by Brian Murray
A couple of hours before midnight, Fury and six Dark brethren entered the capital via the sewage system. Prince Tucci had given the men the location of a secret entrance to the sewers, information privy only to the imperial family, General Gordonia and a few town planners. They made their way silently to the palace, avoiding detection. Only when the palace was taken would Fury signal the rest of the Dark Brethren to enter the city.
***
Prince Tucci woke from his drug-induced sleep two hours before midnight and remembered the plan. He looked at the drugs lying on his table. Craving a black crystal caused saliva to ooze from his mouth. He closed his eyes as his stomach knotted and ached from yearning. Soon, I will have all the drugs I desire, he thought. Gathering his wits, Tucci sneaked out of his room.
***
Morrich, a tall, powerfully built Dar-Phadrin, had been a loyal Imperial Guard for the past three years. He was a hardworking, dedicated warrior due for promotion. Tonight, he stood outside the Chosen’s private chambers with his gleaming sword at his side. As one of the elite within the Imperial Guards, he had been handpicked to act as one of the Chosen’s personal guards, going everywhere with his emperor.
He had been on duty for many hours, but Morrich would not stand down until the Chosen had retired for the night. He stood still as he heard footsteps on the wooden floor towards him, not concerned, as all visitors passed several checkpoints before reaching this deep into the palace. Out of the corner of his eye Morrich recognised Tucci, the Chosen’s son, approaching, and he straightened himself, although he already stood to attention.
“I would like to talk to my father in private,” announced Tucci, slightly slurring his words.
Morrich looked down at Tucci, noticing his crumpled clothes and black smudges circling the young prince’s eyes. Tucci’s hair was wild and uncombed, and he had yellowy-white saliva crystallised at the corner of his mouth and caked down his chin.
“Shall I announce you?” asked Morrich, his voice strong and resonant.
“If I wanted to be announced, I would have asked. I want you to leave now, so I can talk to my father alone.”
Morrich exchanged glances with his comrade standing on the other side of the door. The other Imperial Guard looked back at Morrich, just as confused. When posted to a location guarding the Chosen, the guards were not meant to leave under any circumstances.
“Sire, I will need to speak to General Gordonia,” said Morrich. “This request is not part of my orders.”
“I said leave. That is an order!” hissed Tucci coldly, spittle flying from his mouth. “My orders!”
Morrich snapped to attention and saluted the young prince. As he turned, he gazed round and saw a wicked smile creep across Tucci’s face. Morrich marched up the corridor, his mind in turmoil. He stopped as he was about to turn the corner. Something felt wrong. No knock. Morrich shot a look over his shoulder, and to his surprise, saw Tucci skipping away from the Chosen’s chambers.
“What’s wrong?” asked Morrich’s comrade. Morrich did not answer for a while, then said, “Go on to the barracks. I will meet you there. Something is wrong.”
“Do not disobey orders. You will get the lash for it,” pleaded his comrade, his voice edged with concern.
“Go, I will join you shortly. I promise,” replied Morrich, giving him a reassuring smile. He left his comrade and strode back down the corridor after Tucci, who headed towards the kitchens dismissing all the guards he passed. Morrich stopped at a corner and peered round. The wooden floor below his foot creaked. Swiftly, he pulled his head back as Tucci stopped and glared over his shoulder.
The floorboard groaned again as Morrich pulled his weight off it. He tried to steady his breathing and calm his pounding heart. In the next corridor, Tucci continued to stare back, towards the sound, in the direction from which he had come. After a long, agonising moment, Morrich heard Tucci’s footsteps fade, let out a long breath and risked a peek around the corner. He watched the young prince enter the kitchens and crept down the corridor after him.
***
Tucci entered the kitchen and silently murdered an old servant who had been preparing the Chosen’s hourly tisane. He knelt down beside the body and repeatedly stabbed the man in a crazed frenzy, sending crimson splatters against the walls and ceiling. The prince smiled when he left the kitchen, recalling the fear in the servant’s eyes when he sliced the sharp, crescent blade across his throat. Quickly, Tucci scurried back through the palace to his room, pleased with his work. But there was still more for him to do.
