The rightful king of Wen Endex spent three nights sheltering in the Green Cricket with the ambassadors from the Qinjoks. Then, on the fourth night, he accompanied them to Saxo Pall, where the orks were to have an audience with Ursula Major.
There was some trouble when the three-strong party arrived at Saxo Pall, for Guignol Grangalet sought to separate Alfric from the orks. But Cod and Morgenstem stood firm, and insisted that Alfric be allowed to accompany them into the throneroom.
Which, at last, he was allowed to do.
Though Ursula Major had ruled Saxo Pall but briefly, she had made her mark on it in a mixed way. The throneroom had been massively renovated since Alfric had been there last. It blazed with light, for the number of lanterns in the place had been tripled. Everything had been washed, polished, scrubbed or refurbished; and, to his surprise, Alfric found he could see his reflection in the unstained floor. He had always thought it roughwork granite of some kind; but, now the muck of generations had been scoured away, he saw the floor was made of the smoothest white-veined black marble.
Sitting on the throne was Ursula Major, as poised as ever. She was wearing silks; and her nipples flowered against her silks. Something in the way she sat suggested that she was fully conscious of the perfection of her breasts and the effect it had on the susceptible; and, little as Alfric wanted to admit it, in truth he was one of the susceptible.
‘Stand here,’ said Guignol Grangalet.
‘Where?’ said Alfric, taking his eyes off Ursula Major.
‘Never mind where he says,’ said Cod firmly. ‘You’re staying with us.’
Again the orks stood firm; and Alfric stayed in the company of those ambassadors from the Qinjoks as they made between them an interminable and wearisome speech about the long friendship which had endured between that king and the lords of Galsh Ebrek.
The witnesses to this speech were many; but Alfric felt very much alone and isolated, for the many were Yudonic Knights to a man, and fear of assassins had kept him from making any effort to repair his relationships with the breed.
While listening to Cod and Morgenstem enlarge upon their theme, Alfric had ample time to watch Ursula Major, and to think, and to wonder. Was she still ruling as regent? Or had she declared herself to be the new king? Really, the question was immaterial. Obviously, she was now the ruling power in Wen Endex: and that was what really mattered. He observed the way she teased a strand of her hair through her fingers. She was bored with this, he could tell. Boredom betrays itself swiftly. So was she unhappy sitting on the throne? Perhaps. But perhaps it was her nature to be bored with life; and, in any case, since when did anyone surrender a throne out of mere ennui?
As Alfric watched Ursula Major, admiring the elegance of the hair which flowed in ripples about her neck, he knew that he wanted her; but greater than lust was the desire to kill. But if anyone was going to do any killing in Saxo Pall, it was more likely to be Ursula than Alfric.
At last, Ursula Major was finished with the orks.
‘We will deliberate,’ she said, thus sidelining the petition which the orks had just made, which was for them to be allowed to address a general assembly of the Yudonic Knights of Galsh Ebrek.
Now Ursula was ready to deal with Alfric.
‘Alfric,’ she said.
‘Greetings, aunt,’ said Alfric.
He chose to address her thus for two reasons. First, because he knew she hated to be thus addressed. Second, because he wanted to stress the family connection. Surely Ursula Major could not order the death of a family member without shaming herself beyond redemption.
Or could she?
In Obooloo, Aldarch the Third had celebrated his victory in a seven-year civil war by disembowelling his forty-seven brothers and feeding his twenty-nine sisters to the Favoured Rats; but nobody thought any the worse of him for that.
‘We hear,’ said Ursula Major coldly, ‘that you were the man who got my father killed.’
Alfric had been ready for many accusations. He thought Ursula Major might have tried to accuse him, for example, of being a werewolf. But never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that she would blame him for Tromso Stavenger’s death; and he was so taken aback that he could hardly believe this charge was seriously intended.
‘We see,’ said Ursula, ‘that you make no effort to deny the charge.’
Alfric recovered the use of his voice and said:
‘The man met his end as a hero should. Fighting against Herself.’
‘You got him killed,’ said Ursula.
Her debating style was clumsy; but, for that very reason, it was going to be difficult to deal with. Alfric had honed his speaking abilities in moots conducted by the Bank; and, in such debates, a speaker dropped a line of argument once it had been decisively refuted. Alfric, believing that he had so refuted his aunt’s accusation, was more than irritated to find her staunchly repeating it.
