by Peter Wacht
“You see, Chertney, the plan was a success. Now what do you have to say to that?”
Rodric stood before him, having caught him by surprise as he considered this strange turn of events. He quickly regained his composure.
“You have done better than I expected, Rodric. You are to be commended.”
Rodric chafed at the mocking tone adopted by Chertney, one normally reserved for a dog. The man was a fool, yet even fools got lucky, Chertney reminded himself. This fool probably didn’t realize the true value of the prize he had just captured.
“You will do what is required?” he asked the gloating High King, once again wishing for the freedom to carve the smile from his ugly face.
“In time, Chertney. In time.” Rodric was clearly pleased with himself and he was not yet ready to relinquish the feeling.
“Rodric, you know what our master requires. To delay could be—”
Rodric laughed off Chertney’s worry. “Chertney, your concern surprises me. You sound like an old grandmother.”
Chertney’s normally pale face turned slightly red with anger. He did not enjoy being made the butt of jokes.
“Rodric, do not toy with me. Our master is not as understanding as I am.”
Rodric immediately turned serious. “I am not a fool, Chertney, no matter what you might think. The task will be done, but it will be done my way. I am the High King, and an example must be made.”
“As you say, Rodric,” agreed Chertney. For the thousandth time the black-clad warlock cursed his predicament. Rodric was a worm and deserved to be crushed. No one had ever dared to speak to him, Lord Chertney, in such a way before. Yet he could not retaliate. Not yet, anyway. “As you say.”
Nodding in satisfaction, Rodric strode into the Palace with his son following along behind him. Chertney watched them until the doors closed. Soon he was the only one left in the courtyard, watching the rain strike the ground for several minutes, deep in thought, oblivious to his surroundings.
This had certainly been an interesting turn of events. The question now was how he could profit by it. His master wanted the boy dead, and that could be easily accomplished. Then again, what would his master give if the boy appeared in Shadow’s Reach alive? Perhaps the boy could be put to use in his master’s cause. Then what reward would Chertney receive? Even greater power, or an immediate and painful death for disobeying his master’s original command?
He didn’t know. It would all depend on his master’s mood. Still, to bring the boy to Shadow’s Reach might be worth the risk. True, to spirit him away from Rodric could create problems with his master’s alliance to Armagh, but then again, alliances were made to be broken. It was only a matter of time and circumstance. He would have to think carefully on it.
He could, of course, do nothing. And then, after Rodric had killed the boy, bring the news to his master, making it clear as to whom was really to thank for a job well done. That was the safest course of action, and many times the cautious approach was the wisest. Then again, sometimes a cautious approach was the same as a failed one. You just never knew until events finally came to a head.
Chertney would think more on it, but first there was something he must do. The Sylvana still existed, the boy’s necklace having confirmed that unpleasant fact. Though he had never expected to hear of that fabled group again, they were now certainly a threat and definitely would come looking for the boy. He would protect against that. Then he would decide what to do. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he could not lose regardless of the action taken. The real question was how much could he win?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Competitors
Ragin walked down the center of the hallway, forcing everyone else to move to the side. The angry looks his back received didn’t bother him as they normally would. Usually, the tiniest slight, whether real or imagined, angered him. On this day, though, his grin ran from ear to ear. He had succeeded. Even better, he had never seen his father so pleased before, which made Ragin smile even more.
He was so caught up in his victory as he ventured toward his apartments that he almost knocked down a young woman who refused to get out of his way. Ragin bit back an oath and stared down at the diminutive blonde who stood calmly before him.
“Sister,” he said coolly.
“Brother,” replied Corelia, her eyes flashing, a seductive smile never far from her lips.
Though only a few years apart, they had never been very close. Each one saw the other as the primary rival for their father’s power, and in fact it was a contest that their father encouraged. He constantly said that anyone could survive a battlefield of arms with luck, but only the strong could maneuver through the backstabbing and lies of politics. They had both taken that lesson to heart.
