by Greg Curtis
Dariya didn't even remember shooting him. But she knew as she watched the smoke puffing out from the end of the barrel of her pistol and the blood starting to gush out of the man's neck, that she had. Her fellow riders had been quick to do the same.
The battle didn't last long. The inquisitor and his soldiers were all down on the floor in a matter of heartbeats. But then they shouldn't have brought rifles to a gunfight. Not when there were a dozen riders there with pistols already in their hands. They'd scarcely got any shots off, and most of their bullets were in the ceiling or the floor.
After the shock and disbelief had worn off, Dariya walked over to the fallen men, checking to see who still breathed. The Inquisitor was one of them. He had a couple of bullets in his gut, but with help he might survive. Dariya however had no intention of providing him with that help.
“Why?” She stood directly over him and pointed her pistol straight at his head, while he lay there, moaning.
“Had to. King's orders.” He gasped out, his skin a ghastly pale yellow in the light. “You were to die and your Order with you.”
Dariya didn't ask what he meant. She didn't need to. She could see a rolled up piece of paper in his jacket pocket that she guessed were his orders. So instead she pulled it out and started reading. And it said almost exactly what the Inquisitor had told her. It was a warrant for her execution – with absolutely no charges listed against her – and with it a Royal command that the Order of Friends of the Golden Concord be dissolved and the riders be executed for treason.
She stood there for a moment with the document in her hands before finally handing it to the Master to read as she should have done right from the start. And while they did that, she stood there and tried to make sense of what was happening. There were so many strange stories coming from the nearby city of Helmsford. So many bizarre decrees coming from the King. Mostly about the restrictions being placed on those with magic. But now this? Even in a world where nothing seemed to make much sense any more, this was crazy.
“Why?” She returned to her basic question as she stood over the Inquisitor with her weapon aimed at his head.
“The circlet,” he wheezed at her. “If you're dead it doesn't matter. But no witnesses.”
The damned circlet again? That she really didn't understand. She didn't remember ever seeing her mother wearing one. And how could it matter so much that not only would an Inquisitor hire someone to murder her at the King's command, but that the King would also have the Order of Friends of the Golden Concord dissolved and its members executed?
Why try to kill her now? After all these years? Surely he could have done it long ago? It didn't make sense. Except that she suddenly realised he might not have known where she was then. Not until she had written her report of her uncle's raid on the Hallows and Inquisitors had been set on her tail.
But even if that was so, why had the Inquisitor even hired an assassin? Why not simply have her executed? Unless of course he knew his orders weren't lawful and wanted to keep his hands looking clean.
But asking the man anything more became pointless. His head had rolled to one side and he was beyond the point of answering questions. She could still see his chest still moving in and out as he breathed, but the breathing was shallow. He would be dead soon. And as her would be killer sat there in his chair and stared at the bodies, she could see that the hope had died in his eyes too. He knew his fate.
“This command is invalid.” Master Thyman finally announced as the silence filled the room. “The Order of the Friends of the Golden Concord wasn't created by a King. It was created by the then King of Grenland and the rulers of G'lorenvale together. It can only be dissolved by both of them, together. As long as the Golden Concord stands, we stand.”
“What orders?” Dariya walked over to him, took the orders from his hand, and then headed to the fire where she tossed them in. Even though the fire had died down to only embers, the document quickly turned black and began burning.
“I didn't see any orders. No one did. The Inquisitor never arrived. I was tragically murdered by our assassin here. And the Order simply carries on as it has done for six hundred years.” It was the only thing to do she realised. If she was dead, then whatever this was about, ended with her. The King surely wouldn't issue a second set of illegal commands to dissolve the Order when he didn't know what had happened to the first ones – or to his Inquisitor. Especially not when she was already dead at the hands of an unknown and soon to be hung assassin. If killing her had been her cousin's true intent there was nothing to gain by it.
But as she helped the others with the bodies, dragging them out of the hall and down into the catacombs beneath the building where they could slowly turn to dust, she felt as if she had been broken. First her mother, now this?! No longer able to work as a Friend?! It was too much. Her life was once more being torn apart. And she didn't know why. All she knew was that every time she found a home, it was taken away from her.
Still, it had to be done, and just before day break she rode away from the Order for the last time.
The sight of the outpost behind her, almost brought a tear to her eye. But though the loss of what had come to be her home for many years weighed on her soul, at least she knew that she had done the best she could. She had protected her friends. Her family in truth.
From here on her purpose would be to find out why the King had tried to murder her. And what in all the hells this damned circlet had to do with anything. Who knew, perhaps she would be lucky and find it. And it occurred to her as she rode away, that she knew a wizard with a printing press that could print any book in the world. Or any written orders, the King might have given. That would be a good place to start.
