Victory at Ostagar
Fairly graphic violence in parts of the chapter.
Chapter 99: Rough Justice
Death struck quickly. Stabbed in the heart with a sharp steel dagger, Bryland had only time for a gasp of shock, a moment of regret, and a glance at Leandra's terrified face, before he slid down the doorway of the Cathedral, and sat there, propped up, his eyes open, his life over.
Leandra screamed, falling to her knees, clutching desperately at Leonas' shoulders. His head lolled, and his body fell sideways, blocking the doorway.
"No! Daddy!" cried Lothar.
In the ensuing pandemonium, Bryland's attacker might have escaped. He made no such attempt, but stood there, holding his dripping dagger as if posing for a commemorative statue, babbling the same text, until Loghain lunged at him and slammed his fist into the smug fool's face. Corbus had been frozen with horror until then. Loghain's blow broke the spell, and the boy threw himself on the assassin; pummeling at him, shouting, cursing, sobbing.
The roaring crowd surged forward, causing Anora's horse to rear. Fergus made a grab for the reins and held on. Nathaniel drew his sword, and edged back, Callista behind him. He made a grab for Lothar, pulled him close, and Callista wrapped her arms around the terrified boy . The Kendalls girls uttered the ear-splitting shrieks of little girls, rushing back into the Cathedral, jumping over Bryland's feet, shoving past the confused mass of guests and priests. Kane ran after them, nearly knocking Arl Wulffe down.
Teagan Guerrin had been directly behind Bryland, and yanked Kaitlyn to the side, behind the safety of the Cathedral's walls. He caught hold of Corbus and gently pulled the boy away from the unconscious murderer.
"What's happening?" cried Bethany, hearing her mother's screaming amidst all the rest. "What's happening? Let me through! Mother!"
The order of precedence had relegated the younger Hawkes to back of the procession. The Grand Cleric was behind them, still fussing with her cloak pin. The girls saw nothing but the back of men's heads.
"Bethany!" wailed Leandra. "Bethany! He's been stabbed!"
The stunned guards finally did their duty, and pushed the crowd back. The jammed confusion at the doorway sorted itself out. Adam and Carver plunged through, making a path for Bethany to get to her hysterical mother.
The Grand Cleric fumbled for her pocket. Stabbed? Who? She tried to push past the men, while her hand dug deep in her robes, trying to find the little envelope of Ashes.
The men in the doorway stepped out of her way, and Bethany gasped with shock at the scene. Instantly she was at the arl's side to offer help and healing, but it was clear that it was simply too late. She put her hand over Bryland's staring eyes, and gently closed them.
"He's gone, Mother. There's nothing to be done."
"No! No! It's not fair! Leonas!"
Orders were shouted, and gradually some sort of order prevailed. The scene cleared, and snow fell, hiding the blood on the Cathedral doorstep.
Kane blew out a breath, exhausted. It was a relief to get the girls home in one piece. They had cried in the carriage after Kane detached them from poor Arlessa Leandra. They needed their own beds and a good night's sleep. So, for that matter, did he.
It was a damned shame about Bryland. The Arl had been a good friend to him and treated him right. Loghain would get to the bottom of it, though it already seemed clear the fellow was an Orlesian hireling. Something needed to be done about the Orlesians. Nobody was safe.
"My lord!"
The captain of the household guard rushed up, wild-eyed.
"My lord! Thank the Maker you're back! We've got a situation."
Kane blinked at him. "The Orlesians attacked here, too?"
"What? I mean—" The guard stared at him, flummoxed. "No... I mean. My lord, there's been trouble here. The arlessa is locked in her room." The man turned red, and looked frightened. "I ordered her carried there. She was carrying on so, and she tried..." He glanced at the little girls. "My lord, could we talk privately? This isn't for the young ladies' ears."
Something bad had happened. What had Habren done now?
"All right. Girls, go up to your rooms and have Mistress Manda see to you."
"Er... my lord... Mistress Manda's not there." The guard leaned closer, and whispered. "She's in the dungeon."
"What?" Kane glared furiously at the hapless man. "Girls. Stand over there. I need to talk. "
Teary-eyed and exhausted, the girls crumpled up by the door. Jancey began sniffling again.
"All right. What happened?"
Pulling himself together, the guard said. "There was a fight. The arlessa was in one of her moods, angry about being left behind. She felt better after a bit, and went upstairs to have a look at Lady Faline's new little pup."
His heart sinking, Kane's thoughts raced ahead to horrible possibilities.
"Mistress Manda and the maid were up there when she came in. I don't know exactly what happened, but the guards went in when they heard the screaming. The ladies were fighting over the puppy, and the window was open. The arlessa... tried to throw the poor little pup out the window."
Kane's face hardened. "Go on. Was the dog killed?"
"No, my lord. Hurt, but not killed. The arlessa's the mistress here, sure enough, but the guards knew you wouldn't like the little girl's pup dashed down on the stones."
"I wouldn't," Kane growled.
"We got the dog away, whimpering and crying as it was. The arlessa told us we'd all be hanged. Fair out of her mind she was. In her condition it couldn't be good for her. I was there by then, and I... ordered two of the men to carry her to her room and lock her in. Gently. The young lady... the governess... well, she'd hit the arlessa in the face, so we didn't know what to do except put her and the elf in one of the cells till you got back and decided what to do to them."
"Where's the puppy?"
