by A C Rae
Lord Cassian laughed. “That sort of magic comes at a price I am unwilling to pay for disposing of your miserable life.” He pulled his fist back and punched Quinn so hard he staggered backwards and fell to the floor.
The last thing he heard before blackness took him was Eira's screaming.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“One of the most popular Kings of recent times, King Soren still suffers a dent to his popularity caused by taxes raised to support Lord Cassian’s wars abroad. Forgetting the right or wrongness of these wars, they are certainly expensive.”
Book VIII, A Guide to Avarria
Quinn woke with a start. He recognised his surroundings. He was in the basement of the Phoenix theatre.
He wasn't tied down. No need. With Eira's life in danger he wasn't going anywhere.
To the right of him lay a script. Shuffling across the floor, he picked it up. He held a hand to his head, which was still throbbing.
Revengers Tragedy. Apt, he thought. It was strange, holding the script that was to outline how he was to die. He felt strangely calm. At least Eira would live. He dearly hoped she could escape Lord Cassian's clutches. He would have her married to anyone other than that man.
He flicked open the script. A play bill fell out, acting as a warning he had only two days to memorise his part. Clearly Lord Cassian was quite mad. Surely he could have just killed him earlier whilst he was unconscious.
He wondered if he would get a dress rehearsal, and if his actor friends who worked at the theatre had even the slightest inkling that something was amiss. Dick would normally play the anti-hero but would have had no choice other than to let Lord Cassian take the role if ordered to.
The door opened slightly. Quinn looked up from Act II of his script. A plate with bread and cheese was set down on the floor along with some fresh candles to replace the ones that were almost spent. The door closed again, leaving Quinn alone. Fetching the bread and cheese he went back to the business of learning his lines.
There was clearly to be no dress rehearsal as two days had passed. As there was no natural light in the basement Quinn could only tell the time of day by the amount of bread and cheese he had had delivered through the door. He was relieved as he did not want to see any of the actors hurt. He wondered whether it was a good thing that he would be surrounded by them as he died.
The door opened. This time a costume was placed on the floor. When Quinn picked it up, he removed a note that was pinned to the jacket on the top of the pile.
You have ten minutes to get dressed before curtain call.
Quinn wasted no time in swapping his clothes over. Somehow Lord Cassian had acquired his size, as the clothes fit almost perfectly. He found it almost more unnerving than the idea that he was to perform in a play constructed to enact his own murder. He pulled on his own boots and waited.
A few moments later, one of Lord Cassian's footmen opened the door and signalled it was time for him to go to the stage area.
He passed Dick Babbage on the way up. He grasped Quinn's arm and smiled.
“Quinn! What are you doing back here?”
Quinn shook his head to indicate he was not able to talk. He inclined his head towards the footman to indicate the source of the problem.
As they moved up the steps that led to the back of the stage, Quinn mouthed. “Do not intervene.”
He was relieved to see a puzzled nod. If Dick stopped the show, Eira's life would be forfeit.
He could hear the low rumble of conversation emanating from the groundlings as he came to the area where he was to enter from stage right. The footman left his side to stand guard in the shadows.
He could hear the creaking of the stairs as Lord Cassian approached. He took Quinn's sword and replaced it with a much more inferior one that was not balanced at all.
“Can't have you showing me up with any fighting skills you may possess. The King is watching tonight.”
Quinn didn't respond. What did it matter, having one more witness to his demise?
Eira had been roughly dragged to Lord Cassian's private box. She had spoken the words on the piece of paper that had turned her hair back to her normal colour. She wanted to be recognised. Sadly Lord Cassian had thought of that- his box had been deliberately poorly lit. Even her own father would have difficulty spotting her.
As she had been brought in well before any of the spectators turned up, she had had time to look at everything, several times over. She had counted the number of grains in the wood on the balcony rail twice.
