Beyond the Gate (The Golden Queen) (Volume 2) (9 page)

The third man, though—he interested Gallen. His name was Christian Bean. He was a small man, fat and soft, with a rounded face accentuated by a thin beard. He kept more to himself, seemed almost afraid to talk. Gallen remembered him from the battle, too, but only dimly. The man was a coward who had hung back during the robbery.

Gallen looked up at the stars, thought for a moment of the planet Tremonthin and the young Tharrin woman whose whole world was in jeopardy. Gallen licked his lips, enjoying the way his pulse quickened. Gallen always felt most alive in battle, when the threat of death was imminent. Gallen smiled, for at the moment he felt the thrill.

The spectators at the front of the house began plying Christian Bean with liquor, and he railed against Gallen. Gallen could see the man’s face only by firelight-little piggy eyes that glanced worriedly, hunting the shadows around the house as he described the demon he’d seen, its face glowing like a blue star, the swords in its hand.

“It’s a shame you don’t have another witness in your behalf,” Maggie muttered absently from the bed.

With a start, Gallen realized that there
had
been another witness to the attack: the very demon that these men accused Gallen of summoning. Little did anyone realize that the demon was Gallen O’Day himself, in disguise. Everynne had sent him back in time after his journey, so that he would return from his long foray to other worlds before he’d even left his home.

And with a second shock, Gallen realized that Christian Bean didn’t fear Gallen or fear that his testimony would be controverted and shown to be a lie. He feared the fairy folk of Coille Sidhe who might yet come to Gallen’s aid. With that recognition, Gallen laughed aloud and rushed to Maggie’s side and kissed her. He knew what he had to do.

The wind came in blustery just after midnight, and the limbs of the house-tree swayed and cracked. Gallen wore his silver mantle, and his robe of changing colors had taken on a deep black to match the night. He wore his black boots and black fighting gloves, carried a single sword, and in his pockets he had the mask of Fale, a mask of palest silver-blue that shone like starlight.

“Are you sure you should be going out there?” Maggie whispered, as she tied the hood of his robe over his mantle. “It’s the only way I know to shake the witnesses,” Gallen said. “If I can scare them into admitting the truth, there will never be a trial.”

Maggie gave him a kiss for luck, then sent him on his way.

Under cover of darkness, and with the sound of the wind and the chattering of voices and the singing accompanied by lutes in the distance, Gallen climbed to the attic of the house-tree and slid open the service door. Slowly, and ever so quietly, he crept out on a limb, then reached back and closed the door behind.

There were people everywhere below him. There could not be less than a hundred just under the bough he was on. Some were sheriffs, but many were just curious onlookers.

Gallen closed his eyes and let the sensors on his mantle show him the scene in infrared. He climbed from limb to limb, until he was nearly over the little knot of sheriffs who sat beside the fire.

Taking a small dronon translator from his pocket, he clipped it to his lapel, then flipped off the translator so that its microphone would simply amplify his voice.

All night long, travelers had been forcing rum and beer onto the sheriffs and the witnesses, and Gallen sat listening to them talk, until at last Christian Bean began raging in a loud whiny voice. “Aye, that Gallen O’Day is half a devil himself. He’s more than a murderer. Mark my words: if he can pray to the devil once and raise hell itself, surely he can do it again—so none of you are safe!”

With those remarks, Gallen grabbed the mask of Fale from his pocket and quickly pushed the rubbery thing over his face. The nanotech devices within the mask immediately flowed into position, conforming to his face, and pulled energy from his body heat, releasing it as photons.

Gallen leapt from limb to ground, so that suddenly he stood in the midst of the crowd. With a roar, he drew his shimmering vibro-blade and pointed it at Christian Bean.

“Behold, a liar and murderer who shall himself soon be a denizen of hell!” Gallen shouted.

There were screams, and all about him, the people fled. The sheriffs were a swirl of motion as they stood, drawing arms. One of them clutched at his sword and stumbled backward, falling into the fire.

Christian Bean just sat, his face lit by the twisting flames of the campfire, his mouth opened wide, clutching a bottle of wine in one hand, a goblet in the other. He was shaking, and Gallen watched in dismay as he soiled his pants.

There was a great uproar, and people from all over town began rushing toward Gallen.

