The Broken Man Page 4

  “By the tides, Ualla, I appreciate your concern for your people, but it’s just a peasant child.” The morning was better spent on pleasant subjects.

  “You should be proud of the Shadow Man mystery, my friend,” said Odda. “I am sure that your philosophers will gain great fame from that investigation.”

  Lord Ualla ignored him, refusing the distraction. “They will riot, Your Majesty. They fear for their children.” He held his temper in check, but his tension was palpable.

  The philosophers held their judgment. They had many years with Cail, and it remained best to judge his mood before giving an opinion. A breeze blew through the cold stone room, guttering the oil lamps but clearing away the smoke and dust.

  “What do my ablest philosophers have to say on this mystery?” Cail asked. “Can you even confirm his claims?”

  Odda returned to the table, bringing the king’s nine-banded coat and laying it across his shoulders. Cail was the only man to wear both the red tunic and the banded robe. He leaned forward to tuck it in around himself. The king was both noble and a philosopher. Politically, it guaranteed an opposition party he could control and made governing his fractious nobles much easier.

  “We have previously examined three of the other children, Your Majesty,” Aris said. “I’ll not speak for this morning’s child. The gates are not even opened.” It was still morning, so the old councilor did not move his hands into the gestures of formal Court Ruad, but his hand seemed to be smoothing a scroll against the tabletop, an approximation of study.

  Aris had reached the highest rank of philosopher nearly a decade ago and had been a close friend of Cail’s before that. He had a sharp mind that one wanted to keep on one’s own side of an argument. His advice had been sound in the past, and he had served the Ruad well. If he suggested studying this problem, then likely it needed more study.

  A servant entered with a basket of cakes and ignored the men. She placed the basket on the table and swept away. The women kept their own business in the palace, and Cail didn’t question it. Lord Ualla joined them at the table, taking Odda’s chair.

  Odda wasn’t much of a philosopher. Cail’s father had advanced him to serve as the boy’s tutor. He was full of interesting bits of lore and had been a good teacher. Cail realized that any ghost story he had ever heard had come from the old man. Odda smiled at everyone and busied himself in arranging some cakes on a small plate.

  “Here you are, Cail,” he said, handing him the plate. “Let me get your tea.” He paused for a moment and looked pointedly at Lord Ualla. “You’ve made your case. Why don’t we continue this in open court where the rest of the philosophers can examine your evidence? You know, give it a bit more study?”

  “What else can you expect us to do?” Cail asked.

  Lord Ualla chewed on his mustache a moment, apparently frustrated by the king’s lack of action. Cail watched him thinking, a practice he had learned among philosophers. So he noticed when Lord Ualla finished his internal debate and decided to start on his second tactic; he must have come prepared.

  “Your Majesty, I know you have disapproved of superstition among the peasants, but I haven’t been able to control it,” Ualla said.

  Cail was surprised by this statement. In a way, it seemed personal to him. He was privately superstitious, but avoided mentioning it among even his closest companions.

  “Are you saying…” asked the king. What was he saying? He felt the fear stir in him. He knew, in the strength of his reason, that spirits couldn’t exist, but he doubted himself. When it was dark, when the nightmares came, he felt no more reason than the peasant.

  “The farmers, they have seen a ghost or an evil spirit, which they are calling the Shadow Man. In some legends, sorcerers sent out evil spirits like that to kill their enemies. In the children’s tales―you may not have heard such superstitious fluff―but evil gods and spirits are the weapons of a sorcerer. And they believe in sorcery, you know,” Ualla said.

  “Peasants are simple creatures, I’ll grant, but what does their belief in folklore and legends have to do with us?” Cail asked.

  “Their minds are weaker than ours,” Odda said, “much like the Bolg, but they—”

  “That is not my point, Your Majesty.” Ualla interrupted. “I worry that they have a sorcerer in mind and intend his death.”

  “Don’t be subtle, Lord Ualla,” said Cail. “Who have they accused of sorcery?”

  “The Fomor, the giant called Waylaid.”

