He had picked up his pace when a pair of guards looked at him unhappily and one of the guards made a shooing motion for Cully to get out of the courtyard. Perhaps the princess herself was coming into the inner courtyard at any moment, Cully thought with alarm, nearly tripping on uneven cobblestones in his haste.
Suddenly propriety was forgotten and the guards had better things to occupy their attention when an alarm bell sounded, followed immediately by trumpets. The guards needed only to draw their swords and cinch their chainmail armor tighter, for they were already where they were supposed to be during an emergency. Cully was nowhere close to his assigned station, which was at the south entrance to the royal hospital. By the time he got there, the emergency could be over, and servants were not supposed to racing around the castle grounds willy-nilly while guards were engaged in the serious task of securing the castle against enemies. Doors and gates throughout the castle’s myriad buildings and surrounding walls would be closed and barred, Cully knew his path toward the hospital would be blocked shortly.
No matter, like all servants who worked within the castle walls, he had been trained what to do when caught away from his post in an emergency, and he had practiced his assigned task at least once a month during surprise drills. He was to stand by the nearest fire brigade box, ready to use the buckets and bins of sand within to contain any fire. There was a fire box to his left across the courtyard from the Citadel tower and he lost no time in running to it, all concerns about his dirty clothing forgotten. The distinctive dark green box with a bright red lid was of course unlocked for quick access and Cully swung the lid up to pull out six buckets, setting them on the cobblestones for ready use. Two of the buckets he filled his sand as he had been trained to do, then he stood still, his neck on a swivel side to side trying to see what was going on. The two guards were apprehensively holding their swords and looking around. Could this be another unscheduled drill, Cully asked himself? Surely the captain of the guard would not wish to disturb the princess so soon after she returned from a tiring journey? Unless, unless, Cully asked himself, the captain of the guard wished to demonstrate to the princess how diligent he had been in keeping up training standards while she had been away?
Except, it did not feel like a drill. There was far too much panicked shouting, and the guards racing atop the fortified walls were stumbling over each other in their haste.
He looked across the inner courtyard to the hulking tower of the Citadel, seeing iron shutters being pulled shut over the lower windows and arrows poking through slits in the thick, dark stone walls. Everyone in Linden knew the crown princess had just returned from crushing the enemy in battle, so what could possibly be the threat?
Having taken the stairs in three unnaturally long strides, Olivia flew around the corner, even her incredible wizardly sense of balance challenged as her shoes slid across the slick polished floors of the palace. She came around the corner into a scene of utter chaos.
An enemy assassin, distinctively swathed head to toe in the magic-enhanced cloth that could have been black or gray or brown and made the evil being’s outline difficult to see at a glance, was racing down the corridor toward her! At the far end of the corridor, two guards were already down and the two guards running after the assassin would never catch their swift foe. Olivia heard herself shout a warning as she crashed painfully into the far wall, a sharp pain jarring her shoulder and she knocked a precious painting to swung against the wall.
What should she do? Behind her around the corner, broad stairs led up to the second level of the palace where the structure was more extensive and an assassin could find many places to hide. She could not allow the assassin past her.
Between her and the assassin were only three guards armed with swords, no match for the enemy figure who moved with such speed. As Olivia braced herself and watched helplessly, the assassin threw a dagger which caught one guard full in the chest, ducked under a second guard’s sword and ran halfway up a wall, vaulting and somersaulting to strike the third guard in the back with a knife.
With the three guards scattered and harmless behind him, the assassin crouched to regain his footing, smoothly kicking one leg off a wall for balance and launched himself straight at the young wizard. Olivia’s heart fluttered as she swallowed hard to calm herself and concentrate on pulling power from the spirit realm. Standing straight and defiant, with one hand conjured forth a flicker of flame, and teased it into a flaming ball with-
The ball of magical fire blinked out, as Olivia had to duck aside and use one hand to fend off a dagger thrown by the assassin. Mindful that the weapons of an enemy assassin were almost certainly dipped in deadly poison, she did not attempt to catch the dagger by the hilt for to do so was too dangerous. The heel of her hand deflected the dagger’s hilt away from her to send the weapon clattering to the floor and spinning away down the hallway behind her. There being no time to create a fireball, she faced the skilled enemy without any weapons to defend herself. The man was running full speed at her, knowing his life depended on closing the distance before the wizard could summon magic in her defense, and already reaching for another dagger.
And the unexpected happened.
A door opened along the wall between Olivia and the assassin, and into the hallway stepped Charl Fusting. The fussy royal chief of protocol was carrying a valuable ancient teapot and two delicate cups on a heavy silver tray, bringing it out of storage to serve afternoon tea for the crown princess. When he entered the hallway, Fusting wore an expression of extreme annoyance, prepared to disapprove of whatever noisy and unnecessary nonsense was going on in the serene halls of the royal palace. In a flash, the man’s face twisted into a mask of fear and horror at the scene of guards down on the floor, an assassin racing toward him and a terrified young wizard struggling to conjure magical fire.
