Chapter Thirty-Three
Alkeien ri malvrek eii ou Sudore- or Death is honour for my Clan
xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx
"What would you have us do?" This voice was weak but clear and the warrior turned to see Lady Ashran on her feet, her ladies assisting her with standing.
"Mother," Clayton said as he made to approach her, but she halted him by lifting a pale and skeletal hand. "I do not want to see my son and daughter," she paused and looked to the townspeople, "any of our sons and daughters, go through what we have gone through. Our children are our life, but they have no hope for theirs, nor for their children. So tell me, Warrior, what would you have us do?" She repeated and stared at the warrior, glassy eyes peering out from a sunken face.
The warriors reply sent the hall into an uproar, with some calling out in outrage and others screaming at their neighbour that they were wrong. "I would have them dead. Dead before they can kill your children. Kill them before they can kill you."
xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx
A hooded figure approached a small gate at the corner of the Palace walls and lowered their hood as they passed beneath a torch at the doorway. The gave a sharp whistle as they slunk through the shadows, head moving from side to side, taking everything in. The man had shaggy brown hair and bright hazel eyes, which were narrowed in suspicion as his whistle went unanswered. A large hand slipped beneath his cloak and withdrew a sharp and well-worn dagger. The handle was a comfort in his hand as he moved forward cautiously, whistling once more, just in case. After a few moments he decided that this situation wasn't beneficial to his health he took a second blade from a sheath at his elbow and moved into the gardens with his senses straining. The hair on the back of his neck rose as he made his way further into the darkening garden, his shadow blending with the silhouette of trees, flowers and bushes.
The garden was ominously silent as he made his way further into the palace grounds, even the patrols that he would normally have to skirt, were absent, as was his informant. A low sound caught his ears and made him freeze in place, body tensing and coiled, ears straining to hear where the sound came from. It came again, and he was able to place it slightly ahead of him and to his right, deep in the garden, almost against the palace garden walls. It sounded like a groan.
Taking comfort in the solidarity of his blades he hesitantly moved closer, hearing a rustling before him and an odd gurgle, a strange rasping that came and went. As he got closer he realised what it was, two men were lying, apparently where they had been tossed, in the ground beneath a tree. They wore the brown and white of the palace guard and one was deathly still, their chest and neck coated with blood, staining their tunic and cloak. The other was breathing shallowly into the dirt, a gurgling as their blood dammed in his lungs. Hesitantly he moved closer, noting the empty weapons sheaths and broken horn scattered in pieces around them.
He made his presence known by purposely stomping louder and snapping a twig, the gurgling stopped before intensifying. "Hey, easy there," he said as he reached the guard and slowly turned him over, a whimper of pain revealing he was still alive.
"Easy there."
Red painted the guards lips and had spilled over onto his beard and blood bubbled from his nose and mouth. He tried to form words and the man hushed him as he began to cut away at his leather armour, trying to find the injury. He found it when he opened the guard's chest piece, his under arm was coated with red, oozing blood like a spring. Judging from the man's rasping he had been pierced through the armpit and into his lung, he wouldn't last but moments. Deciding to stay with the man in his last moments, rather than run for help, he lent forward.
"I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do for ya," he said softly, sheathing his blades, and the man's other arm came up, and clasped his own left one tightly, moving trying to force out words. He was pulled forward, and placed his right hand down near the guards' side to help balance him. A bright purple light pulsed from his ring and he glanced down to it in fascination as it began a steady pulsing, reaching out purple tendrils like a swaying snakes head towards the wound. Purple fire coated the wound and slowly sunk into it, the guards' panicked eyes easing as his breathing evened out, the purple then slunk back into the ring, though was a lot weaker in aura than before.
The man removed his outer shirt and pressed it firmly to the underarm of the guard, "Alright, let's get you out of here."
"Ass… ass… Kin," the guard murmured before he stilled and the man frowned, "Ask your kin what?" "Hey, ask your kin what?" He shook the guard slightly and when his dark heard rolled in faint he gathered him into his arms, warm blood-stained clothes sticking to him immediately.
