Throne of Llewyllan (Book 2) (12 page)

“Where are you going?” asked Kara. Her dagger was in her hand once again.

Joseph stepped to the door, his face set with a sudden resolve. “I’m going to find Kendril and Serentha. We’re not going to leave without them unless we have no other choice.”

Shouting voices echoed down the corridor outside. There was the stamping of running feet.

“Go now,” Joseph urged. “Hurry!”

Maklavir dashed out into the corridor.

Kara hesitated for a brief instant and looked back at Joseph. Their eyes locked together for the space of a heartbeat.

Then, before either could say anything, Kara turned and ran off after Maklavir.

Joseph followed her, but turned the opposite direction in the hallway.

He threw open the door at the end of the corridor, and piled out into the main hallway just in time to see three Royal Guardsmen scramble up the stairs.

He looked around uncertainly, but there was no sign of anyone else. He moved to the door of the ballroom, kicked it open and looked quickly inside. It was empty. Readjusting his grip on the rapier, he turned, and raced for the stairs.

Whatever was happening seemed to be going on up there.

Maklavir and Kara sprinted through the garden by the palace, leaping over flowers and around low hedges. Behind them the palace was coming to life and angry shouts were already echoing across the castle courtyard. They reached the north wall, and ran along its length towards the west.

“The stable is up ahead,” Maklavir shouted back to Kara as they dodged around a large supply cart. “The animals are there.” He pointed ahead with his sword to a squat wooden building nestled against northwestern corner of the wall.

Kara nodded, out of breath from the run. Her mind kept flitting back to Joseph. She tried to stay focused. She couldn’t worry about him right now.

Right now, she had to worry about herself.

The figure moved quickly down the hall, and flipped off the long black cloak that covered its form. It turned quickly into a room just as several guards ran by down a cross hall.

With a low laugh, Bronwyn tossed the black cloak into the fire. She undid the clasp in her hair and shook it loose.

The raven in the corner croaked madly as the flames slowly consumed the dark fabric of the cloak. Bronwyn sat down on the bed. She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled.

A sudden mechanical click from behind her caused her to freeze. She rose slowly to her feet, then turned around with a wry smile.

“Why Kendril,” she purred, “I was beginning to think we would never be alone in my bedchambers.”

The Ghostwalker stepped forward, his pistol held level with her face. “I believe witchcraft is punishable by death in Llewyllan,” he said without a hint of emotion.

Bronwyn brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. “Witchcraft? My, my, Kendril, you really are clever. I thought as much when I first laid eyes on you.” She glided over to the bedpost and wrapped her hands around it. Her golden eyes shone mischievously. “What was your first clue?”

Kendril crossed towards the center of the room. “That amulet of yours. What kind of foul spell were you trying to cast on me last night, anyway?”

Bronwyn gave an innocent shrug. “There are so many, I get confused.” She slunk forward, and stroked the barrel of the pistol with her finger. “You aren’t going to shoot me, are you?”

There were heavy footfalls out in the corridor.

Kendril glanced towards the door. “It sounds like there’s all ready been enough shooting tonight. I assume you had something to do with that?”

Bronwyn laughed merrily. “Handsome
and
intelligent! More than any girl could hope for in a man.”

Kendril’s face twisted into a snarl. “Enough with your games. What’s going on here?”

She gave a mock look of surprise. “Why,
you
are, Kendril. Don’t you know?” She took a step back.

“You just killed the King of Llewyllan.”

Lord Bathsby glanced down at the body of the dead guard, his face twisting with anger. He looked up at the wounded man who was already being treated by several of his fellow Royal Guards.

“What happened?” Bathsby snarled.

The guard flinched as a bandage was tied around his knee. “It was the Ghostwalker, sir. We couldn’t stop him. He—” his voice broke off in a gargle of pain.

“Sergeant!” Bathsby roared. He spun away from the wounded guard. “Search this palace top to bottom. Bring me the Ghostwalker and his friends, now!”

The man saluted sharply. “Yes, sir!”

Several more Royal Guards arrived at the top of the stairs, their weapons out and ready.

