Dave Duncan - King's Blades 05 - The Jaguar Knights

THE

JAGUAR KNIGHTS

A Chronicle of the King’s Blades

DAVE DUNCAN

A UTHOR’SN O T E

Historically, the eagle knights and jaguar knights were the elite troops in the armies of Montezuma, but

that is the last history you will find here.

SOME SIGNIFIC ANT D A TES

351,Thirdmoon

Sir Durendal bound(The Gilded Chain)

357,Thirdmoon

Sir Wasp bound(Lord of the Fire Lands)

367,Twelfthmoon

Sir Eagle bound(Sky of Swords)

390,Thirdmoon

Queen Malinda abdicates, King Athelgar

succeeds

390, Fourthmoon

Sir Wolf bound(The Jaguar Knights)

392, Fifthmoon

Lord Wassail exposes the Thencaster

Conspiracy

394, Fourthmoon

Death of Sir Parsewood, Durendal elected

Grand Master

395, Secondmoon

Massacre at Quondam

400, Fourthmoon

Sir Beaumont bound(Paragon Lost)

405,Thirdmoon

Sir Ringwood bound(Impossible Odds)

The master first lets slip his best hounds

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Something was up. The Royal Guard liked to think it knew all the news and heard it before anyone else

did, but that day it had been shut out. The morning watch had been on duty for two hours already, but

Commander Vicious had not arrived to hold the daily inspection and the graveyard shift had not yet been

stood down.They were supposedly attending the King, who was meeting with senior advisors in the

coun-cil chamber. Absurd! Even during the worst panics of the Thencaster Conspiracy, three years ago,

Athelgar had never summoned his cabinet in the middle of the night.

Deputy Commander Lyon must have some idea what was going on, but he refused to admit it.

Infuriatingly, he just sat behind his desk in the guardroom, reading a book of poetry—Lyon not only read

poetry, he wrote it too, yet he was a fine swordsman, subtle and unpredictable.The half-dozen Blades

sustaining the permanent dice game under the win-dow were doing so halfheartedly, grumbling more than

gambling. Sir

Wolf was polishing his boots in a corner—Wolf never read poetry, was never invited into the games,

and cared not a fig what folly the King was pursuing this time.

The park beyond the frost-spangled panes was all pen-and-ink, stark white-and-black, sun-bright snow

and cadaver trees under a sky of ane-mic blue, for this was Secondmoon of 395, the coldest winter in

mem-ory. Nocare, with its high ceilings and huge windows, was a summer palace, impossible to heat in

cold weather. The King had moved the court there on some inexplicable whim and could not return it to

poky old Greymere as long as the roads were blocked by snowdrifts. Courtiers slunk around unhappily,

huddled in furs and muttering under their smoky breath.

Innumerable feet shuffled past the guardroom door: gentry, heralds, pages, porters, stewards,White

Sisters, Household Yeomen. No one paid any heed until a rapid tattoo of heel taps raised every head.

Blades knew the sound of Guard boots, and these were in a hurry.

Wolf went on polishing his left one.

In marched Sir Damon, still wearing his sash as officer in charge of the night watch. The kibitzers by the

window exchanged shocked glances.The matter was much more than routine if Sir Vicious had sent a

senior Blade as messenger, instead of a junior or just a page.

Damon glanced around the room, then bent to whisper something toLyon .Lyon turned to Wolf.

“Leader wants you.”

Wolf put foot in boot and stamped. “Where?”

Damon said, “Council Chamber. He’s still with the Pirate’s Son.”

At the dice table, eyebrows rose even higher. The Pirate’s Son was King Athelgar. It was common

knowledge that Vicious preferred to keep Sir Wolf out of the King’s sight, so if Wolf was wanted now, it

was because the King had called for him by name.

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Wolf was the King’s Killer.

Ignoring the rabble’s surprise, Wolf strode across to the mirror and looked himself over with care. Like

all Blades he was of middle height, slim and athletic, but he was invariably the best-turned-out man in the

Guard—boots and sword belt gleaming like glass, not a wrinkle in hishose nor speck of dust marring his

jerkin. He adjusted the feather in his bonnet an imperceptible amount and turned away. He did not

examine his face. No one looked at that horror unless they must.

Exchanging nods with a lip-chewingLyon , he strode out into the corridor, and Damon fell into step

beside him. Together they marched along marble corridors, past statuary and tapestries. Courtiers stared

with interest at two senior members of the Royal Guard moving at an urgent clip. Word that the King had

sent for the infamous Sir Wolf would spread like fire in dry grass.

