Hestefan was on its driving seat. When he saw Mitt, Maewen, and Moril all staring at him, he writhed away backward. “I didn’t do it!” he said. His fine Singer voice cracked into hoarseness. “I was
made to! They forced me to come along!”
“What do the Southerners say about it?” Mitt asked.
Alk nodded to the nearest person from Aberath. “Go and fetch the Andmark captain to the King.”
The Southerners were sitting in a large huddle a little way off with their hands on their heads. Luthan and his hearthwomen were walking round and round them with their bayoneted guns. Luthan’s clothes were ruined, and his arm was in a sling. He looked warlike and efficient as he nodded at the message and beckoned someone from the midst of the Southerners.
The man was most unwilling to move. In the end Alk strode over and brought him out of the huddle, almost dangling from his big fist. “Here we are, Majesty,” he said. “One captain.”
The prisoner looked at Mitt and looked puzzled. “It was supposed to be a woman we had to ambush,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Never mind that, Captain Fervold,” Navis said. “Just tell us what this Singer had to do with it.”
“Never forget a name, do you, Navis Haddsson?” said the captain. “It must be ten years since—”
“Twelve years,” said Navis. “Tell.”
“Simple enough,” said Fervold. Alk let go of him, and he straightened up, looking relieved. “Orders were to land secretly at Cressing Harbor, come up by night to the green road, and rendezvous with the Singer at dawn, and he would show us where Kernsburgh was. Then we were to ambush the, er—Anyway, get to them before they got the crown. And we’d have got you, too, if you hadn’t been a day late. But we missed the green road in the dark both nights, and the Singer didn’t turn up to put us right until well on in the morning. What did he do? Give us away? Our information was we’d only find five folk here.”
“Your bad luck,” said Alk. “So Hestefan was working for the South?”
“Has been for years,” said Fervold.
At this Hestefan cried out, “They made me! I tell you, they made me!”
Alk turned to him with his lawman’s look. “And did they also make you murder Noreth of Kredindale?”
Hestefan straightened up and jutted his beard. “What nonsense is this? How could I have done? Look. She’s standing there!” He pointed at Maewen.
“I’m not Noreth,” Maewen said. It was embarrassing to say it in front of all these people, but a great relief, too.
“And I have seen Noreth’s murdered corpse,” said Alk. “The others who might have killed her are proved clear. I accuse you in law and before the crown of cutting Noreth’s throat.”
“Never,” said Hestefan. “On my honor as a Singer. Never.”
“Better get that cup out,” Alk said to Navis.
Maewen had a different idea. She tugged at Mitt’s sleeve. “This may not be right, because it was Kankredin who said it, but if he did kill her, he may have stolen a golden statue.”
“That statue!” said Mitt. “You know, that clean slipped my mind! Where would Hestefan hide something really valuable?” he asked Moril.
He had to nudge Moril and say it again. Hestefan was saying, “A Singer is honorable. Our word is our bond. We are sworn to speak true and purvey no lies. Nor do we do dirty deeds and dastardly acts. This accusation soils all Singers.”
Moril was staring at Hestefan as if he could not believe what he was hearing. “Sliding panel under the cart at the back,” he said colorlessly, and went on staring.
Mitt whispered to Alk. Alk passed the cup back to Navis and, leaving Hestefan still ranting, he strode round to the rear of the cart. It heaved. There was the sound of wood splintering. Alk came grimly back with gold shining in one massive fist. “Shut your mouth, Hestefan. Where did you come by this?”
Hestefan gaped at the statue. His face had gone gray and piteous. “I tell you I did not kill her! The woman is of the Undying and cannot be killed! I took that statue—yes, yes, I admit—the first time I tried to cut her throat, but she was alive again half an hour later on the green road. I had no choice but to go with her and kill her again. And as I knew she would not die, I sent word in Kredindale to Henda’s agent there to send a boat South for an armed band to cut her in pieces. And sure enough, she did not die, though I killed her twice in Gardale.” He rocked about on the seat of the cart. “I had to do it. I had to do it for Fenna!”
“Deranged, I think,” Navis said, leaning wearily on the nearest wagon.
“How come—you did it for Fenna?” Mitt said.
Hestefan looked at him and did not seem to see him. “Fenna is in Earl Henda’s dungeons. The Earl will kill her painfully if I do not do as he wants.”
“Oh nonsense!” said Navis. “You and I both know that Fenna is in Adenmouth recovering from a cracked head.”