She had been tied to the chair albeit subtly so no-one would be able to tell from any of the seats in any of the other boxes. Apparently Lord Cassian didn't trust her not to try and escape. The ropes had even suppressed her magic. He had realised that she would have been foolish enough to risk harsh penalties for casting spells in the open, so close to the Witches Guild.
For the hundredth time she grunted in frustration as the tight knots gave no leeway, and seemed to dig tighter into her wrists.
She watched hopelessly as the theatre began filling to the brim with people. She could only feel dread and despair which clashed against the palpable excitement filling the theatre. It was not often a member of the nobility starred in the show, let alone Lord Cassian.
When the King's arrival was announced she didn't even bother to bow her head with the slightest amount of respect.
What did custom matter when Quinn was going to die in front of her eyes tonight?
As Quinn walked on stage. Eira's chest constricted painfully.
His lines, mourning the death of his beloved, were delivered with such heartfelt emotion he had cast a hush over the entire audience. Never before had the theatre been so silent, each member of the audience rapt to attention.
She somehow felt those lines were meant for her as a way of saying goodbye.
Tears fell freely down her cheeks.
Quinn tried to look out to see if he could see Eira in the audience, to see her one last time before he died. The theatre had been dimly lit to make the stage more prominent; he could not see beyond the groundling's pit. Acting was not necessary to put venom in his lines towards Lord Cassian. Little did the enthralled audience know, Lord Cassian's villainous part was more than just a character.
The death count on stage increased as the play reached its inevitable conclusion. Eira wished she could put her hands over her eyes, yet didn't even dare blink lest she missed one single movement of Quinn's.
She barely noticed the muffled shouting and banging from the other side of the door and completely blocked it from her attention until Dick and Pryce burst in.
She almost cried aloud with relief. Pryce hurriedly untied her hands. She leaned over the balcony and yelled to Quinn.
“Quinn! I'm safe! Quinn!” Quinn didn't respond. Clearly her voice had not carried to the stage. People looked up from the pit below, frowning, before turning back to the stage again.
Eira wasted no time in running out of the doors. She had to get to Quinn. Pryce and Dick followed her.
She picked up pace, leaping over the unconscious forms of Lord Cassian's men.
In a gasp, she explained Lord Cassian's plan. Almost in hysterics, she burst through the doors at the end of the corridor, calling for Dick to tell her which route to take.
The final fight scene had begun. Quinn pulled his sword free from the scabbard and flicked it with an impressive flourish.
Lord Cassian pulled his sword free and pulled a defensive stance. “To the death.”
“To the death,” echoed Quinn hollowly.
Quinn lunged forward, striking Lord Cassian's sword with a blow that clanged and reverberated around the room. They circled each other.
Lord Cassian had a toxic spark in his eye as he returned with an impressive counter attack that made Quinn's sword ring in his hand with each blow.
The crowd began to roar, cheering him on and booing Lord Cassian at each turn. The sound disappeared in the roaring in Quinn's ears. He sprung forwar
d, landing two hits against Lord Cassian' sword before dancing back.
Lord Cassian swiped with a wild attack that had Quinn retreating a few steps.
The sword slashed and danced in a deadly dance.
Quinn missed a block, and the sword sliced across his arm. He almost dropped the sword in surprise at the burning pain that screamed forth as blood started leaking down his arm. Clenching his teeth, he side stepped a follow up blow and started pressing Lord Cassian back across the stage.
At the gleam in Lord Cassian's eyes he knew that soon he would have to stop fighting back so well. It wouldn't be hard to fake fatigue; the blood loss from his arm wound seemed to be taking its toll quickly. He felt dizzy.
Lord Cassian flicked the sword out of his hand. The audience had fallen deathly silent; the sword fell to the floor with a deafening clatter that echoed across the hushed theatre.
Quinn staggered and fell to his knees. Lord Cassian placed his sword over his heart. Quinn closed his eyes. The last thing he would see before his death would be Eira. He pictured her in his mind. She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling.
Lord Cassian drew his sword back to gain the momentum to strike the final blow.
