| by Dave
"Crowley" Javier Perro waited in
the darkest corner of the stable, pretending to brush his horse. In his
nervousness, every twitch and nicker from the beasts in the stalls caused
him to jump. Spying a movement against the far wall, near the entrance, he
turned, ready for almost anything.
Seeing nothing in the flickering light, he
let out a soft breath of relief. He was nervous enough about being in the
big city of Corcosa, so far from the castle where he lived and served. Even
more nerve-wracking to be here for a meeting with someone who was not a man
so much as a blood-drenched reputation.
A gloved hand clamped over his mouth.
Someone came up against his back, without even a rustle of cloth to give him
away. Long fingers, iron-hard through the soft leather, tightened around
his jaw and held his head still. He stood there, paralyzed, for a few
moments. Incongruously, his senses focused on the torches at the far end of
the stables, and the unperturbed breathing of his horse behind him.
Finally, cool breath at his ear brought barely audible words.
"Be still, boy. You do not feel it, but
there is a dagger at your back. If you speak above a whisper, you will die
and your body will never be found. Nod if you understand me."
Perro nodded as best as he was able, unable
to move his head very much against the crushing grip.
"Very well. I am going to remove my hand.
You will not turn around. You will speak only when spoken to." The man
behind him stepped back half a step. The hand moved off his mouth to rest,
disconcertingly, on his shoulder.
"Winter is coming, and the days are getting
shorter," came the voice in a conversational tone.
Perro blinked several times, still shaking,
before remembering his own half of the catchphrase. "It will be cold, but I
feel no fear," he whispered to the darkness. He almost giggled in nervous
hysteria, but managed to resist the impulse.
"Good so far. Now... You were given a pouch
to carry. Slowly put your left hand over that pouch."
Perro moved his left arm very slowly, until
his hand settled over the pouch the Duke had given him. It was close to the
dagger at his belt, but he never considered touching it.
The hand left his shoulder and quickly yanked
the pouch off his belt. There was the soft rattle of gemstones knocking
against each other. There was a silence of a few heartbeats, then another
soft rattle, and the hand returned to his shoulder.
"I am going to put my hand back over your
mouth, boy, so that I can ask you more questions. Do not jump." True to
his word, the man put his hand back over Perro's mouth, but the grip was
softer and he kept half a step back. It was as though Perro had proven
himself trustworthy. He felt strangely honored.
"I am going to make some statements. You
will nod if the statement I speak is correct. You will shake your head if
the statement is incorrect. Nod if you understand." Perro nodded slowly.
"You came alone, and told no one where you
were going." Perro nodded again.
"You carry no signet or seal, no mark of your
master's house." Nod.
"You met with no one but your master before
coming here." Nod.
"You looked inside the payment pouch." Perro
was about to nod again out of reflex when he caught himself. He shook his
head vigorously.
"I am glad your master has servants who are
able to follow orders, then. And you display remarkable cool-headedness.
Good help, hard to find... You've heard it before, I am sure." Perro felt
and heard a soft exhalation, like a sigh of amusement. He finally started
to relax.
The hand tightened its grip again, and Perro
felt a brief stinging pain at the base of his back, like a flea bite. He
started shivering uncontrollably and cold droplets of sweat beaded on his
head and neck. He dimly felt a thin trickle of heat flowing down the groove
of his back. As soon as he realized he'd been stabbed, his vision swam. A
face came into view on his left. All Perro could see were bright green
eyes. Beyond the face of his killer, the torches at the stable entrance
shivered and shimmered, and then all went black.
Oswald drew his stiletto from the boy's back
and guided the body gently to the ground.
"A good servant is hard to find. A pity your
master deemed you expendable."
He bent to close Perro's eyes. With
practiced efficiency, he wrapped the body in a horse blanket and rolled it
to the back of the stall. He spared a few more moments to dump a pile of
hay over the corpse. Surveying his work, he smiled and left silently.
******
Prince Varicci II stood on the battlements of
the royal palace of Viamont, inspecting the winch mechanism of the
portcullis, when a solitary rider appeared out of the dusk. He was whipping
the horse on mercilessly, as if pursued by abyssal hounds.
As the rider drew closer, Varicci saw that he
wore the livery of a royal guard. All the royal guards were either here at
the castle, or with his brother at Lord Marden's tournament...
A sudden fear leaped to Varicci's mind and he
charged down the stairs to meet the rider.
"Treachery!" the rider called as he rode
through the gates. "Treachery of Bellenesse! Prince Renlen is slain!" The
rider pulled up short when he saw the prince, and Varicci saw that he was
caked in blood and dirt. He reached up and pulled the guard off the saddle.
Terrified of the prince's anger, the guard
stuttered, until Varicci slapped him, then put a none-too-gentle hand on the
man's neck. "Calm down, man! What happened?"
"T-T-Treachery at the tournament, Highness,"
the guard gasped. "Prince Renlen... Eleonora... The Duke's daughter. She
slew him!"
