Blackveil
Page 204
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“I am well now that I see you up and about, my lord. I had not heard . . .” She swallowed and thought she had better stop. It was not her time to speak, and she was not sure she could manage it without loosing a torrent of tears. All of her fear for his life—what could have been—was so raw and near the surface.
“Yes,” the king mused, stroking his beard. “One hears and does not hear many interesting things. I’ve assembled you all, my closest, my most trustworthy advisors, because of these things I’ve heard, and judgment must be rendered.”
The tiredness came out in his voice with these words, but his countenance was fierce as he looked down on the others. They, in turn, cast their gazes to the floor, their expressions sober, even strained.
“Castellan Sperren.”
The old man stepped forward. Laren thought he might crumble to dust right in front of them. “Your Highness?”
“I understand you did not initiate or conspire anything while I recovered from my so-called riding accident. You were laid up yourself. However, it is my understanding you did not voice opposition to the proceedings, either, which is personally distressing, but not a crime. You have been dutiful in your service to the realm since the days of my grandfather, and you gladly came out of retirement to be my castellan when the one that had been serving me turned out to be a traitor. It seems to me I have asked too much of you by keeping you here much longer than we originally agreed upon, and so I now commend you to your retirement, to which you may return with honor intact. Find ease and pleasure, old friend.”
Sperren trembled visibly, a sheen of tears on his wrinkled cheeks. He bowed and backed away. To Laren’s mind, it was very much past time. Sperren slept through more meetings than he was awake for, and his sharp mind had dulled considerably in recent years. He’d once been indispensible in his wisdom and advice, but no longer, and with all the challenges Sacoridia faced, Zachary needed the ablest, sharpest minds around him he could muster.
“I have been made aware of what went on around me while I lay unconscious,” Zachary said. “It saddens me that my own advisors, who knew me best, save one, had no confidence in my judgment, did not wish to take a chance in what I had or had not placed in the Royal Trust as far as a successor is concerned. I thought they knew me better than that. I had planned, in the event of my premature death, that a transition would occur as smoothly as possible. However, my advisors would not wait for the opening of the Royal Trust as law decrees must be done. Instead, they took matters into their own hands and moved up my wedding. A wedding I was not even conscious of.
“Meanwhile, my one advisor who did exhibit trust in me was dosed and bundled away under house arrest so she could not interfere with the plans of you gentlemen. Yes, I have heard all the reasons why you chose the course you did, listened to each of you by turn, but it all comes down to trust. I cannot have people around me who disrespect my wishes, disregard royal law, and who do not trust me. Master Mender Destarion.”
The mender stepped forward and swallowed hard. “Your Majesty.”
“You, like Sperren, have a long history of good service to the realm. In all but this you have attended me faithfully. As you know, such actions as you took should provoke the severest of penalties. Disabling one of my officers, my own messenger, in the course of her duties is enough for the ultimate punishment.”
“Yes, my lord,” Destarion whispered. “I am aware.”
“Yet I hesitate,” Zachary continued, “to condemn to death a learned man who has done more good in his service than bad. Therefore, I shall strip you of your status as chief of the menders, and reassign you to the River Unit, where they’ve an outpost in the far north by the headwaters of the Terrygood. They’ve been long without a proper mender, and I expect the settlers and lumbermen in the region will find your skills useful.”
Destarion looked humbled by the king’s mercy, but frightened as well. He was not a young man and he’d find conditions far more rugged up north than he did in the castle’s civilized, and warm, mending wing.
“General Harborough.”
The general clicked his heels together and bowed.
“You thought to support the conspiracy with the backing of the military. You, one of my best strategists.” Zachary shook his head. “That is a crime that requires the death penalty. However, I shall leave your fate in the hands of a military tribunal. In the meantime, you are stripped of all command, office, and insignia, and shall remain in prison until the tribunal comes to me with its recommendations.”
Zachary gestured and a pair of guards came to escort the former general away. He hung his head like a whipped dog as he left the throne room.
“Colin Dovekey.”
Colin stepped before the dais looking older than ever, his movements stiff.
“If there is something that makes me more angry than the conspiracy you organized, it’s being forced to sit here and pass judgment on good men. You led them into it.”
Colin fell to both knees. “I beg of you, Your Majesty, to condemn me to Saverill’s fate.”
“I will not be so merciful,” Zachary replied.
Merciful? The histories spoke of a traitor among the Weapons named Saverill who’d undergone weeks of torture for his crimes, only to be chained to the castle roof for the vultures to feed on. He’d still been alive.
