sorry,” Dorrin said. The charger had been Selfer’s first purchase when he became captain.
He shook his head, and went on with his report. “We found none but servants in the outbuildings, but stalls lately occupied are empty: those you seek must have had warning.”
“Or been living in the forest, ready for this, since the battle was lost,” Dorrin said. “My family may be evil, but they were never stupid, and what little mother’s milk we had was flavored with tactics and strategy. Not that it matters, but for the possibility of attack. They may well have had an underground passage; check the outbuildings and stable carefully.”
“Could be one in the house, too, my lord,” Selfer said.
“I know of one, but it leads only to the keep,” Dorrin said. “I’ll show you when we have time. For now, I need to check the keep and release any prisoners.”
“Bring them in here?”
“No—not with my relatives. They should be safe enough over-night in the upper floors; we can take over food and water.”
“My lord,” Valthan said, “you must not go yourself.”
“I must,” Dorrin said. “The danger’s too great for anyone who does not know the traps.”
“If you die,” Valthan said, “will your control of the magelords continue? Or will I be left with prisoners I cannot control?”