A/N: Thanks for the reviews, kat3e and Pied Flycatcher! You guys rock!
Warning: this chapter contains torture. I was actually crazy enough to research medieval torture, and what I found made me pretty queasy. I've chosen one of the least-gruesome torture devices (and a well-known one), to avoid any emotional scarring on the part of my readers!
The Assassin
Dantalion walked through the airy halls of the palace, lost in the pages of a novel. It was a comic story – unusual for him – for he was vainly trying to cheer himself up. He had just received a message from Abhorsen that the necromancer who had attacked them at the Great Sickle Wood was nowhere to be found in Death. Abhorsen had stipulated that someone else had come along and finished him off, but whether or not that person was involved in this strange plot was anyone's guess.
A scream shattered the stillness – Penemue's scream!
The Prince dropped his book and broke into a wild run. More women were screaming even as he skidded into a nearby courtyard, drawing his swords in one swift movement. His eyes flicked around the open square, taking in his cowering wife surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, and a group of struggling men.
The Prince knelt down beside Penemue, who sobbed into his neck. She was holding little Farelle, who gazed up at them both with wide blue eyes. "Shh…" Dantalion murmured soothingly, all the while wondering what on earth had happened. He beckoned to her ladies-in-waiting. "Take my wife to her room to lie down," he instructed, and the frightened-looking women curtseyed.
When the ladies had left the courtyard, Dantalion turned to a familiar face. "Sir Halban," he barked. "What happened here?"
The moustached knight mopped his brow, and gestured to a struggling figure held by four soldiers. "This man entered the courtyard," he explained. "He drew a knife and attempted to kill Princess Penemue."
Dantalion turned to stare at the assassin, who was dressed as a courtier and looked vaguely familiar. Rage such as he had never known welled up inside of him, but with an immense effort he tamped it back down. They would learn nothing if he choked this man in the middle of the courtyard. Keeping his composure, the Prince nodded coldly at Halban. "See what you can find out." The moustached man bowed and led the way out of the courtyard, with the four soldiers dragging the stranger between them.
One of the remaining soldiers, a lieutenant, approached the Prince. "He was armed with this, sir."
Dantalion accepted the long knife, which was quite unremarkable in its appearance. The weapon offered no clues whatsoever as to the man's identity, except for a rough spiral scratched on the hilt. He did not recognize the symbol, if in fact it meant anything at all, and he supposed that the assassin could have been hired by anyone. But the fact that he had gotten so close…
"Any idea how he gained entrance?" he asked. His voice was harsh, and he was still shaken by the incident. His wife and daughter had been within reach of that man! How could this have happened?
The soldier bit his lip nervously. "It's not certain–"
"Well, make it certain!" Dantalion yelled, finally snapping. The lieutenant executed a crisp salute, and turned to direct the rest of the soldiers in a search.
The Prince wandered around the courtyard, looking for any clue as to how the assassin managed to come so far without being detected. There were no signs to be seen, and Dantalion leaned his head wearily against the stone wall. He took a deep breath and sighed, but stopped short when he sensed something – the faintest hint of a metallic reek floated on the air. Dantalion sucked in his breath: Free Magic! But the man had not been a sorcerer – he was quite sure of that.
The Prince tried to puzzle it out, but could come to no conclusions. He slapped the wall impatiently, before turning and instructing the soldiers to find out all that they could. Still lost in his thoughts, he made his way towards the steps that would lead him down to the dungeons.
As he descended the tight, spiralling staircase, faint screams reached his ears. It appeared that Sir Halban had not wasted any time.
The dungeons were empty, and Dantalion strode through the rows of dusty cells before pushing open a heavy wooden door. A soldier standing by nodded courteously at him as he walked through, and the door creaked shut behind him.
The assassin was on the rack, screaming with pain. The four soldiers were stationed around the room, along with Sir Halban. The Dungeon Master was also present, a thin man who, appropriately enough, looked rather like a skeleton. Dantalion approached the wooden machine, trying vainly to ignore the screams. The assassin's feet were manacled to the base of the rack, his wrists lashed to a roller that the Dungeon Master operated. He was clad only in his trousers, and sweat streaked his pale skin.
But something was very different about his face. He looked much younger now…
"This… thing was disguised as Lord Vonare," Sir Halban explained, as if reading the Prince's thoughts. "It was a Free Magic illusion that came off as soon as we put him on the rack. That was how he managed to get so close." Dantalion nodded thoughtfully, wondering who had taken the trouble to disguise this young man.
"And look at this," the knight said, pointing at the assassin's left hip. Just below the trouser line, Dantalion could see a small tattoo of a counter clockwise spiral, no larger than his thumbnail. "We don't know what it means," Sir Halban continued, "but we think it's a mark of his group." In answer, Dantalion pulled out the assassin's weapon, which bore an identical symbol.
The Prince shot Halban a questioning glance, who shook his head grimly: the man had not talked – yet.
Dantalion nodded at the Dungeon Master, who loosened the roller. The assassin lay gasping for air, his arms wrenched above his head. The Prince peered down into the man's pain-filled face. "What is your name?" he asked.
The assassin clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. Dantalion glanced at the Dungeon Master, who tightened the roller. The man shrieked as his body was lifted off the rack, limbs straining as they stretched past their limit.
The Prince soon grew tired of the screams. Normally torture sickened him, but this man had tried to kill his family. He would show no mercy. Still, the incessant screaming was irritating, if nothing else. Dantalion walked over to the wall and leaned against it. "Find out his name," he told Sir Halban, and the knight nodded before turning back to the assassin.
