The Bastard Prince (64 page)

“I don't recognize your authority to try me!” Manfred said contemptuously.

“I further find ye guilty o' these crimes an' declare yer lives forfeit,” Graham continued. “Throw doon yer arms. Ye cannae escape. An' I wouldnae profane this holy place with yer blood—though 'twould be a fittin' end, here before the tomb o' the king whose sacred blood ye spilled.”

“
Several
kings,” Sighere added softly. “King Javan also died beneath the blades o' traitors.”

Not a soul dared to move. Into the taut, expectant silence that settled after Sighere's words, not a sound intruded save the harsh breathing of the cornered men, Owain's muted protests as he struggled again in Lior's arms, and a single, stifled sob from Michaela. Then, to everyone's surprise, Rhun contemptuously tossed his sword to the floor, where its clangor reverberated through the stone chamber. He reached next to the dagger at his belt.

“Rhun, what are you doing?” Manfred demanded, gaping at him in astonishment, his sword slowly sinking at his side.

Even as he asked it, Rhun spun to plunge his dagger into Manfred's chest, ripping upward as he wrenched it out. Blood gushed from Manfred's mouth even as Michaela screamed and one of the Valoret knights started forward, but Rhun was already elbowing his way through the line of
Custodes
monks and grappling Owain from Lior's arms. He slashed the blade across the side of Lior's neck when the priest tried to stop him, bundling the struggling Owain under his arm and sprinting back along the vaulted chambers of the crypt. At the same time, a wild-eyed Tammaron roughly seized the queen by one arm and whirled her in front of him like a shield, laying his sword across her throat from behind.

When Cathan was snatched from the steps to the crypt, his immediate impulse to fight for his life died at once as he recognized Sir Robert Ainslie as his “captor,” with other familiar faces of Lord Ainslie's levy pouring into the stairwell to back up those who had followed Bishop Ailin and his men into the crypt. And as Robert released him, though supporting him when his weakness would have made him collapse, he saw that no less a benefactor than his cousin Ansel had Gallard de Breffni in protesting custody, straddling his bent form and twisting one arm up behind him while his other hand clamped over his mouth to prevent him crying out.

“Kill him
now
!” Cathan gasped, eyes wide as he clung to Robert.

“You're sure?” Ansel said, very matter-of-factly.

“He helped hold Rhysem while they bled him,” Cathan said, numbly shaking his head to force back the memory. “He's killed many others, over the years. And he would have killed me. Kill him.”

Gallard had heard his death sentence and tried anew to struggle free, but the end was quick. Ansel's hands moved almost too quickly to see, twisting the man's head to one side and back with a sharp wrench and a soft, sickening crack. Then Ansel was letting the limp body sag to the floor, wiping his hands across his thighs, already turning to peer urgently down the stairwell. Cathan fought the gorge rising in his throat as another man calmly began dragging Gallard's body out of the way, and looked around gratefully as young Tieg was suddenly at his side, helping Robert ease him to a sitting position against the support of a thick stone pillar.

“I was warned you'd be in pretty bad shape,” the young Healer murmured, slipping his hands to either side of Cathan's head. “Let me see you. I think I can help.”

It was an order, not a request. A sudden sensation of vertigo made Cathan gasp and close his eyes, perception briefly blurred. Then someone was tipping his head back, pressing something against his lips.

“I want you to swallow this for me,” Tieg's voice said softly, as a cool, minty liquid slid down his throat. “That's it. Again. I came prepared for several things they might have given you; this should clear your head and give you a jolt of energy in a minute or two. Your blood loss isn't serious, but the fatigue is. I can counter that temporarily. Just relax.”

Cathan was somewhat aware of Tieg's mental touch this time, just before a wave of utter lethargy overcame him, but when he opened his eyes, he could almost imagine that the events of the past few days had never happened, at least so far as his body was concerned. He could feel his head clearing even as Robert helped him sit up, though Tieg was still monitoring with a hand clasped around one wrist.