The assassin did not bother to give Charl Fusting more than a glance, having sized up the man as no threat in an instant. While Olivia staggered backward, one arm slipping along the wall to prevent herself from falling over backward and the other arm stretched over her head in a feeble attempt to call forth wizard fire, the assassin pulled another throwing dagger from his belt and drew it back to throw.
Charl Fusting was no solider, no guard, never trained in any kind of combat. He abhorred violence as something less refined cretins resorted to, when they could not settle their differences with reasoned discussion like civilized people. The scene in the hallway of the royal palace, however, with blood smeared in the floors and walls and precious paintings knocked off their hooks to be dashed onto the hard floor, spurred him to action before he could consider his recklessness. Not knowing what else to do, with an undignified frightened shriek he heaved the tray upward, sending the teapot and cups nearly to the ceiling. The heavy silver tray, now relieved of its easily breakable burden, was grasped on one end with two hands and swung with all the force of righteous indignation Fusting could muster to batter the amazed assassin straight in the face!
The stunned enemy’s head was flung backward and his feet slid out in front of him, throwing dagger lost to tumble through the air and embed itself in the center of a painting of King Elbard the Second, slashing the face of that mostly unloved and forgotten monarch. The force of impact caused Fusting to lose the tray and fall backward through the still-open doorway, his own feet flying up in the air and his head coming down to crack on the wooden floor of the cutlery storage room.
Though stunned more by the unexpected nature of the attack than by impact of the silver tray, the assassin recovered instantly, a hand reaching back to draw another throwing dagger from his belt even as he tumbled head over heels backwards through the air. One outstretched hand broke his fall and the assassin somersaulted back onto his feet, one eye clouded by blood from his broken nose. He scrambled forward, regaining momentum in an unnaturally rapid fashion and hurled the dagger at the young wizard.
Olivia had seen the foolishly heroic act of Charl Fusting though her mind had not the ti
me to process it. The chief of protocol’s reflexive attack had slowed the assassin for only the blink of an eye and Olivia realized she could either continue gathering a fireball that required use of both her hands, or she could try to catch the spinning dagger hurtling toward her. Without time to think she lifted her feet off the floor to fall, twisting herself to the side so the razor-sharp dagger sliced through one sleeve of her robes as she clumsily tossed the half-formed ball of wizard fire down the hallway. Even as the ball of fire left her hands she knew it would miss the assassin who was even then dashing aside to avoid the deadly fire.
And, just then the assassin lost his footing as the delicate ancient teapot and pair of cups crashed to the floor and shattered at his feet, making him skid on the fine porcelain. A cry escaped his lips, the first sound the assassin had made, as he lurched out of control into the path of the fireball. Sizzling flame caught his left side, burning through his magically-enhanced clothing. The enemy went down and curled into a ball, screaming in agony as the fire from the spirit world ate into his mortal form.
Exhausted, dizzy and off-balance, Olivia fell backwards to thump her backside painfully on the hard floor. Astonished, she watched as the partly-charred assassin tried to rise to his feet though one side of his face was horribly burned, strips of crisped skin hanging away from bone. Without taking time to stand, she held her hands out to draw another fireball with strength she did not have. Somehow, the assassin got to one knee and fumbled for a throwing dagger, glaring hatred at Olivia with his one good eye. In a panic, she scrambled backwards to get away, not hearing the sounds of boots thudding on the floor behind her as royal guards ran down the stairs three at a time and around the corner. The presence of the guards was not noticed by her until a pair of spears flashed past her toward the assassin, one spear being knocked aside and the other embedding itself in the enemy’s belly. Even a steel-tipped spear sticking through him did not fully stop the assassin, who ignored the injury and drew back an arm to throw his poison-tipped dagger.
What did finally stop the assassin was a pair of spears being run through him with the weight of onrushing guards behind the weapons; so hard did the guards stab the enemy that they tumbled over the prone body and fell headlong, grinding along the polished floor in their chainmail shirts. More guards ran to stand between the young wizard and the now-motionless enemy, brandishing swords, spears and axes.
“Are you injured, Madame Dupres?” A guard asked her, his eyes darting rapidly between the wizard and the charred and smoking body of the assassin.
“I,” she slumped against the wall and took a breath. “No, I don’t think so.” A sleeve of her robe was sliced cleanly and pulling aside the rent fabric revealed her arm was thankfully unmarked. She knew how to deal with poison but doing so would weaken her and slow her ability to protect the princess. “That was,” Olivia gasped, pushing herself onto her knees and using one hand on the wall to steady herself, “too easy,” she realized with a shock. She had barely escaped the brief fight against a single assassin with her own life, yet even so, she knew there was something wrong, very wrong. Somehow, the assassin had gained entrance to the palace, most likely through the tunnels beneath the old structure, for the enemy had come racing up from the lower level of the residence. It made no sense that the enemy would risk attacking the crown princess in the heart of the palace during daylight, but send only one assassin. Even had the skilled enemy killed Olivia, he would have had to cut his way through dozens of guards before reaching the princess, and with the alarm sounded, more guards were pouring into the residence to defend the princess. “Where is the princess now?” She demanded.
“Her Highness is safe now, Your Ladyship,” another guard grunted as he also staggered to his feet, holding a shaking sword toward the prone body of the assassin.
