The broken assassin shook his head, still sobbing uncontrollably. “You have no chance,” he whispered. “You have no idea what you are up against.”
Relam leaned in close to the prisoner, shaking off Narin’s cautioning hand. “Does that mean he will try again?” he asked softly.
“He is relentless,” the assassin replied. “Failure for him is unheard of. And failure is punished.” The man flinched again, trying to push himself through the outer wall. “It wasn’t me! He led the attack, I only followed orders! I followed orders, do you hear me? Spare me, I beg of you,” the assassin shrieked. Then, he broke down sobbing again.
Relam stood slowly and backed away. Narin knelt there a moment longer, then stood and ushered the prince to the door of the cell.
“Your highness, we need to leave,” he said gently. “I’m not sure how much of his ravings I believe, but it is clear that your family is still in great danger if the man who hired these three is as powerful and ruthless as they claim.”
“Do you have any ideas?” the prince murmured, glancing back at the third cell.
“No,” Narin admitted. “I’m a palace guard, and I know little about what goes on beyond those walls. I have friends who might know though.”
“Let’s keep this quiet until I can fill my father in on this,” Relam said quickly. “If word does get to the one who hired the assassins, and it is within his power to have them killed then that source of information will be gone. We need to keep those men safe until such time as they believe he is no longer coming after them and they trust us with more information.”
“But if we can stop an attack by knowing what’s coming or who is behind this-”
“Narin,” Relam said quietly. “If we learned anything here today, it is that our enemy is powerful, brilliant, and careful. The odds that he would make a mistake as simple as leaving witnesses or letting word leak out about his plans or identity are somewhere between small and nonexistent.”
“Random chance allowed the third man to know his identity,” the palace guard pointed out.
“And that was a tremendous help to us,” Relam countered, shaking his head in disgust.
“Will there be anything else, your highness?”
Relam spun around to see the two palace guards on duty hovering nearby.
“Not today,” the prince said finally. “Continue to keep guard over the remaining prisoners. See that the last one there starts eating and drinking again. We need him alive.”
“Yes, your highness. Did you learn anything from them?”
“No,” Narin grunted. “Like talking to a bunch of clams. Well, except the last one. He did a fair bit of blubbering and ranting. Has he been doing that the last several days?”
“Yes,” one of the guards replied ruefully. “This is our third shift and he’s always doing that.”
Narin snorted. “I’ll rotate the watch more frequently so you don’t have to deal with it for long periods of time and double the number of guards on this assignment. Will that help?”
“Yes, captain,” the guard said, springing to attention and saluting. “Thank you, sir.”
“Anytime,” Narin replied with a slight bow. “Now, I must get his highness back to the palace.”
Narin led the way to the stairwell, Relam just behind him. Aven raised an eyebrow in inquiry as he fell in beside Relam, but the prince shook his head perfunctorily. They walked in silence, following Narin down the stairs and into the Bastion. Then down more stairs, across the bridge to the Anchor and all the way back to ground level. When they finally emerged from the Citadel’s gates, the sun was setting in the west and the sky was rapidly darkening.
“We were in there a lot longer than I thought,” the guard captain observed. “Hopefully your parents aren’t worrying about you right now, your highness. I should have had you back before sunset.”
Normally, Relam would have brushed off such a restriction as being home before dark. But in light of what the prisoners had said - and perhaps more importantly, what they had not said - the prince was eager to be back within the walls of the palace.
The small band moved quickly through the city, practically running along main streets and jumping up the front steps of the palace. Only when they had arrived at the entrance hall did Relam relax.
“Thank you, Narin,” he said to the guard captain. “I appreciate your help.”
“Your highness, I think we had better see you all the way back to the royal suite,” Narin said, shifting uncomfortably. “Just in case.”
Relam sighed. “Fine. Let’s get a move on.”
They continued up the wide stairs of the entrance hall, down a wide public corridor, then ducked into a servants’ corridor as a shortcut, the same shortcut Relam often used on the way back from training with Tar Agath. When they emerged into the corridor that adjoined the royal suite, Narin leading the way with his sword drawn, they found the hall empty, save for the four guards at the door.
“Any trouble, captain?” one of them called.
Narin shook his head and sheathed his sword. “None. Just being cautious.”
“Don’t blame you,” another guard observed as the others followed Narin to the door. “Nothing’s safe these days. Three of our lads lost in the attack the other day and then the commander down on the stones this afternoon.”
“What?” Narin demanded incredulously.
“The commander?” Relam asked. “Do you mean-”
“The leader of the palace guard,” Narin confirmed. “How did he fall?”
“You really had no idea?” the door guard asked, surprised.
“We’ve been a little busy,” Relam replied evasively.
“Huh. Well, anyway, Bannen’s body turned up in an alley not far from the River Road. Not sure what he was doing in that district to begin with, seeing as he’s quartered here. Looked like a robbery, someone cut his throat and took his money, left everything else.”
“I’d like to think that any palace guard could take care of a sneaking little cutpurse,” Narin growled.
“Maybe he was taken by surprise,” Relam suggested, shrugging.
“Maybe,” Narin allowed.
