by Alston Sleet
When he was inducted into the guard he knew without any effort that he needed to look the other way when the Guard Captain had a male friend over on weekends to his quarters. The very idea of reporting the breach of conduct instantly sent light shivers of ice crawling up his spine. Reporting the infraction would result in bad things for one First Year Private Cludor.
The fact that the Guard Captain was raised to the position of leader of the palace guard the next year underlined those shivers very clearly.
Likewise, when the night patrol one evening argued to skip the gate check and those gentle shivers disagreed, Second Year Private Cludor was willing to go so far as to threaten his superior in order to check the gate. Catching the new Captain’s brother trying to sneak rebel saboteurs in the gate showed him that his gift should not be ignored. Later in the ex-captains papers, it was found that Cludor had been selected for the blame of the eventual sabotage.
His gift didn’t save others, the loss of his sister Claudia to a bandit’s arrow that he avoided showed him that, but for the last ten years his gift had always provided a clear answer. If he intended to do something and it would be something to harm him, the shivers set him straight.
Meeting The Immortal Wizard and handing over that letter left cold waves of ice slamming through his body again and again.
The instruction from the King’s old wizard had been clear. A guard was to wait at each gate from morning to night. If the Immortal Wizard arrives, act as if you had been waiting only but a moment, present him the letter then leave. Under no circumstances was he to engage or insult him. Each morning a new letter would be presented for that day.
All of that had been easy. The moment the letter had landed in the Wizards hands, the arctic winds of the north had descended and curled up under his breastplate. This cold was greater than any that he had ever experienced. Cludor’s first thought was to steal back the letter; no change. To attack the Wizard; no change. Capture, insult, abandoning his post, attacking his fellow guards, and on and on.
Everything he could think of, from the mundane to the fantastic, had resulted in no change at all. It wasn’t until a half hour before his rotation at the palace gate that the idea of switching posts with another guard occurred to him and the mildly warm night air breathed around his nearly quaking body.
It wasn’t clear why standing to the left of the gate versus the right would be important, but Cludor’s gift had never been wrong before and never before had the message of danger been so severe.
Stepping to the side of Baron and Baroness Kildah, collecting their out held invitation with a smile and bow, was when the tiny cymbal-like sound chimed along with a rough clearing of the throat. The guard he had traded with, Sergent Dilan a polite brawny chap though slow-witted, stepped forward to receive the letter of the man who had loudly coughed.
“Thank you, this must be delivered directly to the King,” the well-dressed servant said as he stepped back two steps then raised his voice.
“The Immortal Wizard, Shawn Bradshaw, must politely refuse the informal dinner invitation of the King’s. While the King has performed…adequately…within the past on business arrangements with the Immortal Wizard. A purely personal appearance here is simply not acceptable due to The Immortal Wizards contacts within the rebellion who would take it as a sign of siding with the King. Since the Immortal Wizard, Shawn Bradshaw, may decide in the future to side with the rebellion, due in no small part to the King and Kingdoms present financial difficulties. Shawn Bradshaw, The Immortal Wizard, must currently decline. The Immortal Wizard will, of course, be available for professional contracts with the King at a later date if the King so chooses.”
So saying the crier, which is what he must have been due to the typical reiteration and up and down tone that was the crier’s practice, bowed and quickly trotted away. Cludor watched as the crier ripped off a wig even as he was ducking away down an alley across the palace plaza.
Sergeant Dilan was white faced and held the letter in his hand limply. It was clear that not only would he be delivering the letter to the King directly, he might even be called upon to explain the circumstances of its arrival. The gossip of the Barons, Dukes, and other nobility who had heard the comments would probably allow nothing less.
While Sergeant Dilan stammered and tried to pass off the letter to any of the other guards, all who quickly looked away and attempted to be busy gathering letters from the guests, the nobility rushed to enter the main entrance hall to see how this played out.
Cludor found himself in a moment of sick fascination as he worked to have one of the other Sergeant or a Captain take over his post so he could observe the aftermath himself. It took almost ten minutes to have the new youngest Captain assigned to his guest detail.
Entering the hall and sidling to the right-hand side Cludor watched as whispers of what had happened outside spread like ripples from small groupings of nobles to small groupings. As voices would raise in one group, heads would quickly turn to look at the King then voices would lower again as eyes focused on the entrance hall.
Shuffling stiffly from the entrance then down the stairs Sergent Dilan moved towards the King while silence slowly fell on the surrounding nobles. Falling to one knee Dilan raised the letter towards the King. A page resting to the side of the throne hurried down and returned the letter to the King then glancing around at the fascinated staring of the nobility, the young page slowly eased from the side of the Kings throne to behind it.
The King flicked the seal away with a practiced movement, glanced covertly around, then began to read the letter. From the first moment of reading his body became more rigid though his posture didn’t change. While the nobles made every effort to continue to look as if they were oblivious to the drama playing out on the dais, the hush told the truth to the situation.
“Explain,” the King’s voice was deceptively calm.
