by J. P. Ashman
‘We arrived at Tyndurris just after you left,’ Errolas said. ‘A guard on the gate told us where you had gone and so we made chase as fast as we could.’
Before he could reply, Sav dragged Fal to one side and swiftly explained what had happened that morning and who Errolas believed the attackers were. Lord Severun and Master Orix stood silently as they tried to listen in, but Sav managed to tell the story quickly and quietly, keeping out of their earshot as he had no idea what their involvement was.
Glancing between Sav and the two mages, Fal again started to look around the avenue, half expecting the witchunters to return. ‘Guardsman,’ he said. ‘Stop a coach. We’ll lift your partner and Starks into it and have the driver take them back to Tyndurris.’
‘Yes, sergeant,’ the guardsman said, before running down the avenue to flag down a coach that had stopped for the passengers to stare at the strange scene.
‘What about us, are we continuing on foot?’ Severun asked.
Fal thought for a second before answering. ‘Yes, I don’t fancy another coach ride. The palace isn’t far now and our archers here can cover us as we go. Do you both feel up to running?’ Fal asked Severun and Orix.
‘It doesn’t look like we have a choice,’ Orix said. ‘I can’t run as fast as you though, long shanks.’
Severun just nodded.
‘Alright,’ Fal said, ‘we’ll head up now. Let’s put Starks and the other guardsman into that coach first.’
Fal, Sav and Errolas lifted the wounded guardsman into the commandeered coach whilst Orix inspected Starks’ leg. ‘Now it may hurt when they lift you, but the clerics at the guild will have you fit in no time.’ The old gnome held his right hand over the broken leg. ‘It’s a clean break, they will have no problem with it, but I have nothing with me to help you right now.’
‘That’s alright, Master Orix, I’ll be fine.’ Starks, fresh blood streaked across half of his face and matted in his hair, winced as the pain increased.
‘Oh and Godsiff,’ Orix said, standing whilst Fal and the others came over with the coach to load Starks into it.
‘Yes, Master Orix?’ Starks managed, through gritted teeth.
‘Thank you. The elf said you saved our lives. We won’t forget it, even if it is your job.’ With a wink, Orix turned and headed over to Lord Severun.
Starks smiled to himself and then grimaced again as Sav and Fal lifted him into the coach.
‘Good work, lad,’ Fal offered, as Starks settled onto the floor of the coach besides the injured guardsman. ‘That was some fine shooting, I hear. I owe you a drink, or several.’
Starks laughed as he replied. ‘I’ll hold you to that, Sarge, I have witnesses. Now get to the palace and do whatever’s so gods-damned important you had to get my leg broken.’
Fal laughed back. ‘What have I told you about getting above your station, soldier?
‘Alright driver, get these two to Tyndurris and make haste.’
The driver nodded and Fal closed the cab door, whilst the other guardsman climbed up next to the driver, holding on to Starks’ crossbow. The coach rocked and turned in the wide avenue, heading back the way it had come, towards Tyndurris.
‘Let’s get moving shall we? It’s not wise to hang around,’ Fal said, as soon as the coach had set off.
‘What about these people?’ Orix motioned to the injured people scattered about the avenue.
‘There’ll be guardsmen and clerics along shortly no doubt,’ Fal said, ‘and the horses aren’t here. They must’ve carried on down towards the palace where they would’ve been seen, so they’ll have sent a patrol this way.’
‘Well, let’s move then,’ Sav said, ‘the faster we get into the safety of the palace the happier I’ll be.’ His eyes flicked from the rooftops to the side streets.
Errolas mirrored the scout’s actions and nodded his agreement.
‘Lord Severun, Master Orix, follow me. Errolas, Sav, keep your eyes peeled and I’ll explain what’s happening when we get to the palace.’
‘Understood,’ Sav said, before setting off at a dog trot behind the rest of the group, with Errolas at the front and the remaining three in the middle.
As they made their way down the road, people began shouting; asking what had happened and if all was well. Fal and the others tried to reassure people as best they could, and asked them to stay clear of the wreckage behind them so the guardsmen and clerics could do their jobs.