‘We killed the Hag,’ said Alfric.
‘So?’ said Ursula. ‘A dozen men with crossbows could have done as much with less fuss and no deaths whatsoever.’
‘I believe She would not have fallen easily to any hunters,’ said Alfric. ‘Anyway, the matter is closed. She is dead, and there’s an end to it.’
‘The issue is not closed,’ said Ursula. ‘Her death is greatly regr etted, for She was an asset to the state.’ ‘That,’ said Alfric, is the most nonsense I’ve heard in one breath since the day I was bom.’
‘What you fail to understand,’ said Ursula, ‘is that our monsters are assets. Amongst other things, they discourage invasion. You have done much to wreck the reputation of Wen Endex. Lusting for personal gain, you slaughtered the dragon Qa. Poor Kralch you humiliated. You dared the lair of the very vampires themselves and returned unscathed, much to the diminishment of the stature of those valued allies of ours. Finally, you have participated in the murder of Herself. ’
‘She was a killer,’ said Alfric.
‘So She was,’ said Ursula. ‘That was Her purpose. To stalk the nig ht and kill. To be a thing of terror. A thing to make hideous all beyo nd our walls. You understand?’ ‘No,’ said Alfric.
‘Of course you don’t understand,’ said Ursula scornfully. ‘But it is true. She did us a great service. She bound all of Wen Endex in a great alliance. Thanks to Her, the commoners ever found the swords of the Yudonic Knights a welcome asset rather than an irksome imposition. By killing as She did, She made our people see the ruling hierarchy as a chivalrous and self-sacrifidng order, as an asset rather than a burdensome ruling class.’ ‘You seem to be accusing me,’ said Alfric, ‘of stirring up revolution.’
‘Your actions, witted or witless, present us with that possibility,’ said Ursula.
‘I do not believe for one moment that there will be a revolution.’
‘Of course there will be no revolution,’ said Ursula. ‘For we will do what we must to prevent it. She helped secure our ruling order, and could help us yet; therefore, we will reinvent Her. As for the dragon, why, no doubt we can get another one, somewhere. In due course, we can also assist the swamp giant and the vampires to recover their reputations.’
‘You’re mad,’ said Alfric, in disbelief.
‘No,’ said Ursula. ‘I am not mad. I am simply better educated than yourself. You think yourself a coldblooded banker, whereas in fact you see the world through a haze of romance. Your vision of power is blurred by the glamorous impracticalities of legend and myth. You still think that power exists as a service to the people. In this you are a child.’ ‘For what then does power exist?’ said Alfric.
‘To serve itself,’ answered Ursula Major.
Alfric looked around at the silent assembly.
‘You dare say that?’ said he. ‘Here? In front of witnesses?’
‘All those here today are gathered together in an alliance of power,’ said Ursula Major. ‘In other times it may be politic to speak with greater circumspection. But today, this once, we can indulge ourselves in the truth.’
So she spoke. Then studied Alfric with a cold calculation which made him suddenly afraid, terribly afraid. She had planned his doom; he was sure of it. Her speech was just a preface to his death, or — or to something worse.
He had thought to come here to throw her off her throne, to dismiss her with a word. He must have been mad. Completely deluded. He should have fled from Wen Endex immediately after his father’s funeral. He would have been safer in Obooloo than here.
Suddenly, Ursula Major smiled.
Was Alfric reprieved?
No!
For Ursula said:
‘You are a criminal, for you have wilfully destroyed state assets to further your own ambition, and you have led an old and senile man to a hideous death. This amounts to treason. Therefore we pronounce your doom. You are guilty of treason. Therefore, you must die.’
That proved what Alfric had already guessed: he had hopelessly misjudged the situation.
Alfric had guessed that Ursula Major was prepared to destroy him, but not that she was ready to do so in public view. He had expected backstreet murder, knives in the dark, arson, poison, arrows fired from the shadows. He had feared death at the hands of Ciranoush Zaxilian Nom. But not this! Not a formal condemnation from the throne.
‘But,’ continued Ursula Major, ‘while you must die, we do give you the chance to die as a Yudonic Knight. If you wish, you can seek to prove your innocence by trial by combat. If you do not wish to be dragged away by the executioner, then you can seek to prove your innocence in challenge against this hall.’
