The Justice of Kings, page 17
Claver smiled another condescending smile while the men around him enthusiastically gave voice to their outrage. Vonvalt weathered it like a cliff might weather the pounding tide. The Templars did no more than put on a display of affront, and it was clear that whatever political upheaval was going on in Sova, the idea of going further and drawing a blade against a Justice still remained taboo.
If only it could have remained so.
“This host is making its way south to the land of the unbeliever, to wage righteous crusade there,” Claver said once the hubbub had died down. He spoke as though Vonvalt was a child that he was tolerating with avuncular gentleness. He gestured to the newly initiated Templars. “You can see for yourself they are marked with the white star of Savare, the God Father. Their subservience to the common law is gone. Their bodies are chattels of the Church. You have no authority here, Sir Konrad.”
“No man is above the law,” Vonvalt said. “If your lackeys are so confident they are beyond the reach of my blade, have them confess. By your own words they cannot be harmed. Call it a test of faith.”
No one spoke. By now the caravan had ground to a halt in step with Claver, and was slowly bunching up behind us. Never before had I felt so keenly such a weight of attention.
Vonvalt turned to the host and raised his voice. “Who here has come from Seaguard? Which of you put Rill to the torch? In the name of Emperor Kzosic IV, I accuse you of murder. If you confess I will behead you here and now.” He turned and pointed to Claver. “Patria Claver asserts that you are above the common law and that I can do no such thing. If you trust the priest’s words over mine, then speak! Confess! You have nothing to lose.”
I did not think it was possible for the Hauner road, one of the largest roads in the Empire and trafficked by thousands every day, to be silent. But at that moment we might as well have been standing in a graveyard. In front of us an armed host of hundreds of men, full of righteous zeal and no doubt feeling the invincibility that comes with being part of a mob, had been brought to a stop by a single Justice. Not even the haughty lords with their expensive armour and swords could bring themselves to speak. They might have been Westenholtz’s men, but they did not share their liege lord’s careless arrogance.
“These men have given themselves to the cause of the God Father,” Claver said loudly. His mask had slipped. I could see the anger behind his words, and fear. “They are disciplined. They will not engage with these foolish games.”
Vonvalt ignored him. “I’ll warrant there is a man here who did it. I say it again! In the name of the Emperor, I accuse anyone here who burned the people of Rill of murder! Let any man who denies the charge defend himself!”
“’Tis not murder if they are heathens,” someone called back. My heart leapt. I had hoped that no one would be foolish enough to answer. Vonvalt certainly believed that no man was above the law, but even I knew that Claver was right; the canon law held sway here. These men were chattels of the Church, one of those rare carve-outs that placed a man beyond the reach of the Emperor’s long arm. Such immunity often came with burdensome obligations, however, such as signing up to one of the Neman martial orders for a considerable term of years, and was not lightly conveyed.
“Who said that?” Vonvalt called out. I could see the fury in his face. His nostrils were flared and he sucked down air in deep, trembling breaths. “Who said it?!”
A little further back the host parted slightly. A dismounted knight stepped forwards. He was heavy-set and had an ugly, cruel face. Of all the types of people who joined the Savaran Templars, he appeared to me to fall into the category of those who simply wanted to kill and could find no better lawful way of doing it.
“Sir Konrad, let this farce end,” Claver called out impatiently. “You cannot harm this man. He is subject to the canon law.”
“What crimes did you commit in Rill?” Vonvalt asked the man. The Emperor’s Voice. It was as though thunder had split the sky. The idiot reeled as though he had taken a punch to the nose. I could see instantly that he was particularly susceptible to the Voice, having neither the training nor the natural wit to resist it even slightly.
“I raped one woman and then burned her alive! I t-tried to kill her children but they escaped!” the man shrieked.
A ripple of dismay washed through the assembled men. It had been easy to assume that they were all of the same outlook as Claver himself, a host of mostly bad people looking to kill and maim under the pretext of righteousness. But of course many of the Templars were pious and decent, if misguided, and did not want to keep company with a confessed rapist and murderer any more than the next person.
