The bearded man smiled sarcastically. 'And supposing I were to tell you, Captain Drummel, that we knew all about the ambush – and about the king's plans for the princess. Supposing I told you that each of us was paid handsomely to pretend we saw nothing? What would you say then?'
Cornelius's eyes widened in realization. An expression of disgust came to his face. 'I would say that the Crimson Cloak is a mockery,' he snarled. 'And that I no longer have any wish to be a member.'
'What if we offered you the same arrangement?' said a second man. 'You would be rich beyond your wildest dreams.'
'But I would have no honour,' Cornelius told him. 'And my life would be as worthless as yours.'
The bearded man laughed. 'Oh, come now, Captain Drummel, you cannot hope to make a stand against us. We are the finest warriors in the land. We will cut you down like chaff.'
Cornelius bowed from the waist. 'Gentlemen, you are most welcome to try,' he said.
Sebastian started forward to stand beside Cornelius, but the little warrior motioned him back.
'This is serious stuff, young friend,' he said. 'No offence, but I don't want you to get in my way'
'Cornelius—'
'No. I tell you, stand back!'
Sebastian shrugged and reluctantly retreated a few steps. There was a long silence while the men appraised each other. Then the bearded man stepped forward, his sword raised. Cornelius waited, his expression calm. The man launched an attack, and once again Cornelius performed that lazy, almost imperceptible flick of the wrist. His opponent took a couple more steps forward, his eyes staring straight ahead, a bright pool of blood blossoming on his chest. Then he missed his step and went tumbling down the staircase.
The other members of the bodyguard exchanged looks of disbelief. Then, as one, they charged towards Cornelius. For an instant he was lost to sight, buried amidst a scrum of struggling bodies; but then he broke free and somersaulted upwards, away from the melee, to land gracefully on the stone balustrade alongside his opponents. His sword performed a couple of deadly thrusts and two more men fell dead on the stairs.
'And now, gentlemen,' he said, 'I think it's time you were introduced to the Golmiran death roll.'
He threw back his head and bellowed at the top of his lungs. Then he launched himself upward, spinning around until his body was a blur, somersaulting across the staircase to the far balustrade, and as he passed overhead, his sword zipped around in a deadly arc, cleaving the helmets of three more opponents and dropping them in their tracks. Sebastian had to press back to one side as the bodies went tobogganing past him down the steep slope to join their comrades.
Cornelius came out of the spin and landed on the far balustrade, laughing like a maniac.
The remaining five bodyguards were beginning to get the message. They faltered, backed away and ran past him down the stairs, abandoning their weapons as they did so. As Sebastian watched, they clambered over the bodies of their fallen comrades and went out through the gap in the smashed doorway. He heard their feet racing away across the courtyard. He turned back to his friend.
'Cornelius, you were—'
He broke off in horror as he saw the little warrior crumple and fall from the balustrade onto the staircase. Sebastian hurried to him and kneeled beside his sprawled body, turning him onto his back. He saw the bright splash of fresh blood oozing through the torn chain mail at his stomach.
'Someone . . . must have . . . caught me a lucky blow,' observed Cornelius through gritted teeth. 'Shadlog's breath!' He tried to struggle up but sank back with a groan. The death leap had completely exhausted him.
'I'll go for help,' Sebastian told him.
'No . . .' Cornelius gestured towards the door of the king's chambers. 'Don't waste time. Get . . . Septimus. It's . . . up to you now.' He gave a little shudder and his body went limp.
'Cornelius!' Sebastian put an ear against the little warrior's mouth and heard breathing, but it was slow and shallow. He didn't dare hesitate any longer. He got to his feet, his sword held ready, and strode across the landing to the door of the king's chamber. He paused for a moment, gathering his courage. Then he lifted a foot, kicked the door open and ran inside. At first glance the room looked empty. Then he heard a thud behind him and turned to see that King Septimus had been waiting behind the door. He had just slid a huge metal bolt into position, locking it. In his other hand he held a fear?some-looking curved sword.
'So,' he said. 'Alone at last. The jolly jester and I.' He raised his sword and slashed it around in the air, making a series of imaginary feints and jabs. 'Got any good jokes for me, have you?'
Sebastian shook his head. 'Not really the time or place,' he said.
'And how are you with that sword? Any good?'
Sebastian shrugged. 'I'm not so bad,' he said.
'Glad to hear it,' said King Septimus mockingly. 'I, on the other hand, am a champion. Three times winner of the Keladonian fencing tournament. I don't wish to blow my own trumpet, but I am considered unbeatable. And it's going to give me such joy to end your interfering little life.' He stepped forward, sword raised. 'Sometimes, it's the simple things that give the most pleasure, don't you think?'
