Of Kings and Kingslayers
The Throne room was silent. But it was a silence of many parts. The first was a silence of hushed voices, of still babies and of apprehension. Another was in the room itself, all noise sunk into the dull grey walls, to be absorbed and ne'er to be heard again, in the drab tapestries soaking up all mirth, laughter and the sounds of joy. The last was a silence of a malevolent kind. It was a brooding, menacing silence that swallowed all sound within its cavernous depths.
There were many causes for the silence, but, there was undoubtedly one that was the predominant cause. The gleaming razor sharp knife glistening at the King's throat. It had rested there a while and had a collection of beads of sweat upon its dark blade. The second the blade touched upon the King's throat and the bearer opened his mouth to speak; silence had descended upon the castle of Lyonesse, a many faceted silence. And with a sharp crack, the silence was broken.
"Oh Lord King, it seems you are in a rather unfortunate situation….are you not?" The figure behind the king spoke for the first time. His voice was mellow and strangely forgettable. The moment the voice touched upon the straining ears of the rooms occupants, it was almost forgotten, only a trace of it left behind, like the remnants of a gust of wind blowing through a deep glade. The King cleared his throat, his voice audibly shaking. "What do you w-want?" he whispered, if almost afraid to disturb the sleeping silence. "Your life, I'm afraid," The Assassin replied. "In my line of work, Death is like the wind, always by my side… I like to think of myself as a doorkeeper to the Doors of Death, who ushers in a few people early, here and there" This statement brought gasps to the throats of some of the audience. But not many…most of the Lords, Ladies, servants and hounds were almost leaning forward an apprehension, as if they were eager for the King's death. The King's eyes widened as he noticed this, he spoke again, this time barely keeping control of his voice "W-why are you doing this? I can pay double what they offered, whoever they are!" he pleaded. "Why me?" he stuttered. The Assassin sighed. "I'm afraid you have been a very corrupt King…I have been hired by a rather large group of people that are eager to see your dirty blood all over that throne of yours"
The Assassin spoke as if he was tired, weary. "You have not been a very good King I'm afraid" The Assassin taunted. "Do you know what a ruler's greatest quality is?" he questioned. The King whimpered. "Courage?" he speculated. "King Arthur was a courageous man", The Assassin quipped. "He died riding into a horde of a thousand knights because he was courageous? Courage is but a step away from stupidity. A very small step. So…not courage then" The Assassin tilted his head and looked at the King. "Holiness" offered the King hurriedly, nearly in tears. "King Vendrick was holy, and pious. He ended up fasting himself into an early grave because food was of this world, and this world is sinful." The Assassin frowned and looked at the crowd and then back at the King.
"You can do better than that," he exclaimed. The King shook his head wearily. "Why are you doing this, just tell me!" the Assassin frowned "Well... Your next successor is in this room" he paused "And I would hate to have to come back" The Assassin cracked his neck.
"This is merely a lesson to all aspiring kings. And I don't often have an audience in my line of work it's….refreshing….So…King next answer" The King gulped, sweat trickling down his neck and adding to the blades collection, he closed his eyes " Justice?" he said. The Assassin smiled. "Justice…King Dreyfus was just. Everyone applauded his reforms. Nobles and Commoners alike. But…he wasn't just for long. He was murdered in his sleep by his own brother. Was that truly just? To abandon his subjects to an evil he was too gullible to recognise? No…Justice is not the answer"
The King groaned but stopped mid-groan. The knife cut deeper into his flesh as he complained. He quickly offered up another answer "Strength?" The Assassin replied. "Hmmm strength… King Escanor was strong. He won the Ten year war, crushed his opponents in battle. He attended three council meetings in seventeen years. He spent his time whoring, killing, and drinking and eventually they killed him." The Assassin cocked his head. The room fell even more silent. The atmosphere grew tense and the fear in the room was palpable.
"So…We have a man that died by stupidity, a man who starved himself to death, a man who let his own brother murder him and a man that thought winning and ruling was the same thing. What do they all lack?" The Assassin mused. His grip on the knife grew loose and he took a step away from the King. He frowned "Well?" He inquired. "Wisdom?" The King answered. The Assassin stopped his pacing behind the King and turned on his heels.
"Yes, Wisdom, my King. Wisdom is what makes a good King," Suddenly a flash of steel glared in the light from the window. The Assassin's head turned and he spun around the blade. As he spun past the blade he gripped the knife and plunged it into the Guards eye to the hilt. "Oh." The Assassin said. "You thought you'd catch me off guard?" An unholy rage permeated his voice and shook the very stone itself. The anger in his voice was not of this earth. A second guard had snuck up behind him with his sword raised. The Assassin slowly turned to face him. His eyes blazed in rage with an ethereal light. They burned hotter than the inferno of Hell itself. The Guard met his eyes and froze mid-swing,
He started trembling under his gaze and twitching uncontrollably. Tears streamed down his face as he whimpered. The Assassin walked slowly towards him. He walked like a cat. Each step measured and languid, like a predator stalking prey. The Guard was shaking like a leaf in a storm under his gaze. He fell to his knees, his legs giving out. He was like a rabbit beneath a lion…no…not even a rabbit. The Guard was like a mouse beneath a God.
