“No!” he cried. But it was too late. Whoever had sent it had installed a safeguard. Once played, it would automatically destroy itself.
Drake’s legs felt limp. For several minutes he could do nothing but sit on the floor staring at the blank screen. Why? What had he done to deserve this? And why tell him the truth now, after all these years?
He wanted to feel anger, hatred, rage…anything at all. But it was as if all emotion had been sucked out of him, leaving him an empty shell. He could neither shout nor weep, only sit there feeling wholly dead inside.
He was still sitting like this when the door burst open and four members of the royal guard rushed in, P37’s drawn. Even now, he did not move. Such was the depth of his despair that he’d barely noticed them entering. It wasn’t until they lifted him to his feet and began to cuff his hands that he eventually spoke. Just one word came out.
“Salazar.”
Chapter Sixteen
They led him from his apartment to a waiting car in front of the block. Only then did Drake slowly begin to recover his wits.
“Why am I being arrested?” he demanded. He was sure it must have something to do with the video.
“You’re being charged with murder,” came the curt reply. These were elite guards, he noted. Deadly and efficient. They discharged their duty with complete indifference as to the crime or the perpetrator. Someone very important must have been killed.
“Who am I accused of killing? I have the right to know.”
Drake caught a glint of anger in the guard’s eyes. Typical for a standard guard, but not one of the elites. These men were rumored to lack any kind of human feeling at all. Not true, of course. But they did maintain absolute control over any emotion. Generally, they were sent out to deal with matters when a noble ran afoul of the law.
“The king,” Drake was told. “You are accused of murdering the king.”
The words hit him like a punch in the face. “What? No! That’s impossible. I’ve been at home. I can prove it.”
As he already knew they would, his protests fell on deaf ears. They had been ordered to bring him in, and that was what they would do. Nothing else mattered. That it was the king who’d been murdered explained why the elites had been dispatched rather than normal guards or officers of the magistrate.
Utter despair washed over Drake. This couldn’t be happening to him. Not again.
A blindfold was placed over his eyes, and he could feel the car moving forward. Questions raced through his mind. Not that there would be any answers forthcoming. Not from these men. He would have to wait.
He tried to reconcile in his mind how the prince could possibly be involved in this new development. Framing him for Lord Malcoy’s death had been bad enough, but since then he had risked his own life to rescue Salazar from the clutches of a truly dangerous enemy. Was this how he was to be repaid? By being set up again, this time for a crime for which he was sure to be executed? How could his boyhood friend be so cruel? No. Cruel wasn’t the word. Evil.
Calm down and try to stay rational, Drake told himself. The only thing you know for sure is that Salazar killed Malcoy. Anything else is just speculation. You don’t know that he altered the video. Or why he said nothing at your trial. And you certainly don’t know that he is the one framing you for murdering the king. Just wait and see.
An image of the old monarch flashed through his mind. Where numbness had gripped Drake, feeling began to return. He had loved the king like a father. And now someone had killed him. But who? Surely not Salazar? No, it had to be one of the nobles, one with sufficient cunning to frame him for the crime. Frustration caused him to grind his teeth. Without knowing what kind of evidence had been stacked up against him, he could not even begin to work on a plan of defense.
After an hour, the car stopped. When the door opened, Drake knew immediately that he was in upper Troi. The scent of the air was unmistakable, and he could almost feel the mana streams flowing above him. Where they were taking him was now obvious; he’d suspected as much the moment they blindfolded him.
A strong pair of hands held his arms and guided him up a long ramp then into a lift. It took them three minutes to reach the level where the high security holding cells were located. This was usually the only place in upper Troi that a person from the lower city would ever get to see. And to enjoy this dubious privilege, you would first need to kill a noble or high-ranking official. Even then, all you ever got to see was a very small part of the building’s interior.
After making several turns, he heard a door hiss open, and he was pushed down into a hard, upright chair. His blindfold and cuffs were then removed.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. But as they did, the surroundings were just as he remembered: white walls with black doors, six on either side. Each had a one-foot-square barred window and a slot in the middle through which food could be passed. A double door at the end led through the kitchen, and two more chairs were facing him for the guards’ use.
“Is Daryl still the cook?” Drake asked.
The two men standing in front of him were not elite guards; the fury on their faces was enough to tell him that. One was standing near the rear wall with his P37 drawn, the other positioned just a few feet in front of him.
Drake glanced at the guard nearest. “I suppose you uncuffed me hoping I’ll try to escape. Sorry to disappoint you, but I know this place too well to think I could get away. So if you’re going to shoot me, go ahead.” Upon receiving no reply, he asked: “Will you at least tell me why anyone would think I killed the king? I was at my apartment. People saw me there.”
“We have nothing to say to you,” the guard said. “Not unless you’d like to save us some trouble and confess.”
Drake sniffed. “Just tell me which cell is mine.”
The guard turned to his left and touched the mana pad of the second door along. Drake waited until he’d backed away before rising and entering.
