The soup course had already come and gone. Servers were bringing fresh bread and a new wine to prepare us for the main course. I had been told it would feature wild duck and a smattering of small game birds, served with wild grasses and some sort of cream based sauce. I had learned a lot about epicurean delights over the past few years, but most of my knowledge involved the part with me holding a fork. All that aside, the royal kitchens were the best in all of Lothion and I was looking forward to the rest of the meal.
“Where did you get this wine?” Nicholas asked, after a server had replaced his glass.
James started to speak before lapsing into a frown. Genevieve took note and spoke on his behalf, “It’s from Turlington, Your Majesty. They call it ‘Wyverlin White’, because it is accented during the fermentation with a marsh plant that grows in that region.” James looked on his wife with visible relief. Though he was a man of considerable charm and power, it was obvious that his wife had many talents of her own.
The King of Gododdin raised his glass in a silent toast to the Queen and sipped it appreciatively. A moment later he addressed her directly, “I must confess, this is the first time I have ever tasted something like this. I am afraid it puts my own gift to you and your husband to shame.”
She smiled, “I am sure you are simply modest.”
James broke in, “Nicholas brought a wagon loaded with select Dalensan reds, my dear.”
I had been considering whether I should attempt to enter the conversation, a chancy prospect when you are dining with royalty, but Lady Rose beat me to it. “I absolutely adore the sweet red they produce there, though I can never remember the name…,” she began. I suspected she was lying; Rose had a mind like a steel trap and rarely forgot anything. She was merely creating an opening to continue the conversation.
The King of Gododdin leaned forward to answer Rose’s question, and as he did I could not help noticing the silver glint of a necklace at his throat. I missed his reply to her, as the jewelry caught my attention, for it was tucked into his shirt. There was certainly nothing unusual about royalty wearing jewelry, but normally it was openly displayed. Without thinking I let my senses explore, following the chain and examining the shape of the pendant it held.
It was the likeness of a balance, the symbol of Karenth the Just. It wasn’t unusual, Karenth had been the most popular deity among some nobility and many rulers, but I hadn’t realized that Nicholas was still a devotee. Considering what had happened in his country; the execution of his royal uncle by the Children of Mal’goroth, and the horrors that had followed, I had thought perhaps Nicholas might have abandoned his faith.
After all of that, the dark god had put half the populace to death on his bloody altars. Though the Children of Mal’goroth had been deposed by the revolt that followed, the shiggreth quickly turned victory to despair. If it hadn’t been for the intervention of the Knights of Stone, at the behest of the ‘godless’ Count di’Cameron, there wouldn’t be much left of his nation.
I kept my observations to myself and turned my ear back to the conversation just in time to catch Penny thanking Nicholas. “Of course my husband and I are both honored that you thought of us,” she said. Her foot jostled mine as she sought to bring my attention back to matters at hand.
Mentally I reviewed the last few sentences they had exchanged and luckily it was enough to keep me from making a diplomatic blunder. “You have me at a disadvantage, Your Majesty,” I told him, “for I have nothing prepared to compare to such a gift.” Along with a dozen other selected vintages, he had just brought up the fact that he was giving us two bottles of Dalensan Instritas, a very expensive and highly sought after wine, especially since the winery that produced it had been unable to resume production for the past two years.
“Think nothing of it!” he insisted. “It is but small thanks for the blood you have shed on our behalf, and a small apology for the terrible wrong that was done to both our countries.” He was referring to the ill-fated invasion by the army of Gododdin. Mal’goroth had forced the war upon them and I had responded by wiping out the entire invasion force, a group of soldiers and support staff numbering over thirty thousand strong. “I would be honored if you would drink a glass on the eve of your annual celebration,” he added.
I was mildly embarrassed at his mention of our annual celebration. Since the defeat of the Gododdin army, the people of Lancaster and Washbrook had begun holding a yearly holiday. There was even some sign that it might be catching on with the rest of the kingdom. Given my mixed feelings about the actual event that the holiday was based upon, I tended to avoid the jubilation that went on, but hearing about it from the mouth of Gododdin’s present king was even more awkward.
