As far as I could see, his ‘plan’ consisted of turning up to the coronation with a couple of only slightly bigger idiots who’d somehow become Greatcoats – namely Matteo and Talia – with the apparent intention of – hopefully – ‘working something out’ in between me being dragged out onto the dais and the executioner’s sword coming down on my neck.
I was almost annoyed that his utter lack of preparation was somehow validated by the sudden political destruction of the nation and the actual destruction of the throne room.
He always was a lucky bastard.
The second stage of a rescue is the daring implementation: the carefully timed and perfectly executed actions that will result in the evasion of enemy forces, the outwitting of traps or devices used to secure the individual being rescued and, of course, his or her removal from the scene, preferably unharmed.
‘Gods damn you,’ I shouted at Brasti after my head struck the edge of yet another doorway, ‘that’s the third time!’
‘Oops,’ he said, without any trace of embarrassment or apology.
Kest and Brasti had elected not to remove that hells-damned oak headman’s block – which was starting to feel like a permanent attachment to my body – and instead were hauling both me and it past confused nobles and servants. There were guards aplenty, but most of them were too busy trying to find the new King so they could make sure no one slid a blade in his back during the chaos. Regicide on the first day always looks questionable on a royal guardsman’s work history.
‘Not much further now,’ Kest said.
The third stage of a rescue is to escape from the gaol, prison, dungeon or tastelessly decorated private torture chamber as quickly as possible.
‘Since we appear to be headed deeper into the castle,’ I noted, groaning in pain every time my jaw struck the oak of the block, ‘would this be an appropriate time to make two points?’
‘Not really,’ Kest said, his attention clearly focused on the path in front of him. Then he added kindly, ‘But go ahead anyway.’
‘First, I distinctly recall ordering you not to rescue me.’
‘True,’ Brasti acknowledged, huffing and puffing as he struggled with the weight of both me and the heavy oak beheading block. ‘But then we remembered that no one really likes following your orders, Falcio.’ He and Kest took a sudden right turn and my forehead banged against the oak beheading block yet again. ‘What was your second observation?’
‘Well, I don’t like to sound ungrateful, but you seem to be making a terrible hash of it.’
Brasti managed a snort. ‘You have no idea.’
Hanging slightly upside down and being mercilessly jostled is unhelpful to one’s sense of direction. Kest and Brasti turned me down yet another narrow passageway (Brasti somehow contriving to hit my head on yet another doorjamb) and a few moments later we entered a dark room lit only by a pair of small lanterns hanging from the ceiling.
‘Where the hells are we?’ I demanded.
Kest gently set down his side of me and Brasti half-dropped the other to the marble floor. I managed to get myself stood as upright as possible while still attached by the wrists to a heavy piece of wood. ‘And would someone be so kind as to remove these damned chains? I’d really like to avoid spending what’s left of my soon-to-be-truncated life as a hunchback.’
‘Abide a while,’ Kest warned.
The fourth stage of any decent rescue – once you’ve got the prisoner out of immediate danger – is to immediately free them from their restraints. It’s a nice addition if you also hand them a full wineskin – I’m fond of claret, especially a full-bodied Southern Luthian, but you’re welcome to pick your own favourite. Unfortunately, it was clear no one was removing the chains from my wrists.
That’s when it finally occurred to me that this might not actually be a rescue.
‘What in hells is this if it’s not a rescue?’ I asked. ‘And where have you brought me?’
The expanse of shadows before me combined with the number of times my head had struck doors, walls and doorframes on the way here was making it difficult for my eyes to adjust. Since no one was answering, I passed the next few seconds waiting for my vision to clear and setting my mind to the task of deducing where we were.
When I clanked the chain on my right wrist against the oak, the sound echoed several times, indicating a very large room. We hadn’t gone down any stairs, which narrowed the possibilities. There were two ceremonial chambers for civic functions, but their floors are covered in massive rugs representing each of the nine Duchies of Tristia (a common theme in Castle Aramor; visiting Dukes always like to know the monarch isn’t in danger of forgetting them). As the throne room was no longer an actual room, but more of an over-decorated pit, that meant I could only have been brought to—
‘What in the name of dead Saint Felsan-who-weighs-the-world are we doing in the castle’s courtroom?’ I asked Kest.
He said nothing, but by then it didn’t matter because my vision had cleared enough to make out the silhouettes of several figures standing quietly in the shadows.
Here’s an easy way to tell you haven’t been rescued: when your ‘escape’ ends with you being put on trial.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
The Trial of the First Cantor
‘I choose trial by combat,’ I declared loudly. It would have sounded more impressive had I not been chained to a lump of tree.
‘You don’t even know what the trial’s about,’ Kest said.
My Queen had died, my country had fallen into the hands of the daughter of my worst enemy and now a substantial headache had been brought on by too many blows to the head, all of which meant I really wasn’t at my best. ‘There’s a big white circle over there,’ I said, ‘so if someone will kindly hand me a fucking rapier I can get on with beating the shit out of you all, one by one.’
‘That’s quite a temper you’ve developed of late, First Cantor,’ Nehra said, stepping out from the shadows to stand beneath one of the lanterns suspended from the ceiling. ‘I wonder, how well has it served you?’ Before I could answer, she added, ‘How well has it served the country?’
‘Oh, go sing a fucking song,’ I replied unimaginatively. I really wasn’t anywhere near my best; instead, heartbreak and anger were driving me towards petulance. I should have been working to calm myself, to puzzle through what was happening and what I’d need to do next, but even on a good day I tend towards belligerence when chained to a log. ‘Why don’t you have the rest of your little company step out of the shadow, Nehra?’
‘You would already have guessed who they were and why they’re here if only your mind were clear, First Cantor. That is why no one has yet removed your chains, and that is why we need you to master yourself now.’