Unfortunately for Ragin, he had discovered at a very young age that matching wits with his sister was a losing proposition. So he had looked for other ways to get the better of her, as he had just accomplished with Thomas’ capture.
“Have you heard?”
“Heard what?” she asked sharply. Beautiful and cunning she may be, but patient she was not.
“That I captured the Raptor earlier today. Kaylie led me right to him, and I personally took him into custody. As you can imagine, father is quite pleased.” Ragin stood there regally, chest sticking out, puffed up by his perceived greatness.
Corelia studied her brother with a sly grin. “You mean the boy who defeated you in the archery competition? You don’t even know if he is the Raptor.”
She knew exactly how to get under her brother’s skin, and this barb certainly did the trick, quickly deflating his ego and putting him in a sour mood. He did not like to be reminded of his failures, yet Corelia was all too happy to do so.
“He got lucky, that was all,” he protested. “Besides, by tomorrow he’ll be on the headsman’s block, his victory just a dim memory.”
“So what does Thomas look like?” she asked. “Tall? Handsome? Is he a friend of Kaylie’s or just an acquaintance? Can he really talk with animals? Is he any good with a sword?”
Corelia’s barrage of questions overwhelmed Ragin, each one darkening his mood even more. This was his time to celebrate, and once again his sister had spoiled it for him.
“Enough!” he shouted. “If you want answers to your questions, go ask someone else. I have better things to do.”
“Sorry, Ragin. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just curious.” Her tone said that she was anything but sorry. She stepped past her brother. “You’ve done well, Ragin. I’m glad to see that one of your plans finally worked out.”
“Just what do you mean by that?” he exclaimed.
“You know exactly what I mean, brother dear,” she laughed. “You better be careful, Ragin. If the stories are true about this boy” — and her voice implied that she hoped they were true — “you’re playing with something even more dangerous than fire. Getting burned could be your most appealing alternative.”
Corelia headed back down the hallway, not bothering to wait for her brother’s response. It was another one of her tactics designed to irritate him, one that had worked quite well for years.
Ragin watched her go, his anger building. She’d get hers someday. He’d make sure about that. He quickly walked down the hallway to his apartments. He needed an outlet for his rage. Maybe he could find a serving girl. Yes, that was the perfect solution. And if she refused, all the better. His face twisted into a wicked grin as he went in search of his next victim.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A Trap
Gregory sat comfortably in the cushioned chair just a few feet away from the blazing fire. The driving rainstorm and howling wind had sent a chill through the Palace. The warmth from the fireplace kept it at bay. That and the beautiful woman sitting across from him.
“As you well know, Gregory,” said Sarelle Makarin, Queen of Benewyn, her green eyes glowing brightly thanks to the fire, “we are a kingdom of trade. We don’t have t
ime for people like Loris who think they can get whatever they want with an army.”
Gregory listened to Sarelle half-heartedly, nodding his head at the appropriate times, as his mind wandered all too frequently. She truly was a beautiful woman. Gregory certainly appreciated that fact, but it was her other qualities that appealed to him more. Her intelligence and strength of character to name just a few. Those qualities were absolutely necessary when you were the only female ruler in all the Kingdoms, and you had rulers like Loris and Rodric constantly badgering you with demands.
“Gregory, did you hear what I just said?” Sarelle studied him with a quizzical expression.
“Yes, of course I did, Sarelle.”
Gregory told himself to not let his mind stray again. He was too old to allow his mind to wander down certain paths.
His response didn’t convince Sarelle. She continued nonetheless. “As I was saying, the Kingdoms have been fairly equal in power for the last thousand years. Many have schemed with or against one another, but never to any real end other than an occasional small shift in a border or more favorable trading rights. Yet, I fear that might be changing.”
Gregory liked the way Sarelle’s face lit up when discussing a matter of import, as she was doing now. He quickly caught what he was doing and reminded himself once again to focus.