My eyes were serious as I fixed them upon him, “Although the people find comfort in celebrating that day, I take no comfort in what I did. Tens of thousands died that day, and while some might defend my action by saying it was necessary, the fact still remains that I slew tens of thousands. If I could wipe the event from the minds of men, I would, but my guilt would still remain.” Penny’s hand tightened on my arm as I spoke.
The King of Gododdin looked upon me with something approaching sympathy in his gaze. “Pardon me for reminding you of that day. I had no idea you held such sentiment. As you know, my father was long dead before the attack was decided upon, and I was in hiding. Though you slew my countrymen, I do not hold you to blame. You did what was necessary to protect your people. Those men knew the risk when they joined Mal’goroth’s army.”
Something in his last words struck a chord in me. “Did they really? I suspect many joined out of fear, and even if they didn’t… what of their families? Many more died than just those I slew personally.” I was referring to the slaughter of the wives and children of those who died attempting to invade Lothion.
A fire kindled in the foreign king’s eyes. “You seem quite sympathetic to those whose only goal was to remove your head from your shoulders. Perhaps you should give yourself more credit. Those men were not entirely innocent. Had they kept faith with the true gods none of this would have occurred.”
“You refer to your uncle’s death, I presume. Did you know that he exchanged letters with my father?” I asked, a bit tensely.
“I did not,” Nicholas answered. “Still it does nothing to change the fact that it was the lack of faith amongst the commoners that allowed Mal’goroth’s followers to depose my father and to do such damage to my kingdom. Their defeat at your hands, and the slaughter that the priests wrought afterward, were the catalysts that showed the dark god’s true nature, and once it was seen for the unforgivable abomination that it was, the people finally rose up and threw off the shackles that bound them. You may lament your action, but my people would still be in chains without it, and I would not be sitting on my throne.” As he spoke Nicholas’ voice rose in intensity.
“I am impressed with the fact that you can accept their loss so stoically, yet I have to wonder how much choice they had, and even if they had choice, should people be made to suffer for their gods? Whether you consider it the divine justice of the dark god, or the proper penance for their lack of faith in the Shining Gods… should men and women be put to death for failing to pick the winning deity? It reminds me too much of betting on horse races,” I replied with some bitterness.
“Your impiety is well known,” Nicholas responded. “Despite your power and opportunities, you deny the goddess that sheltered you before you reached the privileged position you hold today. Having seen Mal’goroth’s madness first hand, how can you deny the gods of our people?”
“A valid question,” I noted angrily, “I was raised, like most in the vicinity of Lancaster, to revere the Goddess of the Evening Star. Some there still worship her, but I feel a god or goddess should owe their followers the same due a liege owes his vassals. A priest of the Lady poisoned my father, along with the entirety of the Cameron household. That same priest almost poisoned the Duke of Lancaster’s household.”
“You cannot bla
me the actions of a single man upon his god.”
If my emotions were any gauge, there were sparks shooting from my eyes by that time. “I am certain his actions were ordered by his goddess. She later refused to heal my wife when she was gravely wounded, and action that caused even her greatest champion to forsake her,” I said, bringing up Marc’s defection, “but that was not her greatest crime…”
“Thus far you have said only that she failed to bless those that already doubted her,” Nicholas started, but I was far too incensed to let him continue.
“She resurrected the shiggreth! Is that crime enough for you?” I nearly shouted. The conversation at the table had nearly halted before my outburst, but now a heavy silence lay over the room.
“No one could believe that,” Nicholas replied angrily. “Where could you have gotten such an idea?” To his credit, he kept his reserve better than I had; his voice was still at a much more reasonable volume.
“It came straight from the mouth of one of the shiggreth. I’m pretty sure they would know,” I retorted in a strained tone.