  “Good,” said Cail. “I say good riddance.”

  The councilors fell silent; Ualla bowed his head and wrung his hands.

  “What?” asked Cail. “What!”

  Odda straightened the breakfast cakes again. “I think you are right, Your Majesty.”

  “Good.”

  Aris looked pleased, and this worried Cail. Not that he didn’t trust Aris to be looking out for him, but he would rather the man shared information a bit more freely. The man lacked in the fundamental virtue of Honesty. He would share information, but only in drips and drops, rarely exposing the whole of his thinking. He could be a frustrating man.

  Her Majesty, Amanda of Maan, entered the room, and all eyes turned to her. She was an imposing figure, heavily built and jowly, nigh as tall as a man. She dressed beautifully, as befit her stature, with the finest red linen robe and a fox fur draped across her neck.

  “Is Ualla here about his peasants?” she asked.

  “Yes, madam,” said Odda. “I’m glad to see you in such good health this morning.”

  “Don’t flatter me, grandfather, I’m old. You are too, come to mention it.”

  Odda winced a bit at her sharp tone but kept his smile in place. Everyone knew that her cane was as quick to strike a man as a slave. It snapped down on the bed.

  “Maeve, you lazy dog, get your ass down to the kitchens before I skin you.”

  Fur exploded from the center of the bed as the skinny girl jumped away from a second strike of the cane.

  “Manda, I’m going!” she yelled, streaking naked across the room and down the back stairs.

  The men watched the show. Her Majesty could be quite the troll, but Cail’s third wife had been spoiled rotten. She was beautiful though; her long red hair streamed behind her as she bounced across the room. Her breasts were perfection itself, her bottom worth staring after as she fled down the hall.

  Amanda was suddenly standing at the tea table. The men, startled, all stood respectfully. A serving boy ran around her to get a stool in place and hold it. Her Majesty slowly eased herself down and shooed away the boy. Aris found himself pushed out of his corner; he made space for Ualla and the king, moving with Odda to lean against the wall by the doorway.

  “Goodness me,” she said, “first time I’ve been off my feet all day. It feels good to sit down. Doesn’t it, boys?” The last was more command than question. The men quickly found chairs by the bed.

  Cail tried to determine how someone could have had a long day when the sun was barely in the window. He hadn’t been up long enough to drink a cup of wine. The long-awaited tea was finally being served. This was still morning, essentially daybreak, not the middle of the day.

  “The kitchen help tells me that there is a Fomor sorcerer killing babies.” She didn’t hedge. “This is like something out of a children’s tale. Is it true?”

  Odda shrugged while Cail stared at his steaming tea, warming his hands on the thick stone cup. Aris felt compelled to finally defend his intentions. He stood again and stalked the room, like a teacher before his class.

  “I’ll not say that I believe in sorcery, but it is possible that the Fomor is responsible for the deaths of the children.”

  “How is that possible?” she asked.

  “I have no idea, Your Majesty,” he said. “I have suggested that we study the bodies to determine how the poison was administered. Given the state of the body and the lack of marks, I am assuming he is using an hallucinogenic drug administered through the air.”


  “They didn’t drink poison?”

  “Possibly; if it were very slow acting, it could have been administered the previous night. But none of the children had eaten prior to their deaths and none had any blistering about the mouth or hands.”

  Cail roused himself; he had been turning the tea in his hands, absorbing the warmth. His mind was slowly coming to terms with the day.

  “So you believe the Fomor did it?” he asked.

  Ualla replied to the king, his accent dropping into a stereotypical country burr, “The giant, and I’ll remind you that Ee’s a gimp-legged fellow who stands oot a bit in a crowd, has na been seen outside the walls of Ard since Spring Moon. He ain’t doin’ nothin’ to my people.”

  “How about that wild Bolg, whatever his name is?” asked Odda. “Could he be running around the city, giving the children something, or dropping off…stuff?” Odda was hovering over the table again, helping with the honey.

