The Kings of Clonmel

Chapter 32

Ferris went white. Horace saw the colour literally drain from his face and his hand went up to his tf in an involuntary gesture of shock. After initially recoiling, the King took control of himself and stepped forward a pace, peering into the face of the grim, grey-bearded man who stood before him.

`Brother?' he said. 'But you can't…' He stopped, then tried to take possession of himself once more, tried to assume an air of dignified mystification. 'My brother is dead. He died many years ago,' he said, the conviction in his voice growing as he spoke. He made a small sign with his right hand and Horace ce heard the large doors behind them open, heard several sets of hurried footsteps on the stone flooring and knew that Sean Carrick and a small group of men at arms had entered the throne room.

He'd been right about the unseen observers, he thought grimly.

`Your majesty, is everything all right?' Sean Carrick asked.

Halt glanced over his shoulder at the group of armed men. He stepped a little closer to Ferris. Instinctively, the King began to back off a corresponding pace. Then he seemed to realise that, by doing so, he was giving Halt the upper hand. He stopped, watching Halt warily. Halt spoke softly so that only his brother and Horace could hear his words.

`If you're frightened, brother, then let Sean stay. He has a right to hear me. But unless you want your men to hear what we're about to discuss – and I don't think you do -send them outside again, where they can see but not listen.'

Ferris looked at him, then at the armed men standing ready by the door. Halt and Horace were both unarmed, he realised, while he was wearing his sword. Sean Carrick was similarly armed and Ferris knew his steward was a more than capable swordsman. That was one of the reasons Sean held the position that he did. Years of guilt and fear, long suppressed, now swam to the surface of his mind. He realised instinctively that he didn't want his soldiers to hear whatever it was that Halt planned to say. He knew it would not show himself in any favourable light. Abruptly, he decided.

`Sean!' he called. 'Dismiss the men to their posts and come stand by me.'

Carrick hesitated and Ferris turned to look directly at him.

`Do it,' he ordered.

Carrick still hesitated another second or two, then nodded to the men. As they turned and trooped out of the room, Sean waited till the doors closed behind them, then strode forward to stand beside the King.

`Uncle,' he said, confirming Halt's earlier suspicion, `what's the trouble? Who is this man?'

He was looking at Halt, frowning. From the relative positions of the three men, Halt and Ferris facing each other, Horace standing a pace or two back, it was obvious now that the Araluan knight was not the leader here, but the follower. And now Sean had that same sense that he'd felt before, that there was something very familiar about the smaller man.

Halt turned to face him.

`Uncle?' he said. 'You'd be Caitlyn's son then?'

Sean nodded. 'What do you know of my mother?' he asked, his tone defensive and a little belligerent. Ferris let out a deep sigh of anguish and turned away, moving to sit on a low bench beside the throne, his head in his hands.

'She was my sister,' Halt told him. 'I'm your uncle too. My name is Halt.'

`NoP Sean rejected the statement vehemently. 'My uncle Halt is dead. He died over twenty years ago!' He looked to the King for confirmation. But Ferris's face remained in his hands and he refused to look up and meet Sean's gaze. He shook his head repeatedly from side to side, as if trying to deny the scene before him. Sean's conviction began to waver and he looked more closely at the small, rather stocky man in the mottled cloak.

The beard was full and covered the face. And the moustache was heavy as well. But if that shaggy mop of hair were drawn back as Ferris's was…

Sean shook his head now. The features were the same. They were more defined in the stranger's face. In Ferris's, they were blurred somewhat by the extra flesh he carried.

A person's features become altered by their actions over their lifetime, he knew. A face is a canvas where the years paint their marks. But if you could strip away the effect of the years from these two faces, remove the excesses, the joys, the pains, the triumphs and disappointments of twenty years or more, then he sensed that they would be identical.

And if you looked beyond the faces to the eyes…

The eyes! They were the same. Yet in one important way, they were different. Ferris, he knew, could never meet your gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. His eyes would slide away from yours uncertainly. That was why Ferris set great store by the fact that people should not gaze directly into the face of a king. But this man's eyes were steady and unwavering. And as Sean Carrick looked into them now, he saw something else, a faint hint of sardonic humour deep behind them.

`Finished looking?' Halt asked him.

Sean stepped back. He wasn't totally convinced, but his mind couldn't ignore the evidence that his eyes were seeing. He turned to Ferris.

`Your majesty?' he said. 'Tell me.'

But the only response from Ferris was a deep groaning sound, and an ineffectual wave of the hand. And in that moment, Sean Carrick knew. A second later, Ferris confirmed it with one word.

`Halt…' he began uncertainly, raising his eyes at last to look at his brother. 'I never meant you any harm. You must believe that.'

`Ferris, you're a lying sack of manure. You meant me a great deal of harm. You meant to kill me.'

`No! When you left I sent men after you to find you!' Ferris protested. Halt laughed, a short, barking sound that had no humour in it.

`I'll bet you did! With orders to finish what you'd started!'

It was too much for Sean. Nobody had ever taken such a tone to the King and the habit of years now made him intervene. He stepped forward, interposing himself between Ferris and Halt, his eyes locked on Halt's, each of them unwilling to drop his gaze.

