Jack Whyte - The Lance Thrower

“But yet another kind of monster walks among us, sharing our daily lives and giving us no sign, until it is too late, that they are deeply different from us.” He turned his head to look at me. “Clodas is one of those, and they are almost impossible to guard against.”

“Why, Father?”

The word father sounded alien in my mind as I spoke it, but I used it because at that moment I could think of no other name to call him. Uncle would have seemed ridiculous.

“Because they are so different from the ruck of ordinary, honest men. They take the trust on which we live and turn it into poison.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That does not surprise me. Trust is not … it’s not something we think about very often, but we depend on it for everything worthwhile. We all deal in trust, Clothar—people’s lives are founded on trust. D’you understand that?”

“I think so.”

“It’s true. We form our own opinions of the folk we live among, the friends and neighbors and companions and soldiers with whom we share our lives, and we trust them to behave in certain ways—as they do us—with honesty and dignity and respect for themselves and for their neighbors. And based upon that trust, that mutuality of trust and common interests, we make laws and rules to govern how we all live with one another. But these monsters I speak of now, monsters like Clodas, are governed by no laws, no rules. They are predators, wild beasts who prey upon honest, ordinary men as victims—perceiving them and treating them as weaklings and helpless fools created solely to fulfill their needs. They have—they know no honesty, these creatures. Worse, they have no understanding of what honesty is, and that, alone, makes them dangerous to all who cross their paths. They see no worth in trust, because they themselves have no belief in it. It is alien to their nature, and therefore they exploit the trust of other people as a fatal flaw.

“By far the worst part of such beings, however, is that they quickly learn to keep their true natures hidden from the eyes and knowledge of others. They learn to ape the manners and behavior of others unlike themselves, behaving outwardly as they believe others think they ought to behave, and concealing their own monstrousness. Their entire existence is a lie. They deal in a kind of treachery that ordinary men cannot imagine, and that treachery grants them a power against which no one else can be prepared.”

His words chilled me, because as he spoke them I found myself, without warning, seeing my brother Gunthar in my mind instead of the faceless Clodas who was no more than a name to me, albeit a name I had already begun to hate. The King’s voice had grown quieter as he spilled all of this out, and when he had finished he sat frowning into the flames, his eyes fixed on some far-distant recollection. I remember wondering whether he was thinking about the treachery of Clodas or whether he, like me, might be aware of another, similar monster, closer to home and even more troublesome to his peace. I waited again for him to continue, but this time he showed no signs of having anything to add and so eventually I prompted him, clearing my throat three times before he noticed.

“What? There’s a question in your eyes.”

“You said they have a power no one else is prepared for. What kind of power is that?”

“The power to deceive. And to betray.”

I blinked at him. “But anyone can deceive anyone else.”

“True,” he conceded without hesitation. He looked away briefly and inhaled sharply before turning quickly back.

“You can deceive someone without betraying him, Clothar. Deceit is usually self-serving, but it need not be harmful to others. Betrayal, on the other hand, is always harmful. And when someone who has gained a high position of trust betrays that trust as Clodas did, its effect has the power of a hard-swung ax, smashing through everything it encounters because there are no barriers, no armor or defenses, to stop it. Clodas was your father’s blood kin, his first cousin. His mother and your grandfather were brother and sister. He destroyed your family and part of mine because he had placed himself in a position from which no one expected treachery, and until he struck no one had ever suspected that he might. His betrayal was monstrous, a crime no normal person could have imagined … your father least of all.”

He emptied his mug at one gulp and I sipped at my own, surprised to find that I had drunk most of it and what was left was almost cold. The King rose to his feet and pulled the iron poker from the fire. It was bright yellow, whitening toward the tip. He tapped it against the side of the iron fire basket, then held it out to one side and crossed to the table where the pitchers sat. He plunged it into first one and then the other, sending clouds of fragrant steam billowing across the room.

“Bring the mugs.”

I did as I was bidden, then returned to the hearth to add more fuel to the fire, thinking about all the King had said. He rejoined me moments later, bringing my drink with him, and when we were seated again I asked him the question foremost in my mind.

“Do you really think Clodas would send men to kill me, Father?”

He turned his head toward me quickly, his eyes narrowing. “Without a doubt, if he suspected you were still alive. Not because you are a harmless boy, but because you will soon be a man. So we can take no risks in that matter. None at all. Bear that in mind above all else and say nothing of this to anyone. Not to anyone. We have no control over the way tales spread. One word leads to another and the information spreads like ripples on a pond.”

“But you said he is five hundred miles away.”

“Aye, he is, but that changes nothing about the risk. You have five more years to go before you reach full manhood, and much could happen before then. I can protect you against an invading army, but no one could defend you against a hired, faceless murderer acting alone. So by keeping your mouth shut, you might save your own life.”

I fell silent again, then remembered something else. “You said no one—and least of all my father—could have imagined Clodas’s crime before it was committed. What did you mean by that … that he was least of all?”

The King shrugged, dipping his head. He drank again, then clasped both hands around his cup. “I have never known anyone like your father, Clothar. He was my best and dearest friend, closer to me than anyone else has ever been or could ever be today, and yet the two of us were totally unlike each other. We saw things differently, thought differently, and responded differently—often very differently—to the same things. In this case, I would never have trusted Clodas the way your father did. I had met the man, although only once. But with some·people, once is enough. I disliked and distrusted him on sight, without reason. He set my teeth on edge and made me feel suspicious, even although I had no reason to suspect him of anything at the time.”

“Did you tell my father that?”

“Aye, and he laughed at me and called me an old woman, reading omens and portents where there were none to be read. Clodas was his cousin, he said, a loyal chieftain and a fine warrior. His deeds spoke for him, your father said, and they were many and worthy. He would put no credence in my doubts. I wasn’t surprised, but nor was I offended. He and I had differed on such things in the past—probably more times than we. agreed, if truth be told—and so I shut my mouth and said no more. But when Chulderic brought me word of what had happened, it only confirmed that I had been right from the beginning, and by then it was far too late and useless to seek any comfort in thinking that.”