The Jaguar Knights (18 page)

Hogwood frowned; the Blades shook their heads.

“It’s a pard, a huge spotted cat, very deadly. That carving represents a
jaguara
cub. The Tlixilians are reputed to name their conjurer-knights after the
jaguara
and the eagle, the night hunter and the day hunter. There are wild stories about feats of conjury in battle. If you believe them, their spiritual power comes from ripping the beating hearts out of sacrificial victims.”

Hogwood and Wolf exchanged glances.

Lynx snorted. “Pig wallow! What sort of conjury would that be?”

“Very potent!” Hogwood said. “But limited in scope. I can’t see doing a healing that way, because you would be invoking death, not revoking it, but you could summon some of the elementals in immense strength. The heart itself combines five of the eight: earth because it is a solid, water and fire from the blood it pumps, plus time and love. Add deliberate death and you have gathered power to fashion massive conjurations. And chance!” she added quickly. “You said they used captives taken in battle? That supplies the element of chance. Seven out of the eight! Only air is missing.”

The Baron chuckled. “They commit their atrocities on top of towers. That would bring in air elementals, wouldn’t it?”

“Of course!” Dolores looked pleased.

Wolf shuddered. “But what do they do with this foul ritual?”

“Well,” said the Baron, “for example, I’ve heard tell of an enchantment called ‘the Serpent’s Eye’ that turns whole companies of troops into slobbering idiots—conscious, but unable to use their arms even to defend themselves. There’s tales of sentries found impaled with their own pikes and tents full of sleeping men where every second man had his throat cut without the others hearing a sound. And ambushes galore—armies rising out of the dust. I’m just repeating hearsay, you understand. Distlish propaganda.”

“Believe it.”

Roland raised eyebrows expectantly. It was time to pay the piper.

“Ten days ago,” Wolf said, “several hundred Tlixilians came ashore at Quondam Castle. They probably arrived by conjuration, but we can’t prove that. They stormed the fortress, carried off the castellan’s wife, and then disappeared. We lost thirty dead and about half that wounded; their death toll was over fifty. It took less than an hour. They departed by conjuration, ritually slaying two young men in the process.”

Roland’s face had gone slack with shock. “
Here?
In
Chivial
?”

“Not far from Ironhall.”

“That is incredible. What for?”

“We don’t know. A warning? A threat? Retaliation? Is it possible that Tlixilians don’t know the difference between Distlain and Chivial?”

“Very possible. The distance is enormous. It takes months to…They came in
Secondmoon
?”

“In bare feet in Secondmoon, some of them. We collected feather cloaks, labrets, gold, jade. Lynx, here, was almost massacred by one of your jaguar knights. We have his corpse—half man, half jaguar. Probably some of the eagle knights you mentioned were present also.”

The Baron shook his head in amazement. “The Council must be seriously concerned.”

“The Council is going out of its mind,” Wolf said with relish. “Fortunately your father was available to take over. He did a wonderful job. It was he who identified the unknowns’ gear as having come from the same place as your cat and the serpent head. Inquisitor, if you would be
so kind as to open the bags? I want to show you some artifacts, my lord, and ask you to confirm his opinion. I am sure His Majesty will reward you well.” That was a lie. “Lynx, show his lordship your pendant.”

The doublet provided for Lynx was strained across his chest, so the neck laces were already loose. He reached into his shirt and brought out the mosaic plaque of the jaguar. He pulled it up for the Baron to see. The Baron held out a hand for it. Reluctantly Lynx took it off and passed it over.

Roland examined it with interest. “I’ve seen some of this mosaic work before. Definitely Tlixilian style. I won’t swear it’s from El Dorado itself, but somewhere very close by. Horrible thing, isn’t it?”

Eventually he returned the image to Lynx, who put it on quickly, without looking at it. Hogwood was still working on the bags, so she hadn’t seen it either, and apparently Wolf managed to control his face enough that the other men failed to notice his shock. The jaguar’s eyes were now open.

L
ater they sang songs while Lady Maud played on the virginals; they drank a nightcap with a toast to His Majesty, and they trooped upstairs to bed. Ivywalls was old, built to the antique plan of rooms laid out in sequence. Thus Hogwood’s clothes, cleaned and dry, were tidily set on the dresser in the first, Wolf’s in the second, Lynx’s in the third, and the host and hostess continued on beyond that, since they would naturally use the most private chamber at the end. The others must just remember to draw their bed curtains.

