The Fourth Age Shadow Wars: Assassins (The Fourth Age: Shadow Wars Book 1)

by David Pauly

  Then Creon withdrew abruptly, leaving Daerahil's mind in painful tatters, gloating over his helpless son. Daerahil fell to the ground, his elbow landing painfully on the stone floor. He lay there for a moment, only half conscious. But slowly, rage and humiliation boiled up in him. 'So this is what it must feel like to be raped,' he thought. At that moment, had he the strength and the opportunity, he would have killed Creon in the blink of an eye. But he had neither.

  Mergin, standing to the side, smiled inwardly. 'Good. That vile ingrate knows what it feels like to be attacked without a defense.' he thought. 'But I have never seen the King have to bring so much power to bear. Anyone but Daerahil would have quailed and collapsed within a few seconds; he may be harder to dispose of than I thought.'

  Creon turned to his guard captain. 'Return the prince's sword and help him to his feet.'

  Standing with assistance, and panting from the unsuccessful effort to deny his father entry into his mind, Daerahil looked at his father with smoldering rage. 'Now, Father, that you have taken from me by force what I would have willingly given you, had you but asked what will you have me do? For know now that I will hold you responsible for this violent assault upon me, and I shall seek vengeance unless you beg my forgiveness.'

  Instead of replying directly, Creon commanded his soldiers, counselors, and even Mergin to leave the room. After they had gone, he said, 'You can come out now.'

  Daerahil, amazed, saw his brother emerge from behind a tapestry and move somewhat stiffly into the room. 'Brother!' Daerahil cried. 'Glad am I to see you!' He made to embrace him.

  But Creon said, 'Hold. You may make peace with your brother later, Daerahil, but for now you will listen to me. You may hold me responsible for whatever you like, but as long as I am your father and sovereign, you will remember your place. I could just as easily have had Mergin take the truth from your flesh over one of his interrogation pits. Be thankful that I love you and that I would never subject you to such physical abuse. Remember that you are powerless in this land without my permission. Do not let your love for me fail!'

  'Love! Peace? How can I love you after today? And why would I need to make peace with my brother? There is no conflict between Alfrahil and me. But the conflict between us two, Father, has reached a terrible point.'

  As Daerahil spoke, he used his own powers to soothe his wounded mind. Already he had recovered sufficiently to sense the brooding anger and suspicion behind his father's face. The emotions he sensed from Alfrahil were more disturbing still. Though his brother's face showed only cold indifference, his mind projected faint suspicion and uncertainty.

  'We have heard of your treasonous words in Nen Brynn, and but for the fact that I sensed no treachery in your thoughts, you would currently be under arrest,' said Creon. Creon knew that he had delved only partially into Daerahil's mind, as Daerahil's natural defenses were so strong that breaking through these barriers completely would have destroyed Daerahil's mind utterly. This was not something Creon was willing to do, for he still loved his son, no matter how misguided he had become. A small part of Creon's mind wondered, however if he would have been strong enough to tear down the final walls of anger and defiance that Daerahil had erected against him. Creon felt some remorse for what he had done, but only fear could command respect, as history had taught him again and again, and he was determined to be feared and respected by everyone—including his own children.

  'Treason?' asked Daerahil with equal parts rage and confusion. 'What treason?'

  'Do you deny that you told Prince Paladir you wished you were Crown Prince instead of your brother? And that you wished you had been born first, or your brother not born at all? And that you stated your belief that Eldora would be better led by you than by your brother or even your own King?' thundered Creon.

  Daerahil was astonished to hear his own words, which he had said in confidence to the prince less than a full day ago, repeated back to him from his father's lips. But he did his best to hide his distress. 'I spoke out of frustration, Lord, for while I was not attacked as Alfrahil was, I, too, was the victim of a conspiracy—one that may well be related to that which so nearly took my brother's life. Perhaps I do wish that Alfrahil's burdens were mine to bear—that does not mean I wish him ill or am disloyal to the realm. That is the truth, Father, no matter what Mergin's messenger corps has told you.'

