“That doesn’t help us,” Ninavis snapped.
“Oh no,” Dorna agreed. “Not at all. Which is why I’m still a mighty fan of running.” She moved two fingers in imitation. “I’m real sorry about your people, Ninavis. They all seemed like good folk. But I ain’t hearing a plan that’s going to let us get near enough to free them. We’ll have so many crossbows pointed at us one of them’s bound to hit. And if this Captain Dedreugh fellow is strong as you, foal, but twice your size? I don’t think of your chances in straight-up warfare as all too great. Plus, let’s not forget your friend Tamin’s got himself some witchy magic at his fingertips. I wouldn’t bet all your metal on that absent teacher being the only one casting spells.” Dorna squinted at the count through one eye, cocking her head to the side. “So how are you going to handle this?” She raised a finger. “Don’t say, ‘I’ll fight my way out.’ You hear me, young stallion? Don’t you dare.”
“Not at all,” the count said as she pulled a thick pile of mail from her valise. “I plan to fight my way in.”
The dark indigo mail hauberk shimmered with iridescence as if spawned from night and rainbow, fire dancing below the blue-black metal surface. Not brass, iron, or steel but shanathá—the metal for which the Quuros Empire had conquered Kirpis and cast out the vané. Shanathá metal was all but illegal for civilians to own, even if they could afford the cost.
Joratese nobles, technically still Quuros military, were exempt.
“‘In’?” Dorna demanded. “What do you mean by fight your way ‘in’?”
The count smiled as she picked up more clothing from the ground: a burgundy arming doublet so dark it looked black and a worn cloak that had seen better days, its true color indecipherable. “The timing couldn’t be better. The baron is young and inexperienced.”
Ninavis snorted. “What are you? Seventeen?”
The count scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Brother Qown glanced sideways at Janel and cleared his throat.
She looked abashed. “I mean, I reached my majority three months ago, just before we left Tolamer.”
Ninavis’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, I see. You’re right. What was I thinking. You’re sixteen. Obviously, that’s different.” She glared at Dorna and Brother Qown as if daring them to correct her.
“Young in years,” Janel said, “not in misery.”
Ninavis met her eyes. Whatever she saw there made her swallow and look away.
“And what does this have to do with what you have planned, colt?” Dorna had lost her patience.
Count Janel didn’t seem to mind her nurse’s ill temper. She seemed pleased to see the subject turned from her age, young by anyone’s reckoning. “Tamin isn’t our target. Dedreugh is. And unlike the baron, Dedreugh is accessible; he’s fighting in the tournament. Although after what I saw, I’d be very surprised if he does much fighting after this. His opponents will withdraw and give him victories by default. Since no one wants to share Sir Xia’s fate, he’ll win—but make no mistake, for the baron to legally kill Nina’s men, Dedreugh must win. Those prisoners don’t belong to the baron otherwise.”
“But … the accusations of witchcraft against them?” Brother Qown hated to bring up the point but felt obligated.
Janel shook her head. “Also decided by the tournament. Tamin will combine the normal contest of judgment with the tournament outcome. It’s not unprecedented. But again—for the baron to prove them witches, Dedreugh has to win.”
“But who’s going to fight him?” Ninavis asked. “My leg’s broken, and you’re a titled noble. You’re not allowed to fight in the tournaments.”
“No. No, I am not,” the count agreed as she shrugged herself into the arming doublet. “As Count Tolamer, I may be represented by a knight in a tournament, but I would never be allowed to participate myself. It’s not allowed.” Humor hinted her voice. She’d told a joke but hadn’t delivered the punch line.
Dorna gave the young noble a stern look. “The Black Knight? That’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it? You’re thinking to go in as the Black Knight.”
Brother Qown blinked. “I don’t understand. Who is the Black Knight?”
Dorna snorted. “Nobody. Anybody. Anyone who wants to can take on the knight’s identity. The Black Knight is anoy-amony—”
“Anonymous,” Ninavis said.
“Right. That. The Black Knight’s a fool, a jape. Heaven’s jester. They’re unknowable—black’s the color of mystery and danger, you see—and living proof no matter how fine the barding on your horse, there’s always going to be some jack’s ass who can piss on your riding boots. The knight’s the pisser. It’s a lark job, a retirement prize, given out to some drunkard who gets to spend all day mooning the crowds, guzzling free ale, and squeezing cute boys on the bum. Lots of fun.”
“I still don’t understand. How does that help us?”
The count finished fastening the doublet. She wore several thick layers. Since she always wore a corset bound tight across her bosom, the net effect hid her curves. “If the Black Knight’s identity is never known,” the count said, “then anyone can play the part—even a ruling noble. No one talks about it, but the worst-kept secret in the dominion is that the person wearing the black armor at any given tournament might well be a titled noble having fun. Which means I can fight—and Dedreugh’s chances in the tournament aren’t as certain as he’s been led to believe.” Her mouth quirked.
“The Black Knight is always picked out before the tournament,” Ninavis said. “I think folks might notice if a second one shows up.”
But the count’s smile hadn’t faltered with this declaration. “Indeed,” she agreed as she shook the shanathá mail down over her body, “so I suppose it would be rude not to pay Baron Tamin’s Black Knight a visit in advance.”6
8: THE FOOL
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Two days since the Stone of Shackles was destroyed
“You are the Black Knight. I knew it.” Kihrin leaned back in his ch8air, pleased with himself. His theory about Janel looked increasingly probable.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no.”
“What? But you just said—”
“I was the Black Knight,” Janel corrected. “At any time, there are as many Black Knights as there are active tournaments.”
Kihrin paused. “You’re not the one Duke Kaen is offering a bounty to kill?”
Janel looked toward the bar, then returned her attention to Kihrin.
“No,” Janel said.
“Oh.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am. I came here to find that person. Duke Kaen of Yor has a significant bounty out on their head. More metal than most people will see in their whole lives. I figured that anyone Kaen wants dead so badly is someone I want as an ally.”
But even as he made his proclamation, Janel and Qown gave him a very odd look.