Knowing what he was about to do would be equivalent to suicide, for if he were caught he would likely be killed, he clutched the guard tighter to his chest and began a half run, half walk towards the palace, trying not to jostle his cargo.
He ran through the gardens and made for the servants entrance to the castle. On his way there he came across a patrol, and regardless of his own safety he called out. The duo turned and withdrew their weapons as he approached, before registering the body in his arms. "Sound the alarm!" He yelled as he got closer, and the two hesitated, "there's another one back there," he jerked his head over his shoulder as the guards sprang into action, "he's dead."
One blew harshly into his horn, a long and eerie note that carried in the still night. A second note followed this as another guard heard the warning and blew out his own. Within a half a minute bells were ringing and yells were heard as men began to muster.
"I've gotta get 'em to the healers," the man grunted as the exertion began to make itself known. "Alright, Jones, you take him there. You said there was another one?" Said one of the guards, suspiciously eyeing the rescuer as though he were the intruder.
"He's back there, by the wall under a tree."
The guard eyed the man intently, then flicked his gaze to the second guard and back, his message was clear, don't let him out of your sight.
"C'mon," said the second guard as the first ran for the barracks, "Healing Wing's this way."
The two picked up their pace, a light jog as the night was lit with torches and men moved frantically in the firelight.
"Where do you serve?" the guard asked suspiciously as the duo ran up to the palace.
"Ah, can we -ask questions- later," panted the man, "I'm a- bit outa-breath."
The guard nodded, non-verbally agreeing as they thundered up the steps and into the palace, "Get outta the way!" Roared the guard as the two ran down the halls, page boys and servants scurrying here and there. Behind them they could hear the Royal Guard pounding their way towards the palace, prepared to protect the royals and nobles.
The guard led them down a few corridors and into the Healing Wing, where Healer's had been woken and were preparing the beds, bandages, salves and herbs ready for the wounded. A tall man with red hair and green eyes was directing the proceedings and he paused when he saw the three in the door, he then strode towards them, barking our orders.
"Put him on the bed," he commanded, rolling his sleeves, "Get me hot water, clothes and bandages. Master Wolfsbane! You're up!"
A young man came stumbling forward, tying his dressing gown and taking a position next to the Chief Healer. Duke Baird started when he saw the man, "George," he nodded in greeting and the man nodded in return, glancing around him for an exit.
Seeing his need to escape the Duke gave the guard an order, "You there, help take his clothing off."
"But Sir, I need-"
"Now, soldier," ordered the Duke sharply, and as the guard bent over his companion he flicked his head towards the door.
George gave a grateful nod and scampered while the guard was distracted.
The thief moved quickly down the corridors, ignoring the people who were glancing at him, at the blood on his clothes. He knew the castle quite well, especially after he became friends with a certain red-headed Page and made his way to the laundry. He was able to find a clean palace servant tunic and trousers which fit, and bundled his own clothes into a sack before ducking back into the various hallways.
Maids and manservants were still scurrying about and guards were systematically moving up and down the hallways making sure rooms were clear of intruders.
George made his way towards the Royal Wing, hopeful he would find his young knight friends there, guarding the royals. He was correct; when he rounded the corner to the Royal Wing he came face to face with a hallway of guards and a group of them before the doors. Two rows of palace guards ran parallel with the walls, a pair of guards standing next to each window and door. Duos were set down the length of the hall patrolling to a certain point before pivoting and returning to their posts.
"You!" One of the guards saw George and came forward, "State your business!"
George blinked and his fight or flight reflex kicked in, he smiled pleasantly and said, "I was told to report to Sir Myles."
The guard eyed him suspiciously, and the attention of other guards was soon on him, "By whom?"
"Duke Baird," George said smoothly and clasped his hands behind him non-threateningly.
"George!"
The thief spun and saw a tall and physically imposing young man approaching, his tanned face lit with worry which eased as he came closer to the thief. "What are you doing here?" Coal black eyes focused on the palace uniform, and George quickly spoke.
"Duke Baird insisted I come find Sir Myles, do you perhaps know where he is, Sir Raoul?"