From the King’s bedroom Serentha staggered out. Her face was covered with tears.

Bathsby gave a quick bow. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness. It was the Ghostwalker. My men will find him.”

Serentha shook her head, her mind still numb from the shock of what had happened. “It—can’t be. Kendril wouldn’t…” she turned back towards her father’s bedroom. Her legs suddenly turned weak. “He—”

Bathsby caught her just as she started to collapse.

Serentha’s handmaidens ran over to her side, their faces filled with concern.

Bathsby looked up at two nearby Guards. “She’s in shock,” he said briskly. “Put her in her room, and don’t let anyone in or out. Do you understand me?”

They both saluted in unison.

Bathsby released the disoriented Serentha into the care of her handmaidens. He turned to the Sergeant again, and drew his own sword.

“Find that Ghostwalker,” he hissed.

The stable was dark. Maklavir cursed as he banged his shin against a feeding trough.

“Some light would be useful,” he seethed.

Kara looked at the crack of the door. “There are guards everywhere,” she said. They’re all heading towards the palace.”

“Where we should be as well,” grumbled Maklavir. He limped to one of the stalls, and patted Veritas on the horse’s muzzle. “We don’t even know what’s going on for sure back there. It’s probably nothing at all.”

Kara’s eyes fell on some equipment piled up against one wall. There were some saddlebags, blankets, and canteens. She stepped over to them.

“Looks like someone was planning a hunting trip for the morning.”

Maklavir pulled open a stall, and tugged on Simon’s bridle. “Fascinating. Come on, you stupid mule!”

Simon brayed. He dug his feet in obstinately.

Kara moved a blanket, and pulled out a hunting bow that had been leaning against the wall. She picked up the quiver that had been lying next to it, eyed the arrows in it, and then slung it over her shoulder.

Maklavir let go of the bridle, and collapsed back against the stable wall. “This beast is absolutely intolerable. He won’t budge.”

The red-haired thief walked over, and produced an apple in her hand.

Simon’s eyes lit up and he lunged forward.

“Where in Zanthora did you get that?” asked Maklavir in astonishment.

Kara tempted Simon out of the stall with the fruit. “In one of those bags against the wall. Now get those other horses and let’s get out of here.”

The diplomat nodded, pulling down his cap. “No argument here.”

Kendril’s eyes blazed. His grip on the pistol tightened. “What are you talking about?”

Bronwyn clucked softly. “Hmm. Not as bright as I thought, after all. Too bad.”

He took a step forward. “Is Bathsby behind this?”

The young woman gave a sneering laugh. “Bathsby? Bathsby is a fool. He didn’t even have the courage to dispatch the King himself. No, my dear Kendril, Lord Bathsby is merely a pawn in a much larger game that he does not comprehend. I would have thought that
you
of all people would understand that.”

Kendril pushed the gun forward. “A pawn? For who?”

Bronwyn’s face darkened, though her smile remained. “Why for
him
, of course.” Her voice lowered. “He’s coming back to Zanthora, Kendril.”

His knuckles whitened slightly as he gripped the gun. “Who?”

Bronwyn’s eyes burned with a sudden fire. “
Despair
, Kendril. Your doom is near.”

He raised the pistol. Uncertainty crossed his face for the first time.

Bronwyn screamed.

The door to the room burst open. A captain of the Royal Guard barged in, a pistol in his hand. Behind him several more men followed, the fury showing on their faces.

Bronwyn wilted back against the hearth, terrified.

The captain leveled the pistol at the Ghostwalker. “Drop it!” he shouted.

Kendril whipped his own pistol around. His face tensed.

“Captain!” cried Bronwyn as she wilted against the wall. “He attacked me! Please—”

“She’s lying,” Kendril snarled. “Don’t listen to her!”

The Royal Guards began to move into the room. One leveled a crossbow at Kendril.

“You’re under arrest for murdering the King,” the captain said. “Drop the pistol or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

Kendril backed up a step. His leg brushed the end of the bed. He glanced over at Bronwyn, his pistol still wavering towards the men in front of him.

The raven-haired beauty threw her hands across her breast. “He tried to kill me! Help me, please!”

