Ten Arrows

Chapter 7

The next morning when the guards came to fetch me, they found me stretched out comfortably and lying face-up on the cold stone floor. I would have preferred it if they'd found me doing pull-ups again, reciting the kind of numbers that suggested I'd been doing them all night long, but I'd decided against it. I had very nearly fallen to my death while making my way back to my cell last night, and my arms were still fatigued from the fifteen minutes or so of effort it had taken to pull myself back up safely.

"Hey," one of the guardsmen called out, pulling the ring of keys from his pocket with a jangle, "it's almost time. We'll be taking you to the throne room now."

"Of course!" I said, hopping to my feet. After a quick inspection of the condition of my clothing, I opted to spend a few moments brushing myself off.

My cage doors were opened, and I was ushered out of my cell, into the hallway, and led down pretty much the same route I'd been taken the day before. My escorts received almost identical nods of recognition from fellow guardsmen as we were waved through the same two checkpoints. We eventually ended up at a familiar, important-looking desk that resembled a guard post. The guardsman sitting at it somehow managed to look even more bored than he had the day before.

"Tucat. Vincent. Viscount. Lord." He looked up at my face briefly, as though verifying something, and then scribbled something on his piece of paper. "Your presence has been made mandatory for the amendment and re-introduction of precept thirty-eight into Haraelian law. Throne room - ten bells."

"Is that so? Well, as luck would have it, I'm free all morning!"

The fellow stopped his scribbling long enough to give me a look, and then resumed.

"No formal charges," he continued, inspecting his piece of paper further, "and scheduled to be escorted from the palace upon attending the reading and given leave by Prince Tenarreau. Searched upon incarceration, as well as-"

"Search him again," Borshank called out tiredly from somewhere just beyond the side doorway. He appeared there a few seconds later, straightening his already immaculate uniform and making a small production out of tidying himself. He was looking pleased. Smug, even.

"Good morning, Preceptor Borshank," I said, giving him a quick bow from the neck as I raised my arms and allowed the guardsmen to pat me down.

"Tucat," he replied, giving me the barest nod in return. Then he gave me a half-smile, an expression his craggy, weathered face seemed unfamiliar with. "I trust last night's accommodations were satisfactory?"

"Quite, thank you for asking. Yes, it is something of a relief to get away from the troubles and strife of lordship from time to time. All of that hustle and bustle, people pestering you with questions, complaints, whatnot. Last night it was just sweet, blissful silence. And I must say, dinner was a refreshing change as well! I've grown so accustomed to rich, well-seasoned food that last night's meal took me completely by surprise. There was this stuff . . . I'm not sure what it's called. It was almost like bread, except it was thin and black, with what I'd guess was stone-ground, unleavened flour and just a hint of-"

"You mean . . . hardtack?" he ventured.

"Is that what it's called? Hard-tack," I recited carefully, as though sounding out an unfamiliar Alledesh word. "Delightful stuff. So crunchy! I must have a talk with my chef. Is there a trick to making it that way?"

Borshank's smile lost some of its intensity.

"No barrister needed," Desk-guard continued, checking off something on his piece of paper, "as this does not pertain to an offense. Do you require anything, Lord Tucat?"