  'How is it, then, on the day that he is attacked, you abandon your scheduled inspections and instead make for Nen Brynn, a part of the Kingdom you do not frequent and with whose Lord you do not generally associate?'

  'What?' cried Daerahil, his face now a deep purple under his dark tan. 'Can you honestly believe I had anything to do with this atrocity? I love my brother, and I would gladly sacrifice my life for his, and before today for yours. Who dares accuse me of this outrage? Let him face me! Or is this just another fling of your ill will into my eye?'

  Creon, feeling Daerahil's tremendous self-righteous anger fill the room, cast a mental shield between Alfrahil and his brother to keep his lesser mind from this fray as he battled against his son's attack and after a few moments forced it back into Daerahil's mind.

  'Silence!' rasped Creon with a hoarseness that revealed how much effort it had taken to protect one son while defeating the other. 'Silence, my son, for you stand in taint of high treason. Answer my question, if you please.'

  'Verily, Lord, verily.' And Daerahil heatedly told the tale of his journey to his father, from the moment he had received the forged message purporting to be from Paladir.

  Creon listened gravely. 'And Prince Paladir will bear out your tale, my son?'

  'Yes, Father, he will, for he was as gravely concerned about the security breach as I was,' said Daerahil. 'His chief counselor, Girnon, will also tell you the truth of my words.'

  Frowning for a moment, Creon asked, 'Do you have any questions, Alfrahil?'

  'No, Lord,' replied a relieved-looking Alfrahil. 'While my brother is politically reckless as usual, I do not sense any malice in him, either. But the possible involvement of several of his friends, such as Zarthir, cannot be overlooked. I therefore make my peace with him and count myself reconciled.'

  'Reconciled?' asked a furious Daerahil. 'What have I ever done to you in open or in secret that would cause such a rift between us, much less be a matter for reconciliation?'

  'Your desire to take your brother's place,' responded Creon. 'That is enough for any Lord to ask for reconciliation.'

  Laughing darkly, Daerahil said, 'You will outlive all of us Father, as your mother was Elven. Despite your hundred ninety-nine years, you look no older than a man mature but not yet declining into dotage. Neither my brother nor I will live half as long as you. I apologize for upsetting you, brother. You must believe that I would never take any steps to harm you or attempt to usurp your place in the Kingdom. Father's distrust no longer surprises me, but I am hurt and disappointed that you, too, would doubt me.'

  A pained looked crossed Alfrahil's face, but he did not reply.

  Creon said, 'Have you not given me reason for distrust, my son? You have defied me outright in open Council, where others who differed with me were content to speak to me later, in private. That is not something to be overlooked.'

  'So, it comes down to pride,' said Daerahil scornfully. 'I am treated like a treacherous outlaw because the almighty King and my too righteous brother have thin skins.'

  'I see that even these horrific events have not taught you to keep a civil tongue,' said Creon. 'You will return to your Command on the morrow and finish the inspection tour that you were assigned. You have leave to visit your apartment tonight in the City, but you may not seek out your brother or any of your friends until you return to me for judgment in three weeks' time. You are also forbidden to ride away from the Out Walls and have any contact with outsiders. Mergin will supply you with a complete list of your restrictions.'

  'Judgment,' began Daerahil. 'What judgment? I have committed no crime!'

  'Perhaps not,'
said Creon. 'Now go from my presence, and let me see or hear nothing of you until three weeks have passed.'

  Turning on his heel, Daerahil burst from the room. Hardacil and the rest of Daerahil's personal guards, who had apparently been waiting outside, sprang to attention as he emerged. Without a word, Daerahil gestured for them to follow him. But he had not taken more than two steps before a messenger in traditional gold and silver attire stepped into his path, bringing the prince to halt. As still and silent as a statue, the man stood with outstretched hand. In that hand was a scroll.

  'What is this?' Daerahil demanded.

  'A list of restrictions imposed on your freedom, my lord,' replied the messenger, who looked as though he would rather be elsewhere. 'Beg your pardon, sir, but I have been commanded by your father and Lord Mergin to hand this to you personally.'

  'Bah.' Daerahil snatched the scroll out of his hand and tore it in half without bothering to open it. Throwing the two halves onto the floor, he stormed off, followed by Hardacil and the guards.

