The Shining City (48 page)

She shrank back a little at the intensity of his voice. “He was a man, sir. Any man who rode into the herd‟s territory would‟ve been taken prisoner. There are few males born to the satyricorns, ye ken, and they are keenly sought as mates.”

The crowd reacted with sniggers and whispers. Aidan‟s face twisted with distaste. “So we are to add the charges o‟ abduction and unlawful imprisonment to your account? I shudder to think what else!”

“I didna capture him!” she cried. “I tried to help him escape.”

“Is that so?” His voice dripped sarcasm.

“Aye,” she said eagerly. “I undid the straps for him. He would never have got free if I had no‟

untied them.”

“Yet ye shot him in the back only moments later.”

“It wasna only moments, it was much later,” she said indignantly. “The herd had to hunt him first, all the way down the river.”

“And ye joined the hunt?” asked one of the other judges, a rough-spoken man with huge, work-hardened hands and a thick neck. A farmer by trade, he was called Craig of Glen Fernie, and he had been chosen by lot from a ledger of justices of the peace. He was far more used to settling disputes over stolen pigs or tavern brawls, and was clearly uncomfortable in his heavy robes.

She colored. “Aye.”

“Why?”

“I had to! If I didna, they would‟ve suspected . . .” She took a deep breath, trying to control her voice. “If the herd guessed I had helped him, they would‟ve killed me,” she said at last, her voice quivering only a little.

“Is that why ye
really
killed him? So your herd would no‟ realize ye had helped him escape?”

Aidan the Brave asked.

She went red, then white. After a moment she replied steadily, “I told ye, he had my mother—he was going to kill her. He would‟ve broken her neck like that!” She snapped her fingers. “No one could reach her in time, none o‟ the herd. I was up behind them, on the ridge. If I had no‟ shot him, he would‟ve killed her.”

“So ye say.” Aidan sat back skeptically.

The crowd murmured.

“When the body o‟ Connor the Just was found some weeks later, he was found to be cruelly mutilated. The smallest finger o‟ his left hand had been hacked off, and all his teeth had been wrenched from his head. Were ye responsible for this also?” the Duke of Ardblair asked in arctic tones.

Rhiannon hesitated, then nodded unwillingly. “It‟s what satyricorns always do,” she said defensively.

“So you admit that this is yours?” Aidan the Brave said, catching up a long necklace of teeth and bones that he brandished in his fist. The court hissed and sighed, and the duke had to call for order several times before it at last quietened. Rhiannon said nothing, her face drained of color, but when she was asked the question again, she nodded.

“Please answer „aye‟ or „nay‟ for the court records,” the only woman judge said in a neutral voice. Named Glenwys, she was the head of the guilds in Lucescere, a clockmaker by trade. She wore, perched on her nose, a pair of spectacles that made her eyes look alarmingly large.

“Aye,” Rhiannon said sullenly.

“Please note the prisoner answered in the affirmative to the question,” the court herald called.

Aidan shook the necklace. “And these teeth, these
human
teeth, hanging on this string, they are Connor‟s teeth? And the bone is his finger bone?”

“Some o‟ them,” Rhiannon muttered.

The Duke of Ardblair banged his gavel until the court at last quietened.

“I beg your pardon?” Aidan said over the noise. “Did ye admit these teeth and bones are his?”

“I said, some o‟ them are his. There are goblin teeth there too, and some coney paws. Other things I‟ve killed.” Rhiannon sounded sullen indeed, and Lewen clenched his fists between his knees. Silently he willed Rhiannon to look up, to speak respectfully, to be polite.

“Did ye say
other things
ye‟ve killed?” Aidan spoke with heavy emphasis.

Rhiannon flushed. “Aye.”

“I see. So ye always take trophies o‟ the creatures ye kill, to gloat over later?”

“It‟s what satyricorns do,” she protested. “I didna do it to gloat. It made me sick to the stomach having to do it.”

“Yet still ye did it, and wore your trophies about your neck, for all to see.”

“Only while I was with the herd,” she protested hotly. “They would‟ve suspected me if I had no‟.

They would‟ve fought me for blood-right.”

“Blood-right? And what does that mean?”

“My right to his things,” she said sulkily, dropping her eyes.

“So, by killing Connor the Just, ye were able to claim his belongings as your own?” Aidan the Brave asked silkily.

She nodded, then, after another prompting from the judges, said, “Aye,” in a very low voice.

