‘Waiting for you,’ he answered when I asked him what he was doing still forging swords in his father’s smithy. Before I could say anything further he put down the blade he was working on and pulled a pack down from the top shelf. ‘Well, let’s go,’ he said.
‘Don’t you want to know what we’re doing?’ I asked, ‘or at least tell your parents that you’re leaving?’
‘My parents have known for some time that I’d be going. I said my goodbyes long ago. As for what we’re doing, well, I imagine it must be interesting if you came back to find me.’
As we left the smithy, Kest finally noticed Paelis.
‘Oh, hello,’ Kest said. ‘Who are you?’
The smithy was full of smoke and dust and the King coughed for a bit before he answered. ‘Paelis the First,’ he said. ‘Your King.’
‘Ah. That must be nice. Well, let’s go; I can see clouds up ahead.’
Kest was a strange man, but I had missed him. And setting out across that field on horseback, the best friend of my youth at my side and the two of us following a young, idealistic King who wanted to bring the Greatcoats back, was truly one of the happiest moments of my life.
The high point of those years happened a few months later. There were twelve of us by then, nine men and three women: Kest, Brasti, Shana, Quillata, Morn, Bellow, Parrick, Dara, Nile, Winnow, Ran and me: twelve travelling Magisters who knew the King’s Law and could judge fair, ride fast and fight hard. We were a little cocky, perhaps, but we were ready, too.
The first day of spring is a good time to bring change to the world. The King summoned us to the throne room and we assumed this would be some kind of event in our honour, with flowers and a parade maybe. I had purchased a long coat from a local seamstress – I knew I was probably trying to live a fantasy, but I had always dreamed of being a Greatcoat as a child and this was most likely as close as I would get. If nothing else, it gave Brasti a good laugh.
‘Gods, Falcio,’ he said sniggering, ‘if you’re captured and tortured, I beg you, don’t reveal that you’re one of us. I don’t think I could stand the embarrassment! And please, try not to make a fool of yourself in front of the throngs of adoring women the King promised me.’
I let the jibes pass because nothing Brasti could say would make me take my coat off. It was shabby and not very sturdy but I would wear it even if the entire court laughed at me.
When we entered the throne room there was no one there but the King and an old woman.
‘Tailor!’ I said. I had not seen her since the day I awoke in the King’s room to the sound of her sewing.
‘Aye, boy, it’s me, come to see you off proper.’
Brasti snorted. ‘This is my throng of adoring women?’
‘I don’t know about adoring,’ the Tailor said, ‘but if you really need it I suppose I can give you a tumble.’ She smiled crooked old teeth at him and made a rude gesture that seven Saints couldn’t get me to repeat.
I noticed the King was sitting on a large crate.
‘Travelling gear?’ I asked.
‘In a manner of speaking,’ he answered. He opened the crate, and inside there were some kind of rough packing reeds, which he pulled out carefully and set on the floor. When he was done he stepped out of the way and beckoned me to come forward and look inside.
Inside that battered wooden crate I saw the foolish ideals of a young boy made reaclass="underline" greatcoats, twelve of them in all, and each one perfectly tailored to our individual bodies. They were made of the toughest leather you can imagine on the outside, and inside, a fabric softer than fleece and warmer than wool.
‘You won’t freeze on the road with one of those on your back,’ the Tailor said. ‘Nor will a man put a knife in your kidneys by surprise.’
She showed us the panels inside that held the strange pliable plates textured like bone. They could stop a knife-thrust and maybe even an arrow, she said. She showed us secret pockets that concealed small blades, pieces of tough string, flint, almost everything one might need to survive a long journey in the middle of nowhere.
Each coat had a different but subtle inlay embossed into the leather panels in the front. The King took mine out of the crate and held it up for me. It was nothing at all like I had imagined, and exactly what I had always dreamed it would be: armour, shelter and badge of office. On the right breast I saw the inlaid pertine in subtle blue crossed with a silver rapier.
‘I think we’ve finally found what the pertine was meant for,’ the King said.
I couldn’t speak, but I took the greatcoat from him and put it on.
I wasn’t ashamed of the tears I shed that day, nor were any of the eleven others whose tears washed their faces and their pasts clean.
‘Saints, it’s a good thing I made these proof against the rain,’ the Tailor said. ‘With this bunch they’re likely to get good and wet often.’
The others laughed, but I stood straighter and taller than I ever had before, and I marked that moment indelibly in my memory, proof against tears and proof against sorrow, because that was the proudest moment of my life.
THE DUCAL PALACE
‘So how does this work?’ Brasti asked as we led the carriage down the wide cobbled Avenue of Remembrance towards the Ducal Palace.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, how exactly does her Ladyship over there go from uptight bitch to Queen of the world?’
I glanced back at the carriage containing Valiana and the Duke’s man to make sure neither they nor the carriage driver was paying attention. ‘I’m not exactly sure. I think it has to do with the Council of Dukes having the power to select a Regent …’
‘No,’ Kest said, ‘that’s only if there’s an heir under the age of thirteen. This is about the Regia Maniferecto De’egro.’
‘The what now?’ Brasti said.
‘It’s in Auld Tongue: “Regia”, meaning “rule”, “Maniferecto”, meaning “governing law” and “De’egro”, meaning “of the Gods”.’
‘Ah well, that clears it all up then.’
‘You should have read more and drank less during our training, Brasti.’
‘We can’t all be walking encyclopaedias, Kest.’
‘I imagine it suits a Magister more to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of law than it does to have one pertaining only to ales.’
Brasti smiled. ‘Now see, that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve solved more cases with beer than you have with your arcane knowledge of laws nobody cares about.’
Feltock snorted. ‘Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears, is this how you Greatcoats solve the world’s problems, then? No wonder everything is fucked.’
Kest ignored him. ‘Well, this law is one you’ll probably want to learn, and it’s easy enough to remember: the Regia Maniferecto De’egro, or Godly Edict of Lawful Rule is exactly seven lines long. It states that the Gods demand that only a King or Queen may rule, not a council. It further states that the Gods imbue the line of Kings with favoured blood and the prosperity of the kingdom is tied to the quality of the blood of the ruler.’
‘What shit,’ Brasti said. ‘Blood is blood, so long as it’s red.’
‘Nevertheless, the Maniferecto – and I suspect the Dukes – disagree.’
‘So what would the Gods feel about this situation then?’ I asked, assuming they thought nothing of it at all. Most of these ancient texts were notoriously light on useful judicial details.
‘Surprisingly,’ Kest said, glancing back at the carriage, ‘the Maniferecto does indeed address this, in the seventh and final line. Paraphrasing, it states that royal blood never dies but re-manifests itself according to the will of the Gods,’
‘Well, that’s useful,’ Brasti snorted.
‘I wasn’t finished. According to the will of the Gods as witnessed by those of “worthy blood”.’