by Gary Gygax
Crown Prince Llewyn sneered at the gray-locked ovate. "Only because I had the foresight to prepare for this contingency, Behon. Let us hope for the sake of my coming rule, and your continued position, that your judgments will be better in the future."
The chief cleric of Lyonnesse was uneasy at the exchange, especially since he had supported and assisted in the development of Behon Myffed's plan to use the now-dead Egyptian as their tool in the affair. "Wise Prince," he said in his most unctuous tone, "I congratulate you, as does the Behon, in having determined beforehand the likely reactions of Magister Inhetep. I know I speak for Lord Myffed, as well as myself, when I state that is the reason why the two of us are your willing and obedient vassals. Under your guidance, Lyonnesse will assume her rightful place in Avillonia's affairs and all of Eropa's, too."
"Don't flatter me," Prince Llewyn said, but there was no force in the command, and he smiled. Flattery or not, he thought to himself, what the druid said was no more than truth. Did that then obviate the intent and change the matter? He decided to forget about it as quite unimportant. "What about your men, Tallesian. Is all in readiness?"
"All of the nobles you would strike down, Royal Highness, are enprise," the druid assured him. "Forged documents and false evidence have been planted so as to be discovered when the time comes, and the agents who are there to make the 'discoveries' are fools who are totally unaware of what has been so carefully staged."
Llewyn stared a long moment, looking at Lord Tallesian as if he were a strange insect under glass. "Good," he finally said, but his tone was such that the two men who served the heir to the kingdom knew that any mistake would be unforgiven and fatal. "And you, Behon?"
"The roundup of the leaders of the cult of Set and all the faithful we could lay our hands on is complete, my Lord Prince," the sage related with assurance. "In this regard, the interference of the meddling Egyptian served us well. Agents are now abroad with rumors of what occurred in Glaistig Pool—how Lord Aldriss was slain by some foreigner, and that the bard was probably leagued with the fellow somehow. A case of thieves and traitorous ursurpers falling out. . . ."
"Go on," the royal heir to the throne said irritably.
"At the moment you command it, Your Majesty, there will be a new tale for all to hear. The murderous priest and wizard, the shave-pate foreigner and none other, has struck again. Not satisfied with slaying the Gwyddorr of Lyonnesse, the filthy Egyptian jackal has assassinated Good King Glydel!"
A broad smile lit the fair face of the prince, causing its ruddy patches to glow apple-red with pleasure. "Fortunately, the Crown Prince was on hand to lay low the vile regicide," he said with conviction. "The killer and his whore died as swiftly as his valiant father did under their murderous hands!"
"A murderous plot unveiled for all the kingdom to see, Highness—Majesty!" Tallesian corrected hastily. "The foreign killer could never have managed his heinous crime save for the aid of the vilest of traitors among the nobles of the kingdom itself! They too will be brought to swift justice—before they can utter a word in public."
"Then those who would suspect this matter, who have the means to find the truth of it, will be dead," Prince Llewyn said, "and all of their lands and wealth will become property of the Crown."
The Behon nodded and put on his most solemn and judicious face. "It is my ruling that all titles, properties, and possessions of these villainous rebels now and forever be forfeit to the Crown," he intoned. "The commoners will hear only vague rumors of the affair, just sufficient to prime them for what is to come. The gentry and nobility will be furnished with ample proof of the perfidity of the executed and those outside our realm."
"I will assuredly retain all of the estates as royal demesnes," he told the two men, "but when I rule as emperor, you will have whole counties to call your own!"
"Serving you is ample reward," the Behon said with a certain haste, as he looked at Lord Tallesian with a warning message carried in his glance. The prince had last told them that the lands and titles of the two thegns singled out for death—the two great nobles most loyal to King Glydel, of course, his closest friends and wisest advisors—would be granted to them, with Aldriss gaining the properties and wealth of a great baron and another lesser peer. Last promised, that is, until this moment. Trust not princes, Myffed thought. Yet he had no other course now. He would have to be most cautious in handling it, but the druid would possibly serve as a useful henchman should the time ever come to . . . change one royal dynasty of Lyonnesse for another, one sprung from the power of heka, assuredly. "Lord Tallesian and I will be content with whatever is granted by you, Sire."