Sebastian didn't have time to reply. The king came at him with brutal force, swinging the heavy blade straight at his head. He only just got his own sword up in time, and the impact of metal against metal struck sparks and sent shock waves along the length of his arm. King Septimus grunted, pulled the blade away and swung low at Sebastian's legs. He jumped, the razor-sharp blade cleaving the air inches below his feet; and in the same instant he threw out his left fist and punched the king full in the face.
King Septimus reeled back with an oath and lifted a hand to wipe at a smudge of blood on his lips. 'You cheated!' he said. 'You'll pay for that.'
'You were right,' Sebastian told him. 'It is the little things that give pleasure.'
King Septimus sneered but his face was dark with fury. 'Funny man,' he said. 'We'll see if you're still laughing in a few moments.'
He came at Sebastian again, driving the blade with such force that when Sebastian parried the blow, he stumbled backwards, tripped and went sprawling over a low wooden table. He hit the floor on the far side of it, aware that the king was still coming at him, lashing out with the sword. Desperately Sebastian grabbed a leg of the table and pulled it towards him, trying to use it as a shield. The king's blade hacked a chunk out of it inches from his head. Sebastian got his feet in behind the table and kicked hard, launching it off the ground towards his opponent.
Septimus stepped nimbly aside but it gave Sebastian time to get back to his feet. Now the two men circled each other, looking for an opening.
'You've been lucky so far,' observed Septimus calmly. 'But you can't evade me for ever. After all, I'm a king and you are nothing but a breed.'
'I know what I'd rather be,' Sebastian assured him. 'And by the way, you're no longer a king. Your reign ended the minute the people of Keladon turned against you. Whether you kill me or not, you'll still be finished here.'
'It will be a hollow victory for you,' King Septimus assured him. 'Trying to perform your pathetic act with no head.'
He had artfully backed Sebastian into a corner against a stout wooden door. Sebastian was about to edge away from it when Septimus leaped at him with a vicious flurry of blows, each more powerful than the last. Sebastian just managed to block them; but the final one knocked him back?wards again and the door behind him opened unexpectedly. He found himself in a narrow corridor with a spiral of stone steps leading upwards behind him. He just had time to register that this must be the famous tower of King Septimus; and then his adversary was upon him once again and he was forced to retreat, stumbling backwards up the staircase, blocking the endless succession of blows that were thrown at him.
In the subdued light, Septimus's eyes seemed to glow with some deranged fire. He was laughing as he attacked, driving Sebastian upward, higher and higher. Sebastian's arms ached and the sweat flow
ed from every pore of his body, but he could find nowhere on the smooth stone steps to make a stand; and then, a particularly vicious blow smashed the sword clean out of his hand. It went skittering away out of reach.
Septimus grinned, his eyes malevolent. 'Oh dear,' he said. 'Not looking too good, is it? Better start begging for mercy, Elf-man!' He came forward and Sebastian did the only thing he could do: he ran.
'Yes, run!' gloated Septimus, climbing the steps at his leisure. 'But there's nowhere to hide, Jester. Nowhere at all.'
A few turns round the spiral and Sebastian came to a painted wooden shield hanging on the wall. He reached up and tried to pull it down but it was securely mounted and he was horribly aware of Septimus getting closer. He made an almost super-human effort and the shield came down, pulling chunks of stone with it. He slid the shield onto his left arm and crouched low, pressing himself against the inside wall. As Septimus came round the spiral to face him, he leaped up and smashed Septimus in the chest with the shield, knocking him back several steps, but he didn't fall. He gathered himself and came right back at Sebastian, swinging the sword so hard that it hacked shards of wood from the shield. Sebastian reeled under the impact and once again began to reverse up the staircase. Passing by an arrow slit, he saw that the ground was already a long distance below them.
'Come on, Jester, this is making me weary,' complained Septimus. 'Give me a clear shot at that head of yours and we can end all this.'
'How about . . . you give me . . . the first shot?' gasped Sebastian. He was almost at the point of exhaustion now, the sweat raining from his face, and he didn't think he could go on much longer.
'No,' snarled Septimus. 'I asked first!'
He lifted his arm and struck downwards with such force that the shield split in two and Sebastian felt the razor-sharp blade slice deep into his shoulder. Galvanized by pain, he lashed a fist at his opponent's face, but Septimus ducked under it and retaliated with a punch of his own, which hit Sebastian full on the nose. He fell backwards and his shoulders crashed against wood. Something gave way behind him and he fell through another door and emerged into a sudden blaze of sunlight. A flight of birds, disturbed by his arrival, flapped noisily upwards into the clear blue sky. He lay there for a moment, staring up at them as they wheeled away, his head spinning. He realized that he had reached the very top of the tower. Septimus had been right. There was nowhere to hide.
With a supreme effort, Sebastian got back to his feet and stumbled the short distance to the parapet. He gazed over and saw a great crowd of people swarming far below. From this vantage point they looked like an army of insects. A great roar came drifting up as they caught sight of him, and he saw a tiny figure in a red dress come running out of the palace doors, her face turned upwards to look at him. He was going to shout out her name but a hand grabbed his injured shoulder, spinning him round and making him cry out with the pain of it.