So what was up? The last time Wolf had been summoned to the royal presence, Athelgar had named

him—over Leader’s objections—to lead the Elboro mission, which had required him to kill two brother

Blades. It had not been the first such filthy job the Pirate’s Son had given him, either, and Wolf’s written

report afterwards had let Athelgar Radgaring know exactly what he thought of his liege lord. Moreover,

since Leader had not ordered him to rewrite it, it had warned His Majesty that others shared those

opinions. The Guard had been short-handed back then, else Wolf might have been thrown in a dungeon

for some of the comments in that report. In the two years since,Vicious had kept him well away from the

King.

What had changed? Well, the Guard was up to strength now, so one possibility was that Athelgar was

going to award him the Order of the Royal Boot. That was highly unlikely. Knowing how Wolf felt about

him, Athelgar was more likely to keep the King’s Killer bound to ab-solute loyalty forever—safer that

way.

Another possibility was that the Pirate’s Son wanted someone mur-dered. Blades were bound by oath

and conjuration to defend their ward from his enemies, not to commit crimes on royal whims, but defense

could cover a multitude of nasty situations.

Wolf saw anger in Damon’s tightly clenched jaw. Damon was a de-cent man, not one of those who

carried grudges against the King’s Killer.

“Any hints, brother?”

“Dunno anything. Huntley andFlint rode in about four hours ago.”

“Ah! And Leader wakened the Pirate’s Son?”

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“They’ve been in council ever since. No one’s allowed in or out ex-cept inquisitors. Aplagueof

inquisitors!”

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That news merely deepened the mystery. Sir Flint and Sir Huntley were typical examples of Blades who

failed to find a real life after being knighted and discharged from the Guard. Both men were in their fifties,

idling away years at Ironhall, instructing boys in fencing and horseman-ship, yet still hankering after the

sins of the city.Whenever Grand Mas-ter needed a dispatch taken to Court, men like Flint or Huntley

would accept couriers’ wages, knowing that the skilled young pimps of the Guard would always find

them some of what Ironhall lacked.

So whatever had provoked this emergency had originated at, or near to, Ironhall.Although it was

officially headquarters of the Loyal and An-cient Order of the King’s Blades, in practical terms it was

only a school and orphanage, a factory for turning unwanted rebellious boys into the world’s finest

swordsmen. Wolf could imagine nothing whatsoever that could happen there to provoke a

middle-of-the-night meeting of the King in Council.

He could guess why he had been summoned, though. When the weather was this bad near Grandon, it

must be mean as belly worms up on Starkmoor. Grand Master would not have sent anyone on such a

journey unless the matter was supremely urgent, and he had thought the trek perilous enough to send two

of them. Most likely his despatch re-quired an answer, and Athelgar had decided to give his least favorite

Blade the putrid job of riding posthaste to Ironhall over snowbound roads in this appalling cold.That

would be a typical piece of royal spite.

There were Blades on duty even outside the anteroom, which was not usual. The rest of the graveyard

shift was sprawled around on the chairs inside it, sulky and unshaven. They looked shocked when they

saw the man Damon had fetched. Damon halted, Wolf kept going. Sir Sewald had the inner door; he

tapped and opened it so the newcomer could march straight in without having to break stride.

The Cabinet Chamber was large but gloomy, newly repaneled in wood like molasses and furnished with

spindly chairs from some lady’s boudoir. Athelgar had terrible taste and his expensive renovations were

methodically ruining every palace he owned.

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Since his summons had officially come from Commander Vicious, Wolf could go straight to him and

ignore the King, always a pleasure. He stamped boots and tapped sword hilt in salute. Dark and

menacing as one of the bronze memorials along Rose Parade in Grandon, the Commander was standing

well inside the chamber, so he had been tak-ing part in the talk, not just being an ornamental doorstop.

Vicious was notoriously taciturn, but had not always been so. The facial scar that made speech physically

painful for him was a memento of the Garbeald Affair, another of the King’s follies. His vitriolic hatred of

inquisitors dated from that same disaster.

Maps, papers, and dirty dishes littered the central table. Lord Chan-cellor Sparrow stood on one side of

the crackling fire, the Earl Marshal sat bundled in his wheeled chair on the other, and Grand Inquisitor

were by the window, being extra-inscrutable. Grand Inquisitor were twins, indistinguishable. All

inquisitors seemed foreboding, with their black robes, sinister reputation, and unblinking stare, but to

have two of them doing it at you was twice as bad.The Guard called them the Grue-some Twosome.