Aidan picked up one thing after another from the table. “His knife, his blowpipe and barbs, his
sgian dubh
, his uniform?” He raised the blue coat and cap reverently. “His silver brooch with the design o‟ the charging stag, ensign o‟ the Yeomen o‟ the Guard, given to him by the Rìgh himself and worn by Connor with justifiable pride? The medal o‟ the League o‟ the Healing Hand, the rarest o‟ all honors?”

As he held up the small golden medal, with its device of a child‟s hand radiating lines of light, a woman sobbed aloud. Turning his head, Lewen saw it was Johanna the Mild, sitting up in the witches‟ box. Her hands were clasped together and her face was harrowed with tears. Lewen saw she wore the same golden medal pinned to her long green robe. Finn the Cat was sitting next to her, looking almost as distressed, with Dillon, captain of the Yeomen, on her far side, his arm about Johanna‟s shoulders, his face grim. Jay the Fiddler sat next to his wife, holding her hand.

They also wore the golden medal prominently, being the only other surviving members of the famous band of children who had helped Lachlan win his throne. Isabeau sat with them, listening intently, occasionally frowning and biting her lip.

Aidan the Brave had gone on inexorably. “And those few precious belongings o‟ Connor that he carried with him always, the music box he was given by His Majesty as a reward for his help, the goblet that belonged to his dear friend Parlan . . .”

As Aidan held up the silver chalice with the crystal in its stem, Isabeau stifled an exclamation and leaned forward in interest. Lewen himself had to choke back a flood of memories evoked by the sight of the cup. Rhiannon, drinking thyme tea from it, firelight flickering over her bare shoulders. Himself, drinking cold water from it the next morning, trying to wash away the great lump of horror and misery in his throat that Rhiannon‟s confession of guilt had brought. He clenched his jaw and looked down at his fists pressed tightly between his knees. He felt Olwynne‟s hand rubbing up and down his arm and had to repress the urge to shake it off.

“Satyricorns do no‟ have such precious and beautiful things as these, do they? Ye would have coveted them, and by claiming them as yours, ye would have gained kudos in the eyes o‟ the herd, wouldna ye?”

“I‟m sorry, I dinna understand,” she faltered.

“Is it no‟ true that weapons such as these, forged o‟ true steel, are very rare among wild satyricorns and therefore precious? Is it no‟ true that ye had no such weapons o‟ your own?”

Rhiannon did not speak, and the Duke of Ardblair asked her, not unkindly, to answer the question.

“The herd had a few knives,” she answered reluctantly. “No‟ many. Most o‟ the women made their own clubs, from stone and wood, or sharpened sticks into spears. I had my bow. It was my father‟s.” There was a trace of defiance in her voice and Lewen drew his brows together, thinking she would do better to moderate her tone. She glanced at him, so that he wondered if she heard his unspoken thought. He looked away.

“Your father was human?” Glenwys asked.

“Yes, ma‟am,” Rhiannon replied. “I never kent him. He died when I was a bairn. I think they killed him when he tried to escape.”

“So ye admit ye had no weapons like this?” Aidan cried, turning the silver dagger so it glittered in the light.

She turned back to him. “Nay, sir.”

“But a sharp dagger like this would‟ve been o‟ great use to ye, wouldn‟t it?” he demanded. “And it would have greatly raised your standing within the herd.”

She shook her head sadly. “No‟ even a dagger could do that, sir,” she answered. “Without horns like the other satyricorns, I was considered a nothing, a nobody.”

Clever lass
, Lewen thought, and again she glanced towards him. She was deathly pale.

Aidan tried again. “But with weapons such as these, sharp, steel weapons, even a nobody could hold her own with the herd, is that no‟ so? With weapons like these, ye‟d be one o‟ the best hunters—”

“But I was already a good hunter with my bow,” she protested. “I had never used a dagger—I would no‟ ken how to hunt with it. And I would never be as fast as the others without hooves. I‟d never get close enough to the prey to kill it with a dagger.”

For a moment Aidan seemed stymied, but then he laid down the knife and picked up her bow.

“So ye were a good hunter with this bow?”

“Aye, sir,” she said, lifting her chin.

“And a good killer,” he said, and dropped the bow as if it disgusted him.

There was a short silence. The crowd sighed.

“Perhaps we should hear from Berget, the First-Horn o‟ the Royal Satyricorn Squad,” the Duke of Ardblair said. “I feel we really need to understand more o‟ the prisoner‟s background.”