‘Against the hall?’ said Alfric in astonishment.
‘Yes,’ said Ursula. ‘Do you need an explanation of what that means?’
Alfric made no answer, for the question was purely rhetorical. Of course he knew what it meant.
In trial by combat, one fights and kills to prove one’s innocence. The state puts forward one or more champions, and the accused criminal must murder all those champions to prove himself not guilty. On this occasion, Ursula Major had volunteered every single person in the hall to champion the state.
Which meant that Alfric would have to kill off the entire hall, man by man, to prove his innocence.
An impossible task.
But he did have one advantage.
It was his privilege to choose who he would fight first.
Alfric looked around, seeking a suitably weak victim. But he saw none. He suspected this had been planned long in advance. None of the old, the weak and the crippled was in this throneroom, though such people existed in the ranks of the Yudonic Knights.
However, there was Guignol Grangalet.
Alfric caught Grangalet’s eye, and the Chief of Protocol looked away nervously. He knew Alfric could kill him easily. But, what was the point of that? Who cared whether a civil servant like Grangalet lived or died? Ursula Major could get another Chief of Protocol easily.
Nothing would be served by murdering Grangalet.
So…
Alfric was doomed.
He might kill the first man to champion the cause of the state; and he might kill the second, the third, maybe even the fourth — but sooner or later, one of his foes would kill him.
Or was he doomed?
Surely… surely Ursula Major had made an error.
Alfric cleared his throat.
‘If I heard you rightly,’ said Alfric, ‘you volunteered everyone in this hall to fight for the state.’
‘So I did,’ said Ursula Major. ‘Such is my privilege.’
‘But surely you exclude yourself from that number,’ said Alfric.
‘I do not,’ said Ursula Major in a level voice. ‘I stand ready to meet you in combat if you satisfy the necessary protocol.’
‘And the necessary protocol is?’ said Alfric.
‘Very simply, that you prove yourself to be a woman,’ said Ursula Major. ‘For it is the law of the Yudonic Knights that a female cannot meet anyone in trial by combat excepting another female. If you can prove yourself to be a woman, Alfric, I’ll happily fight you.’
This roused a laugh from the Yudonic Knights.
Alfric let that laugh die away, then said: ‘So, if I’m not a woman, I have to fight the men. The males.’
‘Such is your destiny,’ said Ursula.
‘And I can choose… I can choose any male in this hall to be the state’s first champion.’
‘That is your privilege,’ said Ursula.
‘Since that is the case,’ said Alfric, ‘it would appear that you have put the lives of King Dimple-Dumpling’s ambassadors in peril.’
A babble of protest uprose from the Yudonic Knights. Ursula Major called for silence. She was not granted it.
‘Silence!’ she said. Then, shouting, this time: ‘Silence! Shut up, or else!’
Slowly, the noise from the Knights muttered down to almost nothing.
But Alfric knew he had unsettled them.
Ursula Major had designated ‘the hall’ to meet Alfric in challenge. Which meant that Alfric was entitled to choose any person in the hall to fight him.
If he chose one of the orks, then the ork would doubtless die, for any Yudonic Knight could cut such a blubbery creature to pieces with no trouble at all, regardless of what weapons the soft-natured thing might have in its hands.
Alfric could easily kill both of King Dimple-Dumpling’s ambassadors.
Which would mean war between the Qinjoks and Wen Endex.
Ursula Major now had no choice.
She would have to cancel the trial by combat.
Or Alfric would kill the orks and plunge Wen Endex into a ruinous war.
Ursula stared at Alfric in fury, then said:
‘You want to kill the orks? Very well! Kill them!’
Again there was an uproar from the Yudonic Knights. It did not cease until Guignol Grangalet joined Ursula Major in shouting the Knights down to silence.
‘As I said,’ said Ursula Major, ‘kill the orks if that’s what you wish.’
Alfric glanced at the orks. The grey-skinned creatures had shrunk away from him. They were huddled together, holding hands. And both were crying. He was embarrassed.
Well?
Should he murder them?
Alfric made a cold-blooded calculation, and decided there was no profit in killing orks. It would win him no prestige with the Yudonic Knights. It would not serve to prove his courage; which, in any case, had been adequately proved already. He had threatened to plunge Wen Endex into war, and Ursula Major But wait!
