What had to be done would be accomplished by his own hand.
Theoll spun and went to the far wall. His dagger scraped away mortar to reveal a tiny lever. Prying it free with his dagger tip produced a grating sound. Part of the wall pulled back to reveal a small, dark tube leading into the depths of the castle. Theoll travelled the secret passages of the castle but had only once used this crawlway. It did not pay to advertise all he knew.
As surely as his eyes spied on others, he knew Anneshoria spied on him. Theoll touched the dagger point with his forefinger and decided the weapon was too nicked for use. He threw it across the room and fetched a new, shiny-bladed dirk.
The weapon’s gleaming perfection would soon be marred with drying blood.
Theoll sheathed the dirk and dived headfirst into the small tunnel. On hands and knees he made his way quickly through the maze that spiralled ever downward. Only when he came to the dungeon level did he slow down enough to peer through the frequent spy holes in the walls.
A shiver of anticipation passed through him. Anneshoria had brought two soldiers to the dungeons for questioning. He listened to her torturer asking, “Tell us of Theoll’s plan. Tell us all you know about the secret niche in the garden wall.”
Theoll smiled broadly. Anneshoria had penetrated his spell-locked chest! Fake plans showing a hiding place in the castle wall had been part of the trove left for her eyes. The rest told of how he would kill her this morning when they met — just as she planned to kill him, if Squann was to be believed.
A loud shriek of pain echoed through the chamber. The soldier had died denying any complicity in Theoll’s assassination scheme. Theoll felt a pang of guilt for the man’s death; he had been innocent. But in Castle Porotane everyone took the risk of becoming involved in plotting. The innocent, most of all, became embroiled because of their naiveté.
Theoll slipped forward into a hollow space behind a torture device. His hand rested on the dirk. Anneshoria ought to be here watching the torture. She always sat on a special chair back far enough to prevent blood from spattering on her fine gowns. The chair back had been made specially to Theoll’s specification. When she sat with her back to a wall, secure that the chair was constructed of heavy wood, he would strike. The blade would slip through the thin false back in a single stroke.
Anneshoria would die in the torture chamber. It might be long minutes — even hours — before anyone discovered it. And who escaped from the dungeon? Her guards had supplanted those of the late Archbishop Nosto. Only a traitor in her own rank could perform such a feat of murderous magic.
Theoll peered through tiny eyeslits in the device. He frowned when he failed to see her head outlined by grim flame leaping on the torturer’s brazier.
Did she know? Had Squann alerted her? No, no, it was impossible. This scheme had never been put to paper. No one save Theoll knew the details. He had done it all himself.
Where was the slut?
Theoll pushed open the compartment lid and dared a quick glance into the dungeon. The second soldier’s life swung on a thin cable, and the torturer methodically sawed at it. The burly torturer and the sweaty, bloody, naked soldier he took in with one look. Nowhere was Anneshoria to be seen.
His plan had failed!
Theoll wanted to shout, to strike out, to kill. He contained his destructive impulses. With the well-muscled torturer and his many assistants nearby, anything other than a silent retreat would be self-destructive. Theoll crept back into the narrow tube-like tunnel and sat, legs crossed and mind racing.
Something had gone wrong. Anneshoria never missed her amusements in the torture chamber. She was as bad as Archbishop Nosto had been on this point. Theoll’s mind turned from the woman’s absence to the reasons that might cause it.
A slow smile replaced the worried frown. The only thing that would draw her away from a particularly toothsome torture session would be — Theoll’s death!
The Baron scampered up the tunnel and got into the upper levels. He turned and twisted and forced himself past tight-fitting blocks and came out in more familiar ways. He dusted off his filthy clothing, then forgot about it entirely. He heard Anneshoria and Squann arguing.
Pressing his eye to the spy hole in Squann’s quarters, he saw the commander of the guard and Lady Anneshoria.
“…on the battlements, I swear it, lady!” protested Squann.