"What of Countess Lotila?" Varicci demanded.
"She pursues the girl. I am the only one she
thought she could spare."
Varicci turned from the exhausted soldier and
entered the castle. He strode quickly through the castle corridors, pushing
aside or knocking over any who got in his way. The Prince made his way to
his father's private quarters. A servant was in the corridor with the two
door guards just outside of the royal chambers, arms laden with a tray full
of steaming food. One of the guards by the door was reaching out to open
the door for the servant when he noticed the Prince hurrying their way. The
guard paused, and his hesitation made the servant and the other guard look
his way.
Varicci snapped a finger peremptorily at the
servant. "You there. Come here."
The servant bowed and turned towards the
Prince. "As it please Your Highness." Varicci inspected the servant's face
as he walked towards the three men at the door. The man was old, the skin
around his eyes crinkling with wrinkles, and the hair of his beard was
grey. His eyes, however, were bright and alert as a young man's, and a most
peculiar shade of green... Above all, the face was unfamiliar, and the
Prince had always taken care to know the names and faces of all servants who
came in contact with any members of the royal family.
"Old man, I do not know you," the Prince
remarked, clear challenge in his voice.
The old servant stopped and bowed
apologetically, managing to keep his food tray balanced as he did so.
"Apologies, your highness, Steward Vittori has a cough something awful,
can't nearly get the breath to climb the stairs, and he sent me to bring the
King his evening meal." He kept his head carefully bowed in subservience,
but Varicci could see his eyes darting around alertly.
"How unfortunate for Vittori. Strange, he
didn't have such a problem this morning when he brought breakfast up to my
father's quarters. I do hope he doesn't... die of this sudden awful
cough." Varicci dropped his hand to the hilt of the longsword at his belt.
At this, the two door guards went on alert, brandishing their halberds.
The old servant chuckled nervously, and
seemed about to respond, when he spun suddenly into motion. Almost more
quickly than Varicci could track, he flung the tray of food, including its
bowl of soup, into the face of one guard, while snapping a brutal kick
between the legs of the other. One man sank groaning to the floor, and the
other fell over, screaming and clutching at his face. Continuing his
whirling motion, the "servant" flashed his hand across the throat of the
guard who'd taken the soup in the face. As the man completely collapsed to
the floor, a bright red line appeared just underneath his chin. A heartbeat
later it turned into a cascade of blood, pouring onto the rich red carpet.
When the "servant" finished his movement, he
was standing in a defensive position, holding a long dagger with a hooked
blade. He no longer looked like an old man. He was clearly younger now,
with a stripe of blonde hair running down his chin. Nor was his skin the
normal Viamontian blue – now he had the pale skin of an Aluvian.
Varicci already had his sword out. "I'd ask
you your name and who sent you, but I think I'll wait until you are racked
in our dungeon, dog." He came ahead cautiously. He could hear more guards
clattering up the stairs on both sides of the corridor. He knew then that
they had the assassin trapped.
The assassin grinned with mock innocence and
retreated to match the Prince's slow pace. "I know you're a smart man,
Highness, and I'm sure you don't need me to tell you who sent me. In any
case, I work in the strictest confidentiality. By the way, how fares your
brother, the younger princeling?" He laughed as he stepped back past the
door to the King's rooms, turning to make his retreat.
Varicci growled and charged forward. Instead
of running away, the assassin reversed direction, dropped down, rolled
forward under Varicci's guard, and threw a leg out. He managed to hook the
Prince's ankle as he rolled past. Varicci stumbled and reeled sideways,
throwing his right hand out against the wall to stop his fall. He kept his
footing, but his sword went clattering to the floor. Behind him, the
assassin yanked the door open and vanished within.
Roaring incoherently with rage, the Prince
grabbed his sword and charged into the room.
He turned the corner around the door in time
to see the assassin midway into the royal parlor with a second, smaller
dagger poised in his left hand. Time seemed to slow for Prince Varicci. He
became aware of every detail in the scene before him. He took note of the
King, his father, sitting at the great desk on the left side of the room, a
sheaf of documents and a tankard of beer arrayed in front of him. He saw
the assassin spin again, his left arm winding back and then uncoiling in the
King's direction. He saw the dagger twirling through the air, and he could
tell it was flying directly at his father's throat. He saw his father reach
out...
There was a horrible noise of metal grating
on metal as King Varicci I swatted the dagger with his silver beer tankard.
The blade struck the tankard square and sunk into the heavy silver, halfway
to its hilt. The King's expression was equal parts shock, outrage, and
terror.
"Regrettable," the assassin sighed. He
looked between the King and the Prince and shrugged almost apologetically.
Then he shook his head, laughing, and ran for the back of the room, to the
great open windows overlooking the palace courtyard. The shutters had been
drawn open, and the red and gold drapery stirred softly in the early evening
winds.
Varicci started forward to pursue, then
stopped as four crossbow-wielding palace guards burst in through the door.