By that point I was ready to throttle the presumptuous King of Gododdin. In part because he had made me lose my cool and no matter how things turned out now, it would reflect badly upon me. A host of clever arguments passed through my mind, but before I could utter any of them, destiny took a hand and completely disrupted our already tense dinner.
Several of the guards had approached the table at the sound of our argument, ostensibly to be close at hand should one of us (me) need restraining. Given the nature of the guests at our table though, I should have realized that no ordinary guard would dare to intrude on an argument between a foreign king and one of the most influential nobles in Lothion. Once again my peasant upbringing led me to miss something that would be more obvious to the noble born.
Dorian was more observant, as were both James and Sir Barnabas. Everyone else was too caught up listening to the argument to have paid heed to the approaching guards. One stood behind me, looming ominously, while the others stood behind King James, King Nicholas, and Walter, respectively. Before I could do more than feel slightly sheepish at having created a disturbance they drew sharp swords from their cloaks and all hell broke loose.
The second their weapons came clear, a word of power cracked out across the room in a language that even I didn’t recognize (it wasn’t Lycian), and each of their weapons were limned in a purplish, magical glow, the sort that indicated a spell to enhance the edge. A spell that would allow an ordinary sword to cut through the type of shields I habitually kept around my person.
Without uttering so much as a threat or battle cry, the four assassins struck simultaneously. The one behind Walter drove his sword through the older man’s back, sending blood spattering forth across the table while Elaine gaped. It had happened so quickly she barely had time to register their presence before seeing her father impaled.
King Nicholas might have suffered a similar fate but for the loyalty and quick thinking of his companion. None of us were armed or armored of course, dining in a royal hall, but Sir Barnabas never hesitated. As the assassin’s blade dove toward his monarch’s unprotected back, he surged up from his seat and threw himself sideways; and even so, he was almost too late. The blade was driven off course by his momentum, and instead it cut a bloody swath across his back and side.
James Lancaster was better prepared, and before his foe could strike, he had already come to his feet with a roar, causing his chair to fly backward and throwing his foe’s attack out of line, as the man nearly stumbled over the heavy furniture.
The ensorcelled blade driving toward my back had a clear path, and while my senses had registered, it my surprise had slowed my reactions far too much. Penny’s eyes were caught by the spectacle playing out with King Nicholas across the table from us, for she had been caught just as off-guard as I was. The assassins had played their hand well. They had prepared and executed their scheme flawlessly, and if the universe were fair, I would have been skewered by the blade coming at me.
The universe isn’t fair however. I can attest to that after the many trials I have endured. Although I had been caught with my proverbial pants down, I had already stacked the deck; for the man sitting beside Penny was Dorian Thornbear. I could give a ten minute description of how acutely deadly my dear friend is, but in the end, his deeds have always been the best testimony, so I won’t bother.
The first sound I noticed was a crack, rather like thunder. I discovered later that it had been caused by Dorian’s chair breaking into several pieces after it struck a marble pillar positioned a good ten feet behind where he had been sitting. That was how violently he had arisen.
Dorian was of course, completely unarmed, just like the rest of us, and dressed in a lovely outfit that consisted primarily of maroon satin and soft doe-hide; yet none of that mattered in the least. He managed to cross a distance of some four or five feet in the space of a heartbeat, and his hand swept up, catching the assassin’s arm by the wrist, and sending the sword clattering to one side, as the man’s wrist broke.
The would-be killer gasped as Dorian’s hand crushed his forearm, but he was committed to his task. With his free hand, he reached for the dagger at his waist; probably hoping to gut Dorian… he never got the chance. Stepping forward, Dorian’s right hand caught the man’s face as his heel slipped behind the assassin’s foot. Thrusting out and downward he slammed the killer’s head against the floor with such force, that it cracked the marble tiles even as it crushed the back of the man’s skull.