  Emerging from the base of the astrologers' tower, Daerahil dismissed his guards, but had Hardacil accompany him as he looked for his horse. Finding no one but Citadel guards, he asked the nearest where his horse had been taken.

  'Down to the stables, Lord, to be fed; I was to say that if you cared to wait until the third hour after nuncheon, another horse will be brought here for your convenience,' replied the guard.

  Cursing under his breath, Daerahil strode out from the gate. He had expected to see guards from the Citadel along the road down to the plain but instead saw only a scattering of regular guards from the City present at their usual posts. The hundreds of guards who had secured the road earlier had been dismissed. Feeling fresh rage rising within him, Daerahil strode at his fastest pace toward the base of the City. 'Those men who escorted us were not there to protect me but instead to keep me from some insane course of action,' he remarked to Hardacil, who strode beside him. 'How could my father or my brother think I would harm either of them?'

  'I do not know, Lord,' Hardacil replied. 'But clearly you must watch your step, and your voice, until you see your father again.'

  Daerahil paused briefly, and then resumed his rapid stride. 'You speak boldly, Hardacil, but correctly. I have spoken rashly already, but in truth it is hard to hold my tongue when . . .' He mastered himself. 'No matter, perhaps I have not been wise after all in my business dealings and friendships. There is much I would ask Zarthir, but I am forbidden to see or speak with him.'

  At a temporary messenger stable in the Third District, Daerahil requisitioned horses for himself and Hardacil. Without replying to Hardacil's questions as to their destination, he set off at a canter. Ever since he had stormed out of his father's presence, his only thought had been to escape to the one place in all the city that he felt free of suspicion and of the burdens imposed upon him by his father's malice. He would go to see his beloved Hala. He needed her loving look and soothing touch more than ever now.

  Yet when he turned into the Lamplighter's street, he was astounded to see men of the Citadel standing guard on the corner of the small side street that would take him to his woman. Daerahil paused and saw there were more guards in front of the joy house and more still on the far corner. Raising his glance, he saw more guards and the unmistakable uniform of an Anscombian archer on the rooftop of his play house. 'What in the name of wonder is going on now?' he thought. Approaching the nearest guardsman, a corporal, he asked, 'What are you and your men doing here?'

  'Lord, our orders are to forbid all from entering or leaving this street without the express permission of the King, Prince Alfrahil, or Lord Mergin,' replied the guard.

  'Well, stand aside, man, for I wish to proceed,' said Daerahil.

  'No, Lord, for with all due respect, you are not one of the three men I named, and you may not pass,' said the guard.

  Turning to move his horse around the young corporal, Daerahil was immediately confronted by three more guards, who politely but firmly told him he could not proceed without written permission. Momentarily thinking of using his mental powers to overwhelm these men, he saw that the Anscombian archer had been joined by another, and with that, reason supplanted rage and he knew that—for now at least—he had no choice but to back down.

  Daerahil and Hardacil wheeled their horses around and retreated back the way they had come. He had not gone far when he heard his name whispered. Turning to the right, he saw one of Zarthir's closest advisers, Larissa, standing within the shade of a rundown tavern entrance. She beckoned him to join her.

  'Quickly, Lord, before the Shadows see me,' she said.

  Daerahil knew Larissa as Zarthir's trusted right hand, a lovely woman just leaving her youth behind her and entering maturity. Long red hair that would normally stand out like a beacon had been hidden under a somber scarf, the curves of her figure that would normally entice any man had also been reduced by the rather shapeless gown she wore. Few outside Zarthir's closest companions knew that she was anything other than a pleasure woman, and indeed she had begun her association with Zarthir as a beautiful plaything. But her agile mind and talent for cunning and politics had soon become evident, and Zarthir had added more and more duties to her list, until one day she was no longer his plaything but instead his chief of staff in all but name. Zarthir trusted her utterly, for who else in the Kingdom would give a woman from her background such honors and freedom? Daerahil also knew how sensual she could be, having had the opportunity several years ago to enjoy all of her charms.

