That one horrible moment stretched as if by magic. Then, Lord Marshal jerked, pushing his chair off the raised dais, toppling along with it.
“You sent an assassin after our son! You monster!”
Lady Anne’s voice carried above the crash, and the room exploded into screams and action.
Chairs screeched and fell. A noblewoman fainted.
Stephan was already moving before he knew he had stood. Lord Silas was beside him while Healer Randal knocked someone over in his haste.
Knights crashed into Lady Anne, dragging her back as others formed a living wall around the Queen.
Marshal Harrington released a strangled gurgle while his body spasmed. Stephan was about to touch him when a goblet struck the floor and rang like a funeral bell.
“… killed your own son! Scum!” Lady Anne shrieked, spittle flying.
Stephan hesitated. Do I pull out the knife first?
Before he could act, Lord Silas touched the Lord Marshal.
“Greater Heal!”
His hand blazed with light—and kept shining, the spell unspent, unable to repair a dead body.
No.
Stephan laid his hand on the marshal, and nothing happened.
No!
He didn’t know how long he stood over the body, its fingers still twitching, before he withdrew his hand slowly. The gold dimmed, retreating into his skin.
Lord Marshal Harold Harrington was gone. Slain by his wife at a state feast.
“Sir,” Silas pulled him up, saying something, but Stephan couldn’t make out the words.
Enraged Knights surrounded Lady Anne, Martin Harrington, her own son, leading them.
“Why?” he screamed at her, but her eyes once more resembled glass, no hint of reason or that burning hatred. She just stared at her dead husband with an absent smile.
She did not answer.
The feast dissolved into scattered fragments after that.
Stephan moved as if through smoke. He found himself escorted out together with the Queen, the strongest Knights watching over them.
An hour of his life became a blur before he regained clarity. He was in the late marshal’s study. The air smelled of ink, old parchment, and extinguished candles.
Nineteen of them sat gathered around the large map table.
Lord Marshal must have played quite a few games here, Stephan thought absently.
Lord Silas stood with both hands braced against the table.
“She has lingering signs of sorcery about her,” he said in a somber tone. “It is hard to tell which, but I think someone had used the crack made by Lord Bernard’s passing and invaded her dreams. Whether it was a warlock or a dream stalker, it’s difficult to say.”
His gaze settled on Martin.
“I do not mean to accuse anyone of anything. I just have to know - how did Lord Marshal fail to notice his wife’s altered state of mind?”
“I can answer that,” Healer Randal said, hands still trembling. “Lady Anne had taken her son’s sudden passing as one would expect of a grieving mother. Worse even. She told me multiple times that Lord Marshal had killed Bernard, as if the man could have had any influence when the curse would strike him and how.”
Awkward looks identified those who were privy to the real way Bernard Harrington’s life had ended, while nodding heads revealed those the marshal late didn’t trust as much. The Healer didn’t seem to notice and kept talking.
“She suffered from fits, and I resorted to elixirs to calm her. It’s the standard approach to treating shock. Let the victim rest, give them peace and time to work through their loss.” His eyes brightened as he seemed to realize something. “Perhaps it was the nightmares; whoever sent them made them into visions of Lord Marshal killing his own son until they muddled Lady Anne’s mind?”
“Perhaps,” Lord Silas said the word non-committingly. “The question is what we are going to do with everything. Under normal circumstances, once a noble passes, his heir claims his holdings. And you, Martin, certainly have the right to your family’s county. But Cliffort and its surroundings belong to the Marshal of the East and aren’t inheritable. And only the King can appoint the marshal.”
“And Queen,” the Queen added firmly. Her voice was steady, and in Stephan’s eyes she was handling the incident better than he was.
“I have the authority to appoint someone a marshal and a royal knight, but given the times, I don’t even know who the candidates would be, whom they are loyal to, or even if they are alive.”
It all comes down to Bernard. Stephan listened to them talking, but had his own considerations. It’s choosing between saving Bernard and the princess’s safe passage to Cliffort. What if Lord Marshal had paid attention to his wife? What if Bernard died of his magical illness instead of… instead of…
Stephan realized the room was quiet. He looked up and saw that everyone was staring at him.
“Yes?” he said, surprised with how calm he sounded. “I’m sorry, my mind wandered.”
