Shadow of the Crown Read online

  The combination of his weight and her injured arm made the task of pulling Arnim out of the sewer almost impossible. Once she manoeuvred him, he sat, still unconscious, in the opening, waiting for her to lift him out. She struggled with it for ages until his feet finally cleared the hole. Dragging him into an alleyway, she returned, dropping the grate back into place.

  Now, she needed to find a spot to hide the knight until she returned. The derelict candle shop was the best choice, so she quickly ran around to the back door. It only took a few twists of her pick for the lock to spring open and she soon had Arnim safely inside.

  * * *

  Harry Hathaway headed down the street, a silver necklace dangling from his fingers. As he walked, he examined it, talking to himself.

  "Not bad, Handsome Harry, you old rogue. There isn't a woman alive who can resist your charms."

  He turned up the side street, dropping the necklace into a small pouch, then withdrew a slender key. He had stopped at a door, ready to unlock it when he thought he detected a faint hissing noise. He paused, the key only partly inserted, listening intently.

  Again the sound issued forth, and then a voice whispered, "Harry!"

  "Who's there?" he cried out, his voice echoing down the street.

  "It's me, Harry," came a familiar voice.

  "You'll have to be a little more specific," he replied. "I know a lot of 'me's'."

  "It's me, Nikki, Nikki the Knife."

  "Nik?" he responded in surprise. "You've been gone a long time Nik, we all thought you were dead."

  He moved toward the voice and was suddenly conscious of a stench that permeated his surroundings. "What's that smell?"

  "I had to escape through the sewers, Harry; they'll kill me if they catch me."

  Nicole stepped out of the darkness.

  "By the gods, Nik, you look as bad as you smell. Who's after you? Did you upset another gang boss?"

  "No, Harry," she replied, "it's much more serious than that. Can you help me or not?"

  "Of course, come inside, and we'll get you cleaned up."

  "No," she insisted, "I need you to come with me."

  "Where are we going?"

  "I have someone stashed nearby, but we must hurry before he's discovered."

  "You intrigue me, Nikki. Lead on."

  He followed her as she turned down an alleyway. They cut across a number of streets, finally emerging half a dozen blocks away.

  Nikki pointed at the candle shop, "He's in there; I had to put him somewhere to keep him safe."

  She led him around to the back, opening the door. Arnim lay sprawled on the floor, unmoving.

  "For Saxnor's sake, Nikki, did you kill him?"

  "No, I didn't kill him, Harry. He's been drugged."

  "Here's a tip," offered Harry, "if you don't drug people, they can walk."

  She punched him in the arm, "I didn't drug him, someone else did."

  Harry rubbed his bruised limb, "Who is it? He looks kind of familiar, but he's covered in shit."

  "Never mind that," she said. "Help me get him to your place and out of sight."

  He sighed and moved around to lift Arnim, "You make sure the way's clear, I'll carry this sleeping baby here."

  "Thanks, Harry, I owe you one."

  "If I had a crown for every time you said that I'd be a rich man," he murmured.

  "What was that?" asked Nikki.

  "I said, it's my pleasure."

  He lifted Arnim, hoisting him over his shoulders. "This man's heavier than he looks, and I thought YOU smelled bad. Who did you say he was?"

  "I didn't," she responded. "Now let's get moving."

  * * *

  The early morning streets were mostly empty, and it wasn't long before they were safely indoors. Harry carried his burden upstairs and into a room, dropping him to the floor beside the bed. It was dark, and he searched around for his flint and steel to light the fireplace. As the sparks ignited the kindling, it gave the room an eerie glow. He blew on the fire, watching as it grew, then stood.

  "I'll fetch some water so you can clean up. I'll be back in a moment."

  Nikki knelt beside the fallen knight and began pulling the stinking clothes from his body. Harry soon returned with a bowl of water and some rags.

  "I'll do that," he insisted. "You see to yourself."