"The kennelmaster's looking after her. He thinks she'll recover in time, but she might be lame. I know we disobeyed the arlessa, my lord... but... a puppy..."
Kane rubbed his aching forehead. "You did right. Look... it's been a bad night. Arl Bryland's just been killed, and my sisters saw it."
The captain gaped in horror.
What to do? If Bryland hadn't just been killed, Kane would have sent for Bethany to cure the puppy. Considering everything going on, that would not go down well. Who could help?
"Send a man to the Wardens' Compound," he finally said. "See if they've got a mage there. Tell him he's needed here, and I'll pay plenty. Do we have a respectable maidservant left in this place? Or what about that guardswoman I saw the other day? Dishwater blonde? She spoke nicely to Jancey."
"That's Loveday, my lord. She's a good sort."
"Get her here right now, and have her take my sisters upstairs and help them get to bed. With all that's going on, maybe they need a guard of their own, anyway. I'll go to the dungeon once she's got them and have a talk with Manda."
Then he had to go to the girls and lie, telling them that the puppy had a little fever and that Manda and Kyriel had taken him to the kennelmaster. If anybody told them the truth, he have them skinned.
His mind racing, he wondered what to do about Habren. She could not allowed to run wild, thinking she could hurt his sister's own mabari. Bryland wouldn't like it if he came down hard on her. And then he remembered that poor old Bryland was dead.
Well. That makes things a lot more simple.
Kane thought a little more, trying to come up with anybody who would make a fuss over Habren. No. No one. She had alienated just about everybody. The guardswoman came. Kane gave her harsh, brisk orders, and then stalked off to hear the rest of the story.
Kane liked Manda Everly. She was the poor relation of a minor noble family, and came highly recommended as a governess. She was not beautiful, but "pretty enough" as people said. She was not at her best at the moment, with a torn gown, a scratched face, and her hair in tangles. The elven maid, Kyriel, hid behind her in the shadows. There was another elf girl in the next cell, and the girls were whispering when the door was unlocked and Kane came in. The jailor carried a torch, and slid it into a bracket. Before their arrival, the place must have been in pitch-darkness.
Manda got to her feet, her hand up to shade her eyes against the light. The two elves followed suit, bowing low.
"My lord?" Manda quavered. "Is the puppy all right?"
It was just the right thing to say at the moment. Manda had proper priorities.
"I've sent for a Healer. The kennelmaster thinks she'll be all right. I've told the girls that the puppy had a fever and you two took her to the kennelmaster. I don't want them upset. They just saw Arl Bryland stabbed to death right before their eyes."
"Arl Bryland!" cried Manda, horrified.
"Bloody Orlesians," grunted Kane, already thinking about something else. "You." He jerked his chin at the little elf in the next cell. She was a mess, and no mistake. "Who are you?"
"Tessa, my lord," the elf whispered. "Sewing maid."
"Why are you here?"
"My lady... pricked herself on a needle."
"The arlessa, you mean?"
"Yes, my lord."
"How old are you?"
Surprised, the girl stared at him, and then replied, "Thirteen, my lord."
"Just my sister Faline's age. All right, you can be my sisters' sewing maid. Kyriel already has plenty to do keeping their rooms." He turned to the jailor. "Unlock the doors. I'll have them wait in my study."
"Right you are, my lord."
Warden Jowan arrived, blinking and confused by the rumors in the streets, more than a little startled when he discovered that his first patient was a mabari pup. Not that a puppy was beneath his notice. Lily, his own mabari, nosed at the hurt puppy sympathetically. Jowan, working with the kennelmaster, analyzed the injuries, and then set about healing them.
"Wish I could do that!" the kennelmaster declared. "Fixed her up a treat, you did! That your mabari? Fine bitch."
"She is," Jowan agreed proudly. "The best friend anyone could have."
Arl Kane gathered up the puppy carefully, and carried her himself, his own mabari trailing at his heels. Jowan followed, for apparently there was more work for him to do.
In the arl's study were three women: a human lady and two elf girls. All needed help. Jowan quickly healed their injuries, lingering over one of the elves, whose hand was infected.
"All right," said Kane to the women. "Go on up to my sisters. Here, Manda, take Jewel with you. I hope the girls are asleep by now. We'll eventually have to tell them the truth about what happened, but not now, for Maker's sake. Warden, come with me, if you please."
They moved quickly through the long, carpeted corridors. Something was wrong, but Jowan knew better than to ask questions.
'My wife, Arlessa Habren," Kane began. "She hasn't been... right... lately. She's with child, and everything upsets her. She attacked my sister's mabari... yes, that was her, all right... and she attacked those women you just healed. She flies into rages, like she was..." he lowered his voice, looking shamed. "Just like she was mad. It must be the baby, but I'm afraid she'll do herself... or someone else... an injury. It's reached the point I'm afraid to leave my sisters with her."
"That's terrible, my lord," said Jowan, genuinely horrified. He hoped the arl wasn't going to ask him to heal the arlessa's mind. He would have no idea how to do that.
"Now," Kane said heavily. "I've got to break the news to her that her father's been killed. Yes. Didn't you hear? A crazy Orlesian stabbed him just as we were leaving the Cathedral. Killed him on the spot. Terrible. The king'll sort the fellow out, but it'll just about kill my wife. Worshipped her father, she did."