"Absolutely, absolutely!" The archdruid had caught the drift of things. "I am your man, Great Lord. To see you ruling this land is what my heart longs for."
"Well, we had better get on with things then," the prince said with firmness. "Are you two certain that all is in motion?"
"All know that it was your men who began the arrests of the offending cultists, my prince," the Behon responded. "Agitators now circulate among the lower class in all districts of the city to whip the folk into a frenzy against all concerned with the foreign gods. The lowest will be ready to tear them to shreds when they get word of the death of their king at the hands of the leader of the false cult."
"The rest is also as you command," Tallesian responded in turn. "Gentry and nobles alike will turn to you as savior of the realm, Majesty."
Llewyn preened under the title but admonished, "Be not so free with that title—yet! Soon enough I will bear it rightfully, but until the time comes, none must hear you speak to me thus, priest. You remember that as well, justiciar," he added, turning to the Behon. "Now go and fetch Sir Murdough, for he is captain of the guard this day, and he needs to be alerted."
The Ovate went off as if he were a page. In truth, Myffed trusted none other than himself in the matter. The knight was not far distant in the citadel, and the Behon soon located him sitting at ease in the office reserved for the commander of the King's Guards. Sir Murdough jumped to attention as soon as the justiciar entered the room. "Is it ... ?" The Behon nodded. "Have your lieutenant assume command now, and come with me." The knight went to a side door and opened it. He spoke a few words with the soldier who was in the room there, then closed the door and bowed stiffly to the high justice of Lyonnesse. "Lieutenant Kerrier will be ready when it is time, lord. He will see that all unreliable men are out of the way, one way or another, so that only the loyal will be on duty."
"How long before he's done that?"
"I helped him with the plan, Lord Behon. At worst it will take but half an hour, at best no more than one-quarter of that time by the clock."
"Come on, then, Sir Murdough. His Royal Highness will have a few words with you personally."
"You are not aware of what is going to occur," the prince said flatly to the guardsman when Sir Murdough stood rigidly before him.
"No, Your Royal Highness. I know only that you will soon be king."
"That is because my father is unfit to rule,"
Llewyn said with a snarl. "He treats our neighbors as if they were equals, demands no concessions or tribute, and has made the great kingdom of Lyonnesse but a mewling kitten instead of the roaring master of the Five Crowns. Know you which is the eldest and greatest of the five kingdoms of Avillonia?"
"None but Lyonnesse, Royal Prince," the captain responded. "That is not but truth."
"You are correct, and when I wear the crown, the other four kinglets will bow to us once again. My doddering sire takes council with fools, but one of those men, the Egyptian called Magister Setne Inhetep, will soon turn on King Glydel and strike him down. When that occurs, you will be there—understood?"
"Yes, Royal Highness."
"Godsdamn you, man, if you fail in any of this! Listen carefully. The Egyptian will flee the council chamber, escape unscathed, but he will take a wrong turn in his flight." Prince Llewyn paused and looked at the knight.
"I will b
e in hot pursuit with a half-dozen of my best men, Crown Prince," he said.
The heir to the throne smiled thinly. "That is correct. The foreign assassin will find himself trapped in a cul-de-sac, the Royal Library—you know the chamber?"
"Well enough, although I am not given to book-ishness, my Lord Prince."
"Never mind, fellow," Lord Tallesian told the knight. "You must answer with a simple yes or no only, else we'll be at this all day!"
"Keep your own speeches brief, druid," the Behon said, for he had seen the expression on Prince Llewyn's face as Tallesian spoke.
"Enough! I am speaking," Llewyn snapped. "Sir Murdough, when you and your men enter the library of the king, you will find the bald-headed killer standing confused and uncertain. You will take that opportunity to cut him down, and you and your men will hack him to pieces! Is that clear?"
"Yes, Royal Highness."