His peers shrank back from him as Vonvalt and Bressinger dismounted, the former with rage in his heart, the latter with a reluctant sense of obligation.
“Sir Konrad!” Claver shouted. “I have warned you.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Sir Radomir spat.
Vonvalt pulled his sword free of its scabbard. He did not break his stride. The knight ahead of him was still reeling from the Voice, but yanked his own blade out nonetheless.
“You have confessed to the crimes of rape and murder,” Vonvalt said, implacable. “By His Most Excellent Majesty the Emperor Kzosic IV, I, Justice Sir Konrad Vonvalt, adjudge you guilty and sentence you to die by beheading.”
Bressinger followed Vonvalt at a fast walk, hand on the hilt of his sword. The knight ahead staggered backwards, slipping slightly on the muddy paving of the Hauner road.
“Help!” he shouted to his associates, but they shuffled back, as though Vonvalt stood at the centre of some invisible circular barrier. Some must have believed he deserved to die, even if they did not believe in Vonvalt’s authority. Others were simply afraid to be wounded or killed themselves if they intervened. More still simply did not believe that Claver was right about their immunity. In one way or another, however, they were all frightened. I wish I could convey with my quill and ink the awesome figure Vonvalt cut at that moment. He was power incarnate, a wrathful god, as unstoppable as the rising of the sun.
“Wait!” the knight shouted. “Just wait!”
Vonvalt did not. The knight lunged forwards. Vonvalt parried the man’s blade with startling ease and stepped to the side. He moved his sword three times: the first took the knight’s sword hand off at the wrist; the next gave Vonvalt a clean angle on the man’s neck; and the third chopped his head off in one powerful, brutal stroke. A groan went up from the Templars. The knight’s body remained upright for a few seconds before crashing unceremoniously to the ground, spurting hot blood onto the flagstones.
I watched, astonished. I looked to Sir Radomir, who mirrored my surprise. The watchmen behind were actually enjoying the spectacle. With hindsight, it was to be expected. In their minds, this was what an Imperial Magistrate was: death incarnate, swift, decisive, just. But they had not seen the Justice I knew; the nuance, the patience, the slow, rigorous application of the law. They saw the Sir Konrad of the stories and legends. For me, it was a frightening display of recklessness.
Vonvalt wiped and then sheathed his blade. “Is there anyone else who wishes to confess?” He turned and walked back towards the head of the caravan. “Patria; perhaps you would like to confess to incitement to murder? It was you, after all, who had Westenholtz dispatch these villains south?”
Claver was pale with fury.
“You,” he said, pointing a trembling finger at Vonvalt. He laughed a sudden and brittle laugh, as though he had surprised himself. “I wonder if you realise quite how foolish you have been here today. How foolish you have been this past month. What unyielding forces are at work in Sova to dislodge you and your old pagan order.”
“Say the words, priest,” Vonvalt spat. “Confess. See if your gods or your canon law protect you from the Emperor’s Justice.”
Claver sneered. He gave Vonvalt a long, appraising look. “As someone who is so eager to hand out death warrants, I suppose it is only fitting that you sign your own.”
Now it was Vonvalt who smiled thinly. “No one is above the law,” he said. “No one. Not you, not Westenholtz, not anyone. I do not care for your silly tricks. I do not care if these men are Templars. I do not care if they have sworn oaths to the God Father. If they have committed murder, I will have their heads.”
Claver took a step forwards. Bressinger moved to meet him, but Vonvalt held out his hand.
“Use your Voice on me,” Claver hissed. “Do it, here and now. See what happens.”
Vonvalt shook his head. “You would have me embarrass you further? Are you so keen to die?”
“Do it!” Claver roared.
Vonvalt knew that Claver had probably the same resistance as Westenholtz, so he did something no one – including myself – expected.
“Sir Radomir?” he called over his shoulder. “Take Patria Claver into custody.”
Claver and every Templar in hearing range was about to bellow their protestations in what I have no doubt would have been an awesome spectacle of outrage, when a powerful voice cut through it all in an instant.