For twenty minutes Dantalion watched as the wraithlike Dungeon Master worked his craft, while the assassin was reduced to a sobbing, incoherent, shrieking creature. Blood dripped from the man's swollen ankles and wrists where the skin had chafed away. His ribs stood out on his chest, and sweat dripped from his body. There was a long, sickening crack as one of his shoulders slowly dislocated. The other snapped a minute later. The Prince could scarcely stand to watch anymore. But then something articulate passed the young man's lips: "Aaa – locassss!" he yelled.
Dantalion straightened and held up his hand. The Dungeon Master eased the pressure, and the Prince walked up to the side of the rack. "Yes?" he asked.
"Alocas," the assassin gasped, panting heavily. "My name is Alocas."
"Good," Dantalion said in a calming tone of voice. "Good. And how old are you, Alocas?"
The man's face contorted in shame and agony. "I'm tw– twenty."
Dantalion glanced at Halban, who took over the questioning: "Who do you work for?" The young assassin remained silent. "Is it an Ancelstierran?" the knight tried. No answer. "A Free Magic sorcerer, perhaps? Or a northern lord?" Still the assassin said nothing. Sir Halban waved his arm, and the Dungeon Master tightened the roller.
The assassin arched his back as his body was lifted clear off the rack once more. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks, and the noise he was making was incredible. After ten minutes of this, Dantalion's head was pounding. "Sir Halban, please!" he finally snapped. "Can't you shut him up? Either that or make him talk!"
Halban did not move, but the Dungeon Master locked the roller in place and drifted to a cupboard. Its depths were thankfully hidden by shadow, and Dantalion tried not to think of what could be in there. The skeletal man emerged with a leather-wrapped stick, which he forced between the young assassin's teeth, and a wicked-looking iron poker, which he placed in the stove to heat.
Dantalion stared at him, but Sir Halban seemed unperturbed. The knight had spent more time in the dungeons than the Prince, and had probably seen more of this sort of thing. In fact, this was Dantalion's first time in this wretched place, and he was sure that he did not like it one bit. The Charter Mages had yet to create a truth spell, but Dantalion would be glad once they did.
"Are you going to tell us who sent you?" Sir Halban asked gently. The man stared back, breathing hard around the gag. Apparently he wasn't about to cooperate. The moustached knight gave a tiny sigh of disappointment. "I thought not." He gestured at the Dungeon Master, who removed the poker from the stove. The tip was now red-hot.
The assassin's eyes widened and he started to struggle. Of course, stretched out as he was with two dislocated shoulders, he got nowhere. The Dungeon Master slowly brought the tip of the poker closer and closer to the man's skin, and Dantalion could feel his own body tensing. Finally, with the tip hovering a fraction of an inch away, the assassin began to shake his head fervently, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. Sir Halban removed the gag, and the Dungeon Master put away the poker, looking slightly disappointed. The roller was loosened, and the man lay limp on the rack, sobbing brokenly.
Dantalion looked away in embarrassment, but Sir Halban placed his hand on the young man's forehead. "Shh…" he soothed in a fatherly manner. "It's all right… shh…"
When the assassin had regained a little bit of composure, he managed to gasp, "N… nec… necromancer."
The Prince leaned over the side of the rack opposite from Halban. "A necromancer sent you?" he repeated. When the young man nodded, he burst out, "But why?"
"It's a… a plot," the assassin panted. He licked his dry lips. "A plot to… eliminate the… the Charter bloodlines…"
Dantalion glanced at Sir Halban, who was looking as serious as he had ever seen him. "And your tattoo is the mark of this faction?"
The assassin gave a feeble nod. "We're called… the Freemen. Followers of the Ancient Ways…"
"Who is involved?" the Prince demanded.
The young man closed his eyes. "Necromancers… sorcerers… witches… and people like me. We're hired help. Mercenaries." He paused for breath. "A necromancer is in charge… I think…"
Dantalion leaned forward and grabbed the man's chin, shaking him lightly to keep him from passing out. "A few moons ago a necromancer tried to kill me and Lord Abhorsen," he said harshly. "Was that part of the same plot?"
The young man frowned in thought. "You are…?"
"Crown Prince Dantalion," he answered impatiently.
"A failed attempt to kill the Prince and Abhorsen…" repeated the assassin weakly. "A few moons ago? Yes… that would have been Saleos. The necromancer Saleos… He was one of us. Them. A Freeman… He was captured. We killed him."
The Prince let go of the man's chin, his legs feeling suddenly weak. This was a whole lot bigger than he or Abhorsen had imagined.
"Will you cooperate?" Sir Halban was asking. At the young man's assent, he nodded to the Dungeon Master. "Release him."
The man let out muffled screams as Halban popped his shoulders back into their sockets, but Dantalion hardly noticed. He was actually on his way out of the room when he stopped at another sudden thought. He turned to stare at the assassin, who was sitting on the edge of the rack nursing his bloody wrists. "I have one more question," he said. "Why did you attack my wife? Why her, and not myself or the King?"
"That was not my mission," the young man answered reluctantly. "Saleos was meant to take care of you, and the King is too well-protected."
"But Penemue is not of Royal Blood," Dantalion countered, his voice wavering out of control.
The assassin lowered his gaze to the ground. "No," he whispered. "But your daughter is."
Dantalion stared at the young man. So his wife had not been the target of the attack, after all. It had been his one-year-old baby girl. Dantalion clenched his fists, and for a split second he considered killing the man right there. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Now was not the time for personal vendettas. He needed to send Abhorsen a message, and then speak to his father about this.
A/N: Ooh, the plot is underway! Blame it on my plotbunnies. So, next chapter you'll find out why Cassiel's name is so familiar.