“You lie. You play at his game, not mine. You lured me here to kill me. You are in his pay, after all I have given you! After all you have meant to me!”
Theoll smirked. He knew what she had given the captain. He had watched enough times.
“So be it!” Squann reached under the bed and drew his sword. Theoll wanted to cry out and warn the captain; he held his tongue. Fighting Anneshoria in this manner would never work. He was startled that Squann did not realize this — and he was even more surprised that Squann supported him over the lovely lady.
Squann launched a decent attack that would have spitted any other unarmed woman. Anneshoria moved with the speed of a striking snake and danced back. Theoll watched her fumble with a large ring and twist off a jewel. She held the ring to her mouth, her pink tongue darting out to sample the white powder within the tiny compartment revealed.
She had moved with the speed of a viper before. Now her reactions were blinding. The drug she had taken speeded up movement tenfold. Try as he might, Squann found it impossible to do more than put a single slice in the woman’s shoulder.
Theoll knew the drug wore off quickly; Anneshoria made the most of the brief acceleration. A small dagger hardly longer than her middle finger came from her bodice. She danced inward, past Squann’s flailing, slowly thrust and drove the point into the man’s belly.
Squann gasped and folded over, clutching his guts.
“You will be dead soon enough, fool,” Anneshoria said. “The point was poisoned against your treachery.”
Squann peered up at her with glazed eyes. “I wanted only for Porotane to be united. Too much war. Too much.” He gasped and dropped to his knees. Theoll felt a pang of sorrow for the man he had underestimated. Squann had seen the true ruler of Porotane in him and had tried to eliminate Anneshoria. Theoll realized that he ought to have trusted the captain. Anneshoria would not have been diverted from the torture chamber this night if he had let the man know his plans.
Theoll discarded such a chimerical notion. He dared not trust Squann, even now as the man died. Events had forged this course of events and they must now run their course.
“Where is he?” demanded Anneshoria. “I came here to kill that little whoreson and I will! I will not spend another night sharing the throne with him!”
“He…on the battlements. The northern tower looking out over the rebel front.” Squann began writhing on the floor in obvious pain. Only an incoherent gagging sound came from his mouth now.
“Very well. I will see him dead on the battlements.” Anneshoria jerked her gown away from Squann’s feebly clutching fingers and left.
Theoll watched her walk carefully. A slight falter came to her step. The drug had taken its toll. Although it imparted fantastic speed for a few seconds, it left the user drained. He had heard of the drug but had never found any magician able to concoct it. He wondered at Anneshoria’s contacts in obtaining such a valuable spell-laced drug.
Theoll used the tip of the dirk he had intended to drive into Anneshoria’s back to force open a small portal into Squann’s chambers. The guard captain moaned softly and opened his eyes.
“Baron?” he croaked.
“I listened at the wall,” said Theoll. “I believe I know the nature of Anneshoria’s poison. Be still and we shall see if it, can be countered. I have some small knowledge in such matters.” He did not tell Squann that he had systematically poisoned Duke Freow and had made a careful study of all possible deadly drugs.
Theoll went through Squann’s quarters until he found spare fire liquid for the table lamp. He poured a generous portion onto the wound
, then ignited it. Squann screeched in pain.
“Endure, Captain,” ordered the baron. “This is for the best. In this you must trust me.”
Squann’s face turned deathly pale and his eyes remained clamped firmly shut. His twitchings slowed and he lay as still as he could.
“Good.” Theoll looked at the large ring on his own thumb and considered the risks in giving Squann the countering agent hidden within. Anneshoria had shown herself to be adept at the use of poisons. Theoll might need this antidote.
Captain Squann had shown himself to be loyal. Theoll realized the need for allies in the coming battle for supremacy within the castle walls. He knelt and forced open Squann’s mouth. He opened his ring and knocked a few grains of the yellow powder onto the officer’s tongue. Blisters appeared where each grain touched moist flesh. Theoll clamped the mouth firmly shut as Squann went into convulsions.