“Sir Konrad!”
All turned. A woman was approaching from the direction of a nearby coppice which lay off to the side of the road, a tall, powerful-looking woman clad in a heavy waxed cloak and leading a white palfrey. She had greying dark hair and her features were creased with age and responsibility. About her person were tokens of office, faded from wear but unmistakable.
“Justice Lady August,” Vonvalt replied, bowing. If he had been startled by the interruption, he hid it well.
“I have already questioned Patria Claver,” she said. Claver frowned at this, but said nothing. “You had no way to know, of course.”
“I see,” Vonvalt said after a pregnant pause.
“Come; we have much to discuss,” she said quietly, nodding in the direction of Galen’s Vale. She looked over to the head of the war host. “Patria Claver, God Father speed you and your Templars on your way.”
“Hm,” Claver grunted. He shot Vonvalt one last venomous look, then resumed his trudging down the Hauner road. The man was more eager to take advantage of August’s convenient falsehood than to press this particular bout with Vonvalt.
Behind him, the Templar host roused itself to action like a gigantic beast slowly awakening from a long slumber, and marched its way south.
XIII
Deaf Ears
“It is impossible to impress upon a man the severity of a situation until the point of its remedy is long past. ’Tis something to do with the nature of a human being, that ingrained idiocy. The gods must shake their heads at us in disbelief.”
JUSTICE SOPHIA JURAS
“You received my letter?”
“I did.”
“Then you are aware that what you just did was very ill-advised.”
“You have, of course, not questioned Claver.”
“Of course I haven’t.”
We were in a tavern just off the Hauner road, a few miles north from where Vonvalt had confronted Claver. It was a pokey little establishment, dim and full of low beams and alcoves where private business might be conducted in peace. The innkeeper, a small and discreet old man, seemed to know Justice August well enough to bring her what was evidently her preferred drink, as well as a small tray of morsels. Sir Radomir and his men had repaired to the Vale, eager to be shot of these matters of state.
“That knight confessed to murder,” Vonvalt said. I could tell he was beginning to regret his actions. There was enough grey area and overlap between the common and canon law that he could have argued his way out of an official reprimand – had there been one. But he had crossed a line, and he knew it.
“I’m not talking about that dolt,” August said. She was a force of nature, beautiful and powerful. I found myself immediately in her thrall. “I mean threatening Claver with arrest. If you did see my letter then it should be obvious to you why that was a bad idea.”
“With respect, Justice—”
“Piss on that. Do we not know one another well enough? Or is it for the girl’s sake?” She nodded at me, but didn’t take her eyes from Vonvalt. I guessed – correctly, as it would later transpire – that the two had had a romantic history.
Vonvalt cleared his throat. “Resi, then. Your letter was somewhat oblique.”
“Prince Kasivar of Hell,” August said, rolling her eyes. “That letter sent a warning as bright as the Kormondolt Bay beacons. I told you Claver had made an ally of Westenholtz.”
“Westenholtz is but a man.”
August stared. “He is the most powerful man in the Empire except perhaps the Emperor himself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vonvalt snorted. “The Emperor’s sons govern entire principalities. Westenholtz has but a castle and a few leagues of marsh to his name.”
“Konrad,” August said. Her tone was all the more alarming for its sudden and genuine concern. “When were you last in Sova?”
Vonvalt waved a hand. “At least two years.”
“But you have been keeping abreast of the news?”
“What little there is that makes its way to the north, aye.”
August reached out and put a hand on Vonvalt’s. “Konrad, there is turmoil in the Order. Perhaps my letter did not convey the severity of the situation. Master Kadlec is perilously close to ceding the secrets of our powers to the Mlyanars. I have good reason to think that he has already been trading away some of the arts of the Order for the sake of a quiet life.” She all but spat those last words. “I have heard rumours out of Roundstone that a growing company of men are immune to the Voice of the Emperor – Claver and Westenholtz included.”
My heart sank. I could see Vonvalt deflate with dismay. “It is true,” he muttered. “At least with Westenholtz. I tried it on him myself. The man barely blinked.”