  He began scrubbing at Arnim's arms as he finished pulling the clothes off of him.

  Nikki undid what remained of her dress. It had long sleeves, and as she pulled the right one off, blood poured from her wound. She gasped in pain.

  Harry turned at the sound. "Nikki," he said, "what happened to your arm?"

  "I was cut by a sword," she said. "I was lucky it didn't take my arm off."

  He moved toward her to examine the wound, turning her to get more light on it. "You might still lose it," he cautioned. "You went through the sewers, it's likely to fester. Let me clean this up for you."

  She waited while he cleaned the wound as best he could.

  "I hope he's worth it," Harry said at last.

  "He is," she replied.

  "Are you going to tell me who this is?"

  "His name's Arnim Caster, Sir Arnim Caster."

  "He's a knight?"

  "Yes, a Knight of the Hound."

  Harry stopped what he was doing, "A Knight of the Hound? I've never heard of them before."

  "They serve Princess Anna," she explained.

  "Isn't that the queen's bastard? How do you fit into all this, Nik?"

  She looked down at Arnim, "Look at him again, Harry, don't you recognize him?"

  Harry knelt by the unconscious knight, using a cloth to wipe his face. "He certainly looks familiar, but I can't place him."

  Nikki decided to put him out of his misery, "He used to be in the town watch. Of course, we were all much younger in those days."

  Harry whistled, "He's the one you deceived, isn't he?"

  "Yes," she answered, though her voice was barely audible.

  "So why would you help him now?"

  "I had no choice all those years ago, Harry. I had to betray him, it was my job. My life was on the line, but he never deserved what happened to him."

  Harry looked at her closely, "You still love him, don't you?"

  "Don't be ridiculous, Harry. I just owe him, that's all."

  "Sure, Nik. You go on believing that."

  Two

  Anna

  Summer 961 MC

  Screams echoed down the hallway, bouncing off the cold stone walls, making their way to where Anna, Princess of Merceria, lay huddled on the floor. She held her hands over her ears, but the sounds of agony pierced her heart. She could do nothing to end their suffering.

  She was being held in a cell; a small room, barely enough space for her lie down with no way to escape. The only entrance was a sturdy wooden door with a narrow barred window at the top and a smaller door below where food could be passed through.

  She shivered, her thin shift doing little to protect against the dampness of the chilly stones. The screams began anew, this time a much higher pitch; a woman. The princess brought her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, trying to eke out what little warmth she could while her breath frosted in the cold air.

  When footsteps echoed down the hallway, she ran to the bars, straining to see who was coming. Two armed guards appeared carrying spears, and then two more who dragged someone between them. Closer they came, and then one of the spearmen aimed the point of his weapon at her, motioning for her to back away. The second pulled forth a key ring and unlatched the cell door while the first kept his spear at the ready. With a creak, the door opened, and the last two men dumped the prisoner onto the floor.

  "This is a gift from the king," one of them said. "He thought you'd like to watch him die."

  He chuckled at his own words, and then he and his partner withdrew. Without another word they locked the door, disappearing down the hallway, their footsteps blending into the distant screams.
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  Anna crawled forward, toward the body in front of her. It was slumped, face down, but she instantly knew who it was.

  "Gerald!" she cried out, her coldness forgotten.

  She rolled him over. His face was battered and swollen, with a large gash over his right eye. Blood seeped from his mouth, while his body was covered in cuts and bruises. What clothes he still wore were tattered; his shirt, ripped front and back, revealed deep lacerations to his flesh.

  She rolled him onto his side to let the blood flow freely from his mouth, afraid he might choke to death on it. She put her ear to his chest and thankfully heard a faint heartbeat.

  She tried to think, but the numbing cold and the drowsiness that clouded her mind were working against her. Forgetting her own misfortune, she began pulling at the remains of his shirt to bind his wounds in a vain attempt to stem the flow of blood.

  "Stay with me, Gerald," she begged. "Please don't leave me here alone!"