The Guard cried as the Assassin reached him and his weapon fell from his numb senseless fingers. It clattered to the floor, as loud as a bullet in the deathly quiet of the throne room. "You're…you're a Demon" The Guard stammered. The Assassin smiled and gently cupped one hand under the Guards chin. "A Demon?...You know nothing of true Demons…" his eyes blazed bright and he grabbed the Guard's head with his other hand. He wrenched his hands in opposite directions.
With an audible crack that echoed around the room, the Guard fell, face-first, to the floor. The Assassin turned, his gaze roaming the audience. The bystanders avoided his eyes like a plague. Rage radiated off the Assassin in waves. Eyes blazing he walked back to the King, who was trembling, too scared to even run, the King hadn't moved an inch. Tears streamed down the Kings face. The Assassin reached down and wrenched the knife from the first Guard's skull. "Lecture's over King". The Assassin reached the King, calmly spun him with his hand to face the audience and placed the knife on his neck again as if nothing had happened. But the Assassins eyes still glowed eerily blue with a flickering, Fae fire.
"As I was saying, before I got so rudely interrupted. Wisdom is the single greatest quality of a King" He paused. "You have not been a very wise King…You made me angry." With this the Assassin slid the knife across the King's throat.
Blood spurted, the King gurgled and collapsed. The Assassin let the knife clatter to the ground and he turned, walking towards the wall behind the throne. He had the audiences undivided attention…They didn't move a muscle, not a cry nor a squeak was heard when the King fell. They didn't dare disturb the sacred silence.
They didn't dare anger him.
The Assassin stood in front of the great stone wall behind the throne. He squared his shoulders, raised his arms and placed the back of his hands together. He strained his arms as if trying to open the great double doors of the throne hall.
And then he spoke a word. A command. The word was unlike any word heard by human ears before. It was the very stone itself.
It was harsh and unforgiving, it sounded like the grinding of pebbles and the crash of continents. It sounded as if the very stone itself was given tongue. The Assassin wrenched his hands apart as if throwing open the great double doors.
The stone split.
It crumbled like paper and a huge tear in the wall formed, as if by the hands of a God. The Assassin turned, nodded towards the shocked onlookers and he stepped out into the thin air. He fell through the air horizontally, parallel to the ground. The wind whipped his clothes and blew against his expressionless face. Mere feet from the ground he spoke again.
But this time the command was different from the first. It sounded like the breath of Zephyrs blowing leaves to dance in a secluded glade in the forest of the Fae. Like the shriek of a hurricane, it was the breath of wind on a woman's lips and the force of a gale that could tear stone like paper.
A fierce, and yet gentle, wind tore through the streets of the city and as the Assassin fell, it picked him up and gently turned him vertical, his speed slowed and feet above the ground he stepped out of the air and gently onto the cobbled streets below.
The Assassin looked upwards and then kicked his heels and strode forward. But, it wasn't the slouching walk of a peasant, nor the flamboyant dance of a Jester. It wasn't the jaunted strut of a merchant nor the arrogant stride of a noble.
It was the stride of a king. But not a King of men. A King of something…other…
The Inn was empty. Candles flickered and the dim light created more shadows than it revealed.
The Inn was silent. But, it was a silence of many parts. It was the silence of a hollowing, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the Inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation.
If there had been music, it would have swirled around the Inn like a graceful moth, sweet and sorrowful, loud and boisterous. But there was none.
There was the silence of the old Inn itself. The noiseless sign, swinging by door. The polished countertop, the scrubbed floor, washed clear of memories and the old stones, that swallowed sound as if it was almost blasphemous to disturb it.
There was the silence of the two men in the corner. One was silent, but radiated noise, his twitching arms and eyes shouted fear, his tapping feet whispered nervousness and his wry smile said pleasure.
The other was a void, no sound, no movement but for his eyes. They blazed noise like a trumpet in a silent forest. They spoke of Death, of blood, of anger…and of other worlds.
And like a coin dropping, the silence was broken. The Assassin tilted his head. "The deed is done. I require my payment now" he said. The second man nodded eagerly. "I heard you slit his throat like a pig! So…" he gulped, shaking "What is the payment? The whole city has come together and we can pay over ten thousand gold drachmas."
The Assassin shook his head. "I merely want three things, just like in all the fairy tales.
One, a life to balance the scales.
Two, a coin the pay the Styx boatman.
And three, a vow of silence. For dead men tell no tales."
The innkeeper frowned. "A life?" "Yes" the Assassin replied. "Is that not fair?"
The innkeeper nodded in agreement. " I suppose it is. So, a life, a coin and a vow of silence?" the innkeeper inquired. The Assassin's eyes sparked. "Exactly". The innkeeper leaned over the table and shook his hand, sealing the deal. The candles guttered out, leaving the room in total darkness.
And out of the darkness the Assassin's eyes blazed, witch blue, the only light in the Inn, until they too faded and disappeared, leaving the Innkeeper to himself and the Inn to its silence.