by Meg Cowley
“Of course, since the coronation fiasco, every tongue in the city is wagging with the most colourful rumours imaginable. On the surface, it is business as usual, although Zaki is keen to show himself as a strong ruler and has doubled the city guard with men loyal to him. However, in the shadows the people know that something is afoot.”
“Which are the most likely rumours?” asked Soren.
“Well perhaps you can tell me the truth about what happened the night that you fled and I can judge,” replied Behan. He sat back in his chair, food forgotten. “I hope that my faith and trust in you is not misplaced, sir. Despite the advantages of my independence in this position, Zaki will have my head for taking you in, if he can.”
Soren inclined his head, thanking Behan for the risks he was taking and told the steward what had happened to both him and Edmund on and since the night they had fled. Soren pulled from under his shirt where he always kept it, the letter still covered in his mother’s blood that Edmund had discovered from his spies. Behan read the letter. His mouth was agape by the time he had finished absorbing its contents.
“You must keep that as safe as your life,” Behan urged the prince, “for that will see him proved guilty more than any word of any man. I see that he is more devious and ruthless than I ever thought.
“In any case, the rumours of his guilt are truer than the people know. They certainly mutter that he cannot be the true king after such a poor coronation. I have also heard rumours that echo the sentiments of that letter;]. King Harad may indeed by sending forces as we speak. From the evidence we know, I suspect Zaki has gone to meet them at the border or perhaps even past it, so that he can guarantee them safe passage to Pandora.”
Soren, Edmund and Behan sat in silence for some minutes, digesting their realisation of Zaki’s plan.
“We cannot act if we do not know what opposes us. We should send out scouts to determine the size of any force,” proposed Edmund.
“Consider it done,” said Behan. He summoned the head of his household and charged him with overseeing a reconnaissance mission.
“What course of action should I take now in any case?” asked Soren. “Here I sit, in the city of my enemy, alone. I fear they will sweep out from the castle and that will be the end of my attempt to restore the monarchy.”
“Nay,” answered Behan. He regarded Soren through veiled eyes. “The people have not risen up as they did today in living memory. On the wind already we can hear them singing of bravery and honour and hope. I think they will be your greatest allies.”
“They can be my army,” said Soren.
Behan scoffed. Soren silenced him with a sharp glance. “See what a force they can be, Lord Steward; see how they repelled what remains of Zaki’s supporters. Yes, they are people of the city, but every man and woman outside is there because they have faith and hope.
“I have no army and I can call on few to support me as they would. They shall be mine and with them I have some hope of sweeping out Zaki from Pandora whether we fight with swords or farmers’ hoes. If King Harad sends forces north against us we must at the very least hold Pandora, if we are to have any hope of surviving or triumphing against him. I will go now to call the city’s people to my aid.”
With that, Soren excused himself from the table, his mind made up. It’s a desperate plan, but the best I have… Edmund and Behan scrambled to escort him as he belted on his sword and strode out of the dwelling to address the crowds, who cheered his appearance. In the small square in front of Behan’s house, there was no room to move. People backed up into main roads and alleyways alike, hoping for a glimpse of the prince.
Soren realised there was no way that he could speak to enough people in the small space. He ran to find Myrkdaga, who consented to bear him to the main square outside the castle; a much larger space where he could gain a bigger audience.
As the steward, whose duty it was to oversee city announcements, Behan emerged with a large hand bell and rung it until the crowd silenced.
“Hear ye, oh hear ye, citizens of Pandora,” he cried.
Soren drew his sword from its scabbard, from where he sat erect on Myrkdaga’s back and raised it in the air. He cut a striking figure in his fine new clothes with his gleaming sword pointing straight up.
“I fly to Castle Square and I summon you all to an audience the likes of which you have never known,” he cried out. The crowd roiled as people made the mad dash up the hill through the city streets to Castle square, whilst Myrkdaga took a great leap into the air and took flight from the open space before Behan’s house.
He landed in the large square that led to the castle and sat after the prince had dismounted. Soren climbed up on a great plinth bearing the statue of one of his ancestors to gain a vantage point as people spilled into the square to gather before him. When the space was full, he held up a hand and the people quietened.
Behind him, set back from the square, the castle lay closed and silent, though flashing glints of light bounced off the armour of soldiers on the battlements. The great mass of people before him stood eerily silent.
“People of Pandora, I return to claim the throne that is mine by right. I come to remove the usurper and murderer Zaki from it and restore peace and order to our city and our land. Even now, Zaki, who dared to murder my mother—”
Gasps rang out from the crowd.
“—and is responsible for the disappearance of my sister, many others, and murders of the most heinous nature, seeks to hand over our country meekly to the rule of King Harad of Roher who marches here with an army now.”
The biggest outcry yet rose up. The people shouted their defiance for minutes until he could speak once more, his confidence emboldened by their response.
“I say no to the subjugation of our great and historic land! I say no to the fear and instability his rule will bring to Caledan and the selfishness and cruelty with which he will rule. The truth of this you know in your own hearts! I say no to the false king who could not even crown himself with the blessing of his people or the great dragon spirit,” Soren roared out to the receptive crowd, who cheered his every point. He paused as they cheered and held up his hand to quiet them again.