Jowan longed to ask questions about Arl Bryland, whom he had thought a very fine man, but they had reached the arlessa's apartments. Kane was looking worried. Jowan had heard plenty from Carver—and ever some from Adam—about Habren's horrible temper and general nastiness. And now her husband thought she was getting worse? Jowan wondered if it could be some sort of brain lesion. That would be a disaster, for he knew no one who could cure such a thing. Even Anders had failed, during the Grand Cleric's conclave.
"Aren't there some medicines that would keep her calm and quiet?"
"Yes, but you can't use them all the time," Jowan explained. "Especially when a woman is with child. They could harm the baby."
"Oh," said Kane, disappointed. "Wouldn't want that." He brightened. "I suppose I'll just have to keep her to her rooms until she's better. Come on in. She might have got herself hurt when she attacked the puppy."
There was a sitting room first. It was littered with shattered crockery. The hangings were ripped down from the walls, and the furniture was knocked over.
"She was in a passion, wasn't she?" remarked Kane. Jowan glanced up, not liking the man's tone. There was no time to consider this further, for they entered the arlessa's private bedchamber. This, too, seemed to have been struck by lightning. The only things undisturbed were the bed itself, where the arlessa was snoring, and the bedside table, with a pitcher of wine and a goblet.
"Does she drink a lot of wine?" Jowan asked, greatly daring. "Not that I'm criticizing her... but a lot of wine isn't good for babies either. Many new mothers don't know this. Cider is better, or small beer. Something not so... strong."
"Really?" Kane looked at him with great interest. "I didn't know that either. My thanks, Warden. I want this baby to be born happy and healthy. What else does she need?"
It was a very odd scene, standing in the confusion of the arlessa's bedchamber, giving a basic lesson in prenatal care to a concerned young father, while the mother herself was sprawled on the bed, oblivious and reeking of wine. She had a bruise on her cheek, a split lip, and other bruises on her wrists and ankles where someone must have restrained her. Jowan described what he knew about proper diet and hygiene, and Kane even took some notes.
"Just a small cup of red wine at night, then. Plenty of fruits and vegetables. Go easy on rich sweets. I think I've got that. I'll give orders to the kitchen. I'll see she eats right. She's got a bruise or two. Maybe you'd better go ahead and heal her."
"It's likely to wake her," Jowan warned.
"That's all right. Hit her with one of your sleep spells if she gets rowdy. Heal her, and then I've got to tell her about her father. Bloody shame, that. I liked Arl Bryland."
That certainly sounded sincere. Jowan gathered his mana and spread a general healing spell over the arlessa, concentrating on her visible, minor injuries. He sensed nothing else. At the burst of healing light, Habren opened her eyes and sat up.
"Kane!" she cried. "Thank the Maker you've come! The servants are revolting!" She touched her cheek. "That bitch Manda struck me! She struck me!"
His voice mild, Kane said, "You shouldn't have tried to throw the puppy out the window, Habren. That sort of thing gets people stirred up. Now, you need to be quiet. Warden Jowan here just fixed you up, and I need to talk to you."
Habren staggered to her feet, her skirts hiked up scandalously, ignoring Jowan as she would any underling.
"But Kane! You need to do something! The guards locked me up in here. They put their hands on me. Every one of them needs to be flogged and hanged! They should be racked until their joints—"
Kane shouted, trying to be heard above her ranting. "Habren! Your father's dead!"
That silenced her. Jowan winced in sympathy. Habren's jaw was hanging. She stared at Kane.
"That's not funny. Don't say that."
"I'm sorry, Habren. It's true. He was killed by an assassin just as we were leaving the Cathedral. The king knocked the killer down, but nobody could do anything, not even your stepsister—"
Habren's eyes stretched wide, and she let out a shrill scream. Jowan flinched away from the screaming, the worst and wildest he had ever heard. Habren shrieked again and again until she was hoarse. Her eyes rolled up and she fell backwards. Kane caught her and eased her onto the bed. Jowan checked her vital signs, but she was only unconscious.
"See what I mean?" Kane asked Jowan, looking down at his wife. The force of her screaming had broken blood vessels around her eyes. Jowan set about healing them, while the arl watched.
Kane mused, "I don't think she's right. I'll give orders to keep her here, locked up, until she's herself again. We can't have her wandering about like this."
Jowan had been shaken by the arlessa's behavior. Something really was wrong with the young woman. "I can mix up a calming draught for her. Just for the next day or so, until she gets over the shock. As I said, more might harm the child, but just now she needs rest... I'll go now, and send the potion to you right away. She should take it with something to eat."
"What if she won't drink it?"
Jowan bit his lip. The woman seemed genuinely unhinged. "If she won't drink it voluntarily, you can pinch her nostrils shut. She'll swallow it then. But she should still have something to eat."
Kane patted Jowan on the back, sincerely pleased. "You've been a great help, Warden. I said I'd pay plenty, and I wasn't lying. Let's stop at the treasury, and I'll give you a purse of twenty sovereigns."
"Really, I couldn't ask..."
"A donation to the Grey Wardens. And I'm sure you fine fellows deserve that and more..."