There were no fires in the fireplaces, but in Wolf’s room a pretty chambermaid was running a long-handled pan of hot coals back and forth under the covers. He gave her a farthing, thanked her, and bade her good night. She curtseyed as best she could without dropping the pan or meeting his eye.

She caught Lynx’s though. “Could touch up your sheets again, sir? Was just about to.”

He beamed. “Please do. I like my bed snug.”

She hurried into his room. He followed. Wolf waited for her to leave.

She didn’t.

The door closed. Evidently she had agreed to warm the bed personally—either on the promise of a larger tip, or just because Blades were so cuddly.

Wolf marched in before things went too far. There was no sign of the girl, but the bed curtains were closed and the warming pan had been safely placed on the hearth. Lynx had his shirt off and was just about to blow out the candles. The thong was still around his neck, which must mean he wore the plaque both day and night.

He turned to scowl. Wolf scowled back, but less at him than at that hateful thing snarling amid his brown chest fuzz. His scars were as gruesome as ever.

“I want that pendant now, please.”

“Tonight? Why tonight?” His refusal was worrisome but not surprising.

“I don’t need it but you certainly don’t. Have you noticed how it’s changed?”

“What of it?”

Aware that the girl would be listening, Wolf said, “Lynx, that’s a potent conjuration, the symbol of a jaguar knight. It’s active. It’s
alive.
Remember the thing that wore it? You want to change into one of those? Take it off
now
!” Wolf reached for it.

Lynx slapped his hand away. “No.”

“Lynx! I’m your brother. And if you won’t trust your brother, then I order you in the King’s name.”

“Right of conquest, remember?” He folded his arms.
Ratter
still hung on his belt and the move put his hand closer to her hilt.

“No.
He
conquered
you
. Please give it to me.”

“No.” Lynx grinned, little-boyish. “I’m a bound Blade, Wolfie, which means I’m as proof against conjuration as any man can be. Can’t a lynx carry Mommy’s picture next his heart?”

“It belongs to the King. Hand it over!”

“No! I have taken a fancy to my pussycat. I won’t go to jail for it, but it means more to me than it does to Athelgar. So no. I will not hand it over. Want to fight me for it?”

“You are crazy!” Wolf left before they terrified the girl out of her wits. Back in the good old days, Lynx had done anything he said without a blink.

More trouble—the door to Hogwood’s room stood open. She heard Wolf return and appeared in the opening, still in the jade silk dress.

She said quickly, “Don’t panic. I didn’t come to—What’s wrong?”

Wolf removed his cloak and hurled it at a chair. It slid to the floor. “That plaque Lynx’s wearing. Its eyes are open.”

“No!”

“Yes. Set with amber and obsidian, I’d guess. But it’s an active conjurement and he won’t give it up.”

She smiled sadly. “Poor Wolf! I do think Lynx’s old enough to look after himself. Have the King take it off him tomorrow.” She took a deep breath and went back to the prepared speech: “Don’t panic. I didn’t come to steal your virginity, just to deliver my report. Here.” She held out some sheets of paper. They quivered slightly.

He stayed where he was. “What’s it about—the raid or me?”

“Both.” She spoke in a rush. “I said you carried out your mission flawlessly and I totally failed in mine. I agree with everything you’ve been saying about the raid. I gave you all the credit. They were from Tlixilia, they may have thought they were attacking Distlain, they may return, and Lady Celeste was taken as spoils of war, not for any personal reason. Baron Roland’s talk of eagle and jaguar knights is ample confirmation of your theories. You want to hear what I wrote about you?”

“No.”

“May I sit down?”

“No.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “I forgot to mention that your manners are terrible. I did say that you are a reluctant killer, that you would never kill for money, or even to win release from the Guard, no
matter how much you despise the King. Grand Inquisitor will have to find another assassin. Read it!”

“I don’t want to read it.” He threw his sword on the bed, scabbard and all. “You couldn’t make the King release me.” He began unlacing his jerkin to see what Hogwood’s reaction would be.

“Yes, we could.”

“How?”

She smiled. “Suppose the King must choose between you and Sir Vicious? Which one would he keep?”

“Vicious. But how…?”

“There is no rule that a Blade cannot marry. He does not need permission.”