“Relax. Trust me. This is the antidote. The fire burned away part of her poison at the wound. This attacks the rest of Anneshoria’s poison in your body.”
Squann slowly relaxed and his eyes opened, the glaze gone.
“You’ll live. I’ll send the chirurgeon to tend you.”
“Baron, I sent her to the battlements.”
“I heard. I had intended to eliminate her in the dungeon, but I have no reason to shun the towers.”
“Take guards. She is dangerous.”
“Rest. I will return when I have finished with her.”
Theoll left through the door into the outer corridor. Finding a chirurgeon he could trust at this time of night would take too long. Squann might be weak now but the danger had passed. The guard commander had shown himself to be strong and brave; a few more hours of pain would not do him irreparable harm.
Theoll had an assassination to complete.
As his short legs took him even higher in the castle and onto the exposed battlements, his mind worked out a different plan. Anneshoria expected to find him — he would hunt her down. Everything she intended to do, he would do first. The element of surprise would be his.
He smiled wickedly. He hoped she tried to use her drug again. His reading had shown that two uses within the circuit of the sun left the user a mindless husk.
Cold wind blew into his face and pulled lank, dark hair away from his forehead. He had not realized until this moment how much he perspired. He did not fear Anneshoria, he told himself over and over.
Theoll was not sure if he lied to himself on this point. After Lorens had vanished to hunt the Demon Crown and Archbishop Nosto had been killed, the woman had risen to power quickly by skilfully manipulating the other nobles. Theoll had been unable to use her to further his own goals and had agreed to the ridiculous division of power.
Two sitting simultaneously on the throne? Absurd!
The snap of fabric in the strong wind alerted him to her presence. She moved in shadows ahead of him, stalking him, thinking that Squann had spoken the truth in his death throes.
Anneshoria might be expert at stalking in the boudoir; out here she proved herself a rank amateur. Theoll closed the distance between them quickly and silently.
Stars shone down from the crystal-clear night sky and provided enough illumination for Theoll to see the woman’s face. It was drawn as if she experienced considerable strain. For the first time, Theoll let confidence rise within his breast. She feared him!
The dirk came into his hand. Two quick steps closed the distance between them. With his weaker left hand, Theoll reached out and grabbed a handful of the woman’s hair. He jerked hard, snapping her head back and forcing her off balance.
“You thought to kill me, lovely Anneshoria. How foolish of you.” He lashed out with his dirk, trying to slit her taut throat. The woman twisted around and lowered her chin in time to take the edge of the knife along her cheek. Dark blood spurted in the moonlight, but Theoll saw instantly that this was not a killing stroke. It would leave her disfigured, but he did not want her beauty marred.
He wanted her dead!
She snapped at his wrist, like a caged animal. Theoll pulled back, dagger ready for a second thrust. Anneshoria slipped free, kicking and screaming for the guard. Theoll lunged and missed — and almost died.
Anneshoria grabbed the back of his cloak and tried to heave him over the battlements to the ground below. For a brief instant, Theoll hung suspended, staring out and down.
Below stretched the deadly brambles that protected the lower portions of the castle from ground attack. And beyond? He saw the glint of silvered moonlight off battered armour as the rebel troops changed positions. His mind worked on a dozen items simultaneously. The rebels prepared for a dawn attack. He had to devise a counterplan or the castle might fall.
Fall. Theoll stared back at the brambles so far below and knew fear. He shrieked and lashed out once more with the dagger. The tip caught the woman’s hand and opened a deep gash that sent black blood pouring over him.
She tried again to boost him up and over the stone crenellation but her own blood robbed her of purchase on his clothing. Cursing, Anneshoria backed off to launch a new attack.
This time Theoll was ready for her. She gave voice to a battle cry and rushed him. He dipped under the outstretched arms, got his hands on her waist, and heaved.