Rather than going to a wedding feast, Loghain, Fergus, Nathaniel, and Wulffe accompanied the prisoner to Fort Drakon, taking care that no co-conspirator should kill the fellow out of 'vengeance' before he could be thoroughly questioned. He was tied to the back of a horse, submitting rather docilely. Loghain had already identified the guards who had failed to guard the wedding. They would be flogged and cashiered, if they were not guilty of worse than incompetence. He had also ordered taken into custody the woman who had given flowers to Anora and Arlessa Callista, as well as a number of the crowd who had thrown things. Some might be innocent well-wishers, but no one could afford to take the risk.
Kane had already gone home with his sisters. The ladies took Arlessa Leandra to Highever House, guarded by Teagan and rothgar, and by Bann Adam and his brother Carver. Bryland's body was loaded into a wagon and taken with them. Teagan's estate was closer, but Highever House was already prepared to receive guests. They took Bryland's two distraught boys with them as well. Seeing their father murdered before their eyes roused Loghain's strongest feelings of empathy and anger. Just boys, and forced to witness this...
The Grand Cleric went to Highever House as well, tears in her eyes, the useless Ashes still in her pocket. Who ordered this crime? That Bryland was the specific target was perfectly obvious. She recited prayers and soothed the women as best she could, while her mind raced, considering the possibilities. Her conclusions were ugly but inescapable. There was someone in Denerim who very likely knew quite a bit about Orlesian agents, and he was a prisoner in comfortable confinement in Denerim Cathedral. He would know, because he probably brought them here in his own ship. He might possibly have seen something of the scene from his narrow window. Yes, she must talk again with the Knight-Divine, but perhaps the conversation should not be so private this time.
In a big chair softened by cushions, and covered warmly by a fur cloak, Leandra fell into the sleep of deep shock. Bethany sat at her feet on a little stool, miserable. Charade squeezed her shoulder lightly and whispered comfort in her ear.
"She didn't mean what she said in the carriage. You know she didn't."
"She meant it. How can I blame her?"
Her mother was distraught, but not out of her mind. Of course she was bitter that Bethany, for all her magic, could not save her husband.
"What is it good for, all the magic? What is it good for, then?"
Bethany had sometimes wondered that herself.
Anora had work to do, undertaking her duties as hostess, feeding what was supposed to be a wedding feast to shocked and grieving people. So far, she was quite pleased at the conduct of the noble ladies who had rallied around Arlessa Leandra.
And those poor boys, too. While they evidently loved Leandra, at the moment they seemed to need the company of men, and were clinging to Rothgar Wulffe and their Hawke stepbrothers at the far end of the table. Teagan had gone, off to join Father and Fergus at Fort Drakon to sort out that murderous lunatic.
Chairs were rearranged by the big dining table so the ladies could sit together and talk quietly.
"What will happen to the arling?" asked Callista. "Who is the heir?"
Anora hoped Arl Bryland had left clear instructions in his will. All the kingdom needed was Habren stirring the pot of civil strife, angling for South Reach in addition to Denerim.
"As far as I know," she hazarded, "his eldest son is the heir to the arling. His daughter is a grown woman, but already the Arlessa of Denerim. Of course Corbus is young and will need a guardian. I presume the guardian of his body will be his stepmother the arlessa. The regent of the arling might be the same, or might be different. For all I know he named my father the king, or perhaps my lord husband."
She felt very self-conscious saying that word. She and Fergus had exchanged only quick, businesslike words since the awful event. Would they even see one another on this, their wedding night? It was useless to repine. There would be other nights... many more.
"We should find out where we stand," she said, rousing herself. "I shall send to Arl Bryland's house and have his secretary send the will to me at once."
Those orders given, she felt more herself, and less like a mere housekeeper. The arling's succession would be established; order maintained. The City Guard was on alert, and a curfew had been declared, to keep people off the streets and stop them from attacking the houses or shops of those known or thought to be Orlesian.
Corbus forced down his food, his misery swelling at Lothar's soft sniffling beside him. Tears burned in his eyes, but he was turned fourteen now, practically a man in every way that mattered, and he hated to shame his father by crying like a baby.
"Come on, Lothar," Carver urged him. "Eat up. A soldier always eats when he has the chance."
"My stomach hurts," Lothar whimpered. He kicked at his chair, and wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve.
"Try some of the almond pudding, then," said Rothgar Wulffe. "It'll go down easy. Carver's right. You have to keep up your strength."
Corbus chewed mechanically, the tender roast beef dry as ashes in his mouth. Killer put his head on Corbus' knee and looked up at him soulfully. Corbus rubbed his mabari's ears. This would all be so much worse without Killer.
A black anger surged through him. He snarled, "I hope they torture him to death! I hope they kill him!"
Killer whined and licked his hand.
"Oh, he'll be executed," Adam said smoothly. "But you do understand that the king did the smart thing, don't you? They've got to talk to him— find out if anyone was helping. Maybe there was a conspiracy. They've got to find out everything first."
"I understand," Corbus said, with a sharp jerk of his chin. The almond pudding did look good. He pulled the dish between himself and Lothar, and they dug in with their spoons. "But when they kill him, I want to be there."
Most of the Council was gathered at Fort Drakon, solemn as judges—which indeed they all were—while the assassin was put to the question. Teagan arrived later than the rest, whispering that the ladies were at Highever House, and safe. Loghain gave him a nod, while also noting the absence of Kane. Fussing over those sisters of his, no doubt, who could easily have been left in the ladies' care so the arl could discharge his responsibilities. The man was useless. Loghain's lips thinned, filing away this offense for future retribution.