The First-Horn got up and strode to the witness stand. She was very tall and wore a short blue kilt under a leather jerkin. Her thick, muscular legs ended in cloven hooves, and a tufted tail hung from beneath her kilt. Her face was broad and somehow bestial, with a squat nose and large mouth. Her head was covered with short, stubby horns that had been filed to sharpness. Around her neck hung many necklaces of teeth and bones.

“I see ye wear bone necklaces,” Glenwys said. “So it is true that this is the usual custom o‟

satyricorns?”

Berget jerked her head. “Aye. True.” Her voice was deep and guttural.

“The necklace is made from the teeth and bones o‟ the creatures ye have killed?”

“Aye.”

“But does it have human teeth strung upon it?” Aidan cried.

She grinned at him. “Aye. Many. Enemy soldiers.”

The Blue Guard frowned and sat back in his chair.

“Why? Why do the satyricorns make such necklaces?” Gwilym the Ugly asked.

Berget shrugged. “Warn away dark walkers. Tell them we strong, we brave. Dark walkers no like noise.” She clattered the bones together.

“And dark walkers are evil spirits?” Gwilym asked.

The satyricorn shrugged. “Dark walkers live in shadows. In caves and cracks and in our footsteps. Want blood every day. Must have blood. Without blood will come to feed. May come anyway. Wear necklace, show how much blood ye‟ve spilt, show how brave ye are.” She shook her necklace and roared, causing many in the audience to scream and shrink back.

Listening to her, Lewen was reminded strongly of how Rhiannon had spoken when he first met her. There was little left of that curt, guttural accent in her voice now. He marveled at how quickly she had learned the formalities and intricacies of their language. Berget had grown up among humans and she still had a very strong accent. Perhaps it was because the satyricorns kept very much to themselves, even when at court. There were none at the Theurgia, even though many others of faery blood were there, and Lewen had only ever seen them in their ceremonial function as guards at the Rìgh‟s table. Towering over all the men and women, they stood stiffly against the wall, as solid and silent as statues. After his initial curiosity, when he had first been appointed as a squire, Lewen had barely noticed them. He wondered now what sort of life they led, when not away fighting on the Rìgh‟s behalf.

“Tell us, Berget, is it true the satyricorns o‟ the prisoner‟s herd would‟ve killed her for aiding the Yeoman to escape?” asked Claude, the fat judge of the merchant class.

The satyricorn flashed Rhiannon a contemptuous glance. “Kill her anyway.”

Everyone stirred and whispered, and Aidan sat up and turned his hawklike gaze back to the witness.

“Ye mean, the satyricorns would have killed the prisoner anyway? Why on earth?”

“Kill no-horns.”

“Satyricorns kill those born without horns?”

“All born no horns. Horns come when woman. No horn come, useless. Kill then.”

“So the prisoner would‟ve been killed by her herd as soon as it was clear she was no‟ growing horns?”

“Aye.”

“But she looks a woman grown now. Why was she no‟ killed?” Aidan ran his eyes over

Rhiannon in such a way that Lewen felt himself grow hot. His nails cut into his palms.

Berget shrugged. “She escape in time?”

Aidan leaned forward, his gaze intent. “So if the prisoner had no‟ left the herd when she did, she would most likely have been killed?”

“Aye.”

Aidan turned back to the other judges. “Surely then, Connor‟s things must‟ve been o‟ import to her? She must‟ve wanted them to aid her escape! His weapons, his clothes, his saddle and bridle, his horse—”

“The herd ate his horse,” Rhiannon interrupted angrily. There was a shocked mutter from the crowd. Aidan shot her a look of intense dislike.

“Please only speak when ye are asked a direct question,” the Duke of Ardblair said gently.

Rhiannon bowed her head. “Aye, Your Worship. I‟m sorry.” She cast a quick glance at her attorney, who was sitting behind his table, frowning at her and looking dour.

“It seems clear to me that the prisoner killed Connor to conceal her part in his escape and to get hold o‟ his belongings, to aid her in her escape from the herd,” Aidan argued. “She shot him in the back, and then stole his saddlebags—”

“I didna steal them,” Rhiannon said indignantly. “They were mine, by blood-right.”

Lewen bit his lip, entreating her silently to be quiet. The duke told her the same, rather shortly, and again she apologized and bowed her head.

“It seems to me a question o‟ intent,” Gwilym the Ugly said. “If she did indeed shoot Connor in order to save her mother‟s life, without kenning who he was or that he rode on the Rìgh‟s business, well, that is a far different matter to murdering him with malice aforethought.”