Dave Duncan - The Jaguar Knights

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THE

V1- ripped from adobe ebook , needs a bit of cleaning and beautifying at page end but it's all

good otherwise. -kud 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)

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THE

405,Thirdmoon Sir Ringwood bound (Impossible Odds)

The master first lets slip his best hounds

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

Dave Duncan

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

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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 to Lyon. 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.

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 his

THE J A GU AR KNIGHTS

hose 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-chewing Lyon, 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—

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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 and Flint rode in about four hours ago.”

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

Dave Duncan

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

inquisitors!”

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

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THE

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.

THE J A GU AR KNIGHTS

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.

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.

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THE

Flint and 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.

Dave Duncan

“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? And Quondam? 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 was scared. 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

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

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THE

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.

THE J A GU AR KNIGHTS

“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 mean abduct Lady Celeste.The

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

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.”

Not will 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 be a

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-

THE J A GU AR KNIGHTS

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

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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.”

Dave Duncan

“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?”

“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.

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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

THE J A GU AR KNIGHTS

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 ?”

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