The prisoner had been shown the instruments first, as prisoners always were. To their disgust, it was clear from the first that the man was half-witted—almost childlike. A pawn, then, or rather a puppet; carefully primed and trained for this particular attack by an agent working behind the scenes. He shrieked at the first turn of the rack, babbling inanities. He showed no resistance whatever; he was perfectly willing to tell them everything he knew, which was not as much as they would have liked.
He wanted to protect Fereldan from filthy mages, he said. The Wicked Arl was working with mages and darkspawn to destroy them all.
"The Wicked Arl!" Nathaniel exclaimed. "You call Arl Bryland 'the Wicked Arl?'"
The assassin stared at him, his watery eyes blue guileless. "Everybody knows about the Wicked Arl. He sold elves as slaves, and has a blood mage whore as his mistress." Leaning forward, he confided. "He might even be a mage himself!"
If the Wicked Arl were killed, their eyes would be open to their danger and everyone would be safe. Andraste would bless them, and they would sit at the Maker's right hand.
A good man had advised him… a wise, good man who had treated him kindly and taught him what he needed to do.
"Take him down from the rack," Loghain ordered, muttering. "Talking will work better than torture at this point."
The trembling fool was set on a bench, and the nobles, forcing themselves to be calm and reasonable, set about interrogating him. It was slow, uphill work.
After some questioning, it appeared that Goodman was the name the fool had been given. He did not understand them when they asked about an accent. He did not know what that was. Goodman spoke beautifully, yes, and taught him what he must say when he killed the Wicked Arl. He had learned words from the Chant of Light that he was to recite when the Wicked Arl lay dead.
Loghain was not surprised that it had taken some time to find such a useful catspaw. To find someone so gullible, to train him... it must not have been easy.
Teagan drew a deep, indignant breath, but was silent. Trying to remonstrate with a madman or a fool... trying to make him see reason... it was pointless. Fergus was doing best with him, talking in a low, calm, reasonable voice, asking about Goodman, and how he had discovered the Wicked Arl's evil deeds.
In this way, they discovered quite a bit. Goodman had traveled from far away to choose a helper... a hero who would free the people of Denerim. Goodman had given him a room and good food, but he had not seen anyone else, for Goodman had sent him to his room when he had visitors. They were able to discover where he had been living, and Loghain instantly sent men to search the place, even though it was likely that the mastermind behind this crime was long departed.
What they could not discover is if this so-called "Goodman" had trained any other assassins. It was a disturbing thought.
"We know that there were some who slipped off the Orlesian's ship before they appeared at the Landsmeet," said Loghain. "Burrowing like maggots, working their schemes. I'll put out a bounty for information."
"We're likely to net quite a few harmless immigrants as well as spies," Fergus pointed out. Then he shrugged. "We'll have to sort them all out, I suppose. I daresay the worst of the spies might well have made themselves look the most honest."
It was late and dark by the time they finished. As to the guilt of the assassin, there was no doubt: he had confessed outright. Loghain briefly declared him guilty of the crime of high treason, as he had drawn weapon in the king's presence; he was guilty also of murder, assault, conspiracy, mischievous use of a knife, and making a public disturbance. His limited mental capacity would not protect him. His execution was set for noon the following day.
"That will allow us all to actually get some sleep," said Loghain, with grim satisfaction. To the head jailor, he said, "I want him alive and conscious tomorrow. I do not, however, want him making excuses or reciting religious texts!"
The Jailor saluted. "I see to it, Your Majesty! This one won't be able to say anything after I'm done with him."
"Good."
Leandra awakened, shut her eyes in absolute misery, and then forced herself to get up and see to her children and stepchildren. She knew she must apologize later to Bethany… she must make things right between them… but she simply could not at the moment.
"Your Majesty… Your Grace," she said to Anora. "I am so deeply grateful for your sympathy and forbearance. I must take my family home now, and see that they go to their beds and that I see to my dearest Leonas."
That was a consideration. The Arl's body must be prepared for the pyre before it stiffened so much that handling it was another trauma.
"You would be most welcome to stay," Anora assured her. "I shall have the servants prepare rooms"
"No. I thank you, but no. I would be easier at home." She did not say that she wanted to sleep in the bed that she and her husband had so briefly shared, while something of his scent might remain on the pillow.
"Carver and I will come with you, Mother," said Adam.
"Of course," Carver agreed. "I'd better send a message to the Compound, so they know where I am."
"A good idea," said Anora. "I will send one of my own men to the Palace—or Fort Drakon, if necessary— so my father will be apprised of everyone's situation."
Anora thought about telling Leandra the contents of the will, but decided against it. Leandra would hear the provisions when she was more rested and collected. Anora, as Chancellor, had already sat down with the rest of the party and gone over the will, and Bethany could take it back with her. According to the contents, Leandra was to act as executrix of his will, and was to be entrusted with the guardianship of the two boys. If she was unable to act due to death or ill-health, the secondary guardian was Fergus Cousland, as a close cousin. The Arl's testament made clear that under no circumstances were the boys to be put under the guardianship of their elder sister or her husband. Bryland had loved his daughter, but had not been so blind as to miss her hostility to her younger brothers.