“You are stripped of your authority over the Weapons, and I’m sending you to Breaker Island. You will never leave that island again, and your peers will decide what to do with you. Perhaps they will choose Saverill’s fate for you, or perhaps not, but they will ensure you never have a voice in the affairs of the realm again.”
“Yes,” the king mused, stroking his beard. “One hears and does not hear many interesting things. I’ve assembled you all, my closest, my most trustworthy advisors, because of these things I’ve heard, and judgment must be rendered.”
The tiredness came out in his voice with these words, but his countenance was fierce as he looked down on the others. They, in turn, cast their gazes to the floor, their expressions sober, even strained.
“Castellan Sperren.”
The old man stepped forward. Laren thought he might crumble to dust right in front of them. “Your Highness?”
“I understand you did not initiate or conspire anything while I recovered from my so-called riding accident. You were laid up yourself. However, it is my understanding you did not voice opposition to the proceedings, either, which is personally distressing, but not a crime. You have been dutiful in your service to the realm since the days of my grandfather, and you gladly came out of retirement to be my castellan when the one that had been serving me turned out to be a traitor. It seems to me I have asked too much of you by keeping you here much longer than we originally agreed upon, and so I now commend you to your retirement, to which you may return with honor intact. Find ease and pleasure, old friend.”
Sperren trembled visibly, a sheen of tears on his wrinkled cheeks. He bowed and backed away. To Laren’s mind, it was very much past time. Sperren slept through more meetings than he was awake for, and his sharp mind had dulled considerably in recent years. He’d once been indispensible in his wisdom and advice, but no longer, and with all the challenges Sacoridia faced, Zachary needed the ablest, sharpest minds around him he could muster.
“I have been made aware of what went on around me while I lay unconscious,” Zachary said. “It saddens me that my own advisors, who knew me best, save one, had no confidence in my judgment, did not wish to take a chance in what I had or had not placed in the Royal Trust as far as a successor is concerned. I thought they knew me better than that. I had planned, in the event of my premature death, that a transition would occur as smoothly as possible. However, my advisors would not wait for the opening of the Royal Trust as law decrees must be done. Instead, they took matters into their own hands and moved up my wedding. A wedding I was not even conscious of.
“Meanwhile, my one advisor who did exhibit trust in me was dosed and bundled away under house arrest so she could not interfere with the plans of you gentlemen. Yes, I have heard all the reasons why you chose the course you did, listened to each of you by turn, but it all comes down to trust. I cannot have people around me who disrespect my wishes, disregard royal law, and who do not trust me. Master Mender Destarion.”
The mender stepped forward and swallowed hard. “Your Majesty.”
“You, like Sperren, have a long history of good service to the realm. In all but this you have attended me faithfully. As you know, such actions as you took should provoke the severest of penalties. Disabling one of my officers, my own messenger, in the course of her duties is enough for the ultimate punishment.”
“Yes, my lord,” Destarion whispered. “I am aware.”
“Yet I hesitate,” Zachary continued, “to condemn to death a learned man who has done more good in his service than bad. Therefore, I shall strip you of your status as chief of the menders, and reassign you to the River Unit, where they’ve an outpost in the far north by the headwaters of the Terrygood. They’ve been long without a proper mender, and I expect the settlers and lumbermen in the region will find your skills useful.”
Destarion looked humbled by the king’s mercy, but frightened as well. He was not a young man and he’d find conditions far more rugged up north than he did in the castle’s civilized, and warm, mending wing.
“General Harborough.”
The general clicked his heels together and bowed.
“You thought to support the conspiracy with the backing of the military. You, one of my best strategists.” Zachary shook his head. “That is a crime that requires the death penalty. However, I shall leave your fate in the hands of a military tribunal. In the meantime, you are stripped of all command, office, and insignia, and shall remain in prison until the tribunal comes to me with its recommendations.”
Zachary gestured and a pair of guards came to escort the former general away. He hung his head like a whipped dog as he left the throne room.
“Colin Dovekey.”
Colin stepped before the dais looking older than ever, his movements stiff.
“If there is something that makes me more angry than the conspiracy you organized, it’s being forced to sit here and pass judgment on good men. You led them into it.”
Colin fell to both knees. “I beg of you, Your Majesty, to condemn me to Saverill’s fate.”
“I will not be so merciful,” Zachary replied.
Merciful? The histories spoke of a traitor among the Weapons named Saverill who’d undergone weeks of torture for his crimes, only to be chained to the castle roof for the vultures to feed on. He’d still been alive.
“You are stripped of your authority over the Weapons, and I’m sending you to Breaker Island. You will never leave that island again, and your peers will decide what to do with you. Perhaps they will choose Saverill’s fate for you, or perhaps not, but they will ensure you never have a voice in the affairs of the realm again.”