The dark-haired knight was quick on the uptake and nodded, "Yes, he was with Duke Gareth when the alarm sounded, so he is inside." The tall knight swept past, "Come on," he instructed and rank approval given, the guards had no choice but to allow George past and into the Royal Wing. "Are you sure this is safe?" Raoul asked as the door shut behind them.
George shrugged, "You're all my friends, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Besides," said the thief, "I was the one who raised the alarm."
They took a closed off corridor and made their way into a lavishly decorated room. There were no windows in this room, only many great chandeliers and stands with candles and lanterns on the tables. In a far corner there was a servers table, piled high with food and drink and the servers would move there to refill glasses and platters before moving back to the guests. There were chairs and tables and lavish rugs and animal furs on the marble floor. A large fire was rumbling in a sizable hearth, a great animal skin before it, along with a low table with two chairs flanking a chess set.
The King, Queen and Duke Roger were accompanied by various nobles and their advisors. Sir Myles and Duke Gareth were in intense conversation over in the corner and various servants were moving between the nobles offering food and drink. "Keep your head down," said Raoul as the two made their way over to the Duke and elder knight.
"Sir Myles, Duke Gareth," greeted the young knight as they were close, and the two teachers turned, surprise coating their faces as they recognised George with the knight. "George, Raoul," the knight acknowledged. "What are you doing here?" Hissed the Duke, suspiciously eying the thief for he didn't entirely trust him, not even after months of knowing him, and he was on edge with the alarm.
"I'm the one who raised the alarm," George said quickly and quietly, after making sure no one could hear their conversation. "I was heading up to warn you anyway."
"Explain please," said Sir Myles, intently eyeing the King of Thieves with green-brown eyes. Duke Gareth's brown eyes narrowed, "Yes, explain."
George lent closer, "I started hearing rumours, nothing concrete, just whispers really, that someone had paid off the Guild of Assassin's in Sarain. Their task is to kill the ruling family."
George paused as he glanced over at Jonathan, who had just entered the secure room, escorting his young and pregnant wife. "I didn't believe it. I asked around and found it likely to be true; the messengers I sent didn't come back and after a visit of my own I backed off." He pulled aside his tunic to reveal a pale bandage with a fresh patch of red where a wound had been leaking, and he met Duke Gareth's eyes squarely as he rearranged his clothing. "A little over six hours ago a group of merchants were found dead three days from here on the Great Road East. Their wares and caravans were missing. A group has impersonated them and entered the city. I made my way here instantly."
Myles took a deep breath, "So the Assassin Guild is here in the castle and their here to kill Roald, Lianne, Roger and Jonathan."
"And Princess Rayanne," said Duke Naxen, eyes roving over the gathered royals. "So how do we know who the assassins are?"
George shrugged, "I don't know. The Guild has no gender preference or an age restriction, they could be anyone at any age."
"Okay," said Sir Myles, "Let's start with the servants. The guards, nobles and royals and their personal servants will all be well known to themselves and others, so they can't be replaced as easily. The assassins will likely have taken the place of palace servants, so we need to identify them."
George nodded amicably, "That's a good idea." He looked over to Raoul, "You should warn your friends but try to keep it as subtle as possible, we don't want to start a panic."
Raoul nodded, "I'll talk to them," he said as he glanced around the room for his first year-mate and made his way steadily towards him.
"I'll see to the King and Queen and Duke Roger," said the Duke as he nodded to George and Myles and moved from their side.
"Is it safe for you to be here?" Asked Sir Myles of the King of Thieves. George gave a wry smile and shrugged, "In most situations no, but I imagine the guard is too busy with the King and Queen to worry about little old me."
Myles peered intently at the younger man, "Or they might recognise you and take your head. Either way you are a stranger here right now and that is a very dangerous position to be in." A sever came up to them with a tray and George and the knight took a small pastry before the server continued to serve other nobles. Myles then continued, "I trust that you will stay safe, and should you be caught you have but to get word to me and I will do what I can."
