More laughter from the Knights.
‘We wonder what other strange passions it leamt in the Qinjoks,’ said Ursula. ‘Many times it went there, did it not? Many dealings it had with the ogres. Secret, those dealings, but we won’t ask it what happened in those meetings.’
What was this? A subtle accusation of treachery?
‘I went to the Qinjoks at the behest of the Bank,’ said Alfric. ‘All men know that, and women too. I brought back a treasure of jade, tribute to be handed over to the ambassador from the Izdimir Empire. ’
‘Yet the treasure every year became leaves and sticks,’ said Ursula. ‘Strange, is it not? What really happened, Alfric? And does what happened help to explain your fine rich house on Vamvelten Street? Never mind, we-’ ‘I mind!’ said Alfric. ‘How much more nonsense can we listen to? Do you really think I took the ogres’ treasure? Are you really accusing me of theft?’
‘You stand guilty of treason,’ said Ursula Major. ‘Therefore there is no point in us trifling with lesser crimes. Let it be noted, however, that you appear to love the denizens of the Qinjoks more than your own kind. These last three nights, you’ve sheltered with orks when no house of humans would have you. ’
‘Orks took me in,’ said Alfric. ‘True. Orks sheltered me. I could quibble, oh yes, I could quibble with a minor point, and say the house in question was not a place of orks but, rather, an inn owned by one Anna Blaume. But I won’t trifle with such points. Rather, I’ll ask the big question. Why have orks proved more constant in friendship than humans? I believe it is because the humans have erred in their judgement.’
Alfric took a deep breath.
If he was going to talk himself out of this one, he must make himself acceptable to the Knights. He could not repudiate the orks, because the evidence of his affiliation with those blubber-oil beasts was too strong. But he could stress that he was in truth a Yudonic Knight, a hero equal to any out of saga.
‘Humans have erred,’ said Alfric, ‘and any who think on what I am and who I am will realize the depth of that error. I am a patriot. I am Alfric Danbrog. A hero! The killer of Herself! Whatever you think of — of the political advantages of having a monster on the loose, I’m entitled to the gratitude of the nation. ’
Alfric paused.
Actually, his heart was not really in this. While he had always had a very high opinion of himself, he had never been one for open boasting. And, what was more, he was starting to despair of winning victory through words.
‘The gratitude of the nation,’ said Ursula Major, sneering as she said it.
‘Yes!’ said Alfric. ‘And — and I tell you this. You want me dead? Very well. You can have me dead. But I won’t die alone. I gladly take the opportunity to prove my innocence in trial by combat. Naturally, I’ll die. Sooner or later. But this I promise: I’ll kill the first man who comes against me.’
So saying, Alfric looked as fiercely as he could upon the Yudonic Knights. They looked back with undisguised hostility. Indeed, with hate.
But why?
Why did they hate him?
His association with orks could make him look ridiculous, but it could scarcely make him hateful. And surely nobody could believe the accusations of crime which had been made against him. Something else had caused the breach between Alfric and the Knights. Did they really believe that he had deliberately shunned the funeral of his father and grandfather? And even if they did believe that, was that enough to condemn him to death? And could they not see that he would make a good king, maybe even a great king?
Many of these Knights were the very same men who had marched with Tromso Stavenger to do battle against Herself, yet Alfric saw not a hint of sympathy on any of their faces. He started to suspect that they were ashamed of their cowardice (as well they should be!) and that their hostility was consequent upon their shame.
Their cowardice haunted them, and so they wanted to forget the past. They did not value Alfric Danbrog for his heroism; rather, they resented his triumph and what that triumph said about their own timidity. Thus the momentum of the movement to put a Danbrog on the throne had been killed entirely. For the Yudonic Knights it was far better (as far as their egos were concerned) that Alfric be known as a murderous fool, an anarchic underminer of stability, a self-serving careerist, an enemy of the State.
Thus Ursula Major’s smooth-voiced logic had a potent appeal for the Knights, and there was no way Alfric could argue effectively against it.
He saw that, now.
All his rhetorical efforts had failed, and had always been doomed to fail.
So.
It had come to this.
He must meet the Yudonic Knights of the hall in combat. One by one he must meet them and kill them. Naturally, if he tried to do any such thing he would surely die himself, on his first duel or his second, or the sixth or the seventh. So he could give up. Now. He could let himself be dragged away by the executioner. He could submit himself to a coward’s death.
Or He had another option, yes.
He was a shape-changer, yes, and so he could Change, and once he had Changed he could fight his way out of this place.
In a moment of bloody battle-lust, Alfric longed to do just that and have done with pretence. He would become wolf for real and forever. He would become what he truly was, and would savage any and all who stood in his way as he fought free from Saxo Pall. Nobody would be able to stand against his strength. And once he had fought his way out of Saxo Pall Why, then he would flee for the wilds, and live as an outcast ravager, a lawless marauder. He would have done with civilized restraint. He would put an end to his life of lies and deceits. For him, no more the life of studied smiles and careful diplomacy. He would make himself one with the appetites of his blood. He would be a haunter of shadows, a lurching fear which made nightmares come true beneath the moon.
Then, suddenly, Alfric realized that this was exactly what Ursula Major wanted. The Hag was dead, so the state desired a monster. Unless Alfric was badly mistaken, Ursula Major knew what he was and what he could do. She knew he could Change and fight his way free. Ursula Major had said she would reinvent Herself; and she was fast on the way to doing just that.
Alfric steadied himself.
— Whatever I do, it will not be what my aunt wants.
So what options did he have?
Three.
First, to submit to the executioner.
Second, to fight the Knights, one by one, seeking to prove his inn ocence in trial by combat.
Third, to Change, and fight his way out of Saxo Pall. The first tw o options would see him die, and the third was nearly as disastrous. S o.
What was it the Bank advised?
— When all else fails, seek delay.
Alfric smoothed a smile on to his face. The rage which had almost brought his Change upon him was over. In the aftermath of that rage, his limbs were weak and trembling. But his voice was steady.
‘My lady,’ said Alfric, smoothing honey into his voice. ‘Much is often spoken in haste which is regretted at leisure. You have given me the opportunity of proving my innocence in trial by combat. This I can do, and will do if I must. However… is it not the custom that I have the opportunity of asking someone to champion me in such combat?’
‘That has happened in the past,’ acknowledged Ursula Major.
‘Then,’ said Alfric, ‘I ask that these proceedings be delayed until tomorrow night, to give me the opportunity of seeking such a champion.’
‘The flower of chivalry is gathered together in this throneroom,’ said Ursula, indicating the Yudonic Knights. ‘If you wish to have a champion, then seek one here.’ Alfric turned to the Yudonic Knights. He knew there was no hope that any of the Knights would volunteer himself as Alfric’s champion, but the gesture at least gave him time in which to think.
But all he could think of was that single word: