“He’s alive, but in a deep sleep,” Relam replied. “He will not wake.”
D’Arnlo blinked in surprise. “Interesting. And you believe these assassins may be able to tell you what they used, so you can create an antidote?”
“Yes.”
The sword master nodded thoughtfully. “It might just work,” he allowed. “Although, if I were the man who had hired them, I would not have told them what poison I was giving them. That way, nobody knows except the man who was never involved in the actual event.”
“Then it’s a good thing you weren’t the one in charge of this attack,” Narin grunted. “I’ve yet to meet an assassin that careful or devious.”
“You’d be surprised,” D’Arnlo said wryly. “The story of how King Heral was assassinated, for instance. Fascinatingly complex, a real mastermind was behind that one.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” the palace guard replied stoically.
D’Arnlo laughed genially. “Not one for reading, captain?” he asked, smiling.
“He has more important things to do, like guarding the palace,” Aven said, speaking up for the first time.
D’Arnlo turned slowly, fixing his eyes on Aven curiously. “And who are you?” the proud lord asked.
Aven flushed and averted his eyes. Relam stepped in to smooth things over.
“His name is Jerelte,” the prince explained. He saw Aven’s head jerk up in surprise at the false name. Relam quietly stepped on Aven’s right foot as he moved forward a half pace, signaling for the boy to be quiet. “A soldier in training, nephew of one of the palace guards.”
“Oh? Which one? Maybe I trained him?” D’Arnlo said, fixing the pair with a cold gaze.
“Gurdenson,” Aven replied promptly. “Tevin Gurdenson is my uncle, my lord.”
“I don’t know him,” D’Arnlo said after a moment’s thought. “Strange, I know most of the better soldiers in the city.”
Aven flushed angrily and ducked his head again. Even if Tevin Gurdenson was a totally fictitious uncle, he didn’t like the master of the Citadel implying that Aven’s family connections were somehow inferior.
“Very interesting,” D’Arnlo murmured. He then turned abruptly back to face Relam and Narin. “You will find the assassins on the fifteenth level of the Eyrie. The fastest way there is to take the tenth level sky bridge from the Anchor to the Bastion.”
“Thank you,” Relam said, nodding politely. “We’ll be on our way then.”
“Let me know what they say,” D’Arnlo replied, jaw set in sharp angles, eyes flashing. “I’m curious to know what sort of men would dare attack our beloved royal family.”
“Of course,” Relam said smoothly, inclining his head. Then, he and the others turned away to continue their search. As they moved away from D’Arnlo, Aven elbowed Relam sharply in the side, drawing his attention.
“You gave D’Arnlo a fake name. Why?”
Relam contemplated that for a moment. He wasn’t really sure, to be honest. “I don’t know. I just don’t like or trust D’Arnlo,” he said finally.
“Why not?”
“Do you remember when Narin and I said that he had some strange ideas?”
“Yes,” Aven said, brow furrowed. “What did you mean by that?”
“We meant that he is the leader of the supremacist faction,” Narin grunted.
Relam grinned at the blank look on Aven’s face. “We can discuss this back at the palace,” he said reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I didn’t know what supremacists were at your age either. In addition to that major fault, D’Arnlo stands for power. Anything that lessens his influence or shames him is removed. Any obstacle is overcome. He is the youngest, and some say the most ruthless, master of the Citadel in the history of the kingdom.”
“He’s a pompous ass,” Narin grunted.
“That too,” Relam agreed, grinning. “Ah, and here’s the sky bridge. I always wanted to cross one of these.”
Two guards flanked the archway, which led to an exposed stone bridge spanning a three story drop to the courtyard below. Two more guards were posted at the far end of the bridge, on the tenth level of the tower known as the Bastion.
“Whoa,” Aven said, staring awestruck at the bridge, seemingly suspended in midair. “Is it safe?”
“Of course! It’s been here for years,” Narin assured the boy confidently, leading the way onto the bridge. The first two guards followed, then Relam. Aven hesitated a moment, then fell in behind Relam before he could be trampled by the guards bringing up the rear.
The bridge was some twenty meters long and very narrow, just wide enough for two men to walk abreast. To the left and right, stone crenellations reached to head height, interspersed with lower gaps at chest height for archers to shoot through. Far below, dozens of soldiers were drilling in formation on the seventh level courtyard that surrounded the bases of the Bastion and Anchor towers. The drill sergeant’s voice was clearly audible, save when the wind gusted particularly strongly.
As they were preparing to enter the Bastion at the far end of the bridge, the two guards crossed their halberds over the archway, glaring suspiciously at the newcomers.
“We’re here to question the assassins,” Narin said, gesturing upwards to where the Eyrie was situated.
“Who are you?” one guard demanded.
Relam stepped forward. “I think you know who I am,” he said calmly.
“Your highness!” the guard said, snapping to attention and raising his halberd to the vertical. “Welcome to the Citadel. I’m sorry about the confusion, but security has been tightened since the assassins were brought in. Have you already gained clearance from Master D’Arnlo?”
Relam raised an eyebrow. “We spoke with him, yes. But I hardly think that a member of the royal family needs clearance to enter the Bastion.”
