by Greg Curtis
At least it explained why he hadn't seen or heard her in the cells. He had thought it was because she was being held in another wing. But the truth was simpler than that. She wasn't being held in the cells at all!
She committed the crimes and he did the punishment!
It was just so wrong! Was it any wonder he hated the nobility? That he loved stealing from them? They did whatever they wanted and everyone else suffered. It had been that way in Abylon and it was clearly the same in Wynde Par. There was no justice! Not for the common people.
His next surprise came when the guards escorted him to the large two story building in the centre of the courtyard, and then informed him that he was being brought to the Commander's home. Because naturally the Princess would be staying there! Briagh cursed under his breath when he realised that. Not only was she not in a gaol cell as she should be, but she had been given the very best quarters available!
Things got worse when they reached the door and opened it for him to reveal a large living area filled with soft furnishings while a roaring fire blazed away merrily. And of course, he found the Princess sitting at a small wooden table, drinking some sort of tea, and looking completely at home.
“Morphia be praised! There is no justice!” He had known that before of course. Every morph knew that there was no justice for them. But seeing the Princess at home in the Commander's quarters brought it home to him more strongly than ever. She had tried to kill him twice in cold blood. She had laid low an entire troop of rangers with her damned siren whistle. And far from a prison cell as she deserved, they instead had put her in the Commander's quarters and provided her with every luxury they could find It seemed that the only restriction placed on her appeared to be the guards at the door and outside the window. It was the very height of injustice.
Meanwhile the Princess continued sipping delicately at her tea as if she didn't have a care in the world, doing her best to look regal. But then why would she have any cares? If she could do all of that and suffer nothing while he got sent to gaol, what did she have to worry about?
“Master Briagh.” She turned and smiled at him, and Briagh's blood boiled even as he was pushed inside and the door was firmly shut behind him.
“Princess Elan.” He did his best to be respectful, but really, all he was thinking about was how easy it would be to simply shift and tear her throat out. And despite the fact that he was sickened by the thought of biting into people's flesh, he thought he might be able to stomach it. Just for her.
“It seems we are to be allies, you and I. I need your help if I am to have any hope of restoring my kingdom to its rightful rule and my brothers to their minds. You need mine if you are to be released from prison.” She launched directly into the business to be discussed with no thought of the social niceties. That was probably for the best.
“You've already tried to release me from my life – twice. And for no just cause.” If she was going to be direct, then Briagh figured he could do the same. If he'd been in Abylon, he would never have dared. To be so direct with a princess would likely have got him killed even if he wasn't a morph. Only nobles spoke directly with other nobles. But this wasn't Abylon.
“And I would cheerfully do it again. You and Endorian Long both. Even if he claims to have been forced to do what he did against his will, he still destroyed my family, regardless. There can be no forgiveness for that. And you are linked to him somehow even if I don't know how. But if Father Argen is right and Long can in some way restore my brother's wits to them, it seems I have no choice but to let him live.” She didn't look too happy about it, however. In fact, she looked as though she had just bitten into a particularly sour lemon.
“For now Princess?” Briagh was in no way convinced by her words. Once Endorian had done as she asked he had no doubt that she would want to kill him again.
“For as long as he remains in Wynde Par. Long is under Lord Daelyn's protection and even I would not dare to cross him. He is one of the lords of this realm and to cross him would be to risk war. But should Long return to Abylon that protection will be gone, and I will hunt him down and have him swing.”
“As for you, Lord Daelyn has also granted you his protection. So you too are safe from me – here. But if you return to Abylon there will be no protection for you. And while I still do not know precisely what your connection is to Long and how you are involved in my family's suffering, I will find out! And when I do I will make you pay! That is my promise to you.” There was no trace of understanding in her voice as she said it. No hint of simple human warmth. She was made of pure ice and venom.
“If you can Princess. But pay for what? In all your schemes of revenge, did it ever occur to you that we morphs may be innocent? That our only connection is in that we have been persecuted by you and yours all our lives? Hunted for no crime save that we were born with a gift you don’t have.”
“No.” She answered him bluntly, her steel blue eyes colder than ever.
Briagh was annoyed by that. But equally he knew he should have expected it. She was an angry woman and she wanted her vengeance. It didn't matter against whom. Or whether it was just. He took a breath to calm himself. To keep himself from reacting as he truly wanted to. She wasn't the only one who was angry.
“Endorian spoke the truth when he said he was forced to participate in whatever mad experiment your technologist carried out. The soothsayer confirmed it and you were there to witness that. And I had never met him nor heard of him before I was asked to speak to him. I am happy to have the soothsayer confirm that as well.”
“I don't care.”