August sat back, her face a mask of worry. “Then the situation is even worse than I thought – and I considered it to be very bad indeed. There is no doubt, then, that Claver is immune as well?”
“I dared not find out,” Vonvalt said. “But I should imagine so.”
“Bloody faith,” August swore. Vonvalt lit his pipe. August pulled out her own pipe and lit that too. In seconds the small nook which the four of us were occupying was filled with a haze of smoke.
“Tell me you exaggerate,” Vonvalt said, “if even a little. The Emperor cannot be sitting on his hands while Westenholtz and the Mlyanars foment rebellion. It seems like madness for him to go against the Order as well.”
“The Emperor and his Haugenate supporters in the Senate have always been more than a match for the Patricians. But now there are the Templars to consider. Historically they have been tied to the Mlyanars, but – well, you know their reputation.”
“I know that they leave the Empire with great fanfare and then lose a lot of men, land and prestige in a very short space of time,” Vonvalt said with contempt. “If that is what you mean.”
“Indeed,” August said dourly. “But they are not the same force they were a hundred years ago. It has become fashionable for lords to send a second or third child to the Templars now. Moneyed knights with plate armour and good horses. They are more prudent with their conquests, and they garrison their takings with vast castles funded with money from the Mlyanars. The fortresses in Südenberg, Keraq and Zetland are apparently a marvel to behold.”
“All in the name of Nema?”
“Ostensibly.”
Vonvalt rubbed his face. “Are the Templars not engaged in crusading? How can they pose a threat to Sova if they’re tangled up waging warfare?”
“This is where your man Claver comes in,” August said, nodding to Vonvalt. “He has spent many months touring the Empire, rabble-rousing and prying more sons and lands from lords who have taken the Highmark and still fear for their positions. Claver has been selling it as a demonstration of faith and loyalty to Sova, and men have been falling over themselves to sign up. Now there is a glut of Templars; more than enough to garrison their fortresses and create a ranging army.”
Vonvalt wrinkled his nose. “Come now, Resi. The Legions are tens of thousands strong, hardened from years of campaigning. They would trounce a mob of Templar initiates ten times their number.”
“The Legions are scattered to the four winds,” August said. “Faith, Konrad, listen to the words I am telling you. At least half of them are stuck out east along the River Kova, fighting the Confederation. The rest of them are all over the Empire, garrisoning, keeping the peace, even campaigning still.” She waved her hand. “But that is all beside the point.”
Vonvalt sighed. “Go on, then,” he said. I watched Bressinger give him a sidelong look. Obstinacy was not one of Vonvalt’s faults, but that afternoon he could have fooled everyone at the table.
August gritted her teeth. “Claver belongs to a group of orthodox Nemans who believe that the powers of the Order should be restored to the Church. They have been lobbying the Emperor for years to allow priests to attend the Grand Lodge and learn our ways. Claver has gone a step further though; he says that the Templars should be given the powers to be used as weapons. Think, Konrad; it does not take a great deal of effort to twist the Emperor’s Voice, to use it to make a man disarm himself, for example. And there are other, older powers in the codices in the Master’s vaults which even the Order does not employ. The use of such powers for a soldier is beyond measure. For a politician it is unthinkable. The Emperor Himself does not even wield the Voice. People have never fully trusted the Order, but they have at least always trusted us to use our powers as a force for good. To uphold the common law for the benefit of all. Claver means to take these powers and use them to conquer the known world in the name of Nema. And Westenholtz and the rest of the Mlyanar Patricians are ready to help him.”
There was silence. It was difficult to process what August was saying. I had seen first-hand the Voice fail against Westenholtz, seen Claver and his Templars marching down the Hauner road, seen a dozen other things which all verified August’s concerns. But even then it was hard to believe that something so potentially momentous was in motion. August, for all her sincerity, did sound a little mad. It makes me ache, now, to think that we did not heed her warning with enough alacrity; that we did not simply abandon the Bauer case to Sir Radomir and his men and charge south to the capital. There was still a little time on our side, even then, to make a difference.