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Sparrow was a perky, beak-nosed little man, more of a pompous robin than a cheeky sparrow, but

rated a better-than-average chancellor. He feared Athelgar not at all and often quashed his mad notions

before they did too much harm. The Earl Marshal, old as the ocean and crip-pled with gout, was

asleep.A spidery clerk crouched over a writing desk, busily wielding a quill.

Flintand Huntley were slumped on chairs in a far corner. They looked exhausted and were probably

chilled to the bone over there, too. They had earned some sleep, and keeping them from it was carrying

se-curity to absurd lengths.

And the Pirate’s Son . . . as always, Athelgar was wandering, restless as a dog with fleas. He was not

his usual splendid self. His hose were rumpled, he wore no jewelry, and his hair—dyed a respectable

Chivian brown—was badly in need of brushing. Even his goatee, which he left its original Baelish red,

looked somehow bedraggled. He had just turned twenty-five and was about to celebrate the fifth

anniversary of his ac-cession.

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“Sir Wolf, sire,”Vicious said.

Wolf turned and performed the gymnastics of a full court bow.

“Ah, Wolf.” Athelgar headed to the fire. “We have bad news. Your brother has been seriously

injured.We are distressed to impart such dire tidings.”

That could not explain the emergency. The King had no interest whatsoever in the well-being of an

obscure private Blade, whom he had not seen for years, who was not even a member of his Guard.

I know how you weep for him,Wolf did not say,since you’ve kept him locked him up on Whinmoor all

these years.“Your Majesty is kind. Injured by whom?” Blades did not meet with accidents.

The uninvited query made the King spin around and glare. “That remains to be discovered. Three nights

ago, Quondam was attacked by persons unknown. Sir Fell and Sir Mandeville are slain.”

Wolf gaped, shocked into silence. Lynx wounded, two other Blades dead—there should be a dozen

corpses lying around as evidence, so why was the criminals’ identity in doubt? AndQuondam?

Quondam, on Whinmoor, was absolutely impregnable, a fortress that had never been taken by storm or

siege. If this was not a bizarre joke, it must be the start of an invasion. Or armed rebellion.The emergency

snapped into focus.

Moreover, the King wasscared.Wolf’s studied opinion, most people could lie to ears, but not to eyes. If

you knew how to look, you could learn a man’s feelings more truly from the way he held his chin and

moved his eyes than you ever could from his words. All really good swordsmen had some of this skill,

even if they were unaware that they were reacting to the twitch of an eyelid flagging a lunge before their

op-ponent’s foot began to move; it was why Ironhall discouraged dueling masks during training. Grand

Inquisitor were unreadable, of course, but the Lord Chancellor was usually fairly legible and Athelgar

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displayed his feelings like heraldic banners. With shoulders hunched, wrists crossed low, and teeth set, he

was proclaiming worry in fanfares. Sparrow was chewing his lip. Even Vicious was not standing with his

hands confi-dently behind his back as usual, but looking rather as if he were poised to leap to his ward’s

defense. If this tale was a hoax, the King and his most senior advisors were not in on it.

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“A sizable force,” Athelgar said. “Gone already. Their tracks led to the beach.”

“Raiders, sire? Baels?”

“Not Baels!” snapped the royal Bael. “These were definitely not Baels!”

Wolf bowed and waited to hear why the King was so sure and who else could have pulled off such a

feat.

The King did not explain. “Baron Dupend was seriously wounded. At least a score of his men were

killed, and Grand Master thinks about as many of the attackers.The Baroness was abducted.” He

paused to stare out the window. “That appears to have been the sole motive for the as-sault—to kidnap

the lady.”

Wolf resisted an urge to tell his sovereign lord he was out of his mind.Why should anyone storm one of

the most formidable strongholds in all Eurania to carry off a woman guarded by three Blades and a

gar-rison of men-at-arms, knowing the loss of life this must entail? Even if Celeste’s stunning beauty had

survived four years of imprisonment, that would be carrying rape to improbable extremes, and why else

should anyone want that trollop? She had no land, no rich relatives, no impor-tance. Nevertheless, the

report had come from Grand Master, and for al-most a year now Grand Master had been Durendal,

Lord Roland. Any Blade would accept Durendal’s testimony if he said the sea was wine.

“My brother’s ward was kidnapped, yet he is still alive?” That was truly incredible. “I said so!” Athelgar

was staring at him very hard. “Does this news surprise you?”

