by Mark Robson
‘Don’t worry. Reynik won’t be long now. It will all be fine. Relax. Try to stay calm.’
Femke sat up, taking her head off Danar’s chest. Though it caused her extreme anguish to look at him, she began stroking his face and hair with her hands to let him feel that she was still there. He looked so bewildered now, like a lost little boy in a strange world.
‘I love you,’ he said plaintively. ‘Even if I can’t see you, I still love you.’
‘Shh. I’m still here. I love you too.’
Femke’s voice cracked as she said the words. As she spoke, Danar’s body began to spasm and shake. There was nothing she could do but stroke him soothingly and wait for the end. Thankfully, she did not have to wait much longer. One moment Danar was shaking violently, the next he was still and lifeless. He was gone.
Silently weeping, Femke closed Danar’s eyelids and continued to gently stroke his hair for a while. When Reynik returned a little while later, he found her still kneeling on the floor at Danar’s side with her head on his tear-soaked chest. Reynik was not prone to deep emotional reactions, but when he saw them, he found he had to fight to hold back tears. The scene was one that Reynik would never forget. He felt helpless. The best he could do was to place a consoling hand upon Femke’s shoulder and squeeze gently.
Femke placed her hand on his and squeezed back.
‘This is my fault,’ she said quietly. ‘I should never have let Danar be the target. My arrogance allowed me to believe I was good enough to keep him alive despite his lack of training.’
‘Laying blame and feeling guilty will help no one now, Femke. Shalidar is one of the best assassins around. He must be to have worked within the Imperial Palace the way he has. There are never guarantees when you mess with killers like him. You did your best for Danar and I’m sure he didn’t blame you for what happened. He was given the choice. He didn’t have to stand in the line of fire. He knew what he was doing.’
‘Yes, but he was doing it to impress me. He didn’t need to do it. He wasn’t trained as a spy or a killer. He was a stupid, damned romantic’
‘A romantic, yes, but stupid? No, I don’t think Danar was stupid. He was brave and tenacious, but not a fool. He was a good man, Femke. Don’t colour your memories of him with such thoughts. It isn’t right.’
After a few moments Femke lifted her head and got to her feet. To Reynik’s surprise, though her face was tear-stained and ravaged by grief, there were no fresh tears brewing. Instead, there was a fire deep within her eyes that he would have defied any man to see and not feel fear.
‘Shalidar has killed for the last time,’ she said simply.
Reynik nodded. There was little point in arguing, or trying to talk her out of anything. All he could hope was to try to prevent her from doing anything rash.
‘What are you thinking? Are we going to continue with the original plan?’ he asked. ‘There’s no reason not to, you know.’
‘Actually, we are going to need to change our thinking,’ Femke replied. ‘The plan will need to be adjusted, but the amendments will be minor. The basic principles can remain the same.’
‘What’s changed?’
‘Not what, but who,’ Femke said, her voice grim. ‘Shalidar’s not our killer.’
‘What! But Danar—’
‘Was killed by Shalidar, yes,’ Femke interrupted. ‘However, Shalidar did not kill Anton or Dreban.’
‘But everything pointed at him! If it wasn’t Shalidar, then who was it?’
Femke told him and Reynik’s eyes went wide with shock.
‘You’re sure?’ he asked incredulously. ‘The Emperor is due here any time in the next couple of days. If you’re wrong, or the plan doesn’t work, there’ll be no way out for you.’
‘As sure as I can be. There’s only one way to find out . . .’
‘And that relies both on King Malo being willing to cooperate and the killer falling into the trap. There are still a lot of variables and a lot of things could go wrong, Femke. How are we going to cover both of them? I assume we’re still going after Shalidar?’
‘Oh, yes! Nothing will please me more than to nail him to the Courtroom wall. Let someone try to stop me . . .’
‘Let’s run through the plan again,’ Reynik suggested. ‘I don’t mean any disrespect to Danar, but we need to go over this carefully before his death becomes public knowledge. The King may wish to talk with him again at any time. We need to be prepared.’
‘I know,’ Femke sighed sadly. ‘From the top then . . .’
King Malo returned to his study from his walk in the Palace grounds and immediately called for Krider. When the old man arrived, Malo asked him to bring Lord Danar’s servant boy to see him at the first opportunity.
‘Try to bring him without Lord Danar’s knowledge if you can. I’m sure the Shandese Ambassador will not be impressed to find I’ve questioned his young servant alone without advising him, but that’s my problem. I think the boy may hold the key to these murders. I’ll need some uninterrupted time with him to see if my hunch is correct.’
‘Very well, your Majesty, I’ll see to it,’ Krider replied. ‘Will there be anything else, your Majesty?’
‘No thank you, Krider. I trust your discretion in this matter. Please pass word around the house staff that if anyone has seen anything unusual over the last few weeks, I want to hear of it. The murders of Anton and Dreban, together with the other unusual events, must be linked to some common goal. The Emperor of Shandar is due to arrive imminently. I must piece this together, or Thrandor’s future relationship with Shandar could be irreparably harmed.’
‘I understand, your Majesty. Leave it to me.’