Lord Silas cleared his throat. “I suggested that you are the only candidate who could assume stewardship without igniting further political unrest.”
“What? No!” The word left Stephan sharper than intended.
“Sir,” the Queen turned to him fully. “The Paladin doesn’t serve the crown, or the faiths, or any other faction. You are serving the whole of mankind. As a war authority. Giving you temporary control of Cliffort leaves it neutral, and it also lets us choose the Marshal of the East at a later date.”
Candlelight flickered, and Stephan watched the shadows they cast. He kept his mouth shut, his mind working frantically. Finally, he spoke.
“That doesn’t seem to serve the interests of mankind, but your own personal agenda.” Stephan’s words came out slowly; he was still cobbling them together in his head even as he spoke. “Our kingdom is best served by peace and rallying against the fiends under a strong ruler. For that, your marriage with some count seems like a small price to pay, when, on the other hand, we have all the lives we would lose in the civil war.”
The room was dead silent as he turned towards Lord Silas. “Could you please offer your own thoughts?”
The old Priest also kept quiet for a moment before speaking softly. “Would you, Sir Paladin, follow a ruler who assassinated one of the kingdom’s pillars to get what he wants, but not what he or the kingdom needs?”
Stephan shook his head without thinking; it wasn’t a hard question.
“Now add the dire state the country is in. Then add that he had driven Lady Anne mad enough for her to assassinate her husband. Can you imagine yourself working with such a man? Could you imagine such a man having the interests of mankind placed higher than his own agenda?”
“No,” Stephan nodded sharply. “Thank you for putting things into perspective, Lord Silas. The man we are speaking of is no better than a dragon or a fiend, and I am sworn to protect the people from such creatures.”
He tapped his finger against the table. “What are the odds of persuading his allies and retainers to surrender or change sides?”
Stephan already knew the answer. They were the defenders, the passive side. There was little they could entice their enemies with. But in a room full of intelligent, politically savvy individuals, it didn’t hurt to ask.
Everyone was silent, and the Queen spoke. “Sir, the only thing of value we have in our possession is myself and the class granted to the one who marries me.”
Stephan looked around and sighed after everyone nodded.
Why are people so unreasonable?“Fine, I guess we will go to war with those standing between us and the fiends. They will empty their castles and come after us, only to leave their own backs exposed to the enemy.” He shook his head. “This is so stupid, I feel dumb just by saying it aloud.”
A bit of warmth trickled into his chest, and Stephan wondered whether it was because he was protecting an innocent Queen, if such a fantastical creature existed, or perhaps it was because of his little speech.
I’ll believe it’s because I’m helping a helpless young woman.
“Now, while we are all here, I would like us to go through a hypothetical scenario. We know what happened. Can we discuss where things went wrong, why, and how one would stop them if they could turn back time and undo the mistakes? Let’s say we return to the day when the capital fell and Lord Marshal was targeted by the curse, which struck Bernard instead.”
“Why, Sir?” Captain Anita asked.
“Because if we understand the errors of the past, we can hope not to repeat them. Who knows, while an identical situation might not happen, something similar could, and you will recognize it and prevent a disaster. I believe it’s worth half an hour of our time.”
Lord Silas and the other Priests nodded, as did the Queen.
There were some interesting suggestions, none Stephan hadn’t considered before, but Randal the Healer suggested they should keep an eye out for anyone acting strangely to notice any signs of mental tampering early on. Fewer sedatives and more oversight.
Then they moved on to discussing the siege preparations, and soon enough, it was late into the night. The Queen yawned, covering her open mouth mid-yawn, looking horrified.
“It’s late,” Stephan said. “We’ll settle the rest of the details tomorrow, and in three days instate me as the temporary Marshal of the East and steward of Cliffort. Does anyone object?”
None did, and they adjourned for the night. Just as they left the study and descended the stairs, a panicked maid came running.
“Lords and Ladies,” she panted, “Madam, she hung herself in her room.”
Stephan felt ashamed. The first thought that crossed his mind wasn’t “That’s terrible”, but “Can this day get any worse?”
He closed his eyes briefly.
It was a very unpaladin-like thought to have, and it reminded him that he was still just Stephan, a youth, who, not two months ago, only had to consider getting married and starting his own family. A simple prospect, one a world away from his current situation.
He opened his eyes and kept walking.