by Max Irons
“Does he deny a fight took place?” she asked.
“No,” Galeron said again.
“What is in question is who struck first and who set the fire.” Arlana twirled her hair around one finger. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but one of Bolthor’s associates is a fire-obsessed mage name Teuthras, right?”
Kolvein gave her a small nod.
“Your majesties, my lords, why are we here?” asked Arlana. “We cannot know what happened in the crypt, and we have just as much an explanation for the fire from Bolthor as we do from Lord Porter.”
“Why would Teuthras burn the crypt?” asked Kolvein.
“An excellent question,” she said. “Bolthor and his companions are sell-swords just like Galeron. They do nothing without coin. This brings me to my next question. What could they be trying to hide?”
“They are hiding nothing,” said Kolvein.
“Then why aren’t they here?”
Kolvein said nothing for a long while. Galeron glanced from Arlana, to Kolvein, and back to her. So, this was why Tulia sent for her. The queen was bound by law and the will of the king. Arlana, however, was only bound by formality and tradition, which she likely held as highly as her wine goblet. Useful when needed, ignored when not.
“At the moment, two of them are injured,” said Kolvein. “My suspicions remain, princess. I do not trust any of the poisonous words that come from your mouth.”
“I’m glad to see our feelings are mutual,” Arlana said. “Is that all?”
“We shall let the king decide,” he snarled.
Iven shot Galeron a panicked look. Galeron’s mouth tightened, and he shook his head. There wasn’t anything to do about it. King Balen still reigned, whether he was sound of mind or not.
“My liege, the Delktian brings rumor to your attention, nothing more,” said Tulia. “You see that there is nothing to support his claims.”
Kolvein chuckled. “The most dangerous enemies, great king, are those you count as friends. Lord Porter and this sell-sword he retains care nothing for the prosperity of Raya. How can you trust a man who lived as low as Iven Porter? He disgraced his house name and spurned his family’s honor. Why should this be a shocking event?”
Tulia put a hand on Balen’s brow. “Kolvein is a Delktian, my king. Do you not think he harbors ill-will towards you? He would like nothing more than to see Raya burn.”
“Have I not proven my loyalty over and over?” asked Kolvein. “Have I not told you of things, your majesty? Revealed secrets that none other could know? Why would I do this with one I call foe?”
Balen’s eyes shifted to look at Kolvein. He nodded.
“Husband.” Tulia took one of his large hands in both of hers. “Please. We can do nothing about the matter this night. With so little evidence, this is not a thing to ponder lightly. Sleep on it, and return to it on the morrow.”
Galeron fidgeted in place. Perhaps Tulia’s appeal would work. She knew him better than any. She could pierce the madness and make him see reason.
A tear slid from the queen’s face. “You were a wise king. Be so again. Wield justice and mercy with equal measure, as you once did.” She swallowed. “You are still the man I love.”
King Balen’s gaze locked with hers. He said nothing for a time, breathing loudly through his mouth. Then he swallowed and licked his lips.
“Thank you, my queen,” he whispered. “I will trust my wisdom.” Balen sat up a little straighter and nodded. “Yes, this is the best course of action.”
Galeron’s shoulders sank in relief. Tulia had done it.
“You can see the enemies in the walls, Kolvein,” King Balen said. “Do what you need to.”
Galeron blinked. What was happening? Why was the king siding with Kolvein?
Kolvein’s face split into a wide smile. “Thank you, my king. You will not regret it.” He turned to stare at Iven, malicious grin growing even bigger. “Lord Porter, owing to your severe lack of judgment and general incompetence, I hereby strip you of your rank and everything afforded to it. You I cast into exile. Collect your few possessions and leave, never to return to Raya again.”
Iven snarled. “You northern piece of—”
“As for your sisters,” he said. “Lord Pendegrast has told me they usurped authority not befitting them. For such arrogance, and to set an example for others…” He paused. “I think the headsman’s ax will suffice.”
Iven dove for Kolvein, but two legionaries caught him and held him fast. Galeron froze. They’d had Kolvein’s plan on edge, and now this?