Was she bluffing?
Was she waiting to see whether he really would go ahead and challenge one of the orks?
Alfric looked again at Ursula Major, saw the depth of her frustrated rage, and decided that, no, she was not bluffing. She wanted him dead. Even if a war with the ogres was the price of his death.
Alfric cleared his throat.
‘You invite me,’ said Alfric, ‘to murder two ambassadors. I do not think such an invitation civilized, nor do I intend to accept that invitation. Nevertheless, let all here bear witness to the fact that you extended such an invitation to me.’
‘You were the one who suggested it!’ shouted Ursula Major, unable to contain herself.
‘I felt it my duty to point out the grievous error you had made,’ said Alfric coldly. ‘I would never take advantage of such an error, for I love my country. But others would not be scrupulous. Whether I live or die today, I do not want you to repeat your error. I do not want Wen Endex driven to war on account of your foolishness.’
This excited the Yudonic Knights again, and Guignol Grangalet had difficulty in silencing them. Alfric knew he had scored a decisive blow in this battle of wits. The odds were against him, but maybe, just maybe, he could undermine Ursula Major’s authority to the point where she got laughed off the throne.
As Alfric was so thinking, he was engulfed in the arms of an ork. It was Morgenstem.
‘Thank you, Alfric,’ said Morgenstem, giving him a big slubbering kiss. ‘Oh thank you, thank you, thank you so much for sparing us.’
The Yudonic Knights broke into open laughter, and Alfric knew all the ground he had made up was lost. He was enraged. He wanted to break Morgenstem in half, to smash the soft and slobbery creature. But he knew it was too late. The ork had made him look ridiculous, and he could not recover his dignity by killing the thing, an action which would only lead to an embarrassing scene with Cod.
‘So,’ said Ursula, as Morgenstem released Alfric, ‘we see this thing for what it is. A lover of orks.’
More laughter from the Knights.
‘We wonder what other strange passions it leamt in the Qinjoks,’ said Ursula. ‘Many times it went there, did it not? Many dealings it had with the ogres. Secret, those dealings, but we won’t ask it what happened in those meetings.’
What was this? A subtle accusation of treachery?
‘I went to the Qinjoks at the behest of the Bank,’ said Alfric. ‘All men know that, and women too. I brought back a treasure of jade, tribute to be handed over to the ambassador from the Izdimir Empire. ’
‘Yet the treasure every year became leaves and sticks,’ said Ursula. ‘Strange, is it not? What really happened, Alfric? And does what happened help to explain your fine rich house on Vamvelten Street? Never mind, we-’ ‘I mind!’ said Alfric. ‘How much more nonsense can we listen to? Do you really think I took the ogres’ treasure? Are you really accusing me of theft?’
‘You stand guilty of treason,’ said Ursula Major. ‘Therefore there is no point in us trifling with lesser crimes. Let it be noted, however, that you appear to love the denizens of the Qinjoks more than your own kind. These last three nights, you’ve sheltered with orks when no house of humans would have you. ’
‘Orks took me in,’ said Alfric. ‘True. Orks sheltered me. I could quibble, oh yes, I could quibble with a minor point, and say the house in question was not a place of orks but, rather, an inn owned by one Anna Blaume. But I won’t trifle with such points. Rather, I’ll ask the big question. Why have orks proved more constant in friendship than humans? I believe it is because the humans have erred in their judgement.’
Alfric took a deep breath.
If he was going to talk himself out of this one, he must make himself acceptable to the Knights. He could not repudiate the orks, because the evidence of his affiliation with those blubber-oil beasts was too strong. But he could stress that he was in truth a Yudonic Knight, a hero equal to any out of saga.
‘Humans have erred,’ said Alfric, ‘and any who think on what I am and who I am will realize the depth of that error. I am a patriot. I am Alfric Danbrog. A hero! The killer of Herself! Whatever you think of — of the political advantages of having a monster on the loose, I’m entitled to the gratitude of the nation. ’
Alfric paused.
Actually, his heart was not really in this. While he had always had a very high opinion of himself, he had never been one for open boasting. And, what was more, he was starting to despair of winning victory through words.
‘The gratitude of the nation,’ said Ursula Major, sneering as she said it.