When the door slammed shut, he felt an overwhelming sense of desperation creeping in. This was exactly how it had been the last time. Hell, even the cell was identical: a single metal chair and small round table set at the foot of the cot, and on the other side a sink, shower, and toilet, along with a curtain that could be drawn across for privacy. These cells usually housed nobles or officials, so the comfort level was a bit higher than one normally found in a jail. The food wasn’t bad, either. In fact, as a guard himself, he used to come here to eat on the days they served beef stew and bread. He remembered that as being particularly good, though how it might taste to him under his current circumstances was a different matter entirely.
He plopped down on the cot and laid back, hands behind his head. How in the hell had this happened to him? All he wanted to do was to live in peace. He should have known that whatever dark cloud was hanging over him had not moved on.
It was probably too late to eat, and he certainly wasn’t about to ask the guards for any food. They already looked as if they were ready to give him a beating at the slightest excuse. With their P37s, they could cause him quite a bit of pain as well. He closed his eyes and tried to still his mind. There was absolutely nothing he could do but wait and see what happened next.
It took time, but eventually the steady hum of the lights droned him into an uneasy sleep.
* * * * *
The sharp opening of the door outside snapped him awake. It was impossible to know how long he’d drifted in and out of consciousness, but at least a few hours.
“I need a few minutes alone with him.”
That voice. Surely it couldn’t be? But as Drake sat up in his bed, he could not fail to recognize the familiar face smiling in at him through the bars.
“I see they are taking good care of you,” Xavier remarked, his triumphant smile beaming. “I suppose you’re wondering how it is I’m walking around free and not in one of the cells.”
“The thought did cross my mind.” Drake leaned his elbows on his knees. “Let me guess. You someh
ow convinced the king of your innocence.”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking.”
“So you killed him?”
“Now, why would I do that? No, my old friend, I had nothing to do with it. In fact, I had nothing to do with what happened to the prince either.”
“Then who?”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
Drake seethed. “I know Salazar killed Lord Malcoy, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”
Xavier chuckled. “Of course you do. Who do you think sent you the video?”
“You?” Drake stared at him, not wanting to believe it. But the man’s confident smile said that he was telling the truth. “Why?”
“Because I don’t like you,” he replied. “It’s that simple, really. I just wanted you to know who had done this to you.” He paused in order for his words to sink in. “However, before you blame me completely, though I admit I may have altered the original video, Salazar and the king both knew of this and chose to say nothing. The truth is, I just wanted you out of the way. And with the leverage I had over them, that was easy to accomplish.”
“I don’t understand. You have what you want now. Why try to frame me again?”
“Oh, I’m doing more than trying, Drake. Unfortunately, all those people who claim to have seen you at your apartment have since unfortunately gone missing. And seeing as how it was Salazar who killed his own father, he was more than willing to let me help him out of a considerable mess…again. Let’s be honest, who better than you to take the fall?”
“But if you didn’t try to kill Salazar, who did?”
“That, my friend, remains a mystery for now. But I have my suspicions.”
“So all this is simply because you don’t like me?” Anger was building. “You’re pathetic. You know that?”
Xavier puffed a breath. “Seeing you get what you deserve is merely a bonus. You see, Prince Salazar and I have plans. Big plans. And I can’t have someone like you around mucking things up.”
“And I suppose these plans involved murdering his own father?”
“I’m afraid so. Sadly, the old man just couldn’t see how a little bad can be used to produce a much greater good. He was like you, in a way...sentimental.”
Drake wanted to reach through the bars and strangle him. But he needed to know more. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” he asked.
“Still thinking to save the day, are you?” Xavier sneered. “Do you really believe you can escape from here and turn the tables on me? Or perhaps you are planning to expose us and tell all of Vale about our evil plots?” He shook his head. “To think you called me pathetic. Feel free to tell whoever you wish. Of course, as you know nothing, it might all sound a bit insane. Rather more like a desperate man trying anything he can to save himself from execution.”
There was no way around it. Drake knew he was beaten. Xavier had played it perfectly.
“We’ll see,” was all he could think to say. And even that came out sounding more like weak bluster than anything else.
“Indeed we will,” Xavier smiled. “But I don’t want you to worry. I won’t make you languish in this cell for very long. Even my cruelty has its limits.” He bowed his head ever so slightly. “Farewell…captain.”
Drake wanted to say something more, but prolonging the conversation would have only compounded Xavier’s victory. With enormous effort, he waited until hearing his tormentor pass through the door and it close behind him before letting out a feral scream. Though this provided a brief release of all the anger and frustration raging inside, it elicited only laughter from the two guards who by now had returned to their places.
He had counted on there being a trial. At least then he would have the chance to do or say something in his defense. But Xavier had made it perfectly clear that he would never be allowed to leave this cell alive.
Think, Drake. Calm the hell down and think. What do you know?
Xavier framed you for killing Lord Malcoy, presumably to become captain of the royal guard and gain leverage over the king and the prince.
