The Wrong Scapegoat: A Mythic Fantasy Novel (Ravens of the Morrigan)

by Cornelius Flynn

  Wildcat sprints across the room and bears the seated guard to the floor, taking the chair with him. Filippo’s not fast enough and the healer, sitting by the side of the bed, calls out in alarm as he grasps a bell rope and yanks hard on it.

  “Curse it!” He dashes across the room and punches him hard in the chest knocking him to the floor and kneels on him until his struggles cease.

  “That could have gone better.” Wildcat says.

  “Please don’t hurt me.” A female voice comes from behind them.

  Wildcat turns to speak. “Don’t worry, Lady Bronwyn. We’re friends of William. We have the cure here for your husband. These imposters have been keeping him asleep.”

  He’s amazed by the level of Wildcat’s night vision. He’s still trying to see where the voice has come from while she’s identified and addressed the speaker.

  “Imposters? Where’s William?”

  “Light a lamp, my lady. He’s on the roof holding off another of their conspirators. I’ll give him this cure, then no-one will hurt him any more.”

  The Lady Bronwyn busies herself lighting a taper from the softly glowing coals, her hands shaking. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s been happening.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’ll be awake soon.” She removes the fragile vial from the pouch at her waist, opens it and waits for one drop of the precious liquid to fall between his lips.

  The room flares into light as Bronwyn turns up the lamp. “Will he be able to swallow that?”

  “I’m not certain that he needs to,” Wildcat puts the stopper back into the small bottle, “but I’m sure he will.”

  Filippo moves to the door. “Time we were out of here. It won’t be long until guards arrive after he rang that bell. Bar this behind us and watch these two so they can’t interfere, my lady. We’ll hold them off without.”

  “Thank you, whoever you are.” She stands and lifts the royal sceptre from beside the bed. “They won’t cause me any problems.”

  “Ring the bell when he awakes. Three peals, and a rest.”

  The assassin leaps forward, flicking out his blade to casually cut Piper across the chest, but finds it parried and has to spin sideways to allow the riposte to slide past harmlessly.

  He takes two steps back and smiles. “I see you know how to use a blade. How refreshing.”

  “Not getting tired already are you, old chap? I am of course going to kill you slowly, and painfully.”

  “Ambitious too. Skilled, gifted and vindictive. Why, I almost like you Mister Gracie.” He flicks his swords out to the side and back again. “No, we’re just beginning.”

  He springs forward and strikes for his opponents bicep. Piper reacts, tapping the blade to one side with his dagger and thrusting with the deadly rapier.

  This too is parried as his attacker spins and attempts to catch him with a reverse blow from his other blade. Piper ducks below it using his elbow to strike his opponent hard in the thigh as he passes, then diving and rolling to his left, coming back up on his feet to face him.

  “That was a terribly interesting move.” The assassin flexes his leg. “I don’t think I’ve seen that one before. This is going to be fun.”

  “Not for you, murderer of innocents. Your fun stops here.” Piper takes up his guard position.

  “Less talk. More action.” Leaping through the air, his strange leather cloak billowing behind him, the assassin launches a blistering attack and Piper finds himself fighting for his life.

  Realising he may have underestimated him, he changes his tactics and begins to strike out with his feet, kicking and blocking his opponent on the knees and shins to slow his footwork. His arms, shoulders and torso are moving at lightning speed now fending off the attacks, but making no real headway of his own.

  It’s been years since he faced an opponent with even half the skill of this assassin.

  Both combatants are sweating now. Sparks fly from the edge of Piper’s blades when theirs meet at odd angles, but he senses progress. He begins to press his advantage, his opponent slowing from the blows to his calves and thighs.

  The assassin breaks off and steps back.

  “You’re skilled. I suppose that has something to do with the eight hundred years of training?” Although a sheen of sweat covers his skin, he’s not breathing heavily.

  “You really should be more careful who you try to use as a scapegoat.” Extending his blade again, he beckons his opponent with his dagger. “I think it’s time to end this.”

