Chapter 4
"That is definitely Sir Tristain," Milo reported at last. "He keeps tugging his moustache for one thing, and for another he"
"Milo," Hiro snapped irritably. "Nobody's questioning that it's Sir Tristain. We're all rather more concerned with the fact that it doesn't make any sense!"
"I don't see why not," Lupo rejoined. "He doesn't want to be seen or noticed. Whatever it is, it's Sir Tristain's business to decide if he wants to be covert about things. It's certainly not our business."
"Well that's a reversal. And utterly ridiculous, I might add. Of course it concerns us." Hiro folded his arms. "I told you Lupo, but you obviously weren't listening. Things have changed at the Castle." He shook his head, muttering in a small, disbelieving tone, "Lord Theos was far too powerless…" After another moment of outrage he looked up again. "All of these things are linked together… and they all started after Father disappeared. We are looking into this" For effect, he glared at the beastman.
"This is serious, Hiro." The usual dryness of Lupo's voice was absent from his tone, but he nonetheless sounded rather pedantic. "I've gone along with you so far because you're my friend and these things have related to Sir Mortred, but this…" He waved a vague hand. "Sir Tristain may do as he wishes. Spying on him doesn't exactly seem the wisest course of action."
"I fail to see the difference between this and investigating Gila's death when the Baron wouldn't."
"You're both being kind of dumb," Pyra informed them. "We don't have to do anything about this. You can always ask Sir Tristain why you saw him moving around the village covertly, Hiro."
Hiro hesitated at that, uncertain of how best to proceed. It was true that he could just ask the old knight, but… "No," he decided at last. "I don't like the idea of spying very much, but with everything going on the way it is, that's probably the wisest course." He shrugged unhappily. "And anyway, the moment we learn that this doesn't relate in any way to Father, of course we'll break it off."
"Naturally," murmured Lupo, his voice as dry as ever.
Hiro frowned in perplexed exasperation, absently studying the darkening sky and the bruise like clouds. It would probably rain before long. Finally he said, "Milo, I want you to go into the tavern, mingle a bit, if you can. We might as well try to cover all of our options here."
The hefty young priest nodded briefly and padded off down the alley. Hiro nervously rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Part of him felt… silly, even foolish for ordering this. All the same though, some very strange things were going on in Thornwood these days, and they had started when his father had disappeared. Given that, Hiro felt at least somewhat justified in his actions.
Pyra bit her lip, studying him. "Why are you doing this, Hiro?"
The question startled him out of his introspective reverie. Not meeting her eyes, he said, "I don't… I don't entirely know. But it's just that… My father didn't like Baron Vyrun," he concluded lamely.
Her forehead puckered in puzzlement. "What does…?" She broke off with a noise that Hiro could only call disbelief. "Hiro…" she bit her lip again. "It wasn't your fault."
"What?"
"It wasn't your fault," she repeated, earnestly. "You feel guilty that your father disappeared, don't you? And now that Baron Vyrun suddenly seems to be commanding the court, you think you failed him."
"That's just what doesn't make any sense!" Hiro burst out. "I've been over this again and again. Father wouldn't just go to the Labyrinth and get himself killed. He wouldn't go anywhere near that place without it being absolutely necessary. Dad… dad loved Lord Theos, he trusted and respected him and Lord Theos was always most emphatic about the dangers of the Labyrinth. And even more, with all of this happening… Well if Baron Vyrun had had some hand in this, I could at least understand that, he has a lot to gain. Without Father out of the way, he's that much closer to the king, but now Sir Tristain's here and I don't understand…" His voice trailed off, and he realized suddenly that it had started raining after all. A very heavy rain too, but he didn't really care about that.
"Are you… well is the rain bothering you?" he asked awkwardly. "If it is, I suppose I could…"
Pyra's eyes were fixed intently on him, and there was something in her expression that he hadn't seen there before. "No," she said very softly. "The rain doesn't bother me."
Hiro groaned slightly, running his fingers through his dripping hair. "I should have paid more attention… I remember there, for a while Father was coming back late, in terse moods… He was looking into something, Pyra!" For the first time the grief that he'd mostly managed to ignore came close to pouring all out at once. "And I should have been paying attention, if I had I might have been able to help him or stop this from happening… or even just to continue, but I don't know! I just don't know anymore, I was certain that Baron Vyrun… but now with Sir Tristain here, and I just can't work it out… and… and…"
"Hey," said Pyra stepping up to him. "Hey, you're a good guy, alright?" She patted his shoulder affectionately, her lively face sympathetic and… well Hiro wasn't quite certain what else there was in her expression. "Don't beat yourself up about it. You're here now and you are working it out. You'll get there, Hiro."
