A Kingdom in Chaos (A Kingdom Divided Book 3)

by S. C. Stokes

  Family is all we have in this world. A week ago I received word from my daughter Adelia. She and her family have been imprisoned in their home by a band of thugs who learned of her relationship to me and used the lives of those I love to compel me to do as they wished.

  Thinking that there was little at risk but money, I smuggled them into the Palace along with the supplies for the Midsummer’s Tournament.

  It was my intention to tell you everything once my daughter and her family were free.

  Now that I have realized their true intent I am ashamed to have been manipulated so easily. If I had not been such a naive fool, Linea would not be at death’s door and the Prince would still be safe.

  Words cannot convey the depths of sorrow I feel for my actions. I pray that your family will be restored to you, but regret that I will not live to aid you. My old heart is simply too heavy with guilt to do so.

  Seek out my daughter Adelia and her family— Perhaps Adelia overheard something that can be of use to you.

  I am sorry for the pain I have caused you, old friend. Please know I would never have done so willingly.

  Your foolish friend,

  Eleazar

  Tristan looked up from the letter, tears rolling down his cheeks. The betrayal, albeit unintentional, tore at his heartstrings. The death of his old friend only deepened the wound.

  In his heart Tristan knew that Linea’s life was in peril because of the decisions Eleazar had made. And his only son was missing. Tristan wanted to rage at the old man’s naiveté but in his heart he knew he would have done the same. If it wasn’t Eleazar it would have been someone else. The Night Stalkers would wait patiently in the shadows, eager for their opportunity to strike. They are to blame for all this, Tristan told himself.

  “My liege . . .” Sven began, unsure what to say, unable to fathom the actions of the Master of Coin. It was fitting to turn his attentions back to the hunt for the Prince. “Eleazar often visited the docks district. I expect we’ll find Adelia there.”

  Tristan wiped at his eyes in vain. “Take the guard and head for the docks at once. While you are there, ensure the harbor is sealed. If they are operating from the docks the harbor is their easiest escape route. I do not want a single vessel leaving until we have searched them all. Seek out the harbor master and find out if any have slipped out since the attack on the Palace. Frigate or fishing vessel, I do not care. If it has left the port I want to know about it.

  “When you are done, search the district. If the Night Stalkers were using Adelia’s home as a staging point, perhaps we can find something that will lead us to them. If you find them, bring them here. I want to know everything they saw, heard or even thought.”

  “At once, your highness,” Sven replied, trying to remain optimistic, though in his heart he doubted Adelia and her family would be found alive.

  *****

  Tristan paced impatiently back and forth in the throne room. He had spent hours watching over Linea, only to be evicted forcefully by Malus. “She is sleeping, sire, and needs her rest. As soon as she wakes I will send for you.” Tristan had reluctantly moved his pacing to the throne room.

  Patience had never been a strong suit for the young ruler. Now the minutes seemed like hours as they dragged on with no news of his son. Tristan was sick with worry. As he pondered on his painful predicament he thought of the course that had led him here.

  With no one else to blame it was easy to take the burden on his own shoulders. The Night Stalkers had long been a blight, but with the battle for King’s Court fading into memory he had thought the threat they posed was at an end. It appeared there was more driving the secretive sect than he had thought. Mere money would not have been enough for such a foolhardy endeavor. No, he was certain there was something else festering in the shadows.

  Otherwise why take my son? Surely they must know the price they would pay for such an action.

  It was a declaration of war and one that would be answered in kind. Once his son was safely restored, King Tristan would root out and destroy every trace of the brotherhood of assassins. The Night Stalkers will be nothing more than a bitter footnote in the history of our people when I am through.

  The doors of the throne room swung open, drawing Tristan from his thoughts as Sven entered the chamber. Sven’s exhausted countenance showed no sign of how he had fared.

  “What news at the port, Sven?” Tristan asked eagerly.

  “We found the house, but unfortunately we were too late, sire. The entire family was already dead. It seems that once they had served their purpose the assassins killed them before they could raise the alarm.”

  Tristan’s heart sank. Eleazar had died for naught and his family had suffered the very fate he had sought to protect them from. For this, too, the Night Stalkers must be brought to account.

  Sven continued: “The house had certainly been used as the staging point for the assault on the Palace. There were detailed plans of the Palace outlining their route from the basement to the east wing. It also detailed their escape route—it seems they slipped out of the Palace via the staff quarters and made their way back to the docks. They left several of their number behind in the Palace to sow confusion and draw the attention of the Palace guard.

  “I spoke to the harbor master. He indicated that only three vessels left the port before it was locked down: The first vessel belonged to a local fishing concern, and the harbor master seemed to think it would be working the waters around the headland this time of year.

  “The second ship belonged to a textile merchant from Tanamere, whose papers indicate they are bound for home after delivering a shipment of fine linen.

  “The last ship was a merchant bound for Khashish. It seems your brother’s dealings with the Shah are reviving our trade with our neighbors in Sevalorn. I think it unlikely that they would be aboard that ship—all that we know of the Night Stalkers tells us they are resident here on Valaar.”

  “So you think they have headed for Tanamere?” Tristan asked.

