Twenty-Seven

Rats in the Pantry

Emalus raised a hand and the guards stood where they were, their cold gaze falling on her. The hairs on her neck stood on end with anger.

“What you have attempted to do for your friend is very honourable, however it has helped serve a more, how shall I put this, political use also.” Emalus’s lips parted and a cruel, uncharacteristic smile flashed pearl-white teeth.

“Oh?” Gratia raised a finely arched eyebrow, trying to cover the fact that she couldn’t think of anything to say. It seemed so much like a bad dream – something nightmarishly surreal. 

Everything happened so suddenly. One moment she was eyeing up her enemies through the safety of her chamber window, then she was being held at sword-point by the very man she was attempting to help.

A light chuckle passed from his lips. “Yes, I am afraid I am not so easy to kill as you thought.”

Gratia was trying hard to keep up with the man’s words. “What do you mean?” She gave a puzzled frown.

“Ah, allow me to introduce myself. Demivolsh d’Vandreice.” The man gave a mock bow. “Oh, don’t look so shocked my dear. This is not my true form, you are right. Unfortunately, your friend Emalus appears to have lost his soul.” The smile flashed into existence again. 

Pulling the curtain drape back a little, he nodded his head in the direction of the yard. As Gratia stared back out of the window, she saw that a moderately-sized, two-drawn gilded black coach had pulled up. “You see, I am down there, or at least my true form is. I am afraid I had to cut in rather brutally in the middle of your conversation.”

Gratia was now completely at a loss for words. Although her anger was still red-hot, she was studying the form of her friend with a new, cold curiosity. She wasn’t at all sure what he was talking about, but she knew it was sorcery of some kind, and powerful.

“You see, what your friend neglected to mention was that I am rather good at natural law – magic, if you prefer to call it so. Though he probably didn’t know as I don’t flaunt my powers. I prefer, if you will, to use it as a surprise tactic.” He chuckled. “And I am right in assuming you are suitably surprised?”

Gratia’s eyes narrowed.

“Hmm. At any rate, your death shan’t be in vain. See yourself as a martyr, if you will.”

She looked at the man for a moment and then gave a disgusted snort. “For what cause am I fighting?”

The man looked thoughtful. “Yes, you’re right. A victim of circumstance then,” he sneered. Emalus put his tongue in his cheek and clucked. “Give me that,” he said.

Gratia followed his gaze down to the leather-strung runestone around her neck. From the moment the guards had burst into the room her immediate instinct had been to hold it and return to the palace. To be truthful, she wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t. Perhaps her curiosity, perhaps the shock and uncertainty of what may lie back in her chambers if she recalled. Slowly, she lifted her hand towards it, making as to take it off, her gaze calmly meeting that of the form that stood before her.

“No, wait, on second thoughts maybe that isn’t such a good idea.”

Damn she thought I shouldn’t have played it so calmly. I should have just grabbed it and done it.

She felt the spiny prickle of sweat frost the nape of her neck as her hand stopped halfway to it. The man put his tongue in his cheek again and made another soft, thoughtful cluck. In the blink of an eye he snatched the pendant in one hand, snapping the leather thread.

At exactly the same instant there was an almighty crash of thunder . The earth shook violently, sending Demivolsh and two of his men crashing to the floor. Gratia fell backwards and steadied herself against the windowsill. The horses screamed in the stable and there was a shout from one of the guards in the yard which was lost under the almighty sound of the spell.

As the building’s shivers abated, and Demivolsh scrambled shakily to his feet, a shot of pure, blinding white light blinked into existence for a split second and delivered Cathchart Sharloss into the centre of the room.

There was a deathly silence, amplified by the effect of the past thunder. No one moved, not even Gratia, who clung to the windowsill not daring to right herself. Partly due to the shock and partly due to the confusion of that night’s events, she refused to take anything for granted, including the Mage’s reassuring glance.

After a long moment, Sharloss spoke, his voice calm. “I would have thought a magician of your calibre would have known a spell-bound necklace when he saw one.”

Ever so slowly Gratia straightened up into a standing position and looked at the line of dumbfounded guards. There was something wrong with them. They were too still, they didn’t even look as if they were breathing – frozen. Her gaze darted back to Emalus, his facial expression was contorted into a gritty glare.

“You insult me, sirrah. I am no cheap illusionist.”