“And for the paladin,” Kolvein said. “The dungeon will hold you for now. I’ll be down to extract the details of your plot, and we’ll see just how much pressure iron can take.” He waved his hand. “Off with them. His majesty needs his rest.”
Metal gauntlets closed around his upper arms, pulling him towards the door of the king’s chambers. Another legionary wrenched his sword from his belt. Galeron considered struggling, but he thought better of it. No good now. Best to save his strength. Iven still wrestled with the legionaries, tears streaming down his cheeks. Galeron swallowed the rising bile in the back of his throat.
“Be careful of your next step, Delktian,” Arlana said softly. “You never know when power might fail you.”
Failed. That was what he, Galeron, had done. He’d gotten Iven caught up in this, had brought trouble on his family. The legionaries dragged him out the doors, and they boomed shut, sealing him away from Iven and Arlana. How had things turned so fast?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
As dungeons went, Galeron supposed he could have been placed in a worse one. Rayans seemed obsessed with vaulted ceilings, so, naturally, even the dungeon had one. Small, semicircular windows in the far wall provided the first vestiges of daylight. There were no individual cells, like the prisons at Harracourt. A wide-open room with manacles bolted high to the walls at regular intervals formed the majority of the dungeon. A strange place, and relatively clean at that. Clearly this one was little used.
Lucky for me. At least there weren’t any rats. Then again, how often were nobles thrown in a dungeon? The number of times had to be low. He shivered, wishing the legionaries hadn’t stripped him from the waist up. Stone did little to retain heat, and the cold manacles suspending his arms above and behind his body tore at his wrists. No way to pick the locks.
Galeron’s legs quivered as he shifted positions. Kolvein would be coming soon. How could he not? He was surprised the Delktian hadn’t come sooner.
He’s letting me stew.
His eyelids drooped. It was an old shadestalker trick he’d been taught. Frightened people made mistakes, presented vulnerabilities. Galeron’s guts churned. It made no sense. Kolvein had the king’s approval to do as he pleased. Why was he wasting time with him?
Then again, Kolvein liked to play games, liked to think he was clever. Wasn’t that the purpose of the late-night gathering? Had it been as much about displaying his intelligence as blaming Galeron and Iven for a crime? There was a certain amount of sense to it. Do something and accuse your enemy of it.
Galeron groaned, and his temples throbbed dully. Sleep. He needed more than just an hour’s worth at some point. It might be worth Kolvein killing him just to get rest.
“Blast it, you Delktian scum-bucket. Get in here!” Galeron said.
Nothing happened, not that he’d been expecting Kolvein to have been waiting outside the door. It would have been nice. At least Kolvein’s appearance would have given him something to do besides brood over his mistakes and count stone tiles, of which there were four thousand and five in view.
He wondered briefly where Lonni had gone off to but immediately banished the thought from his mind. It didn’t matter where she’d gone, so long as it was far away from him. He’d been half trying to get her attention off him since Kolvein’s threats at the ball. Better for them both.
At long last, the dungeon door banged open, and Kolvein strode in, his brows twisted in a swirling knot.
“How much pain can you endure?” he asked.
Galeron frowned, though his stomach shrank to the size of a pea. “Guess.”
Kolvein stood in front of him, eying Galeron’s numerous scars and burns. “They are impressive, informer, but what is physical pain compared with what I can do to you?”
“Quit babbling,” Galeron snarled. Heat bubbled in his guts. At least his anger would keep him warm. “What do you want?”
“Do you know the worst kind of pain? Do you know what it means to truly hurt?” Kolvein asked. “It has nothing to do with the body. No, nothing at all. The worst kind of pain comes from the heart. When you have someone who cares for you, no matter how little, ripped away as you watch, knowing it was you who brought their fate. That is true agony.”
He swallowed. Kolvein was tossing around empty threats. He didn’t have Lonni. Couldn’t have her. Could he?
No, no, no!
Galeron took a long breath and glared at him. “What are you talking about?”
Kolvein’s smile displayed his crooked teeth. “It can get worse. What if that someone was ripped away, not by your enemy, but by an ally?” He stepped closer. “I’ve heard a rumor that Arlana sent hired blades to kidnap your lady love.”