Chapter Twenty Two
Greenfields was a magnificent looking city, Baen thought as he crested the hill overlooking it. So much so that he pulled the wheeler over to the side of the road and paused to admire the view.
Maybe it was worth an entire day in the saddle to see it, he thought. All those towers and spires dotted among the smaller buildings standing proud, gleaming in the afternoon sun. The rings of fortifications surrounding the city, white stone walls covered with terracotta tile roofs so that guards could stay dry as they walked them were also a thing of beauty. Then there was the massive cathedral to the Lady sitting just to the east of the city centre. A truly magnificent structure of graceful marble arches piled one on top of another until the entire structure seemed to reach to the heavens. And of course there was the Castle to the other side. Castle Gren – a far more dour construction he thought – was still magnificent for all its brutal strength. And behind the city Baen could see the various ships and sailing vessels dotting the harbour like sheep in a field of blue.
Being the home of the King there were of course flags flying everywhere. Hanging down from the walls of the fortifications. Flying from poles above the towers and spires. Painted on the walls of the castle. From one side of the city to the other he could see the rampant tiger emblazoned in gold Everywhere. Painted on walls or simply fluttering in the breeze. In fact there were so many of them that Baen briefly entertained the rather disrespectful thought that the King might be trying to make up for something he lacked. But then, he had good reason to be angry with the King these days.
The city wasn't just big, he decided as he stared at it. It was grand. Other cities in the realm were as large or even larger than Greenfields. Some were prettier. A few were wealthier. But none were quite so grand. Baen had no doubt that it was meant to make its people feel proud. Patriotic perhaps. Certainly it had made him feel proud – once.
It was a shame therefore that Baen intended to take away a little of that pride. But it had to be done. This war the King had begun against those with magic had to end. King Richmond had to be humbled. Besides, ever since the King had become so murderous toward his kind, Baen hadn't felt either particularly proud or patriotic.
He quickly checked that his amulet was still in place hanging arou
nd his neck, then pushed the lever that engaged the drive wheel and headed off down the gentle slope to the city.
Though he was tired after having left Cedar Heights just before dawn had broken, he was suddenly wide awake. This was where his plan would either succeed or fail. It was also where – if things went wrong – he would likely die.
But things shouldn't go wrong, he reminded himself again. He was prepared for anything. At least he hoped he was.
Still, his mouth was parchment dry as he approached the first check point in the outer wall and saw a full score of city guards in the gold and red, waiting for him. More soldiers were stationed in a tethered balloon above the check point, ready to rain down bullets on anyone who tried to break through. He might have got through if he'd pushed the throttle all the way, but he couldn't be sure. But then, that wasn't his plan. Baen slowed to a crawl as was expected of any visitor and let the captain of the troop approach him and notice his amulet. It was prominently displayed for a reason.
A moment later the man waved him through with a grunt and Baen sped up, relieved beyond measure.
Baen smiled as he drove away. The amulet had done its job! It cast a magic of insignificance that told any person staring at him that he was of no importance. Not someone they needed to waste their time thinking about.
He carried on down the main street of the city, to the next check point and then to the ones after that, and at each stop he was waved through almost immediately. And each time it happened it filled him with more confidence. Because his entire plan depended on the enchantment. And whether the pigeons really could be directed by his magic. That he didn't actually know. He'd found the enchantment in a book after a long search, but never used it before.
Half a dozen check points later he found himself in the inner city, where he knew his destination lay. Not the castle, though he realised that the magic of the amulet would likely have let him enter it if he'd wanted to. It might even have let him go further, enter the castle's private chambers, and stick a knife in the King's belly. Others would surely have wanted to do just that. He had entertained the thought himself. But he doubted he would have succeeded when the King was surrounded by an entire army of suspicious bodyguards, and he would almost certainly have been killed in the attempt. Thankfully he didn't need to do that. He had a different and hopefully more effective plan. One that would actually wound the King far more greatly. So instead he veered left instead of continuing on to the castle, heading for the Royal Barracks.
They were much like any others he'd seen. A few large halls for accommodation surrounding a courtyard where the soldiers drilled. And at the back of it lay the office block where the senior guardsmen and administrators could be found. That was his destination.
Baen rode around the courtyard and parked the wheeler in front of the office block. He knew it was considered poor form to cross it unless he was training on it which was why he went around the courtyard. But he could have crossed it. The amulet meant he wouldn't have been noticed – or more correctly that he might have been noticed but then immediately forgotten. But why take chances?
No one commented on the fact that he was out of uniform. That instead of the red and gold he was wearing a long black coat and a wide brimmed hat. Civilian attire and not even that of those who were well to do. They didn't even notice the fact that he had a long metal staff on his back. They just saw the amulet and simply forgot about him. He was nobody. Though that did have its cost. The guards at the doors didn't open them for him. He had to pull them open for himself.
