The GodSpill

by Todd Fahnestock

  He tried not to think about how Collus might already be dead. But if there had already been an assassination this day, then there would be at least two before the day ended. Mershayn would see to that.

  As he ascended the stairwell of one of the many thin turrets in Castle Teni’sia, he glanced out through one of the tiny slits that served as windows. The sky was dark, but he had no idea how deep into the night it was.

  His legs burned by the time he reached the Northern Walk. It would take a great deal of skillful climbing, but the only way to surprise Collus’s assassin was to come in through a route that even an assassin would hesitate to take.

  Mershayn adjusted his belt so that the sword hung behind him, removed his boots and left them, then jumped upon the thick stone wall that served as a rail to the Northern Walk. He looked down. Jagged rocks and crashing surf looked back at him from far below. He must calm himself. He’d never tried to climb to Collus’s chambers before. They were in the highest part of the castle and intentionally difficult to reach this way. He would have to be at his best.

  Letting out a slow breath and closing his eyes, he mentally prepared himself. It was going to be a long climb. He must do it quickly and calmly—

  “Isn’t it a little early for sword-carrying?” Deni’tri’s familiar voice broke his concentration.

  Mershayn dropped to the stone rail. He spun himself and his belt at the same time, drew the short sword, and jumped to the walk.

  Deni’tri stepped backward in surprise. As before when she had met him on the Northern Walk, she had her hatchet cocked back, and her sword out, but she obviously had not expected him to respond this way.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  “I might ask the same of you,” he replied. He tried to think about the guards’ rotation. Was it really Deni’tri’s turn to patrol the Northern Walk again? He didn’t think so.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Sheathe your sword, Lord Mershayn. I’m a royal guard. It is my job to patrol the Northern Walk.”

  “Not this week, it’s not.” He gambled on his memory.

  “I’m taking a shift for Gri’stan,” she said.

  “Why this shift? Why tonight?” He kept his sword light and ready in front of him and began moving toward her. It was too much coincidence for this day.

  Her mouth became a tight line. “Stop right there, Mershayn,” she said. Her hatchet hand pulsed on the haft of the hatchet, no longer casual. “You’re acting strangely, and I don’t want you getting any closer.”

  “You’re wise in that,” he murmured, slowing but not stopping. “You’ll get one throw. You had better hope it hits.”

  “You’re talking mad,” she said, and he saw her fear. “I’m not your enemy. What’s going on? Why are you sneaking around at this hour?”

  “I might ask you the same.”

  “For the love of the gods, I’m patrolling!”

  “Not here. Not tonight. Where are you supposed to be? What is your normal shift?”

  “My post was in the royal wing. Outside of the king’s hall. It was to be Faykler and me. Gri’stan and Faykler are good friends, and I don’t like Faykler.” She frowned. “When Gri’stan suggested the switch, I agreed. Lo’gan approved it. I enjoy the Northern Walk.”

  Mershayn’s suspicion fell away to be replaced by a foreboding. “You switched...” He knew Gri’stan and Faykler, too. They had sly eyes and never had much to say when Mershayn was around. And both of them were new in the last two weeks. Deni’tri was not the traitor. She was moved because she would have actually protected the king.

  “By the gods...” He lowered his sword. “I am a puppet on strings,” he murmured.

  It is already too late... He heard Silasa’s words in his head.

  “What’s happening, Mershayn?” Deni’tri asked, lowering her hatchet.

  “Assassination.” He sheathed his sword and moved to the wall again.

  “No,” she murmured.

  “There isn’t any time. I wish I could explain, but Collus might already be dead.”

  “Wait!”

  He turned his head in annoyance.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  “Keep quiet,” he said. “Half the royal guard is likely paid by Sym. I wouldn’t trust you except that I have no choice. If you raise the alarm, it may only bring allies to Sym’s cause.”

  “And you are going to Collus’s rooms?” She nodded toward the highest balcony.

  “Yes.”

  He started up. “If you know any prayers, send them to Tarithalius.”

  She turned and sprinted back down the Northern Walk, to alert enemies or friends, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care now. He climbed.

