A Kingdom Under Siege

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  During the journey, Iko encountered Rorrick and his army. As Iko had expected, the man did not take the news of the destroyed road well, nor did he believe it impassible. Of course. Why would he listen to me anyway?

  Still, Rorrick did not try to stop Iko from returning to Sol Polis with the two captives. He suspected the captain was happy to be rid of Iko and considered twelve soldiers a small price to be rid of him.

  With the army continuing westward, Iko and his party rode back to the garrison for a night of rest. The garrison felt empty with just a skeleton crew remaining to hold it. Also present were two dozen wagon drivers who would deliver food and supplies to the army. After planning sessions with Sculdin, Iko had developed an appreciation of the logistic complexities involved in feeding an army of thousands.

  The next morning, they were again off and away early. As they rode south, the clouds thickened, the sky threatening. By the time the white walls of Sol Polis were in sight, everything had darkened – partly from the clouds and partly from the sun setting somewhere beyond the storm.

  As he approached the north gate of Sol Polis, Iko brought his party to a halt. Two halberd-bearing guards wearing Imperial armor stepped forward, crossing their weapons to block Iko’s path.

  One called out, “State your name and business in Sol Polis.”

  Iko frowned, his mood surly. “Look at my armor, the plume on my helmet – you can see I’m an officer.”

  “Listen,” the other man said. “We don’t know you, so why don’t you introduce yourself.”

  “Fine.” Iko glared at the man. “I am Lieutenant Ikonis Eldarro.”

  The first guard nodded. “I’ve heard of you. The Archon’s son.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about them?” he shifted his halberd and nodded toward Iko’s right, toward the horse tethered to his own.

  Iko glanced toward the horse and the two people in the saddle. Rope bound them together and to the horse, their wrists tied and mouths gagged.

  “These two are spies I have captured – spies whom the Archon will wish to interrogate.”

  “While you look the part, we cannot take your word and allow armed warriors to enter without papers.”

  “I thought you might say that,” Iko said as he dug into his saddlebag.

  A moment later, he removed a sealed note and handed it to the guard. The guard examined the seal before breaking it and reading the letter. A moment later, he handed it back to Iko.

  “Let them pass,” the guard said as he stepped aside.

  Without another word, Iko nudged his horse to an easy walk, guiding it and the trailing horse through the gate.

  The streets of Sol Polis were busy, filled with people about their every-day business. Farmers with carts filled the square, selling fresh produce. Shop owners along the streets sold food and wares. Traffic, on foot, horseback, and on wheels, passed by as citizens went about their business. The narrow street opened as they approached the heart of the city where the citadel waited.

  Iko nodded to Sergeant Marissa, the ruddy-faced woman in charge of the rear gate. With a wave of her hand, the gate opened. His gaze shifted to the towers near the stables as the patter of rain drops began to strike his helmet.

  Two towers remained intact, tall and white and majestic. The third tower was broken half way up, its shell blackened by a fire. Why do I feel more like the broken tower? Much is wrong in my life, yet I can’t see what is right.

  After passing his steed to the stable boy, Iko and two others unstrapped Quinn and her companion from their horse and pulled them down. The remaining riders were dismissed while the trio led the prisoners toward the door to the main building. Iko nodded to Berd, who guarded the door. Berd did not notice since his gaze was focused on Quinn.

  “What did she do, Iko?” the big man asked.

  Iko looked at Quinn and frowned in thought.

  Some of Quinn’s hair had come loose from its tail, frizzy as if she had just woken. Her wrists were bound together behind her back, and the gag tied around her head kept her from talking. However, the fire had not left her eyes. The glare she gave him was filled with loathing. Ebran – if that truly was his name – stood beside her, also bound and gagged but lacking her spirit.

  “She lied, Berd. To you, to me, to my mother. Everything was a lie.”

  Berd raised one brow. “A spy?”

  Iko nodded as the rain shifted from sprinkles to something more. “It appears so.”

