Assassination

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  Assassination

Posted By on DD-Dec-2004 by Dave "Crowley" Javier Perro waited in the darkest corner of the stable, pretending to brush his horse. In his nervousness, every twitch and nicker from the beasts in the stalls caused him to jump. Spying a movement against the far wall, near the entrance, he turned, ready for almost anything. Seeing nothing in the flickering light, he let out a soft breath of relief. He was nervous enough about being in the big city of Corcosa, so far from the castle where he lived and served. Even more nerve-wracking to be here for a meeting with someone who was not a man so much as a blood-drenched reputation. A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. Someone came up against his back, without even a rustle of cloth to give him away. Long fingers, iron-hard through the soft leather, tightened around his jaw and held his head still. He stood there, paralyzed, for a few moments. Incongruously, his senses focused on the torches at the far end of the stables, and the unperturbed breathing of his horse behind him. Finally, cool breath at his ear brought barely audible words. "Be still, boy. You do not feel it, but there is a dagger at your back.  If you speak above a whisper, you will die and your body will never be found.  Nod if you understand me." Perro nodded as best as he was able, unable to move his head very much against the crushing grip. "Very well. I am going to remove my hand.  You will not turn around.  You will speak only when spoken to." The man behind him stepped back half a step. The hand moved off his mouth to rest, disconcertingly, on his shoulder. "Winter is coming, and the days are getting shorter," came the voice in a conversational tone. Perro blinked several times, still shaking, before remembering his own half of the catchphrase. "It will be cold, but I feel no fear," he whispered to the darkness. He almost giggled in nervous hysteria, but managed to resist the impulse. "Good so far. Now... You were given a pouch to carry.  Slowly put your left hand over that pouch." Perro moved his left arm very slowly, until his hand settled over the pouch the Duke had given him. It was close to the dagger at his belt, but he never considered touching it. The hand left his shoulder and quickly yanked the pouch off his belt. There was the soft rattle of gemstones knocking against each other. There was a silence of a few heartbeats, then another soft rattle, and the hand returned to his shoulder. "I am going to put my hand back over your mouth, boy, so that I can ask you more questions. Do not jump." True to his word, the man put his hand back over Perro's mouth, but the grip was softer and he kept half a step back. It was as though Perro had proven himself trustworthy. He felt strangely honored. "I am going to make some statements. You will nod if the statement I speak is correct.  You will shake your head if the statement is incorrect.  Nod if you understand." Perro nodded slowly. "You came alone, and told no one where you were going." Perro nodded again. "You carry no signet or seal, no mark of your master's house." Nod. "You met with no one but your master before coming here." Nod. "You looked inside the payment pouch." Perro was about to nod again out of reflex when he caught himself. He shook his head vigorously. "I am glad your master has servants who are able to follow orders, then. And you display remarkable cool-headedness.  Good help, hard to find... You've heard it before, I am sure." Perro felt and heard a soft exhalation, like a sigh of amusement. He finally started to relax. The hand tightened its grip again, and Perro felt a brief stinging pain at the base of his back, like a flea bite. He started shivering uncontrollably and cold droplets of sweat beaded on his head and neck. He dimly felt a thin trickle of heat flowing down the groove of his back. As soon as he realized he'd been stabbed, his vision swam. A face came into view on his left. All Perro could see were bright green eyes. Beyond the face of his killer, the torches at the stable entrance shivered and shimmered, and then all went black. Oswald drew his stiletto from the boy's back and guided the body gently to the ground. "A good servant is hard to find. A pity your master deemed you expendable." He bent to close Perro's eyes. With practiced efficiency, he wrapped the body in a horse blanket and rolled it to the back of the stall. He spared a few more moments to dump a pile of hay over the corpse. Surveying his work, he smiled and left silently. ******   Prince Varicci II stood on the battlements of the royal palace of Viamont, inspecting the winch mechanism of the portcullis, when a solitary rider appeared out of the dusk. He was whipping the horse on mercilessly, as if pursued by abyssal hounds. As the rider drew closer, Varicci saw that he wore the livery of a royal guard. All the royal guards were either here at the castle, or with his brother at Lord Marden's tournament... A sudden fear leaped to Varicci's mind and he charged down the stairs to meet the rider. "Treachery!" the rider called as he rode through the gates. "Treachery of Bellenesse! Prince Renlen is slain!" The rider pulled up short when he saw the prince, and Varicci saw that he was caked in blood and dirt. He reached up and pulled the guard off the saddle. Terrified of the prince's anger, the guard stuttered, until Varicci slapped him, then put a none-too-gentle hand on the man's neck. "Calm down, man! What happened?" "T-T-Treachery at the tournament, Highness," the guard gasped. "Prince Renlen... Eleonora... The Duke's daughter. She slew him!" What of Countess Lotila?" Varicci demanded. "She pursues the girl. I am the only one she thought she could spare." Varicci turned from the exhausted soldier and entered the castle. He strode quickly through the castle corridors, pushing aside or knocking over any who got in his way. The Prince made his way to his father's private quarters.  