The old man bowed stiffly before withdrawing. Malo smiled fondly as the door closed behind the head of the Royal house staff. Krider had been serving in the Palace since long before Malo had ascended to the throne. Between them, Krider and Veldan, the Chief Butler, had ensured the smooth running of the Palace for decades. Malo reflected that the two old men were likely to be feeling the strain of the last few weeks almost as much as he was, but to their credit, there was no sign of stress in their appearance. They were as steady and dependable as ever.
Malo did not want to think what the Palace would be like if they retired, but he suspected they never would. The two men had always been competitive about the amount of service they and their families had given the Royal Family. Malo suspected neither of them would bow out before the other, so they were likely to continue to work until they could no longer stand.
Efficient though Krider was, Malo was surprised when there was a knock on the door only twenty minutes later and the young Shandese servant boy was ushered inside. To Malo’s further surprise, the lad did not look nervous in the slightest at being left alone in the presence of the King. Either the young man had spent a lot of time in the company of Royalty, or there was more to him than met the eye.
King Malo studied the young man’s face for a moment before speaking. There was something unusual about him. Unfortunately, as with so many things recently, a fog clouded the King’s perception so that he failed to distinguish what it was.
‘Welcome, young man,’ he started, putting as much warmth into his voice as he could. ‘Please take a seat. I’m sorry to bring you here on your own like this, but I need to ask you some important questions.’
‘I understand, your Majesty,’ Femke replied, bowing reverentially and then moving over to sit in one of the comfortable seats at the side of the room. ‘There have been a lot of dark deeds done in your Palace over the last few weeks and I’m sure you want to know who did them and why.’
‘Exactly! I couldn’t have put it more succinctly myself. You’re a perceptive young fellow. Forgive me, but Krider neglected to announce you and I don’t know your name.’
Femke looked at the King and smiled. ‘Actually, your Majesty, you know my name better than you think. It is I who should apologise to you, not the other way around.’
Malo’s eye
s narrowed as he studied the young man’s face suspiciously. It took a moment, but then it was as if scales fell from the King’s eyes and he gasped as he realised the true identity of the servant.
‘Ambassador Femke! But that’s impossible!’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lord Kempten faced the packed Imperial Court, took a deep breath and began to speak.
‘Lords and Ladies of Shandrim, as Regent I feel it’s my duty to make a report to you on the initial activities of our new Emperor and other matters which gravely effect the future of the Empire. This report will shock and dismay some of you today, but what I have discovered cannot remain hidden . . .’
Several of the older Lords began to smile smugly, and none more so than Veryan. Kempten had bowed to pressure. A public condemnation of the new Emperor in the Imperial Court was precisely what was needed to spark the revolution Veryan felt was inevitable. With the Lords united against Surabar, the pretender would be forced to lay down the Mantle. Control of Shandar would then return to the Noble Houses and normality would be restored.
And not before time, Veryan mused. Surabar should never have had the chance to snatch the Mantle in the first place. If it hadn’t been for the presence of the Legions, the other Lords would have shown more backbone and driven the General out of the Palace on the day Vallaine was exposed. It’s taken Kempten long enough to realise where his loyalties lie.
Two minutes later, Veryan’s smile was gone. Soldiers marched in through the doors of the Court to arrest Veryan, along with the other four rebel Lords, and hold them on charges of treason pending the Emperor’s return. Veryan did not go quietly. He hurled abuse and threats at Kempten all the way to the door, but holding his proud stance in the speaker’s podium, Lord Kempten did not rise to any of it. With his initial point made, Kempten relaxed. The Court had not exploded into chaos at the sight of the arrests, so he felt confident they would give audience to what he had to tell them.
From a balcony high on the wall of the huge Courtroom, Lady Kempten watched with pride as her husband began his address.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you what I’ve learned of Emperor Surabar . . .’
‘Mantor, Imperial Majesty. Quite something, isn’t it?’
Surabar looked across the valley at the city upon the hill and could not help but be impressed. Whoever had chosen the site had possessed a keen appreciation of beauty. The tiered capital with its golden-yellow walls gleaming in the sunlight made a picturesque sight, though its designer had clearly considered the defensive qualities of the position as well. For centuries Mantor had stood untouched by assault. Intelligence on recent conflicts suggested that those shimmering walls had withstood an assault by an overwhelming force of Terachite nomads. Looking across the valley, the Emperor did not find that difficult to believe.
As a general, Surabar could well appreciate the defensive advantages of such a hilltop city. Shandar’s capital, Shandrim, had no such advantages. It was no more than a few months ago that Surabar had considered in detail what sort of force it would take to sack his home city. It was an interesting exercise in military planning and strategy, and Surabar had always possessed a keen interest in such things. Thinking back on his conclusions was depressing. If he were faced with a choice of cities to defend, he would take Mantor over Shandrim without hesitation.
Rumour and conjecture also abounded about the Shandese invasion force that had entered Thrandor. This force was also sent with a view to taking Mantor, but it was said the Legions never came close to the Thrandorian capital. The rumours Surabar had heard from Shandar’s troops spoke of a Sorcerer’s deception. It was said they were fooled into attacking a city named Kortag many leagues to the south. Surabar had hoped Femke would discover the true fate of that army, but unless she was cleared of her involvement in the murders at the Palace he would be forced to look to other sources. He hoped to discover the truth soon.