George nodded his thanks and ducking his head to cover his face made his way to a corner if the room where he could observe all. There was a low humming in the room, that rose and fell with conversations and the air was heavy with tension and, perhaps, fear. The gathered nobility were clustered together, as though they were flocks of frightened sheep, and their air of better-than-thou seemed frazzled at the edges. Groups seemed to be torn between getting as close as possible to the royals and as far away as the room and propriety allowed, depending on how they saw the coming potential threat to their lives.
A young man had decided close proximity to the royals would be detrimental to his health and had slunk into the corner a few moments after George, placing his back to the wall and straddling a chair. He rested his arms against the chair-back after adjusting his sword, his glass of wine dangling precariously from long slender fingers and spoke to the thief. He had long blonde hair, which he had tied at the base of his neck and slender, refined features, with sunken-in glassy pale eyes.
"False alarm, do you think?" He asked with a tone strikingly devoid of the haughtiness most nobles spoke with to servants and with a foreign accent George couldn't place.
Interested George glanced over to the man taking his rich emerald tunic with gold etchings and black trousers and virgin under shirt with similar embroidery. He wore finely made and well-worn leather boots, up to his keys and had tucked his trousers inside, gold etchings up the outside of his leg. He was tall and lean, with tanned skin, darker than his on, but lighter than that of the desert people of Tortall and when he spoke, as he did now, his teeth flashed blindingly in the darkening night. "Did you hear me? Or are you just thick?"
George blinked before he answered and he turned back to watch the gathered court, but still monitoring his companion, "No. It's something all right. Assassins from the East."
The man drew back sharply, "Sarainan's? But they refuse to take contracts!"
George's head snapped around abruptly, "How do you know that?"
The young man eyed George, blatantly giving him the once over, and the thief bristled under the stare. "My education was thorough," he eventually shrugged, "The Guild was originally meant to be a safe haven for the youth of Sarain, the ones on the streets, and the elderly that no one wanted, the street people that had nowhere else to go. The founder gave them food and shelter and offered revenge upon those who had wronged them. Eventually the Guild grew to become its own nation of sorts. They have their own rules and hierarchy and they take care of their own." The man paused, "It is virtually unheard of for them to take contractual killings, especially of Royalty where the possibility of civil war is imminent. Perhaps you are mistaken?"
Hazel eyes narrowed on the young man, "You seem to know a lot about the Guild, and how they work."
The young man shrugged again, but flashed a sly smile, "My teachers were thorough and insisted I know as much as possible about potential threats."
Feeling his Sight flare in warning George halted his reply and turned back to the gathering, hands going to the hilts at his wrists. Next to him the young man stiffened and the hand not holding a wine glass flew to the hilt at his side. A light green aura flared around the length of the hilt and sheath and George subtly stepped aside and tightened his grip on his blades as he realised the blade was shielded with magic.
The young man gave a smirk, and raised his palms in a peaceful gesture, releasing the sword, though taking care not to spill his wine, "Calm yourself, King of Thieves," George paled and withdrew his blades, keeping them subtly at his side so not to draw unwanted attention to them. "I mean you nor your royals any harm."
George cast a glance around the room to ensure that no one had noticed them yet, "Why are you here? How do you know me?"
"I don't," said the stranger silkily, "I know what you are. There's a difference."
A young man with chestnut hair and sharp brown eyes was approaching with speed and the stranger lowered his hands onto the chair back once more, pale eyes scanning the room with hawk-like intensity.
"George!" Said the knight, "Raoul said it was you who set the alarm."
The thief nodded in greeting, "Gary. Yes, I did."
Gary nodded, folding his arms as he glanced to the stranger and back to George, lifting a brow.
"He's not with me," Said the thief and brown eyes narrowed on the young man.
"Who are you?" Asked Gary suspiciously and the blondes pale lips upturned slightly in a smirk.
"What does it matter?" He said calmly as he tilted his head, gazing intently at the young knight, "I can change my name, and my face if necessary. As for who I am, that is a privilege I grant only to my friends and colleagues."
Gary's hand went to his sword hilt and he slid it partially out of its sheath, the smooth metallic hiss disguised in the hum of the room. "Relax, son of Gareth. I am not here to harm, only to observe."