“I’ve heard a number of disturbing possibilities from my political advisors regarding Rodric’s actions and demands. Already he holds Loris in his hand. And I have my suspicions that Inishmore might be next. Rodric may be arrogant and conceited, but he’s no fool.”
“I agree with you on that,” said Gregory. Though he was distracted, his acuity for politics remained sharp. He cut right to the chase, knowing where Sarelle was leading him. “I have seen many of the same signals as you have. Rodric is up to something, and none of it good for the rest of us I’m sure. Yet even now, in a time of supposed enlightenment where politics rules the day, power still is very much a physical manifestation. If Rodric, or Loris for that matter, tries to exercise that power in a way detrimental to Benewyn, Fal Carrach will stand with you.”
Sarelle clapped her hands in pleasure, her smile lighting up her face. For a brief moment, Gregory thought his heart might stop.
“Gregory, you know exactly how to win a girl’s heart.” Gregory blushed at her words, something that she found quite appealing.
“We’ve been friends for quite a long time, Sarelle — Benewyn and Fal Carrach — and our nations depend on each other for trade. Whatever Rodric may have in mind, it will not succeed in the east. And if I have my way, it will not succeed anywhere else either.”
“Thank you, Gregory. You’ve calmed my fears.”
Done with the day’s business, Sarelle’s smile subtly changed, becoming almost predatory. Gregory had the distinct feeling that he was the prey.
“You know, Gregory, a few months ago I was speaking with Lorena.”
“Really,” said Gregory, not pleased by that at all. He sighed heavily and sank back into his chair, knowing in which direction the conversation turned, and it was not to his favor. “What did the Queen of Kenmare have to say?”
Sarelle eyed Gregory with a knowing look. “She seems to think that you are in desperate need of a companion — at least I think that was the term she used.”
Gregory wished he could sink even further into his chair. His mind searched for ways to escape the current conversation, but to no avail. He imagined he was locked in the dungeon and the jailer had thrown away the key. His breath came in short gasps, and a trickle of sweat ran down his chest. Sarelle leaned forward, effectively sealing the trap and giving Gregory an excellent view of her ample cleavage. He immediately looked away, but visions of that soft, white skin remained with him despite his best efforts.
“Yes, well, she has said much the same thing for quite a long time.”
“Yes, she has,” agreed Sarelle. “After much thought, though, I find that I now think she is right. A man of your stature really needs a wife. It must be difficult ruling a kingdom and raising a daughter at the same time.”
Sarelle reached over and took hold of his hand, gently stroking it with her own. Though her voice remained soft, her eyes were sharp and flinty. Gregory felt as if he were surrounded by legions of enemy soldiers. In fact, he would have preferred it. He wiped his brow with his free sleeve.
“Having a wife could be a very practical decision, you know. Benewyn and Fal Carrach have always gotten along well together. Perhaps we should consider cementing the relationship in some way.”
Sarelle looked at him expectantly, her hand still rubbing his own, her breath caressing his cheek. He had not seen it coming, even though he had once thought he could smell out a trap from miles away. He had no experience, though, in dealing with a woman of Sarelle’s abilities, and he was having a hard time concentrating as he wiped his brow clean of sweat once more. Sarelle was so beautiful and had all the qualities and more that he looked for in a woman. But he had never considered being with anyone else after his wife died. Sarelle waited patiently for his response, but he had absolutely no idea what to say.
Much to his relief, the door to the outer chamber of the suite slammed open. Sarelle immediately sat back in her chair, releasing Gregory’s hand. He glanced quickly at her eyes. He had escaped this time, if barely. Sarelle’s smile promised that he would not be so lucky next time. What had he gotten himself into?