  To escape the rain, Berd backed up to the door and hid under the eave as Iko grabbed Quinn’s arm and pulled her through the door. The other two soldiers pushed Quinn’s accomplice along, the five of them following a corridor to the receiving hall.

  The hall was empty and quiet as if it were the middle of the night rather than late afternoon. The only people in the hall were the two guards standing beside the closed Council Room doors. Recognizing the guards, Iko removed his helmet and slid it beneath his arm.

  “Tarshall, Ydith,” he said, nodding to each. “Is my mother in with the Council?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be off fighting a war?” Tarshall asked.

  “Yes, but things have changed.” Iko glowered at Quinn. “I have something important to present to my mother and Kardan.”

  “What did she do?” Ydith smirked as she stared at Quinn.

  Iko growled. “Is my mother in there or not?”

  The door opened and a servant stepped out with an empty tray. Iko did not recognize the man, but he expected there were many servants he would not recognize. In his late twenties, the man was clean shaven with dark hair and of average height.

  The servant bowed to Tarshall. “Dinner has been served, but the Archon requested more wine.”

  Iko frowned. Wine? My mother barely drinks the stuff. Why would she ask for more?

  “Why are you telling me?” Tarshall waved him along. “Go on and get more wine.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The servant bowed again his gaze flashing from Iko to the prisoners. His eyes grew wide. “Oh, my. What happened to them?”

  Iko rolled his eyes, his frustration flaring to anger. “Why does everyone keep asking? They are my prisoners and are part of official state business! You are a servant, for Issal’s sake! Why would I tell you anything?”

  Ydith snickered, which earned her a stern glare from Iko.

  The servant bowed again. “Yes. Well, then.” His eyes flicked about nervously as if he sought escape. “I had best be off for the wine.”

  As the man slipped away, Iko turned toward the guards. “These prisoners are important. My mother, General Kardan, and the Council will wish to hear what I have to say. I’m going in.”

  Tarshall shrugged at Ydith. “Go on. If they get upset, I’ll claim you left us no choice.”

  Iko pushed past them and put his hand on the knob. “That’s fine because it’s true.”

  He opened it, stepped into the room, and froze.

  His breath caught in his throat mid-gasp. The scene before him was from a nightmare.

  29

  Subtleties

  A light, airy tune filled the small room – the type of song that rang of contentment. Delvin Garber finished combing his hair back and then rubbed his chin while staring at his warped reflection.

  “I do miss my goatee,” he said to no one but himself. “Without it, I appear too young. The others already seldom take me seriously.” He grinned. “Of course, I am rarely serious and that might have something to do with it.”

  He straightened his dark blue coat and adjusted the collar. Satisfied by his appearance, he scooped up the vial of black liquid from his nightstand, slipped it into the band hidden in his sleeve, and left his small room in the servant’s quarters.

  A curvy blonde was storming down the hall while looking over her shoulder. He put his hands up, catching her upper arms to stop her from running into him.

  “Excuse me, Jeshica.” Delvin smiled his best smile as she looked at him with a start. “What’s the rush?
”

  She frowned up at him. “It’s the Archon, Helman. She assigned me a list of tasks to complete before she returns to her chamber, some of them quite time consuming. I have much yet to do and am on my way to get new sheets for her bed. I just hope Mavis has them ready, but I know she is quite understaffed right now.”

  “Since Varius is locked away with Kardan and the Council, I’m sure she will be occupied for hours yet. In fact, Sheen has requested I help serve them dinner.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Are the others still sick?”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “This sickness has now stricken much of the citadel staff, guards and servants. Many have been healed multiple times, yet they continue to grow ill again and again.” That’s what happens when you drink from cups cast in pewter and arsenic. “The Ecclesiasts fear it is a disease they cannot control.”

  Worry filled her eyes. “I pray to Issal I don’t become sick as well.”

  “Well, the afflicted were sequestered this morning and are being held in the towers, away from those who are not ill. We can hope that keeps us free from this plague.”