A servant was in the corridor with the two door guards just outside of the royal chambers, arms laden with a tray full of steaming food.  One of the guards by the door was reaching out to open the door for the servant when he noticed the Prince hurrying their way.  The guard paused, and his hesitation made the servant and the other guard look his way.  Varicci snapped a finger peremptorily at the servant.  "You there. Come here." The servant bowed and turned towards the Prince.  "As it please Your Highness."  Varicci inspected the servant's face as he walked towards the three men at the door.  The man was old, the skin around his eyes crinkling with wrinkles, and the hair of his beard was grey.  His eyes, however, were bright and alert as a young man's, and a most peculiar shade of green...  Above all, the face was unfamiliar, and the Prince had always taken care to know the names and faces of all servants who came in contact with any members of the royal family.  "Old man, I do not know you," the Prince remarked, clear challenge in his voice.  The old servant stopped and bowed apologetically, managing to keep his food tray balanced as he did so.  "Apologies, your highness, Steward Vittori has a cough something awful, can't nearly get the breath to climb the stairs, and he sent me to bring the King his evening meal." He kept his head carefully bowed in subservience, but Varicci could see his eyes darting around alertly. "How unfortunate for Vittori. Strange, he didn't have such a problem this morning when he brought breakfast up to my father's quarters.  I do hope he doesn't... die of this sudden awful cough." Varicci dropped his hand to the hilt of the longsword at his belt. At this, the two door guards went on alert, brandishing their halberds. The old servant chuckled nervously, and seemed about to respond, when he spun suddenly into motion. Almost more quickly than Varicci could track, he flung the tray of food, including its bowl of soup, into the face of one guard, while snapping a brutal kick between the legs of the other. One man sank groaning to the floor, and the other fell over, screaming and clutching at his face. Continuing his whirling motion, the "servant" flashed his hand across the throat of the guard who'd taken the soup in the face. As the man completely collapsed to the floor, a bright red line appeared just underneath his chin. A heartbeat later it turned into a cascade of blood, pouring onto the rich red carpet. When the "servant" finished his movement, he was standing in a defensive position, holding a long dagger with a hooked blade. He no longer looked like an old man. He was clearly younger now, with a stripe of blonde hair running down his chin. Nor was his skin the normal Viamontian blue – now he had the pale skin of an Aluvian. Varicci already had his sword out. "I'd ask you your name and who sent you, but I think I'll wait until you are racked in our dungeon, dog." He came ahead cautiously. He could hear more guards clattering up the stairs on both sides of the corridor. He knew then that they had the assassin trapped. The assassin grinned with mock innocence and retreated to match the Prince's slow pace. "I know you're a smart man, Highness, and I'm sure you don't need me to tell you who sent me. In any case, I work in the strictest confidentiality.  By the way, how fares your brother, the younger princeling?" He laughed as he stepped back past the door to the King's rooms, turning to make his retreat. Varicci growled and charged forward. Instead of running away, the assassin reversed direction, dropped down, rolled forward under Varicci's guard, and threw a leg out. He managed to hook the Prince's ankle as he rolled past. Varicci stumbled and reeled sideways, throwing his right hand out against the wall to stop his fall. He kept his footing, but his sword went clattering to the floor. Behind him, the assassin yanked the door open and vanished within. Roaring incoherently with rage, the Prince grabbed his sword and charged into the room. He turned the corner around the door in time to see the assassin midway into the royal parlor with a second, smaller dagger poised in his left hand. Time seemed to slow for Prince Varicci. He became aware of every detail in the scene before him. He took note of the King, his father, sitting at the great desk on the left side of the room, a sheaf of documents and a tankard of beer arrayed in front of him. He saw the assassin spin again, his left arm winding back and then uncoiling in the King's direction. He saw the dagger twirling through the air, and he could tell it was flying directly at his father's throat. He saw his father reach out... There was a horrible noise of metal grating on metal as King Varicci I swatted the dagger with his silver beer tankard. The blade struck the tankard square and sunk into the heavy silver, halfway to its hilt. The King's expression was equal parts shock, outrage, and terror. "Regrettable," the assassin sighed. He looked between the King and the Prince and shrugged almost apologetically. Then he shook his head, laughing, and ran for the back of the room, to the great open windows overlooking the palace courtyard. The shutters had been drawn open, and the red and gold drapery stirred softly in the early evening winds. Varicci started forward to pursue, then stopped as four crossbow-wielding palace guards burst in through the door. As one, they leveled their weapons at the fleeing assassin and fired. The bolts whirred through the room and flew out the window. The assassin was gone. ******   The next morning, Captain Lugo of the Royal Guard reported to the throne room. He knelt in front of the throne, not daring to raise his eyes to the King and Prince in front of him. "What news, Captain?" the King asked. "Our huntsmen and trackers pursued the assassin through the night, Majesty. He was a difficult quarry.  