“No,” said Doran, “you would not. You lie even now. You know no other way.”
Something ignited in Adran’s eyes then, a fierce anger.
“It was for our son, Doran!” she shrieked. “Our son!”
“He’s weak, Adran, not fit to rule. And to use magic? So much pain you have caused me.” He narrowed his eyes and a thin line of blood-flecked spittle ran from the corner of his taut mouth. “I wanted you to watch your son die, Adran. I wanted you to hurt and then I wanted to watch you die in despair. Just like I am.” He started to laugh but it become a cough. Droplets of blood hung like dew in his beard
Adran stared at her husband, her face frozen as if an artist had drawn the worst possible version of her; a woman haggard, old and bitter. Then she drew on some well of inner strength and her face hardened, her lips became a thin white line.
“All this relies on the king being alive to vouch for you, Merela.” She stood. “Without him you have nothing.” She drew a long slim dagger from her jerkin. “And my husband will be dead well before any Landsmen get here.”
“I have a letter signed by the king.” My master tapped her jerkin and her other hand flickered out, “Be ready.” “I will leave it with the Festival Lords and instruct them to give it to the Landsmen when they arrive.” A flicker of a smile crossed the king’s face and I wondered whether it was really magic he hated, or his wife. “You are over, Adran. You are finished, and so is Aydor.”
Adran glanced over at Daana ap Dhyrrin who nodded slowly.
“She is right, Adran, I am afraid,” he said, “and you will bring us all down with you.”
“Do not listen to this assassin, Daana,” said the queen. “There is a way out of this for all of us.”
“Yes, of course. You are right, my queen. There is always a way out.” Daana ap Dhyrrin reached back into his elaborate headdress, like an old man about to scratch his head in thought. Then his hand flashed forward. A throwing knife cut a glittery path across the room and buried itself in the throat of Queen Adran Mennix. She slumped to the floor, a look of surprise on her face as she began to drown in her own blood. Her eyes searched for help. First she looked to my master but found no pity there. Then she looked to me for help she was already far beyond. Lastly she reached out a bloodied hand towards the king but his face was stone as he watched the light go out of her eyes.
Daana ap Dhyrrin smiled as he watched the queen die. Then he raised his voice. It was far louder than I expected of a man so old.
“Help!” he shouted. “Assassin! Assassin! The queen is dead! Assassin!”
I drew my blade to silence him, but my master grabbed my arm.
“Forget him, Girton,” she said. “Now we run.”
Chapter 27
My master pushed back the tapestry; behind it were our weapons. She took her stabswords as I grabbed my Conwy longblade. Then she pushed me towards the door and I kicked it open. Daana ap Dhyrrin continued shouting, “Assassins!” while he advanced on the king with a blade. I spun, ready to help the king but my master pulled me from the room.
“Doran ap Mennix knows he’s finished no matter what. At least this way is quicker than the poison. Come!” She grabbed me by my shoulder. “Kill anyone who tries to stop us. We have no friends here.”
I’d expected the guards that had been sent out of the king’s room to be waiting for us. Instead I was greeted by the clash of arms. Adran’s two guards were fighting two of Daana’s guards; the other two were vanishing down the corner stairs, shouting, “It has begun, it has begun!” Forgetting I was meant to be escaping the castle, I watched the soldiers lay into each other with pikes. For a moment I was hypnotised by the struggle and then my master was dragging me away.
“What is happening, Master?”
“You know how nervous the guards have been? This castle is full of spies, Girton. Behind the timidity of the blessed is a hotbed of paranoia and factions. Two hours ago I made sure four guards loyal to Daana ap Dhyrrin were found with their throats slit.” She grinned her feral grin. “Such a move is close to a declaration of war. This place has been a wildfire waiting to happen since the moment we got here and we have set the spark. Now we must hope not to get caught up in the ensuing blaze.”
We rounded a corner and four guards, all with red paint splashed on their arms, rushed at us with their pikes held low. With a flick of her wrists my master sent two sleek throwing daggers spinning out to take the front two guards in the throat, then slid to a stop, coming down on one knee as I followed up with my longsword. The two guards following jerked their pikes aside to avoid skewering their stricken comrades and I slashed my sword across at throat height, cutting them both down.
The deaths of the four guards had taken less than a second.
At the first stair we came to there was a thick scrum of guards with red splashes trying to stop another group coming up.
“Back,” said my master before the guards noticed us. “We head for the other corner stair, though I imagine that will be guarded too.”
“What about the main staircase?”
“Will be the most heavily guarded of all.”
“We could go down the outer wall.”
“Not in this wind, and both factions will have archers and crossbowyers watching the walls.”
“Then we fight and die here,” I said.
“No. Never give up, Girton. Not until the last drop of blood has run from your body.” She grabbed my sleeve. “Come on.”
We ran back the way we had come and straight into another small group of guards. They were ill prepared for us. I cut the first down before she had the chance to draw her blade. The second raised a sword and I ran forward, barrelling into him with my shoulder and knocking him off balance. As we fell I forced my dagger in beneath his armpit, hearing his heart burst in a pained gasp, feeling it in the rush of hot blood over my hand. Beside me my master dodged a sideways slash and darted in, her blade opening the neck of one attacker, who fell, clasping at a wound that would not be staunched. With a backwards slash she brought down her second attacker.
And then misfortune caught us.
There are moments in a fight when no amount of skill can save you, and this was one. A crossbowyer stood further down the corridor, his weapon loaded and aimed at my master, his eyes wide with fear. The second my master saw him she threw a knife and leaped out the way of his bolt. Had he aimed true all would have been fine, but in his fear he had turned to run at the same time he loosed the bolt from his crossbow and it went wide. Instead of leaping out of danger my master leaped into it. The bolt took her in the thigh at the same time her knife took the crossbowyer in the back of the neck
“Dead gods!” Her leg gave way under her.
“Master!”
“Help me up, Girton.”
I pulled her up taking her weight on my shoulder. I heard voices—more guards coming towards us.