Samual (28 page)

The kingdom of course would be the real loser, as Heri's decisions – both the good and the bad – were stymied. Anarchy would ensue as each province went its own way, even if in name they remained loyal. And no doubt the numbers of peasants conscripted for the guards would double or triple as Heri found himself an outsider in his own realm. His use of hostages would prevent the other houses from going to war with him, but it would not guarantee their loyalty. If anything it would do the very opposite as they plotted against him behind closed doors. Yet Heri had bound himself to that course of action. If he released the hostages he would look weak. If he harmed – or worse, killed them – open rebellion would result. If he continued as he was, he would have no willing support in the kingdom, but would remain king until he was finally assassinated.

In such a realm of course, Cameral fancied his prospects. His army might be small, but his spies and wizards gave him a huge advantage. He could manipulate the other houses with ease, sow his own brand of discord, and profit greatly. In time, if he could arrange things just right, Cameral could even challenge for the throne. And unlike Sam's brother, Cameral was not a complete coward. Evil and manipulative certainly, but he would fight when he had to or when the odds were in his favour.

Today however he suddenly found his luck to be in short supply.

The arrival of a group of guards with five human wizards in their midst broke Cameral's tale in mid-stream, and he like the rest turned to see his servants taken as prisoners. It was a bad sight for the lord. His skin turned deathly white and for a while he seemed to stop breathing.  Sam wondered briefly if he was going to collapse and drop dead on the spot. But in time he regained his composure, and much of the rest of the meeting went as planned. Just not as the lord had planned.

Cameral quickly explained that they were his servants whom he had left behind as he did not wish to cause a problem for the elves by bringing such powerful wizards with him to a meeting. All of the elders promptly, in what had to be a rehearsed move, laughed politely as they tried to explain that his wizards were surely no more than students. Even Samual who had all but levelled a keep and overcome an entire army alone, was but a student by comparison, though they looked forward to receiving him one day in their halls of magic, and even training him.

If Cameral had gone white already, he lightened a few more shades at their well-chosen words, while it was his wizards' turn to whiten. They did not like being called students, though with arrows at their throats and their magic all but quenched, they could say or do little.

One of them – Master Silden as he called himself – was a master of fire. In fact Sam recognised him as one of his first teachers. Unfortunately the wizard made the mistake of beginning to draw his fire magic. He had always been a proud man, too proud though to be a good teacher. Naturally he had no chance as he fainted dead away a heartbeat later. In the evening Sam knew, he would awaken and no doubt scream down the castle in his anger. But he wouldn't return. He wasn't completely stupid.

Naturally the elders suggested he was surely suffering from an illness. Perhaps some form of food poisoning? Of course everyone knew the truth; that he had tried to draw fire and had been taken out in a heartbeat by another mage. But that didn't need to be said. The look of terror on the lord's face was enough.

It was about then that Cameral generously offered to forgo his tariff as a measure of concern for their plight, if the elves promised to trade at his markets, something they were already set on doing, and the atmosphere lightened considerably.

After that it took an almost indecently short time for the meeting to finish up as the lord was in a hurry to leave. In fact as he and his people mounted up, it was apparent that they would have preferred to have galloped madly away rather than trotted. Only the intense need to show no fear and always seem in control held Cameral back.

His wizards on the other hand were in no hurry to leave with him. They could already feel the days, weeks or even months of abuse which he would no doubt give them as they tried to explain their failure. Though he wouldn't dare fire them – for he couldn't allow them to go to his rivals and share his secrets – their salaries were likely to be cut as he would use the extra monies to try and find even stronger spell casters to defend himself. As if there were such creatures among his people.

One thing was certain though; he would never again think to challenge the magic of the elves with his own spell casters. Nor was he going to cause them any more trouble.

As Cameral rode off hurriedly, Sam let a smile creep over his face. It had been a good day.

It was a bad day for Heri. He was sitting in his nearly empty throne room, enjoying the comfort of his newly restored seat for what he feared might be the last time. Outside he could hear the sounds of fighting coming from the rest of the keep as his own soldiers killed one another in their fear.

And of course listening to the endless reports of the first of his enemy's armies approaching as aides kept rushing in and out with news. The prince's army was almost close enough to begin setting a siege. The arrival of his spymaster Tommas, Heri suspected was only going to bring more bad news.

“Highness.” The spymaster looked worried as he approached Heri. Professionally concerned would perhaps be a more flattering term, but frightened might be more accurate. “Your enemies are closing in on the keep, and as you know, it's in no state to hold against them. We need to consider our tactics. Strategy. An alliance maybe.”

“An alliance?” Heri wasn't fooled by Tommas' silken words. Even as the man walked the last few steps down the centre aisle of his throne room, Heri could tell that the man was here to tell him lies. To deceive him in some way. And maybe to do more than that. Why else would he be flanked by a pair of soldiers as he approached him?