  Tying their horses to an iron ring in the outside wall of the tavern Daerahil entered the tavern with Hardacil. The tavern was small; six crude tables and a tiny bar filled the interior, which was dimly lit by what little of the afternoon sunlight was able to pierce the grimy windows. The smell of stale cheap beer filled the room, but there were no other patrons, just a man behind the bar, who nodded at Larissa. She nodded back, and he walked into a back room, the dirty sawdust releasing its odors in the warmth of the day. There was an upper storage area, and though Daerahil could sense at least one man up there, he was content to believe that they were for all intents and purposes alone, but for Hardacil.

  'The tavern has been cleared, Lord, so that we might meet for a few minutes privately, and so that I can remain hidden after you leave,' said Larissa.

  'What is going on, Larissa?' Daerahil asked.

  She seated herself at a table and gestured for him to do likewise. He took a seat, though Hardacil remained standing, one hand on the pommel of his sword.

  'Minister Zarthir, his closest advisors, and other Council members friendly to you are being closely watched,' Larissa informed him in a low voice. 'I was lucky, Lord, in that Mergin does not know of my close involvement with Lord Zarthir and still believes I am no more than a pleasure girl. Thus, Mergin has set no Shadows to watch me as he has the others.'

  'How do you know this?' asked Daerahil.

  'Because, Lord, two of Zarthir's closest acquaintances tried to sneak out and were immediately waylaid by Shadows before being taken into custody for violating the King's orders. Since I am here, unless Mergin is the cleverest man to ever have existed, we are safe for a while. . . at least until the Shadows following you come to look for you. This is not an establishment with any known ties to Zarthir or his men, but it is conveniently close to where we thought you would go today.'

  'Do you mean that if I had not chanced to enter this street, our meeting would not have occurred?' asked Daerahil.

  'You would have been led here one way or another,' she answered. 'Mergin is not the only one with scouts and spies at his disposal.'

  'Are you telling me,' hissed Daerahil, 'that there are Shadows not under Mergin's control?'

  'No, Lord. But there are military scouts trained by Shadows and nearly as skilled who were dismissed from the army and now sell their services to the highest bidder. There are also Elves who disguise themselves as Men and use their particular skills to aid us in learning muc
h that goes on in the Citadel.'

  'Why, then you must know who is responsible for this unconscionable attack upon my brother!' Daerahil exclaimed.

  Larissa replied, 'There are those that would harm your brother. He is not good for business, trade, or the future of the realm, as you yourself have said. Obviously someone took a chance yesterday. A chance that failed, but it was a well-laid plan.'

  'So I have been led to believe,' Daerahil said. 'Tell me everything you know about this plot, Larissa, or your life is forfeit.'

  'I think not, Lord, for before you or your friend here could so much as twitch a finger, you would both be dead, and I would take my chances with the Shadows. But calm yourself, Lord,' she said quickly, for Daerahil had begun to rise from his chair. 'We mean you no harm, and we did not have anything directly to do with the attempt on your brother's life. Indirectly, our actions may have aided the attackers, but we suspect that the plot, while long in the making, was executed at very short notice. Something happened yesterday to force his hand.'

  'His hand?' asked Daerahil. 'Who is this he? Is it Zarthir of whom you speak? What are you talking about?'

  'I do not know, and you do not need to know,' Larissa answered. 'Suffice it to say, Lord, that I have been told on good authority that "he" supports your claim to the realm and will aid you as best he can.'

  'I do not want the realm,' replied Daerahil. 'I simply want to change some of the wayward policies that exist now.'

  'Yes, Lord,' replied Larissa soothingly. 'Yes, that was impertinent of me. Zarthir will send you another messenger soon. Why don't you enjoy a mug of ale, and I will take my leave of you. As you return to the Citadel tonight, try and behave as normally as possible. One of us will be in contact with more information once we have it.'

  Seeing his chance, Daerahil marshaled his powers and struck at her unguarded mind as quickly and brutally as his father, just hours earlier, had struck at his own. Sweat began to pour down her brow, and she tried to mouth words, perhaps call for help, but Daerahil silenced her with a single thought. He thrust more deeply into her mind, compelling her untrained psyche to respond to his questions.