Wolf hastily adjusted to the idea that he had been summoned to an-swer a charge of treason. He looked

to Vicious for support and saw sus-picion there, too. His path and Celeste’s had crossed in the past; his

brother shared her captivity at Quondam. He struggled to view the grotesque news through Athelgar’s

snaky eyes.

Fortunately he need only speak the truth. “It amazes me. Your Majesty, I swear that I had no prior

knowledge of any plan or plot to rescue Lady”—he saw warning signs—“I meanabductLady

Celeste.The news dumbfounds me. I do not know who could, or would want to,

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Dave Duncan

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remove her from Quondam, nor who could achieve it. Surely Your Grace cannot question my loyalty?

Even if my binding would allow me to engage in armed rebellion against your royal peace—which I do

not believe it would—I should never involve my own brother in so dastardly a plot.”

“The evidence is not yet clear,” the King said narrowly.“We are not certain who injured your brother,

nor which side he was supporting.”

“I swear I know nothing about this, sire!”

“Grand Inquisitor?”

The one on the right said, “The witness speaks the truth.” They never hesitated and never spoke at the

same time, but nobody knew how they did it.They did not just take turns.

The weather in the chamber changed for the better.

“We are relieved to hear it,” the King said, without looking much pleased. “Then you will wish to hurry

to your brother’s side, Sir Wolf, and we will have you investigate this crime for us.”

The shocks were coming too fast. Promoted in a blink from chief sus-pect to chief inspector,Wolf

mumbled something about being honored.

“Your first destination must be Ironhall,” Athelgar said. “The casu-alties were taken there, for it has the

nearest octogram where they might be healed. Grand Master thinks Sir Lynx will live.”

Notwill make a complete recovery? Wolf nodded, distrusting himself to speak. Outlawed at twelve,

imprisoned five years in Ironhall and four more at Quondam—his brother had never known freedom.

Now this.

“And that is about all we know,”Athelgar said, pacing again.“Every-thing else is hearsay. Go and find

out the facts! The news must be kept secret, until we know who and what and why. Is that understood,

Sir Wolf ? Extreme secrecy! Premature disclosure will cause panic and talk of a foreign invasion. It may

bea foreign invasion for all we presently know. The Commander recommends you as the best man to

investigate. We know,” he added sourly, “that you can be discreet.”

And ruthless, but no doubt he was hinting that any other investiga-tor might uncover secrets Wolf had

known and kept for years. Those would make stale news now, no longer capable of raising the epic

scan-dal they would have stirred up once, yet Athelgar would certainly pre-

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fer that his youthful follies remain unmentioned. Spirits knew he had enough others to satisfy anyone.

Wolf bowed and murmured gratitude for the royal compliment.

“You will be granted all the powers you require. Go and see to your brother and then proceed to

Quondam.”

“Your Majesty does me honor.”Wolf wondered if he was being ap-pointed royal scapegoat for

something. The King thought of him as a killer, but Vicious knew he did any job as thoroughly as

possible, whether it involved killing or not.

“To expedite matters, Commander,” Lord Sparrow said primly, “pray advance Sir Wolf adequate funds

from the Guard’s coffers and apply to Chancery for reimbursement. A representative of the Office of

General Inquiry will accompany you, Sir Wolf.”

“But I will be in charge?” Wolf’s query created an angry pause. It should go without saying that a Blade

would not and could not take or-ders from a Dark Chamber snoop. It also went without saying that the

snoop would feel free to ignore, subvert, or misunderstand any orders from a brainless sword twirler like

Wolf. Especially Wolf.

“You will report to the Lord Chancellor,” the King decreed, “and the inquisitor to Grand Inquisitor.”

“Your Grace is setting up two inquiries?”

More glares.

“I do believe, sire,” Sparrow twittered, “that Sir Wolf should be given overall authority.”

Athelgar nodded grumpily.

Wolf said,“I will also need the help of a sniffer, my lord.”This busi-ness reeked of conjuration.

“The nearest White Sisters’ priory,” the Chancellor said, “is in Lo-mouth.Your commission will give you

all the authority you need. The Council expects frequent reports, Sir Wolf, but should you conclude that

additional assaults are likely, you will issue a general alarm directly to the authorities concerned.”

“Who keeps the King’s Peace on Whinmoor, my lord?” Sparrow pursed lips.“The sheriff is Baron

Dupend himself, but you will speak with the King’s voice.”

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“How soon can you leave?” the King barked.