***
Morrich slowly crept down the corridor towards the kitchen. Suddenly, the kitchen door opened. The Imperial Guard ducked into the nearest room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Through the gap he watched the prince hurry past him, and frowned. He thought he saw splatters of dark fluid on the prince’s face and clothing. Quietly, the Imperial Guard pulled open the door and watched Tucci’s back disappear around a corner. He glanced down the corridor towards the kitchen, and then to where Tucci had gone. Softly, he cursed. Looking at the kitchen doors again, he made his mind up. Morrich scampered to the kitchen doors and gently pushed them open.
***
Tucci hurried back to his room and changed out of his bloodied robes into clean black clothing. He opened the balcony and waited for his guests, mentally making sure he had dismissed all the guards required. Satisfied he had completed his task, he peered back to his bedside table where his black drugs awaited, beckoning him. His stomach tightened and grumbled but he knew now was not the time. He told himself soon, soon he would have everything he wanted and all the black crystals he desired.
***
As soon as he stepped inside, Morrich smelled blood. Moving round a counter, he found the servant’s bloody corpse sprawled on the kitchen floor. The warrior had seen death many times, but nothing like this; the old servant was a gory mess and Morrich could tell he had been savagely and repeatedly stabbed. His mind raced as he tore his eyes from the body. The general, he thought. Something was going to happen but Morrich did not know what. Silently, he left the kitchen and raced through the palace to his general’s room.
In his haste, Morrich did not realise that all the other guards had been dismissed.
***
Deep in thought, the Chosen made his way to his sleeping chambers, where his loving wife waited for him. He smiled; married for twenty years and he was still besotted by his empress. From the first moment he had seen her, tall, elegant, and radiant with pale green eyes, he had fallen in love. Being a woman of culture and education made her more appealing to him, as he wanted her to have an opinion. They were married as part of his coronation where Rowet could not take his eyes off her. He had insisted that they be happy in each other’s company before sharing a bed. He wanted her love, not just for her to give her body to him out of a sense of duty. He smiled, remembering their first night together, fumbling under the sheets. They were now, as then, inseparable, bringing true happiness to each other. So deep was his love, Rowet never felt the need nor inclination to take a mistress, unlike most men of rank in Phadrine. The man was a true romantic, a rare breed indeed.
Weariness flooded over the Chosen’s body, and he thought of his wife already sleeping in their bed. Snuggling up next to her would be a very good idea, he decided, with the warmth of her body against his. He felt a glowing stirring inside. Maybe, he thought . . . His smile disappeared as slowly, he turned . . .
***
Fury and his men reached the private palace gardens just before midnight, avoiding all the guards. They put on their white clothes, to scale the white marble walls unseen. Their black clothing would be useful again once inside the palace. Fury attempted the climb first. It was difficult because the joints in the blocks of marble were very fine, but Fury managed to use the seams to quickly scale the building. He knew which balcony he had to reach and could see the doors were open, black drapes fluttering in the breeze. Cautiously, he clambered over the balcony and peere
d into the darkened room. Movement caught Fury’s eye, and he swiftly drew his small, loaded crossbow.
***
Prince Tucci saw movement on his balcony; having seen a figure dressed in white successfully scale the palace exterior. The man’s red eyes blazed like rubies in the gloom, causing the prince to shiver. The prince moved from the shadows to greet his guest, but stopped when he saw the man had a small crossbow in his hand. Fear washed over Tucci’s body when the weapon was levelled at him.
“Fury, it is I, Tucci,” whispered the prince nervously. “You’re safe, my friend.”
“Greetings, Tucci. It is good to meet you,” replied the warrior curtly. Without another word, Fury tied off a rope on the balcony rail, let it drop down, and tugged it twice to signal his men that he was at the correct location and all was safe.