“I warned you,” Gallen said loudly, pointing his sword toward all three of the robbers, “that those who commit murder in Coille Sidhe would have to answer to me.” His voice carried over the town and reverberated off the walls of the stable. No one on this small world had ever heard such a shout. “Yet now you have returned, and you seek to bring death to a man through your false witness!”

The sheriffs faded back a few steps, leaving the robbers alone beside the fire. All around Gallen, the curious onlookers were quietly retreating, leaving a larger and larger circle.

Gallen moved toward the robbers, and the young Argent Flaherty stood, tried to back away. Gallen commanded him to stop with a roar, and the boy froze, knees shaking.

Gallen moved to within a dozen feet of the men, and suddenly the Lord Inquisitor rushed forward with Sully at his side, and the two put themselves between Gallen and the witnesses. The Lord Inquisitor looked up at Gallen with his piercing blue eyes, and of all the people in town, he did not seem frightened.

“What are you?” the Lord Inquisitor asked, raising a hand as if to stop Gallen.

And at that moment, Gallen realized that he felt odd. Wearing his mantle and the clothing of a Lord Protector, he somehow felt as if he had been endowed with power. Surely, the artificial intelligence within the mantle did give him knowledge beyond the understanding of men, and Gallen felt that he was no longer a common man.

“I am more than a man, less than God,” Gallen said.

“And I am Brother Shayne,” the Lord Inquisitor said softly. He seemed to be wary, and he looked about, trying to see in the distance behind Gallen. Gallen wondered if the Lord Inquisitor wasn’t signaling with his eyes for one of the sheriffs to rush him from behind, but the sensors on his mantle assured Gallen that none were so foolhardy. “You are an angel, then?”

Gallen did not consider. “I am the Lord Protector of this land. I come to protect the righteous, and to bring evil men to judgment.”

Gallen did not want to answer more questions, so he thrust his hand into a fold of his robes and pulled out the light globe he had taken from the corpses in Thomas Flynn’s stable the night before. He raised the globe aloft and squeezed so that a piercingly brilliant light burst over the town, and he stood as if in sunlight while all around him the townsfolk gasped and groaned, shielding their eyes.

“Behold the light of truth,” Gallen shouted. “No mere mortal can look upon it and lie, for he who lies shall be consumed in holy fire!

“You—” Gallen waved his sword toward Christian Bean. “You seek to kill a man by bearing false witness. You have admitted to church authorities that you are a robber. What boon were you granted for bearing false testimony?”

Christian Bean half stood, and the poor man began gasping in fear. Though it was a cool night, he was sweating profusely, and he stammered, “M-m-money. B-Bishop Mackey said he prayed, and God told him that Gallen was responsible for Father Heany’s death. He offered us each a hundred pounds to testify!”

Young Argent Flaherty was nodding his head hugely in agreement, and Gallen stepped closer. “Yet you are under the penalty of a whipping. How do you hope to live through such a beating?”

Christian Bean’s eyes opened wide, and he began wheezing heavily. He dropped his brown bottle of wine and his goblet, and he stumbled backward, moaning incoherently. Gallen advanced on young Argent Flaherty and pointed his sword. “Answer me, Argent Flaherty!”

“H-he promised to commute our sentences after the trial!”

“Yet you have sworn in your affidavits that you asked this boon, and that Bishop Mackey denied it?”

“We said that he ‘never spoke a promise to us’—and he never did! He wrote the promise in a note, then told us to word our testimony this way so that we wouldn’t be lying.”

“Keep silent!” Mason Flaherty shouted at his younger brother, grabbing the boy’s arm. “If you answer no questions, you’ll speak no lies!”

“Och, you child of a serpent!” Gallen sneered at Mason. “Hardly shall you escape the wrath of hell! What does it matter if you worded a portion of your testimony with half-truths, when the brunt of your tale is a lie? I was never summoned by the prayers of Gallen O’Day or any other man, nor have I opened the gates of hell. What of this tale you tell?”

Gallen pointed his sword at Christian Bean, who was writhing on the ground. He was so terrified that Gallen was sure he could get the man to speak, to admit to perjury, but Christian Bean looked up through slitted eyes, gulped at the air loudly, and suddenly grabbed his chest. He began shaking uncontrollably, muscles spasming in his legs, his eyes rolling back in his head. A deep rattling noise came from his throat, and Gallen suddenly realized that the man had just died of fright.