Galeron sprang forward, thrashing against the chains. “I warned you, Kolvein. I told you what I’d—”
“I haven’t laid a finger on her,” Kolvein said. “Arlana gave her men instructions to keep Lonni alive.” He straightened, eyes widening, and he cupped one hand to an ear. “I’ve just heard another rumor. It seems someone slipped the wrong message to her men. Now they’ve been told to…” He smiled. “I’m very sorry to be the bearer of such news, but they’re going to kill her at sunrise tomorrow.”
Galeron strained against his bonds, iron cutting into his wrists. A hot liquid seeped down one of his arms. “You lie.”
Kolvein cocked his head to one side. “Do I? I’ll be sure to bring her corpse to keep you company. It’s likely to turn up in a gutter somewhere. A shame the city watch is so undermanned. We ought to prevent things like this from happening.” His smile grew. “I’ll mention it to the king when I see him next.”
“Why am I still alive?” asked Galeron. “What do you need me for?”
Kolvein lunged and gripped him by the throat, pinning him against the wall. Galeron coughed and gasped as the fingers tightened.
“What do I need you for?” seethed Kolvein. “You are the reason I do everything. Tell me, Deathstalker, who killed the necromancer? You did. What bungler dropped two great warriors into the lap of King Adrik? You. Who came poking into matters long dead? You did.” He dug his fingernails into Galeron’s flesh. “Were it not for you, lowest of lowborn, my people would have the freedom and respect due to them. We would not bravely suffer the ravages of the north, and we would have created peace.”
“Your people emerged from the mountains and killed anyone who stood in your way. No warning, no mercy,” Galeron snarled. “You butchered entire cities. Your people killed infants. You call Delktians brave? Monsters aren’t brave. Men are.” He spat into Kolvein’s face.
Kolvein kept his grip for a moment, and then released him and backed away. Galeron inhaled sharply, the cool, damp air refreshing in his lungs.
“We will see how brave you are, Galeron Triste. We will see just how much you can take,” Kolvein snarled. “You are going to watch everything and everyone you love crumble and die. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to drag you to the courtyard, and you and the archer lord are going to watch his sisters’ heads roll. It won’t be easy, though. I’ll make sure that blade is duller than your wit. It will take a long time for them to die, iron paladin, a very long time.”
Red haze blurred the edges of Galeron’s vision, and he jerked at the manacles. Kolvein was going to wish he’d never said that. His hands ached, and they curled into fists.
“Such a waste of life, isn’t it?” he continued. “Dianna is pregnant, isn’t she? Seven months, I think? Then again, one less Rayan brat in the world. That’s worth the price.” Kolvein stroked his chin. “I’ll gouge out the archer’s eyes, too. There’s something fitting about the death of his sisters as his last sight. Yes, perfect.”
“I’m going to make you regret the day you laid eyes on me,” Galeron spat. “I’m going to tear you apart.”
“Keep feeding yourself lies, iron paladin,” Kolvein said. “It’ll only make the moment you break so much sweeter.”
“I’m going to kill you.” He didn’t so much say it as growl it.
Kolvein threw back his head and laughed. “It won’t solve anything. You are a rock at the bottom of an avalanche. I’ve started everything, and it began even before Melia left you.”
“Lies won’t save you,” Galeron said.
Kolvein waved his hand. “I don’t use lies. Everyone’s truth is open to me.” He pointed at a patch of sunlight, dust floating about. “What do you see?”
Galeron frowned. What kind of a game was this? There was nothing there.
Until something formed out of the dust cloud. A drake’s head reared out of the sunbeam, made from the cloud, with its mouth wide and teeth razor-sharp. Galeron’s jaw dropped.
“The king,” he said. “You—”
“King Balen’s madness is my plaything,” Kolvein said. “I give him what he wants. Every man fears delusions. The queen, the lords, and even the legionaries cannot see the drakes in the walls. The Delktian ambassador? He can. He knows of them, and if he sees them, too, then surely the king is not mad.”
He chuckled.
