Nick Brown - The Far Shore

Speaker Argunt entered the hall and went to speak to First Minister Vyedra.

Cassius turned to face the man to his right. He was old, crook-backed and bald, hanging on to the chair and staring vacantly at the empty throne.

‘What happens now?’ Cassius asked him.

No reaction. Cassius bent closer to his ear. ‘What happens now?’

Again, nothing.

Cassius sighed and glanced at Indavara. ‘You’ve nothing to say either, I suppose?’

The bodyguard ignored him too.

‘By Jupiter,’ said Cassius. ‘I thought you might gradually begin to pick up the concept of polite conversation, but I see all my efforts of the last few weeks have been in vain.’

Indavara frowned.

‘Look at Simo,’ Cassius continued. ‘He’s only a slave but he and I can talk about all manner of things for hours: art, politics, religion. And think about where we are — a mountain kingdom most people will never have the chance to see. And what we’re doing — playing a part in important affairs of state. Have you no observations, no thoughts to share?’

Indavara considered this for a moment before replying. ‘Dinner smells good.’

‘By the gods.’

Cassius looked down at the letter in his hand and decided he couldn’t wait any longer. Sweat prickled the skin above his mouth as he scratched away the wax with his fingernails. He felt certain it contained details of his next assignment — what awful mission had Abascantius found for him now? Keeping his hands behind the chair, he unrolled the page and started reading.

Indavara turned round and inspected the food. There were platters of steaming roasted meat with the fat still sizzling, big wheels of cheese, bowls full of dried fruits and nuts, and silver trays piled high with cakes.

Argunt, Vyedra and several other grandly-dressed men lined up beside the throne. The room quietened.

‘What does it say?’ whispered Indavara, brushing his hair from his face as he looked down at the letter.

Cassius was smiling. ‘It’s from Master Abascantius. We have been tasked with a simple errand. We’re to journey to the island of Rhodes, pick up some important papers, then return to Antioch.’

‘An island?’ said Indavara. ‘Oh no. That means going on a ship.’

‘Nothing gets past you, does it?’

‘And picking up papers? Sounds even more boring than this job.’

‘Nothing wrong with “boring”,’ replied Cassius, rolling up the letter and tucking it behind his belt. ‘Highly underrated.’

First Minister Vyedra waited until there was absolute silence before he spoke. ‘Assembled guests, esteemed members of the grand council, priests of the High Temple; we gather here in the Great Hall this night to honour our new king.’

Vyedra paused, and Argunt initiated a long round of applause.

‘Blessed are the gods,’ the first minister continued when quiet returned. ‘Blessed are the gods that have delivered his excellency from the jaws of death. Blessed are the gods that smile upon Karanda.’

At this, two priests opposite the throne (whom Cassius now realised were the pair who’d earlier joined the procession) began an incantation in the local language. When they finished, the assembled city folk answered with a brief affirmation.

‘This will take probably go on for hours,’ Cassius whispered, ‘and not even a mouthful of wine yet.’

Vyedra, Argunt and the others went to stand in front of the table opposite the priests, then turned round.

‘Now we welcome him,’ stated Vyedra in the same portentous tone he had adopted throughout. The nobles dropped down on one knee, closely followed by everyone else except the two priests.

Cassius did so too, prompting Indavara to reluctantly comply.

Vyedra spoke again: ‘Keeper of the Winter Crown, Guardian of the High Temple, I present to you, his people, King Orycus the Fifth.’

Cassius and Indavara looked over the edge of the table as Orycus entered. The two guards flanking him took up positions on either side of the door. The king was wearing a long, purple cloak with a gem-studded silver crown nestling in his curly hair. Strutting slowly, he rounded the throne and stood in front of it.

‘Hail, King Orycus!’ roared Vyedra.

‘Hail, King Orycus!’ came the reply.

The new monarch took a step backwards and sat down.

Cassius noticed a servant close to the priests moving around. One of the holy men glared at him.

‘We bow to you, our king,’ announced Vyedra.

Indavara nudged Cassius. ‘Not me.’

All the locals bowed their heads, including the priests this time.

Cassius was still watching the servant. The man bowed briefly, then turned and picked up something from one of the food tables. Cassius looked over his shoulder. On every plate with a joint of meat was a long, sharp carving knife.

He pointed across the hall. ‘Indavara, there!’

‘Quiet,’ said someone to their right.

The servant leapt between the two priests and on to the table. The orange light of the braziers sparked off the blade in his hand.

Indavara was already on his feet and running.

Cassius stood up as the assassin leapt again, this time over the kneeling dignitaries.

Indavara pounded across the flagstones towards the throne.

Some of the guards were moving but none stood a chance of getting there in time.

Neither will Indavara .

Cassius picked up a large, empty wooden jug and threw it at the assassin. The jug bounced once, then skittered into the man’s ankle. He stumbled and fell to one knee, skidding on the smooth stone floor. As he struggled back up again, he shouted: ‘For Solba!’

King Orycus shrank back into the throne.

The quicker guards were still yards away.

The assassin raised the blade high and jabbed it down at the king’s neck.

His arm froze in mid-air.

Eyes wide, the assassin looked down at the big, scarred hand gripping his wrist. He couldn’t see the second hand but he could feel the fingers digging into his neck.

Indavara held him there as the guards closed in around them. Before he could do anything more, the assassin cried out. Indavara watched as blood seeped from the corner of the man’s mouth. He looked down and saw the king’s red-streaked blade slide out of the assailant’s gut.

The man shuddered then suddenly went limp. Indavara let go and the guards took hold of him. The face of the would-be assassin was impossibly young, his cheeks marked with the spots of a teenager. Indavara backed away from the throne, leaving the king standing there alone, holding the bloodied sword in his hand.

‘All praise the king!’ came a shout from somewhere.

‘All praise the king!’

Suddenly everyone was shouting.

Cassius hurried over to Indavara, who shook his head when their eyes met.

‘That was too close.’

‘Could have been the shortest reign in history,’ replied Cassius. ‘Good work.’

‘Good work by whoever threw that jug. Slowed him down just enough.’

‘It was me. I threw it.’

‘You?’

The soldiers half dragged, half carried the assassin out of the hall, leaving a trail of blood on the flagstones.

Speaker Argunt came over and gripped their arms in turn. It took him a while to get out any words. ‘All of Karanda thanks you both. What speed of thought and action.’

Cassius turned to Indavara, who gave a rare nod of approval.

Vyedra came past and grabbed one of the older soldiers.

‘Four men to stand by the king. I want every one of these servants replaced. And take anything that looks like a weapon outside. The meat can be cut in the kitchens.’

Speaker Argunt then tried to address the crowd but with his diminutive height, few people could see him, let alone hear him. One of the soldiers had taken the blade from the king, who had sat down and now looked rather dazed, his crown in his lap. After a few moments, he put it back on, stood up and raised his hand. Even the servants being herded out of the room and the soldiers herding them stood still and silent. Orycus beckoned Argunt forward, then whispered in his ear. The older man spoke: