I didn’t even graze the horse. It was a joust, after all, and the horse was all bedecked in expensive saddlecloth. Was it hard to cut a strap without damaging the saddlecloth? Maybe for some. Not for me, though. I was a half-demon, after all. Let me continue justifying my origins.
The baron was clumsily tumbling on the sand, reminding me of a lobster cast ashore. I leaped down from my horse and held my saber to his throat.
“Do you surrender?”
The baron croaked something in agreement. The audience was screaming their lungs out, but the majority seemed to admire me rather than condemn.
“Alex!” Rudolph stood up in his seat. “Come here!”
What was I, a lapdog?
“What’s wrong, Uncle?”
“Alex, you can’t do that!”
I threw him a blank look.
“What do you mean?”
“Your victory...” A word like “dirty” or “dishonorable” was clearly at the tip of his tongue, but he was too afraid to say it out loud, or the gossip hens would have a field day with that. “It was against the rules!”
“But why, Uncle? The rules don’t forbid my weapon. If the baron remained on his feet, I would have fought him with my saber...but he didn’t get up!”
Rudolph winced.
“That’s unseemly for a knight...”
“Uncle, the baron didn’t mind fighting an unarmored opponent without a war horse! Isn’t fighting an unequal battle unseemly for a knight?”
Uncle’s face fell. He obviously realized that next, I could say that he was the judge and he was the one who could have stopped me.
“And with my health, I couldn’t exactly handle a direct clash, could I?” I beamed, and Uncle gave up.
“The result is valid! The winner is His Highness Alexander Leonard Radenor!”
The viewers broke into applause. Hurrah! The support seemed overwhelming enough for Abigail to start clenching her teeth so much they hurt—or why would she scowl so much?
I sent her a smile. But that viper...
“Alex, I’ve noticed you still don’t have your lady’s favor...”
True. And I won’t. A scarf could turn into a ring, and a ring would lead to a betrothal. No way. My answer to the rat was immediate—and it sent her sprawling from all the way across the arena.
“Your Majesty, I’m fighting for the favor of only one lady—my mother, Her Highness Michelle Clarissa Radenor. Therefore...”
I stretched out my hand, so everyone could see it. A small black ribbon of mourning was tied on my wrist.
The toothache was apparently joined by liver sickness, as I could see no other reason for her face to gain that greenish color.
I bowed and returned to my friends, as Tom and Rene were waiting for me outside the tiltyard. The knights were forbidden from watching the jousts, so nobody would know how strong or weak their next opponent would be. Thus, my trick stayed unknown to the rest of the contenders.
Beyond that point, everything was unfortunate—for my opponents.
“Baron Altmore versus His Highness...”
“The result is valid! The winner is His Highness Alexander Leonard Radenor!”
“Count Pfalt...”
“The result is valid! The winner is His Highness Alexander Leonard Radenor!”
“Marquis Eltar...”
“The result is valid! The winner is His Highness Alexander Leonard Radenor!”
So what? I was a good boy. I didn’t cripple anyone, and the only trouble was with the count who had first announced that he wouldn’t fight an unarmed rookie and then managed to land on his feet when I unhorsed him. He tried to chase me all over the area, but alas, I had no intention of extending the fight. I knocked off his helmet, hitting the bindings, and scratched his ear from behind.
That was it. All the conditions were met, the blood was drawn, and the enemy was still alive.
At first, the count didn’t realize what had happened but then clapped my shoulder—strong enough to almost beat me into the ground.
“Let us have a drink after the tournament!”
“Thank you! I accept!”
Why not? The count was in his forties, and he was still jousting... Could he remember my grandfather? Quite likely. And I needed allies, desperately.
In a word, I quickly rose up the tournament ranks. From the other side, the second His Highness was advancing, unrelenting. We weren’t as backwater as some had thought; Rick had always paid attention to the news from the capital, and I knew very well that for the last five years, all the jousting competitions had only one winner: my cousin. But now...two can play that game.