"Not one or two thrusts, but pieces!' The guard officer nodded, not daring to speak to the prince, who was bright red with inner fury. Llewyn took a deep, gasping breath, calmed himself, and went on. "Then you will rush back to the chamber where the king lies dead. You will shout that the murderer has been found and executed. While our Archdruid, Lord Tallesian, attends to the corpse of the slain king, doing his best to restore the poor monarch to vitality, Lord Myffed will accompany you back to where the body of the Egyptian dog who assassinated my father lies in pieces. I too will be with you on that return. We will bring the head of the offender back with us, and that will be the end of the matter."
Sir Murdough nodded again. "The king . . . ?"
"Beyond any help, even the best of my mag-ickal restoratives, of course," the chief cleric supplied. "But with the Behon's assistance, we will discover the reason for the slaying of King Glydel. You see, Inhetep was actually the Master of Jackals, and when the king accused him of that, the Egyptian coward panicked and struck him down. By that act he hoped to escape justice, but thanks to you, Marshal Murdough, that part of his vile plan failed."
Prince Llewyn smiled at the heavy-browed knight. "That is so, for the marshal you will be after this day's work. In fact, serve me well, and I will also award you the honor of a baronacy. Many noble peers of Our Realm will surely question you closely about all that occurred, and you must not betray the slightest portion of the truth of the matter. The office of chief soldier of the realm I will confer immediately upon you, a commission for your valiant slaying of the assassin. Thereafter, as you do your duty aright will come the elevation to the peerage as mine own baron, Murdough."
"I am ready now and will remain steadfast, Royal Prince," the man said, with that conviction a lust for position and power confers on those who live for such achievement.
"Back to your station, then, and attend the king when Lord Tallesian directs you to. Most of all, do not forget that the assassin, Magister Inhetep, is to receive no wound nor any real hindrance in his escape—until you bring him to bay in the library, and you must do your bloody work well then!"
The druid showed Sir Murdough out and saw that the knight went back as instructed; then the chief cleric of Lyonnesse returned to the place where prince and justiciar awaited. "All is now ready," he said with a hint of fear in his voice.
"Go on to your own part, then my stout Arch-druid," the prince said, feigning kindness and trust. "At the striking of the sixth hour, go to the king in his council chamber and whisper your message. He will dismiss the others, of course. Then you will depart to send the 'magister' to his audience with my father."
Tallesian bowed low, his face pale but set in determined lines. When he was gone, the Behon looked at Prince Llewyn. "He is a reed."
"I have put some iron into the core of the reed, but even that metal will soon enough corrode."
"What of the girl?" Myffed asked, not wishing to pursue the subject of Lord Tallesian further at the moment. The druid was too ambitious for his own good. Had he not tried to displace him in the prince's favor, then Myffed might have done his utmost to see that Llewyn remained satisfied with Tallesian's service. As it was, the Behon worked to undermine the chief cleric, and in a few months or a year, there would be a new first priest of the realm where Tallesian had formerly stood—one who owed everything to the justiciar.
"Her? The Shamish doxy is to be kept drugged. In a few days she is to be sent north."
Myffed shuddered. "To Lo—" He cut himself off, as if his involuntary reaction would permit no further words. Then he managed, "I see . . ." with a weak and horrified voice.
Llewyn actually laughed when he saw the ovate's reaction. "She's nothing, a cheap enough price to pay for the aid we've been given and will receive!" The royal prince was telling only a part truth. Rachelle was meaningless to him, of course. Pretty women by the thousands would soon be available to him—not that he lacked for mistresses and conquests as crown prince. The price of his ascension to the throne was as high as could be imagined, only Llewyn had told no one of what it was. The great relic of Lyonnesse, the Wheel of the Tuatha de Danann, which was the source of kingly power, would also go north with the captive amazon companion of the dead Egyptian when the time came—soon now, soon! There would be parity in Avillonia, though, and once he managed to gain suzerainty over the other kingdoms, he would use the combined might of the islands to regain the lost artifact— and more! In that the magus, Myffed, would be indispensable. After new power was available, perhaps lesser practitioners would suffice. Heka-benders were always a problem to the Crown, so necessary and yet so dangerous. That would sort itself out in due course. "Go now and prepare the Egyptian for his part. Place him in the secret passage from the library to the cellars, so that when I come from my work he will be ready to confront the guards. When you have finished that task, attend me here, for it will be nigh onto time then."
