The Elf King (10 page)

But Wilt Oan’s voice had no
place now. There was no one who would listen to his reasoning. The
Queen would not allow for it. First her only son, then her husband,
their King, slain at the hands of elves. No words could stop what
was happening. He was useless here. The end of life as all
Cillitran knew was going to be gone.

The Elves will decimate
them all!

With uncontrolled urgency,
Wilt Oan dashed into his bed chamber, his cell for the time being,
barred the door for his own safety, and began to think of a way to
escape.

K
loe Datris kept to the shadows of the corridor, a good
distance behind the Queen, following against her orders. He knew
where she was going of course; she seldom left her quarters in the
High Tower anymore. For a brief moment he thought he was looking
over the King, but instantly took to realization. He had served for
Turyn most of his life, protecting him always. The King’s death
left an ache in his heart, and anger in his mind. Save for the
assassin, he had been the last person to see the King
alive.

An arm shot out of a secret
passage hidden behind a trap door in the wall and grabbed Kloe
Datris by the neck and dragged him out of the castle hallway so
fast he forgot what he was about. He reached for a dagger at his
waist, but a blade was to his throat as the secret door swung
silently in. In the dimness of the passageway, Kloe Datris
swallowed hard, staring into the maddened eyes of the
Queen.

Sienna’s hand was shaking
as she held the dagger to his neck. Her eyes were wide and
blood-shot. Her face twisted in angry lines. It would be so
satisfying for her to share all that she was feeling. But if she
did so, she knew Kloe Datris would have to be killed. And he wasn’t
the man she needed dead. “Do you know what I’m thinking,
Knight?”

Kloe Datris shook his head.
She was sad in a way he could not identify with. He believed the
woman had gone mad with the disappearance of her son, and that
sunkenness had dug even more-so.

“
No,” he
whispered.

Queen Sienna’s voice was
distant. “I am thinking of choices. In my life, I have made choices
that have allowed men to live, and others to die. My hands are
stained with the blood of my choices. I wonder now if I have made
poor decisions, if my actions could ever be justified.” She paused
momentarily, as if catching herself from saying something she would
regret. “When the time comes for you to make the right decision,
Red Knight, I hope that you will. I however, have another choice.
It seems my hands will forever be stained red.”

Kloe Datris stared at the
blade to his neck and for a second thought he would feel it. But as
he looked back to the Queen, he saw that she was speaking of
something else. “May I help you in this choice, my
Queen?”

Queen Sienna appeared not
to have heard a word. “I feel so empty. There will never be enough
blood spilled to return me what I have lost.” She spoke quietly.
She was nearly eye level with the Red Knight. Her voice turned
sharp, bitter. “But my hands are tied to my fate and I must act
quickly.”

“
Of course, my Queen.” He
wasn’t sure where she was heading, but the look in her eyes made it
clear that it would not be nice.

The pale-white hand
withdrew the blade from Kloe Datris’ neck, but held it out as if
her mind was not entirely made. “My husband was betrayed by someone
he trusted, loved even. Do you know what I ask you?”

Kloe Datris knew. He stared
at her stricken face and tried to picture her as he had first saw
her nearly thirty years ago, as he decided how he would remember
her now. Her beauty had been flawless. Her skin had been smooth,
her long red hair slightly curled, her body more petite. With
always a twinkle in her eyes, she was a sight to behold then. What
he was looking at now resembled nothing of who and what she was. He
couldn’t imagine what she was going through.

“
I would do all of what you
ask of me, my Queen.”

With a smile so cruel it
made the Head of the Red Knights shiver, Queen Sienna began to
whisper.

B
y
late evening, Wilt Oan had his mind
set. At midnight, he would slip out of the castle and away from the
city. He would sneak into the Ailia Court and speak with Terill
Estrial and try to find the King’s assassin on his own. He owed his
friend at least that much. There was too much death in the city
now, and so much more was forthcoming. He could not stay in
Cillitran; he could not be a part of the war. He would prevent it
as long as he could but he was merely one man, and now a hated one
at that.

He lay in bed and peered to
the sky through the cut block window across the room, watching the
swift clouds sweep by and began to think. He drown out the voices
in the halls shuffling about, some weeping, others barking orders,
as he tried to piece the puzzle together. First the prince, then
the King. Would the Queen share their fates? What then? Why would
someone assassinate the King? The Elves were being blamed, as the
dagger in Turyn’s back had been Elven. Was there truly a rouge elf
in Cillitran that would act out such retaliation against the King’s
accusations? How could such a person slip into the King’s
bedchamber unnoticed?