Hiro struggled to control the blood rushing through his head as he realized just how close she had come to him. Dammit, he thought irritably, Milo was right after all. This was terrible timing.
"Thanks," he managed weakly, but his eyes were drawn into hers, drowning there… "Pyra," he said weakly, wishing that he could just postpone the moment. She looked so soft at this moment though, so… so entreating. Against his will, Hiro felt himself leaning forward slightly and he could see that she was responding as well…
"If you children don't mind, we're supposed to be watching for Sir Tristain," Lupo said sarcastically.
Hiro flushed at the sudden interruption, both absurdly angry and grateful. "I… ah, yes," he stuttered, turning his still burning face to the side. He heard a soft puff of breath from Pyra, but still lacking the courage to continue along that line, he instead turned his attention back to Lupo, considering things rapidly.
Thinking aloud he mused, "If Milo's to be effective, then at least one of us will have to be somewhere out on the main street. I'll do that, I suppose." He started off, then stopped long enough to throw over his shoulder, "Lupo, work something out back here and… er, Pyra, somewhere in the middle, I guess."
He hurried off without further ado and after about a minute of searching, found a partially concealed spot just across from the tavern. Frowning in distaste at the menial filth that coated the cobblestones, the young knight crouched down, ready to watch and wait. The rain continued its relentless downpour, and once or twice Hiro heard the ominous rumble of thunder. It was very nearly completely dark out by now.
Try as he might though, his mind kept wandering back to his other troubles. At first he tried to fight it and was moderately successful, although it helped, of course, when someone bothered to come out of the tavern and there was actually something for him to watch.
After Gatt stumbled drunkenly from the tavern, however, Hiro gave up and allowed himself to consider the difficulties that Pyra presented as practically as possible. It really was an unfortunate situation, and his little outburst earlier in the afternoon hadn't really helped things. Of course, he had felt that he needed to move past the situation and that the best way of doing that was, naturally, just to get on with it, but now there were all kinds of potentially troubling complications inherent in that whole business.
He was very fond of Pyra of course… and though he didn't really think it would be accurate to use the word 'love'—what was love, after all?—he really couldn't come up with another term that wasn't even more inaccurate or insulting, so he gave in insofar as that was concerned. And yet, charming though the idea of some sort of liaison was, there was no practical purpose that such an arrangement could really accrue for him.
It was an extremely worrisome situation and it had fallen just into this juncture where he needed all of his wits about him. Very unfortunate, but that, evidently, could no longer be helped. He had seen now, should Pyra choose to put the moves on him again, he didn't really have the will to resist her. A pity, that, but it could potentially make his life more interesting, so he wouldn't discount the possibility of being able to spin some sort of advantage out of the whole thing.
Hiro was never quite certain what alerted him to the brewing danger, but he noticed it certainly. Had he not been so preoccupied he might have put the pieces together a bit sooner, but there was Gatt again, passing in the opposite direction…?
A harsh yell and the sound of crashing metal echoed from the little alley and Hiro was up, sprinting towards the direction, barely even processing that Gatt had also suddenly run down in that direction.
Horror greeted him. There were maybe five cloaked figures with drawn blades of varying lengths, and, struggling on the ground with one leg twisted horribly and his sword drawn, was Sir Tristain himself.
"Lupo," roared Hiro tearing his blade free from its sheath as he jumped forward to engage the enemies. Two of the figures turned to meet his charge, but Lupo wasn't at his side. Hiro could hear the beastman's voice quite clearly however.
"I… think not." Out of the corner of his eye, Hiro could make out the familiar figure sprinting in the other direction. "I'll be back with help," shouted the beastman.
"Lupo," howled Hiro angrily, but he had no more time for words, being immediately engaged by his enemies. As his first attack scraped ineffectually across one of the men's swords, Hiro realized that he'd negated his momentary advantage of surprise by waiting for his beastman compatriot. These men were stone-cold killers too, that much Hiro could read just in their body language.
At that moment he heard a shrieking voice and a tremendous burst of lightning tore from the side into his two opponents. One of the men was ripped apart from the immense power and the other went spinning to the ground. As the light flashed in Hiro's eyes and deafened his senses for a moment, he somehow caught the sight of a third man, one of the ones hemming in Sir Tristain, also being taken down from the blow.