As one, they leveled their weapons at the fleeing assassin and fired. The
bolts whirred through the room and flew out the window. The assassin was
gone.
******
The next morning, Captain Lugo of the Royal
Guard reported to the throne room. He knelt in front of the throne, not
daring to raise his eyes to the King and Prince in front of him.
"What news, Captain?" the King asked.
"Our huntsmen and trackers pursued the
assassin through the night, Majesty. He was a difficult quarry. Several
times, we thought we had lost his trail, only to find it by luck or
happenstance."
"Luck or happenstance, Captain?" The Prince
sneered. "We have some fine trackers, but if you lost this man's trail, you
found it again because he wanted you to find it."
"Erm, yes, Your Highness."
"So you have him in custody," the King
concluded.
Lugo paused a moment, dreading his next
answer. "The assassin... eluded us, Majesty." He swallowed nervously, and
waited in a dreadful silence for several seconds.
"We are displeased, Captain," the King
rumbled.
"How did he escape your men, Captain?" the
Prince asked.
"We thought we had run him to ground in a
small village in one of our Aluvian territories, Highness, but... he
escaped. Through a portal. A portal we had not previously catalogued,
Highness."
"I hope you had the sense to establish a
guard around this portal, Captain," the Prince said.
"I did so immediately, Highness," Lugo
reported, plainly relieved he had done something right.
"You will take us to that portal tomorrow,"
the King ordered.
"Yes, Majesty."
"Any other news, then?"
"We found a body in the back of a stable,
Majesty," the guardsman reported. "At an inn on the eastern edge of the
city."
"Whose body?" the Prince asked.
"He has not been identified as yet, Your
Highness," the guard answered.
The King sighed. "We are disappointed
again, Captain. This incompetence is unlike you. And if my son is
right, this assassin was merely toying with your trackers."
"Father," the Prince said, "in Captain Lugo's
defense, this was a meticulously staged assassination attempt. Objectively,
I have to express... admiration for this assassin's skill. Lugo was merely
outwitted by a superior intellect."
The King snorted. "I am glad you find so
much to admire in this murderous dog, my son. I imagine your admiration for
him would be that much greater had he succeeded in his attempt."
"Father, it is wise to respect the talents of
one's adversaries. Had he not had the misfortune of choosing the worst
target in the world... why yes, I would probably find him an incredibly
useful man. Probably as useful as you once found Bellenesse."
Father and son shared a long look. Everyone
else in the room grew increasingly uncomfortable as the two stared at each
other – the King stone-faced and unblinking, the Prince with a careless grin
on his face. Finally, the Prince averted his eyes, and the King snorted
again. He turned his attention back to the kneeling guard captain.
"All right, Lugo, what can you tell us
about this body in the inn, then?"
"A young man of no discernible family or
breeding, with his hair cut like a servant. He had nothing on him but his
clothes and a dagger of no particular note. All of the inn's guests in the
last three days have been accounted for... Except for one. The innkeeper
said he saw someone ride in from the east last night and go directly to the
stable. But he never came into the inn itself, and left after half an
hour. He assumed it was a traveler who just stopped in to water his horse."
The Prince shook his head. "Bring that fool
of an innkeeper here. Make him explore his memories very
thoroughly. I suspect the man who went in and the man who came out were
different men... And that the man who came out is the man who tried to kill
you, father... The man that our loyal and capable captain has thus far
failed to track down."
The guard captain, still kneeling, paled.
"What more can you tell us of the body,
Lugo?" the King asked.
"He was killed yesterday, as far as we can
tell, Majesty. One single well-placed dagger strike, at the base of the
spine. A narrow blade. And the wound, we believe, was poisoned."
"I would wager," said the Prince, "that it is
the same poison that was on that blade you caught with the tankard, father."
The King sighed. "My son murdered like a dog
in a duel. A poisoned dagger, meant for my throat. One dead steward in the
castle basement. And now a mysterious body in a stable."
"Father, I must ask again why we are going
over evidence when we know exactly who is behind this assassination
attempt."
"I refuse to believe that Bellenesse himself
has betrayed me, my son," said the King. "It is possible his daughter acted
on her own."
"Possible, but unlikely. The Duke commands
his girl as you command me. She would not have acted alone. Besides, I
have noticed oddities in the Duke's behavior for some time, father. I think
this hoary Roulean heresy has spread to him. I would not even wait for our
messengers to return from his lands. More to the point, I doubt they
will return."
"You counsel war with Bellenesse, then?" The
King looked resigned to an unpleasant inevitability.
"Not war, father. A purge. Let me lead one
more campaign for you. Bellenesse and all his family will hang in pieces
from our gates. Their House will be extinguished, as it should have been at
the conclusion of the great civil war, centuries ago. The Roulean heresy
will be crushed."
The King nodded. "As you would have it, my
son. Do what you must. Avenge your brother and... purge the heresy."
From Turbine's
Throne of Destiny site. |