Likewise, Leandra was to act as the regent of South Reach, as its Dowager Arlessa, exercising the votes that the arling held in the Landsmeet. Corbus was named as the heir, with Lothar his heir-presumptive. Lothar was willed the bannorn of Pryce Valley, a decent holding. In the event that Leandra were to bear a child or children of the marriage, those children were to be given specified manors and coin in the amount of five hundred sovereigns each, at the time of their majority or their marriage, whichever came first. Leandra's dower properties were carefully specified. Habren was also bequeathed a life interest in a small manor of her own, "just in case." The case was not specified. Bryland had evidently considered the possibility that Kane might force a separation, if she became utterly impossible.
There were other bequests. Charade was left jewels and some elegant furnishings. Bethany was given an annuity and a modest house in Denerim in the Market District. Both his stepsons were to have keepsakes, and then the will continued, making provisions for friends, old soldiers, and faithful servants.
It was a thoughtful, detailed document. It showed care and consideration for all the parties involved. It was everything that Cailan's will should have been, but was not. Anora sighed, and then smiled, a little ruefully. Surely Fergus would come soon, and the new chapter of her life could begin. She would not let Orlesian plots rule her heart or happiness.
The group broke up: Callista and Berenice to go to the Howe townhouse; Kaitlyn to the Guerrin estate, deeply grateful that Bevin had seen none of this; the Grand Cleric, after a brief word to Anora about her own suspicions, to her quiet refuge in the Cathedral.
The South Reach carriage was called, and the Hawkes' horses. Rothgar, as Charade's fiancé, rode with them back to their home to give support. The men talked quietly about the funeral. Something must be arranged, and the Arlessa must have the main voice in that. Who would give the funeral speech?
Leandra might be too overcome. Spouses generally did not attempt such an effort. Who was the most appropriate person? Kane, as Arl Leonas' son-in-law? Adam, as his stepson? Fergus Cousland, as his most distinguished cousin and friend? Carver shivered in horror at the thought of putting himself up in front of everyone, preferring to face a score of hurlocks. They moved off, deep in discussion, leaving Highever House quiet once more. The servants came in to clear away the feast.
"Set the table in my sitting room for two, if you please," Anora directed. "The Teyrn and I will dine privately."
At length, there was the clatter of hooves in the forecourt, and the doorkeeper opened to the master of the house. Fergus had come; tired, but smiling at the sight of her. Anora, her heart racing and her blood fevered, welcomed her husband to their home, and for a little time at least, they could set all else aside but each other.
The execution was well-attended, despite the heavy snow. Bethany, after conferring with her brothers and cousin, slipped the boys and her mother a calming draught, with some herbs to help settle their stomachs. She herself had resolved to see as little of the hideous proceedings as possible. Today the execution; tomorrow the funeral.
Everyone who was anyone was expected to attend; it was a way for the nobles to show solidarity against the foul assassin who had lifted his bloody hand against his natural superiors. The condemned would be put to death on the Landsmeet steps. Chairs were provided for the noble witnesses; hanging, drawing, and quartering the man was going to take some time. Among the distinguished guest was the Knight-Divine, Chrysagon de la Crue, under guard, but permitted to see the end result of Orlesian scheming.
Kane arrived, sombre but dashing, winning the hearts of the Denerim washerwomen with his handsome face. Habren's condition was considered a legitimate excuse to stay at home. A number of people—especially women, unhampered today by Habren's glares—offered their condolences to the Arl. Bryland had been a popular man.
An execution for treason, carried out with the full penalty of the law, was not something to which most would bring young children. Corbus and Lothar, however, attended, the elder boy fierce and red-eyed. He seemed to have moved from child to young man overnight, and had surprised his family that morning, as they debated the matter of the funeral speech, by his decision to perform that duty himself.
"He was my father. I'm his eldest son. I'll speak for him, and I'll light the pyre."
After some anxious looks, Adam laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and said, "I'm sure your father would like that."
The death of the assassin was a memorable spectacle. There had not been an execution for high treason in some years. A hastily erected scaffold held the necessary short-length gallows, the bench and manacles, and the block and axe. The crimes and the sentence were read out by the royal herald, to the horrified edification of the public. The pitiful wretch, his mouth still bloody from the loss of his tongue, was hauled up to the masked executioners. He was stripped naked in the cold: necessary, because of the task at hand.
He was hanged first; flailing, screeching, voiding urine and feces in his rigors. He was not allowed to strangle to death, but was taken down, and the butchery began with his castration and continued with his evisceration. There were cheers, yes; but also groans and quite a few people sicking up. Even a few noble ladies, who had overestimated their nerve, swooned away. Even after his intestines and stomach were removed, there was still life left. That was ended with an axe blow, decapitating him, and then further blows to render the corpse into the requisite quarters. The head was displayed to the crowd, and then sent away to hang over the Great Gate. One quarter of the corpse would be sent to South Reach, to assuage the mourning of the arl's own people. Amaranthine and Highever would receive a quarter each. The last, well-packed in salt, was put on a trading ship as a present to Her Imperial Majesty, with a note from Loghain.
The following day, at sunset, was Bryland's funeral.
He had a fine pyre. His friends and many well-wishers gathered. Arlessa Leandra, pale but calm, was ready for this, dressed in mourning, her arms around Corbus and Lothar, with her daughter and her niece on either side to support her. With Leandra were her tall sons and her pretty red-haired daughter-in-law. A fine family. The calming draught of the day before made the horrors of the execution seem a vaguely-remembered bad dream. A lighter draught today made the arlessa able to answer condolences with dignity.