“Of course, your highness,” the other guard said quickly. “But since the attack Master D’Arnlo has ordered that everyone receive clearance from him before entering.”
“Then we have clearance,” Narin said shortly. “Can we move along now?”
The guards exchanged glances and stepped to the side, ushering the small band forward.
“Thank you,” Narin said with exaggerated politeness. Beside Relam, Aven smirked at the palace guard’s treatment of the Citadel soldiers.
Narin led the way through the Bastion to another stairwell, which took them right to the roof of the massive tower. To the left, an archway led out into the open, and several guardsmen were standing sentry duty with bows in hand. To the right, the stairs continued upwards into the eyrie tower.
“They need to invent an easier way to get up and down in this place,” Aven grunted as he drew level with Relam.
“Not much further now,” Narin said, ignoring Aven’s complaint. “Then we see if we can get some answers.”
They continued climbing, right up to the very top level of the tower. There, in a small circular room ringed with cell doors, they found two members of the palace guard standing watch over the prisoners. They came quickly to attention as Relam and his men approached.
“Your highness,” the nearest guard said, bowing. “Welcome. The prisoners are in the first three cells here.”
“Kept separate?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Relam turned to Narin. “If you will accompany me, captain, let’s get this started. Do you have the keys?” he asked the guard on duty.
The palace guard wordlessly held out a ring with three iron keys on it. Relam took it and went to the first cell door. Narin drew his sword and rattled it against the bars. “Stay back,” he warned the assassin. “You come running at the door I’ll knock you senseless and put you on the rack. Understand?”
“Yes,” came the faint reply.
“Good,” Narin muttered.
Relam fumbled with the keys for a moment, then found the right one and unlocked the cell door. Narin swung it open and led the way into the small, dingy cell, with his sword still d
rawn. Relam was about to follow when he heard a rush of feet approaching. Out of the darkness sprang one of the assassins, frantic and wild-eyed. He hurled himself onto Narin’s outstretched blade and gasped in surprise. Then, an almost giddy expression stole over his face and he collapsed, dead.
Chapter 11
“Well, that’s a new experience for me,” Narin said drily, withdrawing his sword with a wet squelching noise.
Relam shuddered as he looked down at the dead assassin, his eyes wide and staring, mouth still half-open with a strangely beatific smile. “Why would he do that?” Relam demanded, feeling betrayed and bewildered.
“He’s afraid,” Narin said shortly. “Whoever hired him has a good hold on him.”
“Who could he be so afraid of though?” Relam muttered. “Who is that powerful, has such a long reach that even in our most secure prison he is afraid?”
“Was afraid,” Narin corrected. “We’ll have to be more careful with the other two.”
“Is there some sort of problem in here?” one of the guards outside asked.
“Yes,” Narin said, stepping to the side so the guard could see. “One of our prisoners just committed suicide. Do you have a club or something that I could take to the next cell with me? Something without a sharp edge?”
“Demons above and below,” the guard muttered. “Why’d he do it?”
Neither Relam nor Narin honored the question with a response. Instead, they left the cell together. Narin handed his bloody sword to one of his men and snatched up a palace guard’s small round shield. “Let’s try door number two,” he said, gesturing for Relam to do the honors.
Relam carefully unlocked the second cell door. It swung open with a harsh grating sound. Immediately, Narin moved forward, the shield held out in front to repel any attempt by the cell’s occupant to deprive them of information. But this assassin had obviously just woken from a deep sleep. He blinked blearily at the two visitors, then his eyes snapped open and he shrank back against the wall.
“Good,” Narin muttered, lowering the shield ever so slightly. “Sit up, assassin. We have some questions for you.”
The assassin said nothing, merely stared up at them impassively.
“We’ll start with an easy one,” Relam began. “What’s your name?”
The assassin smiled contemptuously and closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. Suddenly, Narin rushed forward grabbed the prisoner by his collar and slammed him against the stone wall of the cell. The assassin struggled and gasped in pain, the contemptuous expression replaced by one of utter fear.
“Your name?” Narin whispered menacingly, increasing the pressure.
“En-Enric,” the assassin gasped, trying to shove Narin away.
“Where are you from?” Narin demanded. “Who hired you? Who was your target?”
“I . . . I from Mizzran, the high lands,” the assassin gasped in broken common.
“The others?”
“Also,” the struggling man grunted.
“Also Mizzran?”
The assassin nodded fearfully.
“And who hired you?”
The prisoner clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.
“Wrong answer,” Narin said calmly.
“No, no, I speak!” the assassin cried as Narin began crushing him against the wall once more. “Never heard name, just took order from cloak man. He pay well, pay very, very well.”
“What currency?” Relam asked, hoping for a clue.
The question drew a blank look from the assassin. Narin repeated the question in a different language and the assassin nodded quickly, then replied in kind.
“Royals,” Narin said. “The cloaked man paid them with Sthan royals.”
“Not unexpected,” Relam muttered. “But disappointing, nonetheless.” The royal was the official currency of the Sthan Kingdom. In some places, other currencies were still accepted though, such as the tukek on the great plains or the mezan at the heights. Such currencies were easier to trace, since so few people used them anymore.
