Complete In the Service of Dragons

by William Robert Stanek

  Chapter Eleven

  The meeting progressed very well after Captain Brodst apologized for his rashness. After all resolutions were made, they parted for the evening, having come to decisions on many topics. The decree went forth that same night. An assemblage of the High Council, the Council of Keepers, and the leaders from all members of the alliance was being called. All nobles would be welcome. They would also seek the advice of the Priests of the Father, the Priestesses of the Mother, and the Priests of the Dark Flame. The decree also said that anyone not in attendance by the declared time would be held in contempt of the alliance and face persecution accordingly, an insurance policy against the Minor Kingdom’s probable ban.

  Lord Edwar Serant and Captain Ansh Brodst departed for the detainment area where the assassin lord was being held. Lord Serant admired the captain’s strength of mind, but he scoffed at his foolish arrogance. It was one thing to be arrogant if you could justify that arrogance, clearly another to claim it when the right to proclaim it had not been earned. He could see a promise of great things to come in Brodst; with a nurturing of his talents, then perhaps he could proclaim arrogance.

  They entered the detention chamber and directed the guards to wait outside. Lord Konstantin was shackled by his hands and feet to the wall, still blindfolded and gagged. Once the blindfold and gag were removed, Lord Konstantin went wild with rage. He thrashed violently, causing the chains to gouge into his wrists and ankles. He did not care. His curses and thrashing only increased with the pain. He enjoyed it.

  Lord Serant was the first to begin the interrogation. “Who sent you?” he demanded of the prisoner. He quickly received the answer: spittle in his face. Captain Brodst removed a whip from the wall and lashed it harshly against the assassin lord’s face. Lord Konstantin’s response was a deep howling cackle. Blood trickled down his face profusely, which he licked with his tongue. He smiled hideously.

  Lord Serant repeated his question, “Who sent you?” When they received no answer, Captain Brodst struck the assassin with the whip repeatedly. Lord Konstantin didn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing his pain-filled screams; with each blow his laughter increased, until it reached the threshold of insanity.

  Captain Brodst looked quizzically to Lord Serant, wondering if he should continue. Serant shrugged his shoulders and said quietly, “No.” He then motioned to the captain to grasp the assassin’s hands. The chains were just long enough; Lord Konstantin might be able to try something. Serant did not want to risk the chance. Captain Brodst firmly held the prisoner’s hands, while Serant grasped the prisoner by the throat.

  “We will get the information we seek out of you one way or another. Death will come. But one way is quicker than the other. I do not mind waiting, and since you seem to be enjoying it, we will continue this just as long as need be. So, I will ask you one more time. Who sent you?”

  “He that did.”

  Lord Serant drew his sword and held it before the assassin’s eyes, so he could look at its coldness. “I’m sure that you would enjoy it if I were to kill you now, but I will not. I am a very patient man. Why did you come?”

  “I think that is quite obvious.” His tone was one of steel. His eyes seemed to stare through Lord Serant as if he did not exist.

  Serant decided to let the captain try to persuade the man to talk. Captain Brodst ordered the guards to retrieve some hot logs from the kitchen’s fire. When they returned, he heated a dagger until it was crimson. “Strip him!” Brodst ran the blade lightly along the assassin’s bare legs, just enough so Lord Konstantin could feel the intensity of the heat.

  “Who sent you? I will ask only one more time in case you were distracted by my blade. Who sent you?”

  The prisoner offered no retort. Captain Brodst pressed the flat side of the dagger full against the other’s leg. He held it there while he repeated his question. Repeatedly he recapitulated his words and his actions with no reply.

  “Guards, get in here!” yelled Serant, as his patience thinned. He saw that the prisoner was tended to and then he and Captain Brodst departed the room, neither very pleased. Lord Serant did have an idea that he hoped might work. After a brief discussion while they walked towards the conference room, the two decided it would be a good idea to consult Father Francis and Keeper Q’yer.

  They found the two in Father Jacob’s old study, engaged in a heated conversation. “Ah, Father Francis and Keeper Q’yer, just the two we were looking for. Sorry to interrupt you,” spoke Lord Serant as he entered the room.

  “How may we help you, my lord?”

  “It is about the assassin, Lord Konstantin. He will not talk. He does not fear death or pain. In fact, I think he rather enjoys it. Can you use the power of the Father to enter his mind and learn his secrets?”

  “I am afraid I know not of such things. Keeper?”

  “I have seen nothing of it in our histories, but in the ancient books I have read of such a thing. It is something Brother Seth could have done.”

  “Seth?” Lord Serant asked, before he could recall the name. He had never met Seth, but he had heard the stories about him. “Is there then no other way?”

  “I think I have an idea. I’ll give him a taste of the death that he so dearly seeks. The Father does not welcome those who do not earn their place with him. They are sent to the darkness of the pit, a cold, unforgiving place.”