Wolf caught his breath. “That wouldn’t…” Yes, it would.
Of course it would!
Vicious detested inquisitors with a passion. Rather than have one skulking around Blade married quarters, he would throw Wolf out of the Guard. In a flash. Release! His heart raced. “That raises prostitution to new heights. Or do I mean depths?” He flung his jerkin after the cloak. It slid off the chair, too. “You would sell your body just to please your superiors in the Dark Chamber?”

She had expected him to say something like that. “I told you the Chamber is the only family I have ever known. How many girls accept a husband their parents have chosen because the match is good for the family? I admit the thought frightened me when they told me you were a multiple killer and the ugliest man in the Guard, but they were just warning me. The choice was mine, they said, and now I know you, I like the idea. Truly I do.”

He was tempted to tell her to prove that by undressing and getting into his bed. He didn’t because he was certain she would do exactly that. This was her last chance to earn her promotion. Fortunately she had taught him how vulnerable he was. He knew that he would crumble like a puff ball at one touch of tenderness. He removed his doublet and this time scored a bull’s-eye on the chair.

“You can’t keep your eyes shut for the rest of your life.”

“Wolf!” She straightened up and stamped her foot. “Forget your face! It’s a fighter’s face and it was probably a very handsome face once.
Scars don’t worry me. You’re not a slobbering lopsided village idiot who will breed deformed children. You’ve got a strong, attractive body and you’re a strong, kind man. Women don’t care what men look like on the outside, just what’s inside.”

He began unlacing his shirt, and there was nothing inside that but him. “Just how often will I be expected to kill?”

For a moment she thought he was serious and beamed. “Probably never. I don’t know. You’d have to negotiate that with Grand Inquisitor. The Chamber doesn’t slaughter men out of hand, Wolf, only for reasons of state. Just like the Blades.”

About to deny the similarity, he saw that the argument would be fruitless and he might even lose it to her slippery inquisitor-talk. However tempting her offer, he kept remembering Inquisitor Schlutter. If the Dark Chamber wanted revenge, this would be a good way to trap him.

“I am not interested and you should not want to be friends with me. That would be much too dangerous! Keep your report and get some sleep. We’ve a hard day ahead tomorrow.”

She sighed. “Yes, Sir Wolf. I was hoping for a hard night!”

The cruelest thing he could have said then was “How old are you really?” He didn’t. “Good night, Inquisitor. Sorry about the promotion.”

“ ’Night, Wolf. I’ll be here if you change your mind.” She shut the door.

He finished undressing and climbed into a lonely bed. He had to plan his return to Court tomorrow, add the Baron’s testimony to his report, prepare his expense account for audit. Yet his thoughts kept drifting to the salivating prospect Hogwood had dangled—the chance to wipe Athelgar off his boots forever. There was nothing he wanted more, but if he accepted her offer, which of them would be the whore?

L
ynx was known to the Guard and tongues would flutter if he appeared in the palace without his ward, so Wolf left him at the Pine Tree Inn on Thistle Street with orders to await a summons. He still refused to surrender the jaguar plaque, promising only that he would give it to the King in person—which would be no problem if the King would send for him, thank him for his loyal service, and hand him a purse of gold. That would be regal, but did not sound like the Athelgar Wolf knew and loathed. The stupid cat face had so little real value that he might have convinced even his corrosive conscience to let Lynx keep it as consolation for all he had suffered, had he not given Grand Master a receipt for it. Even if it took them five years, Treasury’s roach-chasers would notice its absence eventually, and Hogwood would surely babble.

Greymere Palace was huge. Willow and Sewald were on duty outside the doors of Chancery, and Wolf wondered what they’d done to deserve that—having to stay brass-button smart like brainless Household Yeomen, no dice, no lounging. From the appraising looks they gave him, he could tell that rumors about his mission were flying, but he nodded and walked on into the anteroom. There, it was said, the sorrows of the kingdom roosted. All the ills that government was prone to, all its errors and misjudgments, its cruelties and neglects, all eventually gathered there. As always, the room was packed with suppliants—wealthy burghers, widows and orphans, cripples, scabrous paupers—all come in desperation to the final court of appeal, the King’s chief minister. Some might wait for weeks before being spared a few moments of some flunky’s time, and only the most fortunate would ever catch so much as a glimpse of the Lord Chancellor himself.