“Cathan, come over here,” Ansel called to him softly, from over nearer the stairwell. Around them and farther back in the cathedral, men in plain brigandines were helping Lord Ainslie's men clear the building. There were a few
Custodes
bodies here and there, but mostly people were more than willing to leave a place that suddenly had become an unknown battle zone. As Cathan scrambled over to join his half-brother, the great cathedral bell suddenly stopped ringing.

“Good,” Ansel whispered. “Someone finally got to the bell platform. Now, who, exactly, is down there besides Mika and the boy?”

Cathan peered down the stairwell. He could only see the backs of Graham and Sighere and Father Derfel, but he pictured the others in his mind's eye, as they had stood during the prayers beside Rhysem's grave.

“Manfred, Rhun, and Tammaron are armed,” he replied. “There are six
Custodes
monks who might have weapons under their robes—knives, maybe. And Hubert and Secorim and Lior. What are they doing?”

“Talking. Arguing.” Ansel motioned for one of Lord Ainslie's captains, who came to crouch beside him. “Is there another exit from the crypt?”

“Aye, m'lord. Up to the left of the high altar.”

“Any other ways out of the cathedral, besides the main doors and the way I came in?”

“A side door in the south transept, leading into the cathedral close—to the Chapter House, and the archbishop's residence and such. Another door from the sacristy, that also goes—”

From the crypt below came a clang of steel against stone, then the sounds of scuffling and a chorus of exclamations and shouts.

“Rhun has the king!” an anguished shout came from the bowels of the crypt. “He's headed toward the other end! Don't let him get away!”

Cathan was already taking off down the nave, his useless sword hanging against his legs until he steadied it with a hand, praying he would be in time—for Rhun, with his deeds now known and his life already forfeit, had no reason to spare any Haldane, even a four-year-old one.

In the crypt, Michaela trembled against her captor, trying only weakly to twist around to see where Rhun had taken her child, for Tammaron's fingers dug into her shoulder like iron, and the steel of his sword was pressed hard against her throat. Manfred was dead in a smear of his own blood on the floor before them, an expression of astonishment etched indelibly on his bloodless face, and two of the
Custodes
monks were trying in vain to stanch Lior's wound. The Valoret knights had started forward the instant Rhun stabbed Manfred, but Sighere had called them back sharply as soon as Tammaron seized the queen.

They stood well back now, swords lowered, glancing uneasily at Sighere for direction as he raised both hands toward Tammaron in a placating gesture. Graham had immediately yielded command to his more experienced uncle, shoving Father Derfel back up the stairs to safety, and Ailin was urgently waving back men who would have come down in Derfel's place, frantic not to do anything to trigger further violence on Tammaron's part. Queron had ducked down behind one of the tombs, now hidden from Tammaron's sight and hopefully forgotten in the confusion.

Tammaron looked around wildly at the force arrayed against him, slowly retreating with the queen toward the arch where Rhun had disappeared with the king.

“Just stay back! All of you, stay back!”

“Tammaron, are you mad?” Hubert gasped, backed up against one of the tombs, the china blue eyes wide and horrified. “She carries the next heir!”

“She carries the last Haldane king!” Tammaron replied, hysteria in his voice. “And I'll kill her and the child in her womb before I'll let myself be given over to a traitor's death.”

“Tammaron, ye cannae mean tae do this,” Sighere murmured, inching closer. “Killin' a pregnant woman is no in yer nature. An' what guid would it do ye, if ye did sich a deed? They'll tak the young king fra' Rhun. Ye cannae escape. It's o'er.”

Nodding, wild-eyed, Tammaron inched that much closer to the arch. “Oh, it will be over, all right. I've finally figured it out. The lad is no true prince and therefore no true king—unless a MacInnis dynasty is to replace the Haldane one. Hubert, did your brother ever tell you about that?”

“Wha' d'ye mean?” Graham demanded, as Hubert's jaw gaped.

“Ask the queen,” Tammaron said, leaning closer to her ear as the flat of his blade caressed her throat. “What was the threat we made to the king after his coronation, your Highness, to ensure that you and he started producing Haldane heirs?”

“Sweet
Jesu
, no,” she whispered, for she knew full well to what he was referring and that it could not possibly be true.