A troop of six palace guards met the group about halfway to the palace, so Fal stopped briefly to report to them, much to the relief of Orix who was quite out of breath.
Fal explained the situation, informed the guards of the casualties and asked two of their number to escort them back to the palace. The troop sergeant-at-arms agreed and sent two swordsmen to escort the group.
It didn’t take long from where they met the patrol before they arrived at the palace. Two giant wooden gates housed in a huge stone gatehouse and flanked by thirty foot curtain walls barred their way.
A small door opened within one of the gates and the two palace guards led the group in.
Every member of the group let out a sigh of relief as they entered the palace courtyard. That relief faltered as a second group of a dozen men-at-arms met them with weapons drawn.
The group stood at sword point as a troop sergeant-at-arms informed them the King wished to see them immediately. They were ordered to disarm, which Errolas and Sav argued about briefly before giving in to the hard-faced men. They were then escorted into a drum tower a short walk from the gatehouse, where they were led up a curling stone staircase in single file and through a long, narrow passageway with no windows, arrow slits or décor to brighten the cold stone walls. Fal imagined they must be in the fortifications around the palace itself and heading towards an audience chamber.
He was right. After several minutes travelling through similar corridors, they reached a set of heavy wooden doors. Two King’s halberdiers in polished plate and sallet helms stood either side. As the group reached the two guards, one of them turned and hammered on a large iron ring. The heavy thudding resonated through the stone corridor and the heads of everyone in the group.
The doors opened from within and a gruff voice called out.
‘Escort them in.’
***
As the velvet dressed, voluptuous woman walked past two city guardsmen, she could have sworn she heard one of them call her a dog. She shook her head slightly, reassuring herself she’d misheard the wiry man, who seemed to be too intent on scratching vigorously at his maille covered neck to have commented on her.
‘She looks alright to me,’ Sears said, as the woman moved down the street away from them both.
‘Eh?’
‘Her,’ the big man said, pointing to the woman, ‘she ain’t no dog.’
‘Never said she was, ye buffoon.’ Biviano switched to his other hand for scratching.
‘Aye, ye did, I heard ye and pretty sure she did too. Anyhow, where ye getting buffoon from, doesn’t suit ye?’ Sears said, finally taking his eyes off the woman’s swaying hips.
‘Doesn’t need to suit me does it? I was calling you a buffoon, not me, but enough of that. I was talking about a dog.’
‘See, I knew it!’
‘A dog, ye know woof-woof. Wasn’t on about the woman, ye buffoon.’
‘Ye’re milking it now. Wasn’t funny the first time ye used it, now ye’re just milking it, and what ye harpin’ on about a dog for anyhow?’
Biviano started walking down the street again, Sears hot on his heels.
‘Well?’ Sears said, when no response came.
‘I’m thinking, Sears, stop interrupting it.’
‘And here I thought I could smell burning.’
‘Funny.’
‘Thanks. Now come on, what dog ye talking about?’
‘A hound to trace the killers from the house and street.’
Sears laughed heartily and slapped Biviano on the same shoulder he al
ways did.
‘Dick! Quit doing that will ye? I ain’t talking no normal hound, I’m talking about Buddle.’
Sears laughter stopped. ‘Ye mean Gitsham’s mutt? Are ye crazy? We don’t need to be bringing him in on this case, it ain’t that big.’
‘How’d ye bloody know, Sears?’ Biviano stopped dead in his tracks, causing Sears to bump into him. He shoved the big man off him, who looked like he’d flatten Biviano, so the smaller of the two took a step back before continuing. ‘Listen big guy, there’s been two connected murders; one a stabbing, plain and simple, but one we’ve no clue as to how it happened, and I for one don’t like that at all. Could be magic for all we know and ye know? I know! I feel it in me bones. So I reckons Gitsham and his hound is what we need for this, before the case escapes us completely.’
Sears sighed and nodded. ‘Ye’re right of course, I can’t help but think there’s something a lot bigger going on here. So aye, I agree with ye for once. Let’s go see Gitsham and—’
Sears practically threw Biviano off his feet and to the ground before he finished his sentence, and a small black bolt thudded into the big man’s right pectoral muscle.