“With Prince Venti. It's his army that leads this first assault, and he is the strongest of the nobles. He is the one most likely to take the throne. But it will not be easy for him to keep. Some words from you, an alliance of strengths and armies, and his ascension would be assured. Without that he would not be strong enough to fight off all the others alone. Not by himself. He could be convinced of your value. He could let you remain as an ally. With your forces and his, the others could not stand against you.” Tommas came to a halt with the two guards, ten feet from throne.

Meanwhile Heri noticed that the guards at the door were looking nervous. And not because of any threat from without. They understood that the threat was within. They knew something serious was about to happen.

“My value? And what would that be Tommas?” Heri stared angrily at the man as he wrapped his fingers around the cords attached to the arms of the throne. It was unfair, but it seemed he had just run out of spymasters. The man had turned on him. He just didn't know how exactly. Yet.

“As Regent perhaps. You could inaugurate the new king. Support his rule.” Tommas was sweating a little as he said it. His voice not quite as steady as it normally was.

“Regent in name only. A figurehead. Is that what you're suggesting Tommas?”

Heri was angry that the man had even suggested the idea to him. But then he guessed Tommas hadn't come up with the idea. He was just using it as an excuse to approach him. The three of them had something planned, and it wasn't something good for him. The chances were that they planned to use him as a hostage. Something to bargain with when the Prince's army came marching into the keep.

“That seems harsh Highness. And you know you cannot remain here as you are. You will be hung. You need an alliance.”

“So you're now my political and strategic adviser?” Heri raised an eyebrow in quiet disbelief. But in truth the man almost was. When Heri's majordomo had fled and his generals couldn't be found, it seemed he had only his spymaster left. Now it seemed he wouldn't have him much longer either.

“I wouldn't presume Highness.” The spymaster bowed.

“And so you wouldn't presume to have a different opinion if I said no?”

“Of course not Highness.” Tommas managed one of the most insincere smiles Heri had ever seen. The man was no performer. Not even a street performer from the poorer districts.

“Good. Then that is my answer Tommas. You may leave and have this proclaimed from the city streets. There will be no dealing with traitors!”

“Of course Highness.” Tommas bowed low. “But there is just one thing. A document. Might I show you it?”

It wasn't a document Heri knew as he watched his spymaster reach into his coat for something. Or if it was it had nothing to do with the deal he claimed he was making. It was something else. Something dangerous. Heri's throat suddenly became dry. This was the moment when his spymaster was about to betray him.

“No!”

“Highness?”

Everything happened in a blur after that. The spymaster managed to sound surprised, but that didn't stop him continuing to pull out whatever it was he had under his jacket. The soldiers with him lowered their weapons as they prepared to attack. And Heri pulled up the two strings in his hands.

A heartbeat later at most there was a massive explosion as the spymaster and his two soldiers disappeared in a cloud of cannon shot and smoke. The soldiers at the entrance to the throne room were hit by it too, and collapsed to the floor. Whatever plans Tommas had had died with him.

No doubt he had intended to capture Heri and hand him over to whoever first came through the keep's walls. He would do whatever it took to save his skin. Now though Tommas would have to make a deal with the All Father. Heri stared at all that remained of his spymaster and the two soldiers who had stood beside him. A gigantic smear of blood and three indistinguishable lumps of flesh. He had fired from a mere ten feet away, and the cannon apparently didn't leave much behind at that distance.

In the distance Heri could also see the remaining parts of the two soldiers who had guarded the door. Maybe they had been innocent of the crime – Heri didn't know. The cannon however did not take account of guilt or innocence. They destroyed everything alike. He was suddenly glad he'd had a new cannon throne built before everything else. It was literally the seat of his power after all. And he felt vulnerable in court surrounded by his enemies.

Sounds soon intruded on his still ringing ears and he watched as more soldiers dashed into the throne room, took a look at the carnage, and then grabbed the door handles and pulled them shut as they stepped back. Moments later he heard the thunk of a heavy beam as they swung it into place, ostensibly locking him in It was clear his rule had come to an end. His loyal soldiers had just deserted him and intended to leave him locked up in the throne room until the next person came to claim it. 

“To the underworld with all of you Alder loving swine!” Heri yelled at his traitorous soldiers, angrily. He then followed it up with a few more obscenities. Whether they even heard him through the heavy wooden doors he didn't know. And it wouldn't have really mattered if they had. Eventually he gave up shouting at them. There was no point.

After that, he sat for a while in silence on his newly rebuilt throne, grinding his teeth in fury. And despite knowing it was pointless, every so often he swore out loud, cursing all of the worthless soldiers in the name of Alder, the god of mischief. Truly he thought, this had to be the work of the divine pest. And not just this final betrayal either. All of it. It had all gone so wrong, and so very quickly. Too wrong and too quickly to be a mere mortals' doing.