  The four then returned to the dungeon, which was an area of the castle that had been mostly unused for a very long time. The musty smell of mildew and dank waters assaulted their nostrils as they descended the stairs. All in all, the section was very small, including only six adjacent cells, but it had always been plenty spacious for Imtal. It was rare that any of the cells had an occupant.

  Father Francis began his deep concentration. His head began to sway back and forth as a trance overtook him. He faced the assassin lord and asked, “Do you wish death? It is what I offer. Take it.” His voice was compelling. “Take it,” he enticed. “Take it—take it.”

  “Yes!” screamed the prisoner, “Yes!”

  Father Francis had been waiting for his total acceptance. “Then take it!” he bellowed.

  Lord Konstantin yelled for joy. His eyes and mouth were wide as he embraced death. The after life was everything he ever dreamed it would be and the dark lord’s promises seemed to ring true. The land abounded with riches and treasures—all there for his taking. An army of faithful servants waited for his beckon call. But as he sought to claim the riches the area around him suddenly became dark and cold. He began to shiver uncontrollably. The army of the faithful became a great host of white specters that danced all around him. Their agony greeted him. They eagerly waited to drink the warmth of his newly passed spirit.

  Horror began to fill the assassin’s mind. “This is not death!”

  “Oh, but it is!” assured Father Francis.

  “This is not what my master promised!”

  “Oh, but it is. Join us,” said a multitude of withered voices. “Join us.”

  “No! I’ve changed my mind. I do not want to die. Please, please, please, oh please,” begged Lord Konstantin.

  Father Francis let the rogue’s mind linger for a time in the land of the damned. “Tell us what we want to know. Who sent you? Why have you come?”

  “No. Please, I do not—”

  “Who sent you? Why have you come?”

  “I do not know who hired me.”

  “Liar!” yelled Father Francis as he plunged the assassin back into the pit.

  “No, really. I was hired—paid in advance.”

  Father Francis left Lord Konstantin dangling above the pit. Slowly he lowered him in, while he repeated the questions.

  “They called themselves the coalition. The leader’s name was Antare. He told me that for each I killed he would give me a count of gold, save for the girl. He would triple the sum for her, but only if she were alive. If she were dead we would only get the original payment and nothing extra.”

&nbs
p; “If you lie!” tempted Father Francis, clearly angry.

  “It is the truth!”

  Father Francis released Lord Konstantin’s spirit. He could hold it no more. “Thank you for your help, Father,” he whispered as he came out of the trance. Captain Brodst steadied the priest as he gathered his wits. “I am fine. I am fine.”

  “You are a miracle worker; whatever you did worked magnificently! I am ever grateful,” said Lord Serant.

  “Do not thank me. Thank the Great-Father.”

  Lord Konstantin was still trying to sort out what had happened when his tormentors left the room. He had been tricked by the foul priest’s treachery. “I will kill you—I will kill you all,” he yelled as the gag was returned to his mouth.

  “I have never heard of one called Antare,” said Lord Serant as they walked down the hall.

  “It is not a person, but a place,” said Keeper Q’yer, “It is an ancient word. I have seen it mentioned in the great book. If you permit me, I will return to the council and seek their help.”

  “Of course, Keeper, go.”

  “I will return when I discover something.” Keeper Q’yer struck his staff against the hard stones of the floor and spoke the words of power, “Starod sil, otkry ot zemlya i pozhar, veter i vod!” As the new head of the keepers, he enjoyed the privilege of using the old devices though the process of teleportation eluded him. Keeper Martin was the one who had taught him how to use it. Most of the other keepers feared using the device and wished it destroyed, but Keeper Martin protested, as had others before him. Keeper Martin had actually been the first one to use it in generations.

  Keeper Q’yer thought back to the time when Martin had first discovered the device. Keeper Martin had stayed up for days searching the old tomes for clues on its use. He had found them. His pleas to the council Keeper Q’yer vividly recalled. “It has survived even the purging—it was kept here for a purpose! And this is that purpose!” By using it, Keeper Martin’s wisdom was clearly shown. It was thus that he gained the respect of the council and eventually became its head.

  Keeper Q’yer remembered those days with fondness. From those times he and Martin had also come to know each other, and their friendship had grown. All these thoughts flashed through his mind as he returned to the council.

  “But why would they want Adrina?” asked Lord Serant.

  “That is a good question—it troubles me.”

  “Could you try that again?”

  “I do not think I could trick his mind again. Only willingly could I take him there.”

  “Then we shall have to try another way, but for now let him sulk. Maybe just the fear of going there will loosen his tongue again.”

  “Good. I am famished.”

  “Me, too. It is long past dinner. Will you join us, Father?”

  “I’m sorry, but no. I will join you two later. I cannot eat when my mind is troubled.”

  The two watched Father Francis leave then left for the kitchen. Lord Serant was also caught up with his thoughts; maybe he had judged Captain Brodst too harshly. He was beginning to enjoy his company. The two feasted well on the food they found in the kitchen. Lord Serant grabbed a large hunk of meat and Captain Brodst a cask of ale. They were engaged in light conversation and drinking when Isador found them.