`You can't talk to the King like that,' Sean said with some force. Halt held his gaze for several seconds before he replied quietly.

`I'm not talking to the King.' He jerked a contemptuous thumb at his brother. 'He is.'

The thought was so outrageous, so directly opposed to everything that Sean had lived by for his entire adult life, that it checked him like a physical blow. Yet he realised it was true. If this was Halt, then he was the rightful King of Clonmel, and Ferris was a usurper. No ceremony of coronation and consecration could change that basic fact. And as he looked into Halt's eyes again, then tried to look at Ferris, only to have the so-called King avert his gaze, the last doubt disappeared from Sean's mind. This was Halt. This was the rightful King of Clonmel.

`Your majesty…'he said and began to sink to his knees before Halt. The Ranger quickly stopped him, stepping closer to seize his forearm and draw him back to his feet. Ferris made a choking sound in his throat. Significantly, Sean thought, he made no protest about Sean's demonstration of fealty to Halt.

`Very kind of you,' Halt said, 'but we don't have time for that nonsense. I'm really not interested in being King. I prefer to work for a living. Now, Ferris, we need to talk.'

Ferris looked wildly about the room, as if seeking some form of escape. He knew that he was about to face retribution for his crimes. So he was quite startled when Halt continued, in a bad-tempered tone.

`Oh, for God's sake, man! I'm not here to steal your throne! I'm here to help you keep it!'

`Keep it?' Ferris, said, bewildered. Events were moving too fast for him. 'Keep it from whom?'

`Let's sit down, shall we?' Halt saw several low benches to one side and he picked one up and brought it close to the throne, gesturing for Horace and Sean to do likewise. Ferris stood watching them, uncertain what to do next, plucking nervously at the hem of his satin sleeve.

`You hop up on your throne,' Halt told him. 'I'm sure you'll enjoy that.' He glanced at Sean. 'I don't suppose there's any chance we could get some coffee sent in, is there?' he asked.

Sean looked doubtful. 'We don't drink coffee here. The King -' he corrected himself '- Uncle Ferris doesn't like it.'

`Might have known,' Halt said, scowling. He looked at Horace and curled his lip in distaste. Horace couldn't help grinning. Halt seemed more antagonised by the fact that his brother didn't like coffee than by the fact that he had stolen the throne from him. Typical, the young warrior thought.

`Well, never mind,' Halt continued. 'We'll just get this over as quickly as we can. Now, Ferris, you've heard of a group called the Outsiders, I take it?'

`Yes…' Ferris was taken aback. He hadn't expected this turn in the conversation. 'They're some kind of religion. Harmless, I would have said.'

`Harmless my eye. They're a cult, not a religion. And you're going to have to take a stand against them. They're on their way here and they plan to seize power in Clonmel.'

`Seize power? That's ridiculous! What makes you say that?' Ferris was openly sceptical of the idea. Halt gazed steadily at him. Sean noted that the King averted his eyes after a few seconds, as ever.

`I've heard their leader speak. And I've heard him whipping people up – inciting them to rebellion.'

`Nonsense!' Ferris seemed sure of himself now, back on secure ground. 'Tennyson is a simple preacher, that's all. He wishes me no harm.'

`Tennyson?' Halt said, seizing on the name, and the familiarity in Ferris's voice when he mentioned it. 'You know him?' A light of understanding dawned in his eyes. `You've been in contact with him, haven't you?'

Ferris was about to answer, then hesitated. Halt pressed him further.

`Haven't you?'

`We have… communicated. He sent a delegate to see me, to reassure me.'

`When?' The question burst from Sean's lips before he could stop it. As the King's steward, he was aware of any and all delegations who came to see Ferris. This was the first time he had heard of any approach from this Tennyson. Ferris looked at him, trying to retain his dignity and authority.

`It didn't concern you, Sean. It was a confidential visit.'He realised how flimsy the excuse sounded as it hung in the air of the throne room. A long and ugly silence stretched out.

`Have you come to some arrangement with him?' Halt asked. But Ferris didn't answer the question directly.

`Halt, the man has done wonders. There have been outlaws and brigands terrorising the countryside and I've been powerless to stop them.'

`You tend to be powerless when you refuse to do anything,' Halt said contemptuously. 'The truth is, you've sat here and twiddled your thumbs while outlaws have been killing and robbing your people, haven't you?' He didn't wait for an answer but turned quickly to Sean. 'Has he done anything? Sent troops out to hunt these outlaws down? Garrisoned any of the larger towns and villages? Has he even made a statement promising to act and denouncing the outlaws' actions?'

Sean looked at the King, then back at Halt.

`No,' he said. 'I offered to take a patrol out and…'He stopped, feeling awkward. Somehow it seemed disloyal to say that he had wanted to do something but the King had refused his request. But the truth was that the King had done nothing, tried nothing. Slowly, Sean shook his head. Halt sighed and his shoulders slumped. He looked at Ferris with contempt. The King tried to explain himself.

`Don't you see? That's why I agreed to see Tennyson's messenger. He can stop the outlaws. He can bring an end to the lawlessness!'