The Behon murmured assent and departed hastily. Bah! Tallesian and the justiciar both were growing faint-hearted as the hour neared. Not he! Llewyn was firm, knowing that it was the only course possible. Long had he yearned for the throne, but his father was but fifty and still vigorous. The dotard would probably live to a hundred years of age, just to spite Llewyn. How old was Myffed? Well beyond the century mark, certainly. Leave it to Glydel and the ovate to use some magickal energy to live forever! Then, too, it was no secret that his father liked Llewyn but little, preferring his younger brother, Uthar, and even the snot-nosed child, Rhys. That forced him to walk a tightrope to avoid being disinherited and replaced as heir to the crown of Lyonnesse. Much had Llewyn foregone and borne because of his father—and his two brothers. There would be a terrible accident soon after King Glydel was buried and King Llewyn reigned. "King . . . King Llewyn!" The Atheling prince said it aloud, savoring its sound. He touched the ring he wore on his left hand's little finger. It was the token of his pact. On impulse he took hold of it, ready to pull it free and cast it from him. "No, not yet . . ." Llewyn whispered.
An ancient waterclock on an ornate stand in the corner of the chamber dripped time away. The prince stared at it in fascination. Where was that doddering fool, Myffed? But a handful of minutes only had passed since the Behon had departed. Time seeped slowly, slowly. Llewyn willed the water to run as a mountain freshet, to pour out and thus speed the coming moment. The droplets seemed to hang suspended in space for eternity before completing their fall. He filled his heart with hatred and lust and envy and desire, the desire to own all, command all. Thus the crown prince stilled his own doubts and strengthened his resolve. He thought of the other kingdoms, too, of an imperial Lyonnesse.
On the surface it seemed a fair enough bargain. Lyonnesse to gain overlordship of Hyber-nia, the crown of Albion to be placed over that of Caledonia, and Cymru divided between the two greater kingdoms to be ruled as Camelough and Londun decreed. Fair on the surface, but the conniving monarch on the Albish throne would always seek an edge. His realm bordered on Cymru, and his army could easily invade the whole of that land. Then would the balance be gone, and King Dennis virtual ruler of
all
Avillonia. Llewyn had pretended to be blind to that possibility, but ever since the conclusion of the pact, he had dwelled on the matter. Possibility had become certainty. Then he had realized how to forestall the matter and turn it to his advantage. The new-crowned monarch of Hybernia would be left co-equal to Llewyn, and the wild warrior bands of that island kingdom sent to ravage the lands of Caledonia. Lyonnesse would in the meantime have all of its forces to deploy in Cymru, so that kingdom would be totally his. When Albion and Hybernia were through fighting in the Caledonian lands, weak and exhausted, then would the Lion Banner move to take them. Albion first, then occupation of Caledonia in order to cause the Hybernian devastation to cease. Isolated, the green isle of Hybernia would then fall like a ripe and juicy pear. Five points and five jewels in the crown, his crown, and like none ever adorning any monarch of Lyonnesse before him.
What of the one who had been so useful in orchestrating this complex scheme? That made Llewyn pause a moment in his gloating thoughts of imperial splendor. The might of Avillonia was the answer. United, the greatest state of the West, much of the rest of Eropa would certainly hasten to make alliance with him—and the price of alliance would be high. Not too high, just enough to make his empire unassailable, and perhaps then would be the time to bring war to Skandia and beyond. Otherwise, assassins were worthy of consideration. How many hundreds could he send? Enough to do the job! Either way, the Behon would be useful, even Tallesian . . . perhaps.
"Prince Llewyn?"
He started, for he had not heard Myffed's entrance while in his reverie. Llewyn raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "Well?"
"I have done all you instructed, Highness, and it is now time for the final step."
"Get to it then, man! What are you waiting for?" The magus was beginning his ritual, a casting of change. Should Myffed choose, the prince would be at his mercy, much as any man might be beneath the razor of his personal valet. The Lord Behon was a good vassal, though, Prince Llewyn thought to reassure himself. The magick would be as he had commanded. Then he felt an odd tingling and pains in his body. "What have you done?" he demanded, half pleading, half angry.