Septimus punched him hard in the face. He almost went over the parapet, but the king grabbed him by the hair, twisted him back round and held the blade of the sword to his throat. He could feel the razor edge grazing flesh.
'Not so fast, Elf-man!' growled Septimus into his ear. 'Look down there. There she is, your beloved princess. I want her to see what happens to you. I want her to be the last thing you see as you die. Now . . . any final words?'
Sebastian's mind was reeling; but through the red mist that gathered at the edges of his consciousness, one last desperate idea came to him and he knew he had to try it.
'Just one thing . . .' he croaked. 'Something I've always wanted to know . . .'
'Yes?' whispered Septimus.
'Is it . . . is it a wig?'
Septimus jerked back, as though somebody had stabbed him. 'What are you talking about?' he hissed.
'Your hair . . . it looks too perfect to be real.'
'Of course it's real!' bellowed Septimus. 'Everyone knows it's real!'
'All right . . . if you say so.' And with that, Sebastian flung up a hand, grabbed a handful of hair and pulled hard. There was a terrible moment when the hair held fast, as though stuck securely in place – but then there was a ripping noise and it came off in one piece, revealing a king who was as bald as a boiled egg. From down below, sounds of laughter drifted up.
'Give that back!' roared Septimus, throwing his sword arm over his head and reaching for the wig with his free hand. 'Give it back, I say!'
Sebastian retreated along the parapet, holding the wig out like a lure. 'You want this?' he asked. 'You want it?' He leaned dangerously out over the parapet, holding it at arm's length. 'We'll send it down to the people, shall we?' he said. 'Then they'll all see!'
'No! No, give it to me!' Septimus was leaning over too, trying to reach for the wig, his fingers inches away from it. Then . . .
'Oops!' said Sebastian; and he let it fall.
'Nooooo!' Septimus made a last desperate grab for it, and in that same instant Sebastian ducked down, grabbed the king's legs and heaved him up and over the edge. Septimus teetered for a moment on the parapet, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to find a hold.
He gave one dismal squeal of terror. Then he slid forward and fell into empty air.
Sebastian watched as the king went twisting and turning downwards, his legs pumping madly as though he were trying to run. Below him the crowds of people scattered in all directions, not wanting to be flattened.
The wig, caught by the wind, didn't fall as quickly as the former king. He seemed to catch up with it moments before he hit the ground.
Sebastian snapped his gaze away at the last moment; and when he could bring himself to look again, the crowd had swarmed around the smashed body and it was lost from sight.
Wearily Sebastian staggered back through the open doorway and started down the staircase, slipping and sliding on the smooth steps, having to hold himself up with his un?injured arm. It seemed to take an age to get down to the
king's chambers. He could hear the sound of fists pounding on the door, but weak as he was from loss of blood, he had to struggle with the heavy bolt before he could get it open.
The door swung back revealing a crowd of shouting people on the landing. He had a glimpse of a beautiful face in among the others and he said her name and reached for her, but that was when unconsciousness claimed him. He fell forward into her arms and didn't even feel the many hands that lifted him gently and carried him back down the stairs to safety.
CHAPTER 33
TO BE A QUEEN
Sebastian waited impatiently outside the door of the queen's chambers. Three moons had passed since the final battle for Keladon and the palace was beginning to return to some semblance of normality. The shattered front doors had been repaired and Sebastian's arm had nearly finished healing. Cornelius too was well on his way to a full recovery. Sebastian had visited him in the hospital only that morning, and the little warrior had been full of energy and raring to get back into action. He had also mentioned that he had something to tell Sebastian; something that would have to wait until they could speak in private.
Over the past weeks, Sebastian had barely had a chance to speak to Queen Kerin. To begin with he had been in the hospital, unconscious and feverish. He had missed her triumphant coronation. True, she had visited him a couple of times later on and had thanked him profusely for his help. But the two of them were aware that their conversation could be overheard by patients in the surrounding beds, and there had been no opportunity to speak of what was in their hearts.
Now at last she had summoned him for a private audience. He felt nervous and slightly sick, which he knew was an indication that he was in love. But he did not really know what he was going to say to her. It had been difficult enough when she was a mere princess. But a queen? What did you say to a queen?
The door of the chambers opened and Malthus came out, looking well pleased with himself. Sebastian had not entirely approved when he heard that the skinny manservant had been appointed to the queen's staff. He remembered h
ow Malthus had refused to help him when he was locked in the cells and knew that he wouldn't have lifted a finger to fight for the princess's right to the throne. But he was a survivor, the kind of man who would switch his allegiance at a moment's notice. The rumour was that things were really looking up for him. He was actually receiving a wage these days.
Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools Page 27