  21

  Mershayn

  Mershayn reached the balcony, arms burning. He wished he could haul himself over, flop to the ground, and simply breathe for a day or two. Instead, muscles quivering, he hoisted himself silently over the rail and delicately set his feet down. His arms felt like sacks of sand. His legs shook, but he took the time to listen.

  The sun lightened the sky, brushing the clouds with wisps of orange. Its presence cast the western side of the castle in deep shadow, which suited Mershayn perfectly. He waited until the burning in his arms and legs lessened and then slunk into the king’s study. His eyes scanned the bookcases, the writing desk, the shadowy corners. Was the assassin here?

  He didn’t see anyone.

  Now came the tricky part. This was the king’s study; the king’s sleeping chambers were across the hall. He would love to have climbed straight into Collus’s room, but it faced east, not west, and the Northern Walk did not continue that far around the castle. He would have had to climb up from the very bottom. Even he could not have managed that without a rope.

  He paused for a moment, trying to come up with some brilliant plan. Nothing surfaced in his mind. All he had was speed and surprise, and he was wasting speed by standing here.

  He opened the door and entered the hallway. The two guards posted outside of Collus’s doors saw him immediately. Two short swords rang from their sheaths. Could Mershayn be so lucky? Were these two guards loyal to Collus?

  He tried to remember their names and managed to come up with them. Falamae and Cor’lior. Falamae was one of the best swordsmen in the royal guard. She’d made certain to stand out whenever Mershayn came to watch practice. Cor’lior was huge and fast. If he hit you, you went down, and you didn’t get up.

  Had they already let the killer into Collus’s room?

  “Identify yourself,” Cor’lior said in a calm voice. He advanced, in complete balance. Falamae stayed at her post. They were good. Dealing with the threat was of great importance, but not as great as guarding the king’s door. Mershayn wasn’t nearly as worried about Cor’lior as he was about Falamae. Cor’lior had a weak spot. He wasn’t very flexible, and if you stayed on his right side, he could be had.

  Mershayn had not detected any glaring weaknesses in Falamae. That would be a good fight, if it came to that. And she had a long sword, while he only had a borrowed short sword. He hoped he didn’t have to test her mettle here.

  “Don’t you recognize me, Cor’lior?” Mershayn said. “I am the Royal Arms Inspector. Put your sword down.”

  Cor’lior’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t lower his sword. He looked as if he were deciding something in his mind. He chose wisely and saved his life. Slowly, he let his sword dip, but he didn’t sheathe it.

  “It is very unusual, sir, for you to come to inspect us in the middle of the night, and to emerge from the study,” he said.

  Falamae watched Mershayn.

  “Have you come to see the king?” Cor’lior said.

  “I have.” Mershayn stepped forward, forcing himself to act casual. Falamae studied his dirty clothes. Cor’lior had submitted to his authority, however, and stood aside. Mershayn walked forward, and he wondered for a moment if Falamae would move or if she would challenge him. He passed Cor’lior and—

  M
ershayn’s intuition screamed at him. With reflexes born from a lifetime of fighting, he threw himself sideways as Cor’lior’s sword bit into his ribs. He heard the crack of bone and he stumbled away. That strike had been meant for his heart.

  His sword whipped up in front of him, but Cor’lior did not move in for the kill. Falamae slammed against the king’s door, choking. It took Mershayn a moment to see Cor’lior’s slim dagger sticking out of her throat.

  Cor’lior turned his attention back on Mershayn.

  “Goddamned bastard,” he growled, advancing on Mershayn.

  Falamae’s sword clanged to the floor. She yanked the dagger from her throat even as her legs folded underneath her. Her eyes were wide with shock. Blood spurted from the wound.

  Mershayn’s anger burned as he heard Falamae’s death gurgles. She kicked her leg against the wall, as though it might somehow stop her life’s blood from draining out of her neck.

  Mershayn retreated. Cor’lior followed.

  That’s right. The fast kill. That’s all you’re good at. And you missed.

  Cor’lior widened his stance, preventing escape. Mershayn limped over and leaned heavily against the wall.