‘Yes!’ said Alfric. ‘And — and I tell you this. You want me dead? Very well. You can have me dead. But I won’t die alone. I gladly take the opportunity to prove my innocence in trial by combat. Naturally, I’ll die. Sooner or later. But this I promise: I’ll kill the first man who comes against me.’
So saying, Alfric looked as fiercely as he could upon the Yudonic Knights. They looked back with undisguised hostility. Indeed, with hate.
But why?
Why did they hate him?
His association with orks could make him look ridiculous, but it could scarcely make him hateful. And surely nobody could believe the accusations of crime which had been made against him. Something else had caused the breach between Alfric and the Knights. Did they really believe that he had deliberately shunned the funeral of his father and grandfather? And even if they did believe that, was that enough to condemn him to death? And could they not see that he would make a good king, maybe even a great king?
Many of these Knights were the very same men who had marched with Tromso Stavenger to do battle against Herself, yet Alfric saw not a hint of sympathy on any of their faces. He started to suspect that they were ashamed of their cowardice (as well they should be!) and that their hostility was consequent upon their shame.
Their cowardice haunted them, and so they wanted to forget the past. They did not value Alfric Danbrog for his heroism; rather, they resented his triumph and what that triumph said about their own timidity. Thus the momentum of the movement to put a Danbrog on the throne had been killed entirely. For the Yudonic Knights it was far better (as far as their egos were concerned) that Alfric be known as a murderous fool, an anarchic underminer of stability, a self-serving careerist, an enemy of the State.
Thus Ursula Major’s smooth-voiced logic had a potent appeal for the Knights, and there was no way Alfric could argue effectively against it.
He saw that, now.
All his rhetorical efforts had failed, and had always been doomed to fail.
So.
It had come to this.
He must meet the Yudonic Knights of the hall in combat. One by one he must meet them and kill them. Naturally, if he tried to do any such thing he would surely die himself, on his first duel or his second, or the sixth or the seventh. So he could give up. Now. He could let himself be dragged away by the executioner. He could submit himself to a coward’s death.
Or He had another option, yes.
He was a shape-changer, yes, and so he could Change, and once he had Changed he could fight his way out of this place.
In a moment of bloody battle-lust, Alfric longed to do just that and have done with pretence. He would become wolf for real and forever. He would become what he truly was, and would savage any and all who stood in his way as he fought free from Saxo Pall. Nobody would be able to stand against his strength. And once he had fought his way out of Saxo Pall Why, then he would flee for the wilds, and live as an outcast ravager, a lawless marauder. He would have done with civilized restraint. He would put an end to his life of lies and deceits. For him, no more the life of studied smiles and careful diplomacy. He would make himself one with the appetites of his blood. He would be a haunter of shadows, a lurching fear which made nightmares come true beneath the moon.
Then, suddenly, Alfric realized that this was exactly what Ursula Major wanted. The Hag was dead, so the state desired a monster. Unless Alfric was badly mistaken, Ursula Major knew what he was and what he could do. She knew he could Change and fight his way free. Ursula Major had said she would reinvent Herself; and she was fast on the way to doing just that.
Alfric steadied himself.
— Whatever I do, it will not be what my aunt wants.
So what options did he have?
Three.
First, to submit to the executioner.
Second, to fight the Knights, one by one, seeking to prove his inn ocence in trial by combat.
Third, to Change, and fight his way out of Saxo Pall. The first tw o options would see him die, and the third was nearly as disastrous. S o.
What was it the Bank advised?
— When all else fails, seek delay.
Alfric smoothed a smile on to his face. The rage which had almost brought his Change upon him was over. In the aftermath of that rage, his limbs were weak and trembling. But his voice was steady.
‘My lady,’ said Alfric, smoothing honey into his voice. ‘Much is often spoken in haste which is regretted at leisure. You have given me the opportunity of proving my innocence in trial by combat. This I can do, and will do if I must. However… is it not the custom that I have the opportunity of asking someone to champion me in such combat?’
‘That has happened in the past,’ acknowledged Ursula Major.
‘Then,’ said Alfric, ‘I ask that these proceedings be delayed until tomorrow night, to give me the opportunity of seeking such a champion.’
