Curse of Kings (The Trials of Oland Born, Book 1) (30 page)

LAND RAN DOWN THE STEPS OF THE TOWER
. H
E
could hear Prince Roxleigh call after him, but he kept running, lest he be stopped on his journey to the only place he wanted to go.

As he ran down the hallway, one of Villius' soldiers appeared in front of him. Oland reached for his sword, remembering too late that he had set it down in the library, and had forgotten to take it back up. The soldier was at least six inches taller than Oland and stones heavier. He was a grappler more than a swordsman, so he left his sword in its scabbard and threw himself at Oland, crushing his arms against his sides, squeezing his breath from his lungs.

Oland felt the strange rush through his veins that he had felt in the arena. This time, focusing on his rage at Villius Ren, and all he had done to Decresian, the sensation caused him no fear. He jerked up his arms, throwing the soldier into the air, hearing the terrible sound of the man's shoulders popping from their sockets. The soldier roared in pain and staggered backward, the colour draining from his face. Oland crouched down beside him, and gripped his limp right arm.

“Is Villius still in the great hall?” said Oland, tightening his grip. “Where is he?”

“Yes,” said the soldier. Oland took his sword and left him to his pain.

 

Villius Ren was sitting at the head of the banqueting table, his legs spread wide, his arms hanging loose at his sides. His sword lay in front of him. He did not reach for it, he did not sit up, he did not stand. The only movement he made was to raise his eyebrows, his aim simply to mock.

Oland stood several feet from him, his stance strong and solid.

“For fourteen years, I was your slave,” he said, “but my servitude has come to an end.”

“An end?” said Villius. His eyes were bright with ridicule. “You're a child.”

“When it suits you,” said Oland. “But I'm a man when it suits you too: a farrier, a groom, a barber, a blacksmith…”

“Yet master of none…” said Villius.

“‘You are an ignorant man,'” said Oland. “‘You find your stale expressions in old places, carried down through generations who have never once considered them, or discarded them as threadbare. And your banquets are dull and torturous and drowning in the same talk, night after night. I would fill your glasses and your platters and guide you to your beds. So I am reminded to include in the list of my former duties… swine herder.'”

A sourness seeped into Villius' face.

Oland had been quoting Wickham's play,
The Banon Servant
, but Villius would never know.

“But what's important now,” said Oland, “is not who I was, but who I never was; who, by living here, I could never be…”

Villius straightened in his seat, and sat forward. He spread his arms wide, then brought his hands together and pointed them towards Oland. “And is this it?” he said. “Is what stands before me the magnificent boy who never was?” He laughed. “Or are you a man now?”

Again, Oland quoted
The Banon Servant
. “‘You are not a gatekeeper,'” he said. “‘I don't seek entry into your world. So your questions and your judgement and your sense of me is not my concern.'” He paused. “‘Pour your scorn into more fragile vessels: they might break.'”

They locked eyes. Villius Ren picked up his sword and, with calculated apathy, rose to his feet. He moved towards Oland.

Oland stepped forward and raised his sword. Villius' eyes widened but his focus was behind Oland. At that moment Oland felt a strong hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Prince Roxleigh. He spoke to Oland, his voice low: “You are not ready for the burden that comes with taking a man's life.” Without loosening his grip, he turned Oland slowly back around to face Villius Ren. “Whoever that man may be.”

Villius Ren stood before them, mesmerised by the presence he thought was dead, a man who had a genuine claim to his throne.

“Sit down, Villius,” said Roxleigh, “clearly, I mean you no harm.”

Villius, speechless, did what Roxleigh asked. He laid his sword on the table in front of him.

Prince Roxleigh turned to him. “Go, Oland. Leave. We will take care of this.”

“No,” said Oland. “No.” He looked from Prince Roxleigh to Villius Ren and felt a strange energy run between them.

From down the hallway, Oland heard Delphi scream. Without thinking, he ran, following the sound. Quietly, he approached the portrait room. The smell of death seeped from the darkened room.

He could vaguely make out a lifeless form, familiar to him, slumped against the back wall. A slight figure walked towards him. At first he thought it was a soldier, and he raised his sword. Light bounced from the blade across coal-black eyes.

“Delphi!” cried Oland. “Delphi!”

He threw his arms around her. “I heard you scream,” he said. “I didn't know what happened.” He tried to pull away, so he could look at her.

Delphi gripped him tighter. After a moment, she spoke. “Viande is dead,” she said.

LAND PULLED GENTLY AWAY FROM
D
ELPHI
. S
HE
forced a smile, but her face showed pain like it had never done before. Oland felt a powerful swell of regret – he had taken this innocent girl from her sheltered life, and introduced her to everything her loving father had wanted to shield her from. Chancey the Gold was right. Delphi was too pure for this world, too innocent to be confronted with such horror. Oland was powerless. He could return her to that world, though he knew that she was forever changed. He feared she would never again settle in the beautiful Falls; he had destroyed her world, and offered her no better world in its place.

“Are you all right?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you,” said Delphi. Suddenly, she laid her head on his chest, and he found himself embracing her.

“It's nearly over,” he said. “I can't believe it's nearly over.”

“Delphi!” came a voice behind them. She jumped and pulled away from Oland.

Chancey the Gold stormed towards them and grabbed Delphi by the arm.

“I am running out of words, Delphi,” he said. “I don't know what it's going to take. Do you understand that your safety will always be of more concern to me than anything else?” He turned to Oland. “You!” he said. “For the last time! Get out of my sight.”

“Father!” said Delphi, her eyes lit with anger.

“Go,” said Chancey to Oland. “Go.”

Oland nodded. “Yes, sir.” He turned to Delphi. “I'll see you later.”

