The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [23]
“Ya—yes, Your Grace.”
“You’ve a distinguished career up until now, all in all. Several acts of an almost impossible sort—did you really sort out this Black Warg all by yourself?”
Aspar shifted uncomfortably. “That’s been made a bit much of,” he said.
“Ah,” the praifec said. “And the affair of the Relister?”
“He’d never fought a man with dirk and ax, Your Grace. His armor slowed him down.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” He glanced at a paper on the table. “I see a few complaints, here, as well. What’s this about the Greft of Ashwis?”
“That was a misunderstanding,” Aspar said. “His lordship was mad with drink, and taking a firebrand to the forest.”
“Did you really bind and gag him?”
“The king saw it my way, sir.”
“Yes, eventually. But there’s this thing with Lady Esteiren?”
Aspar stiffened. “The lady wanted me for a holiday guide, Your Grace, which is in no way my charge. I tried to be polite.”
“And failed, it seems,” the praifec said, a touch of amusement in his voice.
Aspar started a reply, but the praifec held up his hand, shook his head, and turned to Stephen.
“Stephen Darige, formerly a fratir at the monastery d’Ef.” He peered down his nose at Stephen. “You’ve made quite an impression on the Church during your very brief tenure with it, haven’t you, Brother Stephen?”
Stephen frowned. “Your Grace, as you know, the circumstances—”
The praifec cut him off. “You’re from a family of good standing, I see. Educated at the college in Ralegh. An expert in antique languages, which you put to use at d’Ef translating forbidden documents, which translation—as I understand it, correct me if I get this wrong—led both to the death of your fratrex and the commission of unspeakable acts of dark sorcery.”
“This is all true, Your Grace,” Stephen replied, “but I did my work at the command of the fratrex. The dark sorcery was practiced by renegade monks, led by Desmond Spendlove.”
“Yes, well, you see, there’s no proof of any of that,” the praifec pointed out. “Brother Spendlove and his compatriots are all dead, as is Fratrex Pell. This is convenient for you, as there is no one to contradict your story.”
“Your Grace—”
“And yet you admit to summoning the Briar King, whose appearance is said to foretell the end of the world.”
“It was an accident, Your Grace.”
“Yes. That will be small comfort if the world is actually in the process of ending, will it not?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Stephen replied miserably.
“Nonetheless, your admission of guilt in that case goes far to suggest that you’re telling the truth. Privately, I confess I had long suspected something was awry at d’Ef. The Church, after all, is made up of men and women, all of whom are fallible, and as prone to corruption as anyone. We are doubly on the watch now, you may be assured.”
He turned at last to Winna.
“Winna Rufoote. Hostler’s daughter from Colbaely. Not a holter, not in the Church. How in Heaven did you become involved in all this?”
“I’m in love with this great lump of a holter, Your Grace,” she replied.
Aspar felt his face color.
“Well,” the praifec said. “There’s no accounting for such things, is there?”
“Likely not, Your Grace.”
“Yet you were with him when he tracked the greffyn, and at Cal Azroth when the Briar King appeared. You were also a captive of the Sefry, Fend, said to be responsible for much of what happened.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Well.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “I give you a choice, Winna Rufoote. We are about to speak of things that cannot go beyond the walls of this room. You may remain and become a part of something which could prove quite dangerous in several different ways—or you may leave, and I will have you escorted safely back to your father’s inn in Colbaely.”
“Your Grace, I’m a part of this. I’ll stay.”
Aspar found himself standing suddenly. “Winna, I forbid—”
“Hush, you great bear,” Winna said. “When could you ever forbid me?”
“This time I do!” Aspar said.
“Silence, please,” the praifec said. He focused his raptor eyes on Aspar. “It’s her choice.”
“And she’s made it,” Winna said.
“Think carefully,