Young Argent Flaherty stared at Christian and gasped, lurched away, rushed toward the crowd. He tried to beat his way through, but several townspeople caught him. The boy pulled his knife and took a swing, and some worthy drew his own blade and plunged it in the lad’s ribs. He gave out a startled cry and sank to the ground.

Gallen went to Mason Flaherty, looked down at him steadily. The man was shaking, but stood his ground and met Gallen’s eyes. Gallen had never seen such controlled hatred in a man’s eyes.

“And you,” Gallen said. “You alone are left to bear witness. Tell us now: was your testimony false?”

Mason gritted his teeth, spat his words. “I’ll-Not-Speak-Of-It! You cannot force me to talk! Gallen O’Day killed my brother and my cousin, and I’ve got nothing to say to you!”

Gallen looked at this man and wished that Mason would give him some other choice. He couldn’t leave the man alive. The man had tried to kill him on the road, and he’d tried to do it in court. To let such a stubborn and evil man live would only bring trouble later on.

Gallen looked up at Sully. The sheriff stood beside the Lord Inquisitor, shaking. “Do with him what you will,” Gallen told the sheriff, and he turned and walked away.

As Gallen passed the front door of his home, he clenched his fist over the glow globe so that there was a bright flash, then he quit squeezing his glow globe so that the light suddenly failed, and he ripped off his mask and headed into the woods.

At his back, he heard Mason Flaherty’s sudden scream and the sickening sound of a sword slashing through flesh, snicking through bone. Once, twice, and the head was off. Sully had done a poor job of it.

Gallen reached the edge of the woods, and there he stood panting. Hot, bitter tears were streaming down his face, and he found himself breathing heavily, gasping. He hadn’t cried in ages, not since that first time he’d been forced to kill a highwayman three years before. Then, he’d cried because he’d felt that somehow he’d been robbed of his innocence, but with every killing since then, he’d felt justified.

Now, more than ever, he could feel that his innocence had been stripped away. He’d just killed three men, and though they were highwaymen and would have used their testimony to nail him to the inverted cross, still they had not held any weapons, and because of their ignorance, they had been powerless against him.

Gallen rushed up the hillside, under the shelter of an old apple grove. There he fell to his knees and began praying sincerely for the first time in years, begging God for forgiveness.

And as he prayed with his eyes closed, the amplified words hissing from his microphone, he suddenly saw a weak light before him. He opened his eyes. A pale-blue glowing figure stood before him, leaning against the tree. A wight.

Two weeks ago, the sight would have frozen his heart. But now he knew that it was only a creature formed from luminescent nanotech devices, like the glowing mask he wore from Fale. Yet this creature had the thoughts and memories of a long-dead human inhabiting it. It was a heavyset man with lamb chop sideburns.

“I don’t know who you are,” the wight said, in a deep voice, “but this is an interdicted planet. By charter, you cannot be carrying the kinds of weapons you have on you.”

“Then why don’t you take them from me?” Gallen said. He didn’t need a sword. His mantle whispered that it could incapacitate the creature with a burst of radio waves at any time.

“Och, there’s not much that
I
can do against the likes of you,” the wight answered. “But I can raise the hue and cry against you. I’ll call you a demon. At my word, every townsman in a thousand miles would come marching to war against you. Sooner or later, we’d get you.”

“You would let that many people die—just to rid this world of one man?” Gallen whispered.

The wight didn’t answer. “We’ve chosen how we will live here on Tihrglas.”

“Eighteen thousand years ago you chose how you will live. But you’re dead, and this isn’t your world anymore,” Gallen said.

“It is filled with our children. If they wish to change the planetary charter, they may do so.”

“Yet you don’t even let them know that there are worlds beyond this. How can they choose?”

The wight sat down a few feet from Gallen, folded his hands into a steeple and stared at them thoughtfully. “You know of the worlds beyond this, of the wars and horrors found in the universe. Of what value is such knowledge? Our people lead simple lives, free of care. It is a commodity that cannot be purchased.”

Things had changed much in the past eighteen thousand years. New sub-races of humanity had been engineered. The Tharrin had been created and given leadership of most planets, ending the petty conflicts and wars that the galaxy had endured under the corporate governors so long before. Gallen did not know much about how the galaxy had been run millennia ago, and he wondered how much the wights understood about how it functioned now.