"Pyra," he said, joyfully turning to face where the mage must have been, but, as he did that, another figured hurtled past him, blade upraised to strike her. Hiro's blood froze in his veins as his vision took in Pyra more than her assailant. His elven friend was clearly staggered by the amount of energy she had just released and wouldn't be able to defend herself…
With another cry of anger, Hiro flung himself forward catching Pyra's attacker by the arm, swinging his sword in at this enemy's back… Even as he struck, he could see that the attacker, though off-balance, clipped Pyra's shoulder with his blade, and then something hard crashed into Hiro's face, sending him tumbling down.
As he did so, he automatically lashed out with his foot and he heard a grunt from behind. On his hands and knees, Hiro, weakly rolled himself over and fumbled weakly in front of him. "Pyra?" He couldn't see at all, hair and rain and blood clouded his vision. Pushing his hair out of his face disgustedly, Hiro realized that the blood was running from a wound on the side of his head.
He felt another body as he fumbled again, and started to say in relief, "Pyr…" he broke off, making noises of inarticulate horror at the dead face of Pyra's assailant. Gatt.
With a howl, he scrambled forward, barely aware of another harsh cry ringing out from behind him. As he did so, he stumbled over another person lying there. "Pyra," he choked out, but he could manage no more. She slowly swelled in the line of his vision till she was nearly the size of a giant.
Hiro's eyes slowly followed the dreadful streaking wound stretching from her right shoulder down to her left hip. "I killed him," Hiro whispered numbly, squeezing her hand now. "I killed Gatt, Pyra. I did."
As he just sat there, staring at her, a heavy hand abruptly clapped itself down over his shoulder. "Hiro!" It was Milo's voice. "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner…"
As if from a great distance, Hiro heard Sir Tristain's voice. "Damn this useless leg. They surprised me and… I owe my life to both of you gentlemen. If young Hiro hadn't gotten here right away, and then you, Milo Brax, to save us both…" The old knight groaned, "Oh, damn this leg. Should've known. Should've known, they'd try to kill me. Should've known he would figure it out…"
Hiro didn't really attach any importance to the words. Nothing seemed to be touching him except the perfect mirroring of Pyra's dead face and Gatt's.
Milo said urgently, "Come on, Hiro, I can't do this without you! We've got to get Sir Tristain some proper treatment. If an infection sets in… I can't carry him myself, Hiro."
"I killed him, Milo," said Hiro weakly. That was all that was left; all that mattered He shaded his eyes as he continued wistfully absorbing Pyra's every feature. "I killed him."
--
Theos hobbled around his little room, fists clenched, partly in rage, but mostly in the realization of his own powerlessness. That had been the real shock, once the truth had sunk in. He simply didn't matter anymore. Years as an important royal advisor had bred a certain arrogance into him, he supposed, and that had left him ill-coped to handle having no real power. As long as Baron Vyrun was there…
The depression settled all the more firmly into his aching old bones and his hundreds of regrets. He had nearly reached King Drake, but the Baron had brushed him aside and Drake would ruin Thornwood. Worse than that, Drake would wreck himself in doing it. The grief would completely incapacitate him.
And still, still, Theos was no closer to solving the mystery of Mortred's disappearance. All he knew for certain was that something had happened, but nothing else.
With a sudden violent gesture, Theos threw his hands up and then smashed them down on his desk. A sweeping arm overturned the statuette that he used for a seal. The solution to these problems was right before him, he just didn't want to see it.
Regardless of Mortred's disappearance, King Drake had to be prevented from this folly. He had to be made to see reason, to be pulled up away from the abyss. And that meant that Baron Vyrun would have to go. Was that what the world would make of him? A murderer?
All his life, Theos had been an honest, upright man. To kill a foe in battle was one thing, but this… regardless of the reasons, it would be murder. But if murder it must be, then let it be on his own soul. "Yes," muttered the old man fiercely. "Yes, I will do it. My poor lonely friend… I'll save you."
Pacing about uncomfortably, Theos finally sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. It would be so easy. Poison would do it. It was just that… gods, his own morals were gone. But Theos would not permit Baron Vyrun to continue on his path. The pudgy young man had doomed himself. "I am not afraid to do it," Theos whispered. "I will do it," he promised himself.
It would be a simple thing really. All he had to do was to become a murderer. Not that hard. He could do it. He knew he could. He just had to be willing to kill in cold blood. To murder.