And wasn’t that just the truth? She didn't care. She couldn't care about anything beyond her desire to hurt those she believed had hurt her. She hid it behind her manners and her polite words. But in the end she was a true daughter of The Bloody God. There was absolutely no point in trying to defend himself.
“What do you want?” Briagh gave up on reasoning with her. There was no point.
“I want the services of a thief. And you are that so I am told. Moreover, a thief with a knowledge of the secret ways through Abysynth.”
She said thief as if it was a bad thing Briagh thought. As if he hadn't been forced into the role by virtue of his being hunted all his life. People didn't become thieves because they had full bellies and a warm soft bed to sleep in every night. Stealing was a choice forced on those who were cold and hungry. He doubted though that she would understand that. The Princess had never gone hungry. Never been cold and without shelter in the rain and snow. She had no idea how hard life was out there. Especially for those who had to move every few months or years because someone might have guessed what they were.
“I cannot return to Abysynth for obvious reasons. For a start they might try to hand-fast me to the barbarian Prince.”
“You are well suited to one another.” Briagh shouldn't have said it. He knew that. But the words just slipped out and he didn't regret them.
The Princess' face flushed with sudden anger, and after that she stared at him evenly, hatred simmering behind her eyes. But she said nothing and after a moment continued with her list of demands.
“Endorian Long cannot travel there either. He would be feared and killed. If that happens he cannot fix what he has done.”
“He has not done anything!” Briagh snapped at her. He didn't like her casual assumption of guilt in others. Least of all in another morph. She ignored him of course.
“So if we cannot travel there, then the rest must travel here. My two brothers, Myrim and Sal. At present they are locked away in private quarters on the grounds of the Royal Hunting Lodge with a few trusted retainers. This ancient globe which with a little luck will by now have been found and retrieved from my mother should now be with the Court. And finally, we need to get Father Argen's notes and papers on the device along with a few more of his fellow priests who have made a study of it. The priests will also have to be brought here.”
“In two days an envoy will trav
el to Abysynth with official letters for the King – or actually for the inner circle of the Court – explaining what is intended. The envoy will arrive late. Certain deadlines will have passed by the time he arrives. The kingdom may be in an uproar because of it. And the globe may not have been located. But even if it has been the Court may not be willing to relinquish it. You will need to get it.”
“If we have Long and can get the globe, my brothers, the priests and the notes, we may be able to restore things to their rightful order in time. Prince Myrim may be able to retake the throne. And the skills of a thief, especially one with your blood and knowledge of the city, may be useful in retrieving these things.”
“Great!” Briagh was anything but happy as he realised he was being asked – make that ordered – to place his life in jeopardy again. To go back to Abylon. And it was made worse by the fact that the one who was ordering him to do so was the same woman who had tried to kill him twice. When had she become his mistress?! But he also realised he had no choice. Not for as long as she had Lord Daelyn's ear. It was this or gaol. He could of course try to run once they set out on the journey but then he would face the prospect of being hunted.
“So we have an understanding?” She stared at him, her eyebrows arched in question.
“We understand that you're a criminal!” Briagh felt no need to be polite. She didn't deserve respect. She deserved shooting.
“My family was attacked!” She didn't take kindly to being called a criminal.
“And my family was slaughtered! Hung upside down by their ankles and gutted like animals by people like you simply for the crime of having a child who could change form. Don't even begin to think you have any right to speak to me about pain. Your family may be mad; mine are dead!” The blood drained from Briagh's face as he raged at her and his fists hurt from clenching so tightly. He was angry beyond his ability to contain it.
“So you've said your piece Princess, now I'll say mine. I've spent my entire life hiding and running from demon worshipping scum like you. Not anymore! That ends! I'll do your filthy work. But if you come after me or Endorian ever again I'll tear your throat out. If you even come near me again, I'll kill you. And nothing will stop me.”
“That is my promise to you!”
With that he left her, almost tearing the door off its hinges as he slammed it behind him. The anger inside him was so powerful that it was making him shake. And he meant every word he had told her.
It might not last. It probably wouldn't. He knew that. His courage failed as often as his anger flared. It had to. He was a morph and it was fear that kept him alive. Not anger. But just then every word he’d said was true.
Chapter Twenty Six
Randell was busy as he rushed around the great chamber serving drinks. There were a lot of goblets to fill and a lot of wine to pour. But he liked being busy. Normally. Not this day however.
The Court was nervous as they filled the audience chamber. And when they were nervous they snapped at people. At servants mostly. But they had reason to be nervous. After all they didn't know why they'd been called to attend and most of them had pressing concerns to deal with as they restarted businesses and rebuilt their homes. All they knew was that messages had been sent, messengers had turned up at doors, but none of those messages had said anything other than that the king had summoned them. No reason had been given. That hadn't done that before. Or at least, not in a very long time. Perhaps they were nervous because they suspected that this was the day when the king would finally speak to them and tell them about the rebuilding of his damaged city and what it would cost? Perhaps they feared something else? Randell didn’t know.
