Douglas Niles: Lord of the Rose

“Stop blaming everything on Jaymes,” said the dwarf angrily. “Can’t you figure it out?”

“It’s Reynaud!” Selinda said.

“Yes!” gasped Marckus. His eyes opened, glowing with a martial spark kindled by fresh outrage. “The traitor…”

“Don’t talk,” the princess whispered. “We’ll get a priest, a healer.”

Dram’s fingers tightened around the haft of his axe as he scrutinized the nearby door. It was banded with iron, made of stout oak timbers. Meanwhile, with Selinda’s help, Powell rolled his fellow captain onto his side as gently as possible. The Palanthian tore a strip from his own shirt to stanch the bleeding.

Marckus extended an arm toward the stout door. “In there…” he croaked.

“Your friend is in there too,” Captain Powell said grimly, glancing at the dwarf. “If he’s still alive.”

Dram hurled himself against the portal but fell back and tumbled to the floor. The dwarf raised his axe to chop at it, but he was stopped by Sulfie, who stumbled up to him, gasping.

“What?” he demanded.

“Your axe… will take too long,” she panted.

“Do you have any bright ideas?” He shook her off, spread his legs, prepared for a mighty blow.

“Pete… he’s got a little container of the compound.”

While the second gnome came staggering up from one direction, burdened by the weight of his backpack, four more knights raced into view, coming up the stairs from the great hall.

“One of you-get a cleric!” Selinda ordered. “One who knows some healing magic!” Immediately two of the knights turned and raced back down the stairs. Two knelt beside Marckus.

“Let’s get him away from here, around that corner,” Dram suggested. The four knights and the dwarf carried the wounded man away from the door. They set him down on a plush rug that must have cost a thousand steel in some eastern market.

The two newcomers identified themselves as Sir Rene and Captain Dayr and said they had made their way back to the castle after finding a passage up from the subterranean chambers beneath the Temple of Shinare. They shocked the others with their tale of a secret shrine located just outside the walls of Castle Caergoth.

“Temple to the Prince of Lies-here?” Selinda exclaimed in disbelief.

“Worse. It sounds as though the duke himself and perhaps one or two others have been corrupted,” explained Dayr. “The priest was gloating-had us all dead to rights. Till the Assassin pulled out a little crossbow and shot him.”

“Reynaud has fooled us all, serving this Prince of Lies,” Powell said, his face dark with certainty.

“The army…” Marckus said weakly. “Reynaud betrayed the army… on the plains.”

“Well, let’s get after the bastard, then,” said Dram.

They returned to the duke’s room. Salty Pete knelt at the door, carefully arranging a small cask. When he extended the fuse and brought out a large, sulfir-tipped match, Dram backed away.

“First, though,” the dwarf said to the lady and the knights backing away with him. “You might want to cover your ears.”

Coryn was choking on the gag the duke had twisted around her jaw. Jaymes was flat on his back, struck hard by a blow from Reynaud’s mailed fist. His head throbbed, and he tried desperately to clear his vision, but all he could see was the foggy outline of the game room and the four people in the room.

“Shall I kill him now?” Reynaud asked his duke, standing over his prone prisoner, triumphantly clutching Giantsmiter.

“No! Not so fast! Let us satisfy his curiosity first!” gloated Crawford.

“Hurry, then,” the captain snapped. “I’m eager to wet this blade with his blood!” Sir Reynaud twisted the hilt of Giantsmiter but snarled in frustration when the blade refused to flame. The captain angrily waved the blade close to the warrior’s face, almost cutting him.

“Lorimar!” Jaymes gasped, trying to focus through his pain on the face of the smiling duke. “Why did you have him killed?”

The duke’s answer astonished him.

“I didn’t! It wasn’t me!”

Coryn groaned through her gag, shaking her head in disbelief. Jaymes drew a slow, ragged breath. Reynaud, though he watched the warrior carefully, made no further attack.

Crawford continued to talk.

“Of course, I wasn’t sad when he was killed. I was a little sad about his daughter-she was a tempting morsel! I would have married her in a minute. Such a loss, that was. Really, a waste, but there are other wenches who know how to decorate a bedroom. The late Lady Martha wasn’t bad in that respect-my next wife, I vow, will be much better!”

The duke turned to the small closet in the side of the room. Jaymes spotted a mirror on the wall in the alcove, and Crawford peered into the crystal glass when he spoke next.

“My lord? I have them both here. Should I kill them now?”

All the warrior could see was a reflection of the room in the crystal mirror. Apparently the duke was disappointed, for he leaned close and stared earnestly.

“My lord?” he repeated. “Are you there?”

Crawford turned back to his prisoners, his expression strange. “I admit, it was a good thing, for me, that Lorimar died. That made me the only Lord of the Rose!” His expression turned wistful. “Of course, I didn’t obtain the green diamonds, but I could burn the Compact of Freedom! I did so right here, in this room!”

Suddenly, a stunning blast rocked the chamber. Fire and smoke poured in as the door burst, pieces smashing into the gaming table and hurling against the walls. The heaviest section of the panel tumbled sideways, and caught Reynaud in the back, knocking him down. Coryn was also thrown to the floor. The duke staggered out of his alcove, blinking, waving his hands to clear away the smoke that billowed everywhere.

Jaymes, still on his back, had been sheltered from the blast by the heavy table. He pushed himself to a sitting position. Head pounding, ears ringing, he staggered to his feet and stepped over to Reynaud. The traitorous captain was trying to rise to his hands and knees, but Jaymes gave him a swift, hard kick.

The sword Giantsmiter lay on the floor. Jaymes picked the weapon up, stabbed Reynaud, and turned his attention to the duke.

Crawford was staring fearfully at him. As Jaymes took a step toward him, the duke ducked back into his alcove, pulling the door shut. But this was no iron-enforced barrier-it was a mere panel of pine boards, and the warrior slashed it to splinters with one blow.

Jaymes followed the duke as he backed against a wall, vaguely aware of people spilling into the room behind him.

Someone, a woman’s voice, shouted “Coryn!”

“My lord!” the duke was crying, banging on the mirror-which had cracked from the force of the blast. “Help me!”

Crawford met only his own crazed expression-and saw the approaching warrior. He turned as Jaymes reached him. The warrior pressed the duke against the wall, holding Giantsmiter so that the tip of his sword pricked the duke’s skin above his heart.

“The green diamonds-they’re why you killed Lorimar, aren’t they?” he growled. “Tell me, why did you have him killed!”

“I’m telling the truth-I didn’t do it!” pleaded the duke, almost sobbing.

“Who, then? Who stole the diamonds?” The sword eased a fraction, though blood stained the duke’s dressing gown.

“It was Bakkard du Chagne! The Lord Regent has them-he is making a crown for his daughter! He intends to make her queen of Solamnia!”

“Bakkard du Chagne?” Jaymes’s head ached profoundly. “How did he get the diamonds?”

“Because the assassins were his agents! He sent them! He ordered the death of Lorimar!”

“Why? Why did you help him?” the swordsman said. “You are still trying to help him.”