Anora stood with her hand in the crook of Fergus' arm. She had been obligated to watch the execution yesterday, and it had been terrible. She knew that her father and Fergus had seen even worse things in battle, and she did not want to be a coward. It was to be hoped that such an awful punishment would act as a deterrent, and make whatever agents remained in Denerim think twice before making any more such attempts. There were scores of people in Fort Drakon at the moment, arrested by the City Guard or denounced by informers. It would take time to sort through them. She had ordered that transcripts of the interrogations were to forwarded to her office. Nothing must slip through the cracks; neither should innocents suffer due to malicious false testimony.
If only they did not have to work so hard, at this time in their lives. She and Fergus could be so very happy, if they simply had more peace and privacy. That part of their marriage was going… very, very well. Anora smiled a little to herself, happy and proud, and squeezed Fergus' arm. He patted her hand, looking down at her fondly, a little snow dusting his dark hair. He was such a lovely man, and he had made manifestly clear that he found her desirable…
Kane's little sisters were clearly grieving for Arl Bryland, who had been kind to them; and even more for Arlessa Leandra, whom they loved. The older girl was carrying her new little puppy in her arms. It was a particularly endearing creature, all fluffy, pale gold fur and big brown eyes. Fergus smiled kindly, and could not resist scratching the silky ears.
"What a pretty little girl," he said.
"Thank you, Your Grace," Faline replied gravely. "Jewel should pay her respects, too."
Habren had not come to her own father's funeral. Kane said she was not up to it, and perhaps she really was ill. According to her husband, she was having a very hard time with her pregnancy, and with that and the shock of her father's murder, had retired to the seclusion of her apartments. Anora spared a moment's pity for her, imagining what she herself would feel if something were to happen to her own father.
He was looking fit and healthy as a prize stallion—as usual—and was in armor, glaring at the Knight-Divine, whom the council had interrogated today. At length. The session had been unsatisfactory. So far, Ser Chrysagon was refusing to tell them anything at all. Racking a Knight-Divine was a step too drastic even for Father, but there were other, more gradual ways of working on a Templar. Those would be undertaken. At least the man was not looking quite so smug at the moment. Quite tired, actually. Most likely they would get little of any value from him, because two months had passed since his arrival, but they no longer felt much need to treat him with respect. He certainly had none for them. Breaking him would take time.
Time of course, was something they could not waste. The further interrogation of the Knight-Divine must be left to others. Father was ready to march west, and the rest of the lords with him, to their respective deployments.
It was something of a surprise that young Lord Corbus—no, Arl Corbus—had decided to speak his father's funeral oration, but perhaps the boy needed to do this to help purge his grief. It seemed to Anora a healthier way than watching the torturous death of a cats paw.
The boy was in armor today… a light but well-made suit of leathers, made warm by a fur-trimmed cloak. Beside him was his fine mabari, who trotted smartly at his boy's heels, ears alert. Corbus took his place by the pyre, and raised his young voice against the light wind and the torch's smoke.
"When the Orlesians attacked us back in Harvestmere, my father wasn't afraid. It didn't matter that we were at a wedding. It didn't matter that he wasn't in armor. He drew his sword and did what had to be done. He saved a lot of lives. It was a terrible day, but at least I got to see my father fight. He was good at it. I'm not surprised that this time they didn't give him a chance to fight, because he would have beaten them again. The only way they could kill him was by a dirty trick. The killer gave my mother flowers with one hand, while he hid a dagger for my father in his other.
"The Orlesians want us to be afraid. They want us to grovel and beg. And even that wouldn't be enough for them. They won't be satisfied until all of Ferelden is theirs again, and every one of us ground down under their boots or dead.
"They didn't care that my father was a good man and a good arl. They didn't care that his two sons and his wife were there to see him killed. They didn't care that we loved him. They probably thought that was funny. All they wanted was to get him out of their way. All they wanted was for us to be afraid.
"Well, I'm not afraid of them. I'm going to live my life with courage, as a freeborn Fereldan, just like my father. He taught me that the only way to deal with Orlesians is to stand up to them. I'm not afraid of their chevaliers or their bards or their sneaking, vicious ways. I'm not afraid of them when they hide behind the Divine and act like they have the right to rule us because the Grand Cathedral happens to be in their country. I'm not afraid of the Empress either, because she's a coward who wouldn't be caught dead in anything so unfashionable as armor. The Orlesians have had a long run, but their time is over.
"Last year was a hard one for Ferelden. We faced a Blight, and pushed back the darkspawn. Instead of helping us, the Orlesians tried to undermine us and attack us. By doing that, they've shown us what side they're on. They've allied themselves with the darkspawn: with the Taint, with the proud, ancient magisters who tried to seize the Gold City. They stand for everything wrong and evil in our world.
"It's a new year. I don't what it will bring. I don't know what's going to happen. What I do know is that I have the power to face it as my father's son. I know that we're going to fight and that we're going to survive. I know that my father is at the Maker's right hand at this very moment, and that he watching all of us, wishing us well, hoping that we'll make him proud. I won't let him down.
"Farewell, my lord Father, until we meet again. I love you."
The army began moving out the next day. Various components had differing schedules. In many cases, non-combatants traveled with spouses. There was music; there was pageantry; there were more than a few passionate farewells.