Our clash seemed inevitable, and finally...
“His Highness Alexander Leonard Radenor versus His Highness Andre Alexander Radenor!”
I grinned, looking at my cousin. I’d love to dispatch you right now...but I can’t, yet. And his blood should never touch my hands. I would have to wear gloves, at least.
Meanwhile...
“Cousin, I cannot fight you while you’re in that outfit!”
“Sorry, Cousin, but, as you know, armor is not for me.”
“Then I offer you a sword fight!”
I gritted my teeth.
“Mounted?”
“First mounted, then, if anyone gets unhorsed—on the ground, to first blood.”
I see. Someone had told the prince about my tactics, and Andre had decided to avoid a roll in the sand. It wouldn’t help him, though, not at all.
“I accept your offer, Cousin!”
Abigail winced, but she had no choice. Yes, that’s right; Cousin! And go on, try to prove the opposite! From that moment, if anything happened during the jousting, Andre would forever be known as a kinslayer. He wasn’t thinking about that, however. He just wanted to win.
And so, His Highness fearlessly galloped to the center of the arena. I steered my horse there as well, Andre picked up the pace, raised his sword...
Come on, did you really think I was going to fight you on horseback?
Knights had special saddles with a high saddlebow. Mine was simple, not much more than a saddlecloth, and when Andre rode by, I simply snipped his strap while dangling from the horse’s flank. Then I got back into the saddle and rode on. The rumbling behind me attested that my plan had worked. His Highness fell to the ground, looking every bit like a boiled lobster. Unfortunately for me, he fell on his stomach, allowing him to get up, raking in sand with all his joints. He was waiting for me, and I obliged. I jumped off my horse, clapping its rump, and headed toward His Highness.
No surprises there—Andre charged at me like a battering ram: simple, straightforward, and rough. Henry would have boxed my ears if I did something like that. Naturally, I dodged the blow, and Andre spent the next ten minutes chasing me all over the arena. Still, wearing forty, if not fifty, pounds of metal was taking a toll on him, and when you were riding Shank’s mare instead of your horse, it left a mark. Eventually, all the stadium could hear his heavy breathing. As for me, I was having the time of my life mocking him, spinning around, pretending to evade his sword. When I was behind him, I either bowed, blew kisses, or feigned that I was about to kick him in the rear. The common folk loved the show, and soon, the spectators all started yelling, “Alex!”
Andre was clearly becoming more and more anxious, and when he tore off his helmet and threw it aside, I knew that it was time to act. Once again, I dodged his blow, and deftly scratched my cousin’s cheek.
Blood started flowing, and Andre stopped, in utter disbelief.
I sneered.
“I hope I haven’t offended you, Cousin?”
With these words, I made a bee-line for the exit from the tiltyard.
“Alex!”
My demon senses were tingling like crazy. I dropped down, rolled back, took a look around...
A short crossbow bolt was sticking out of the crimson sand of the arena. If I hadn’t dodged, I would be done for. I traced the bolt’s trajectory with my eyes. Some
one was getting a good walloping over there. Good. Let’s hope they don’t kill him, but if anything happens...
“Alex!”
Tommy and Rene ran to me. I quickly gave Tommy my instructions, and he disappeared from the arena. Meanwhile, Rene took me by the shoulder and started to examine me.
“Are you alive?”
“Don’t count on me dying just yet...”
Viscount Morinar breathed out in relief and clapped my shoulder. The very same one that Pfalt had hit so painfully. Ouch!
“I’m alive.”
I pulled the bolt from the sand and headed toward my uncle, holding it in my hand. Andre stopped me.
“Alex, are you—”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I embraced my cousin.
“Thank you for your congratulations, Andre. I’m truly grateful. Being a graceful loser is quite noble of you!”