He forced the fact that his best friend had allowed this to happen from his mind. It raised up far too much anger, and there was enough of that burning inside him already. He needed to keep his head as clear as possible.
Salazar ran, and someone was determined not to let him return. But if that someone wasn’t Xavier, then who? And why? Whoever it was had also involved Bane. And then there was the holovid. What had Salazar found out? And why would he kill his own father?
Lying back on his cot, Drake closed his eyes. Again and again he went over everything he could remember. Try as he might, he couldn’t put it all together in a way that made any sense. He needed more. He also needed a way out of here. Not that this was likely to materialize. In all probability he would die quite soon, never knowing the full story. He would be left only with the mocking knowledge that Xavier had beaten him.
He wanted to scream again, but could only lie there staring at the ceiling, feeling totally defeated.
Chapter Seventeen
The dull thud of a body striking the ground roused Drake from his stupor. He drew a sharp breath. Was this how they planned to do it? Knock out the guards and kill him from outside the bars? Hell, the guards weren’t exactly his friends either. They’d probably allowed themselves to be knocked out.
He stood beside his cot, determined to look his killer in the eye. He almost hoped it was Xavier. He wanted the man to see that, though he had lost, he was far from cowed or beaten.
The cell door clicked and hissed, then swung open a few inches. Drake’s muscles tensed. Better to die fighting, and this fool was giving him the chance to do that. He crouched low, ready to spring.
“Drake,” a voice called. A woman’s voice.
Slender fingers pulled the door fully open. He was unable to believe his eyes.
“Lenora,” he whispered.
She was dressed in the orange and black robes of a high mage, and the hood was thrown back, revealing her delicate features. “Hurry,” she said. “We don’t have much time.” She tossed a bundle at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving your life,” she replied.
Drake unwrapped the bundle to find a novice’s robes and a mechanic’s coveralls. “You can’t. They’ll –”
“My father is dead,” she snapped. “Killed by my brother. They’ll be coming for me once you are taken care of. Now, for the love of Vale, hurry. Put the robes on over the coveralls.”
Without any more delay, Drake stripped off his clothes and did as she instructed. The robe was baggy and cumbersome, but the hood would hide his face.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“One thing at a time.” She regarded him for a brief moment, then pulled her hood up.
The two guards were lying on the floor, though he could see that they were still breathing. Drake paused long enough to take one of their P37s. It was lighter than his own; a newer model and without the alterations he had made over the years.
Lenora peered outside before waving for Drake to follow. “If we’re approached, let me do the talking,” she told him.
Drake felt as if he were a leaf being carried against his will on a strong wind. Nothing was making any sense at all. Even the few answers Xavier had provided only spawned further questions. But as much as he needed answers, now was definitely not the time.
They walked at an even, deliberate pace. Even the halls leading to the holding cells gleamed and pulsed with mana. Not a speck of dirt or hint of age touched a single surface. At the higher levels, mana radiated and drifted in the very air. At night, everything glowed in a kaleidoscope of color, the mana flowing and swirling freely like thin mist.
Drake caught his breath on seeing two royal guards exiting a side door directly ahead. He need not have worried. The pair simply saluted and went about their business. One did not speak to a high mage unless spoken to, and a royal guard assigned to upper Troi wo
uld never dream of breaking with decorum.
They exited through a small atrium and then down a long ramp. At the end of this was a lift that would take them to the gardens at ground level. Once inside this and descending, Lenora immediately set about stripping off the robes, beneath which she wore a simple pair of tan trousers and a blue button-down – typical attire for a laborer. Drake followed suit. When the lift opened a minute or so later, he saw three men standing just outside, all of them wearing magistrate’s uniforms. Drake’s hand shot to his weapon, but Lenora caught his arm.
“They’re with me,” she said.
“Are you sure about this, Your Highness?” asked an older man with narrow-set blue eyes.
“Absolutely,” she replied. The man opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “The king is murdered, and I am to be the next to share his fate. So either help me or turn me in.”
“You know I would never do that, Your Highness. But I must ask, why are you taking…him with you? Please. Let me come too. I will protect you.”
Lenora smiled sweetly. “I know you would, Karl. However, I need you here. I need you and your men to be my eyes and ears. As for my companion, do not worry. All is not as it seems.”
The man gave Drake a suspicious look, but nodded his acceptance. “Very well, Your Highness. You can count on us.” He took a quick look around. “Now hurry. We can’t be seen.”
The path they were standing on only skirted the edge of the enormous garden, yet even on this fringe, the variety of flowers and trees was spectacular. It was possible to wander for days on end and never see them all. A spider’s web of cobbled trails threaded their way between many species of plants that it was claimed grew nowhere else but here. A few nobles even kept small private gardens yielding vegetables and fruits reputed to be so delicious that one would feel as if they were cleansing their entire body with each juicy bite.
The group descended a flight of stairs into a narrow alley, at the end of which was a service lift. They took this down two levels to where an open lot housed several dozen magistrate vehicles.
The Vale: Behind The Vale Page 21