Spellbinder, p.39
Spellbinder, page 39
part #2 of The Jester King Series
“So it would seem.”
“Why?”
The prince rubbed the stubble under his chin. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m superstitious. Maybe I don’t wish to kill a prince without first hearing his side. Maybe it’s because you travel with a satyr.”
“With Sylvys?”
“Aye. Were you aware they cannot tell a lie?”
“No. I never heard that.”
“It’s true. My people have revered them for centuries.”
Hereweald paused to pull a large, bronze medallion from his tunic. He held it before Billy’s eyes. It had the image of a woman on one side and a satyr on the opposite. As the disk spun in the dim light, the two images came together in an embrace. Billy couldn’t help but smile at this simple illusion.
The prince leaned back in his chair and spoke over his shoulder. “Bring me the satyr.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” came the disembodied voice from outside.
“Carefully!”
“Yes, my prince.”
Hereweald sat up straight. “My mother’s clansmen were priests in the old days. And though most of the nation have turned to the Christian god, the old ways live on.”
“And you?”
“I was bred for one purpose: war. My father needed a son to fight his battles. Even when my older brother sits on the throne, I will be fighting his wars.”
“What’s that got to do with—?”
“I have no time for this Christ. What matters right now is my belief in the purity of satyrs.”
“Purity?” Billy chuckled.
“Aye. Not by your Christian standards, but by virtue of their very nature.”
“Why do you say I’m a Christian?”
“You have their weakness for forgiveness.” With this, Hereweald held up the broken arrow once again.
“As I said, it would change nothing to execute Carius.”
“It is weakness. He is your enemy. He invaded your country, killed your people, and burned your towns. You must hate him. We are at war! It is weakness not to diminish us, even by one man.”
Billy sighed. “I saw what you did to Dyven. I felt all of those things and more. I assure you, it took more strength to give life than death.”
“Spoken like a Christian.”
Billy smiled. “I really don’t know much about it. My father thought us Christian because our king was, but the valley I grew up in had no church, nor priest.”
“They didn’t need one. They had you, preachin’ forgiveness and peace—weakness.”
“Maybe I just know the truth when I hear it.”
“Ah, the truth!” Hereweald sat back in his chair again. “I nearly forgot where all this was going.”
The prince very deliberately put his fingers together, forming a bridge between his hands. He stared at Billy over his fingers. “You have an uncanny knack for conversation, young prince.”
“Thank you.”
“I admire an opponent with cunning.”
The voice from outside announced, “Sire, the satyr is here.”
“Send him in.”
The prince stood as Sylvys entered the tent. He wore not a scrap of clothing or armor, and other than his graying hair and downtrodden face, he looked just as Billy remembered him on their first meeting.
“King Billy, are you well?”
“I’m feeling better, my friend. The prince has supplied me with an antidote for the poison.”
“My thanks to Your Highness.”
Prince Hereweald bowed to him. “Sylvys, is it?”
“Aye.”
“You called him ‘king’ instead of ‘prince.’ Why is that?”
“I only speak of what is to be. Or so is my hope.”
“So, you hope Billy will become king?”
“He is already my king.”
“Is it true satyrs cannot lie?”
“Lies always seem like such a waste of time, don’t they?”
“So you don’t lie?”
“Not that I recall, though on our current quest, I did attempt to deceive, not with my tongue, but by disguising myself. However, as you can see, it was ultimately a waste of time! My brothers didn’t understand why I did it.”
“I do.”
“You do?”
“I would have done the same in your position.” Hereweald turned to Billy. “You see, the very concept of lying is foreign to them.”
Sylvys shook his head. “Oh, I know of lyin’.”
“I’m sure you do, just not in your own kind.”
“Quite true. Although, if you consider Greater Faerie my kind, then I can tell ya, Malkry is the mother of lies. That elf hates the truth. And don’t get me started on Goblins ...”
“Truth.” Hereweald circled the satyr. “That’s what I want from you, Sylvys: the truth.”
“If it’s the truth you seek, then you shall have it.”
“Good. Then tell me, did Prince Billy kill my brother, Prince Gaelyn of Gwythia?”
“And Lyonesse.”
Hereweald glanced at Billy. “... And Lyonesse.”
Sylvys cleared his throat and stood up straight and tall. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I wasn’t there when the fair prince was slain.”
Hereweald frowned and crossed his arms with a grunt.
“I can tell ya that I believe Billy did not slay your brother.”
“On what basis do you believe that?”
“He told me.”
“He told you, and you believed him.”
“I still believe him. I believe him because I believe in him.”
“I was told that satyrs, when you could get them to talk, were creatures of few words. But not you.”
Sylvys looked down. “As of late, things haven’t been great for me. I’m not myself.”
The prince grunted again. “You may leave.”
Sylvys bowed to Billy, and curtly to Prince Hereweald, then turned to go. Without warning, the prince grabbed Sylvys by the tail and plucked out a hair.
“Ouch! It was bad enough when they started turning grey. Now I’ve got humans pulling them out!”
“My apologies.” Hereweald examined his prize.