Seeing his partner stagger back a step from the impact, Biviano quickly looked opposite Sears and saw a man in drab, black clothes re-loading a small crossbow.
Surging to his feet and drawing his short-sword and cudgel in one, Biviano sprinted towards the man as the crossbow came up, pointing towards him. Before the man could pull the trigger however, a wooden cudgel struck him between the eyes and he fell back, Biviano reaching him as he hit the ground.
A rapier swung out horizontally from the alley next to Biviano then and he threw himself to the right, narrowly avoiding losing his throat. Before he could stand, the cloaked figure was upon him, repeatedly slashing down with his rapier as Biviano struggled to block the attacks.
Where are ye Sears?
As if on cue, the witchunter – for surely that’s what he was – dropped to both knees, crying out and swinging his rapier round behind him, trying to strike something unseen by Biviano, who took the opportunity to thrust his short-sword up into the man’s ribs.
Coughing blood, the witchunter fell forward as Biviano rolled out of the way, pulling his sword free to see a small crossbow bolt embedded in the witchunter’s back.
Sears stood over the witchunter, a grin splitting his red beard and blood oozing from a hole in his padded, maille covered chest.
‘Stuck ’im wi’ his mate’s bolt, ha!’ Sears slurred, before staggering and dropping to one knee.
Biviano jumped up and scanned the area, before looking to the unconscious crossbowman to make sure he was no longer a threat. Biviano rushed to Sears then, and hauled him to his feet with a grunt.
Everyone in the area had fled the scene and Biviano saw no movement from anywhere, so he pulled at Sears, struggling under the big man’s weight.
‘Come on… big’un, we need to be moving, and quick.’
‘Aye,’ Sears said, clearly slipping in and out of consciousness.
Biviano reached round the back of Sears’ belt and fumbled in a pouch tied there, where he found a small flask of something potent. What it was, he had no idea, but he knew how strong it was from previous experience and so popped the tiny cork with his teeth and held it under Sears’ nose.
The big man’s eyes opened wide and he grinned, before coughing.
‘Drink up, we need to move I’m telling ye,’ Biviano said, holding up the small flask.
Sears let Biviano pour the viscous liquid into his mouth and he swallowed it in one, immediately staggering before straightening up, the sudden weight off Biviano’s shoulder a huge relief.
‘Alright ye big prick, let’s get moving shall we. Need to get us to the wall and fast.’
Nodding, Sears stumbled into a run in the general direction of the city wall and its barracks.
Damn, Sears, that wound’s not good. Biviano ran to the unconscious crossbowman to pick up his cudgel. Before he followed Sears, he thrust his short-sword into the man’s chest and then ran to catch his friend up.
This ain’t right and I knew it. Well flay me, but I’m swearing on all the gods above and below that we’ll find the bastards that caused all this and when I’m through with ’em, they’ll wish they’d never started whatever it is they’ve started.
Chapter 15: Marble and Gold
The room was dark as pitch. It felt like Fal’s eyes were closed tight, although he knew they weren’t. He’d felt a draft as the halberdiers opened the door and ushered him and the rest of the group inside, indicating a large space beyond. As soon as he’d turned to walk through the opening, his vision had gone. They now stood at one end of a large hall; Fal could feel a large open space, and although it didn’t make sense to him, he felt crushed by that unseen void.
Gods, my eyes… is it just me? Fal thought, and then he jumped as a familiar voice whispered just behind him.
‘A simple shrouding spell,’ Severun explained. ‘It shrouds the immediate area in darkness, but allows the caster and anyone else outside the shroud to see within. We are being observed by the King and his advisers.’
No one responded. The realisation the King was watching them stole any thoughts from their minds. They stood, motionless in the dark, awaiting the sound of their ruler’s voice.
‘It is quite a strong shroud, but not unbreakable,’ the wizard continued. ‘In fact, I imagine it has been cast by one of my own magicians, Ward Strickland, a highly respected member of the guild, hence his position in the King’s court.’ Severun’s voice was growing slightly louder and he received a short sharp prod at waist height encouraging him to keep quiet.
‘Lord Severun,’ an amplified voice boomed from ahead of the group. It echoed off what could only be a high ceiling.