  * * *

  Unsure how much time had passed, she was awoken by someone else screaming; a man's voice this time. He kept begging them to finish it, but his tormentor merely laughed and bragged about how long the torture was going to last.

  Anna was numb; her fingers and toes had lost their sense of touch in the cold, harsh environment of her cell. Her attempt to bind Gerald's wounds had had a limited effect, for there was not enough material left for all his injuries. He now lay on his side, the blood from his mouth oozing out to create a small red pool beneath him.

  Once again, the sound of footsteps attracted her attention. It didn't take long for a guard to appear and unlock her cell, the door protesting with a familiar squeal as he pushed it open. Behind him, two guards stood by with spears while her brother, King Henry, entered. Dressed in his most elegant clothes, he carried a kerchief close to his nose to ward off the stench of the dungeons. Looking down at Anna, his face wore a mask of contempt.

  "Our father, King Andred was murdered," he began. "I rule Merceria now, and I will see to it that you, his murderer, are brought to justice."

  "I didn't kill him, Henry," she pleaded. "Please, you must believe me."

  Henry chuckled, "Oh, I know full well who is responsible, but I can't hold onto the crown if I don't have someone to blame. That's where you come in, my dear sister. I intend for you to confess to plotting the murder of our dear, departed father."

  "Never," spat Anna. "Why would I confess to such a thing?"

  Henry stared at her for a moment, thinking. "No doubt you've been entertained by the screams of agony I have provided for you; your precious Knights of the Hound. I've decided to let you listen to their cries of anguish as they die, one by one. I have a rather skilled torturer employed here; he uses a special elixir that prevents his victims from succumbing to the pain and lapsing into unconsciousness. I've been told it's most entertaining to watch. I'd let you see for yourself, but you might get the idea of escaping, and we can't have that, can we."

  "Why are you doing this, Henry?" she implored. "What have I done to earn this?"

  Her brother's face broke into a rage, "You interfered in things! If you had minded your own business in Westland, none of this would be necessary." He paused, took a deep breath, and then continued in a calm voice, "No, I'm afraid you've caused too much trouble for us. It's been decided; you have to be silenced."

  "You can't do this, Henry," she exclaimed. "You'll never get away with it. When Weldwyn hears of this-"

  "Weldwyn?" interrupted the king. "Don't make me laugh. Do you really think they can help you?"

  "They'll hear of it," she responded. "The Weldwyn ambassador will surely report this."

  "The Ambassador? I think not. He will not be returning home to report on anything." Henry smiled, throwing Anna into confusion. "That reminds me, I have a present for you." He fished about his belt, finally settling on a small pouch. He carefully opened it, withdrawing a crumpled package, then tossed it to the floor in front of her.

  "That's what I think of your precious Weldwyn," he sneered.

  Anna crawled forward, grasping the paper in her numb hands. She picked it up, opening it as carefully as she could. Suddenly she dropped it, shocked by what she saw. A finger rolled forth, the signet ring of Weldwyn still adorning it.

  "This will mean war," she proclaimed.

  "I doubt it," said Henry knowingly. "You see, Weldwyn, as you like to call it, is far too busy with problems of its own. Did you look at the wrapping? No? Too bad, it's your precious marriage proposal. Of course, I could offer you a choice, if you wish."

  "What choice?" she asked, a small sliver of hope present in her voice.

  "If you don't want to be charged with the murder of the king, you could do my bidding."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning I would raffle you off to the highest bidder and then you would be used by whoever paid the most. I know a number of people that would be amused by such a prospect."

  "You're sick, Henry," she spat out. "I would rather die."

  "I thought you'd say as much. It's just as well; things are tied up nicely this way. Of course, I have a written confession from all your knights to support my claims."

  "My knights had nothing to do with the king's death."

  "True, but a confession is very compelling, especially when the prisoner is no longer around to argue the point. I've killed them all, Anna, every single one of them."

