Thodric Jarl, son of Oric Slaughterhouse, blood of the clan of the bear, warrior of Rovac and leader of men, was a man who disdained all compromise. Particularly when principle was at stake.
'Look,' said Sarazin, 'be reasonable. Elkin's just saved all our lives.'
'Saved our lives?' said Jarl. 'He may have helped you with a skirmish, but you could have won it in any case with both hands tied behind your back.'
The point is,' said Sarazin, 'Elkin is fighting. On our side. He may do so again if we let him live.'
Sarazin pursued this line of reasoning at length, to no avail. What to do, what to do? Sarazin began to sweat. This was a life or death decision. Who was more valuable? The wizard or the warrior? The warrior, pro- bably. But… Jarl was the guilty party. Jarl was the aggressor. What would Fox say if Sarazin moved against the innocent?
Sarazin, unable to bear the thought of Fox's condem- nation, gave Jarl an ultimatum which served the purposes of justice. The Rovac warrior must swear to keep the peace while he remained in Hok, or he would be killed on the spot. 'Who will you get to do your killing?' said Jarl bitterly.
I'll do it myself!' said Sarazin, exasperated beyond endurance. 'I'll kill you like a mad dog if you insist on behaving like one!'
He suddenly felt that he had had quite enough of these crazy Rovac warriors. They were a blight on the world. Whatever mayhem was going on, a Rovac warrior was sure to be at the heart of it. First there had been Elkor Alish, who had wrecked Sean Sarazin's conspiracy when he leagued with Qolidian of Androlmarphos. Then Morgan Hearst, who, unless Sarazin was very much mistaken, had doomed all civilisation in Argan North by destroying Drangsturm with the death-stone. And now Thodric Jarl, acting like a madman!
'I mean it!' said Sarazin. 'Unless you come into line, you're finished!'
Finally, with his death thus confronting him, Thodric Jarl swore himself to keep the peace. Then Sarazin ordered Jarl to be released. The Rovac warrior stumped away in the worst of tempers imaginable. 'Come back!' ordered Sarazin. 'What do you want?' said Jarl. 'An apology.' 'To you?' 'No. From you to Elkin. For trying to kill him.' 'I did but my duty,' said Jarl.
Sarazin opened his mouth to remonstrate with him – then closed it again. He had been lucky to persuade Jarl to keep the peace, even when death was the alter- native. There was no point in starting a contest of wills over the trivial matter of an apology – particularly not when Sean Sarazin would surely be the loser in such a contest.
'Very well,' said Sarazin. 'But… would you do me a favour?' 'That depends,' said Jarl.
'I sit in justice here and now on a criminal case,' said Sarazin. "The charge is treason. I would like you to be my instrument of justice should the verdict go against the accused.' Jarl considered, then said: 'I will serve as an instrument of justice.'
Sarazin smiled to himself, and forthwith convened the trial of the traitor Jaluba.
Jarl had agreed to something. Jarl would be his instru- ment of justice. There was an old trick Jarl had once taught Sarazin – get a man to obey you in a small thing and he will later find it hard to resist you in a greater matter. Sarazin complimented himself on his strategy.
The Rovac warrior would take careful handling, but Sarazin was confident that, in time, Jarl would prove an obedient instrument of his will. A lot of time, perhaps – but it would happen one day.
The matter of Jaluba's trial was swiftly disposed of. Sarazin was hungry, and eager to push on to X-zox. Besides, he wanted to have Jarl doing his bidding as soon as possible. Serving as an instrument of justice – an executioner in fact.
It all seemed very simple until Sarazin actually had Jaluba in front of him. He told himself: -She is but a whore.
But she looked as beautiful as ever, despite her tears, her fear, her helpless heartbreak. She was still the luscious Jaluba, mistress of the thousand voluptuous perfumes, queen of the lubricous arts, mistress of the pink lips and the bedroom eyes. -And a whore, a thief, a traitor. So thought Sarazin, steeling himself to his duty. He outlined the charges against her.
'Jaluba, you stand before me charged with treason. You and you alone possessed the Words to the Gates and to the Lesser Tower. You and you alone could have given them to the enemy. You and you alone have brought disaster upon our land.'
Jaluba refused to speak, refused to plead, but simply wept and wailed. Sarazin, speaking over her grief, outlined the case against her, asked her to defend herself – and, when she did not, pronounced her guilt. 'The sentence is death,' said Sarazin. And nodded to Jarl, who dragged Jaluba away. She was screaming by now.
And Sarazin wished, then, that he could have can- celled his sentence. But it was too late. For he had spoken, and could scarcely unspeak himself, not under the circumstances.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
By the next day Farfalla had learnt all, and went hunting Sean Sarazin. When she caught him, he flinched from her scathing wrath, and tried to flee. But there was no escape. 'What have you done?' said Farfalla. 'What's on your mind?' said Sarazin. 'Jaluba! Have you had her murdered?' 'She had a trial,' said Sarazin coldly. 'For what?' said Farfalla.
'She gave the enemy the keywords which allowed them to attack,' said Sarazin, now trying to sound injured. 'She betrayed us.' It sounded weak even to himself.
"Who gave her those Words in the first place?' said Farfalla, with fury and disgust mixed. You! Gods, what have I bred?'
'That's only part of it,' said Sarazin defensively. There's more. Jaluba's treachery goes way back, oh yes, right back to Selzirk. There she betrayed my trust. She stole from me. A bard, a book – documents as well. Thanks to that bitch, I did the most dreadful injury to a man of honour.'
You don't know what you're talking about,' said Farfalla in fury.
'She's a thief,' insisted Sarazin. 'The day Plovey raided my quarters-'
'Gods!' exclaimed Farfalla. You fool! You bungling dolt! Were you born stupid, or do you have to work at it?'
Sarazin, stunned by the strength of her anger, made no answer. So Farfalla went on:
You know why Plovey raided your quarters? Because I tipped him off. Yes, me! You know why? Have you any idea? To set him up! It worked, oh yes, it worked.'
Sarazin did not answer. Could not. Was speechless. His mother? At the heart of all this trouble, his mother? Could it be possible?
'Do you know why I set him up?' said Farfalla. 'Because he was getting close, oh, very close to you, Sean Sarazin. You and Jarl, conspirators! You were like big clumsy babies. I knew what you were up to! Worse, I knew Plovey knew, though I don't think he knew that I knew.' 'I don't see what this has got-'
'Listen! I decided to kill off Plovey. Dangerous – but leaving him alive was more dangerous yet. So I set him up. I tempted him into a crime which carried a death penalty. Forging a warrant, oh yes – not to mention false arrest and a dozen lesser crimes. I could have finished him.' 'You could have finished me too!'
'Sean Sarazin, I meant to finish you. At least, I meant to scare you so badly that all your conspiracy nonsense came to an end. So I removed your precious documents. Your prophetic book and your bard as well.'
'What do you mean, you removed them? I was with you all the time. I remember that day. I'll not forget it for a lifetime.'
'Bizzie took them for me,' said Farfalla. 'She was mine, my creature, my agent. You knew that, surely? Didn't you? Wasn't it obvious? I gave her to you. Why, if not to watch you? Didn't you ever guess? Sean, are you really so stupid?' "You're my mother! I never thought you'd-'