The Swordmaster, page 20
They passed through various corridors and arrived at a pair of heavy double doors decorated with the two royal intersecting circles – one black, one white, and the common area grey in the middle. To the left and right of the double doors were another six sentries, three on either side, solicitous, rigid, none moving a muscle.
She stood close to one of them and wondered if they were the real deal. Sara remained still for a moment before deciding to draw her away from the sentry forthwith, for she sat down on one of the wooden benches beside the doors, beckoning the stranger to sit down beside her.
‘What are we waiting for again? Let’s go in.’
Sara placed her elbows on her knees and looked up with not a little frustration. ‘Tell me, what is your name?’
The question had been inevitable. She decided to simply ignore it, but Sara was determined.
‘What is wrong with you? What’s your name?’
‘Listen, maid. Did I say I wanted to talk to you or to the king?’
Sara was proving to be stubborn and wasn’t going to be intimidated so easily. ‘If you have already forgotten your name, then let me try to remind you of what it is that you want to tell King Tedore. And try not to be quite so snotty in his presence. Your manner has all the charm of an ulcerous wound. I helped you – so don’t leave me in the lurch now.’
She said nothing. Although what Sara had said was basically true, she was never going to bend the knee.
The maid stood up, straightened her apron and murmured: ‘Why am I even bothering?’
She was spared a response, for the double doors suddenly swung open and they were called into the chamber.
There he sat, on his throne, the ruler of Toladar, with the crown on his head and the court standing around him. Tedore looked perfectly ordinary, in fact. Furthermore, first impressions didn’t reveal any particular similarity to Karek. His clothing wasn’t remarkably splendid, and even his crown made a decidedly unimpressive impression – a farmer’s family with eight children probably wouldn’t be able to survive on what it was worth for much more than a couple of centuries.
Three men stood near him. To be more precise, they posed near him – presumably to impress on the viewer that they were both important on the one hand, and capable of anything, on the other. Why they were important and of what they were capable of, they didn’t seem to know themselves.
To the right of the king stood a musclebound fellow whose hairs no longer grew on his head but jutted forward like bushy shovels over his eyes, as well as in the form of carpets on his two arms. Despite his advanced years, he seemed to be constitutionally sound. He peered at her through half-closed eyes as though she were the sun. The chap beside him seemed to be even older and certainly didn’t seem lacking in intelligence although his lipless mouth irritated her immediately. How he was able to kiss the king’s arse with such lips was a mystery to her.
And who did we have standing to Tedore’s left and completing the little band of merry men? None other than Magister Korn himself, who seemed even older than shovel brows and lipless put together. Only a short time ago she – or rather Calinka Cornika – had met him in front of Schohtar’s ducal room, and you couldn’t forget a face like his – not that she forgot faces, anyway.
She felt herself being gloomily gazed at from behind a curtain of white hair, with eyes that had seen their fair share of the world – and his features suggested that he hadn’t merely seen the good and the beautiful. High treason, for instance.
Sara whispered to her. ‘To the left is Weapons Master Madrich, beside him is the Lord Great Chamberlain Moll and…’
‘I know the third one. But who is the weird fella on the chair with the jagged circle on his head?’
The response was a pained groan – as though Sara had broken both her arms simultaneously. If the maid hadn’t hated her before, she certainly did by now. And that was something that Sara really hadn’t deserved. A feeling of loneliness came over her. Why did no-one understand her humour? At each wall within the hall were six sentries in light armour, standing straight as poles and clearly concentrating hard on giving the impression that they never saw or heard anything of what unfolded within the throne room.
Sara led her to the edge of the black marble platform upon which the three advisors were gathered around the throne. They all looked remarkably sullen – as though they were exhausted from squabbling over whose turn it was to sit on Tedore’s lap today. It seemed that lipless was ahead by a head in this regard, for he opened the conversation with confidence. ‘Sara, your obtrusiveness has interrupted our council meeting. What can possibly be so important as to undermine our discussions?’
Sara curtsied before the throne. ‘The decision of the king to acquiesce to this interruption, sir.’
The Lord Great Chamberlain drew himself up so that he was looming over the two women – which wasn’t particularly difficult, for he was already standing on the raised platform. ‘Sara, ask our visitor what it is that she requires.’
She stared at lipless, then at the maid. ‘Sara, ask the gentleman first, who it is that demands of you that you ask of me what I require.’
Appalled by what she presumably took to be boundless impertinence, Sara stared, terrified, at the king.
The Lord High Marshall Moll blushed hard, but before he had a chance to retort, the king himself engaged in conversation. ‘Let us leave that for now.’ With that, he turned to face her, as if waiting for something. Sara repeated her curtsey and signalled with her eyes that she should do the same.
She didn’t move.
‘Genuflect,’ whispered the maid.
She looked down at Sara and noticed that her mouth was getting tighter and tighter. What the maid was doing seemed far from comfortable and involved a considerable amount of bending.
Tedore continued to wait, but with an increasing amount of impatience.
It was good that the ruler could name such assiduous advisors his own, for shovel brows now felt it timely to intervene: ‘Do you not think that it would be respectful to bend the knee before your King, Tedore Marein?’