  The old nanny, who had brought up all three of King Andrew’s daughters, was fuming. Lord Serant had heard many things about her temperament. He suspected it was where Calyin got her temper.

  “Lord Serant, Princess Calyin has sent me to retrieve you. She wishes to speak with you.”

  Lord Serant looked to Captain Brodst for help. Captain Brodst smiled broadly and said, “I must be going also. I have many things to do yet today. Sorry, Lord Serant.”

  “Tomorrow morning, then.”

  Isador led Lord Serant to Calyin’s quarters and then dismissed herself. “Oh Edwar, I was so worried,” said Calyin as she ran into his arms. His presence calmed her shivers. “Calyin, there is nothing to fear. I—we are safe here. Nothing will harm you or me—nothing.” She answered by holding him tighter; feeling his warmth reassured her that he was all right.

  Gently he carried her to the bed and tucked her in. He lay there beside her, soothing her until she fell asleep. However, he was still wide-awake. He had doubts that he could not tell her about. He admired her strength too much. They each got their strength from the other. Even at times like this, he could feel it in her.

  For hours he lay there unable to sleep until finally he got up to go for a walk. He slipped out quietly, pulling the covers tight around his beloved Calyin before he went. He strolled the halls of the palace, eventually finding himself at the terrace overlooking the garden. Captain Brodst was also there, staring into the night sky.

  “Hello, Lord Serant,” spoke the startled captain.

  “May I join you?”

  “Of course; you needn’t ask for permission.”

  Lord Serant sat down in a chair opposite the captain. They silently enjoyed the night, neither wishing to disturb the other’s thoughts. The hours passed and soon they were welcoming the dawn of early morning.

  Captain Brodst stood and stretched. Lord Serant followed and stretched his stiff muscles. Brodst looked mischievously to Serant and raised his eyebrows. They both knew what the other was thinking, had been thinking about all during the night. “Come, let’s go see if we can stir that wretch’s tongue!” said Lord Serant.

  They hurried back down the winding stairs toward the cells and had the guard unlock and open the door for them. “Wake up!” they yelled in unison. The assassin did not move. “Wake up!” The assassin did not move. Captain Brodst picked up a bucket of water and threw it into the prisoner’s face.

  Lord Konstantin hung there limply like one dead. Serant removed the gag from the man’s mouth. The prisoner did not respond. He still hung there limply in the chains. Lord Serant then removed the blindfold; still, there was no response. He then slapped Lord Konstantin’s face, again and again.

  The two watched the prisoner. He offered no signs that he was alive. He seemed not to be breathing. Lord Serant jabbed him with the hilt of his sword several times. The man did not move.

  Lord Serant walked towards the door and beckoned for the captain to join him. He whispered quietly to Captain Brodst, while he kept a watch on their prisoner with his peripheral vision, “This could be a trick of some sort. Be careful. Don’t get too close to him. I’ll send a guard to get Father Francis.”

  Serant called to one of the guards and sent him after the father. Cautiously Lord Serant approached Konstantin. He looked at the chains; they were secure. He pressed his ear against the man’s chest; he could hear no heart beat. The man was indeed dead.

  “Guard, get in here!”

  “Yes, my lord,” said the guard entering the room.

  “Have you been watching this man?”

  “Yes, as you ordered.”

  “He is dead!”

  “That cannot be. He was alive—believe me. He was cursing and yelling.”

  “Release him now!”

  The guard began to release the prisoner’s bonds, hands first. Lord Serant and the captain unsheathed their swords, ready for action. The assassin slumped limply to the floor. The guard unlocked the feet shackles and turned around. He looked at their poised weapons and started to babble out an apology, “I am sorry! It was not my fault. Please, don’t kill me!”

  “Kill who?” asked Father Francis entering the cell.

  “No, there will be no killing,” said Lord Serant turning to face the father.

  The assassin lunged from the floor, grabbing Lord Serant’s sword arm and thrusting it up and backward. Lord Serant had been taken completely by surprise. His arm offered no resistance as the blade cut deep. He slumped to the floor.

  The assassin wasted not a moment. He continued his upward motion. In one quick move, he jumped high, kicking out with full force, his foot striking Captain Brodst cleanly. The captain followed Lord Serant
to the floor.

  The assassin turned mid-air simultaneously timed with the kick and lashed out with his hand. His blow met the other’s neck, crushing his wind pipe. Father Francis stumbled, shocked, and fell to the floor.

  The entire sequence of events happened in an instant. The assassin had fully made use of the element of surprise. He had encountered absolutely no resistance. A smile touched his lips as he awkwardly landed on the floor, twisting his ankle slightly as he did so. It took him a moment to recover his balance; the last lunge had been a desperate gambit but had been successful. He was, indeed, pleased with himself.

  He felt a coldness sweep through him. The air seemed to turn suddenly icy cold. He looked down as a guard, the only other person in the room, pulled a blood-covered sword from within his belly. Lord Konstantin died before the smile left his face.