Harsh as it sounded in such a light, Theos knew that it was necessary. It was, wasn't it? Baron Vyrun had to die, and if he had to die, best that the burden fall on Theos's soul. He would not let the Baron's ambition destroy his poor lonely friend…
The only thing left was reconciling himself with utterly betraying his own principles. Theos knew how to kill; all he had to do was to utilize that knowledge. In a frenzy of activity, he flung himself upright again, pacing around endlessly, considering the matter of Sir Mortred. If he could find a better way…
In the end, however, Theos simply didn't know. He didn't know what Sir Mortred had known. He didn't even know if Sir Mortred had known anything. Perhaps the supreme knight of Thornwood had merely suspected and had come a little too close to whatever secret was being kept… Perhaps that was why Sir Tristain had been unwilling to let the matter drop, perhaps it was his secret and he was making certain that there were no loose ends. Or perhaps Sir Tristain was dissatisfied with the manner of his old friend's disappearance and was genuinely investigating.
It had to be something in the book. That had merely been logical before; now that Theos had discovered the missing pages he was certain. Sir Mortred had died for whatever was in there. But what could it possibly be? Theos had absolutely no idea which vital pages had gone missing, and as far as whatever Sir Mortred had known or suspected… Theos had picked up the trail from the opposite end. He'd come as far as he could.
If only he could ascertain a motive that Baron Vyrun might have had in such an affair! To be sure, the Baron would have a motive in the casual murder of Sir Mortred; it would have been an excellent way to secure real influence after all. But all of the circumstances here suggested that the stakes were much higher than that. No, it could not be the Baron, and that meant that it had to be Sir Tristain. The old knight hadn't risked much in pretending to look into the affair, after all… except, why then come to Theos with the book, even if he had only spoken to Grak?
Grak… Now there was a nasty suspicion. How much did his personal servant truly know? Could he have been the one who stole Baron Vyrun's paper before putting it back? Had Sir Tristain seen him at all?
But that was utter nonsense! Grak could have absolutely no motive. No, it was clear, Theos's mind was wandering. But if it could not be the Baron and it made no sense for it to be Sir Tristain, who then was left? Theos was missing something important, and if he only knew what it was, everything might still hang together…
Admittedly, it could still be the Baron. He was the scion of an ancient house after all, and that did have to do with the book's source material, but what then could Vyrun have feared? And why vandalize the book only after Sir Tristain had seen it? Why even take the chance that it would re-surface at all? Why play games with his own infernally blasted document? Why set up that incredibly clumsy scene in the wake of the assassin's attack? No, there were too many things that just didn't fit for the Baron to be the perpetrator…
And that left Theos where he had been at the start of this whole meandering muddle. With the obvious gaps in his knowledge and no ready way to fill them in, he couldn't do anything more in the line of this investigation. Not with Sir Hiro gone from the Castle… His skin prickled at the thought. Forcibly shaking the suspicion off, he rose ponderously and hobbled over to a tall cabinet, sifting through its contents.
For poison, Theos had many options, but only one that made sense given the current circumstances was alsthat. For a moment or so Theos studied the small crystal dispassionately before slipping it into his pocket. Easy to use unseen and it killed very quickly.
Baron Vyrun would probably not be supposed to have died naturally and another investigation might very well start. But if this course would save Thornwood and keep Drake from destroying himself…
Gods help me, it may be the worst thing I've ever done, but I will do it. I will.
With a groan, Theos sank back into his favored chair. The feast was still some several hours off, and he would need to be alert.
--
The room was pitch-black and stuffy as the old man awoke. Shaking his head in a futile attempt to clear it, he muttered, "Slept too heavily." Blinking owlishly it dawned on Theos that it was already dark outside. Straining his already poor eye-sight to adjust to the lack of light, he realized that something else was amiss.
"Grak?"
There was no answer. Fumbling helplessly for a moment or so, Theos hobbled to the door, opening it out into the dimly lit stairwell. "Grak?" Still, nothing. Theos looked back out the window. By now, the feast had surely started… "I wasn't woken," he said in numb disbelief. "Grak didn't wake me."
"I should have been woken," he muttered to himself, hurrying through the halls with all the speed he could put into his aching, bent old back. Images of Drake's face swam before his eyes, images of the past, the good days before his poor lonely friend had turned to the unthinkable to try and prove himself.
"Hurry," murmured Theos. He had to hurry or it might be too late for Drake. What if the Baron convinced him to rule on the isolationist proposal this very evening? The old man's hands sunk into his pocket, toying with the crystal of alsthat that was still there.