  "You lie," she shouted, "I can still hear their screams."

  "Oh, yes, I forgot, we're not quite done yet. I've saved the best for last. That harlot Fitzwilliam will be the last to die. I've been making her watch the rest. By the way, I've killed that nasty brute of a dog of yours."

  He enjoyed watching all hope die on the young princess's face, smiling as he did so.

  "You'll be dead soon enough, Anna, but not before you suffer. You've angered some very powerful people, people who've been planning this for centuries. You don't upset folks like that without paying a price."

  "What people? What are you talking about?"

  "I would tell you, but I'd rather you die in ignorance. You have some time left, perhaps you'll figure it out for yourself, but then again, you might not, it matters little either way."

  He stepped back into the hallway, and then a guard closed the door, locking it securely.

  "I won't come and see you again, Anna. I think it's better this way. Wallow in your despair, little sister, it's the only thing you have left."

  He turned abruptly, straightened his tunic, and marched back up the hallway, the kerchief once again returned to his nose.

  Anna ran to the barred window to watch him disappear down the hallway, and then the screaming resumed.

  Three

  Revi

  Summer 961 MC

  Revi Bloom, Royal Life Mage, awoke to limbs that were painfully cramped, while his neck was pushed awkwardly forward. He tried to straighten it, but the top of his head struck something. Reaching out with his hands, he found himself surrounded by bars. The movement caused him to shift slightly, and he began to sway. He opened his eyes and let them adjust to the darkness, and then slowly, his surroundings emerged. He was sitting in a small cage, big enough only for him to squat with his legs crushed against his chest. Twisting his head up, he saw chains dangling the cage from above, and he assumed they were attached to the ceiling.

  Uttering the words of power to summon his magical light, he was rewarded with... nothing. In shock, he concentrated again, trying to draw forth the magic that lay within him, but he was unable to find it. A momentary sense of panic gripped him, and then his intellect took control.

  "Magebane," he muttered. He knew of the herb but had never experienced its magic draining effects first hand before.

  The arrival back in Wincaster had been glorious, with a celebratory feast. The king had even toasted to their health; oh, how he had fooled them all. Revi swore. He should have known better. Now, he was hanging here, a prisoner, unaware of the fate of his friends.

  As
his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he could make out shapes and outlines. Off to the side, light seeped through small cracks in a shuttered window, slowly revealing the room in more detail. One wall was curved, and he took it to be the outside wall of a tower. The small size of this room meant it could not be one of the towers on the city walls, so he surmised that it was, in fact, likely one of the small towers that decorated the top of the Palace. The room was a half circle, with a straight wall opposite the curve, containing a doorway.

  Shelves lined the wall to either side of the door, and on the curved side, where his cage hung, there was a work table of some sort, littered with papers and other oddities. He strained his neck trying to get a better view, but his cage was a tight fit, and the table was behind him; he couldn't move his head enough to see it all.

  Revi considered himself an educated man, perhaps even one of the most learned men in the kingdom, though he was too humble to admit it. To his mind, one thing was perfectly clear; whomever captured him wanted him alive for some reason, and that meant he still had a chance of surviving his current predicament. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax, breathing deeply to calm his rising panic, concentrating on each muscle. When he finally felt the pressure leave him, he began to look inward, to find his own inner sanctum in his mind.

  As peace descended, he imagined himself standing in his home in Wincaster, looking about his library. Why did the king capture them all? They had speculated about a darkness behind the throne. The witch Albreda had even warned them, but they had returned from Weldwyn in triumph, forgetting about the shadow that gripped the land.

  He tried to look at it dispassionately, separating his feelings from the situation. He was a Life Mage, and though his training had been incomplete, he knew his very existence threatened something. Did the unknown shadow understand how to use gates? He thought it unlikely. No, it was more probable that his existence as a Life Mage was the problem and, to his mind, there was only one explanation; the presence of a Death Mage, a vile necromancer.