Billy squinted at the hair. “Why did ya do that?”
“Because I am in need of a truth compass.”
“A truth compass?”
“Aye.” Sylvys sighed. “Though I’d hoped men had forgot that trick by now.”
“We’ve not all forgotten the old ways.”
“Your Highness is a wizard, then? I did not sense it in you.”
“No, Sylvys. But my mother comes from a line of oak-priests and bards.”
“So, what is this truth compass?” Billy asked.
The prince lifted his index finger and indicated that he should be patient. “I’ll show you.” He went to his table, picked up a large metal bowl, and dumped its contents on the floor. He then poured some wine into the bowl. With the bowl in hand, he turned around and searched the floor of the tent. “Ah! Perfect.” He bent down and picked up a sizeable rowan leaf that had blown in. He placed the leaf so that it floated on the wine, and then he placed the hair plucked from Sylvys’ tail on the leaf. He put his hand over the bowl and stood. “In vino veritas.”
Sylvys smiled. “I always liked that line.”
Hereweald came back to Billy’s bed and sat in the chair, holding the bowl with both hands. “Truth compass. Point to me.”
The leaf turned slowly, to point with its tip towards Hereweald.
“Truth compass, point to Prince Billy.”
Again, the leaf turned and pointed to Billy.
“Wow!” Billy’s eyes widened. “It’s magic.”
“Ptach!” Sylvys frowned. “A cheap trick.”
Hereweald ignored Sylvys and continued with his calibration of the truth compass. “Truth compass, point to your maker.”
After a slow turn, the leaf pointed to Hereweald.
“Now, truth compass, when the truth is spoken, you will point to your maker’s right hand. When a lie is spoken, you will point to your maker’s left hand. “I am Prince Hereweald.”
The leaf pointed to his right hand.
“I am the third Prince of Gwythia.”
The leaf pointed to his left hand.
“Good. I believe it’s ready.”
“Bah,” Sylvys said.
Prince Hereweald turned towards the satyr. “Please, leave us.”
Sylvys again made his bows and left.
Hereweald returned his focus to his captive. “Prince Billy, tell me, did you kill my brother?”
“No.”
They both watched as the leaf moved to point at Hereweald’s right hand. The prince stared at the compass for a while, and then he looked up.
“It seems you were telling the truth.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me a lie. Something I know is untrue.”
Billy thought for a moment. “Your brother, Gaelyn, hated you.”
The leaf turned to point at the prince’s left hand, and he closed his eyes. A pained expression crossed his face and then vanished. When the prince opened his eyes, Billy thought he detected a glint of friendship.
“I loved him too,” Billy said.
The leaf moved more quickly to point at its maker’s right hand.
Again, the stony face of the second Prince of Gwythia seemed to crack. A brief grin landed on his lips, but then threatened to flutter away. “He was easy to love, was he not?”
“Aye. I especially loved his laugh.”
Hereweald’s half grin expanded into a smile, and he snickered. He closed his eyes, which bled a tear. Again, pain clouded his expression. He caught the eye of the young man across from him, and an enduring moment passed between them.
The prince’s face lit up. “Do you know who killed my brother?”
“Yes.”
The leaf continued to point true.
“Who was it?”
“Don Miguel was the assassin, but he didn’t act alone.”
Hereweald fixed his eyes on the truth compass. “And this Don Miguel is dead?”
“Yes.”
“What of his conspirators?”
“Ergyfel, the usurper, now King of Lyonesse.”
“Who else? Were there any others?”
“Sygeon, Ergyfel’s half-brother, and ...” Billy hesitated.
“Yes. Who else?”
“I don’t know, but I suspect there was another.”
“Why?”
“Someone had to plant that second dagger in my room. It couldn’t have been Ergyfel, and I know Sygeon was away from Orgulous.”
“My spies tell me Sygeon died choking on his own blood.”
“He’s dead?”
“Aye. Rumor has it that King William cheated me of the pleasure.”
“Oh.”
“That still leaves me Ergyfel.”
“And the other.”
“Yes.” Hereweald’s eyes shifted. “The other ... Truth compass, I command you to point now to truth if the answer is yes and to lie if the answer is no.”
“What are you doing?”
“The truth compass will only function for a short time. I must use what time I have left to find out what I can.”
Hereweald closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Billy swallowed hard in anticipation.
“Truth compass, is the mystery conspirator living?”
The compass held on truth.
“Is he still in Orgulous?”
The leaf turned to indicate no.
“Is he still in the employ of Ergyfel?”
No.
“Is the conspirator far from Orgulous?
Yes.
“How far?” The prince grimaced. “You can’t answer that. You probably couldn’t tell me if the conspirator was in my own camp!” The prince growled and looked to the side, brooding.
Billy pointed at the compass. “Look! It’s moving.”
Hereweald looked as the leaf turned in the bowl. “It’s probably broken now.”
The leaf continued to rotate until it pointed at the prince’s left hand.
“It’s still working.”
The compass began to point to true.
“That means it moved ... because something I said ... was false.”
The compass stopped on true.