  “That, at least, would be possible,” said Ualla, dropping the accent, “but I tell you, he is pretty well watched himself. My people have a bit of a panic on about wild Bolg. Somebody,” he gave a hard look at Aris, “told them there were wild Bolg out in the woods, escaped slaves or something, so every morning I get three reports of the fellow running down the road. The road isn’t the woods, and he doesn’t get off by himself on my land.”

  “Who’s putting out reports like that?” asked Cail.

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Aris apologized. “I suspect some guards said some… improper things to the wrong people. They’ve been disciplined.”

  “Time and Tides, man, we’ve got Daen living here. Anything Ualla hears, they are going to hear.”

  “Let’s not get distracted, dear,” said Her Majesty. “Aris, please continue.” She let Odda pour her tea and broke off a bit of a cake.

  “Right,” said Aris. “But I do know that the Bolg boy is running off into the woods on the north side of Ard and getting out of sight, isn’t he? Maybe he is working his way around.”

  “Again, yes, it is at least possible,” said Lord Ualla.

  Pushed by the uncertainty in his own heart Cail asked, “Could there be anything to the Fomor myths, that he could have some kind of unseen power that can act from the city across the fields to the woods?”

  The philosophers were shocked silent. Amanda frowned at them.

  “Don’t you give him your superior airs, or I’ll have you whipped.”

  Cail ducked his head, embarrassed by the ignorance of his question and his queen’s defense of him. He tried not to believe in spirits, but it seemed to him that you could never know all the truth about anything. Some nights the shadows just seemed too dark…

  “Your Majesties,” Aris said, chastened. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful in any manner, but we have no evidence of spirits, ghosts, or gods. Belief in such things is only evidence of a weakness of mind, a fear of dark places.

  “Scientifically speaking,” he continued, “the Fomor star, Cernunnos, is near the peak of its path. This ascendance should give him the greatest increase of effectiveness for any of his actions, but without his lineage and birth, we can’t say what those acts might be or might have been. Nonetheless, there is much here that we need to speak of.”

  He paused while everyone nodded. Aris could be difficult, but the king wanted to hear him out. Maybe he’d finally get some of that honesty out of him.

  “A hundred and twenty years ago, there was a transit in the heavens. A black dot crossed the sun. It was shown to be the morning star, which is now called Dannan after the Daen’s belief in their so-called goddess. Following the transit was the landing of Nuada, King of the Daen, on our shore. The Fomor have been with us always. We daily plot the rise and fall of Cernunnos like the Fomor plot their evil deeds. On the other hand, it has taken us decades to measure the Daen against their star, learn how it influences their barbaric ways. Now, finally, we are ready.

  “The Daen’s star is lowering in the heavens. In two moons, their tide will be out, and it won’t come back in for two years. The evening star will sap their will and throw them into confusion. We have prepared for years, and soon we will be ready to throw off their oppression.”

  “Enough,” said his Cail. “I don’t want war with the Daen.”

  Her Majesty looked at him appraisingly. She looked thoughtful for a few moments, then nodded slowly.

  “I agree with my husband. We don’t need a war. Encouraging them to serve our purposes is the goal.”

  Aris made a displeased humming sound, but Cail lifted the teapot and everyone was ready for a drink. Cakes were passed around as well and the tension reduced significantly.

  “Aris,” Cail said, “I’ll not dispute your science. I expect you are right, and I don’t want to throw away an opportunity to increase Ruad power, especially if it doesn’t increase the Fomor or the Bolg. I know the red star is rising; you have given me that news every morning for moons. Just let me think on it a good bit more.”

  Ualla seemed to have picked up the king’s headache. He rubbed his temples, his voice breaking. “Are you doing nothing for my people?”

  “We could arrest the Fomor and the Bolg,” Odda said.

  “Aren’t the Bolg and the giant under guest protection with the Judge of the Daen?” Lord Ualla asked.

  Odda and Aris nodded together.

  “The Judge gets quite irate when her things are threatened,” Ualla added.

  “We could be non-threatening,” Cail said. “I could ask for their assistance in the investigation. Then give them the tests of virtue in open court.”