With a slight stammer, Dilan began, “The Immortal Wizard…he said…that is to say the crier said for him, that…he wasn’t going to attend since he…he didn’t want to offend the rebels and that…um…”
Between one moment and another the King blurred from his relaxed pose on the throne to standing behind the kneeling and now headless body of Sergent Dilan. Pulling a gray handkerchief from his breast pocket the King wiped his sword and re-sheathed it, handing off the stained cloth to the page who rushed forward to grasp the out-held silk.
“Clearly repeat any message delivered, please.”
Turning towards the Palace Guard Captain the King gestured with a negligent hand wave at the body, head, and growing puddle of blood. With a smile to his guests, the King turned, adjusted his clothes and scabbard, and sat back on his throne.
“Please excuse the mess. Sometimes punishment for failure to perform must be exercised swiftly in order to maintain discipline,” the King said in a soft and gentle voice. Quickly the gathered nobles turned back towards their dinner conversations.
With a full body shiver, Cludor returned to his post, just glad that his odd skill had helped him survive another day.
Chapter 20
A Friendly Assassination Pastime
The proprietor of the Drunken Pig Inn gently set a platter of meats, cheeses, and bread, along with a flagon of ale down in front of me. The platter was large enough to feed six men. Since I was just one man, and the hefty innkeeper bowed repeatedly as he backed away, I could assume that he still hadn’t gotten over the last assassination attempt in his residence. Should it be called an attempt when one had succeeded but the victim doesn’t stay dead?
I think the King was a tad annoyed about my little game I had played at the ball three nights ago. The fact I’ve received so many nice letters from the merchant houses, and even a few nobles, shows that with my single action I had undercut the King’s power nicely. The fact that he has been acting out with those assassination attempts means I’ve gotten under his skin. One of those nice letters even mentioned that the court wizard had emptied his balanc
e with the scribes and had left the city.
With a relaxed air, I gently reached out and cut off a bit of cheese and ate it along with a sip from my flagon.
The successful attempt had been the day after the ball and had been in this very same chair. Someone had poisoned my drink. The burning pain in my abdomen made itself clear moments later, and when two of the patrons at the bar turned and stared as the pain flared I knew what had been done to me. I was having trouble remembering where my last backup had been. I thought it was upstairs that morning, but I couldn’t remember clearly, things were starting to be befuddled and ramble around my mind. I then made a backup, an action which in retrospect I realize could have been a serious error but turned out to be, in the end, fine.
I found myself standing next to my chair, with my clothes, weapon, and other accouterments strewn around it. I knew what had happened. The poison must have killed me. Since the two men were just sitting at the bar staring wide-eyed now, I figured it had been very quick after my backup.
I figured I would use this to continue my games with the King. With a loud and exaggerated sigh, I started dressing, slowly and casually, then glanced over at the two men.
“You know, I think it’s cute how the King keeps trying things like this, but be sure to remind him that I have a business proposition for him and if he keeps this up, I’m going to get annoyed.”
The pale faces of everyone in the room were excellent for my reputation I’m sure. The fact that I sat back down and ordered another flagon of ale then set it next to the other without looking as if I didn’t care which I drank from made things even better.
The letters from the nobles and merchants started coming in shortly after news of that leaked. The audacity to taunt the King was one thing. To then take a room in an inn the King had spies in, something I hadn’t known but the scribes guild letter mentioned how strange it was to have an innkeeper buy so much ink and paper - far more than most inns - well…this showed that I was uncaring about the King. It was almost as if I was saying the King was powerless against me, below notice and care.
The next assassination attempt was a bit cruder and took place the day before. I’m not sure if the assassination was the entire point even now. Some thugs attacked me as I was casually strolling through the market. If I hadn’t been taunting the King in my actions and playing uncaring I probably would have succumbed to the attack. My draw and riposte were mostly reflexive from seeing a man step from around a cart with a dagger. I am glad now that it was actually an attack and not just a merchant who had just finished their noon meal and hadn’t put their apple cutting knife away.
The riposte pushed the dagger, held in the ruffians right hand, from a thrust towards my face to my right side. The riposte was clean and near the guard, my follow through had my blade running along his neck as I stepped to my left and pulled the sword in and turned. The two men behind me had been expecting me to be injured or dead, it was so clear as to be laughable. These were not hired swords, they were just people who had done a bit of threatening before and thought things would go quickly. I didn’t hesitate for even a moment. Step, stab, sidestep, slash. Three men down and gurgling through the new holes in their windpipes. I hadn’t intended to kill all three in exactly the same way, but it worked very nicely and had been the openings they left each time. It was more of a robotic practiced attack than any kind of spectacular show of swordsmanship.
My practice in the dungeon had trained me to attack viciously and without hesitation. Quick and deadly. For the most part, I would ignore my own defense in my bloody-mindedness in an attack. Probably not the safest behavior, but it worked in the main, for me at least.
“What’s this? I see you tried to rob these three…err…”
The voice behind me trailed off as I turned around. From behind the same cart as the first thug was a plate wearing constable who had turned the corner. The plan, in this case, was clear. I could be accused of a crime, then hauled off to jail to be neutralized. An escape was something I would obviously be capable of, but just being dragged off like that would reduce my standing. Since there was only one guard, the other option would be to slaughter the guard and escape, again reducing my standing.