His worries immediately disintegrated. Kaylie stood in the doorway, a trail of water following after her. Her hair was matted down and her clothes were sopping wet. She looked as if she might collapse right there. Gregory went to her immediately, taking her into his arms, Sarelle right behind him. The tears that had threatened since Kaylie returned to the Palace finally burst free as she sobbed into her father’s shoulder for several minutes.
Gregory simply held her, doing what he could to comfort his daughter. Sarelle went to a small table in the corner and poured a glass of wine. When the tears finally subsided somewhat, she made Kaylie drink to help calm her nerves.
“What happened, Kaylie?”
Gregory’s concern was apparent. It was not normal for his daughter to break down in such a way.
Kaylie began her story, starting from when she met Thomas in the forest for the first time after the archery competition. Through muffled sobs and more tears she got it all out. When she was done, she felt completely drained, as if all her energy had exited with her words. Sarelle led her over to one of the chairs, pulling it closer to the fire so Kaylie wouldn’t catch a chill from her drenched clothes.
“This is the same boy who helped us in the Burren and Oakwood Forest? You’re certain of it?”
Gregory’s words were soft and comforting, but his eyes churned with anger. Kaylie nodded that it was. If not for that boy, they would both be dead, their bones picked clean by those monstrous Fearhounds.
“And you’re certain that he is from the Highlands?”
“Yes,” answered Kaylie with some difficulty. Sarelle wrapped an arm around her shoulder, offering some comfort. “I can’t let him die, father. I can’t! Rodric is going to kill him. I could see it in his eyes. I can’t let it happen.”
Kaylie broke down into another bout of tears, this time using Sarelle’s shoulder as her pillow. Gregory watched his daughter’s agony, his insides twisting up in anger. First, because he could do nothing to take away his daughter’s pain. Second, for the way Rodric had used her.
He kneeled down in front of her, taking her shivering hands in his own. “Don’t fear, Kaylie. I will do everything I can to prevent it. This boy has done quite a bit for us. If I can do something for him in return, I will.” He stood up once more and strapped on his sword before walking to the door.
“Will you stay with her, Sarelle?”
The Queen of Benewyn nodded as she hugged Kaylie to her chest. Gregory smiled in gratitude then slipped out into the hallway. His expression darkened as he strode toward the throne room. He may not u
nderstand women, but this new situation was something Gregory did understand. It was time to go to battle.
CHAPTER THIRTY
A Small Chance
The slam of the door against the wall reverberated throughout the throne room, startling its occupants. Gregory strode like a hurricane about to break against the coast, ignoring the pleading chamberlain’s attempts to allow the small man to announce his presence.
“You had no right to involve my daughter in your schemes!” snapped Gregory, stopping just a few feet from the dais. “Why did you take the boy, Rodric?”
Gregory’s fiery countenance made him appear like a demon rising out of the depths of the darkest hole, his eyes tight, his face an angry red, his expression murderous.
Rodric turned slowly from where he stood on the dais, having once again tried to knock some sense into Loris’ head. The King of Dunmoor had been lounging on his throne with one leg hanging over an arm when Gregory stormed in. Now he was crouched against the tall back of the throne, his feet on the seat and ready to take him elsewhere if Gregory reached for his sword.
Rodric noticed Gregory’s hand on the hilt of his sword, almost itching for the chance to draw it. He suddenly realized that no one else was in the room except for him and Loris. The chamberlain had scurried away, not wanting to become involved in the situation about to unfold, and had closed the doors when he left.
“What is the meaning of this, Gregory?” yelled Loris shrilly. “How dare you—”
“Quiet, Loris. I have no bone to pick with you this day.”
Gregory spoke quietly, his voice cold. His eyes were even colder. For once, Loris was smart enough to listen.
“Just what are you talking about, Gregory?”
On the outside, Rodric appeared calm and confident. On the inside, his heart was in his throat. He had never feared for his safety before. What fool would risk assassinating the High King? Perhaps not a fool. Perhaps another king — who could assume his place. Rodric gulped down his nervousness, though his hands began to shake ever so slightly.