“She’s lying to you,” Kendril said again.

The captain strode forward, his pistol pointed at Kendril’s head. “This is your last chance,” he shouted. “Surrender or die!”

Kendril turned his head towards Bronwyn.

The girl’s face was still filled with terror, but there was the slightest spark of mocking laughter in her eyes.

Kendril looked back at the Royal Guardsman. “Sorry, Captain,” he said. “Not today.”

Before the man could respond, Kendril hurled himself to the side.

Chapter 8

Joseph had just reached the second floor of the palace when he saw half a dozen Royal Guardsmen coming down the stairs toward him, all with weapons drawn. Sir Reginald was with them, his blue cloak fanning out behind him as he came. Joseph glanced back to see two more Guards coming up the stairs behind him.

He turned his head back towards Sir Reginald and the soldiers.

“What’s happened here?”

Sir Reginald’s lip twisted into a sneer. “Playing innocent? You must think us very stupid.” He pointed a gloved finger at the dumbfounded scout.

“Take him, gentlemen.”

The soldiers leapt forward.

Kendril caught the bed mattress with his free hand, then flipped it and all its covers towards the guards in front of him.

The captain’s pistol flared and blasted a hole through the top of the mattress. Feathers burst through the air. Two of the guards cursed and jumped out of the way.

Kendril hit the floor behind the bed just as a crossbow bolt tore into the chest of drawers behind him. He rolled out onto the veranda and kicked aside one of the doors, then dodged back behind one of the curtains.

One of the soldiers bounded around the bed. He pushed Bronwyn out of the way and sprinted towards the opening to the veranda.

Kendril leaned in and shot him in the chest.

The guard’s body slammed back against the hearth.

Kendril swung across the opening of the veranda to the curtain on the other side, then pulled out another pistol with his free hand. He fired it at the captain, who was struggling to draw his sword. Kendril missed, but the shot shattered a vase next to the man’s head.

The captain ducked back with a shrieked curse.

Kendril flattened himself against the outer wall. He looked around him desperately. The porch was small. There was only a short railing and a drop off on all sides.

The only way out was down.

Joseph figured that the time for talking was over.

He slashed out with his rapier and parried a blow from an over-eager guard, then thrust at another who came too close. Then there was nothing but a hail of blows and counter-blows, blades falling and rising with rapid succession.

Joseph fought like he had never fought before. One moment he smashed his elbow into one guard’s face, the next he hurtled an unlucky soldier down the stairs behind him. His expertise with the blade saved his life ten times over in as many seconds, but the soldiers were no amateurs themselves.

Joseph knew he couldn’t hold them off forever.

Sir Reginald was screaming something when Joseph dodged one last blow, and gashed his attacker’s arm as a parting memento. He jumped onto the railing dividing the stairways, and slid down towards the two startled guards running up towards him. At the last moment he leapt off and crashed into both of them.

The three of them tumbled down the last few stairs, and crashed hard into the wall.

A marble statue that had been standing in the corner of the landing crashed down on one of the soldiers, crushing the man’s leg. He screamed in pain as the guards at the top of the stairs raced down towards them.

Joseph jumped up, faster than the second soldier by half a heartbeat. He bashed the hilt of his rapier into the guard’s face, and flattened him back onto the floor.

Sir Reginald slid to a stop at the top of the stairs, his sword raised above his head. “Get him you fools!” he screamed.

Without looking behind him, Joseph dove towards the second flight of stairs that led down to the ground floor.

At this point, he thought, he would be lucky to get out of the palace alive.

“Halt!” said one of the guards, clutching his halberd with both hands.

Another soldier came out of the right-hand gatehouse, and drew a sword.

Maklavir tried to give as natural a smile as he could. “Why, whatever’s the matter, sergeant?”

He and Kara were on horseback, leading Kendril and Joseph’s mounts behind them. The drawbridge was right in front of them, leading out towards the rough path that led down to the city below. A large opening in the castle wall formed a small tunnel that led outside. On either side of the end of the tunnel were two small rooms, both directly across from each other. Each controlled one of the two chains that raised and lowered the drawbridge.