The Last Knight, page 24
“But I saved them! They—”
“You saved them only to use them for your own ends. I’m going to report what you’ve done to Lord Dorian, who will pass it on to the High Liege—and he won’t permit this to continue. He’ll speak to Lord Gerald, to your neighbors, mayhap place watchers in your household. You may retain the barony, but you will never again be allowed to experiment on human beings.”
She whitened at the truth of it. “You can’t do this! He’ll make it impossible for me!” Her gaze darted about, seeking inspiration, and settled on Fisk. “There must be something you want? I have wealth, Sir Michael, I can…”
The expression on my face answered her before she finished.
“How much?” asked Fisk, in a tone of considerable interest.
“He’s joking,” I told her firmly, wishing I was certain.
She gazed at me defiantly. “There must be something. Something you want as desperately as I want this. If you tell me what it is, perhaps…”
“There is something I want,” I said. “But I’ve already figured out how to get it.” And the joy of it warmed my heart. “If you start walking now, you should hit the coast road by midafternoon.”
“But—”
“We’ll be going in another direction. I’ve no desire to be pursued, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t reveal which one.”
I also had no desire to be ambushed. I made a mental note to approach Lord Dorian with caution, for she wasn’t above setting a trap, and this time her men might have orders to kill.
“But what about Ginger? You can’t just steal my horse!”
“You stole ours,” said Fisk, “when you had us cudgel-crewed.”
With a horse, she might get back in time to send men after us. On the other hand, she might truly care for the beast. “Once I’ve spoken to Lord Dorian, we’ll send her to Mistress Agnes.”
“But I have to have a horse! What if I encounter bandits?”
“Or a wild boar,” said Fisk. “Or cudgel-crewers. They’d be lucky to get out of your hands alive.”
She looked at his grim face. She looked at me. I don’t know what she saw, but her chin lifted stubbornly.
“Very well. But I’ll succeed someday—despite all you’ve done! I’m right, Sir Michael. You, of all people, know it.”
Her eyes were full of fanatical fire. She would try again, unless I stopped her. And suddenly I knew that I could stop her, that I was the only one who could. Mayhap that was what gave me the strength to say easily, “What do you mean ‘You, of all people’?”
“You know what I mean.” She gazed at me hungrily. “I saw you looking at the potions in my herbarium and the way your eyes fix on certain plants and trees. Any man with a sensing Gift can feel magic, but you can see it! I’ve—”
“My lady,” I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re lying.” But the quiver in her voice revealed the first crack in her confidence.
Fisk snorted. “In two weeks you should have gotten to know him better than that. He never lies.”
She had come to know me, and that knowledge was reflected in her face.
“All right. Meet my eyes, Sir Michael, and tell me that you’ve noticed no effect from my potions.”
I met her eyes. “I’ve noticed no effect from your potions. Well, except for nausea. I’m sorry, Lady Ceciel. Mayhap you had some effect on the simple ones because they already had magic, but it hasn’t changed me.”
Watching the dream crumble in her eyes, I found I did pity her. ’Twas passion to prove herself that led her into evil, not cruelty. And ’tis no light thing, to face the death of dreams. I, of all people, knew that, for I’d been trying to do it ever since Father had passed his sentence. Now my dream was within my grasp. Oh yes, I understood Ceciel.
“You’re lying!” she cried. But she didn’t believe it. Her face twisted.
“I’m sorry,” I said gently.
“I’m not,” said Fisk.
I doubt she heard him. She spun away from us, stumbling off into the woods, and I felt a stab of remorse—despite all the pain she’d caused me and the others. She’d done them good as well as harm. Now she had nothing.
I felt surprisingly little remorse for the lie I’d told. My father wouldn’t approve, but mayhap ’twas time to try living for my own approval.
As a child, I remember thinking that learning to tell the truth, even when it cost you, was the end of childhood. Mayhap learning to lie, when needful, is the beginning of adulthood…or mayhap I’d simply been too long in Fisk’s company.
Fisk watched Lady Ceciel hurry away, his expression a blend of disappointment and relief.
“You’re out of your mind,” he said pleasantly.
“Why? She’s innocent, and she can prove it. Dragging her back to trial would be a waste of time. And ’twould be wrong.”
“It would also have gotten your debt repaid! All you had to do was take her back—if she could prove her innocence she’d be acquitted! As it is, Mike, you’re going to have a cursed hard time convincing your father to pronounce you redeemed. In fact, he can’t—he set the terms publicly, in the old speech. You’re going to be unredeemed! Permanently!”
