The Hallowed Hunt

'That is very good to know, sir,' Ingrey said, in a spuriously tranquil tone, deliberately easing his stance. Scramble out of this, now. 'How does the hallow king fare?'

The silence stretched too long, as Hetwar stared at him. Without taking his eyes from Ingrey’s mouth, he made a little commanding gesture at the dismayed Biast.

Biast, after a questioning look at the sealmaster, licked his lips. 'I visited my father’s bedside before I came here. He is worse than I had imagined. He recognized me, but his speech was very slurred, and he is very yellow and weak. He fell back to sleep almost at once.' The prince paused, and his voice fell further. 'His skin is like paper. He was always... he was never... ' The voice stopped before it broke, Ingrey thought.

'You must,' said Ingrey carefully, 'both be giving thought to the risk of an election very soon.'

Hetwar nodded; Biast nodded more reluctantly. The prince-marshal’s lidded eyes only half concealed a lingering alarm, and his glance at Hetwar plainly questioned whether Ingrey’s eerie revolt was usual behavior for the sealmaster’s infamous wolf-swordsman, or not. Hetwar’s expression was grimly uninformative.

Ingrey said, 'I am more than half-convinced that Boleso’s forbidden experiments were aimed at a grasp for the hallow kingship.'

'But he is the younger!' objected Biast, then added, 'Was.'

'That was potentially correctable. Given magical means, your assassination might have been effected undetectably. As I discovered.'

Hetwar suddenly looked furiously thoughtful. 'It is true,' he murmured, 'that more votes have been bought and sold than actually exist. I’d wondered where the sink could be... '

'How much doubt is there of the prince-marshal’s succession?' Ingrey asked Hetwar, with a diplomatic nod at Biast. 'Should the king chance to die when so many are gathered in Easthome for Boleso’s funeral, it seems to me the election could come to a head very quickly.'

Hetwar shrugged. 'The Hawkmoors, and their whole eastern faction, have long been preparing for such a moment, as we all know. It has been four generations since their kin lost the kingship, but they still hunger for a return to their old ascendancy. They had not, I judged, secured enough certain votes, but given the uncertain ones... If Boleso had been secretly gathering those, they are now scattered again.'

'Do you see such scatterings returning to his brother’s faction?' Ingrey glanced at Biast, who looked as though he was still digesting the intimation of fratricide, without pleasure.

'Perhaps not,' muttered Hetwar, brows drawn deeply down. 'The Foxbriar kin, though they know their lord cannot win, surely know they hold a deciding edge if things run too close. If the ordainers were to fail repeatedly to effect a clear outcome, the argument could go to swords.'

Biast’s frown was no happier, but his hand drifted resolutely to his hilt at these last words, a gesture Hetwar did not miss; he held up a restraining palm.

'Were Prince Biast removed,' said Ingrey carefully, 'indeed, whether he were removed or not, it seems to me that a spell that could compel a murder could as secretly compel a vote.'

Ingrey had thought he’d held all of Hetwar’s attention before. He’d been mistaken.

'Really,' breathed Hetwar. He could hardly grow more still, but the stillness turned much colder. 'And— Ingrey—can you perceive such spells?'

'I can now.'

'Hm.' His stare on Ingrey grew freshly appraising.

And so I am saved, in Hetwar’s eyes. Maybe.

Hetwar vented a noise between a groan and a sigh, running his hands through his hair once more. 'And here I thought bribery, coercion, threats, and double-dealing were enough to contend with.' His eyes rose to Ingrey again, narrowing in new thought. 'And whom do you suspect of this illicit magic? If not me,' he added dryly.

Ingrey gave him a polite, apologetic shrug. Apologetic, but unabashed. If you value your life, keep your secrets and mine... 'I possess no proof yet sturdy enough to stand on. It’s a serious accusation.'

Hetwar grimaced. 'Your gift for understatement has not deserted you, I see. This is going to be Temple business, you know.'

Ingrey nodded, briefly and unhappily. He wanted the mage—even in his mind, he yet withheld the too- specific terms sorcerer or shaman–who had laid that evil geas upon him to be brought low. He was not at all sure he wished to be brought down with him. But to know that Hetwar, at least, was one wall that stood squarely at his back was an enormous relief. Ingrey prayed he had not damaged that wall in the testing of it.

And if Hetwar was not in league with Ijada’s would-be murderer, then perhaps a plea for justice would have a chance, here? When else, indeed, was Ingrey likely to come face-to-face with Biast in the next few days? He took a breath.

'There remains the matter of Lady Ijada. If you desire to draw a veil over Boleso’s late madness and blasphemy, a trial is the last thing you want. Let the inquest return a verdict of self-defense, or better still, accident, and let her go.'

'She killed my brother,' said Biast, a little indignantly.

'Then let her pay a suitable blood-price, perhaps, in the manner of the Old Weald—nothing too impossibly high,' Ingrey added cautiously. 'Honor served, discretion preserved.'

'The precedent is scarcely a good one for the royal house,' said Hetwar. 'As well declare hunting season on Stagthornes, or all high lords. There are sound reasons the Father’s Order spent so much effort eliminating that old custom. The rich might without fear purchase the lives of the poor.'

'And they don’t now?' said Ingrey.

Hetwar gave him a little warning growl. 'It is certainly to be preferred that her execution be swift and as painless as possible. Perhaps she might be granted a sword, instead of a rope or the pyre, or some like mercy.'

And I a swordsman. 'There is more going on here than is yet... clear.' He had not wanted to play this card, but their closed expressions terrified him. He had planted his ideas in their heads; perhaps he should give them time to germinate. Should her life be forfeit, then, because I am afraid to speak? 'I think she is god-touched. You pursue her at your peril.'

Biast snorted. 'A murderess? I doubt it. If so, let the gods send her a champion.'

Ingrey held his breath lest it huff from his mouth like that of a man punched in the gut.

It seems They have. He’s just not a very good one. You would think the gods could do better...

His pent breath found other words. 'How long, my lords, has it been since the hallow kingship grew so hollow? This was once a sacred thing. How did we dare to come to treat it as merchandise to be bought and sold at the best market price? When did god-sworn warriors become peddlers?'

The words stung Hetwar, at least, for he sat up in open exasperation. 'I use the gifts the gods have given me, including judgment and reason. My task, my tools. I have served the Weald since before you were born, Ingrey. There never was a golden age. It was always only iron.'

'The gods have no hands in this world but ours. If we fail Them, where then can They turn?'

'Ingrey, peace!'

Biast was rubbing his brow, as though it ached. 'Enough of this! If I am to attend the procession, I must go wash and dress.' He stood and stretched, wincing.

Hetwar rose at once. 'Indeed, Prince-marshal. I, too, must ride out.' He frowned in frustration at Ingrey. 'We will continue this when you have regained a more considered temper, Lord Ingrey. In the meantime, do not speak of these matters.'

'Learned Lewko desires to interview me.'

Hetwar blew out his breath. 'Lewko, I know. A most unhelpful man, in my experience.'

'I defy the Temple at my gravest risk.'