  “You going...to kill the king!” he said, feigning shock.

  “Not yet, bastard. You first.” He lunged, quick as a snake.

  Mershayn spun. This was combat. This, he knew. Simple, straightforward. His ribs screamed as he pivoted, but the wound was not nearly as bad as he had let on. Cor’lior’s sword flashed past his right ear. He gave it no thought. He knew where the sword was. He knew how fast it came and how far it would go.

  Stone chips flew as the blade crunched into the wall. Mershayn finished his spin, crouched low, and severed the big man’s meaty calf. He roared in pain. His knee crashed to the ground, and he slumped forward. Mershayn stepped between his legs and plunged his sword into Cor’lior’s lower back.

  Cor’lior’s roar twisted into a scream of anguish. Mershayn did not stop. He leapt back and kicked the guardsman’s hip. As Cor’lior toppled, Mershayn stepped forward again and speared his sword arm to the ground. Cor’lior’s strength was impressive. Only when Mershayn give a vicious twist did the big man drop the blade.

  The guardsman was beaten. That was obvious. Some swordsmen might stop and gloat before the final strike, but Mershayn had seen a man die doing that. Never underestimate the opponent. Continue until the fight is finished. He dropped one knee onto Cor’lior’s stomach and plunged his sword into the man’s chest.

  Cor’lior’s scream stopped. His eyes bugged out, and he stared at Mershayn in stupefaction. Mershayn leaned over and breathed into his ear. “No more backstabbing for you, not on this day or any other, you stinking pile of offal.”

  The big man gave his last breath and died.

  Mershayn moved quickly to Falamae, but she was already gone. The door to the king’s chambers suddenly opened.

  Mershayn stepped back smoothly and rose, pointing his short sword up.

  “Collus!” he exclaimed. “Thank the gods.” His brother was disheveled in a hastily drawn robe. He brandished an ornate long sword, and he looked at the dead guards incredulously.

  “Who—?” he began, then said. “Mershayn! Dervon’s breath, what is going on—?” He choked on the words. “Falamae, no!” He started to crouch, then stopped, as though something had just occurred to him. He brought his sword up again, pointing it at Mershayn. “What did you do? These are my royal guards!”

  “It’s not as it looks. I assure you, brother.”

  “Are you mad?” he repeated.

  “No,” Mershayn said. “Cor’lior is an assassin. I came to stop him. Falamae knew nothing of this plot, and paid for her ignorance. You will see that the dagger is not mine.”

  “I’ve been looking for you for more than a day. You just vanished,” Collus said.

  The double doors at the end of the hall crashed open. Gri’stan and Faykler entered, swords drawn.

  “Your majesty, is all well?” They saw the bodies and continued forward quickly.

  They were traitors. Mershayn could see it in the way they advanced, in the fact that they had not seemed surprised to see the dead bodies. They did not look at the king in concern, but rather as cunning predators, trying to get closer. And they frowned when they saw Mershayn.

  “I—I don’t know...” Collus said shakily.

  “Stand back, assassin,” Faykler said to Mershayn. To Collus, he said, “Back into your room and close the door, Your Majesty. We shall deal with this one.”

  “They’ve come to kill you,” Mershayn said. “Don’t listen to them.”

  Collus was not grasping the situation quickly enough. He doubted Mershayn. How could that be? Why in the world would Mershayn want to kill him? To his horror, Mershayn saw three more guards rush through the double doors, out of breath.

  “Collus, if I’d wanted to kill you, I could have done it any day of a thousand before now! Quit quaking and help me with these traitors, else we will both be dead. I’m your brother, for Thalius’s sake.”

  Collus’s jaw set and nodded. He moved into the hallway at Mershayn’s side, and Mershayn took a thankful breath.

  “Then you were right,” Collus said. “All along, Sym was...he wanted what his father wanted.”

  Gri’stan and Faykler slowed their advance now that it appeared Collus would fight by Mershayn’s side. They didn’t back off, though.