“I cannot do this alone. I have the support of the dragons for my cause. I also need the support of you, my people, to ensure Caledan is protected. I call you all now, every man and every woman to take up arms for this just cause, to protect your city and your country from invasion and enslavement.
“I call every man and every woman to protect what is theirs, as is right and proper. I promise in return to safeguard every one of you until my dying day and punish those who have wronged us all. I promise to restore the peace that ruled this kingdom under my mother’s reign, God rest her soul, and rebuild Caledan if you should choose to follow me. Stand up and be counted so that you can change the course of history!”
The crowd erupted in roars that did not subside for many minutes as he smiled and waved out at the crowd, surprised that they were following him so willingly and wondering why. Perhaps Zaki has been especially neglectful or cruel to their wellbeing already, he pondered, or perhaps they loved and respected my mother even more than I knew and it has passed to my shoulders.
His reverie was broken as the steward’s bell rang out again. Red faced, Behan made his way through the square. Unable to reach Soren at the far side, he paused at the fountain in its centre and climbed up on its rim, followed by Edmund.
“Hear ye, oh hear ye.” Behan sounded his bell. “Go now to your houses now should you support this cause, inventory your armour and your weapons, be they swords or bows or spades or rakes and sign notice of your service at the steward’s house to count yourselves amongst those fighting for our true king! Even if you have no armour or weaponry, stand up and be counted and you shall be loaned what is required.”
His speech was less evocative than Soren’s, but the people dispersed with excitement. As they exited the square, members of Behan’s personal guard entered i
t to form a protective circle around the prince, Behan and Edmund.
“Sir!” said Behan. “What were you thinking? You could have been killed! I cannot protect you if you fly away on dragon back into the midst of the city – it is not yours to call your own yet!” he hissed in hushed tones at the prince, unwilling to cause a scene in front of the few city folk that had lingered in the square.
Soren felt a twinge of regret as he glanced at Edmund, who gave him a look of poorly suppressed disapproval.
“My apologies, Lord Steward,” Soren apologised. He realised he had to placate Behan. “It shall not happen again.”
“My presence alone is sufficient to protect the prince,” growled Myrkdaga into the minds of those who were present.
Behan’s face went white as he gazed up at the dragon. “Quite, great dragon,” he stammered in reply.
“Come,” prompted Soren, who stifled a grin. “We must return to your dwelling. Myrkdaga,” he gestured to the dragon behind him, “and his kin are hungry and tired after our long journey and we must be ready to take on the service of any city folk willing to assist me.”
~
That night as he lay down to sleep, Soren was restless. The bed – the first he had been in for some time – was sumptuously comfortable by any standards, but he could not find peace in the enveloping mattress from the thoughts whirling around his head. He had checked every guard position, trusting no one, until he was satisfied that the security of Behan’s house with the extra guards laid on was reliable enough to protect him through the night.
He hoped that the show of strength from the people earlier would cause his enemies to cower in the castle until he came for them. Behan had reassured him this would be the case, adding, “that it would not be prudent of them to act in Zaki’s absence on this matter.”
Nevertheless, despite his locked and guarded door, Soren lay naked under plump covers that night – with his sword by his bed and a dagger under his pillow. He was unable to sleep and shuffled at every noise. He was right to be cautious. In the early hours of the morning his window on the first floor, which had remained ajar due to the high temperature, emitted a tiny creak.
Soren’s eyes flicked open and he waited and watched, immobile. The air was hot, but still. That was no breeze… A dark form blended in with the shadows pooled around the curtains. Soren froze, not even breathing. The almost imperceptible sound of someone else’s breath filtered into his ears and he worked the dagger free from under his pillow as silently as possible, manoeuvring his arm under the duvet so that he could throw the covers back.
The shadow detached from the curtains after some minutes of waiting and crept across the carpeted floor. Soren had resumed breathing, to give the illusion that he still slept. Something flashed in the gloom and Soren’s heart seemed to rush into life, pounding so hard in his chest it deafened him. The figure had a blade. If there had been any doubt of the stranger’s intentions in Soren’s mind, they vanished now.
The shadow drew close enough. Soren threw back the covers with a mighty cry, “guards!” and launched himself at the man with his dagger pointing straight forward. The man drew back, but Soren’s dagger found him in the gut and he cried out as shouts from outside the room sounded and keys scrabbled at the door to unlock it.
Soren saw the shadow of the man’s head turn at the noise. He must have realised the suicidal nature of his mission then, for he aggressively assaulted Soren, who held his dripping dagger in his left hand as he dragged his sword out of its scabbard with his right.
The man’s dagger fell upon him and Soren roared in pain as the blade slashed his left shoulder, continued its downward momentum and sliced through his chest. Sword now in his grasp and his left hand in spasms, Soren threw the dagger behind him and advanced with grim determination on the man, still fighting a shadow.
