Lord of the Rose (49 page)

“Help!”

Immediately, Sir Marckus, who was rarely far from his master’s side, burst into the ducal apartments. “What is it, my lord?” demanded the knight captain, his eyes widening as he saw the blood on Crawford’s garments. “Are you hurt?”

“Not me!” cried the duke, “but the Assassin was here—Lady Martha has been slain!”

Marckus went into the sleeping chamber, his sword in his hand. His eyes widened in horror at the sight of the duchess, her throat slit, lying in bed and staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Her face was locked in a death-mask of shock.

The captain turned around, once again regarding the blood-spattered duke. “Tell me, what happened, lord?” he asked soberly. “When was she killed?”

“Moments ago, I should think,” the duke said. “I was strolling on the balcony, taking the morning sun. I went over to the main keep, and that’s when the wretched villain must have acted. I returned to see someone in a black cloak running along the parapet, in the other direction. He had a sword in his hand—a sword that was burning with blue flames! It can only have been the Assassin!”

“What is it?” Captain Reynaud, buckling on his sword, came charging in. “What happened?”

The duke repeated his story, his voice growing more steady as he recited the same horrifying tale.

“Oh, Marckus—Reynaud! It’s too horrible!”

“Indeed, lord, quite tragic and shocking. Won’t you have a seat?” The senior captain ushered his lord to one of the padded chairs in the royal anteroom. Other guards, drawn by the commotion, came in now, and Marckus sent one of them to get some wine for the duke. Reynaud organized a search, dispatching knights in teams of two to comb the castle, the nearby passages, the courtyards, and even niches in the moats below.

Others were sent to search the surrounding streets, the buildings and temples nearby, all told to seek a man with a large sword wearing a black cloak. Marckus pressed the duke for more details, but Crawford admitted he hadn’t even seen enough to be certain even that the killer was male, not female. Only one thing was he sure of: The sword had burned with an enchanted blue flame.

Servants helped the duke change from his bloody garments. Others carefully wrapped the body of the duchess, and hauled the corpse away with as much dignity as they could muster.

In the midst of al this activity Marckus stood at the doorway to the balcony. His eyes roamed along the clean flagstones, seeking some trace of blood, but there was nothing, no signs or clues. Nor did there seem to be any singeing or charring, not even on the bedding where Lady Martha had been struck by the burning blade.

Instead, the captain found his eyes drawn back to his master. The duke, taking a sip of wine, seemed calmer now.

Indeed, he almost looked pleased about something.

T
helgaard—the duke himself and his army was hard pressed. That much was obvious to Jaymes immediately as he released the ring of teleportation for the last time. He had brought himself to one of the high ramparts of the castle that rose in the heart of that once-thriving city. He found himself alone upon the dark wall and could spot no guards on any of the adjacent ramparts. There were no weapons stockpiles, nor watchfires set—in short, nothing indicated this ancient fortress was ready for war.

Yet war was coming to Thelgaard.

It was night, and the swordsman could see thousands of campfires spread nearby across the plains. Ankhar’s army had come and laid siege to the duke’s city. When Jaymes considered the size of the enemy force he had seen at Mason’s Ford, he realized the horde had grown considerably, tripling in size since that battle four months earlier. Now the army’s fires were like a thousand constellations across the plains, tiny starlike specks flickering in the blackness of the night.

In contrast, the city seemed bleak and deserted. The city gates along the King’s Road leading out of the city were shut, but at first glance Jaymes couldn’t spot any guards. As he looked more carefully, he saw a half dozen men slouched in the shadows
on the parapets, hardly enough to demonstrate a defense, let alone stop a determined attack. They looked more like stealthy bandits or starving beggars than bold knights in the service of an ancient order.

Across the sprawl of the city a few chimneys emitted puffs of smoke, but the narrow and winding streets of Thelgaard were quiet. A few people scuttled quickly from one place to the next, but there was no raucous activity, no inns doing bustling business, no merchants or craftsmen laboring late into the night.

No streetlights burned, either. Jaymes wondered, at first, if this was because the oil was being conserved for battle, but even on the ramparts, the platforms where catapults and ballistae should have been positioned were bare. Nor did he see any cauldrons filled with oil and left to heat in preparation for a battle.

A door opened a few dozen paces away from him, and Jaymes shrank into the shadows of the crenellated battlement as a pair of watchmen emerged from a darkened tower. Both were speaking in hushed whispers, staring at the enemy camp. Jaymes remained silent as the two men peered at the enemy horde, whispering.

They were walking in his direction along the battlement, and soon he could make out a few of their words.

“Died in her sleep, they say … old woman … surprised she hung on this long.”

“Duke is heartbroken … hasn’t been the same since the Crossings Battle … do you think he’ll fight stoutly?”

“Who knows?”

The guards paused a half dozen steps away from Jaymes, one lighting a pipe while the other took a drink from a small flask. Their attention remained on the vast army spread out on the plains.

Sticking to the shadows, he slipped away from the guards, and quickly came to a stairway that led down into the interior courtyards. He had the sword of Lorimar strapped to his belt now and guessed that if he walked about normally he might be mistaken for someone who belonged here. This theory was
put to the test immediately as at the base of the steps he came upon several scullery maids carrying buckets of water to the kitchen.