‘The flower of chivalry is gathered together in this throneroom,’ said Ursula, indicating the Yudonic Knights. ‘If you wish to have a champion, then seek one here.’ Alfric turned to the Yudonic Knights. He knew there was no hope that any of the Knights would volunteer himself as Alfric’s champion, but the gesture at least gave him time in which to think.
But all he could think of was that single word:
— Think!
— Think!
Alfric had exhausted all his ideas, and was close to panic.
Then, as he surveyed the hard-faced Knights, he heard someone say:
‘I will champion him.’
Alfric turned in astonishment.
It was Morgenstem!
How absurd!
Already the Yudonic Knights were laughing. Alfric was furious. Morgenstem must be mad. What did the foolish creature think it was doing? A blubbery ork would not have a hope in the world against the least of the Knights.
But he kept his fury from his face.
Oh well.
That was it, then.
He had no option left to him but to Change.
He looked around the throneroom and saw a side-door which was ajar. That was the one he’d make for. When should he Change? Now? No! Wait! Wait for the ork to go into battle. Once combat began, all eyes would be on the fight. That would be the time to start to Change…
‘Peace!’ said Guignol Grangalet. ‘Hush down, all of you! We have a champion for Alfric Danbrog. The champion is an Ork. The name of the ork is Cod.’
‘No,’ said Cod.
‘That’s Cod,’ said Morgenstem, pointing. ‘I’m Morgenstem.’
‘My apologies,’ said Grangalet. Then, turning to Ursula Major: ‘My lady, Alfric’s champion is the ork Morgenstem.’
Ursula smiled.
‘This will be interesting,’ said she. ‘Very well, ork. Who do you want to fight first?’
‘You,’ said Morgenstem.
Ursula laughed, and so did the Knights. When the laughter had died away, Ursula spoke:
‘You want to fight me? I’m sorry, Mister Blubber, but I’m not for fighting.’
‘The challenge is against the hall,’ said Morgenstem, with surprising firmness of voice. ‘You said so. That means I can choose to fight against anyone in the hall.’ ‘Poor orky!’ said Ursula. ‘Weren’t you listening, little orky thing? We went through that earlier. I can’t fight you even if I wanted to. Only females can fight females. That’s our law.’
‘But the women of Wen Endex do fight,’ said Morgenstem stubbornly. ‘Both the laws and the traditions of the land say as much. Many are the shield maidens who have fallen in battle for the honour of the Families, and mighty are the legends which surround them.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Ursula, with a touch of impatience. ‘Doubtless such things have happened. However, we are not on a battlefield. ’
‘Nevertheless,’ said Morgenstem, ‘the law is what the law is, and tradition likewise.’
‘Orky thing,’ said Ursula, ‘you’re starting to annoy me. We’ve been through this once, we’ve been through this twice, now we’re going through it thrice. Here, only a woman can fight a woman. Please believe me, Mister Oil-for-brains. What I tell you three times is true. Were you female, I’d have to fight you. But you’re not, so I don’t and won’t. Choose someone else.’ ‘But-’
‘But me no buts,’ said Ursula. ‘Choose a man.’
‘But I’m a woman,’ said Morgenstem.
Ursula gaped. She really did. Her jaw fell. Then she closed it abmptly.
‘Don’t be absurd,’ said Ursula Major. ‘You cannot possibly be a female. The ethnology texts are very clear. Female orks are small and shy. You’re neither. You’re big and bulky. So you’re a male. The females run around in pleated skirts. I don’t see you in a skirt.’
‘The textbooks,’ said Morgenstem, ‘are wrong.’
Then, in support of this thesis, the ork began to strip. Off came the ork’s heavy woollen shirt. Revealing sluggardly low-slung breasts. Off came the ork’s woollen trousers, revealing ‘You — you must be a freak,’ said Ursula desperately. ‘Not so,’ said Cod, starting to strip in sympathy. ‘We’re not freaks. We’re females.’
‘That’s right,’ said Morgenstem. ‘We’re not freaks. We’re fact. Your ethnology texts lie. What is more, you know full well why they lie.’
That loud-voiced accusation rang through the hall. It was received by the Yudonic Knights in utter silence. For both orks were now bare-arse naked, and the proof of their anatomy could not be denied.
And this shocked the Knights to the core.
It was no secret that the wealth of the Families was based on the slaughter of orks. While the ork-killing days were long since over, it was acknowledged that it was wealth won from ork-oil which had made the Families great, and which also made the Flesh Traders’ Financial Association a power to be reckoned with.