“True.” I gazed at his worried, furious face. He cared about me, but I had no illusions that Fisk had been reformed by our brief adventures. He was an excellent con man—reforming him would take years, if ever. But my own captivity had taught me that real trust, or friendship, is impossible between prisoner and jailer. If Fisk did harm in the world, ’twas his problem, not mine. I would miss the scoundrel, curse it. I drew a deep breath.
“Today seems to be my day for letting people go. I declare thee redeemed, Fisk.”
“What!” The astonishment on his face was comical, but for once I had no desire to laugh.
“I declare thee redeemed. Your debt to me is paid—several times over. You can take Tipple, if you like.”
As I spoke I slid from Chant’s back, put the halter and rope on Lady Ceciel’s mare, and adjusted her bridle for Tipple. Fisk gazed at me in silence as I worked.
“There you go.” I handed him Tipple’s reins and remounted. “You were a good squire, Fisk. I’ll miss you.”
Fisk glared. “You are an idiot. At least make me pay for her. I have nine gold roundels and you’re broke, remember?”
Actually I hadn’t. I blinked.
Fisk moaned.
“Pay me what you will,” I told him.
I turned Chant and set off toward the north. A longer way home, but Lady Ceciel’s men would be less likely to intercept me…and soon Tipple’s hoof-beats trotted up behind.
“But why didn’t you take Ceciel back? You’d have fulfilled your father’s conditions to the letter, if not in spirit.”
“True,” I said.
“You’d have been redeemed! You’d have gotten your honor back. You’d have been…” His jaw dropped.
“Made Rupert’s steward,” I finished. I’d been wondering when he’d figure it out.
“You devious son of a…I didn’t think you had it in you! You’re out of your mind! This is permanent! They’ll tattoo your wrists!”
“True,” I repeated.
“Your father will cast you off without a backward glance!”
“True.”
“No job to fall back on. No more rescues from jail.”
“True.”
“If we can’t scrounge a living at knight errantry, we’ll starve! Even the beggar’s guild won’t take a permanently unredeemed man. No one will hire you.”
“We?”
“I can’t leave you on your own,” Fisk ranted. “You’ll probably be in jail again by the end of the week! You need a keeper more than anyone I’ve ever met. Mike.”
I winced, but ’twas better than “Noble Sir.” And as my squire once told me, sometimes you have to settle for what you can get.
“That may be,” I said. “But you’ll get me out. Besides, I like a little adventure.”
Life stretched before me, filled with freedom, and the shadows cast across my path hindered me no more than a chain that was no longer there.
About the Author
Hilari Bell retired from a career as a librarian to pursue writing full time. Most would call her a fantasist, but her novels offer memorable characters and a potent mix of adventure, mystery, and fantasy that defies classification. Her growing list of titles includes THE PROPHECY, THE WIZARD TEST, THE GOBLIN WOOD, and A MATTER OF PROFIT.
Hilari often visits schools and attends conferences to talk about her work. When asked what question she hears most often, she says, “When I do author gigs, one of the questions kids almost always ask me is, ‘Which of the books you’ve written is your favorite? Which one do you like the best?’ I tell them that each of my books has something I like about it—that one has a strong character conflict, or great humor, or my favorite chase scene, or an incredibly twisty plot, but that I don’t actually have a personal favorite. And when I say this, kids think that it’s an adult cop-out, that of course I must have a personal favorite, but it really was true…until now.
“The Knight and Rogue books may not have the twistiest plot, or the coolest chase, or whatever, but of all the books I’ve written they are the ones I like the very best. I love both main characters. Michael and Fisk are an absolute blast to write…and I have some wonderfully nasty plans to make a mess of their lives in future books, too.”
Hilari lives in her hometown of Denver, Colorado. You can visit her online at www.sfwa.org/members/bell/.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
BOOKS BY
HILARI BELL
A Knight and Rogue Novel: The Last Knight
A Knight and Rogue Novel: Rogue’s Home
The Prophecy
The Wizard Test
The Goblin Wood
A Matter of Profit
Credits
Cover art © 2007 by Larry Rostant
Cover design by Joel Tippie
Copyright
THE LAST KNIGHT. Copyright © 2007 by Hilari Bell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Mobipocket Reader February 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-189748-1
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Hilari Bell, The Last Knight