‘It’s an impressive sight,’ Surabar agreed. ‘Come, let’s go and meet the ruler of this land and see if I can restore a neighbourly relationship with him.’
The ride down into the valley and back up to the gates of Mantor did not take long. Surabar rode in silence the whole way, soaking up the detail, his head in constant motion as he assessed and reassessed how he would mount a campaign against such a place. Not all of his thoughts were on military strategy. He also noted the huge amount of effort being expended in rebuilding a large settlement in the base of the valley. Many buildings had been destroyed by fire, presumably torched by the Terachite nomads during their assault the previous year.
A huge amount of rebuilding had been completed during the intervening months, but Surabar wondered why there appeared no effort to make the new buildings more defendable than the previous ones. The King of Thrandor obviously did not expect any more ravening armies at his door in the immediate future, though he would have done better to look further ahead and build less vulnerable houses for the next generations.
But who am I to mock the wisdom of the King of Thrandor? Surabar thought wryly as he considered his observations. I’ve been Emperor little more than a month and here I am questioning the actions of someone who has been King of his country for decades. Then again, I’ve been Commander of a Legion for as long as Malo has ruled here. I don’t know much about diplomacy, or the welfare of a nation, but I do know about defences and about military matters in general. If I were King of this country, I would not bow to public pressure on this issue. He’s wasting resources for the sake of sentimentality by rebuilding there.
As Surabar’s party approached, the huge city gates split open and a substantial number of mounted Thrandorian soldiers rode out to meet them. The Thrandorian cavalry wheeled with impressive speed and within a minute were lined up in a defensive formation in front of the gates. Emperor Surabar raised his hand and his group of two-dozen riders halted, deliberately maintaining their travelling column formation to avoid unnecessary confrontation.
A single rider dressed in the black and silver uniform of the Thrandorian Royal Guard rode out to meet the column. The guard’s horse pranced forwards with proud steps to halt a few yards in front of the Emperor. The soldier wore the knots of a captain on his shoulder. Surabar smiled as he noted the Captain’s wary expression.
‘His Majesty, the King of Thrandor, sends greetings to Surabar, Emperor of Shandar. Your Imperial Majesty, you and your men are welcome to ascend to the Palace, but due to recent events the King insists that you are escorted through the city. A certain amount of racial hostility has built within Mantor. King Malo does not want to allow matters between our nations to worsen through lack of simple precautions against potential troublemakers.’
‘Your King is most wise,’ Surabar replied. ‘We will be honoured by your escort, Captain. Lead on.’
The Captain bowed in his saddle and turned to lead the way into the city. Surabar gave the signal to the Shandese party to follow. Once again the Thrandorian cavalry reacted to the approaching column with precision and discipline, first forming a front guard and then falling in alongside and behind the visitors in a fine display of organised riding.
If they fight as well as they drill, then it is no wonder the Legions found them a formidable enemy, Surabar reflected as he passed under the arch of the gateway and into Mantor. The big questions that remain are: what sort of reception awaits at the Palace; and what has happened to Femke, Danar and the others?
As he passed into the city, the Emperor could not help feeling like a rabbit walking into a fox’s den.
Reynik, together with Kalheen, Phagen and Sidis arrived at the Royal Court under escort and were taken to seats on the front row. The guards who accompanied them in took up post nearby. Whether this was to guard them as hostiles or to protect them was not obvious. Either way the King’s personal protection force was adopting a vigilant stance. Reynik was tense. So many things could go wrong here. The plan Femke had concocted was risky in the extreme, but they had been left with few options.
The King’s throne had been shifted sideways today, and a second throne, equally as magnificent, if slightly less raised, had been erected to the right of King Malo’s. This was a sight that had not been seen in Thrandor in living memory.
As people filed in and shuffled to their seats, Reynik scanned the faces carefully. The Courtroom had been half full before he arrived, so Shalidar could be anywhere. At the same time, he made an assessment of the disposition of the guards and the various avenues of escape from the Royal Court. There were more potential exit points than he cared for. He could not cover them all – particularly as the escort guards were likely to delay him if he tried to move. However, the positioning of the guards brought some comfort.
Reynik and Femke had already checked the windows on both sides of the Court. The ones to the left-hand side opened above a clear drop of some twenty feet or more. The windows to the right, however, opened above the lower rooftops of another part of the Palace and provided a potential escape route for anyone trying to leave the Court in a hurry.
Reynik was pleased to see several Royal Guards positioned by the windows on the right-hand side, but was not overly confident in their abilities. It was unfortunate that unseasonably warm weather necessitated all of the upper windows to be kept wide open. He knew what Shalidar was capable of and he knew the skill levels of the average guards. If pressed, the assassin would cut through them like a scythe on harvest day. Guards were better than no guards, but Reynik would have given much to have a few Imperial Legionnaires, or spies, in strategic positions. If only Ennas had managed to escape, he thought wistfully. One more really capable ally would have made a huge difference.
