Bruce Blake - Spirit of the King

The figure outlined in the doorway was small, but with an air of danger in his stance. He stood with legs set at shoulder width and firmly planted, his bared sword rested with its tip on the floor. Khirro looked at Athryn then back at the silhouette. A familiarity about the figure made alarm bells wail in Khirro’s head.

“We have come for food,” Athryn said raising a hand before him. “We mean no harm and will gladly pay if you like.”

Silence.

The figure held position like a statue. Khirro’s arms and legs tingled as adrenaline flooded him with excitement and fear and curiosity. Athryn took a step forward.

“Let us leave in peace. We will cause no trouble.”

The figure drew the tip of his sword along the floor, scraping it across the wood as though inscribing a line not to be crossed. Khirro stepped up beside his companion.

“You don’t want this, stranger,” he said.

“Oh, there’s nothing I want more,” the figure said, the words floating across the room on the voice of a woman. “And we are not strangers, Khirro.”

Khirro’s jaw dropped at the sound of the voice, the Mourning Sword drooped to his side.

Elyea.

A spider scuttled across the thin line of light shining between the bars and disappeared into the dark as quickly as it came. Therrador pushed himself up and crossed to the cell door. A guard stood with his back to the bars and the king knew by the red paint splashed on his black mail that he’d have a decaying face and dead, unfeeling eyes. The corridor was empty but for the guard’s shadow thrown writhing on the wall and floor by the torch guttering in the sconce across the hall from him.

“Isn’t it time you let me go?” The thing didn’t turn toward him when he spoke. “The people will notice their king is missing.”

He considered reaching through the bars and poking the dead man but didn’t know what orders the Archon had left. Such an act might mean his death. He wouldn’t take the chance, not as long as Graymon might still live.

Why don’t they just kill me?

He surveyed the featureless cell for the hundredth time. The dungeon was deep underground with no windows, nor furniture or comforts of any kind. A bucket for waste and a pile of hay for sleeping which he no doubt shared with insects and rats.

He’d survive; this wasn’t the first time he’d been imprisoned, but he couldn’t ignore the pressure of his situation. The longer he stayed here, the more any chance of overcoming the Kanosee diminished, and the greater the chance Graymon wouldn’t survive.

“Let me out,” he said, his tone commanding and insistent, but it continued to receive no reaction from his guard. “Tell the Archon this is unacceptable.”

“I told you to do as you were told.”

Startled, Therrador jumped. He hadn’t noticed Hanh Perdaro approach along the dimly lit corridor. With a nod to the guard, he sauntered past and stood before the bars directly in front of Therrador.

“Hanh.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Tell me you’re here to let me out.”

Perdaro shook his head. “No. And I don’t know I would even if I could.”

“What?”

“You’ve been a bad king, Therrador,” he said in a tone suitable for chastising a child. “Perhaps it will do you some good to be on your own for a while. To think about what you’ve done.”

Therrador stared, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth. “What are you talking about, Hanh? For the Gods’ sake.”

“Leave us,” Perdaro said over his shoulder and, to Therrador’s amazement, the guard strode away down the corridor, the clomp of his boots on the stone floor echoing after him. Perdaro faced Therrador, one corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. “Did you really think you could do the things you did and not pay a price?”

“I’ll pay for my sins after the Kanosee dogs are driven out of the kingdom and Graymon is back with me.”

“You don’t see it, do you?” Hanh Perdaro chuckled and shook his head. “What you’ve done cannot be undone.”

“Anything can be undone.”

“Not this. Her Grace sees all, knows all.”

Therrador’s eyes narrowed. “Her Grace?”

“The Archon. I told you to do as she said. It would have been safer for all.”

“Not for my kingdom.”

“The kingdom is lost,” Perdaro snapped, the smirk disappearing from his face. “Why can’t you see what’s right before your eyes? You’ve lost your son. You’ve lost your kingdom. You’ve lost.” He glanced down the hall at the guard, then lowered his voice. “It couldn’t have been any other way.”

Therrador grasped the cool steel bars with both hands and leaned forward until his face nearly touched them. Hanh Perdaro had always been his favorite member of the High Council, but he was beginning to doubt his judgment.

“If you have something to say, Hanh, say it.”

“You were never in control. Just as you aren’t now.”

“What do you mean?” He resisted the urge to reach through the bars, grab the man by his shirt and shake him to get straight answers out of him.

“You can’t possibly think you manufactured the king’s death on your own, do you?” Perdaro laughed. The guard looked away from the wall in front of him at Perdaro but quickly went back to staring at the blank stone. “The size of your ego never ceases to amaze me.”

Therrador bit back his emotional response. Years commanding men taught him to think before reacting. He breathed deep and waited for Perdaro to continue, as he knew he would.

“Didn’t you think it fortuitous when a Kanosee soldier fell into your grasp? Or that no one suspected anything when you inserted him as one of the king’s guards?” He chuckled again. “Wasn’t it unusual for Braymon to be at North Tower when the Kanosee breached the wall? What was the king doing on the first line of defense?”

Logic demanded that Therrador agree. More then once since this began, he’d wondered what the king was doing there, but had dismissed it as good fortune. It should have taken days, perhaps weeks, for the assassin to find an appropriate time to dispose of Braymon in a manner that seemed natural, yet the king was dead within the first twenty-four hours of the Kanosee siege. A twinge of regret shot through Therrador’s chest.

“You were so concerned about yourself, you didn’t see the machinations working in the background, placing the dominoes so they’d fall where they needed to fall,” Perdaro said.

“And you’re behind all this.”

“No, not I.” He caught sight of a cobweb clinging to his shoulder and brushed it away. “I’m not so naive as you to think I’m not simply one of the Archon’s pawns. But I’m a willing one while you were unwitting from the start.”

“Why tell me this?”

“Because it doesn’t matter now. Erechania has been muzzled, the Archon’s in control. It’s a matter of time until her plan is complete and Hanh Perdaro rules the kingdom.”

Therrador grimaced. “But one domino went astray, didn’t it? King Braymon’s blood yet survives.”

Perdaro’s expression became cool. “It’s the only reason she lets you live.”

“Well, thank the Gods for incompetence.”

“Don’t be smug.” Perdaro examined his fingernails. “The man will soon be found. When his life ends and the blood of the king is spilled for good, yours won’t be far behind.”

So they haven’t got him yet. Therrador suppressed a smile. There’s still hope.

“Why are you doing this, Hanh? The king was never anything but fair to you.”

“Fair? Why settle for fair when you can have the throne? Wasn’t that your attitude? Isn’t that how you became the Archon’s puppet?”