Both Tortallian's were watching the stranger with suspicion but could do nothing as the man had made no hostile move. Abruptly the stranger straightened, his entire body turning rigid on the chair as he stared over Gary's shoulder.
"What?!" Asked George sharply and the man ignored him for a few moments, a frown crossing his face as he relaxed back in the chair.
"What did you see?" George demanded and pale eyes, suddenly as cold as a blade in winter, turned on him. "Nothing of consequence," he said silkily and rose from his chair, nodding cordially to both the knight and thief before vanishing into the gathered nobles before either could detain him.
George and Gary shared a look and immediately moved after him, trying to find where he was. He was able to identify several groups of nobles as he moved through them. Most were frequents at court and some were high officials. In the corner young Thom of Trebond was standing next to Duke Roger, talking quietly to him, and as he watched his eyes flicked over to the grand clock-an import from another far off country- and he shifted on his feet.
George moved over to where Jonathan was talking with his young bride, the woman glowing with her pregnancy even more in the candlelight. The Crown Prince looked better than he had the year after his Squire's departure, his skin now had a healthy sun-kissed glow and he smiled regularly, as he did when he caught his wife's eye. Jonathan was wearing a dark navy tunic with silver etchings and buttons flashed down his chest. His white sleeves were bare but his cuffs were etched with the same as his outer tunic, emphasising his bright eyes. He wore a very flashy ring on his wedding hand and his leather boots gleamed in the light. The Princess was wearing a long and flowing white gown, proudly displaying her bump to the world and soft leather sandals.
He kept his head lowered, trying to hide his face, and picked up a discarded server's tray, moving through the crowds and taking empty glasses. His Sight flared again and the great clock in the corner gave a tick and chimed into 8pm, the ringing announcing the hour becoming even more ominous. There was a bald server over by the food table who had his back to the nobles, something about him raised a warning flag within the thief's mind and he stopped to watch him. A lady took a glass from his tray and he nodded demurely as he moved on forward, his eyes scanning the servant for something he had missed. The King and Queen walked arm in arm over to Jonathan and his wife, nodding politely to various nobles that met their eyes and bowed.
The server had their head oddly stiff and held it tilted to the side, to where the royals were standing and were doing something delicate with their hands in front of them. George dropped the tray on a nearby table, ignoring the gasps of displeasure as he pushed passed the nobility towards the servant. The server lent forward over a candle and then tucked their arms in.
George gave a shout of warning and everything seemed to slow down. The server suddenly spun around with two globes in his hands and flung them towards the royals, a spark following the balls through the air. The nobles and guards all froze on the spot and the knights coiled in preparation to spring at the assassin. The two globes struck the ground and burst open, the flame flaring before dispersing and a thick dark smoke rose from them.
The friends of the thief drew their swords and ran forward, stopping abruptly as they hit the smoke and were unable to see. Jonathan grabbed at his wife and Roald and Lianne tried to get away but were quickly swallowed by the smoke. It was then that George saw the stranger, he drew his blade and jumped, literally jumped over the fleeing nobility by jumping up onto a chair and running along it to a table and then flipping into the smoke, drawing his blade as he did so.
Shrieks and screams were heard and yells as people tried to flee the centre of the room. Glasses fell to the ground and chairs were overturned in the frantic attempt to flee. Guards burst through the doors and were nearly overrun by the stampede of nobility. In the smoke there was a dull clanging and a cry, someone gave a shout and there was a voice yelling in a foreign language. The guards drew their weapons and began to swing them, knocking the lords and ladies out of the way in their attempt to get to the royals as they flowed into the room.
George determinedly lunged in after the assassin and after grasping around in the smoke caught a limb and hauled them both backwards out of the smoke. He roared in pain as the tip of a blade caught him on the back and stumbled forwards, falling on top of his rescued. He glanced down to see his quarry and then released the queen with mortification, leaping back to his feet regardless of his pain, he had just manhandled the most powerful woman in Tortall.