  “It’s possible, your highness. It’s also a distinct possibility that if they did leave by ship to get free of the city, they have since put ashore to continue their journey on land. It’s possible, too, that they have purchased passage on the fishing vessel. It is the smarter choice and they will be much harder to track once they put ashore. There is a chance we could pursue them on the seas, as they only have a few hours head start.”

  It wasn’t a lot to go on and Tristan knew it. “Send a corvette after the Tanameran ship. With a good wind they should be able to catch the merchantman before it reaches Tanamere. I’ll join you in searching for the fishing vessel, and we’ll find out if they had any passengers with them when they set out. If they did, we will find out when and where they parted ways. If they do not cooperate they’ll spend the night in the dungeon to loosen their tongue.”

  “But my liege, they may not have known. You’d be imprisoning innocent men.”

  “If they aided the Night Stalkers, they are far from innocent.”

  “Yes, my liege.” It was futile to disagree with the King in his current distress.

  “Have Dariyen send a patrol east and west along the coastline just in case,” concluded Tristan. “If they can find some trace of the Night Stalkers we will at least know which direction they are headed.”

  “At once, your highness,” Sven replied.

  “And Sven . . .”

  “Yes, my liege?”

  “Get some rest. You look like you’re asleep on your feet.”

  “I will, your Highness, when I am sure that all that can possibly be done is being done. Then I will rest. Not a minute sooner.”

  “You are a good friend, Sven.”

  “It is my privilege to serve, your Highness. I only wish I had arrived at the nursery sooner—this might all have been prevented.”

  Tristan stopped him: “Sven, you are too hard on yourself. There were almost a dozen of them. If you had been there, you would likely be dead alon
g with the other guards, and we would have nothing.”

  “We have precious little now, your Highness, but I take comfort in the knowledge that they took the Prince alive.”

  “How is that a comfort?” Tristan asked, his voice wavering.

  “If they had wanted him dead they could have done so in the nursery. The fact that they took him alive means they have plans for him. As long as they need him, he will live. As long as he is alive we can find him.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Tristan replied, his voice a mix of hope and fear. “I only hope we can find him before the trail goes cold.”

  Sven bowed and excused himself. He didn’t have the heart to express his thoughts out loud. It already has, the Spymaster lamented to himself, furious that he had failed to protect the royal family.

  Chapter 4

  Tristan stood on the deck of the Rampant Royal, a corvette in the King’s fleet. His heart pounded as the vessel made its way through the choppy waters—try as he might Tristan had not been able to clear his mind. He simmered with rage as he thought of his wife, who even now lay gravely wounded. Malus’ ministrations and healing arts were all that stood between the love of his life and the cold grasp of death’s embrace.

  Tristan had paced the chamber for hours as he watched over her. But knowing he could accomplish little there, he had left Linea in Malus’s care and set out after his son. With a dozen King’s Guard in alternate watches stationed at her door, any further attempt on the Queen’s life would end in a swift and brutal demise. The earlier attack had incensed the Guard—with the harm done to their Queen, the abduction of their Prince and the lives lost by their fellow guardsmen, the King’s Guard were out for blood.

  Content that the Queen was in safe hands, Tristan had turned his attention to pursuing the assassins who had taken his son. The city was still in lock down, and the harbor was quiet; the corvette was able to make good time as a steady wind drove her westward toward the fishing vessel’s last sighted position.

  Why now? Why take my son? Tristan thought to himself. The attack made little sense. It was clearly a calculated assault, planned meticulously to take advantage of the Midsummer’s Tournament, but why allow the Queen to survive? Night Stalkers were precise in carrying out their duties and unscrupulous in their regard for others. If the Prince were the target, Linea’s presence would have presented an opportunity too precious to pass up. Her death would surely have furthered the organization’s ambitions, and brought both infamy and further credibility to their claims of power.

  If the Queen was the target, then why take the Prince alive? Smuggling an infant provided a whole host of challenges for the assassins to overcome, and greatly magnified the risk of being captured. The Listar family had a long-running feud with the Night Stalkers—Tristan’s father had twice eluded their grasp. These repeated failures would be a persistent and irritating blemish on the Night Stalkers’ otherwise impressive reputation. Tristan’s own exploits had further inflamed the situation, when several Night Stalkers had been slain in the battle beneath Belnair. A subsequent assassination attempt had also met with failure, thanks in large part to Sven’s untiring diligence.

  When Tristan ascended to the throne, Night Stalker activity all but ceased. In moments of quiet reflection Tristan had speculated that either the organization was unwilling to directly engage the Crown or that the patrons responsible for the Night Stalkers’ pursuit of his family had perished in the battle for King’s Court. That conclusion seemed overly optimistic in hindsight.

  The remaining members of the King’s council seemed only too eager for Tristan to take his place on the throne. It made little sense for one of them to be behind the attacks. Why crown a King you wished to murder? It made little sense, but Valaaran politics were a vicious and often bloody affair, and the possibility that he yet had enemies among the council was not a thought that Tristan could discard entirely.

