I turned to her, my earlier regret over my harsh words vanishing. ‘Oh, now you’ve found something to say?’
‘Keep silent, I said.’ She turned and walked to the door. At first I thought she was leaving the meeting, but instead, she signalled for the guards to enter, four men in armour, war swords at their sides. It took me a moment to realise what she’d said – and the guards themselves were so surprised that she had to repeat herself.
‘I said, arrest him.’
The guard in charge hesitated. ‘Realm’s Protector, you set an order that prisoners were to be taken to the Greatcoats for trial – so how am I to—?’
‘Just take him to the damned dungeon,’ she said. ‘Let him sit there a while and recover his temper, if not his senses.’
The guards took a step towards me and I raised my weapon. ‘Think carefully, gentlemen,’ I said. ‘People are prone to get hurt in these situations.’
Valiana stepped in front of the guard so that the point of my sword touched her chest. ‘Then start with me, Falcio. If you really want to kill someone, start with me.’ When she saw me hesitate she batted my blade out of the way with her hand. ‘Or else follow these men down to the dungeon and wait until I see fit to have you released.’
I considered my options, which amounted to harming the young woman to whom I’d given my own name and made my daughter, or allowing myself to be arrested. I sheathed my rapier and let the guards lead me away, pausing only to say loudly, ‘No wonder those fucking northern villages want to secede. I’m starting to think it would be a good idea myself.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The King’s Glaive
With as much gentleness as men of violence could manage, they led me down the three flights of stairs to the dungeons of Castle Aramor. I suffered the indignity of it all with as much good grace as I could, given that it was entirely my own fault that I was in this situation. I knew it would take all of an hour for Kest and Brasti to find out what had happened and either convince Valiana to have me released or simply break me out themselves.
Castle Aramor’s dungeon is about as pleasant a place to pass the time while incarcerated as you could hope for. Unlike most dungeons, the King had installed long diagonal vents in the stone walls so that there was some natural light in the cells. There were actual beds, with thick woollen blankets, and the food was tolerable, so it wasn’t until we reached the end of the long row of cells that I seriously considered resisting my arrest.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t the world’s dumbest man come to pay me a visit.’
The walls of the last cell were lined with books, and ensconced in what looked like an excessively comfortable chair, sewing pieces of leather, sat the Tailor. Several bottles of wine were grouped on a small table in the corner. Apparently Aline and Valiana had decided to make what remained of the Tailor’s sentence for having nearly destroyed the country only slightly less comfortable than if they’d simply given her the crown and seated her on the throne of Tristia.
The guards ushered me into the cell opposite hers before I had a chance to protest.
‘So it took almost a whole day, did it?’ Her voice was always full of grit and sand. ‘I bet Gerrald here a silver stag that it would take you no more than an hour to force Valiana to have you arrested.’
‘Who’s Gerrald?’
‘I am,’ said one of the guards, reaching a hand, palm-up, through the bars of the Tailor’s cell.
She snorted and said, ‘I’m imprisoned, ye great twit. Where would I get silver?’
Gerrald said nothing, but kept his hand where it was.
Finally the Tailor reached into a pocket of her coat. ‘Greedy bastard. I should have you killed.’
The guard smiled. ‘My missus thanks you, ma’am.’
He and the other guards left us there.
‘I thought you were pardoned,’ I said.
The Tailor shrugged. ‘I was, but these accommodations suit me fine and sometimes it’s useful for people not to know one’s true status.’
‘Does Valiana know where they’ve put me?’ I asked.
The Tailor gave me a wink.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I don’t speak crazy old bat. Is that a yes?’
‘It’s a yes,’ Valiana said, coming down the hall. She had a man with her, tall and slender, with long, shaggy blond hair and a bushy beard that made him look older than I suspected he actually was. He wore a greatcoat like mine but his collar and cuffs were lined with thick grey-white fur. He carried a tall staff shod with bands of iron at one end and an eighteen-inch curved blade at the other. ‘Falcio, this is—’
‘Son of a bitch,’ I said. ‘Morn?’
He nodded.
‘The beard is new. Makes you look uglier than I remember.’
Morn, once called the King’s Glaive after the weapon he habitually carried, raised a hand to his chin and grinned. ‘Gets cold where I’ve been these past few years.’
‘And where is that?’
A loud clang followed by a crash drew everyone’s attention towards the entrance to the dungeon. I stuck my face up against the bars, but I couldn’t see what had happened . . . then I heard the voices and the ‘what’ didn’t matter.
‘I told you it would work,’ Kest said. ‘It’s just a matter of calculating the force required against the weakest point on the door.’
I heard a loud snort that could only have come from Brasti. ‘Wonderful. Perfect. It just happens to make enough noise to bring the castle down on us.’
They came into view, the pair of them carrying a log which Brasti promptly dropped when he saw who else was in the dungeon. ‘Saint-fucking-Zaghev, if it isn’t Morn the King’s Arse-Licker come for a visit.’ He pointed at Morn’s glaive. ‘Still carrying that ugly thing instead of a proper weapon?’
Morn looked to me. ‘So he’s still insulting other people’s weapons and thinking it’s clever?’
‘Yes,’ Brasti said before I could respond, ‘but this time it’s true: a glaive really is the ugliest weapon ever devised.’
Morn grinned. ‘I’d beat you senseless for that remark, Brasti, but it looks as if you’ve got enough problems.’
He reached out and pulled Brasti into a rough bear hug and then turned and did the same to Kest, who was still hanging onto his end of the log with his one hand. It was a nice moment, when seen from inside a cell.
‘Oh, by the way,’ Brasti said to Valiana, ‘the Saint of Mercy asked me to convey to you that if Falcio isn’t released within the hour she’s going to bring what’s left of the castle down on everyone’s heads.’ To me he added, ‘Sainthood is really making her moody.’
I let that rather terrifying thought slide because something else was bothering me. ‘Why wasn’t I told Morn had returned?’ I asked Valiana. ‘And why did you bring him down here?’
It was the Tailor who replied, ‘Because he has something to tell us.’
I sat back on the bed in the cell, finally putting the events of the last hour together. ‘Shit. It’s not by accident that I find myself in this cell, is it?’