“It was only known among the Five,” Tammaron confided, “that if he did not do his duty, there were ample volunteers to deputize for him.”

“No!” she sobbed.

“But the king was stubborn, and Manfred must have gotten tired of waiting. He would have drugged the wine one night. I trust I can leave further details to your imagination?”

Deep in trance, behind the tomb where he hid, Queron Read Tammaron's truth and knew he lied.

“It isn't true!” Michaela sobbed.

“She isn't to blame,” Tammaron went on. “She never knew. None of us knew until Manfred came back with the king's body. But why else do you think he let the king be killed, when he knew the codicil existed? Because he knew that the king's death would put his own bastard on the throne! It's Owain MacInnis that Rhun's taken out of here.”

It isn't, Mika
, Queron's mind spoke in Michaela's.
It's Owain Haldane, and you know it. Could Manfred's bastard have assumed the Haldane potential? Tammaron's every word is a lie, the fabrication of a madman, and you're the only one who can stop him, and refute the lie
.

How?

Under cover of the mutterings and shiftings of feet that accompanied Tammaron's incredible revelation, Queron eased closer to the appalled Bishop Ailin, a part of his mind reaching out to controls he had set before, seeing through Ailin's eyes as his dialog continued with Michaela.

Kill him, Mika. You're the only one who can, before he kills you
—
and destroys your other son by killing his good name
.

I don't know how
, came her numb reply.
Queron, can't you
—
?

I can't touch him, because I never
have
touched him
, Queron sent back sharply.
But you're right there, with his arms around you and his sword at your throat, as close as a lover's kiss. You have the power. All you have to do is reach out with your mind …

I can't
—

I'm going to set a scenario through Bishop Ailin. No one will suspect there's been magic. Just follow his lead
.

“Tammaron, you're a liar,” Ailin said coldly. “That's the most ridiculous accusation I've ever heard. One only has to look at the boy to see that he's true Haldane.”

“He's a bastard,” Tammaron repeated. “He's Manfred's bastard, and he'll never sit on the throne. Rhun will see to that—and
I'll
kill the true heir before he can ever be born, if you don't give me safe conduct out of here with the queen.”

“An' what then?” Sighere demanded. “D'ye think ye could rule as regent, after this? Ye might have possession o' the bairn, but that's no all that makes a king.”

“I'll be regent, or there'll be no one to be regent
for
,” Tammaron muttered, shifting back another step with the queen, his blade still pressed hard against her throat. “I'll kill her—I swear I will.”

“That you will not,” Ailin said quietly. “God will not suffer this to happen.”

“Will He not?”

“His wrath will fall upon you, Tammaron. The Haldanes are beloved of the Lord, divinely appointed.”

“Pious propaganda, Bishop.”

“If you harm one hair on the head of the queen, who carries one of His chosen kings, you will die.”

“You can't know that!” Hysteria tinged the voice again, and the eyes had gone wide with fear.

“You will die!” Ailin repeated, stabbing an index finger at the quaking earl. “You commit sacrilege by even laying hand on the queen, especially in this place. God will strike you down, Tammaron! You will die!”

Now, Mika!
Queron sent.
Reach your mind into his chest, and clasp his heart
.

Suddenly her focus came. She knew how to do it. But to take a life—

Do it, Mika—for Owain, for Rhysem, for Javan, for the child you carry. He deserves to die. It's an execution
.

An execution
…

Closing her eyes, as if she grew faint, she turned her mind to what must be done, reaching out, feeling the tendrils of thought curl around his heart.

“You will die, Tammaron!” she heard Ailin repeat.

And as she closed the fist of her thought, he did.

Cathan pounded down the nave, his sword banging against his legs, Ansel and half a dozen of his men right on his heels. Tieg's drug and his spell permitted the exertion, but Cathan knew he would pay, if he survived whatever he must do to stop Rhun. He and his pursuing band approached the transept crossing just in time to see Rhun burst from the other entrance to the crypt and dash toward the north transept, an indignantly struggling Owain under one arm and a bloody dagger in his free hand. Rhun cursed as he saw the would-be rescuers and disappeared into the transept, but when Cathan reached the spot, Rhun was nowhere to be seen.