Once inside the office block he walked down the wide hallway, his boots making thumping sounds on the hard wooden floor. But there were several soldiers walking down the hallway, and the sound of his footsteps were much the same as theirs. He didn't draw any attention.
Half way down the hallway he found the stairs and walked up them, heading for the roof four stories up. As he climbed Baen felt his heart beating rather uncomfortably in his chest. He was after all, in the heart of the King's territory, surrounded by soldiers and heading directly for what should be the most secure part of the realm. But of course, it wasn't secure at all. Even without the amulet, few of those around him would have paid him any attention. They would have simply assumed he was where he was supposed to be. This was a military barracks after all. No one expected an enemy to simply walk up to it! No one expected it to be attacked! Most of the soldiers on watch looked bored.
Baen stepped out on the roof, where the King’s pigeons were kept, to find only a soldier, a boy and an old man playing lookout. It made him smile. Security, he thought! They had absolutely no idea how vital this place was! But then as far as most people thought this roost did nothing but convey the King's orders. It didn't make them. Baen gestured with his fingers and had all three of them collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
It was risky and he didn't like doing it. When they woke up they might remember him. Or at least that they'd been unconscious. But it had to be done. He needed to spend time up here and even his amulet wouldn’t have worked had he stayed up there too long. Especially if he started doing things that caught their attention. Instead he had to rely on old fashioned cunning. Baen grabbed them one by one and dragged them away to separate places where they could sleep more comfortably. When they woke and discovered where they were, they would undoubtedly be confused. But they would simply assume they'd just fallen asleep in the afternoon sunshine. Naturally they wouldn't tell anyone. They weren't paid enough to admit that they'd been sleeping on duty.
Soon he had the old man sleeping at the table in the middle of the roof, the boy snoring gently on a chair by the shed, and the single soldier in uniform napping on a bench on the far side of the roof. After that he could begin work while the only ones who even knew he was there were the pigeons in their cages. And they didn't care. They just sat on their perches in their cages and cooed away contentedly.
This was almost too easy he thought to himself as he began marking the wards in the roof. In fact, it was almost as if the King wanted him to sabotage his rule. Though of course he knew he didn't. It was simply that the King, like every other King before him had never considered that his decrees and commands could simply be rewritten. That someone could simply intercept them and change them. Someone with a roof garden and a magic printing press.
Baen hadn't thought that either. Not until after endless days of frustration as he tried to think of a solution to his problems, it had occurred to him that that was exactly what he needed to do. Chane his orders. He couldn't persuade the King to change what he was doing. Killing him, even if he could do that, wouldn't undo what King Richmond had already done. This was the only answer.
Of course, pride as they said, went before a fall. And over-confidence it seemed came before an even bigger tumble. He discovered that in the same moment he heard the door to the roof creak as it was pushed open.
“What the –.” A soldier stood there, staring at him as he worked on the wards. And then he grabbed for his rifle.
Baen dropped him where he stood, and then stopped for a moment to let his heart start beating again. And as he did so he cursed himself for his stupidity. He should have locked that damned door!
Now he had a new problem. The man was going to remember him! The amulet could only do so much. It had already failed because the soldier had seen him doing something that wasn't normal. And when he woke up he would remember seeing him use his magic on him. He would remember reaching for his rifle. This was a disaster!
But then Baen saw the half drunk bottle of wine sitting on the ground by the table and a plan came to him. He ran for it, then for the soldier and quickly started pouring the wine down his throat as he slept. It wasn't easy, the man kept choking and threatening to wake up, but he kept at it, and soon all of it was gone. With a little luck the man would wake up drunk.
After that he grabbed the soldier's rifle and smashed him over the head with it, hard enough to leave a good sized bruise and a headache. Then i
t was just a matter of tearing a few of his buttons and messing up his uniform, before dragging him back inside the building and depositing his unconscious form on the stairs.
He was painting a picture, either for the soldier himself or whoever found him. A picture of a drunk soldier on duty who had taken a tumble on the stairs. And hopefully whoever saw it would believe it.
It should work, he thought as he laid the man's rifle out below him on the stairs so it looked as though he'd dropped it in his fall. But damn it all, it should never have happened! He should have locked that damned door!” And this time when he finally made it back to the roof, he did.
Then he returned to his painting, hoping desperately that there would be no more problems. There were still things that could go wrong with his plan. Some that would absolutely go wrong in time. For a start the King also used a system of messengers to carry his communications. And there was nothing that he could do about that. But it would take time before King Richmond realised his messages were being changed. And then identifying that it was only the messages sent by pigeon that had been rewritten would take longer again. By the time that happened Baen planned to have the entire realm in an uproar.