  “As do I.” The assassin leaps forward.

  Piper parries and flicks out a riposte, which is slid aside, but he steps in, raises his knee and rams it hard into the other’s gut. The man doubles over to absorb the blow and dives sideways, rolling on his shoulder to return to his feet, and twists to face him.

  “Not bad at all.” He gasps.

  “Less talk, more dying.”

  Rushing in to press his advantage, he pushes hard with his dagger towards his enemy’s throat but is blocked by his forearm, which thrusts forward at his shoulder.

  He hears a metallic click. A mechanism releases a blade from the assassin’s wrist to plunge deep into the skin, below his clavicle.

  Piper crashes his forehead in the other’s face and knocks him back, shouting in pain as the blade wrenches out of the wound. He rams his dagger low at the assassin, feeling it pierce the leather. He, too, is pushed away hard and must fall and roll.

  He hears the metal of his sword crack beneath the weight of his body.

  “Another time perhaps?” His opponent flicks blood from the blade at his wrist and sprints toward the edge of the roof.

  Shouting in fury, Piper hurls his dagger as hard as he can at his back. He sees it strike, just as the man leaps from the building.

  He watches him spread his arms and legs wide as he clears the parapet, his strange cloak attached at both wrist and ankle.

  Rushing forward, Piper can see nothing but darkness and the river below.

  A squad of knights rush up the stairs and arrive at the door just as Filippo is about to close and bar it. They burst inside knocking him backwards.

  “Not castle guards?” Wildcat shouts.

  He steps back to regain his balance, drawing the huge blade from his back before replying.

  “Not castle guards.”

  “Finally!”

  Wildcat pulls two throwing daggers from the bandolier at her breast and flicks her arms out in one fluid movement, taking the first two knights in the throat. They drop to the floor, gurgling and bleeding.

  “Careful you don’t slip in that.” She advises the remaining knights as they approach, their chins tucked down, their blades drawn.

  “Short swords! Normally very good in close combat, for stabbing and the suchlike.” Filippo roars as he steps forward swinging his huge blade with its full force and decapitating the first of the guards. “Unfortunately, this isn’t a close combat situation.”

  The head drops and bounces twice before rolling up against the side of a table. Blood jets from the neck of the corpse as it falls to the floor, its last few heartbeats decorating the ceiling and furnishings.

  Another four knights rush in trying to overwhelm the two with sheer numbers and fall equally quickly.

  Those outside yell for more help.

  Lady Elena, having heard the warning bell and the commotion, rushes out into the grand hallway to find Captain Yovvan and his men in ranks, waiting.

  “What are you standing here for? The prince is under attack — get up there and kill the assailants.”

  “My intelligence says otherwise, my lady.” He bows, respectfully.

  More Temple Knights rush past, climbing the stairs two at a time.

  “I am ordering you to go up there and assist the knights in defeating these invaders.”

  “I appreciate your concern, my lady, and I shall take it under advisement should the prince desire us to act at any point, but last time I checked you were not a field commander.” John
Yovvan’s tone is cold.

  “You will pay for this insolence.” She turns on her heel and rushes back towards her personal apartments where her husband is hurriedly dressing.

  “I think we might be in trouble now, sir.” His sergeant watches her storm away.

  “I’ll take full responsibility for this, you’re all obeying my orders and none of you will be punished.” He looks into their eyes. “The only assailants up there are friends of Prince Llewellyn, trying to save him.”

  The other guards nod and murmur in agreement, remembering the earlier instructions from him and Charles Bracken.

  “Couldn’t we just go and give them a hand then, and hold off these Temple Knights?” His sergeant asks.

  The captain laughs. “I did suggest it, but Mister Bracken thought that might be taking things too far. We’ll await the signal.”

  Ten corpses now litter the entry area of the prince’s chambers, in various states of disrepair.