  While Tristan could think of a score of reasons for such an attack, he struggled to identify who stood to gain the most from it. If it had been an attack on his own life he could have understood. Doubtless in the corridors of power there would be one or two who thought themselves a better fit for the throne. But killing the Queen and abducting the Crown Prince made little sense while Tristan still lived. The more he thought on it, the more he was certain the attack was a personal assault, carefully calculated to cause him pain.

  But such an emotionally driven endeavor was entirely uncharacteristic of the Night Stalkers. The shadowy brotherhood had previously only ever acted for their own financial gain or to protect their reputation and business. Whoever was pulling the Night Stalkers’ strings would be doing so at tremendous cost. The organization would not lightly incur the King’s wrath, particularly when he had proved himself a determined and dangerous foe already.

  Tristan made a mental note to raise the discussion with Halmir and Dariyen. Together they would determine who on Valaar might still wield sufficient power and influence to call the Night Stalkers into action against the Crown.

  “Sail ahead!” a voice called from the foremast’s fighting top. “Sail off to starboard.”

  Tristan hurried to the edge of the deck and stared into the night in the direction the watchman indicated. In the moonlight Tristan could make out a shape bobbing in the water in the distance. “Helmsman, adjust our course to starboard, and make a course for that ship.”

  “At once, your Highness.” The sailor gripped the helm as he labored to adjust the ship’s course.

  Tristan’s heart raced as they gained on the vessel. The first tangible lead they had found, and it was suddenly within his grasp. Tristan willed the ship to move faster. The corvette was swift and sleek, cutting nimbly through the water and closing the distance as the disciplined crew fussed about their duties with precision.

  Even with his rudimentary understanding of sailing Tristan knew something was off. The reason quickly became apparent—the fishing vessel was at anchor, gently bobbing in the water as it pulled against the sturdy steel chain. “Bring us alongside the ship!” he cried. “Prepare to board her.”

  Guardsmen hurried into position as the corvette pulled alongside the fishing vessel. “Stand by to receive boarders,” the Guard captain hollered at the top of his lungs. “By orders of his majesty the King, we insist you submit your vessel for inspection. Failure to do so will be deemed as a hostile action and we will respond accordingly.”

  When nothing but silence greeted them, Tristan intervened. “Board it now!”

  The crew hurled grappling hooks across the gap between the ships, ensuring the vessels would not drift apart during the boarding action. The corvette shuddered as the fishing vessel drifted into its flank. Keeping their footing, the soldiers scurried into action. The fishing vessel was dwarfed by the corvette and the soldiers let down rope ladders to further close the distance between the two ships.

  As the soldiers clambered overboard, Tristan grabbed the nearest man by the shoulder to follow him.

  “Your highness, it is not safe” the man said. “Let us secure the vessel. This could well be a trap intended for you.”

  “If they are still aboard it is they who will need protection. I’ll kill them for what they have done to my family.” Tristan’s hand drifted unconsciously to his sword as he spoke.

  Seeing the fire in the King’s eyes, the young soldier nodded and backed away from the ship’s side.

  Without delay Tristan threw his leg over the rail and began descending the ladder as swiftly as he could, then leapt the last few feet and landed with a thud on the gently rolling deck. The soldiers fanned out, the light of their lanterns illuminating the deck of the fishing vessel.

  “Over here, my liege,” a guardsman called. Tristan hurried over to find the man crouched over a body on the deck. A pool of blood had dried around the man, indicating that whatever had transpired here, it had occurred hours ago.

  “Spread out—there may be more. Check for survivors,” Tristan ordered.<
br />
  A sweep of the deck revealed a dozen other victims, including the captain, who was slumped over the helm. Less than a handful had managed to draw a weapon. Clearly they had been taken by surprise.

  A nearby guardsman approached. “Wounds are consistent with those at the Palace, your majesty—these men were killed by kama. The Night Stalkers were here.”

  “Where are they now?” Tristan snapped, impatient to find his quarry still eluding him.

  “We are searching below decks now, your majesty. If they are here, we’ll find them.”

  Tristan slowly made his way around the deck, trying to make sense of what had occurred.

  Clearly the fight had erupted at the ship’s helm. The captain had been killed swiftly from behind, and two other nearby crew had fallen quickly. The fishermen in the midsection had been cleaning their catch when the fight had begun. A freshly drawn net lay in the center of the deck, and the pungent odor of the fish was overpowering. Several of the sailors had managed to draw their weapons, or perhaps more likely had their knives in hand when the attack began. Unfortunately, the short blades had been no match for the well-armed assassins.

  Desperate for any hint or clue about the assassins’ intentions, Tristan scoured the scene, examining each body as he went. Three of the sailors lay in a heap. Tristan rolled over the first fisherman and saw the man had died quickly from a series of deep wounds to his chest.

  A noise erupted from below deck—heavy footfalls followed by the sound of steel on steel as blades clashed. Drawing his broadsword, Tristan ran for the steep staircase that led below. From the top of the ladder-like stairs Tristan descended swiftly, taking care not to lose his footing.

  When he reached the lower deck the noise stopped abruptly. Tristan ran through the semi-dark hold of the ship searching for the struggle and met a handful of King’s Guard dragging a body behind them. Recognizing their liege, the guards dropped the body unceremoniously to the deck.