Somebody had tried to teach her a long time ago how diplomacy functioned. She had only remembered one sentence: Diplomacy means never saying the first thing that comes into your head.
Hence, she selected her second thought and responded matter-of-factly: ‘Please understand, good sir – I bend my knee at the water when I kneel down to refresh myself. Also, at the final resting place of my parents if I knew who whey were and where their grave is – then I would bend my knee, too.’
Wow – that had almost sounded courtly – and she had even used the courtly address. Normally, she was only able to manage that as Calinka Cornika, and it would have taken a good three days to prepare for the role.
The others present seemed decidedly less impressed.
Magister Korn snorted: ‘This is entirely unseemly. Your Majesty – throw this wench into the dungeons. We have affairs of state to discuss.’
Tedore’s face remained unchanged. She found his voice to be remarkably comforting as he said slowly but emphatically: ‘I will have both your legs broken if you do not show immediate respect to your king.’
Beside her, Sara was continuing to shrink, for now both her kneecaps were pressing hard into the floor. The maid seemed to be deeply regretting the fact that she had helped her up to this point. Sara really didn’t deserve this. It was true – she, herself, hadn’t taken the situation seriously enough even though she had masterfully mastered courtly etiquette – something that she had proven repeatedly as Calinka Cornika.
But without a costume, these rules and conventions seemed so laughable to her that she couldn’t seriously adhere to them. Now, reality was slapping her in the face and her situation was threatening to become deadly serious. Still, though – there was no way that she was going to eat humble pie. Kneel before her king? He wasn’t her king. He hadn’t given a toss for the children who had been tortured year after year in the Establishment, a stone’s throw away from his highfalutin palace. She would never kneel before him.
She looked the king in the eye: ‘Only an idiot sits in a nest of vipers and complains about a gnat.’
Tedore sat on his throne, stony-faced. The only thing that he moved were the thumb and middle finger of his right hand. The clicking sound was meant for the household guards. Immediately, the weapons clanged to life as the weapon holders approached her with grim faces.
She continued to stand there, calm and relaxed, as though she were in the market square observing some apples at the fruit stall. The guards drew their swords with a whizzing sound. She felt no fear. She thought of the situation she had been in, when she had hung from the tree with Wogi’s henchmen around her. That was the first time that she’d had this realisation. Easy as pie – a quick death, the pain disappears, and freedom begins. Ergo, was there any point in fighting at all? Dissatisfied with herself, she suppressed the yearning for death. It seemed more like a capitulation. Hadn’t she freed herself from her seemingly impossible situation on the tree only a short time later? She hadn’t given up. She never gave up. Never. And anyway, Wogi still had to settle his account. An ear. An alphabet. Logical.
She was back. Her eyes narrowed – a warmth spread through her body. No weapons in the throne room. Puh! The sentries had taken away her daggers and bodkins, but the men who were walking towards her had more than enough steel in their hands. Surreptitiously, she slipped her band with its small, folding, poisonous spikes over her little wrist and onto her fist, so that it could serve its purpose as a substitute, deadly knuckleduster.
Karek, I did warn you that I wasn’t up to much as a messenger boy. Now I have to be what I’m really good at. As a harbinger of death.
high treason
The king stood up from his throne. One hand lay on the pommel of a splendid longsword, his other hand gestured to his guards to wait.
His voice was impatient and hard: ‘Who are you, wench, that dares to present yourself in such a manner?’
She reckoned it was time to come to the point – before the point came to her. ‘I am someone who has been sent by your son. Someone who brings you very helpful information of her own free will. Someone who has travelled a long way for this very purpose.’
You could hear a pin drop.
Then a short, snappy sound echoed across the chamber. The king clicking his fingers once again. It sounded exactly like the first time, but now the guards returned to their original, frozen positions.
Her wristband slipped surreptitiously back to its original position. Tedore was still standing between her and the throne, his voice crackling: ‘Anyone can claim such a thing, particularly if their life is hanging from a thread. How can I be sure that you have met Karek?’
‘I know him and have never tried to flatter him. Quite the opposite – I made no secret of the fact that I didn’t really like him. Hence, the prince trusts me.’
The king’s eyes flickered momentarily. At first, she thought that he was going to blow his top again, but he sat back down on his throne in a relaxed manner. The maid finally got to her feet and stood up straight beside her. In disbelief, she looked from the woman to the king and back again.
‘Your Majesty. What is this opprobrious person saying?’ asked shovel eyes, clearly overwhelmed.
‘She knows him and has spoken to him.’ Tedore’s eyes bored into hers. ‘Before I forget myself…tell me, what is the helpful information that Karek asked you to deliver?’
She took the roll of parchment from her belt bag and stretched out her hand. ‘Here – this paper is a copy of the San-Priestess Tatarie’s scroll, which Karek drew.’
The weapons master sprang forward, yanked the scroll out of her hand and passed it to the king.
Tedore glanced at it, his eyes narrowing. ‘Very surprising to find a copy of this mysterious scroll in your hands. But who can tell me that it was my son Karek who gave it to you?’
‘Me.’