Corbus insisted on leading—at least as a figurehead—the South Reach troops. Arl Wulffe agreed to take him along. The West Hill and South Reach men were going to be working in conjunction, anyhow.
"First, though," the old man gruffly advised the boy, "you'll have to do your share of soldiering before you do any generaling!"
Corbus bid farewell to his brother and his stepmother, calm and dry-eyed. Lothar hugged him, promising to join him just as soon as he could comfortably sit a full-sized horse. Leandra kissed him goodbye, and prepared to depart for South Reach, to take over administration of the arling. Bethany and Charade went with her. Leandra was trying to be strong, but was still in a fragile, traumatized state, and would need support.
Loghain departed, the first among many. In his host were the dwarven engineers and a collection of wagons carrying some remarkable war engines, all wrapped up tightly. Along his way he would leave some of these personnel with their toys: in Amaranthine, in Highever, in West Hill. And then, in parts west.
Anora and Fergus quietly waited for Loghain to depart. Neither of them was ready to say goodbye to the other, for their marriage was too sweet and new. Once the king was gone, there was nothing to prevent them doing what they wished. Loghain would be informed, but not until he was far enough not to make his displeasure felt. There was absolutely no reason why the kingdom could not function with Anora in Highever. Her office was wherever she and her secretaries were.
Certain arrangements were made. The Knight-Divine had been quietly transferred to Fort Drakon, and his lyrium supply stopped. When he was desperate enough, he would talk. Meanwhile, they could not delay all operations waiting for his information. Anora left some very good people to deal with him.
The fact that many of the units would be traveling under the earth was revealed in due time and startled many a soldier. It startled some of the nobles as well, who had been conditioned to believe that to step into the Deep Roads was to experience death by darkspawn. There was some hesitation, overcome by main force and by the manifest fact that the way was clear.
While Berenice would be with Adam in the city of Amaranthine, Callista would not be staying in Vigil's Keep. She saw no reason that she could not go with Nathaniel to his posting at West Hill. He agreed, glad of her company, though privately ready to send her home at the first hint of danger.
Within a few days, Denerim was becoming a ghost town, drained of most of the soldiers crowding its barracks and taverns. Arl Kane settled down to an easy life, taking the occasional stroll—heavily guarded—about town in his new armor, while Loghain's men ran things as they pleased. He moved his bedchamber to another part of the mansion, tired of the screaming and door-pounding from Habren's apartments. She did not seem to like the two servants he had assigned to her. They were tough-minded women and would stand for no nonsense. Kane directed his attention to finding some good ponies for the girls. When the weather turned in—probably in a few weeks— they would like riding out into the foothills below Dragon's Peak.
The last troops to leave Denerim were those of Redcliffe, under Arl Teagan. They marched through the Great Gate, where the head of Bryland's assassin might have seemed to watch them, had not the ravens already picked out his eyes.
Thanks to my reviewers: JTheClivaz, RakeeshJ4, Charcolt, Chandagnac, Tirion I, Phygmaliion, NIX'S WARDEN, butterflygrrl, Mike3207, Girl-chama, riverdaleswhiteflash, Nemrut, MsBarrows, anon, Sarah1281, BandGeekNinja, KnightOfHolyLight, EpitomyofShyness, Massgamer45, Suna Chunin, Trishata96, Psyche Sinclair, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, brrt, Chiara Crawford, Robbie the Phoenix, mille libri, RB23G, Guest, Tangyman, dragonblade3200, Spoit0, Jenna53, JackOfBladesX, Halm Vendrella, Have Socks. Will Travel, jnybot, Silverscale, almostinsane, Rexiselic, Costin, Distraught, amanda weber, AD Lewis, Herebedragons66, and Josie Lange.
I was thrilled by your response to the last chapter. Many of you had wonderful ideas. Remember, however, that I can't respond to you if you're not signed in. I had a lot of "anon" and "Guest" reviews. And wow—seven hundred people have placed this story among their favorites.
The point of the assassination attempts is to destabilize Ferelden, and soften it up for the Orlesian invasion in the spring. Bryland had made himself a target, by defying Chantry law about mages (ironically, because he was a good guy). Many nobles really will be quite frightened, and want to make a separate peace, but they're equally afraid of Loghain, who is right there, ready to come down on them if they shirk. Parties and weddings are great for assassinations because they're not secret, and the assassin is given a place and time.
Somebody suggested that the prickly holly leaves could have been poisoned, and that is an interesting idea, but no. It would have been too complicated for the assassin, and the minor pain of the holly would have created a sufficient diversion.
Do I think that hardened Fereldan warriors would rescue a puppy, when they would lock up an injured, innocent elf girl without a second thought? Yes. And so do you.
People really did sometimes survive the evisceration portion of their execution. In one 16th century case, an executioner asked a condemned man if he would like a drink of water, and the poor man said it was pointless, since he had nowhere to put it. And I was not really very explicit about some of the details of the execution. I'm not really George R. R. Martin, after all. I base the execution on English usage for male prisoners: if you want to read about an even more horrific event, look up the execution of Robert-Francois Damiens, who slightly wounded Louis XV of France. Casanova was a witness at the death, and utterly horrified. He left a full account in his memoirs. The execution was controversial. Both Thomas Paine and the legal philosopher Cesare Beccaria cited it in their works: the former, as an example of the cruelty of despotism; the latter as a case study in his arguments against judicial torture and the death penalty.