Forty one days! That was all it had taken. But it had always been coming he guessed. From the moment Samual had taken his hand and destroyed half the keep he had been doomed. Worse than that he had forced him to kneel before him. He had been shown to be weak. And there was no place for weak kings in Fair Fields.

Now everything he had dreamed of – everything he had grasped and made his own – was about to be taken away from him, and he hated that. Seven years of his life – gone! Two as the King in waiting while his mother acted as regent. Five as King Heri. All gone. He hated that. He hated that there was nothing he could do about it. But most of all he hated his half-brother for causing it. Why couldn't he just bloody die!

All his life Samual had been the favoured son. The apple of their father's eye. And he had lived up to that position by doing everything his father had asked of him. He had become a knight of Hanor. He had inherited his mother's magic and studied diligently. Samual had spent his whole life being the perfect son, and there was no room left over for a second son in their father's life, even if he was legitimate. Heri might as well have never been born.

Of course Heri had tried to do those things too, but he simply wasn't able. He didn't have the same natural skill with the blade and he had no magic as did his older brother. He couldn't seem to make people like him the way Samual did though he had tried by affecting a shortened name and smiling genially. And just to add insult to injury Samual was tall and powerfully built. The ladies had swooned whenever he walked by. Heri had to settle for being quick and clever. By the gods how he hated Samual!

Taking his whore and locking her away had been a huge satisfaction for Heri. Even if she wouldn't lie down with him, just the knowledge that his brother didn't have her had been pure joy. But now Samual had taken her back. He had stolen the whore from him and had humbled him publicly. He had then taken his hand as well, leaving him with a stump where he once had fingers. He had made him a cripple. And now he had robbed him of his throne.

“May the All Father curse your worm infested hide!” Heri cursed Samual angrily. The sounds of battle outside the throne room were getting closer all the time and Heri knew his time was short. But there should always be time to curse his half-brother.

He knew he had to leave and that time was running out. Soon his enemies would be upon him, and then it would be too late to run. And yet he couldn't quite leave yet.

It was all Samual's fault!

That bastard half-brother of his had brought the keep to its knees. He'd terrified the people by building a wall of fire eighty feet tall which had surrounded the keep and the entire city for seven long days. The sight had frightened the great unwashed. In fact there had been rioting in the streets for days. Samual had also embarrassed his army. He'd made them look like children playing with sticks as he had simply rode in, picked up his whore and attacked the king. He'd destroyed the keep and then calmly ridden out, taking sixty thoroughbred horses with him! That last had truly hurt. The slap to his face had been every bit as terrible as if Samual had used his hand.

His hand! Just the thought reminded Heri once more of his injuries, and the pain and suffering Samual had caused him. The missing fingers hurt all the time as if they were actually there. It felt like the torturer was pulling them off with his ice-cold pliers. And it was his leading hand too that Samual had lopped off. He couldn't draw a sword or hold a pen. Worst of all, every time he raised his hand to give a command the ruin of his flesh was made visible for all to see. Everyone knew he had been disciplined by his older brother. Beaten as easily as if he had been a baby. He had been thrashed for disobedience. Samual hadn't even done him the courtesy of killing him. Instead he had left Heri behind like unwanted refuse dumped on the side of the trail. He had been made the laughing stock of his realm.

In that one act Heri had lost all the respect of his subjects. No longer had he been the king. Instead he was just the naughty child thrashed in public by his older brother. His name was a joke on the lying lips of a thousand bards in a thousand inns across the realm. His reputation something the peasants joked about in the streets. King Heri the Bold had become Heri the Weak.

There had of course been only one thing he could do in the face of such gall; impose his authority. And he had done it. Guards in the streets of all the towns had been increased. Crimes had been punished speedily and without mercy. Taxes had been raised and the numbers of collectors doubled. Anyone openly speaking against him – even in jest – had been thrown in the dungeons, which were now full to bursting. The people had to know fear at his hand. They had to know he was their king. Soldiers, all of those who had been there at his defeat, had been flogged in the courtyard in front of the crowds, and then beheaded.  Their heads had been stuck on polls along with all the others who in the past had failed him. Heri didn't tolerate failure.

As for the nobles who were all forever scheming, plotting and conspiring against him, he had demanded a price of blood from them all. He had required their nearest and dearest as “guests” in the keep. It was a strategy he'd considered before but had never risked because of the likely outcry. But it was too late to worry about that when he had become a joke. 

He had been harsh and brutal. He had demanded fealty and if it wasn't given quickly enough he had harshly punished anyone who hadn't lived up to his standards. And it had seemed to be working.

But then everything had gone wrong again, and all in the space of a single morning. Assassins had struck and all his “guests” had been slaughtered. Who had paid them to act he didn't know though he suspected they were in the pay of the Fallbrights.