“And the target?”
“Royals,” the assassin spat, glaring at Relam.
“All of them or any in particular?”
The assassin shrugged. “All.”
Relam frowned. That wasn’t terribly helpful. It gave him no hint as to the motive of the cloaked man, no idea who was in the most danger or where the next attack would be aimed.
“The poison,” Relam said. “What was it?”
The assassin clamped his mouth shut once more.
“It really makes no difference,” Relam said, shrugging and turning away. “The king has recovered already and the other royals were hardly affected. I was just curious, that is all.”
“Don’t know,” the assassin said, smiling in a self-satisfied way.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Narin growled.
“Poison came to us through different man, a swamp dweller,” the prisoner explained. “Never knew name, never saw face. Never heard poison name.”
“What did it look like?” Relam asked.
“Brown liquid, thin,” the assassin said, shrugging.
And pretty much any poison would fit that description, Relam knew. But maybe they could use the origins of the poison deliverer to narrow down the options.
“Thank you,” he said to the assassin. “Enjoy staying here and rotting for the rest of your miserable life.”
“I stay?” the assassin asked, his expression saying that he was quite relieved by this announcement.
“Yes. Keep your life,” Relam said, turning to go.
“Not that it’s worth all that much,” Narin muttered as he released the man, dropping him to the floor.
“And guard stay too?”
Relam turned back. The assassin seemed almost hopeful. Relam shrugged in reply. “Why not? If your memory improves, tell them and we will come with more questions.”
“I’ve told you everything! Everything that any of us knows!”
“Doubt it,” Narin grunted.
“I have!”
Relam shook his head and retreated, closely followed by Narin. “Then you have nothing to fear,” he replied. “You can stay here, untroubled and forgotten.”
“Nothing to fear,” the assassin laughed harshly. “Oh, foolish prince, no idea how wrong you are. I have everything to fear. And I know that I will not be forgotten.”
Relam locked the door to the second cell and moved to the third and final door. As he went to open it though, a sound reached his ears and he paused, listening. Broken sobs were emanating from the space within.
“Do you hear that?” he asked Narin.
“Yes, your highness.”
Relam wondered briefly what could possibly make an assassin break down in such a manner. As he hesitated with his hand on the door, Narin moved him gently to one side and took the keys himself.
“I’ll do it,” he said quietly. “This sounds like a desperate man, and desperate men do strange things when cornered.”
Relam nodded gravely and stood aside. Narin turned the key in the lock, and shoved the third door open.
The first thought Relam had was that they had opened the wrong cell door. The figure cowering in the far corner of the cell looked as though he had been imprisoned for ten years or a hundred, not mere days. His eyes were sunken far back into his skull, his skin waxy and his hair lank. The man’s arms and legs were painfully thin, and Relam could count three ribs through a hole in his stained and filthy shirt.
“We’re not in the right place, are we?” Narin asked, backing up quickly.
“This is the cell,” Relam said quietly.
Narin frowned and knelt in front of the man. “Is it?” He studied the prisoner, then nodded slowly. “Yes, he is one of them. I remember his face. I captured him myself. But . . . he’s only been here a few days.”
“Guards!” Relam called through the open cell door. There was a rush of metal studded boots on the stone floor and the two palace
guards assigned to the assassins appeared in the entrance. “Yes, your highness?” the first asked.
“What has been done to this man?” Relam asked angrily, gesturing to the prisoner.
“Nothing,” the guard replied, surprised. “He refuses food and drink, just sits there cowering and crying day and night. Seems convinced that someone will come after him.”
“He has not been tortured or mistreated in any way that you know of?”
The guard shook his head. “No. The only torments he experiences are those in his own head.”
Relam looked back at the assassin in time to see the man flinch and bat at an imaginary threat feebly. “Leave me!” he shrieked. “It’s not my fault!”
“Dismissed,” Relam said to the guards quietly. “Narin and I will handle this.”
“As you wish, your highness.”
Relam moved to kneel in front of the prisoner as well, resisting the urge to gag at the smell emanating from the wretched figure. “It’s all right,” he said quietly. “We are not here to hurt you.”
“You may as well be,” the assassin moaned. “You got him to talk, didn’t you? I heard you through the wall. The moment he finds out we’ll be dead, all of us!”
“The moment who finds out?” Narin asked quietly.
“I dare not speak his name, lest word reach his ears that I have betrayed him,” the assassin said, looking around fearfully. “If that happens, he will come for me. He will punish me for my failure.”
“The man who hired you?” Relam asked curiously.
The assassin nodded. “The others know not his name, but I do. I know that voice anywhere, ever since I first heard it all those years ago. I know my master, and I know that all men should fear him. Me,” he said, looking up at Narin and Relam. “And you.”
“We can protect you if you cooperate with us,” Relam promised. “Tell us who hired you, and we can make you disappear, hide you forever.”
“No good,” the assassin whispered, tears running down his cheeks. “He will find me. He will kill me, if I am lucky. I have failed him.”
“Look,” Narin said patiently. “Just give us a name. We can find this person, whoever he is, and eliminate him before he has a chance to harm you.”
The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1) Page 13