Several times, we thought we had lost his trail, only to find it by luck or happenstance." "Luck or happenstance, Captain?" The Prince sneered. "We have some fine trackers, but if you lost this man's trail, you found it again because he wanted you to find it." "Erm, yes, Your Highness." "So you have him in custody," the King concluded. Lugo paused a moment, dreading his next answer. "The assassin... eluded us, Majesty." He swallowed nervously, and waited in a dreadful silence for several seconds. "We are displeased, Captain," the King rumbled. "How did he escape your men, Captain?" the Prince asked. "We thought we had run him to ground in a small village in one of our Aluvian territories, Highness, but... he escaped. Through a portal.  A portal we had not previously catalogued, Highness." "I hope you had the sense to establish a guard around this portal, Captain," the Prince said. I did so immediately, Highness," Lugo reported, plainly relieved he had done something right. "You will take us to that portal tomorrow," the King ordered.  "Yes, Majesty."  "Any other news, then?"  "We found a body in the back of a stable, Majesty," the guardsman reported.  "At an inn on the eastern edge of the city."  "Whose body?" the Prince asked.  "He has not been identified as yet, Your Highness," the guard answered.   The King sighed.  "We are disappointed again, Captain. This incompetence is unlike you. And if my son is right, this assassin was merely toying with your trackers." "Father," the Prince said, "in Captain Lugo's defense, this was a meticulously staged assassination attempt. Objectively, I have to express... admiration for this assassin's skill. Lugo was merely outwitted by a superior intellect." The King snorted.  "I am glad you find so much to admire in this murderous dog, my son. I imagine your admiration for him would be that much greater had he succeeded in his attempt." "Father, it is wise to respect the talents of one's adversaries. Had he not had the misfortune of choosing the worst target in the world... why yes, I would probably find him an incredibly useful man. Probably as useful as you once found Bellenesse." Father and son shared a long look.  Everyone else in the room grew increasingly uncomfortable as the two stared at each other – the King stone-faced and unblinking, the Prince with a careless grin on his face.  Finally, the Prince averted his eyes, and the King snorted again.  He turned his attention back to the kneeling guard captain.  "All right, Lugo, what can you tell us about this body in the inn, then?"  "A young man of no discernible family or breeding, with his hair cut like a servant. He had nothing on him but his clothes and a dagger of no particular note. All of the inn's guests in the last three days have been accounted for... Except for one. The innkeeper said he saw someone ride in from the east last night and go directly to the stable. But he never came into the inn itself, and left after half an hour. He assumed it was a traveler who just stopped in to water his horse." The Prince shook his head.  "Bring that fool of an innkeeper here. Make him explore his memories very thoroughly. I suspect the man who went in and the man who came out were different men... And that the man who came out is the man who tried to kill you, father... The man that our loyal and capable captain has thus far failed to track down." The guard captain, still kneeling, paled.  "What more can you tell us of the body, Lugo?" the King asked.  "He was killed yesterday, as far as we can tell, Majesty. One single well-placed dagger strike, at the base of the spine. A narrow blade. And the wound, we believe, was poisoned." "I would wager," said the Prince, "that it is the same poison that was on that blade you caught with the tankard, father."  The King sighed.  "My son murdered like a dog in a duel. A poisoned dagger, meant for my throat. One dead steward in the castle basement. And now a mysterious body in a stable." "Father, I must ask again why we are going over evidence when we know exactly who is behind this assassination attempt."  "I refuse to believe that Bellenesse himself has betrayed me, my son," said the King.  "It is possible his daughter acted on her own."  "Possible, but unlikely. The Duke commands his girl as you command me. She would not have acted alone. Besides, I have noticed oddities in the Duke's behavior for some time, father. I think this hoary Roulean heresy has spread to him. I would not even wait for our messengers to return from his lands. More to the point, I doubt they will return." "You counsel war with Bellenesse, then?"  The King looked resigned to an unpleasant inevitability.  "Not war, father. A purge. Let me lead one more campaign for you. Bellenesse and all his family will hang in pieces from our gates. Their House will be extinguished, as it should have been at the conclusion of the great civil war, centuries ago. The Roulean heresy will be crushed." The King nodded. "As you would have it, my son. Do what you must. Avenge your brother and... purge the heresy."