As Oland walked away, he heard Chancey speak to Delphi. He wasn't angry; his tones were gentle. Though it felt underhand and though he had a horror of being discovered, Oland ducked behind a pillar to listen.

“Delphi,” said Chancey, “when the men from The Craven Lodge found me in Galenore and told me that they were taking me back to The Falls, I nearly lost my mind. I was convinced that they would find you. I don't think I could ever fully explain to you how powerful a fear that is. All I've ever wanted to do is protect you—”

“That's not what Malcolm Evolent told me!” said Delphi. “He said that you wanted to protect—”

“Stop!” said Chancey, holding his finger to her lips. “Stop.”

Oland stood in the shadows, rigid. When had Delphi been speaking to Malcolm Evolent? And who had he said Chancey the Gold was trying to protect.

“Never, ever believe a word that comes out of Malcolm Evolent's mouth,” said Chancey. “What I was trying to tell you, Delphi, is the pain I felt when I came home and you were gone. I thought my heart would break. You will not see Oland after this. I'm sorry. But you will not. We're leaving now. We're leaving Decresian, and we're not returning to Dallen. This ends here, Delphi.”

Oland's heart sank. He could hear Delphi crying, and it made everything worse.

“Father, is it true what Villius Ren did to my mother?” said Delphi.

Chancey the Gold did not respond.

“Answer me!” shouted Delphi. “Is it true that Villius Ren left her for dead, but that she survived, and she's still alive – barely alive – somewhere, and that's where you go to when you leave me?”

There was a long silence.

Oland could not understand how he had heard none of this, why Delphi had kept it from him.

“It is true.” said Chancey. “I love you so much, Delphi. I never wanted to break your beautiful heart with the weight of all the events of your young life.”

“And you still go and visit her after all these years?” said Delphi.

“I do,” said Chancey the Gold. “She is the love of my life, Delphi. She always will be.”

Oland had heard enough. He ran. Time and again, throughout the course of his life, and his quest, he had been given more and more reasons to do what he was about to do. And this reason, what Villius Ren had done to Delphi and her family, rose above all others.

 

Villius Ren sat at the head of the table in the great hall, a golden orb of light around his head from the contrivance of his stained-glass window. Prince Roxleigh stood a distance away. Beside Roxleigh were two magistrates, along with Jerome and Arthur Rynish. In Jerome's hands were the cuffs and chains to lead Villius away.

Oland stood on a ridge outside, watching the scene through the window. He was holding an arquebus, just like the one that his newest tin soldier held. The weapon had come from Galenore. It had not been difficult to secure one from a son of Malachy Graham. Oland raised it to shoulder height.

In front of him, the golden circle of the stained-glass sun shone, even in the darkness. And at its centre was the black, perfectly framed silhouette of Villius Ren's head.

Oland gave a silent order to his army of one:
Fire.

The sun shattered and Villius Ren was dead.

HE MEN IN THE GREAT HALL RAN TO WHERE
V
ILLIUS
Ren fell, then looked out to see who had fired on him. Oland hid in the undergrowth, waiting until they left. He jumped through the broken window and went to where Villius Ren lay. He crouched down and took the ring of keys from the dead man's belt. With its ornate design and pointed tip, Oland recognised the key to the throne room. He had to know what he had disturbed that had driven Villius so insane. He grabbed a lantern from the table.

Oland entered the throne room, and was struck by the smell of decay. Slowly, the space was illuminated. It was empty except for a marble table and a single red and black rug on the floor. Oland could feel a draught, like a sliver of fresh air was trying to break through the oppressive stench. But there were no windows, no other doors.

Oland remembered Villius saying that a door in the throne room was unlocked. And Oland had known that this was not the case. He went over to the rug and kicked a corner of it back. He saw timber. He set down the lantern and slid the rest of the rug away to reveal a trapdoor. Oland grabbed the large iron handle and pulled it up. There was a small iron ladder set into the space below. He took the lantern and descended.

The tunnel smelled of damp grass and earth and traces of the stench of the throne room that reminded him of Villius Ren's breath. Oland made his way along the tunnel until he reached the end, where more iron rungs stretched up to a second timber door. Although he didn't know what lay above it, there was no alternative but to climb the ladder and open the door.

Oland emerged into what appeared to be a tower, but, when he reached the top, he realised it was a dried-out well. He was in a garden. From where he stood, and from his view of the turrets of Castle Derrington, he knew that he was still within the grounds of the castle. He was at the home of Magnus Miller. He was in the walled garden that his wife, Hester Rose, had once so faithfully tended. The garden where, for years, nine hundred and ninety-nine souls had been buried. Oland was silenced by the horror.

In the corner of the garden, under a cage of bare, overhanging branches, was a weathered stone house. Oland went around to the back door. He pulled out Villius Ren's keys and tried each one until he heard a click. He pushed the door open and was surprised to find himself inside comfortable living quarters, with tapestries and paintings on the walls, rugs on the floor, heavy drapes at the windows. He locked the door behind him, then walked down a short hallway, where he discovered a bedroom. There was a tunic and trousers laid out on the bed and, as Oland inspected them, he saw the stitching of the Tailor Rynish. The clothes were for someone smaller and slighter than Oland. There were paintings of soldiers and battles, books on all manner of subjects, a wardrobe filled with more clothes from the Tailor Rynish. Oland looked around at a bedroom the likes of which he had only dreamed of having in Castle Derrington.

He left it and walked into the living room, drawn immediately to the mahogany writing desk in the corner. There was a letter on top and a quill set down beside it. Oland recognised immediately the handwriting of Villius Ren. He picked up the letter, and, at first, got no further than the opening line.

 

To my beloved son, Gideon…

 

Villius Ren had a son. Someone had been loved by Villius Ren.