Hereweald looked at Billy. “What did I say?”
“Well … You asked it how far from Orgulous the second conspirator was.”
“Yes, but it can’t answer that kind of question!”
“No,” Billy muttered to himself. “Ah! But then you said ...”
“Yes ... ?”
“Let me think. You said ... it couldn’t tell you if the conspirator was in your own camp.”
“That’s it!” the prince exclaimed. However, his excitement quickly turned into brooding. At last, he leaned over the bowl and whispered. “Is one of the conspirators in my camp?”
The compass remained on “yes.”
Hereweald thought for a moment before asking, “Is the conspirator in this tent?”
No.
“Do I know the second conspirator?”
Yes.
Prince Hereweald stood up and addressed his truth compass. “Truth compass, point in the direction of this conspirator.”
The compass wavered for a moment and then pointed toward the tent exit. The prince turned around, and the compass held its position on the tent flap.
Billy grunted as he rolled to the side of the bed and put his feet on the floor. He shrugged his aching shoulder and gripped it with his left hand. Surprisingly, his ankle hurt little.
“Where do you think you’re going?” his captor asked.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Remain in your bed. This is no concern of yours.”
Billy looked the prince in the eye. “Oh, really?”
The prince narrowed his eyes, but when Billy didn’t budge, he smirked. “Very well. Come if you must.”
“I must.” Billy stood to follow the prince.
The prince grinned once again and turned to exit the tent, still carrying the truth compass with both hands.
“Allow me.” Billy pushed aside the flap.
The prince nodded and exited the tent.
They stood outside and surveyed the camp. The night remained cool, and the ground wet from a recent shower. It was a much larger camp than Billy had expected. The tents for five thousand men—a rippling sea of canvas—floated over the bottom of a broad valley. The moon shone from its seat high up in the sky and turned the white fabric of the tents pale blue, except where the amber glow of firelight forced its retreat.
The sentries on either side of the tent entrance snapped to with their spears pointing to the sky.
The prince turned to one of them. “Stay here. I’ll watch the prisoner.”
“Yes, Highness.”
Hereweald and Billy followed the compass towards the middle of the camp. As they cleared the innermost circle of tents, Billy spotted all the members of the rescue party, including the giant Camion, Aeth, and their damsel in distress, Lady Myrredith. They huddled around a campfire, surrounded by guards on all sides. The only one not fitted with chains was Myrredith.
When they approached closer, the compass led them straight for the prisoners. Lady Myrredith rose and turned around to face them. The prince froze and stared at her. Billy got on his tiptoes and saw that the compass pointed directly at her.
“You lied to me!” The prince was fuming.
“Oh William, what are you doing up?”
“Never mind him. You were the one who conspired to kill Gaelyn.”
“No.” Myrredith backed up half a step.
The prince advanced to maintain his distance. “I tried to show you my heart, but all you wanted to do was tear it out.”
“No.” Myrredith stepped to her right. “I ...”
“Stop!” Billy exclaimed.
“You weren’t satisfied with bringing down the fairest Prince of Gwythia. You had to finish your foul purpose with me.” His eyes boiled with murderous intent.
Myrredith looked terrified. Again, she stepped to the side, and again the prince followed in kind. Billy reached out to stop him.
“Your Highness, that’s not possible.”
“Quiet! She obviously fooled you as well.”
“But she wasn’t there.”
The prince stopped. He then looked down at the truth compass and saw that it pointed away from Myrredith and towards a tent just behind the prisoners.
At that moment, the compass jiggled, then moved. The prince turned and stepped towards the tent. He froze, and the compass continued to move. Billy strained to see what direction the leaf pointed.
Myrredith stood behind them with her hands on her hips. “What’s going on?”
Both princes shushed her, and she stepped back.
A moment later, the flap of the tent opened, and out popped Lord Snegaddrick, half dressed and stumbling. The former ambassador blinked and rubbed his eyes.
“What’s going on out here? I was trying to sleep—” He shut his mouth when he saw his prince a few paces away. “Your Highness. What can I do for you?”
“You can take a few paces that way.” The prince nodded to his right.
Puzzlement writ on his face, Snegaddrick pointed to his left. “What, over there?”
“Aye.”
Snegaddrick looked down, shrugged, and walked to his left.
“Stop. Now walk in the other direction.”
Snegaddrick pointed. “That way?”
“Aye!” The prince had a bit of fire in his voice.
Billy watched as Hereweald followed Snegaddrick with his truth compass.
“Now walk around me in a circle.”
His advisor adjusted his garments and walked in a circle.
“What is that you are holding, Your Highness?”
“Keep walking.”
All the guards and prisoners were watching with great interest as Hereweald ordered his advisor this way and that, and each time, his voice grew more forceful.
“What is it, Your Highness?” Snegaddrick made another turn. “Have I been lax? I’m no soldier, you know. All these orders. Is it something I said? Something I did?”
“Halt, you miscreant.”
Snegaddrick turned and faced Hereweald. “What?”
The prince took two quick strides and kicked Snegaddrick. “Traitor!”
