William King: The Queen's assassin

“We have interrupted the ritual. The spell is incomplete. The magical energies should disperse.”

“How long will that take?”

“I don’t know. Hours, maybe days.”

“Is there nothing we can do?”

“Try to stay alive, until then.”

“That might be easier said than done.”

Sardec looked around. His troops were holding their own for the moment, but it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. “Order the retreat,” Sardec bellowed. “Fall back. Rally to the flag.”

Word rippled along the fighting line, and the soldiers began to disengage, leaving the mindless army of undead horrors to rip itself apart and feast on its own entrails.

The dawn was a long time coming.

Rik looked out the Palace window and watched the city burn. It was the third night since the Queen’s assassination, and followed the third day of rioting. There had been no coronation. The city had exploded in violence as rumour after rumour swept through the streets. Demagogues had raised patriotic crowds against the foreign invaders. Loyalists had taken up arms against them. The Talorean army had taken more casualties trying to keep the peace than they had done taking the city. Three times already a mob had stormed the Palace only to be sent flying by a hail of Talorean bullets.

Rik turned and limped over to the fire. Despite healing sorcery, his injuries still pained him. Asea’s chambers looked orderly and still, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. “It’s a mess, isn’t it?” he said. The sorceress poked the fire and then nodded.

“Yes. It’s a mess. We’re stuck in a city that had turned against us, and we have no friendly Queen on the throne.”

“Malkior was the one responsible for that,” said Rik defensively.

“Try telling that to the mob that wants to lynch you, Rik. A lot of people blame you. You were found with the body. You’re lucky the household guard did not hang you. They would have, if their commander had not wanted to make the hanging public and get all the credit for capturing the Queen’s assassin.”

It had been an unpleasant time. No one had believed his version of events. No one accepted that it was Lord Malkior who had done the deed. It had been a night of fear and confusion, with troops on the march and stories of arcane rituals being performed in the Grand Cemetery. Somehow word had gotten around that Asea was responsible. Rik had heard his captors talking about it as they took him to his cell.

Amid the confusion local regiments had seized the Palace, and declared for Prince Khaldarus. It was almost as if the whole thing had been planned, thought Rik cynically, knowing that it had. It had taken Azaar a day of hard-fighting to re-take the Palace.

“Why won’t people accept the truth?” Rik asked.

“Because they don’t know it is the truth, Rik. All they hear are the stories, and they must try and sift the truth from that. You were there, your face was known, you are a half-breed and an outsider. You made a good culprit. Why would they believe it was Lord Malkior? Everybody knows he is a hundred leagues away in Harven or three hundred leagues away in Sardea.”

“There was a body.”

“And only your word for who it was. No one could recognise it after the mess you made of his head.”

“What did you do with the corpse?”

“I cut it into five parts and buried it in five separate places in lead-lined coffins.”

“I don’t think you were being excessive.”

“When it comes to the likes of Malkior, you can’t be.”

“I understand you are being blamed for the plague and the walking dead.”

Asea smiled sourly. “Indeed. I think we can guess who is behind those rumours.”

“People can be very stupid,” said Rik.

“People are frightened, Rik, and they can only go by what they have heard. Someone set a very cunning trap for us here, and we walked right into it. We are fortunate that we can walk out again.”

“You think we will?”

“Azaar will pacify the city. We will remain here for the winter, then we shall see what we shall see. We have lost our allies here.”

Rik felt very tired. The power he had drained from the Sea Devil was gone. He had used it all fighting with Malkior and healing himself afterwards, and now he felt like an empty vessel. He wanted to feel the power again. He wanted to blaze with stolen life.

Feed! Feed, the voices urged him. He fought them down. He was not going to be like his father if he could help himself.

“What now?” he asked Asea. She stared into the flames for a long time.

“Someone has reopened the gates in the East. The legions of Sardea are on the move. The real war is just starting Rik, and worse things than Malkior are behind it. The Princes of Shadow are here.”

Rik stared into the flames too, watching the yellow-orange coals glow as the crumbled. He feared the day was coming when more cities than Halim would burn, that perhaps the whole world might catch fire.

And he feared too, that he was going to be there to witness it.