This was a wonderful little trap. Attempted assassination or robbery, probably with me walking naked through the street to reclaim clothes at the inn. Alternatively accused of attempting to rob the three thugs and hauled off to jail, again with a probable escape and disgrace or just killing me and letting me go naked, or finally a murder of a gentleman of the peace.
“Thank goodness you are here good sir. These ruffians attacked me and I was forced to defend myself, I’m so glad we have capable guards like you around here. I so dislike killing people who bother me, but I can’t let something like a robbery happen,” I said as I eyed the guard while still holding the naked blood dripping blade.
“Good day to you sir and continue on with your duties. Oh and if you see the King before I do next, give him my regards would you?”
So saying I casually turned and walked away. It wasn’t until I had walked a few paces away did I hear the guard mutter something along the lines of “um, but…uh”, though I continued on like I hadn’t heard anything. I had the initiative and had passed cleanly through the multi-pronged plot mostly through ignorance, reaction, and just moving on like everything was normal. I had no plans to stop and let the guard gather his wits.
I sliced off a bit more of the cheese and a bit of the bread as I thought back over that trap.
As I think back on it, I think the ‘slaughter the guard’ prong was a bit sharper than I had noticed at the time. I remember the guard having a well-oiled mustache, a highly polished breastplate, and a nice ornate sword, far nicer than the other guards I had seen around. I’m guessing he was some minor nobles son, or a rich merchant’s son, or some other family member of importance. That or he was taking more than the usual number of bribes and I’m reading into things, but it’s not really important if I am. I know for the fact the King is after me. Pissing him off while not seeming to notice is in my best interest.
The only thing about my current program of King harassment and strife generation is that I really do need the King for my plan, and I’m currently playing a passive role of sitting back and springing his traps or walking through them. I would rather be more proactive, but for a short period, getting the King good and worked up, letting everyone see how powerless against me he is? That is just what is needed.
I want something from the King, he wants me to stop pissing in his pool. I needed to be able to offer something to him. The ‘carrot’ I’m offering is to unofficially, but obviously, throw my support behind him. The fact that I’m the one who made the support necessary by undercutting him publicly is irrelevant to the situation.
It goes without saying that none of this part of the plan had been mine. I’m far too straight forward. Oh, I can make long term plots and stratagems. The idea of directing my future so it doesn’t suck was as obvious to me as the back of my hand, but figuring out how to manipulate individual players in this game? That was not my forte.
Delana Delsar with the assistance of Seren, and odd-seeming to me at the time, Seren’s handmaiden Sasha helped me with this plan. It had started as a contingency plan if the King started playing games with me in an effort to reduce my infamy. Delana had gone into a long diatribe of possible plots which could be used to undercut me, Seren added more which strongly focused on sex and accusations of sexual perversions. Sasha suggested, with her eyes never meeting mine, multiple ways to use servants to undermine my appearance.
The most surprising possibility came from Sasha; an oil added to food which would deaden my sense of smell by the next night, then the servants could cover my clothing in what was essentially skunk gland squeezing’s during the ‘washing’.
That’s why my casual lounging in the dining area was far less casual than it seemed. My plan was to eat and drink looking oh so relaxed. Later I would head upsta
irs, strip naked, backup myself, and then drive my sword into my neck. Doing this each night, even if I couldn’t remember the actual suicide, was depressing and seemed wrong somehow.
The plan for this stage was to keep poking at the King. I would send letters with casual inquiries and salutations of the local merchants and nobles. I wouldn’t suggest anything, I would make no obvious overtures, but just conversing with the nobles would leave the King on edge after my rebel comments. The best part is that anyone could make the same claim that I had instructed the crier to make.
My contacts within the rebellion would take an appearance to the King’s party as supporting him. My side trip had allowed contact with a rebellion consisting of a single Baron, the father of my new wife, who only would say he would be willing to overthrow the King if it was likely to work. The fact that this could be said about almost any of the nobles is irrelevant. I did think the King had performed adequately in our last business dealings. If the Kingdom suffered further financial issues, then rebellion would be likely, it usually was the base reason for rebellion in the first place. I was very much hoping to hear from the King in a professional capacity. None of that had been a lie, it had all been perfectly true if misleading since it implied so many things.
My visit with Baron Felsar had been enlightening. The Baron had assumed that I was gay and using his daughter as a ruse to protect this secret. He threatened me with exposure if I didn’t return his daughter to him. He was under the misunderstanding that I was some kind of insane murder. Demonstrating that I really was immortal cleared up the insane part quickly enough. The rumors of my brutality and insanity had apparently reached his ear from some merchant house which was trying to put pressure on House Delsar. I was starting to sense that the merchant Houses spent more time infighting and backbiting then they did selling things.
Discovering why he thought I was using my wife as a ruse to protect my sexuality took some very pointed questions. I nearly laughed when I discovered Seren’s secret. My explanation of simply not caring about that kind of thing both reassured Baron Felsar, a man who deeply cared about his daughter, even as he was then strangely concerned about my morality.