Apparently, my cousin was kin to fish. Look at him flapping his gills. As I approached Uncle’s loge, I looked it over. Nope, no way to climb up. Of course, I still could do it, but why reveal my dexterity?
“Uncle, what was this yucky thing doing flying around the arena?”
I waved the bolt in front of him.
Uncle rose to the occasion.
“The winner of the tournament is my favorite nephew, Alexander Leonard Radenor!”
The audience roared in approval, and he could continue only after five minutes.
“Due to an attempted assassination of the winner, the celebration of his victory will be postponed until the investigation is over!”
The courtiers started to grumble, but nobody dared to object. I smirked. Oh really? Postponed? First, they postpone it, then they forget it, and then...I either get killed, or a judge helps Andre.
I bowed and took my leave from the tiltyard. I still needed to wash and clean myself, change my clothes...
I never got the chance. A servant came running to me with the king’s orders to present myself immediately before His Majesty in his office. Morons. If I weren’t a half-demon, I would have turned into a beast far sooner, living with those people.
***
The gathering took place in the royal study. Me, the king, the queen, the prince, the princess, and the queen’s father. Rudolph was the first to speak.
“Alex, I think you were attacked by somebody displeased with your disregard for the chivalric traditions.”
You bet! And you are so chivalric yourself—sending your own sister to be tortured! But you’d draw the line at assassinating your nephew? I doubt it.
“Did you catch the assassin?”
“No. There wasn’t enough time.” That was Chartreuse. Such a tragic expression on his face, too. What a bleeding heart, so upset about someone else’s treasury!
“People tore him to pieces.”
“Shame.”
What an interesting assassin, to try killing someone and then die was something new. Usually, they attempted to escape as fast as possible.
“Anyway, the feast has to be delayed. And really, your victory, Alex...”
“Uncle, the Knight’s Codex says nothing about either clothing or fighting method.”
“It still wasn’t fair,” Andre said, apparently, still sore.
I looked at him with interest, as if he were a louse.
“Cousin, you are heavier than me, better trained, older, and in perfect health. I’m fast and agile, and I used that to my advantage. What’s so unfair about that? Did you have any qualms about fighting me? And you knew that getting hit with a spear just once could easily end my life.”
Andre looked dejected. This account cast him in a clearly negative light. I also smiled a bit. Let him rage. Ruthina blinked.
“Ah, Alex, looking at you, one would never think you’re so sick.”
I showed her all my teeth, too.
“People, they are complicated, mysterious, malicious...” I muttered the last word under my breath, so nobody could hear.
“I think we should begin an investigation,” Chartreuse took the floor. “Right now, hot on their trails.”
“You’ll report to me in the morning,” Rudolph snapped and sent all of us out. I headed to my chambers. Tommy was waiting for me.
“Did you get it?” I asked.
“You bet I did! Everyone and their mother was having a go at him, but...here it is!”
A scrap of cloth soaked in blood was lying in my friend’s palm. What else would one need to summon a spirit? Night time and a pentagram.
***
I had long since gotten used to working using my power alone—no spells, no blood offerings. A pentagram, five candles on its points—just ordinary stuff, forget that nonsense about black ones. Now, if I had to summon someone powerful, then maybe, but a common ghost didn’t require anything special.
I imbued the scheme with my magic. The lines started glowing pale blue, and the candles burned with the same-colored fire. I channeled even more of my power there; I didn’t know his name or his moniker, I only had blood and power, but that was enough. Within five minutes, a ghost appeared just above the bloodied fabric. At first, the image was faltering, transparent, but with each minute, it grew brighter and more vibrant, and finally, a man in his fifties was looking at me, still suspended in mid-air.
“Tell me your name, spirit.”
“Ryner Velimo,” his voice rustled like autumn leaves.
“Did you shoot at me today in the arena?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Why?”
“I was paid to do so.”
“Who paid you?”