As far as poisons went, alsthat was moderately difficult to obtain. Colorless, odorless, and it would melt in any kind of liquid…
Theos managed the last span of the walk with something resembling dignity, pushing his way in through the doors, hobbling forward to his customary place, mouthing apologies for the lateness of his arrival when he stopped short.
"I… Your Grace… where is my… I have nowhere to sit," he concluded, lamely, still staring at the high dais at which he had sat many a year with King Drake, Prince Felix, Sir Mortred, Sir Tristain, Princess Jessa, and, more recently, Baron Vyrun.
King Drake's face was flushed, but his eyes were still alert and his speech was only slightly slurred. "Heh. Don't require… your presence, Theos. Don't need to be here you know. Books! That's what you like to do with pieces of your… time, isn't it?" He coughed and signaled a serving man to refill his wine glass. "No longer, required," he mumbled.
Theos could only stare. Princess Jessa leant across the table, fixing her piercing gaze on him. "What my father means to say is that he no longer requires your service nor your counsel. Should you choose, of course, there's no objection to your staying at the feast on anybody's part."
Something in the sharpness of her tone troubled Theos. Why was the princess so belligerent to him, personally? There had been something personal in the way she'd said that, "Your Highness…" he floundered helplessly for a moment, until some chance of memory informed him exactly what this was about. The marriage proposal of course… but what garbled interpretation of Theos's suggestion had the princess gotten from her father? Or, gods be good, even worse, from Baron Vyrun?
The realization stirred a black sorrow within him. The princess dared judge him for making a perfectly reasonable suggestion given the reduced circumstances of the royal family, and yet she ran around in low-cut gowns, perfect, lovely, and vain.
There was a slight stirring at the table and Theos was confusedly looking at Leonard. The grave-faced minister was meeting his eyes, though, and his face was full of pity. "You may sit here if you wish," he said, gesturing to the chair he'd just vacated.
"Hold." Theos knew that voice without even looking at the speaker. He doubted he'd ever be able to rid himself of the memory of Baron Vyrun's voice. "If Lord Theos prefers to stand, perhaps he'd like to grace us with… a song. Or a dance, mayhaps." The Baron's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. It was then that Theos noted a rolled up paper at the Baron's side, and he knew, instinctively, that it must have been that same paper that the Baron had foisted onto him, and probably signed as well. But how…?
Grak, he realized.
"Yes," said Princess Jessa, daintily sticking her fork into her mouth and chewing. "A dance, old man." She waved an imperious hand at him.
King Drake hesitated for a moment, and finally turned his attention back to his wine-glass.
Not cruel, Theos thought desperately. Never cruel… you weren't. My poor lonely friend…
Caring not a whit about this humiliation, Theos awkwardly shuffled about, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy the Baron. Then, Theos crashed hard into a passing server and went tumbling to the ground, covered in wine from a broken flagon.
He could hear the Baron chuckling slightly, and that was when yet another realization hit him. Sir Tristain was not there… Sir Tristain was not there! "No," whispered Theos. There was no way he'd be able to do it now… A flash of orange appeared to his right, and there was Grak, helping him up. Grak's narrow eyes filled with malice…
He stumbled forward out of his servant's grasp, ignoring the whisper behind, "Master… what are you… let me help you."
Clutching the edge of the table, he gasped, "A drink. Baron Vyrun, a drink to my… support for your proposal."
At that, the Baron studied him, his black eyes revealing nothing. "There are other ways, Lord Theos," he said at last. "There is no need for"
"A drink," Theos insisted.
Baron Vyrun shrugged. "As you say." He snapped his fingers and a serving man came over, filling the Baron's glass to the rim. Theos quickly took the glass from the table, slipping the crystal into the wine as he did so, hoping that his arm would keep the action from sight.
He lifted the glass to his lips, aware that he would have approximately fifteen seconds before the effect of the poison would set in. It might be the worst thing that he had ever done, but for Drake's sake…
He drank deep of the wine, before fully registering the slight bitter taste to it. No! But it was too late. Theos fell to the ground again, gurgling helplessly as the glass fell from his hand, spilling the wine. That wine had already been laced with phalot, a poison even deadlier than alsthat and with the two thrown together…
But how? Why?
Gurgling hopelessly, Theos could feel the iron closing around his throat, even as his eyes were drawn inexorably to the Baron's. Those cold black eyes… Strangely enough, in his very last moments, Theos's thoughts turned again back to Drake. Back to the old days when he had been so strong.