  “Throw down your weapons,” Collus commanded. “There is no threat here, unless you have brought it.” Neither of them obeyed. For the first time that morning, Collus did not seem surprised. He let out a long breath. “I have been a fool...” he murmured. His eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his voice lashed them like a flame of rage. “Come then, dogs, and taste a king’s steel.”

  Gri’stan and Faykler paused long enough for their three fellows to join them.

  “Like old times, eh, Collus?” Mershayn said as they advanced. The odds were bad, worse than the two of them had ever faced before, and never had they faced opponents so bent on ending them. But Mershayn felt relaxed for the first time since yesterday at court. If he died here, at least it would be a good death.

  “I am almost relieved,” Collus said, as though reading Mershayn’s mind. “At least this makes sense. I will not wonder whether I did a good job or bad when this business is finished.”

  Mershayn grinned, and he began to feel the battle thrill that filled him when fighting. “Let us show these cravens how men of Bendeller carve their way out of trouble.”

  Mershayn and Collus moved slowly forward, but the traitorous guards did not wait. With a battle cry, Gri’stan and Faykler rushed. The three traitors behind them, who Mershayn did not recognize, charged as well.

  King and brother met the five head-on. Collus was not as talented a swordsman as Mershayn, but he knew how to handle a blade. He and Mershayn had spent almost the same amount of time practicing.

  Faykler lunged at Mershayn, aiming for his middle. Mershayn twisted, barely dodging the blade. The point ripped through his tunic. Mershayn stepped forward, grabbing Faykler’s throat and jamming his short sword into the guard’s side. Thick leather armor under Faykler’s tunic turned the blade. Mershayn growled. He could not afford to make mistakes like that.

  He ducked low and spun as another guard cut down at him. The guard almost cut off Faykler’s hand in his rush to get to Mershayn. Faykler stumbled backward, cursing as he lost his balance and his chance at a follow-up strike.

  Mershayn rose, his sword flicking out like the tongue of a snake. The nameless guard clutched his throat and gurgled blood. He died with a mighty cough, spraying red. The hallway was wide, and the long swords the guards used had an advantage on Mershayn. He had to get close and stay close.

  Faykler moved in again while the other three concentrated on Collus. Steel clashed as Mershayn met Faykler sword to sword. He used all of his strength and tried to hit at an angle that would shatter Faykler’s sword, but the guardsman was too goo
d for that. He kept the correct slant to his weapon and pushed Mershayn’s smaller blade to the side.

  Three more guards poured into the hallway, and Mershayn’s hopes sank. For a moment, he thought that he and Collus might escape this trap, but Collus was already retreating under the onslaught of three. They would have him soon.

  With a shout of rage, Mershayn blocked Faykler’s next strike and lunged. The guardsman’s sword whistled over his head, clipping off a lock of flying brown hair. Mershayn came up within Faykler’s guard and drove the short sword into his armpit. There was no armor there.

  Faykler grunted, then slid noiselessly off Mershayn’s sword and crumpled to the ground.

  Collus suddenly cried out as a blade weaved past his guard and took him in the side.

  With a shout of anguish, Mershayn batted away the swords of the two guards who turned to meet his rush. One of the swords grazed his leg, but he ignored it and slammed headlong into the third of Collus’s adversaries. Mershayn drove the guardsman into the wall, blasting the air from his lungs, and yanking the guardsman’s dagger from his belt.

  Mershayn stood up straight, ramming his head into the guard’s chin beneath his helmet, then raked up with the dagger, slashing the man’s neck. The guard dropped, clawing at his throat.

  Mershayn twisted around just in time to parry a sword away from Collus.

  His brother stumbled, and fell to the cobblestones, huffing and clenching his teeth. He held his side with one hand and feebly tried to hold up his sword with the other. Red blood covered his hands.

  Mershayn’s heart thumped wildly and he made two quick, threatening feints. Respectful of his skill, the two guards stepped back, buying a moment’s time.

  The three latecomers arrived then. It was five to two again. Mershayn was injured and Collus was out of the fight. Mershayn kept his back against the wall, straddling the legs of his wounded brother. He prepared to make the walk to the Godgate.