`Because he controls themP Halt came to his feet so violently that the bench he was seated on crashed over behind him. 'Surely you can grasp that, you almighty fool?'

`He… controls them?' Ferris's face creased in a puzzled frown.

`Of course! They do his bidding. Then he pretends to chase them off and claims to be the only person in the country with the power to do so. I've heard him preaching sedition against you, Ferris! "Can the King protect you?" he asks. And the answer is a resounding "No!" from those he speaks to. "Can anyone protect you?" he asks, and they fall over themselves to tell him that he is their only hope. Not you. Not the rule of law in this country. Him! Ferris, he is planning to seize power in Clonmel. Just as he has done in the other five kingdoms.'

`No! He said I'd be safe. I'd remain as King! He said…' Ferris stopped, realising he'd said too much. He was used to the contempt in Halt's eyes. Now he saw it in the eyes of the two younger men as well.

`You'd remain as King,' Horace said. 'You'd be his puppet on the throne. And all the while, he'd bleed your people dry.'

`They're not his people,' Halt corrected him. 'He doesn't deserve them. And they certainly don't deserve him. Get up, Ferris. Get up and face me.'

Reluctantly, the King stood so that he was facing his brother.

`There's one way to stop Tennyson and put an end to his depraved cult. A figure of authority has to stand up against him and denounce him. He's successful because nobody is ever willing to act or speak against him. Or if they do, they're quickly removed and murdered. But he couldn't do that to you.'

`Me?' Ferris was horrified at the concept. 'What do you expect me to do?'

`Speak out! Take control of your Kingdom and offer the people an alternative to this charlatan! Break this cult of his. Roll it back and destroy his power! It's built on an illusion anyway. Offer them another illusion.'

`What?' Ferris asked. 'What illusion do I have?'

`The illusion of your own authority,' Halt said sarcastically. 'That won't go far. But fortunately for you, we've provided an additional one.' He pointed to Horace. 'The Sunrise Warrior.'

`But that's a myth!' Ferris cried and Halt laughed bitterly.

`Of course it is! Just as Alseiass, the all-loving Golden God of the Outsiders, is a myth. Make the Sunrise Warrior your counter-myth. Make him your champion, summoned by you to bring the rule of law back to Clonmel.

`We've already prepared the ground for you. The warrior was seen at a village called Craikennis just a few days ago. He wiped out a band of three hundred outlaws.'

`Three hundred?' Horace, said, surprised. 'You're coming it a bit strong, aren't you, Halt?'

The Ranger shrugged. 'The bigger the rumour, the easier it is to make people believe,' he said. But Sean had reacted instantly to the mention of Craikennis.

`It's true, your majesty. I heard rumours of the Warrior in the marketplace yesterday. And I heard mention of a battle at Craikennis as well.'

Ferris looked from one to the other. He made an ineffectual, undecided gesture, one hand flapping in the air. `I don't know. I… I just don't know.'

Halt stepped close to him so that their faces were only centimetres apart.

`Do this, brother. Speak out and denounce Tennyson and his cult. Offer the people the protection of the Sunrise Warrior at the head of your soldiers and I promise we'll give you every support.'

He saw that Ferris was wavering and added his final inducement.

`Do it and I swear I will make no claim against you for the throne. I'll return to Araluen as soon as we've destroyed the Outsiders, and Tennyson with them.'

That struck home, he saw. For a second or two, Ferris was on the brink of agreeing. But decisiveness had never been his long suit and still he vacillated.

`I need time to think about this. I need a few days. You can't just walk in here and expect me to…' He hesitated and Halt finished the sentence for him.

`Make a decision? No, I suppose that's a pretty foreign idea for you. All right. We'll give you a day.'

`Two days,' Ferris replied instantly. Then, in a pleading tone, 'Please, Halt, there's a lot for me to take in here.'

Halt shook his head. The longer Ferris had to think about this, the more likely he would find a way to weasel out of his predicament. It was not impossible that he wouldn't try to contact Tennyson again.

`One day,' he said firmly. His tone told Ferris that there would be no further discussion of the matter and the King's shoulders slumped in resignation.

`Very well,' he muttered.

Halt studied the submissive figure for a few seconds. Ferris seemed cowed, but he still didn't trust him. He turned to Sean.

`Do I have your word that you'll prevent any trickery?'

Sean nodded instantly. 'Of course. I'll make sure he keeps his side of the bargain,' he said, then added, 'Uncle.'

A grim smile touched Halt's face at the word. He studied Sean for a few seconds. The eyes were clear and honest. The face was a trustworthy one. He felt a surge of warmth for this young man. Halt had lived his life without any knowledge of his family. At least one of them had turned out well, he thought. Pity about the other one in the room with them.

`That's good enough for me.' He looked back to Ferris. `We'll be back at noon tomorrow for your answer. Let's go, Horace.'

They turned and walked towards the big double doors, their boot heels ringing on the flagstones. They were almost there when Ferris's cry stopped them.

`Wait!' he called, and they turned to face him again. `What if my answer is… no?'

Halt smiled at him. At least, it might have been called a smile. Horace thought it was closer to the way a wolf shows its fangs to an enemy.

`It won't be,' he said.