Chapter 239: Under the authority of the Crown (2)

His voice was thin and cracked, but it carried clearly across the gathering.

Sir Aldous stared at him.

The old man squinted at the commander, as though trying to make out his face through the distance.

"Gods above, it is you. I almost didn’t recognise you. You’ve put on weight since I last saw you."

Tobin didn’t know who it was because he had never seen the Grand Magus in person.

He had seen the official portraits and the drawings in his lessons. In those, the old man had appeared tall and imposing, with a long beard and the sort of face that belonged on the walls of imperial halls.

The man in the cart looked nothing like that.

He was smaller than Tobin had imagined, and he seemed exhausted enough to fall asleep where he sat.

Yet the moment he spoke, the colour drained from Sir Aldous’s face.

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The grey-bearded knight began riding down from the hillside.

He brought his horse to a stop beside Coris Danel and looked toward the commander of the Silver Crane.

"Sir Aldous. We met at Merrowford, if you remember. You were resting your horses at the inn when my men passed through."

Sir Aldous recovered himself enough to return the greeting.

"Sir Gareth. Of course I remember. I trust your journey has been more productive than ours."

"That depends on what you expected to find."

Sir Aldous straightened in his saddle.

"I’m acting under the authority of the Crown. My orders were to bring my company north and reinforce the Wall. Since the fortress has fallen, I intend to take the surviving personnel into custody until the Crown decides how to proceed."

Sir Gareth looked at him for a moment before answering.

"No, Sir Aldous. You’re acting on your own interpretation of those orders."

The words were spoken calmly, without any attempt to provoke him.

"The Crown ordered you to place yourself under the command of the Wall. The man responsible for that command is standing beside me. You may not like the fact that Ulrich Vance is dead and Coris Danel has taken his place, but that doesn’t give you the right to ignore the original order."

Sir Aldous’s jaw tightened.

"The Wall no longer exists, Sir Gareth. The authority attached to it cannot simply continue as though nothing has happened."

"And these lands belong to House Gannon," Gareth replied. "The Duke of the North has already issued a writ placing the survivors under his protection until the Crown decides what should happen to them."

He paused, allowing Sir Aldous time to consider the words.

"If the Crown wants these people brought before its courts, it can send an order to the Duke. The proper order, bearing the proper seal, delivered to his hall. Until then, you have no authority to march in here and arrest people simply because you believe they have broken the law."

Sir Aldous looked toward the crowd.

"These people include convicts who were sentenced to serve at the Wall. They are still subject to the Crown’s judgment."

"Then the Crown can decide what to do with them when the time comes."

"And the soldiers who abandoned their posts?"

"Ask them why they left."

"The men of the Fifth Legion were assigned to the eastern front."

"And they are now standing on the Maren Ridge, helping thousands of displaced people rebuild their lives. If you want to know why, I suggest you ask the commander of their legion rather than threatening to drag them away in chains."

Sir Aldous’s expression hardened.

"I will not be lectured on imperial law by a man who has no authority over my company."

Sir Gareth did not raise his voice.

"Then perhaps you should listen to someone who has seen what happened at the Wall. You arrived three weeks late, Sir Aldous. You have not spoken to the survivors, examined the ruins, or even asked what destroyed the fortress. Yet you are already deciding who should be punished."

He looked directly at the commander.

"Before you start arresting people, you might want to understand what they survived."

A long silence followed.

From the cart, the Grand Magus began coughing.

It was a deep, unpleasant fit that seemed to leave him struggling for breath. The two soldiers pushing the cart stopped, and one reached forward as if to help him sit more comfortably.

The old man waved him away.

After a few moments, the coughing subsided. He took a slow breath and looked at Sir Aldous again.

"I am old, Fenwright. I am tired, and I have spent the last three weeks recovering from the little matter of dropping a hill onto a bridge."

He looked down at his blankets and then back at the commander.

"So, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not stand up to explain why your people should stop threatening mine."

Nobody spoke.

Sir Aldous looked from the Grand Magus to the woman standing in front of his horse. She had not moved, and her hand still rested nowhere near her sword.

He looked up at the hillside, where the banners of House Gannon hung above the assembled soldiers.

Finally, he looked at the people on the road.

Thousands of them stood together, exhausted but unyielding. They had not drawn their weapons or threatened his men. They had simply refused to move.

Sir Aldous had arrived expecting frightened refugees, a disorganised garrison, and a few hundred survivors who would be grateful for the appearance of royal authority.

Instead, he had found an army, the protection of a powerful noble house, and the Grand Magus himself sitting in a cart and telling him to stop making a fool of himself.

For several seconds, Sir Aldous said nothing.

Then he began pulling at his gloves, adjusting each finger carefully before smoothing the leather over his wrists.

"The Order of the Silver Crane will establish a camp at the ford," he announced. "I will send a report to the Crown and request clarification of our authority in this matter. Until I receive a response, my men will take no action against the people gathered here."

Captain Hale looked relieved, though he was careful not to show it too openly.

Sir Aldous turned his horse.

"We are leaving."

The knights raised their lances. The front rank began turning around, followed by the rows behind them. The movement was slow and awkward, especially where the baggage wagons had to be manoeuvred around on the narrow road.

For the first time since arriving at the ridge, Tobin felt that he could breathe normally again.

He followed the column toward the ford, but he was one of the last to turn away.

Before he did, he looked up at the top of the ridge.

The pale stone stood above the keep, its surface catching the grey light. The masons had already returned to work. Their hammers and chisels rang out across the hillside, steady and unhurried, as though the confrontation below had been nothing more than a brief interruption.

The boy with the blue-glass lamp was still standing in the road.

He was looking directly at Tobin.

There was no anger in his expression, nor any particular interest. He simply watched Tobin as the knights began to withdraw.

Tobin held his gaze for a moment.

He wondered what the boy had seen at the Wall. He wondered how old he was, how many people he had lost, and what the strange light around his hands meant.

Most of all, Tobin wondered how someone so young could stand in front of nearly three hundred armed knights without looking afraid.

He had spent years learning what it meant to wear the silver-grey cloak. He had been taught that the Order represented the Crown’s strength, that its authority commanded respect, and that people would always make way for its soldiers.

But the people on the ridge had not moved.

And now, as Tobin turned his horse and followed the others toward the ford, he realised that he had learned almost nothing about the people he had been sent to protect.

He could still hear the chisels striking the pale stone behind him.

And he could not stop seeing their faces.

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