“My love! My love!” Quinn's eyes opened, and widened in shock. “I am alive!” Eira ran onto the stage. “You have something to live for! Fight! Fight him for me!”
The audience sprang to their feet, cheering for him to fight back even as whispers started amongst the nobility watching from above. A woman on stage was a heinous crime.
The audience gasped collectively as they saw Lord Cassian spring his sword forward to deliver death.
Eira picked up Quinn's prone sword and blocked the blow. Lord Cassian, livid, pushed down with all his might, freeing his sword with a rain of sparks.
Quinn sprang to his feet. Eira threw the sword into the air. He caught it deftly, and moved between Eira and Lord Cassian. He carefully pushed Eira so she was standing out of the way.
“To the death!” He called with menace and sincerity in his heart.
Lord Cassian backed a step before running at him with a mad yell.
This time Quinn blocked, lunged and counter attacked with the fierceness of his cause. He fought for the pain Lord Cassian had caused the people, Pryce, him, and Eira. For Eira he rained blows one after the other with such fury that it had Lord Cassian on the defensive. Eira stepped back in alarm as his eyes began to glow as he drew from his power instinctively.
Spectacularly, he swept his sword across Lord Cassian's guard, knocking it out of his hand so cleanly it flew to the other side of the stage. He pressed the sword against his chest, pushing him backwards until his back was pressed to the side of the stage. “Any last words, my Lord?”
Eira risked springing forward and laid her hand gently on Quinn's arm to restrain him. “Do not kill him.” She whispered.
She met Quinn's incredulous stare with a calm look until the glow dimmed out of his eyes. Quinn flicked his sword the other way and used the hilt to smack Lord Cassian over the head. He crumpled forward.
He left the stage to rapturous applause as one of the actors came on stage to deliver the final speech. A very improvised one, given that for the first time ever in the performance of the play the hero had walked off stage without meeting an untimely demise.
Adrenaline gone, Quinn leaned against the wall and slid down. He peered at his arm wound and pressed his hand to it, wincing as blood poured between his fingers.
Eira crouched down next to him with an elated smile and kissed him on the cheek. Quinn smiled wearily.
Pryce and Dick stepped forward. Pryce held his hand out to pull Quinn up by his good arm. “We need to get out of here and you need a healer.”
Quinn nodded and held Pryce's hand. Pryce hauled him up. Quinn was unsteady on his feet. Pryce hooked his arm around his waist before he swayed back against the wall.
“Thanks.” Quinn leaned on him as Dick led the way through the back passageway into a secluded room full of old props.
Eira wasted no time in pulling a strip of fabric from one of the old costumes. She tied it tightly round Quinn's arm.
Pryce explained how he had followed the movements of Lord Cassian's men for two days. He had seen them carry the unconscious Quinn out of the mansion and load him in a carriage. He was surprised to find the carriage end up at the Phoenix theatre but not as surprised as the next evening, when he read the playbill that stated Lord Cassian would be in the play in two nights' time. With Lord Framwich billed as the main character.
Eira had been loaded into a separate carriage a day later, gagged and tied. Apparently Lord Cassian had grown tired of her screaming and kicking.
Pryce had bumped into Dick in the theatre on his way to rescue Eira. He had reasoned that she was the reason Quinn was willingly on stage. Although he had had no idea what Lord Cassian's plan was, he knew it wasn't likely to be good.
Dick's help was invaluable in defeating the men posted outside the door. Eira had realised that Lord Cassian would be restricted from striking a blow against her, by the limitation of his own plan to ‘accidently’ kill Quinn on stage in front of hundreds of people.
By the same plan, Lord Cassian’s life had been spared by necessity - Eira could not allow Quinn to strike him dead in front of all of the witnesses. With the King watching Quinn would have been immediately sentenced to death.
Quinn closed his eyes for a second. He had been so very close to killing him; caught in the moment of revenge so powerful he had only just been stopped by Eira at the very last minute. He had completely blocked out the audience to the point where he had forgotten they were there.