  “Whatever the giant and his servant may have done, we can’t prove they were involved in the murder, not in open court,” said Aris. “I can’t see how we can show Knowledge of his actions or Truth in evidence. With a proper mathematical proof from the stars, his lineage, and his birth we could show he was a murderer, but he would have to cooperate. We don’t even have his name! With torture, we could get the information, prove he was the murderer and execute him.”

  “Will she demand a balance if her guest gets killed?” Cail frowned. “Some kind of gift or a life for a life?”

  “This judge isn’t like the last one,” Odda said. “I doubt she’ll take a bribe or a gift. I think she is a Daen barbarian right out of the worst of their tales. Remember the Tales of Nuada? Or the Story of Lugh?” Odda had told the king those tales when he was just a boy. “She won’t just demand a balance, she’ll do something horrible.”

  “So I’d be risking war with the Daen, now, not in two moons, if I let my people arrest or kill their pet sorcerer?” Cail asked.

  “I suppose,” Aris said. His hands clenched and unclenched, uncertainty showing in his actions, his urge to move to formal speech and the emotional distance it created. “It would be best to wait until Last Summer Moon or Fall Moon before we…um…acted against the Daen officially.”

  “How many troops do we have for crowd control?” Cail asked.

  “I don’t know.” Aris was caught off guard.

  “What?” the queen asked. “I was given to understand that the troops were your responsibility.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesties, I have been moving more troops out of the city. I don’t think I have more than the gate staff and your personal guard available right now.”

  “WHAT!” Cail was near to roaring. “You are trying to start a war with the Daen, and you haven’t got a few hundred men standing by?”

  “No, Your Majesty, uh, yes. I do have those men and more, but they aren’t here right now. I have a training camp a couple of days’ march to the north. But the Daen don’t have a dozen men right now; we could take them with just the gate guards.”

  “You don’t really know the Daen, do you?” Cail laughed hollowly. “Your plotting just put us out of options.” The room went still as the king spoke. “You know what’s going to happen?”

  Aris shook his head. “I can get the guards organized in a couple—”r />
  “By lunch,” Cail interrupted, “the peasants will have killed the giant. Probably getting dozens of Lord Ualla’s people killed in the process. Their judge will find out that we didn’t save him, didn’t even TRY to save him, and my feast will have a new entertainment. I don’t mean Maeve dancing. I mean a dozen warriors crashing through the palace gates and slaughtering us all. As this is the last day of my life, I’d certainly have rather stayed in bed.”

  “And we still don’t know what is killing my peasants,” added Ualla.

  The queen spoke up, silencing a second outburst from Cail with a lifted palm.

  “Aris, get out of here and get the West Gate barred. I don’t want the peasants getting through this morning. Recall those guards if you can, I’m not sure what we can do or trade to live for two more months, but I’ll whip the stars themselves if I have to.” A haughty Aris left, pulling his robe, his dignity, and his formality around him. Cail looked sternly at her.

  “That probably wasn’t wise.”

  “Hmph,” she said. “You weren’t thinking; you were reacting. Get your beautiful head on straight and be king.”

  Cail leaned back in his chair and sipped on his tea. The anger had cleared his mind, and his headache had followed it. Ualla needed a solution, and he had Odda and his first wife; not his greatest assets, but he used what he had.

  “My old teacher,” he said to Odda, “I need a solution.”

  “To what, Your Majesty? Or to state properly: For which problem would you like me to devise a solution?” Odda asked.

  “Work with me a minute,” the king said. “I have riots, I have mysterious poisonings, I have no guards, I have—”

  “Two feasts I have to prepare in two days,” Her Majesty added.

  “Yes, yes, a large problem set,” Cail said, “and probably one suited for open court, but here we are and we need to get started early this morning. Do you have anything I can work with on the riots or the poisonings?”

  “Is the Fomor behind these killings,” asked Ualla, “or are we just setting him up for a scapegoat? Because if that is all we do, the killings won’t be stopped.”