Every Knight knew that his family had risen to greatness as a result of the murder of many orks.
But, in Wen Endex it was an article faith that the killers of orks had always, as a chivalrous gesture, spared the females. Now the horrors of the past were revealed in full force. The victims of the orking days had been exclusively female; and those who killed them for fun and profit must have been fully aware of the fact. It was the big, blubbery females who were full of oil, for the timid little males were too small to have commercial potential.
As the Knights were absorbing this shock, Morgenstem spoke:
‘Come to me, Ursy-thing. Come here, prattle-head. Bring me your perfumed lips, the pink of your underwear. Come to me, Ursy-thing. I want to strangle you.’
‘We — we fight with swords here,’ said Ursula Major unsteadily.
‘My champion is free to opt for unarmed combat if my champion so wishes it,’ said Alfric loudly. ‘That is the law, and you know it.’
Ursula Major looked on him with hatred.
There was no way Ursula Major could best an ork in combat, and she knew it. Ursula Major was a clothes horse, not a woman warrior in the shield maiden tradition. If Morgenstem insisted on unarmed combat, then Morgenstem must necessarily win, for the ork was at least twice the weight of the human female.
‘So,’ said Ursula. ‘So, they are females. The orks are females. Very well. Then let it be so written. Alfric Danbrog was championed by a woman. Thus he lived.’
Then the Yudonic Knights began to laugh, for of course it was a great joke to think of Alfric being saved by an ork, and a female ork at that. As the Knights collapsed in paroxysms of backslapping and kneeslapping, Alfric realized his public humiliation was complete. Lower than this he could not go.
When the laughter at last died down, the throneseated Ursula Major said:
‘Your doom is withdrawn. You are free to go.’ Then, to her Chief o f Protocol: ‘Show our guest out.’ Whereupon Guignol Grangalet invited Alfric to leave. He agreed that he would leave. There was, after all, nothing he could win by staying.
‘We’ll come with you,’ said Morgenstem, who was in the process of getting dressed again.
‘No,’ said Ursula Major. ‘I command you to attend a banquet to celebrate your victory today. You and your friend. Both the orks.’
A half-dressed Morgenstem looked at Alfric.
‘I’ll be all right,’ said Alfric, who felt so miserable and humiliated that all he wanted was to escape from Saxo Pall.
‘Good speed,’ said Cod.
‘Thank you,’ said Alfric. ‘Thank you.’
Then he bowed to the orks, bowed to the Knights, bowed to Ursula Major herself, then allowed the Chief of Protocol to lead him away.
Through halls and corridors went Alfric Danbrog and Guignol Grangalet, down echoing stairwells and then through tunnelling dark. Alfric realized Grangalet was taking him into an unfamiliar part of the castle. Alfric meant to ask about this, but When he looked around, Grangalet had vanished.
‘My lord?’ said Alfric, uncertainly.
He was sure the man had been behind him but a dozen footsteps previously.
Cautiously, Alfric retraced his steps. Slipped through an archway. And And there was Nappy, and for Alfric there was no time to retreat, no time to run, and certainly no time to Change, for he would be dead before he could do any such thing.
‘Good evening, sir,’ said Nappy.
Nappy’s happy brown eyes held no hint of menace, but the stiletto in his hands was living a life of its own, the quicksilver blade flickering as it danced by the light of an overhead lantern, its agility confirming what Alfric knew already. If Alfric were to Change, he would be dead before the first shadows had possessed his flesh. If he were to draw his sword, he would fall with that needle of steel buried in his heart. He could not run, he could not dodge or duck, he could not — would not — beg for mercy.
He was a dead man.
But he managed manners sufficient to say:
‘A good evening indeed. And how would you be on this night of nights?’
‘Very well, thank you sir,’ said Nappy. ‘May I invite you to step this way?’
‘By all means,’ said Alfric.
And, commanded by a negligent gesture, Alfric Danbrog walked in front of Nappy. Waiting as he walked. Waiting for the knife. Between the vertebrae, doubtless. One blow to paralyse, another to kill. Or would it be in the back of the neck? Then one single strike would suffice to make death certain.
Wherever the blow fell, this much was certain:
Alfric Danbrog was a dead man.