‘Yes, Lord Strickland, it is I, as you can very well see. Greetings to you, and to you Your Highness.’ Although none of Severun’s companions could see it, he bowed deeply as he greeted Ward Strickland and the King. ‘Bow,’ he said under his breath, just loud enough for the others to hear. They obeyed, albeit awkwardly.
It was Ward Strickland, the magician and advisor to the King who addressed the group once again. ‘I apologise for the shroud I have cast, my lord Severun, but it has been requested due to certain allegations brought to the King’s attention. It is… as you well know, a matter of precaution and in no way meant as an insult to you or your companions.’
‘Of course, we understand the necessary precautions,’ Severun said. ‘But I wish to declare we mean no harm and have indeed travelled to the palace to seek an audience with His Royal Highness regarding, I can only conclude, the same situation that has already been brought to his attention. I beg, however, that you first declare the allegations and allow us to present our defence.’ Severun spoke humbly and bowed again, not wishing to seem arrogant in front of, not so much the King, whom he knew fairly well, but those surely present who held the King’s ear.
‘Lord Severun,’ – there was a slight intake of breath from more than one person in the group as they recognised the strong, commanding voice of King Barrison – ‘the allegations brought to my council are extremely severe. I do wish to hear your defence, but I am being urged to hear it whilst you are under the shroud created by Lord Strickland. This is the usual defensive measure I am advised to take when addressing potentially dangerous individuals or enemies, yet I do not,’ the King seemed to direct the last to someone by his side, ‘believe this necessary for the Grand Master of a royally aligned guild, especially one whom I have dealt with for many years. Lord Severun served my father faithfully, I remember as much from my youth, and I will not permit any more of this nonsense in my court. Lord Strickland, end the shroud immediately, this has gone far enough.’ King Barrison had sounded strong yet cautious at first, now he just sounded certain.
‘Sire, I must protest.’ Neither Lord Severun nor any of the group recognised the third voice, even when the speaker continued
. ‘We have proof Lord Severun has enacted arcane magic, therefore he must be treated—’ The third voice stopped suddenly. Severun imagined the King raising his hand to silence the advisor who'd spoken last.
‘Lord Strickland, the shroud if you please,’ Barrison asked once again.
‘Certainly, sire,’ the magician said, before mumbling what to most people in the room sounded like nonsense.
Everyone in the group blinked repeatedly as their eyes attempted to adjust to the brightness of their surroundings. Fal’s eyes watered as he rubbed at them with his fingers, trying to force the sensation of blindness away.
A great, oblong hall slowly fell into focus. The group stood at one end facing a raised platform of solid marble with wide marble steps leading up to it. King Barrison sat on an ornate, walnut throne with patterns of intricately inlaid silver and gold decorating the smooth surface of the dark wood. He sat with both hands on the throne’s arms, leaning forward slightly so his eyes could focus on the party stood at the far end of the hall. Along with his plain cream tunic and royal-blue hose, Barrison wore a simple iron crown, not the bejewelled golden crown he paraded about in during festivals and special events. The robust looking crown was half obscured by thick, grey hair, and his closely cropped and equally grey beard dressed his lined yet distinguished face and eyes well.
Eyes, Fal noticed, despite the distance, that were blue like a clear winter sky… blue and kind. Barrison looked serious, commanding and almost fearsome, yet his eyes showed a kindness his face could not betray, and Fal was thankful for that considering his current situation.
Current situation… and what’s that Fal, you fool? Bringing possible traitors to your King or handing yourself over to him after releasing a deadly plague… and if the latter, well, I’m glad I saw those compassionate eyes, for they may just be my saviour.
…Saviour? Do I even deserve to be saved? I’m still not sure of that myself.
The group continued to blink as they took in their surroundings. Both Severun and Orix had seen the chamber before, yet they both followed the movements of their companions as they looked from the raised platform in front of them to the grand stained-glass windows running down both sides of the hall. Great twisting pillars of a rich marble sprouted from the floor to rise up and support the ceiling high above their heads; an impressive display with vines of pure gold cascading out from the centre, to twist and turn, finally wrapping themselves around the tops of the supportive pillars.
