The Outcast (Summoner #4)(102)

“I did, Father,” Harold said, standing. “He is a friend, and we will treat him as such. I owe him my life, as do many in this room.”

“I risked my life for your son,” Ulfr said. “The rebels offered us equality if we joined them, and we turned it down to save you.”

“You did your duty as a loyal citizen of Hominum,” Alfric scoffed in reply, gesturing for the dwarf to be taken away. “You’ve admitted that your people were tempted. You should be thankful we let you live at all.”

The guards grabbed Ulfr by the shoulders, but the powerful dwarf resisted, holding steady as they tugged at him.

“You promised,” he hissed, pointing at Harold with a trembling finger. “You swore to me.”

“I will keep my promise,” Harold replied, his eyes wide. “As well as I can, I swear it.”

“Liar!” Ulfr yelled as the guards finally dragged him down the carpet. “You lying son of a—”

A punch from a guard knocked the dwarf unconscious, the gauntleted hand thudding with a sick sound.

“Give him a beating,” Alfric ordered lazily, leaning back in his chair. “So he learns his lesson.”

He looked on for a moment, then shouted, “And wait until you’re outside—I don’t want blood on our new carpets.”

Arcturus glared at Alfric, and the old king laughed at his expression.

“You should never trust a dwarf,” he said. “Forget him. He picked the right side and nothing more. But he must be punished for speaking so impertinently.”

He sighed distractedly and turned to Lady Faversham.

“Ophelia, how goes the interrogation of the steward?” he asked.

“We have the names,” Lady Faversham replied. “He gave that one’s name as well.”

She pointed at Arcturus.

“I vouch for him,” Harold said swiftly. “Crawley would say anything under torture.”

Lady Faversham narrowed her eyes, then shrugged and continued.

“Before nightfall, every rebel leader will be captured. By tomorrow night, we will have more names from them. It is a good thing Harold promised to imprison criminals—our prisons shall soon be overflowing with them and their families.”

She laughed, and it echoed hollowly in the open space around them.

“Of course, the soldiers have already surrendered, and General Barcroft committed suicide as soon as news of his failure reached him. But the others … we’ll find them, imprison them and throw away the key.”

“And the battle scene, has it been cleaned up?” Alfric asked.

“Not a speck of blood,” Ophelia said. “If all goes well, the people will not even know there was anything close to a rebellion. Only a simple protest that took a turn for the worse, followed by a peaceful transfer of power.”

“Good,” Alfric said, clapping his hands and standing. “Then that concludes today’s council meeting. Come on, I have prepared a feast to celebrate.”

“Father,” Harold interrupted, raising his voice. “Are you not forgetting something?”

Alfric paused, then clapped a hand to his head and looked at the soldiers, who had been watching the proceedings in horror.

“Of course. Thank you for your service, men. You’re good lads. Very good lads.”

He turned to Harold and cocked his head.

“Happy?” he asked. Harold nodded curtly, and Alfric strode away, heading for a door behind the thrones. The nobles trailed after him, and a moment later the door slammed, leaving the room in silence.

Only a servant remained, his back straight, eyes staring straight ahead.

“Kercher, find those guards and stop them from beating that dwarf, on my orders. Hurry,” Harold commanded, pointing at the double doors. The servant scurried off, and a few moments later the doors slammed shut.

Harold sighed and walked over to the throne Alfric had been sitting in. He sat down heavily, and pressed his fingers against his eyelids.

“I didn’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

Arcturus walked over to him and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. For that was what he was … a boy. It was easy to forget sometimes.

“Things can be better now,” Arcturus said, though he himself struggled to believe his own words. “You have some power. You can make a difference.”

“With those lackeys on the council?” Harold said, gesturing over his shoulder. “They’re the worst of the worst. I’ll never make things better for anyone.”

“You made some promises in your speech that they will be forced to keep, if they want to avoid another uprising,” Arcturus said firmly, “and if you bide your time, you will be able to change things. Don’t despair.”

Harold looked up and smiled at Arcturus, and Arcturus saw the new king’s eyes were filled with tears.

“You’re a braver man than I, Arcturus. I am glad to have you on my side.”

“Always, my king,” Arcturus said.

Harold wiped the tears from his face and stood.

“Sergeant Caulder, Sergeant Percival, Sergeant Daniels. Kneel,” Harold commanded.

The three men knelt before their king, while their soldiers looked on, bemused.

Harold drew his sword, and for a brief moment of madness, they looked at him with fear in their eyes. Was he killing them, to keep this silent?