“The guard is in need of a new commander then,” Relam observed.
“Yes. The king has already been informed.”
‘Do you mean to say the king is awake?” the prince demanded, thunderstruck.
“Yes, woke just after lunch,” the guard replied. But Relam, Narin, and Aven had already shoved through the door in their haste to get to the ailing monarch.
The prince skidded to a halt just inside the entrance to his father’s sickroom. Sure enough, King Orram was awake and sitting up, though his eyelids drooped and he still looked terribly weak and frail. Nevertheless, he smiled ruefully up at Relam.
“Finally turned up to welcome me back to the world of the living?” he asked.
Relam shook his head, laughing. “I had no idea. You were still asleep this morning and-” He stopped, not wanting to burden his weakened father with the news from the Citadel.
“And you spent the rest of the day at the Citadel interrogating prisoners,” the king finished, nodding understandingly. “Which likely means you have had your fill of climbing stairs for a while.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Aven said with heartfelt sincerity. “There are a lot of stairs in that building. I almost wanted to jump to get back down faster.”
The king laughed weakly, which set off a fit of racking coughs. Relam immediately snatched up a glass of water and held it for his father to drink. The king slapped his hand away and took the glass himself.
“I’m not a total invalid,” he grunted. Then, he promptly lost his hold on the glass and it tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents over the king’s bed and then shattering into a hundred sharp-edged fragments.
“Well, maybe a mostly invalid then,” Relam observed, bending to scoop up the pieces. But Aven had beat him to it. The boy quickly scraped the bits of glass into a small
mound, then set off in search of a dustpan.
“Efficient boy, isn’t he?” Orram observed as Relam held a fresh glass for him to drink.
“Very,” Relam agreed. “Good kid to have around.”
“Speaking of good to have around, Narin, come here,” the king said, waving weakly to the guard.
Narin exchanged a glance with Relam and moved to the king’s bedside, kneeling. “Yes, your majesty?” he asked quietly.
“I hear that I am in need of a new guard commander,” Relam’s father said, sighing. “In light of your recent service-” The king was taken by a sudden fit of coughing and had to break off abruptly. Narin waited patiently for the ailing monarch to regain his composure.
“To hell with the formalities,” the king muttered. “Thanks for taking care of those assassins and questioning them today. You’re the new guard commander.”
Narin bowed from the waist. “I live to serve,” he replied gravely. “I accept this position, and swear to fill it ably. You and your family will be safe under my protection, your majesty. And I will find out who killed my predecessor and bring him to justice.”
“The city is full of petty thieves,” the king said, frowning. “I think you’ll have a hard time finding the right one.”
Narin shrugged. “If it was in fact a thief that slew him.”
“Who else?”
“Perhaps the master of the assassins,” the new guard commander said quietly.
Relam pondered this. It made some sense, eliminating guards who had witnessed the attack and been a part of the capture. But what had the guard commander been doing out in the city in the first place. Unless-
“He knew something,” Relam whispered.
Narin and his father stared at him, confused. “Sorry?” the king said. “I must have dozed off again because I’m not sure what or who you’re talking about.”
“You didn’t doze off,” Narin replied. “What is it, your highness?”
“Bannen must have known, or suspected, something,” Relam said. “Don’t you see? He was following up a hunch when he was attacked, that’s why he was outside the palace. The master of the assassins must have guessed that as well, or at least recognized that having him out of the way would make my family more vulnerable to attack-”
“Not hardly,” Narin growled.
“Sorry,” Relam said quickly. “I didn’t mean to insult you Narin. But there’s always some confusion when leaders change, you know.”
“That is true,” Narin allowed nodding slowly. “So you think that Bannen’s death was planned?”
“Yes,” Relam said.
“It’s possible,” the king concurred. “Maybe even likely. Bannen had no family, lived at the palace, and as far as I know has never left the premises except in the company of the royal family. Is that accurate, Narin?”
“Yes, your majesty. Bannen spent every waking hour here at the palace.”
“Continue to look into this, commander. Ask around, see if there were any witnesses to the attack, see if they can identify who killed Bannen.”
“As you wish, sire,” Narin replied, rising. “Will that be all, your majesty?”
“Yes,” the king replied. “I need rest. There’s a formal banquet just a few days from now and I need to be at full strength for that.”
Narin hesitated in the doorway. “Your majesty, is that wise, bringing so many people into the palace so soon after an assassination attempt?”
“We could just cancel it,” Relam muttered. Anything to avoid having to deal with Garenes again.
“There won’t be that many,” Orram said, waving the commander’s protests aside. “Just the families of the cadets and a few other dignitaries, all people we have known and trusted for a very long time.”
The guard commander looked as though he wanted to say something more, but he merely bowed. “By your leave, sire,” he said stiffly. Then, he marched out, briefly glancing at Relam to gauge his reaction. Relam shrugged ever so slightly in reply.
“Go,” his father said weakly. “If your mother is up, ask her to join me.”
Relam abruptly realized that he had not seen his mother since he entered the royal suite. “Is she ill too?” he asked, looking around.
“Slightly,” the king grunted. “A touch of the chills, nothing serious. She’s been resting for the last few hours.”