The ghost froze. I had expected that to happen a bit earlier, but I still had more than enough power, and I poured it into the pentagram with full force. The lines flashed brightly, the ghost winced in pain, and, finally, started to tell the whole story.
Everything was pretty straightforward. Ryner had been a merchant, small-time and not particularly lucky. Plus, he had been terminally ill, with no more than three months left to live. The day before the jousting, a man had come to his house and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Ryner would get gold, lots of gold, for murdering Prince Alex. He would only need to take one shot. He would likely get caught and executed, but what did it matter? A month more, a month less... Ryner had agreed. As for the man... Yep, that was him. Marquis Chartreuse.
I pursed my mouth in disdain. Simplicity is the soul of genius... and of villainy, I guess. That was probably why Chartreuse the elder started taking great pains to receive some extra work. Of course, they would never find anything, and the case would die out.
Not bloody likely.
I released the ghost, cleaned up after myself—threw away the candles, erased the pentagram—and without any hesitation, headed toward the armory.
The palace housed a lot of weaponry. It also housed the Chartreuses, as the queen’s relatives, and the marquis was one of them.
Wonderful.
I spent just five minutes inside the armory, looking over bolt cases and finding the one that would fit the specifications. Most crossbow bolts looked similar to each other, and these few seemed almost from the same forge. Maybe they were. After all, it was the client who had given Ryner that crossbow case—and he wouldn’t have bought it with his own money. So much easier to steal it from the armory. And now I had a visit to pay.
Softly stepping across the marble floor, I didn’t make a sound. No door hinges creaked as I passed through, and drapes obediently provided me with their shadowy cover. It was my home, my palace, and it recognized me as its lord. Here, in the heart of Radenor, I had so much power.
The chambers of Chartreuse the Junior. Is he sleeping? Tsk, tsk.
He was, instead of investigating the attempt on my life. He’ll pay for that. He isn’t alone, either. Who is that? Marquise Brin? A young floozy who isn’t above shagging stable boys. Come on!
In two steps, I was next to his bed, pressing the marquise’s carotid artery with my left hand. Just one second, and she wa
s unconscious. I could have pressed a bit stronger and killed her, but it wasn’t the right time for that—yet. With my other hand, I slammed a crossbow bolt into Chartreuse’s throat, delighted at hearing his dying groan. Blood was gushing out of the wound, and I drenched a napkin that I had prepared just for this into the stream. Did you think I would just kill him? That would be too easy.
I’ll summon your soul, too, and you’ll tell me everything, you filth. Of course, you’re far too young to know what happened to my mother...or are you? I’ll ask you about your accomplices, about stealing, about...well, you get the hint. I’ll leave this question for last.
I knew that my mother hadn’t burned that inn, which meant that it had been someone else. Twenty years wasn’t such a long time, and I still had time to find the perpetrator. And when I did...
A dreamy smile appeared on my face as I looked out the window and saw the moon’s thin crescent. Revenge was such a human thing.
***
Should I even mention that nobody noticed me? I didn’t interrogate Chartreuse’s spirit that night, and the next morning, things got really messy.
The marquise woke up in the same bed as a corpse and started screaming bloody murder, drawing the attention of the entire palace, including her husband, who pulled her out of Chartreuse’s bed by her hair, slapped her, and dragged her to their room.
Alas, he didn’t make it, getting apprehended by the guards, who took the lady away. After all, she could have been the murderer.
Abigail was weeping over her brother’s body, Chartreuse the elder was wiping a few tears from his face, while the rest of the family watched, and I was in stitches. It was a hoot.
The bolt was the same! I remember it! It’s a conspiracy! First me, then the queen’s brother, who’s next? I’m so afra-a-a-aid! We need to assign guards to everyone—Uncle, Auntie, the cousins! This is a disaster! And you call the royal palace secure? At home, I was so much safer! I want to join the army! Send me to the border! At least there won’t be any assassins there!
Half-Demon's Revenge Page 17