“The moment I receive my writ and the funds, sire.”Wolf looked to the Gruesome Twosome. “And my

assistant?”

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“Inquisitor Hogwood will meet you at the stable, Sir Wolf,” said the one on the left.

“We will send your commission there also,” said the Chancellor, peering over the clerk’s shoulder at

what he was writing.“Momentarily.”

“By your leave, sire?”Wolf bowed to the King and was dismissed.

2

Vicious stepped out to the anteroom with him.Wolf turned, expect-ing some sort of explanation, but the

Commander just snapped, “Move!” and went back in again.

So Wolf moved. Heads turned as he streaked along the endless mar-ble floors of Nocare, skidding

around corners. He paused at the guard-room door long enough to shout, “Modred, pick me out a

horse!” and resumed running. He reached his quarters, dressed in two of everything topped off with a

heavy fur robe, and was down at the Guard’s stable with a pack on his shoulder before the groom had

finished saddling up under Sir Modred’s needle eye.The yard outside was heaped with dirty snow, and

the horses’ breath was icing up their stalls.

The haste was unseemly but necessary if he were to leave before In-quisitor Hogwood appeared, which

is what Vicious had meant. Nobody liked the way inquisitors spied, lied, and pried, but the mutual dislike

be-tween the snoops and the Blades ran especially deep, and Vicious mor-bidly detested them. Wolf,

moreover, was the Dark Chamber’s least favorite Blade.

Modred had chosen well, a powerful bay Wolf knew of old, which seemed to know him also, snorting

puffs of steam at him and stamping a roughshod hoof on the flags. Young Florian arrived, panting, with a

weighty purse from Vicious.A few moments later a mousy clerk minced

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THE J A GU AR KNIGHTS

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carefully across the yard to hand Wolf his warrant, signed and sealed. He read it through carefully,

disentangling complex prose to establish that he was granted authority to go anywhere, requisition

anything, ques-tion, detain, or conscript anyone, even suspend civil liberties. It was an astonishing

delegation of power, but then he was the government’s first response to an act of war, either foreign or

civil. Answering Modred’s frustrated glare with a smile of thanks, he swung into the saddle and ad-justed

his sword.

As he rode across the yard, another horse emerged from an adjacent stable and moved alongside, its

hooves making muffled thuds instead of the usual clatter. The rider was well wrapped in black fur, with

little more than his eyes visible inside the hood of his cloak, but their glassy stare told Wolf his assistant

had arrived.

The snoop said, “Trying to sneak away without me, Sir Wolf ?”

The little of him that was visible suggested he was too young to be much help, even in a fight, but Wolf

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would prefer an incompetent rookie to an older man deliberately blocking him.

“I was tired of waiting for you, Inquisitor Hogwood.”

The boy held out a black glove. “Your commission, please.”

Unable to think of a reason to refuse,Wolf fished out the scroll and handed it over. Junior unrolled it,

rolled it up again, and returned it.

“I thought you wanted to read it.”

Fishy stare again. “I did read it. Very curious, isn’t it?”

That was typical snoop talk, but he sounded even younger than he looked and Wolf clung tight to the

remaining shreds of his temper.“Cu-rious in what way, boy?” He put his horse into a saddle-high canyon

cut through the drifts to the postern gate.

“In whom it names and whom it does not.The Privy Council is ap-prised of massacre, either armed

insurrection or foreign invasion, and it reacts by sending a twenty-four-year-old swordsman of meager

educa-tion and repellent reputation.”

“It was a birthweek present for me.”

“Prudence would suggest dispatching several senior Privy Council-lors with an entourage of clerks and

attorneys.”

Wolf could sneer too. “In this weather, sonny? The poor dears

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wouldn’t last a league.” Babyface had made a valid point, though. Wolf would be replaced the moment

the roads were passable again.

“Looking to the Royal Guard for brains is still a questionable inno-vation.”

“But I am spiritually bound to absolute loyalty.You are not.Who is not mentioned in the writ who should

be?”

By then they were heading for the northern gatehouse, plodding along an avenue flanked by giant

beeches, half a century old and barely adolescent.

“Lord Roland, of course. He sent the news. He has gone to Quon-dam to take charge. As Grand

Master of the Blades, he holds one of the senior offices in the realm. He must have been sworn in as a

member of the Privy Council before you were born, so why not just send a courier with a warrant to

confirm his authority? Of course,” young Smartypants added, “Lord Roland is no longer bound and

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Dave Duncan - King's Blades 05 - The Jaguar Knights

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