Once the six Dark Brethren were in the prince’s bedchamber, they swiftly changed back into their black clothing, and Fury outlined the plan. Fury and two of his men were to go to the Chosen’s bedchamber to kill him and the empress. Two more were to go to Ireen’s room and despatch the princess. The last two men were to kill General Gordonia, as the man was the Chosen’s only friend and held the loyalty of the Imperial Guards. The prince was told to wait in his room until Fury returned. Tucci started to object, but Fury told him they were professionals and would not have the prince jeopardising himself or the mission.
The seven men silently slipped out of the room.
Outside, ominous storm clouds floated in front of the moon shrouding the palace in a veil of darkness.
***
The empress slept peacefully in the imperial bedchamber.
***
Ireen slept fitfully in her bedchamber, her dreams full of passion.
***
The Chosen stood stock still in the corridor leading to his bedchamber, realising his guards were not following him. In fact, there were no guards . . . anywhere.
***
The rumbling sound of General Gordonia’s snoring filled his room.
***
Fury and four Dark Brethren moved silently towards the Chosen’s and Princess Ireen’s bedchambers.
***
The final two Dark Brethren moved towards the general’s quarters.
***
There was a gentle knock on the door.
Chapter 4
Distant thunder growled as the Chosen slipped into the nearest door and made his way to the bed. Covering the woman’s mouth, he spoke quickly in a hoarse whisper. “Ireen, treason I believe to be afoot and your brother may be involved. You must leave the palace immediately and find Dax. Tell him of the treason and that he must help fulfil my plan. He will know what I mean and what to do. Oh, daughter of mine, I love you dearly. It broke his heart to see the tears flowing from her eyes down her cheeks. “Please Ireen, I need to know you are safe, for you will be our future, the future of Phadrine.” He kissed his daughter on the forehead. “Now get dressed and leave the palace at once. Use the hidden corridors.”
After Ireen hurriedly dressed in travelling clothes of soft leather leggings and a simple woollen top, she kissed her father and said, “I will see you again, Father. I will.”
“Goodbye, my daughter. You know where to find your travelling bag in the hidden corridors. Leave now and make your way to Dax.”
She flicked a hidden switch, opening a door in the wall which led to the stables. With a heavy heart, the Chosen closed the hidden door behind her and turned, searching the room with his eyes, his mood heavy with melancholy. The bedchamber door handle moved silently. His head snapped around. A single creak drew the Chosen back to his mission – one of treason, one of death. He hefted his sword.
***
There was another knock on the door, this time, a little louder.
“What?” called the man, his gruff voice groggy from sleep.
“General, it is I, Morrich. May I speak to you, sir? It’s urgent.”
“Damn you man, do you know what time it is? Oh, balls from Moranton, come in, I’m awake now.”
The soldier entered the darkened room and saluted in the direction where he thought the general lay.
“Over here, man, and be quick about it,” said the general, turning up an oil lantern. The soldier looked around the room and was surprised to see it so dishevelled. Scrolls and maps littered the large wooden desk and the rug-covered floor. The general’s uniform was casually discarded over one of his deep leather chairs. Morrich suppressed a smile.
The Imperial Guard repeated his conversation with Tucci outside the Chosen’s private chambers, explaining why he had followed the prince through the palace. He was unsure how the general would take the news, and was careful that everything he said was accurate. He explained that as Tucci did not go in to see the Chosen, he had followed the prince to the kitchens. He paused, then described what he had seen in the kitchen and how he found the body – savagely stabbed.
“Are you sure?” asked General Gordonia, now wide awake, his eyes showing a mixture of horror and disbelief. He moved to his desk, carrying his lantern.
“Yes, sir.”
“Was the prince alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
The general thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. Then realisation struck him. “This talk sounds like treason, man,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Aye, sir. I believe something foul is afoot.”