  The fear became more obvious as she bit her lip. “You don’t believe it’s actually the plague, do you?”

  Delvin shrugged. “I am neither a healer nor a medicus, so I’ll not speculate.” Don’t worry, honey. Your cup was not among those I switched out. “Regardless, it is best to remain cautious.”

  Jeshica nodded. “Yes. Of course.” Her eyes found the floor. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have much to do.”

  He stepped aside and held his arm out. “Please continue. Just try not to run anyone over.”

  Jeshica continued past him, and Delvin eyed her swaying backside until she faded into the laundry room.

  He shook his head. Too bad I don’t have time for another conquest. Quinn was right, the girl has changed for the better, her personality no longer spoiling her appearance.

  With a sigh, he continued down the corridor and climbed the stairs, not stopping until he was on the second level. He stepped into the kitchen and found Master Sheen doling out instructions. A male and a female servant were nodding to Sheen while cooks, the two who had not become ill, were busily filling bowls with steaming soup and arranging them on wooden trays.

  Sheen turned toward Delvin as he entered, the man huffing aloud. “There you are!”

  Delvin nodded, “Yes. I believe you are correct, Sir.”

  The man’s mouth turned to a frown. “I see your time away has not changed you other than the loss of that dreadful goatee. Someday, your mouth is going to get you into trouble.”

  Someday? Try most days. “You are likely correct, Sir.”

  “More importantly, keep your hands off the other serving girls. You already cost one girl her job, and you were lucky that you were only suspended.”

  “This is the third time you have reminded me this week, Sir.”

  Sheen’s fists rested on his hips, his face a scowl. “How many more will it take for it to register?”

  “None, sir. I am quite finished with serving girls.”

  “Good. As it is, you are lucky to have reappeared just when I needed help after Ebran disappeared.” He gestured toward the trays. “Now, take two trays. Poul will take the third and a bottle of wine. Marnie will take the water and goblets.”

  “What about you, Sir?”

  “I have other things to attend to at the moment,” His grimace deepened. “I pray this illness is short lived. I am exhausted from running this place with a skeleton crew.”

  With a small bow, Delvin turned from Sheen and picked up two trays with four bowls on each. Poul claimed the third tray – the one holding two bowls, a pile of spoons, and a plate of rolls – before grabbing a carafe of red wine. They headed toward the door where Marnie waited with a tray filled with goblets and a pitcher of water.

  Departing the kitchen, the trio hurried to the stairwell and descended to the ground floor. The hall was quiet with magistrates, guards, and palace staff all ill or afraid of becoming ill. Two guards outside the closed Council Chamber doors were the only people to be found.

  Poul led them toward the guards where he stopped and bobbed his head. “Hello Tarshall, Ydith. We are here to serve dinner.”

  Ydith shrugged. “Go on in, but you might find yourself scolded. They were expecting it some time ago.”

  She knocked three times, waited a moment, and opened the door for the servants to enter. Led by Poul, Delvin and Marnie stepped inside before Ydith pulled the heavy door closed.

  The nine thrones in the room were occupied as was the chair Kardan used when present. Many of the faces turned toward the servants, and some Council members commented about the food being late. Delvin ignored the comments as he set the two trays on a long table near the door. He and Poul then moved small tables from along the wall, placing one before each person. Once each table was in place, Poul and Marnie began placing and filling goblets with wine or water while Delvin returned to the bowls of clam chowder.

  With his back to the room, Delvin removed the vial from his sleeve while humming an easy tune to mask any noise he made. He uncorked the vial and carefully poured a few drops of black ichor into each bowl. After recorking the vial, he slid it back into his sleeve and placed a spoon into each bowl, stirring the poison into the cloudy soup.

  Poul arrived at his side and took a tray as he did the same. In moments, they had passed bowls of chowder to each person in the room. The trio of servants then returned to stand near the serving table as they waited on further instruction.

  “Thank you,” Archon Varius said. “You three may leave.”