  More feet are thundering towards the room as Wildcat parries an attack and slashes yet another throat. Filippo rams his blade through the guts of the nearest knight.

  Just then, the warning bell peals. Three short rings and a gap, repeated again and again.

  “It worked!” Filippo yells. “I’ll be damned, it worked!”

  They launch themselves into the defence with vigour as, from the floor below, they can hear more feet approaching.

  “I hope some of those are on our side.” Wildcat shouts through the clashing of arms that surrounds them.

  “Lay down your arms or die!” The voice of Captain John Yovvan from the passageway outside.

  The Temple Knights are disinclined to do so, but the guards rush in with spears to discourage them from further action.

  Piper, blood pouring from a wound in his shoulder, walks towards them from the roof ladder and watches the knights dropping their swords and stepping back against the wall.

  The door to the prince’s chamber is unbarred and Llewellyn emerges, leaning on Bronwyn for support and frowning at the carnage in his apartments.

  “I take it these two are these friends of whom you spoke, my dear?”

  “Yes, my love. Friends of William I believe, so they keep telling me.” She looks around. “Where is William?”

  Piper enters through the doorway accompanied by the captain.

  “Your grace.” John addresses him, pointing to Piper by his side. “Is this the man who assaulted you and murdered your bodyguards?”

  “Good grief, no!” The prince replies. “Where ever did you get such an idea? William is our friend.”

  David arrives outside with his wife, rushes to the room and begins barking orders.

  “There he is! Arrest him!”

  “Arrest who, brother?”

  David stops in his tracks, stunned, his mouth dropping open. “Llewellyn? You’re well again?” He points to Piper. “Everyone says he attacked you. He’s in league with those following the old ways. They plan the downfall of our state.”

  “I see I have a lot to learn about what has been happening during my illness. I’m reliably informed by my wife, good captain, that if you search the healer within my chamber you will find whatever poison they’ve been dosing me with these past days.”

  “Weeks, my love.”

  His head flicks round to look at his wife in disbelief. “Weeks?”

  “Yes, sire. It has been two weeks since the attack.” John replies.

  “No wonder I feel so terrible. Someone fetch me some steak, and eggs. Fresh bread, with butter. Maybe some cheese?”

  Bronwyn laughs as the captain goes to inspect the healer.

  “Sire! You have to see this!” John Yovvan stands over the bound monk, his hood now pulled back revealing his face.

  They all enter and stare in disbelief as the monk writhes around, spits the gag from his mouth and yells.

  “Get off me and arrest that imposter!”

  Everyone looks from Prince Llewellyn standing with his wife, to the second Prince Llewellyn rising in robes from the floor. All are trying to work out which one is the real prince.

  Piper steps forward and gazes deeply into the eyes of the monk, who slips his bonds and tries to push him aside.

  Lunging towards his double, he shouts. “William, stop him. He has Bronwyn! He’s going to-”

  The speech ends in a gurgling choke and Piper steps back, his belt knife jutting from the monk’s throat, bright red blood spraying his tunic.

  “How… How did you know that wasn’t me?” Llewellyn’s face is pale.

  Bronwyn buries her head into his shoulder.

  “It’s all in the eyes, my friend.” Piper replies, seeing the false prince drop to the ground, then bending to retrieve his weapon. “It’s all in the eyes.”

  As they watch, the monk’s face relaxes, his muscles drooping and looking less like their prince.

  “My God! How horrible.” Bronwyn begins to cry.

  “That must be their Mask-Walker.” Piper watches as the face melts to a different shape, whatever magic he used ended by his own death.

  “I see we have a lot to talk about.” Charles Bracken looks in from the doorway.

  Llewellyn’s relief at seeing him is obvious.

  “Can we arrange to have this mess cleaned up, Charles? Then I’d like someone to explain exactly what has been going on.”

  Chapter 23

  “William! Come in, we were just finishing some breakfast.” Llewellyn looks healthy.

  “I keep telling him he’s going to get fat.” Bronwyn says.