“Theoll, wait, no!” she pleaded. They had reversed positions. Where he had hung suspended over the edge of the battlements the woman now struggled. “We can come to an agreement. I will go to the western provinces. I will be content with ruling a maritime — ”
His dirk moved upward along her belly, but he did not drive the blade into her softness. He let her feel the deadly steel point, to know true fear.
“Theoll!”
“Good-bye, Anneshoria.” He dropped the dagger with a loud, ringing clatter to the stone walkway. She relaxed, thinking he had relented and would allow her to go into exile.
Theoll’s muscles bunched as he heaved her up and over the side. Anneshoria cartwheeled through the air to her death below, screaming as she fell.
Theoll retrieved his fallen dirk and put it in his belt. Only then did he look.
A contorted body hung on the brambles below, the foot-long thorns piercing the tender, unmoving body. Theoll stood and stared, drained of all emotion. Then he turned and went down the winding stairs to find a chirurgeon for Captain Squann. If the rebels attacked at dawn, he needed an able leader to mount the defence.
A good king never wasted resources.
King Theoll, he said to himself. King Theoll!
CHAPTER XI
“We must not delay getting into the castle, Majesty,” cautioned the lieutenant. “The rebel patrols are everywhere. They form their ranks for a dawn attack. We must not be caught outside.”
“You mean we should get inside the castle to regain the throne,” said Lorens. His dark eyes scanned the edge of the forest for the sign that Vered and the Demon Crown had arrived. Losing the castle to the rebels meant nothing if he could recover his magical crown. Nothing but this mattered. Nothing. Nothing!
“We will meet opposition.”
“Doubtful.” Lorens chuckled. “I put an impostor on the throne in my place. They believe I have never left the castle. The fools believe I still rule!”
The lieutenant said nothing. Lorens faced the man and studied him. Sparks of the growing darkness within his soul rose and for a brief instant he saw with more than eyes.
“You think they dared try to depose me? Impossible! I took too many precautions.”
“It is dangerous in our exposed position. We have too few men left to properly defend you, Majesty. If we were inside the castle, we could call on the entire army for protection.”
Lorens barely listened. The secret entry to the castle lay less than an hour’s walk away. They could be inside long before Dalziel Sef launched his morning offensive. What Lorens needed above all else was the Demon Crown. If that cowardly traitor Pandasso hadn’t lied, the other thief would bring it directly to his hand.
“There!” he cried when he spotted the one long flash and the two short ones. “Get a lantern. Quickly, fool, a lantern!”
“We don’t have any, Majesty. And I advise against showing light. The rebels…”
“May the demons take all the rebels!” Lorens reeled as blackness swelled around him and the voices within his head began their incessant shrill howling. He blinked and saw a red-glowing land of jagged black rocks and torments beyond his imaginings. As suddenly as it appeared, it vanished — but the stench of death and decay lingering caused his nostrils to flare.
“If you must signal,” spoke up a soldier, “we can use the campfire and this shiny bit of metal.”
The lieutenant turned and knocked the soldier back. “Showing our position means death!”
Lorens paid them no attention. He drew a short dagger and walked to the banked campfire. He positioned himself and turned the silver blade in such a way that he reflected back two short flashes and a long — the combination Pandasso had told him. No matter what signal came, send back the reverse.
A long and a short. Lorens sent a short and a long.
“Majesty, this is a dangerous game to play.”
Lorens spun on the lieutenant, dagger in hand. He jerked and sent the blade up under the officer’s lowest rib and into his heart. The lieutenant convulsed once, then slipped silently to the ground.
“You.” Lorens pointed to the soldier who had offered the reflecting metal to him. “Take his rank. You are now lieutenant of my personal guard.”
Lorens turned back to study the dark terrain between the edge of the forest and his position on the low rise. A ravine afforded the best spot for ambush. “There,” he told the soldier struggling to accept his new rank. “A lone man will ride through that ravine in a few minutes. I want him and what he carries.”
“Should we take him alive, Majesty?” the new lieutenant asked.
A Symphony of Storms (Demon Crown Book 3) Page 8