“Beg your pardon, Sir Knight,” said one of them as the maids quickly bowed and stepped out of his way. He nodded as he passed, suppressing a amused smile—he wore no uniform armor, no knightly insignia, and yet they still assumed he was one of the fighters in their duke’s employ. Perhaps they were grateful for every able-bodied man in the city and weren’t about to quibble.

He made his way past a sprawling barracks that seemed abandoned. The doors stood open, revealing an empty common room. Jaymes remembered places like this—always centers of gambling and music and merriment when a company of soldiers was in residence. Now, the barracks looked forlorn.

Strange, thought Jaymes, it is almost as if the duke has surrendered without a hope.

Nearby was a stable, the doors standing open, not a horse to be seen. He remembered the stories of Thelgaard’s defeat on the bank of the Vingaard north of here and wondered if it was true that most of the duke’s men had been lost. Certainly that could explain the lack of catapults and other war machines. If the duke’s army had been routed, they would have had to leave all of their heavy equipment behind. Horses, too, would have been trapped against the river, most likely captured or drowned.

Making his way to the castle chapel, he shrugged away the inconsistencies. Aside from the fact there seemed to be few guards about, and therefore fewer obstacles to his mission on this night, it didn’t matter to him whether the knights were busy drinking in the city’s beer halls, had fled the impending battle, or had indeed been badly decimated in their initial conflict with the horde of Ankhar.

Jaymes found the chapel and entered the sanctuary through the massive wooden doors, which were unlocked. This temple, like so many in Solamnia, was dedicated to Shinare, mistress of the Scales. Several priests were busy counting coins, stacking
them on the large golden scale that was the symbol of their mistress. One glanced at Jaymes as he walked in but offered neither greeting nor objection as he passed through another door and found himself in a hallway connecting the temple to the great hall of the keep.

Only then, when he reached a pair of tall, arched doors that led into a cavernous chamber, did he finally encounter a sentry who appeared to take his duties seriously. The man held a spear across his chest and blocked the door as Jaymes approached.

“His Excellency the duke is in council with Captain Dayr and his officers,” declared the guard. “You cannot enter.”

“His Excellency will want to hear from me—I bring word of developments in the enemy camp,” Jaymes reported, standing at ease.

The sentry, a young knight—his mustache, which valiantly tried to emulate the long handlebar shape of a veteran’s, was a wispy thing of straggling hairs—scowled as he digested Jayme’s words. He clearly had his orders, but after all how could this lone man inside the very walls of Thelgaard Keep possibly be a threat?

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” the warrior encouraged.

Nodding, as if that had been his intention all along, the young knight turned, knocked once at the great door, and pulled it open. “I apologize for the interruption, my lord. There is a knight here who claims to have brought information on developments within the enemy camp.”

“Send him in!” ordered Thelgaard, the words booming from his massive barrel chest. Jaymes strode past the guard and advanced across the great hall. Despite the warmth of the night, a great fire blazed on the hearth, as if the duke needed some tangible evidence of life and vitality within his tomblike fortress. Thelgaard was huddled with four other men, all Knights of the Crown, examining a map that had been spread out on the table nearest the fire. The duke was the largest man in the room, looming over his soldiers. Indeed, thought Jaymes, the man was bulky to the point of fat.

“What is your name, Sir Knight?” asked the duke, frowning as he studied the advancing warrior. “I do not recognize you.”

“Perhaps my sword will serve as a reminder,” Jaymes said casually, drawing his weapon with a smooth gesture. “You must have seen it before, in Lord Lorimar’s house!” he declared, as blue flames burst from the gleaming steel blade.

“By Joli—it is the Assassin!” gasped the duke, taking several steps backward. “Stop him! Kill him!” he cried.

Jaymes heard a rush of sound from behind. He whirled and slashed, cutting in two the spear held by the young guard who was charging to his master’s aid. With a lunge and a stab, the warrior drove the man back through the door, knocking him onto his back in the hallway. Quickly Jaymes stepped back inside and pushed that massive portal shut. With one hand he dropped the heavy latch into place. He heard the guard calling for help, pounding on the stout barrier, but there was no immediate threat from that quarter.

By then the four captains with the duke had drawn their own swords. Protecting their lord, who shrank behind them, they fanned out and approached Jaymes with varying degrees of aggressiveness. One, a dashing knight with red hair and tiny, glittering eyes, was careless enough to rush ahead of his fellows. It was the last mistake he ever made—the Sword of Lorimar eviscerated him with one swipe. His scream died and he flopped face forward in the puddle of his own gore.

The other three knights, all seasoned combatants, advanced in unison, forcing Jaymes back to the door. He parried a blow from the left, a stab from the right, a slash from the middle. Smoke swirled around him as the legendary sword slashed through the air. The scent of ozone lingered in the air, bittersweet in his nostrils, and the blue flames trembled as though eager for blood.

“Dayr—kill him!” cried the duke.

The officer in the middle, who was trying to do just that, snapped through clenched teeth, “Yes, my lord!” Dayr was thickly bearded, short but nimble. He charged Jaymes, who parried his
thrusts with several savage blows of Giantsmiter. Dayr’s two comrades hesitated. With several blocks and a counterattack, the warrior seized the initiative, driving all three Crown knights back.