  “Oh pish! I didn’t get to eat for weeks, I was wasting away to nothing.” He laughs.

  Piper enters and is waved to a seat on the prince’s left, nodding to Charles Bracken who rises to leave.

  The Spymaster takes a few steps towards him and rests his hand on Piper’s left shoulder, squeezing and watching him intently as he speaks.

  “There’s more to you than meets the eye, Mister Gracie. Even so, I’m grateful for your efforts in this matter.” He removes his hand. “Without you and your friends our prince here would be dead. I had my suspicions but there was nothing I could prove.” He extends his arm in front of Piper’s chest. “Thank you.”

  Piper grasps it tightly in a warriors clench. “Don’t mention it old boy, and the shoulder has healed nicely, as you noticed.”

  Charles nods slowly. “That it has. Like I said, more to you than meets the eye.” He bows to the prince. “I shall return later, sire.”

  Llewellyn acknowledges him and turns to speak to Piper.

  “What does Mister Bracken mean about there being more to you than meets the eye?”

  “Perhaps, someday, I’ll be able to explain everything to you, but not today. Today I wanted to check all this mess has been cleared up and see if anyone knows who was responsible.”

  “We were just discussing that with Charles, were we not, brother?”

  Prince David, at the other end of the table lifts his head and nods sheepishly, his eyes puffy.

  The lady Elena is no longer seated by his side.

  “We particularly discussed how my brother was a prize idiot, believing all that rubbish that he was fed by the Temple Knights and their associates. Didn’t we, brother?”

  David opens his mouth and splutters out some form of apology.

  Llewellyn raises a hand to stop him.

  “It’s all right, David. I was trained for this, you were not. Elena used that to her advantage and manipulated you.” He raises his eyebrows at his brother. “I can only hope that you’ve learnt something from this and will take more of an interest in real statecraft, in between appreciating the art and beauty of our world.”

  “I shall, Llewellyn. I really shall.”

  “The remaining knights, we tried and executed. It’s unfortunate about Elena, but all traitors must be dealt with harshly.” He grimaced. “That’s part of being a strong ruler.”

  Piper had seen their heads, mounted on spikes along the castl
e wall around the gate, as was customary.

  “Taking into account the evidence Charles presented, including witness accounts and those of you and your associates, I decided the safest thing to do was give everyone their marching orders, except the abbot and a few locals he’d recruited.”

  “How did they react to that?” Piper reaches for the fresh baked bread and spreads thick butter on it.

  “They weren’t pleased, but since everything in this plot proves it originated within their temple, particularly involving the commander of their own knights, they didn’t have much room to object.”

  “Did anyone discover who was in charge on their end, so to speak?” He takes a bite, feeling the sweet butter melt on his tongue.

  “No, unfortunately. It would appear that those who really organised the plot escaped, if they weren’t among the dead. Charles has a list of everyone with the temple at the time this whole business began.”

  Llewellyn points at the papers on the table.

  “He’s going to work his way through it and has questioned several of them. I’m afraid he wasn’t gentle, and there may be complaints from Aberffraw, but the fact that they attempted to have me killed won’t stand in their favour when they speak to my father.” He lifts a hot, steaming mug of wine to his lips and slurps it.

  “I take it that all the traders will be allowed back into town, old horse?” Piper bites into the bread again, chewing noisily.

  “Better than that. I’ve seized the assets of the Temple Knights and will use them to compensate those who suffered as a result of the stupid statutes that somehow came into law.” His gaze flicks to his brother who turns an even brighter shade of red and ducks his head. “I’ve also decided to make the temple complex into a new market. It’ll be quite pleasant with fountains and gardens, and permanent, high class stalls set up around the building, for a price of course.”

  Piper laughs. “Of course, after all, the state’s coffers must be filled somehow and what better way than collecting rent from rich merchants.”

  “Precisely my thoughts.” He turns and takes his wife’s hand. “I shall also be ensuring that I spend even more time with Bronwyn.”