Those events passed in the amount of time it took me to stand and take in what was occurring around me. Nicholas had tumbled from his chair as Sir Barnabas fell over him, and both men wound up tangled on the floor. It seemed unlikely either of them would recover in time to avoid their attacker’s next stroke. Meanwhile, I was caught by the vision of Elaine’s beautiful face, as her mouth formed an ‘O’ of horror and surprise, and I could see several drops of her father’s blood on her cheek. The assassin’s sword was now rising above her. I doubted she would rouse herself from her shock in time.
“Borok Ingak!” I shouted. It wasn’t the best spell I could have used, but I hadn’t had the luxury of much time to carefully consider my choices. It was the same spell I had used in the past to shatter doors and destroy gates. The poor bastard standing over Elaine disappeared, as a force similar to an invisible battering ram sent him flying across the room to fetch up against the far wall.
Glancing to the side, I discovered that Penny had fallen into bad habits again. While she had initially been taken by surprise just as I had, she recovered from it quickly. She had leapt across the table, and snatching up a platter full of duck and other succulent fowl, she flung it into the face of the assassin attempting to take King Nicholas’ life. Her opponent side-stepped the makeshift missile and reacted by throwing a dagger toward her.
The bastard’s reflexes were fast. He had snatched the dagger from his belt so quickly, I barely saw the action. If he had been aiming at some dowager duchess or helpless damsel, it might have caused serious harm. My Penny has been described as many things, but it had been a long time since anyone called her a ‘helpless damsel’; today was no exception. The silver platter was still in her hands and she deftly swatted the blade from the air before charging forward to engage the man in direct ‘platter to sword’ combat.
She was fighting a man with excellent sword skills and superior strength, for she was no longer my Anath’Meridum. On a good day, I might have given him a fifty-fifty chance, but only because he was armed, and her weapon was a makeshift serving platter. Penny had continued to make it a habit of practicing with the soldiers of Castle Cameron, until I had insisted that she stop. It wasn’t really becoming to have the Countess di’Cameron drilling in the yard with the men at arms. She hadn’t given up though, and she continued to practice in private with Harold, Cyhan, or Dorian when they were at the keep.
I spotted Dorian as he was about to interven
e, for he had already dismembered the remaining assassin, the one that had threatened King James. Holding up a hand, I signaled for him to wait rather than interfere. “She’s got this,” I told him. I secretly worried she might not, but I didn’t want to be the one to steal her glory. Instead I watched carefully, that I might intervene if things went badly.
We needn’t have worried; in the span of less than a minute she had completely demoralized her opponent. The fight was over when she slammed the edge of the platter into the bridge of his nose, sending blood spurting forth while he collapsed on the floor. All told the entirety of the fight, from the moment of surprise until Penny’s victory, was less than a minute and a half.
King James was surrounded by armed guardsmen now, as was King Nicholas, but if there were more assassins, they had chosen not to make their presence known. “Stand aside,” James yelled at two of his bodyguards who were obstructing his view of the room. “Who were these men? I want names! I want answers!” He was pointing at the recently deceased men, who were all conveniently clad in his own arms and livery.
Ignoring the uproar and interrogation, I went to my friend Walter first. Even without using my senses, I could see he was quite clearly dead, the sword had passed completely through him and my magesight confirmed that his heart had been neatly pierced. He had died almost instantly.
Elaine was still in a state of disbelief, but as I approached, her eyes lit up with hope. “You’ve got to save him! He’s dying!” They were the words of a desperate child, unable to accept what was plainly in front of her.
“Go help Sir Barnabas. I’ll see to your father,” I told her, with a calm that I didn’t truly feel.
“No, we can save him,” she repeated stubbornly.
“Know your limits. Tend to the man you can aid, so that I can see to Walter,” I said harshly. She hesitated, but I was devoid of sympathy. “Now!” I barked in a tone of cold authority. I was doubtful that anything could be done, but if it could, I wouldn’t be able to manage it with her crying over my shoulder.
Mageborn: Book 04 - The God-Stone War Page 10