A guard reached them and roughly shoved him away from the royal, he faltered and fell into an upturned chair as the guard helped the queen to her feet. The last stragglers of the upper-class had fled the room and there were guards intently peering into the dispersing smoke. Abruptly a figure was thrown from the smoke, followed by a voice saying, "Crawl forward!" They were able to see blurry figures now, two were fighting while one lay unmoving on the carpet and another was hazardly inching forward. King Roald was helped to his feet and after checking on his wife, turned frantic eyes on the murky figures in the centre of the smoke.
"Get him, " the King commanded and Lord Gareth and Sir Myles helped Gary and Raoul drag the Prince from the edge of the smoke. Jonathan had seen better days. One of his arms was bleeding profusely and there was blood pooling at the front of his shirt. "Duke Baird!" Sir Myles roared and there was motion at the door, "He's coming!" Cloth was torn from fine clothing and wrapped around the arm wound and the Prince was dragged out of the way, where a shirt was place under his head. The king and queen stood around him, casting worried glances to the two fighters and then back to their son.
Moments later the healer burst into the room followed by his assistant, and after pausing at the scene began to bark instructions. George was groaning over the chair and Duke Roger strode back into the room, surveying the room, ignoring the guards that had tried to hold him back. He made his way over to his cousin and aunt and uncle, "Uncle! Is there anything I can do?"
The King flicked his head in the direction of the two duellers and the Duke understood the message. Blue fire pooled at his hands and then drifted over the elaborate carpet and overturned furnishings to the smoke, where it flickered and disappeared. The Duke frowned and tried again, calling even more magic to his hands and throwing it at the smoke. His second attempt was as successful as his first, but he was in luck as it seemed the smoke had finally run out of strength and was dispelled. The people in the room were able to clearly see the scene. The unknown man was crossing blades, with ferocious intensity, with the bald servant assassin and Princess Rayanne was limp in a crumpled heap, blood staining her dress. Lianne choked a sob and brought her hand to her mouth in horror and the King brought his hands over her shoulders in an attempt to provide comfort.
Guards manoeuvred over fallen furniture, with a second wave of them taking the time to straighten the chairs and lift tables back into position, forming another layer of defence and confinement. The two layers of Palace Guard circled the two duellists, their weapons drawn and shields in a defensive position. Sweat was dripping down the assassins head and dark patches had appeared in the expensive clothing that the stranger was wearing. His movements were precise and perfectly executed, the sword gleaming in the candlelight as the two duelled and he moved with speed and grace that defied his solid size.
The guards had taken the body of the Princess out of the way of the two duellers and had lain her on the table where an apprentice had checked her and the unborn heir for sigh of life, but the assassin was thorough. A wound to the belly and one to her throat had ended the lives of the youngest royals. The King had stalked forward in fury and had to be restrained as he tried to get at the man responsible for his families pain while Lianne hovered worriedly over her son. In the distance the bells had stopped chiming and the frantic movement had halted somewhat, though personal servants were granted access into the chamber to care for the royals.
Gary and Raoul were at George's side, trying to stem the bleeding while drawing the least amount of attention possible. They were unsuccessful when their rings began to glow purple and the residual magic began to knit the thief's back back together. Duke Baird paused in his healing, glancing between the rings to the healed thief before continuing to try to heal the heir. Duke Roger's head had snapped around at the sight of the purple Gift but couldn't match the stranger. As soon as the rings began to glow his head had turned sharply and his intense pale eyes were drawn to the glowing purple aura. He gasped something in his foreign tongue before returning his attention to his opponent.
The assassin was tiring, evident in his slowing reflexes and defensive moves and a quick glance around him calculated the odds, which weren't in his favour. The swordsman blocked a hasty jab at his side and stepped closer to the assassin, using his movement to snap his leg out and trip the other over. The assassin landed with a thud and gazed up into stormy pale eyes as a blade cut lightly into his throat as he panted. "Alkeien ri malvrek eii ou Sudore," he gasped put and then his jaw snapped down harshly. Froth formed at the corner of his mouth and began to dribble down his chin as the guards slowly turned their attention on the remaining dueller.