The man backed off now that he knew Soren armed himself with a longer blade than his own. Key after key jangled in the lock outside – all were unsuccessful in opening it. Frantic shouts outside barely registered in Soren’s mind as he forced his opponent towards the door, away from the window. Stood by the curtains now, he wrenched them open, flooding the room with moonlight.
Black clothed the man from head to toe and Soren guessed that he did not have any armour weighing him down from how little noise he made and how easily Soren had stabbed him. Black cloths covered his face, obscuring his features, but Soren could not mistake the gleam of blood lust in the man’s eyes. Soren stepped to the side so his silhouette would not reveal him and rushed forward.
Just behind the man, the door shattered sending splinters everywhere as men battered their way through it to reach the prince and it distracted the assassin for a moment – just enough for Soren. The assassin’s guard went wide and Soren stabbed, up through his stomach, to bury the blade deep in his torso.
The man’s face twisted in a contortion of pain and hate as he struck out at the prince who was now within his grasp. However, before the dagger fell, arms grabbed the man from behind, pulling him back, off the sword still held by Soren and roughly onto the floor, forcing the dagger from his hand.
The man coughed up blood, now choking. Soren’s guards rolled him onto his side. It was too late. His lungs must have been punctured for he was struggling to breathe. He made a rasping sound and his face turned a mottled shade. As blood seeped out from his wounds and his mouth, he shuddered and was still. A guard checked for a pulse and shook his head.
Soren stood there; still, naked and dripping, sword in hand, tensed and not breathing. Edmund barrelled through the door in night robes, took one look at the wild-eyed prince and the dead man on the floor and cursed. It seemed to break the spell, for Soren stopped tensing and breathed once more. All at once, pain besieged him as he noticed his torn shoulder and chest. The gaping wounds stung angrily as boiling blood scalded his stomach.
If not for the creak at the window, he would have not have had warning of the man’s presence. If not for the creak at the window, he would be dead. The reality of the situation crashed down upon him. He sunk, dazed, onto the edge of the bed.
The following few hours passed in a blur of pain and tiredness. A physician cleaned and stitched his wounds in a neat process that seemed even more painful than procuring the wounds themselves. Soren left the physician after thanking him with gritted teeth as he pressed pain-killing medicine on Soren to take over the coming days. Behan rushed about his complex in a hive of activity.
Every room glowed with all available lights, lanterns and candles that he owned as his men scoured every inch searching for more intruders. Recovered by sombre colleagues were five guard men’s corpses; four of their throats were cut and one had been strangled. The path of their bodies showed beyond reasonable doubt where the assassin had entered, though no one had determined how he had found the prince.
It was clear to Soren that despite the heavy and obvious security, that he would find no sanctuary here. He was glad it was so brightly lit, for every shadow he glanced at twice and every man thrice, trying to determine if one would turn on him.
By dawn, a tired-looking Behan called Soren and Edmund to the breakfast room. Soren realised how ravenous he was and ate until he could burst before realising that Behan had sat in silence the whole time, his hands clasped under his chin. Edmund had barely eaten half of his plate.
“I apologise most humbly for the events of this night past,” said Behan, whose face was haggard. “Never did I think that this could occur. There were nearly three hundred men on my property last night. I do not understand how it is possible.”
“It cannot be attributed to you I am sure,” said Soren, though in truth he had no idea whether Behan could have been involved in some way. “It would seem others cannot be trusted. Have you any word on how he managed to find me, or who he was?”
“None whatsoever,” replied Behan, frustrated. “The man bore not one identifying mark on his body, his clothing, or his blade. For all we know he could have been actin
g on his own.”
“I doubt it, given the situation, but that is a possibility,” said Soren. “Perhaps I should become accustomed to such attempts now that I place myself in harm’s way.”
“In any case, we do not know where he originates from,” Behan said. “The fact that he came directly to your window from the perimeter would suggest that perhaps he or whoever owned his service compromised someone within my very household, which worries me. Until I can perform a head count of my full staff and their whereabouts I cannot guarantee to know them all innocent.”
“In light of this, I don’t think it safe for me to remain here or within the city,” said Soren. He looked to Edmund for guidance. Edmund agreed. “I would rather be outside it, where I can better see my enemies approaching.”
Behan protested until Soren held up a hand to forestall him. He winced as his stitches tugged.
“My mind is made up. I am well aware that poor sleep clouds judgement, however after last night, I shall not sleep at all here. I’d rather sleep surrounded by three dragons than three hundred of your men, Behan. I thank you for your hospitality, but if I remain, I may be a dead man and that is not part of my plan.”
“Sire,” Behan bowed his head. “I shall accompany you with men whose loyalty I can guarantee, in that case. It is the least I can do if you insist on leaving.”
The steward made quick preparations for them to leave within the hour, having procured a large pavilion tent as a favour from a local guild and spread the word, following Edmund’s advice, of the assassination attempt and Soren’s stand outside the city. Once more from the Castle Square and by means of his servants in the lesser squares, he called the city folk to the aid of the prince and called the list of great houses to formally declare themselves and their troops for the true king of Caledan.