There was a soft knock on the door. They all tensed. Quinn and Eira ducked behind an old screen.
The door opened. A tentative voice carried towards them. “Hello?”
Eira ran out from behind the screen with a squeal of joy. “Father!” She ran into his outstretched arms.
“Eira! Thank the Ancestors!” He pulled back to stare at her.
Quinn remained behind the screen as he thanked Pryce and Dick. Eira explained that she had been kidnapped by Lord Cassian and rescued by them, casually skipping over the part of the story where Pryce was one of the highwaymen who had held up the coach all those months before. She pulled Quinn out from behind the screen.
Quinn could not look Lord Winsworth in the eye as he was thanked profusely many times over for his bravery. He was pleased Eira had been reunited with her father but now she could return to her father and the life she had been snatched from.
“Father, I saw the paper Lord Cassian was using to blackmail you with.”
Lord Winsworth winced. “I am sorry; I should have forfeited our lands before forcing you to marry that man. I have stashed aside a small fortune since your disappearance. You will not have to marry him.”
Eira smiled. “We don't need to forfeit our lands. Quinn destroyed the paper.”
Lord Winsworth looked at Quinn with wonder. “Is there anything you have not done for my family?”
Quinn smiled weakly. “Pryce helped a lot.”
Pryce waved the compliment aside. “Pish, you did all the dangerous work!”
Eira cupped her father's face in her hands. “I want Quinn to come with us.”
Lord Winsworth beamed, and shook Quinn's hand warmly. “Excellent! It was about time she found a husband!”
Eira elbowed him. “I said I wanted him to come with us, not that I wanted to marry him.”
Lord Winsworth winked at Quinn, who was agape with disbelief. “I am not a nobleman, sir. I only pretended to be Lord Framwich.”
“I know- Lord Framwich is my niece's son, and you look nothing like him. Besides, as you no doubt read in that piece of paper, my family has no more claims to nobility than yours. You may stay at our mansion until we can find a way to get you a new identity worthy of what you have done for my family.”
There was another knock on the door. Eira and Quinn dived behind the screen again. It
seemed the secluded room was not so private after all.
There was a hush as the boots of a man came in through the door.
Lord Winsworth bowed deeply. “My King.”
Quinn's heart thudded loudly against his chest. The King had clearly come looking for retribution for what had happened to Lord Cassian. It was no secret he was his right hand man.
King Soren cleared his throat. “Perhaps Lady Winsworth and her male companion would like to come out from behind the screen.
They came out sheepishly. Eira grabbed Quinn's hand. This time she would not let him go.
“Ah, the infamous Lord Framwich. Could I have your real name please?”
Quinn bowed deeply, one hand to his wounded arm. “Quinn Tannin, my King.” He kept his gaze fixed to the floor, partly to avoid passing out.
The King clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Although I would say your name is Lord Quinn Tannin.”
Quinn whipped his head up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lord Tannin. Although perhaps I should think of a better family name? Lord Drakwyn. A bit of an old fashioned name but I like it.”
He pulled free his sword and signalled for Quinn to kneel. “I name you, Lord Drakwyn.”
Quinn rose to his feet unsteadily, completely disorientated. “But what about Lord Cassian?”
“That is precisely why I have named you a Lord.” He glanced around surreptitiously. “I need your help in defeating him.”
“Defeating him? I thought he was your right hand man.”
“Yes, but not through my wishes- he rose to that position through power. My hands are tied. If I have him arrested for treason, it could spark a war amongst the nobles that would cost me the throne.” He smiled at Quinn. “I sense you are the one to defeat him.” He held his hand over Quinn's arm wound and chanted briefly, his kind blue eyes glowing. The wound knitted closed as he took his hand away.
Quinn, eyes wide at the King’s use of magic, sighed in relief as the pain faded away to nothing. “Thank you.” He swallowed. “How can I be the one to defeat Lord Cassian? Surely everyone is going to wonder why Lord Framwich is suddenly Lord Drakwyn?”