A slight scraping sound
from within the room brought Wilt Oan to a sitting position
instantly. His eyes frantically peered into the dimness. He found
his chamber door slightly ajar. His pulsed raced. The thudding of
footsteps lunged out of the darkness and before he could act,
several bodies, robed and hooded, were striking at him with fists
and wooden objects. Cloth was violently jammed into his mouth
before his voice could make words. He caught sight of a large sack,
and the clanking of chains was obvious. The little fighting he did
went unnoticed. He could taste blood in his mouth; he felt a sting
to his head repeatedly. He had been too late to flee the city, he
thought grimly.

Two sets of arms pinned the
old man down and as another brought the large sack onto his head;
Wilt Oan heard the door crash open. Instantly his attackers
scattered. The sounds of metal and iron striking against one
another filled the room as Wilt removed the cloth sack. He watched
a tall man fight his way into the crowd, his sword moving faster
than Oan could follow. One by one Wilt’s attackers fell to the
ground.

“
Are you hurt, old
man?”

Oan was surprised. “Datris?
That you?”

The Head of the Red Knights
moved closer to the old man, his long sword tainted red. The light
from the hallway spilled into the room and Wilt Oan could see the
other’s face clearly. “They were going to kill me. You’ve arrived
just in time, old friend.” Visibly shaken, Wilt Oan sat on his bed
and took a few moments to gather himself.

Kloe Datris looked the room
over. Satisfied that they were alone, he walked to the door and
barred it shut, lit a lantern placed on the table, then walked over
to Wilt’s side.

“
You cannot stay here, Oan.
Your life is in danger.” Kloe Datris kept his voice low, hushed,
his eyes demanding.

Wilt was angry as he tried
to gather his composure. “Fools! They want me dead! These people
will not be satisfied until they have me spitting
blood!”

“
It is not the people,
Oan.” Kloe bent in close. “The Queen wants you dead. I was sent to
make sure that you did not live through the night.”

Wilt Oan’s body slumped
instantly as if he was deflating. “So that is it. She would kill me
to close all loose ends.”

Kloe Datris moved in close
enough to count the old man’s eyelashes. “She wants you dead
because she knows you were in the tunnel with the King. She thinks
you saw too much, Oan.”

Wilt shook his head. “I do
not understand.”

“
Do you know who it was to
enter the royal bedchamber last?”

Oan’s posture stiffened.
“Elves?”

Kloe Datris shook his head.
“They are only a scapegoat, same as you.”

“
Who then? Tell me,
Datris.”

Kloe Datris hesitated
briefly. “I followed the King through the tunnel, Oan. Same as I do
everywhere. The Queen knows you were there. But she didn’t know I
was. I saw her enter the room that night, Oan. I saw her leave
through the tunnel as well.”

Wilt shook his head in
disgust. “You can’t believe that she—”

Kloe placed one strong hand
over the old man’s mouth. “Listen to me, Oan. What I saw does not
make sense. But I do know that no elf was seen. And the pressure
put on your death is tremendous.” Kloe removed his hand, giving Oan
a hard look. “I will allow your release, Oan. Leave. Tell no one
what we’ve spoke of.”

Voices in the hall startled
Kloe Datris, leaving him to stare at the door with expectance. But
the voices carried on, fading away. He turned back to the old man
and pressed his decision.

“
You will be dead before
dawn, if you do not leave.”

“
Turyn was waiting for a
sorcerer,” the old man remembered suddenly. “This may be of use to
us. If I could get to him before the Queen...”

Wilt was kept in place by a
firm hand from the other. Kloe shook his head again. “You need to
leave this city tonight. Whatever business this sorcerer has, I
will know. Flee, old man. Go someplace safe, for you are dead
here.”

Wilt Oan agreed. “Fair
enough. I will go to Estrial and find out what I can. I will see
you again, my friend. And thank you.”

Kloe Datris gripped the old
man’s hand firmly. “Luck be with you.”

“
To us both.”

Kloe Datris motioned for
the old man to follow as he guided him out of the room and into the
hall, staying in the shadows, avoiding crowds and faces, turning
this way and that, until they reached a staircase leading up. After
looking to make sure no one was watching, the Head of the Red
Knights touched a series of blocks against the wall and a section
of the staircase swung wide. A dark passage lay beyond.

“
Go quickly.” Kloe Datris
began shoving Oan into the corridor. His eyes were intent, his face
flush with determination.

Wilt Oan nodded, slipping
into the passage out of sight. Wasting no time, Kloe Datris pushed
in one block next to the door, and the staircase swung back tight
to the wall.

“
Now to find the
sorcerer.”