Stephen Deas - The King's assassin

‘It’s here somewhere,’ muttered the thief-taker. They reached a wall and Syannis stopped. ‘Door.’ A line of golden torchlight lit up the floor. Syannis lifted a latch. ‘You will have to kill, Berren. I hope you realise that.’

‘If it comes to fighting then I will. But I can’t just murder a man. That’s not what I am.’

‘Bugger,’ said a voice from the other side. Wood scraped on stone, the sound of a chair being pushed back. ‘That’s three in a row.’

Syannis opened the door a crack. ‘Then wait here!’ he hissed. Torchlight filled the space beyond. The air was thick with smoke.

Another voice muttered something, then Syannis threw open the door and leaped out of the gloom, sword flashing. Three soldiers sat around a table. Over the reek of torch smoke, Berren could smell wine. There were dice, coins. .

And blood. The thief-taker’s short sword sliced through the first man’s neck and stabbed the second straight through his gaping mouth. By the time Berren reached the table, Syannis had done for the third too, opening his throat from ear to ear in a single slash. ‘I told you to stay where you were!’

‘And I didn’t.’

Syannis nodded at Berren’s sword. ‘I hear you’ve finally learned how to use that.’

‘You call me a dark-skin thief again, you’ll learn a lot more.’

‘That was for Hain, not for you.’ Syannis dragged the bodies back into the cellar, then ran to a heavy locked door and took out his keys again.

‘Now what?’

Syannis opened the door and stepped inside. Dozens of crossbows lined the walls and boxes full of bolts were stacked on the floor. An armoury. ‘Not the sort of weapon you want people running around with most of the time.’ He bared his teeth. ‘Did Talon teach you to use one of these at last?’

‘I taught myself.’

‘Good.’ The thief-taker closed the door and locked them inside. ‘Take one and sabotage the rest.’ While Berren cut nicks into the crossbow strings, Syannis set about clearing the back wall of the armoury. When he was done, he pressed his ear against it and began tapping the panelling. Then he stopped, pulled a hand axe from his belt and swung at it. Berren cringed. In the confined space of the armoury, the blow sounded like a clap of thunder.

A thought came to him: he was alone with the man who’d killed Tasahre. Alone where no one would see. He finished with the crossbows and took the last one for himself, cocking it softly while Syannis hacked at the wall. Then he held a bolt in his other hand and looked at it. Looked at it, and at the thief-taker.

No. Couldn’t do that. Even though a part of him wanted to.

‘My grandfather’s grandfather built this armoury,’ Syannis said as he tore at the thin veneer of wood, pulling it away. ‘No one alive knows this door exists except me and Talon. And now you.’ He finished and held up a candle so that Berren could see. Behind the wood was another wall, made of stone, and in the wall a door. Everything was covered in ancient cobwebs. The door had no lock, but it was heavy and the hinges were rusted almost solid. It took the two of them together to pull it ajar. Beyond was yet more wood.

‘We put a panel over it,’ muttered Syannis. ‘It’s a single piece of wood. A good hard. .’ He rammed it with his shoulder. There was a loud crack, but the panel held. ‘Damn! Stuck!’

‘Stop!’ hissed Berren.

‘I felt it move! Another. .’ Syannis made to charge the wall again. This time Berren held him back.

‘Wait!’ He took the bolt he was still holding and fitted it to the crossbow. For a moment, as it pointed at Syannis, he caught a flash of what it would feel like if he pulled the trigger right there and then. Exaltation, for a moment, and then sadness. Emptiness.

He fired the crossbow into the panel Syannis had been trying to knock down. ‘You left Hain and brought me because I’m the thief, didn’t you? When we’re done here, you give me what you promised and then I want nothing more to do with any of you.’ He held the crossbow bolt and nudged at the panel. As soon as he felt it give, he stopped and, using the bolt as a handle, moved it slowly aside. Silently, until there was gap large enough for him to squeeze through.

‘See,’ he whispered. ‘That’s how a cut-purse thief from Shipwrights’ does it. He does it quietly .’

Berren stepped cautiously through the space where the panel had been into a long wide passage that ran along the back of the castle. Here and there glimmers of light crept through narrow slits of windows.

‘We used to call this the Long Gallery,’ whispered Syannis. ‘Go left. That way leads to the royal apartments. Meridian should be there. And Aimes.’

‘You’re never going to get him out. Not quietly enough. Not through all those doors and passages.’

‘What if he wants to come?’

On either side pictures hung on the walls; in alcoves busts stood on pedestals. There was too little light to make out the faces staring down out of the shadows, but their presence made Berren’s skin tingle. He felt himself being watched. Something didn’t feel right. He stopped. In the gloom Syannis almost walked into him.

‘What?’

‘Listen!’ Berren stood absolutely still and held his breath. Faint noises came from outside: the wind, the idle chatter of a pair of bored guards by the wall, even a distant hiss that might have been the sea. Within, everything was quiet.

‘I hear nothing. Come on!’ Syannis pushed passed him.

‘Yeh. Nothing.’ And that wasn’t right, was it? Anxiously, Berren followed. At the end of the gallery an archway led into darkness.

‘The king’s apartments. Aimes’ rooms will be here somewhere.’

Berren stopped again. The feeling in the pit of his stomach was getting worse. If these were the king’s apartments, then where were the king’s guard?

‘The sun-chapel is to the left. Through the arch.’ Syannis’s voice was barely audible now. ‘That’s how we get out. There’s another passage down to the caves. The rooms on the right will be the king’s. Go straight on.’

‘Where are the guards?’

‘Guards?’ Syannis snorted. ‘ I never used to sleep with men at my door and neither does Meridian. We’re past the guards. They’re outside.’

The darkness was so complete that Berren had to hold his hands out in front of him not to walk into a wall. He took one careful step after another, dreading the moment he’d put a foot down and tread on a creaking board or a sleeping cat. But this was a castle, he told himself. The floors were made of stone; there wouldn’t be any animals roaming free at night, nor would there be plates, mugs, bowls or any of the other things his feet had found while creeping through people’s bedrooms.

I was younger then , he reminded himself. Smaller and lighter and with agile feet. And I didn’t have anyone with me .

He fumbled his way through the darkness and into another long hallway. There were more narrow windows here, letting in just enough starlight to see by.

‘The king will be at the far end,’ whispered Syannis. ‘The other rooms will be Meridian’s and the princess’s.’

‘Gelisya?’ The uncomfortable feeling turned sharp. He found himself thinking of Saffran Kuy. Saffran Kuy, who had his fingers all over Meridian’s little princess, whether Meridian knew it or not. ‘I’m telling you, this doesn’t feel right. It shouldn’t be so dark. If not guards then there should be pot boys. Maids. Night servants. Someone . And whoever comes this way at night would need some light.’

Syannis hissed between his teeth, ‘What do you suggest? We can hardly come back again another day, not now . No, they’re here. They have to be.’ He put his hand to the nearest door. ‘This one. These rooms were the finest. My father’s. Meridian will be here.’ He growled like a threatened wolf. ‘Then we take Aimes.’