Madbond by Nancy Springer Page A

straightway, not caring what I interrupted. They were all there in their places on wooden seats in a circle, Kor and Olpash and Istas and some others, and I leaped to the space at their center, facing Korridun, plunging to my knees in front of him so that the level of my head would not be above his.
    â€œKor—”
    There was a commotion of indignation all around me, and before I could speak further Olpash’s voice rose above the others. “Show some respect, madman! Address the king by his full name and title.”
    â€œI am the more highly honored,” Kor said quietly, “that Dannoc names me as a friend.”
    â€œA friend!” Istas shrilled, her voice rising so high it cracked. In her hatred I heard heartbreak.
    â€œHe who ought to be your worst enemy!” Olpash boomed.
    â€œYou dare speak to me of enemies?” Korridun’s words were low, but at his tone all his counselors fell to stricken silence. He rose to his feet, spear-straight and shaking with a bitter passion. “You, who have come at night to kill me with a mask on your face? Not man enough to face me plainly—you think I do not know, but I know you well enough. You, and all you others.” His glance raked the circle. There was not a sound. “My mercy gives you life this day. So do not begrudge me mercy.” He stared them all down a moment more, then took a deep breath and sat down with a sigh, letting go of wrath.
    â€œOf all my assailants, Dan,” he said to me with whimsical calm, “you are the only one who has bested me, and the only one with honor.”
    â€œKor,” I blurted out, “they say I killed Rowalt.”
    Silence for the space of ten breaths. “Who has said this to you?” Kor asked in a low voice at last.
    â€œThe little ones. Please do not blame them. I asked.”
    â€œBut you do not remember.”
    â€œIf you tell me, I will know it is true.”
    â€œTell him, my king. Tell him how he slew my brother and two others.” It was Istas, sharp, poignant, cruel.
    Two others! “Is it true?” I demanded of Kor—I hope I did not beg.
    Pain in his sea-dark eyes, and he could not or would not speak. He merely nodded. My head spun, and I pressed my cold hands to my temples to clear it.
    â€œHow did I kill them?” I whispered.
    â€œTell him, King.” It was Istas again, malevolent.
    â€œSilence,” he told her. But he could not threaten her to enforce it, and she knew it. She had lost a brother, and she had never come against Korridun in the night.
    â€œHow,” I pleaded, plainly begging now. Kor could no longer deny me.
    â€œOne, you sliced off his hand, and he bled to death soon afterward. One, you beheaded. Rowalt”—he had to force himself to speak on—“you disemboweled.”
    It was a hideous thing to have done, an ugly thing, of all ways the last way that Dannoc, son of Tyonoc, would have chosen to slay an enemy. I hid my face in shame. “Mahela must have hold of my soul,” I breathed.
    â€œYou were out of your mind with grief,” Kor said.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter.” I raised my face, and, though they burned as if on fire, my eyes were dry. “What is the penalty?”
    â€œIt does matter! You were not in self. You cannot remember doing these things. In a sense, it was not you who did—”
    â€œThe penalty, Kor.”
    Something in my tone defeated him. Or perhaps he knew, even then, in what way healing must come to me. It seemed that I chose hard ways, always.… He was silent for some time, and when he spoke his voice was very low.
    â€œThe younger two, Voss and Taditu, were fosterlings with no kin to seek revenge for them except me, their foster sire, and I waive revenge. As for Rowalt: the bloodright belongs to Istas.”
    Before him I had knelt to face him as a petitioner—though in fact I found that I fronted him levelly, as a friend. To face her I