“You insult yourself, sirrah, for a true warlock would have spotted that spell.”

“It was well hidden. It matched her natural balance closely.”

Sharloss raised an eyebrow. “I am glad you approve of my craftsmanship, truly. So why did you break the leather if you knew it was charmed?”

Demivolsh snorted. “You would have come anyway. She is your blood relative. You would have known something was wrong.”

“Possibly.” The Mage’s sharp blue eyes stared ahead blankly. “But haven’t you just cursed yourself, Vandreice? I am here to protect her now. I can discredit your claims.”

“Hmm, possibly.”

“What claims?” Gratia spoke out boldly, looking from one man to the other. 

Demivolsh eventually turned his gaze from her to Sharloss. The old Mage shifted his weight from one foot to the other and appeared to be choosing his words.

“I am sorry, daughter.” He eventually said. “I appear to have taken you from one place of danger straight into another.” He gave a soft sigh. “You have come to the Kingdom of Imadilas at a time of great unrest. It is complica–”

“Try,” Gratia’s eyes darkened with irritation. Her whole world had just tipped upside down. She didn’t know what was happening any more and reasoned that any explanation would be better then nothing at this point.

Sharloss looked uncomfortable.

“Yes, do try Sharloss. I should be most interested to hear it as you see it,” smirked the warlock.

Again, the Mage looked thoughtful. “The King has a brother. Twins were born, Quathrobe and Eiracus. Before the King’s son was born, Eiracus attempted to take his brother’s life and steal succession to the throne–”

“Quathrobe was unsuitable, he was the weaker-hearted of the two, he would–”

“I tell only the facts,” Sharloss interrupted. He cleared his throat and continued. “The king imprisoned his brother and sentenced him to be executed for treason, but when the day came and he saw his own blood kin led from the cell, he could not permit the sentence to be carried out and so exiled the prince to a kingdom many miles away, to live out his days excommunicated from his family and home kingdom.”

“More fool’s him,” jeered Demivolsh. “Perhaps if he’d cut off his brother’s head in the first place, none of this would be happening and it would have saved us all a lot of trouble and split loyalties.”

Sharloss gave him a sullen look and the warlock fell silent. “Quathrobe’s son is gravely ill, as you know. I am here to help heal the boy, but there are those who do not want that done. There are those,” the mage’s gaze rested solemnly on the warlock again, “who would rather we replaced the monarch altogether.”

“Ah, I understand.” Gratia nodded slightly. “Sir d’Vandreice is treasonous?”

Demivolsh laughed. “How can it be considered treasonous to be a devotee of the Prince of Imandilas? Has he not as much right to the throne?”

“He is not the eldest brother.”

“They were twins, what does a few seconds matter when the future good of the kingdom is at stake?”

Gratia fell silent, thoughtful. It was not right to do what Demivolsh had set out to do, she knew that and did not wish to hear any more of the man’s excuses.

“They could not kill the Prince,” her grandfather spoke, “for that would be treason in the highest – to kill the future King – and it would not gain the people’s favour. They needed to be able to start a rebellion discreetly, without drawing attention to themselves. That is what you have become my dear, a discreet chance to replace the present King with his brother.”

“I do not follow.”

“Well, warlock d’Vandreice is not renowned for his manners and warm heart. Your friend Emalus discovered this when Demivolsh raped and arranged the murder of his wife. Your agreeing to aid Emalus in assassinating d’Vandreice gave the perfect set-up. You are my granddaughter. If he proved that you were attempting an assassination on the ward-master of an Imandilian legion, you would be treasonous and therefore sentenced to death. But I would then be shown to have brought you here and supported you, therefore I too would be treasonous. Though they would not be able to execute me, they would be able to set magic wards and imprison me or summon me into exile. I would not be able to cure the boy, and without me he would soon die. The King would have no heir and it would not be long before Prince Eiracus’s loyals would swing public favour and dethrone Quathrobe.”

“On Aliano’s mercy, that is a cruel scheme. But surely the King would not take their word over yours?”

“You underestimate the status of the ward-masters. Besides, if Quathrobe chose to ignore them he would be made out to be supporting a conspiracy, adding weight to the campaign to dethrone him.”

Gratia thought for a moment. It was a perfectly laid plan, she could see how impossible it would be to save the King’s throne and she had just initiated his downfall.