  “Very well,” Poul said as he bowed.

  Delvin, who was not yet prepared to leave, cleared his throat to draw attention. “Pardon me, Archon. As you are aware, much of the staff remains ill, including our best cooks. Before we depart, I wish to ensure you are satisfied with the food.”

  Varius sighed. “Very well.”

  Most of the Council members had already consumed one or more spoonfuls of chowder. Varius and Kardan each took a bite, completing the process.

  “The soup is fine,” Varius said. “You may go.”

  Delvin frowned. “Fine?” He shook his head. “Fine will not do.”

  Some of the Council members began to cough and choke, drawing a frown from Varius. Mouths began to foam as they shook and twitched. The Archon’s eyes filled with alarm and she gasped. Kardan tried to stand, spilling his chowder in the process, the bowl rolling across the floor and creating a trail of pale liquid. The general stumbled and fell to his hands and knees as he tried to vomit.

  The entire time, Poul and Marnie gaped. Finally, Poul looked at Delvin with wide eyes. “Poison!”

  Delvin shook his head. “Sorry, Poul.”

  In a fluid move, Delvin drew the dagger hidden under the back of his jacket, gripped Poul’s shirt, and pulled the man close. After slicing the man’s throat, he tossed him aside. Marnie spun toward the door, but was still too close. Delvin snagged the back of her dress and yanked. She stumbled backward with a yelp. His arm looped around her front and sliced her throat. Marnie fell to her knees, choking as blood seeped from the wound. Delvin’s gaze swept the room with his knife ready just in case the poison hadn’t finished the job.

  The men of the Council were all clearly dead, as was Varius, who was facing him with a lifeless stare. Kardan was sprawled on his stomach, still twitching. Delvin knelt and wiped his blade clean on Poul’s jacket before returning it to the hidden sheath. He then straightened his coat and picked up the carafe of wine, which was still half full.

  “This will not do,” he said as he poured the remaining wine into the pitcher of water, turning it to the color of blood. “My, how fitting.”

  He then approached the door with carafe in hand. A backward glance toward the room revealed everything as it should be – motionless and lifeless. Opening the door, he slipped outside.

  30

  An Ugly Outcome

 
The Council Chamber door closed behind them – a thud echoing in the silent room. Quinn stared in shock, the scene before her one of horror.

  Blood pooled on the floor beside two servants, wide-eyed, staring at nothing. The gashes across their throats made it clear those stares were permanent as if they witnessed their next life waiting. This one had certainly ended.

  General Kardan lay near the two servants, his tongue swollen and black, his eyes also locked in a death stare. The man’s chair sat behind him, empty. His soup was spilled on the floor, the spoon still in the man’s hand.

  Council members occupied the eight thrones along the length of the room, many of the men slouching with their necks bent in an odd manner. All their tongues were black and swollen like the general’s. Two of the men had spilled their chowder, one on his lap, the other on the floor where the man’s spoon rested. Quinn processed all of this in a moment but was unable to tear her gaze from the throne at the far end of the room.

  Varius stared at her with a face twisted in pain. A blackened tongue stuck out from her lips, her skin pallid. Like many of the others, foam and spittle covered the front of her shirt. Quinn stared hard, waiting for the woman to move.

  Quinn’s gaze shifted toward Brandt, their eyes meeting. She knew he was thinking the same thing. What did you do, Delvin?

  Iko cried out, “Mother!” and ran across the room.

  He knelt beside Varius and held her hand with a spoon still in its grip. His hand ran through her hair as tears tracked down his cheeks. Despite Quinn’s anger toward him for how she had been treated since her capture, a tear of sympathy slipped down her cheek.

  “Mother, please,” Iko begged. “Please don’t be dead.”

  Wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, he looked across the room toward where Quinn stood, along with Brandt and the two cavalrymen who had escorted them from Yarth.

  “You,” Iko growled as he stood upright and glared at Quinn. “You had something to do with this.”