“So the rumours around the northern lands must be true.” Before the general could explain further, he shot a look towards the door. A floorboard just outside the door softly creaked. He quickly turned down the lantern on his desk.
“Get ready, man,” hissed Gordonia softly. “I smell death, and my nose is never wrong about these things.”
***
Fury entered the Chosen’s bedchamber with his two men and silently crossed the large room to the circular bed covered in red satin sheets. Drawing his two small black crossbows, he smiled. His fingers tightened around both triggers.
***
The Chosen stood with his back to the wall, in his hand his new sword. In front of him were two black-garbed assassins.
***
Fury squeezed the triggers, letting both bolts fly. His eyes blazed red as he watched a single blood patch seep through the sheets. He frowned. Something was wrong; he wrenched back the sheets to see only one body, the naked empress. Where is the . . .? Fury’s thought went unfinished as a huge cry shattered the silence. He spun around and glared at the door. His careful plan was going wrong.
***
General Gordonia fumed when he saw the two assassins enter his quarters. Letting out a loud battle cry, he charged the two men.
***
Two assassins entered the princess’s bedchamber and showed no surprise at facing a man – a warrior, instead of the princess. They were momentarily distracted by the loud cry. That was all the Chosen needed. In a heartbeat, he leapt forward and slashed the neck of the nearest man. The Chosen turned and looked at the second assassin who was the same height and build. They circled each other. The assassin smiled, drawing his sword.
“That was a mistake!” hissed the Chosen coldly.
The two men continued to circle each another until suddenly, the assassin attacked. The Chosen blocked the man’s blows but staggered back, dislodging some candles. Ireen did not like the dark and always slept with at least one candle lit. The Chosen continued to defend himself, as the candle fell onto the bed and the linen caught fire. The flames quickly spread and soon the curtains were ablaze. The Chosen tripped over the corner of the bed and fell onto the floor. Thick, black smoke filled the room.
***
The assassins were taken by surprise and the general quickly dispatched the first, forcing a wooden writing quill deep into his right eye. Morrich killed the second, lashing out backhanded with his sword, hacking through the man’s throat.
“TO THE CHOSEN!” screamed the general. Both men ran from the room down the corridor. “TO THE CHOSEN!”
***
The prince jumped at the sound of the general’s battle cry. It was all going wrong and panic welled up in his body. He might live and I might die, he thought. “I don’t want to die,” he muttered.
Suddenly, the prince’s door burst open. Fury charged in and pushed past the prince to reach the balcony.
“What’s happening?” screamed the prince.
“Silence boy, I need my men,” hissed Fury coldly, who then pulsed a command to his remaining Dark Brethren to enter the city.
A commotion outside the prince’s door caused Tucci to fret. He rushed forward to see the general and an Imperial Guard dispatch two Dark Brethren.
General Gordonia glanced around and saw the prince. “Shut your door, your Highness, and lock it!” he shouted. “Treason is in our palace and we will find those responsible.”
***
Black smoke filled the princess’s room as the two men continued their combat. The assassin stabbed downwards, but the Chosen rolled clear and leapt to his feet. One slashed high and the other blocked, pinning the man’s sword hand against the wall. That was the mistake the man had been waiting for. In a split second, he produced a dagger and plunged it into his adversary’s heart. The dead man crumpled to the floor, lifeless eyes staring up at his assailant. Hungry flames engulfed the room and the body’s clothes quickly caught alight. The victor did not linger. He left the room, releasing smoke into the corridor in his wake.
***
By dawn, the Dark Brethren had taken control of the palace, killing all those who drew arms, including the Chosen’s personal guards. The fire in the sleeping quarters was finally extinguished, leaving rooms ruined. The Chosen’s smouldering burnt body, and the Empress’s body, were placed on display in the large temple hall.
Prince Tucci now sat on the Chosen’s throne, staring down at the bodies of his parents, his mood melancholy. The Dark Brethren, now his personal guards, stood at his side. The Priests of the Chosen were making preparations for the state funeral of the former emperor and empress.