Currently there were all sorts of rumours circling the halls and the streets of the Imperial Quarter about King Harold. Some claimed he was dead. Others that he had finally gone completely mad and was no longer able to be managed by the Court's inner circle. A few said he had run away. Whatever the truth, no one had been able to get an audience with him since the attack. He should have been seen out in the streets, leading the city and the kingdom as they began to rebuild. He should have been making speeches, giving orders and releasing funds. But he wasn't.
Instead it seemed from what Randell was hearing, that the Court’s inner circle – the king’s advisers – were giving the orders on his behalf and not doing a particularly good job of it. Everyone knew of course that they'd been running the kingdom for years. The king was mad, and so they ran things in his name and limited the damage he could do while they waited for Prince Myrim to finally take over. But normally they did a better job of running things then this. Why not now in this time of crisis? Where was the unity? The consistency? The plan? Whatever approach the King or the Court decided on for the city, it should have been seamless.
Instead the king was making conflicting decrees. For instance, the city badly needed traders to return and fill up the coffers. As an incentive the king was therefore pushing for tariff free markets for the next year. But at the same time, he was having every trader who arrived interrogated at length about their relation to the wolf mother. Once he was finished many were sent away. Some were even gaoled. And while the docks were open for business once again, those workers who remained couldn't get to them most days because there were security checkpoints preventing access. The same was true for the artisans and masons who should have been working day and night to rebuild the city, but who couldn't get the supplies they needed or the workers because of the guards.
Everything was a mess and while that was not a welcome situation for the nobles, it was worse for the servants. Maybe, Randell thought, he should start thinking about leaving the city as so many others had already done? There seemed to be precious little coin to make as a servant these days, and an endless barrage of abuse. He had only stayed as long as he had because he had a place to sleep and regular meals provided. He had security which most people in the rest of the city didn't have at the moment. After today though? He didn't know.
But perhaps things were about to get better. This was surely the day that the king would finally speak to the greater Court and tell them what was happening. About his plans for the future. At least that was what Randell hoped. But he didn't know it. Was this really the day he would finally start leading them again? Had he regained his wits? Or was this the day that he would prove yet again how completely mad he was and unable to rule? No one knew. All they knew was that the Court had been asked to assemble.
So the remaining six or seven hundred members of the Court and their wives – about half of what there had once been – were presently mingling in the throne room, gossiping nervously like school girls while they waited. The servants wandered busily among them with trays of refreshments and did their best to remain unnoticed. Even the soldiers lining the walls and guarding the doors in their polished uniforms, looked no more certain than anyone else. But at least all they had to do was stand there and look official. No one abused them. No one addressed them as “knaves”. Lucky bastards!
Still, people were trying to put on a brave face. This was the first official gathering of the Grand Court since the attack by the wolf mother. So the women were in their prettiest dresses, the men in their finest suits. The musicians were playing lively, stirring music. And the wine and mead being served was of the finest quality. This event – whatever it was – was being treated as a celebration.
At twelve bells precisely, the sound of steel shod boots on the floor outside the throne room was heard, and an expectant hush fell over the crowd. Randell stopped serving as well and started backing politely away to the servants’ door to wait. The king was finally arriving and they would start serving again only when he had finished saying whatever he needed to say.
Then a few of the more astute of the nobles started whispering that there were too many boots, and that those boots were marching in formation. It was why they could hear them. Those in the throne room started asking the obvious questions, even as Randell continued backing away. Why woul
d the king be being escorted by soldiers in his own palace? He was surely not in any danger?
Suddenly the huge oak doors were flung open and a stream of soldiers rushed into the room, weapons drawn. Then they started shooting. After that things became confused.
People screamed and ran for cover. Some threw themselves to the floor. Bullets flew across the room. Soldiers and nobles alike fell amidst a sea of blood and smoke. Randell ran, making it to the door to the hallway and the kitchens beyond in mere seconds as fear gave his legs strength. Once there he took shelter behind them and peeked nervously back into the chamber, trying to work out what was happening. He could see the other servants doing the same. It seemed that the battle had come to the very heart of the kingdom But why? Abylon had no enemies. Other than the accursed wolf mother of course, and she called on wolves, not soldiers.
The battle proved brief. There were only a couple of dozen soldiers surrounding the throne room, and their function was mostly ornamental. They did their best, but they fell quickly as the hordes of heavily armed men flooded into the huge room. Within a matter of minutes, the invaders held the chamber. Randell though could hear the sound of fighting taking place elsewhere in the palace.