“You drove him to this,” Galeron said. “You made him this way.”
“No, paladin. I used what already existed” Kolvein waved his hand again, and the drake vanished. “War breaks a man, just as it broke you. Manipulating him was a simple matter. A mage doesn’t need raw power, only great skill in what he has. Drakes in the walls, passing whispers guided to my ears, and the king’s mind belongs to me.”
Galeron’s shoulders sagged as much as they could, and his head drooped. It couldn’t be over now, but there didn’t seem to be a way out. Kolvein was king in all but name, and Galeron had run out of options.
Kolvein patted his head. “So you finally see. You understand how hopeless it is.”
Someone rapped on the door of the dungeon, and a serving boy hurried in. “Honored adviser, court has assembled. They are waiting for you in the great hall.”
“Good, good.” He licked his lips. “My audience awaits. Enjoy your day.”
With that, he strode from the room, the booming door shutting on the outside world and Galeron’s hope.
#
That was it, then. It was over. Galeron wondered if there would be any time left for him to see Iven again, to apologize for involving him in the mess at Rayan court. Doubtful. Kolvein wouldn’t allow him such pleasantries. Speaking with Lonni was, of course, out of the question. If Kolvein could be believed, she would be dead by this time tomorrow.
Day three.
King Balen’s ultimatum ran out at sunrise tomorrow as well. Of course it did.
He glanced up at his hands. A simple lock. It wouldn’t be that hard to pick, but he had nothing to pick it with. Even if he did, the shackle was so large he’d never be able to bend his wrist and maneuver the instrument. Blast it.
If he’d known this was how the job would end, he never would have sent Lonni away. A memory of peppermint filled his nose, just for the briefest moment, and then it was gone. He’d failed her, failed in his oath to keep her safe. It was his fault she now sat at death’s door.
His heart sickened the more he thought about it, stomach gurgling and threatening to spew its contents all over the dungeon floor. A consistent theme in his life. He couldn’t keep his friends safe. First Keith and Brenna, then Melia, now Iven, Lonni, and the Porter sisters. Perhaps the bards had misnamed him. Galeron Triste didn’t stalk death.
It stalked him.
But had Arlana really kidnapped Lonni? Th
at one seemed unlikely. What was the point? Kolvein was just using the story to further twist the knife of despair in Galeron’s heart. It was working, even without the lie. Galeron strained against the manacles, but it only served to cut deeper into his wrists. End of the road.
The door creaked open again. Kolvein, back to offer another round of gloating, no doubt.
“I’ve heard enough,” Galeron snarled. “I don’t care what you’re going to do to me, and I don’t care why you’re better than me.”
“That’s no way to speak with a lady, sir knight.”
Galeron twisted around. Lady Atalan, all steely posture and blue eyes, strode purposefully across the dungeon.
“My lady,” Galeron said. “I…why are you here?”
She raised her thin eyebrows. “Sir knight, I don’t often make trips to the dungeon, and, as you are the only one here, I believe it’s safe to assume I have come for you.”
Hmm. Odd. “I’m pleased for the company,” he said, “but surely there are other things that warrant your attention.”
“At this moment, the demise of house Porter demands everyone’s attention,” said Lady Atalan. She produced a long, slender piece of metal and stepped close. “We are fortunate, I believe, that King Balen upgrades his dungeons once every century.”
She set to work on the lock binding his right hand.
“But I don’t understand,” Galeron said. “What—”
“My husband was present for last night’s proceedings,” she said. “It is clear Kolvein has taken advantage of our king in his delusions, but we are in Raya. The king, be he mad or sane, still rules alone.”
“What do we do about it?” asked Galeron. “Better yet, what do you think I can do about it?”
Lady Atalan sniffed. “You were the informer. That is your responsibility. I merely wish to make sure you can do what must be done.”
The manacle’s lock clicked and his arm fell free. Galeron winced as needle-sharp pains stabbed at his skin. At least his blood was back.
“What about the guards?”
“What guards?” she asked. “You are the only one here, and I believe Kolvein has more need of them. He will have to have a show of force to maintain order in court.” Lady Atalan began working on the second manacle.