Relam bit his lip worriedly. “I’ll send her to you, if she’s up,” he promised, turning to the door. At the entrance, he turned back to look at his father. Orram’s eyes were already closed, and he was breathing irregularly through his mouth, his chest rising and falling fitfully.
The prince retreated to the sitting room, shutting the door to his father’s room quietly. He checked his parent’s room for his mother, but the door was locked and no one answered his quiet rap on the portal. Relam looked around the sitting room with a sigh. There was no one else there, no guards, no servants. Just Relam and the furniture and an empty fireplace staring back at him. He moved quickly to his own room, shutting and locking the door behind him. This done, he sank into the chair at his desk, thinking over the day’s events. The assassins had been nearly useless, but his father was conscious. The king was still weak though, and Relam’s mother was ailing as well. That left just Relam fit and active. Oh, and the palace guard commander had been murdered on the streets.
“Another good man caught up in the games of the master of the assassins,” Relam muttered, rubbing at his eyes wearily. Would the madness never cease? Would the rest of his life be lived in a series of attacks and uncertain lulls, until whoever paid off the assassins managed to succeed?
Or until he slipped up, revealing his identity or leaving a witness who could?
Relam went to open his desk drawer, to lose himself in his work on the dragon carving. But the bandage on his left hand caught the corner of the desk and snagged for a moment, reminding him of his injury. The prince removed the bandage carefully, examining the wound. There was a scab over the place where the knife had bit into his thumb, but the surrounding flesh was still tender. Grimacing, Relam rubbed in some more healing salve and rewrapped the wound with a disconsolate sigh.
He had not sat there long before a knock came at the door. Relam stood slowly and pressed his eye to the spyhole, wondering who his visitor might be. He had hoped that it would be his mother, or maybe the healer with good news. Or maybe even Narin, with an update on Bannen’s murder.
But it was none of them waiting on the other side of the door. It was just Aven, looking small and grim and remarkably vulnerable for one caught up in the chaos surrounding the royal family.
Relam opened the door without his customary vigor, standing aside so Aven could come in. “Thanks,” the boy muttered as he entered. He sat in Relam’s recently vacated desk chair, while Relam himself sat on the edge of the bed.
They sat in silence for several long moments before Relam spoke. “I’m sorry to get you mixed up in this.”
Aven grinned wryly. “Sorry? You can’t buy this kind of excitement.”
“Or this kind of danger,” Relam pointed out.
The boy bit the inside of his cheek, the grin vanishing into a stony expression.
“This is what happens when I try to do a little good,” Relam continued ruefully. “I help you into the city guard to help you achieve your dreams. Then before you know it I’m dragging you along to interrogate assassins.”
“You weren’t dragging me, I wanted to go,” Aven replied.
“But you shouldn’t have,” Relam said, cutting him off. “You’ve heard Bannen is dead?”
“The guard commander?”
“The same.”
Aven flinched and looked away. “I hadn’t heard,” he said finally.
“Narin and I are certain that he was killed by the same man behind the assassins,” Relam continued doggedly. “Do you understand why I am sorry now? Everyone associated with this mess is in mortal danger. And I brought you into it, without a thought for the consequ
ences.”
“Maybe,” Aven conceded. “I’m not here to talk about who’s in danger and how much though.”
“Right,” Relam said, remembering. “You had questions for me from when we were at the Citadel.”
“Yeah,” Aven said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You said that D’Arnlo is a supremacist? What does that mean?”
Relam took a deep breath, organizing his thoughts. “Before the Sthan Kingdom ruled the entire world there were many kingdoms. The last was the Orell in the south, but there were others. In the heights, on the plains, the swamplands, a few isolated city states along the northern mountains. Anyway, there was a series of wars and annexations and when all was said and done the Sthan Kingdom came out on top. Because of that, some native Sthans, those that can trace their lineage back to the original smaller kingdom, believe they should be given preferential treatment because they are better than the descendants of other kingdoms.”
“That’s . . . strange,” Aven said after a moment. “So D’Arnlo wants to rule the world?”
“Not quite,” Relam said, shaking his head. “The supremacists want the original Sthans to be acknowledged as a superior race, the true masters of the world. All other races would be inferior servant races.”
“And, naturally, most of the world objects to that,” Aven observed, smiling slightly.
“Yes,” Relam agreed. “But that doesn’t stop people like D’Arnlo from dreaming of master races and hordes of slaves and servants to do his bidding.”
Aven nodded, filing the information away. “You said you don’t like him. Any reason other than the fact that he’s a supremacist?”
“He’s a typical noble,” Relam growled. “Stuck up, full of himself. He is one of the foremost warriors in the kingdom though, and perhaps one of the best sword masters.”
“How many are there?” Aven asked suddenly.
“How many . . . what?” Relam said, cocking his head at the boy quizzically.
“Sword masters,” he elaborated.
“Oh. Few enough, though the title is unofficial. Tar Agath is one, of course, but he only works with younger students, cadets, mainly. D’Arnlo, obviously. There’s a couple of others here in Etares and more in Ardia, at the academy. Maybe one in Mizzran.”
The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1) Page 14