This was clearly all getting too much for Magister Korn. ‘Your Majesty, this shameless woman is nothing but a cunning trickster. I propose that you hand her over to the torturers – the thumbscrews will surely bring to light what is true and what is false.’
She beheld the man scornfully. ‘How is it that your name is on that document?’
‘Utter nonsense. Look for yourself, Your Majesty.’
‘You’re right,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘But how did you know that your name isn’t on it?’
‘What…I…never mind. I know nothing. It just can’t be.’
‘Have you already handed the original parchment over to Duke Schohtar?’
‘What are you talking about, woman?’
‘You know Tedore’s hiding place for secret documents.’
Magister Korn shook his head – his face began to shine an unhealthy, wrinkly, damp white. In fact, it resembled mudflats in winter.
‘Who are you?’ he asked weakly.
‘Not the blackbird.’
That was a pretty original answer to give in the king’s throne room.
‘Curses! Who are you?’
‘No-one.’
‘You are insane – completely insane!’
Tedore looked at the magister severely. ‘A hiding place for secret documents like this one?’
Sara’s eyes were getting bigger and bigger. She looked just as confused as Lord High Chamberlain Moll and Weapons Master Madrich. Her face, however, had regained its colour, and curiosity had taken over from fear.
The teacher’s voice was now sounding higher and more strained. ‘This liar is a witch. Have her burned at the stake.’
‘Hisses the snake…when will you be visiting Duke Schohtar next?’
The magister forced himself to calm down. ‘Your Majesty, I have served the Mareins loyally for more than sixty years. I don’t know what this weird witch is talking about.’
The king seemed lost in thought. Then he murmured in a low voice: ‘My hiding place for secret documents. I must have a look.’
The tip of Tedore’s thumb lightly rubbed the smooth pommel of his sword. Then he stood up again, his voice thundering across the room: ‘No-one is to leave! Guards – make sure of that! The doors remain closed!’
The sets of armour moved like figures on a chessboard until they blocked the exit.
The king went to a heavy oak door behind the throne, opened it and disappeared.
Sara whispered in her ear: ‘What’s going on? That’s the royal scriptorium in there.’
She spread out her arms. ‘Even if you are ashamed of my manner – which you shouldn’t be – you have done everything right in this matter.’
But never in her wildest dreams had she imagined how tiring bringing a simple message to the king would be.
The king reappeared, closing the door behind him. She ascertained that he was handsome and healthy for a man of his years. This thought was reinforced by the fresh, slightly ruddy appearance now on his face.
Tedore sat down on his throne, appearing relaxed although she could see that his chest was rising and falling more quickly than before.
He reported in a quiet voice: ‘The original scroll has indeed disappeared. There are very few people who have access to my scriptorium, and I thought there was only one who knew of the secret drawer in my writing desk and was able to open it.’ He paused. ‘Namely, the King of Toladar. Clearly, I was mistaken.’
He glared at his listeners, who were hanging on his every word. ‘How did you know about it?’
Even souls lacking in sensitivity could hardly have missed the tone of annoyance in his voice.
Tedore roared: ‘ANSWER ME, WOMAN! HOW DID YOU KNOW!’
She hesitated for a moment. Should she answer at all? Let His Royal Majesty roar at his vassals to his heart’s content – but not at her. Use your second thought! Very well – it was probably a little too much for him to hear all these things at once, so she settled on her second idea. ‘The gentle magister here is not satisfied with some aspects of your work, Your Majesty, and has therefore been telling Schohtar of the goings-on in your vicinity. I myself happened to overhear him and a certain Count Mondek chatting to Schohtar. The magister promised to fetch the parchment for him. Indeed, the trio also discussed Karek’s future. Well, there wasn’t much to discuss, really, because they all considered the prince’s time on this earth to be severely limited.’
Again, you could hear a pin drop.
Suddenly, it was all go. With two strides she bounded onto the platform towards Tedore, dived onto Magister Korn and grabbed his right arm, which was darting forward towards the king. She buried the man under her body. The surprise at the unbelievable speed of these actions had not yet registered on the faces of the onlookers as a dagger fell with a clatter onto the polished marble floor. It spun around like a whirligig several times with a merry, clanking noise. Then there was uproar. Two guards dragged her off the podium, three more jumping on top of Magister Korn.
Sara gasped in astonishment. ‘You…you stopped Magister Korn from stabbing his dagger into the king’s chest in the nick of time!’
‘Tell that to the guards. They should let me go, or I can’t guarantee what will happen next.’
Tedore commanded: ‘Release her!’
The hands around her arms and legs loosened and let go. Shovel brows and lipless stared at her in disbelief.
The king picked up the dagger and stared down at the trembling Korn. Tedore didn’t even need to say it aloud – his lips merely formed the word: ‘Why?’
It all came tumbling out of the magister in a mixture of tears and fury: ‘You are a danger to Toladar, an indecisive weakling. I put up with it for as long as I could out of respect to your father. But your son with his bizarre ideas is much, much worse. He is spoilt and a danger to our country. Only Schohtar is strong enough to protect us and to secure the future of Toladar.’