“Where is she?”
The guard blinked. “Safe. She has been-”
“Where is Ariana?” Olivia shouted as she took hold of the man’s leather vest and shook him until his head rattled.
“They took her to, to the Citadel. The tower, my Lady,” the guard sputtered. “You should be caref-”
The man never finished the thought as he fell when Olivia let go of his vest and with a bound, she was around the corner then racing up the broad stairs. Was she already too late, she asked herself in terror?
For too many days after attaching the magical device to the back of the door to the inner Citadel, Regin fretted his treason would be discovered, enduring one sleepless night after another. To avoid the risk of being brought to the Citadel during an attack, he had risen early the day after the princess arrived, to ride out into the countryside. His intention had been to stay away from the palace as much as possible until the enemy acted against Ariana, but he could only make excuses so many days in a row before the princess and her damned chancellor became suspicious and he needed to remain close to the castle so he could act swiftly during an emergency. Thus, he was riding almost aimlessly across the countryside several miles from the castle that rose on the hill above Linden, pretending to be scouting fields and forests for a hunt the next spring, when one his own guards shouted. “Your Grace! Look!”
Regin turned in the saddle as he pulled his horse’s reins to face the castle. Large yellow flags of alarm were being hoisted atop the castle’s battlements, and yellow-colored smoke was rising from signal fires. The code yellow meant the castle was under attack from within. At first, Duke Falco’s heart soared with joy and anticipation. The enemy had struck quickly. Which meant, Regin realized with fear, the enemy must have been near or possibly already even within the castle walls while he had been poking around lonely, dark corners of the palace. The thought he might have nearly encountered an agent of the enemy made him shudder until he shook off the momentary weakness. Sitting straighter in the saddle, he shaded his eyes with a hand and made a show of peering at the signals above the castle. This was his time to act, and he had nearly ridden too far from the castle, but then he had not been expecting the enemy to strike so soon after the princess arrived.
Regin had carefully planned what he would do, so at that moment he needed merely to follow his plan rather than adapting to circumstances. The signals sent up by the castle guard force meant the enemy was loose within the walls and Regin knew the crown princess would soon be no more, if she were not dead already. This was the opportunity he had waited and planned for., With the girl who was both Regent and crown princess dead, Regin Falco as the only member of the Regency Council in Linden, would take responsibility for the reins of government. The guards and members of the royal court within the walls and the Royal Army garrison stationed outside the walls would be in shock following Ariana’s death, craving leadership that Regin would be more than happy to provide. He needed to get to the castle while the situation inside was in chaos, before other people in authority like Chancellor Kallron could seize the mechanisms of power.
Just then, as he forced himself not to smile in exultation, Duke Falco had a terrible, gut-wrenching thought. “My son!” Regin cried out in anguish that was not a show for the benefit of his guards. While he had expected and been waiting, hoping, for the yellow flags to signify the enemy was acting against Ariana, he felt a stab of panic in his chest when he realized he did not really know full extent of the enemy’s plans. His eldest son was recovering at the royal hospital within the stout castle walls! Until that moment, Regin thought he knew his feelings toward Kyre, a son and heir who had proven himself disloyal to the Falcos legacy and to his father personally. Now, facing the possibility that Kyre’s life was at risk because of Regin’s treasonous actions, the Falco duke’s throat choked with panic. “My son is at the castle!” Kyre had acted disloyally, but Kyre was still a young boy, Regin reminded himself, and young men often acted rashly in the manner of youth. In the recent battle against the enemy, Kyre had acted with courage and good judgment and in that moment, Regin felt deep, utter shame. “We ride!” He ordered with a roar, spurring his horse to race acros
s a farmer’s field and jump a fence ahead of his frantic escort.
“NO!” Olivia screamed as a royal guard reached for the handle to the Citadel’s inner door, two other guard having already turned the keys to the heavy locks. The guard holding the handle was slow to respond, focused on his one vital task of opening the door so the princess could be safely whisked into the most secure part of the palace. The man turned toward Olivia to see what the commotion was but as the young wizard did not know his name, he did not understand she addressed her warning to him. In horror, Olivia realized that as the man turned toward her, the momentum of his arm was automatically pushing the door open.
She had no time. The young wizard had raced toward the Citadel as fast as she could, shouting warnings that fell on deaf ears in the loud confusion of the guards rushing the crown princess to the safety of the Citadel as they were trained to do. There was no time to think, so she did the only thing she could do; fling herself through the air at the princess. Ariana’s mouth opened in shock but before she could cry out, the young wizard collided with her, and both girls were knocked away from the doorway just as it exploded. Olivia’s feet never touched the floor, the force of the explosion flung her through the air, her arms wrapped protectively around Ariana. All Olivia had time for was to flare her left palm open to shatter with magical power the heavy leaded glass window behind the princess. If Ariana’s back had hit the window, she would have been seriously injured by jagged shards of thick glass or the metal crossbars. As it was, the window disintegrated outward and Olivia instinctively closed her eyes as she hurtled through into open air, clutching Tarador’s future monarch in a fearful embrace.
Deceptions (Ascendant Book 3) Page 9