The swordsman slowly straightened and sheathed his sword, "Tu dore knsiea argoul taljek salv kuthra ende larmaval." He touched his first two fingers of his right hand to his lips, forehead and then clasped a fist over his heart with a solid thump. The guards held their weapons on the warrior as he moved towards them and tried to get passed them, pausing a moment to pick up the shards of the smoke container. "Peace, sons of Tortall. I bare you, nor your compatriot's ill will, provided the courtesy is returned." A group of young healers were let into the room and they made their way towards Jonathan carrying a stretcher. The Prince was gently lifted and lowered onto it, with guards flanking him as Duke Roger comforted his aunt, his eyes flicking between the King, his cousin, the swordsman, and the thief who was sitting upright, clutching his side. A pair of apprentices moved over to the fallen Princess and covered her gently with a large black cloth in preparation for her burial process which would take place later in the evening with Monks of the Black God present.
It took King Roald's command to allow the guards to let the warrior through and he nodded in the King's direction as he put the shards on a table. "Who are you?" Asked the King as Jonathan was carried out of the room on a stretcher, the Duke keeping pace with him as he was escorted out. George got to his feet assisted by Raoul and Gary and was half carried, half dragged across the room whilst Lianne took the moment to draw attention from the thief by standing and allowing a richly dressed woman with thick chestnut hair lead her away. Pale eyes watched the trio leave before returning their attention to the pale-faced King, his face tight with worry and loss.
"Who are you? And what are those things? Why could you see in the smoke?" Repeated the King with a few extra questions and he stilled under the intense gaze as the blonde stared at him. "Who I am is a privilege I grant only to my friends, however, you may know me as T'cor," he bowed slightly to the King, "Third son of Ahkmal of Lindlhiln."
The blonde picked up two fragments of the smoke shell. "This is a Smoke Bomb." He brought the two pieces together and they fit together perfectly. "They are something my country exports. There is a cord, or a wick, like a candle" he pointed to a small dent in each shell half he held. "It is lit and then burns inside, the mixture catches fire and releases the smoke. Though this one," he peered intently at the stamp on the inside, "has been made with the intention of not allowing magic users to see in, or to clear, the smoke." He tossed a shell to the King, "See that little flame around the edge of the symbol? That means a powerful Mage has cast their own spell on the mixture, the more powerful they are the more expensive they are." T'cor accepted the shard back, "This must have cost a fortune or… whomever wanted the magic block on it, cast it themselves."
There was a moment's silence where only the clanking of guards in armour could be heard down the hallway. T'cor placed the shard on the table and glanced around him. The King looked shaken while the guards had all straightened at the threat to their royals. Duke Roger was staring steadily at the shards and he swept them both into his arms. "With your permission, Uncle, I shall see if I can identify any residual magic. Maybe it can be traced." The King nodded his agreement and Duke Gareth looked to T'cor.
"Why are you here? Where are you from?" Duke Gareth asked, his brown eyes having not missed the glance following the shards and lingering on the sorcerer.
"I have been sent here to co-ordinate a meeting between our countries and perhaps a delegation in several months. I also brought trade items so that I may return to my land with luxuries from yours," he bowed again. "I was on my way to speak with your Steward when I heard the bells and was caught up with the rush."
The King nodded and Roger spoke, "He speaks the truth, Uncle."
Pale eyes locked with bright blue in a silent battle as T'cor didn't appear impressed that his honour was being questioned. Duke Gareth broke the tense stare, "But where are you from?"
The stranger blinked and bowed deeper than he had before, "An island nation to the North West of the Copper Isles," he said after he had straightened, "Kurvalic."
xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx
Author's Note:
Yes, I am still alive. I hope everyone had a happy and safe holiday and hope the New Year is a good one for you and your loved ones.
Zhenzhen87: Another name change? Or am I getting confused, lol. SPOILER: No, Stannis will never go through what Alanna did, thank the Goddess (or any of the Old God's we will soon hear of ;) ) As for her sadism, I have one word… soon :D
Wolfbite: You shall have to see :D
Tris: I'll try to clarify in the next few chapters, but was there anything specific that was confusing? I'd like for my readers to understand clearly, but still keep some mystery :D