Chasing the Prophecy
Page 105
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“Right. Come on.”
Ferrin started to pull away, but Tark held him. “After we find the mine, somebody will have to start the explosion.”
“Yes,” Ferrin said. “It will not be the sort of task a man could possibly survive.”
Tark nodded, tears of relief shimmering in his eyes. “Since we set out from Mianamon, I’ve wondered why I was included. I don’t mean to sound pompous or selfish, but I can’t help suspecting . . . I think this might be my destiny.”
CHAPTER 30
JUSTICE
The castle was finally silent. Nedwin had waited long into the night, prowling the hidden passageways, listening to feet walking, armor jangling, clothes rustling, fire crackling, doors closing, locks clicking, liquid pouring, utensils clinking, lips smacking, and furniture creaking. He had caught fragments of hushed conversation and heard muffled giggles. He had listened to a woman humming an infant to sleep. But eventually the fires had burned low and stopped snapping, the quietest discussions had ceased, and people had quit haunting the corridors.
There would be guards posted at certain doors, and many sentries out walking the walls, but the halls of the castle were as deserted as they would ever get. Soft snores and skittering mice were the loudest exceptions to the silence. In another hour the kitchens would revive as bakers got an early start on fresh bread, but until then the castle belonged to whoever could furtively claim it.
The target he had chosen for tonight was not a matter of vengeance. After weighing his options for days, Nedwin had concluded that his decision to pay Copernum a visit was not driven by personal prejudice. It was an important step toward reclaiming Trensicourt. It was a matter of justice.
Galloran had treated Copernum with leniency. And how had Copernum repaid the undeserved mercy? With treason. He had stolen the kingdom while his king was away. He had murdered good men in the night. He had openly claimed Trensicourt for the emperor.
Copernum had not even tried to conceal his crime. By announcing it publicly, in essence he had confessed to high treason. The punishment for treason was execution.
Despite his many unsavory characteristics, Copernum was an excellent strategist. While he survived, Trensicourt would be much more difficult to reclaim. The usurpers already lacked their giants. Without Copernum’s leadership, the false government would be significantly more vulnerable.
It would not be easy to reach him. Copernum had abandoned his former rooms and claimed the royal residence as his own. Nedwin knew of no secret ways into the royal tower. If Galloran were familiar with any, he had kept the knowledge to himself. In the interest of making the tower secure, it was possible that no such passages existed.
But long ago Nedwin had noticed a single vulnerability. A certain balcony was theoretically accessible from a particular window across the way. Nedwin had never been able to avoid noticing such things. Taking advantage of the vulnerability would require skill, and a little luck. Nedwin felt sure he could do it.
There was another option, much less subtle. Nedwin knew where to find the stash of twelve orantium globes. With liberal use of the spheres he could probably blast his way through doors and guards quickly enough to reach Copernum. But Nedwin knew that if he entered with orantium, he would never escape. The commotion would rouse too many guards.
Nedwin wanted to survive. There would be many other targets besides the giants and Copernum. The deceitful chancellor had started a dishonorable war, a sneaky war, the kind of war without banners or trumpets, a quiet war waged in the darkest hours of the night, and Nedwin was uniquely suited to this form of combat.
Galloran would not want him to throw his life away. How could Nedwin keep serving the king and his causes if he let the guards cut him down? The other men still loyal to Galloran needed his leadership and expertise. He would enter quietly, claim Copernum, and escape to fight another day.
The castle remained still. The hour to act had come.
Nedwin passed into an empty room through a hidden panel. He wore moccasins and quiet black clothes. Stealth was his armor. He wore a short sword nearly broad enough to pass as a cleaver. The heavy blade would serve well for tonight’s errand.
Listening carefully, Nedwin hurried down a hall and then climbed a winding stair. He reached the desired door, a monstrosity of wood and iron. With slender tools he coaxed the lock. The resultant click boomed like a gong to his ears. He held still, senses straining. The sleeper within breathed evenly.
After putting the tools away, Nedwin produced a handkerchief. Among the vials around his neck he found the desired solution, and he dampened the cloth. He eased the door open and strode to the bed. A stocky man in his fifties lay on his side. He had bushy eyebrows and black hair poking from his ear.
Nedwin firmly placed the handkerchief over the sleeper’s nose and mouth. The man gasped, shuddered, and fell still, his breathing slower than before. His eyelids had squeezed but never opened. He would not wake until late in the afternoon.
After pocketing the handkerchief, Nedwin shut and locked the door. Pulling a rope and grapnel from his pack, he crossed to the window. Using tools belonging to Nicholas, Nedwin had fashioned the grapnel himself for this very purpose, sizing it to grasp the desired balustrade. His life would depend on it.
Setting the grapnel aside for a moment, Nedwin checked his three crossbows—two small, one large—all excellent weapons designed and crafted by Nicholas and his niece. He knew from experience that the small bows would fling their quarrels with astonishing velocity for their size. The larger bow could be fired twice, as it held a pair of quarrels. All three bows were loaded and ready. He strapped them into handy positions on his body. If a shot was not fatal, the substance on the tips of the quarrels would leave a man unconscious in seconds.
Opening the window, Nedwin gazed at the balcony of the royal tower, above him and separated by a wide gap of empty space. Too high to reach from the ground, the balcony was only available from this solitary window. Leaning out, Nedwin could see the kennels.
He took a deep, steadying breath. He would have to be quick. He had no room for error. There was no guard on the balcony, but at least two awaited inside. The balcony was three floors below Copernum. If he failed to dispatch the guards silently, the endeavor would fail. If the guards reached the balcony before him, he was a dead man.
This maneuver was risky. It was by far the greatest risk he would take tonight, the price he had to pay for access to a very cautious man. Hefting a crossbow, Nedwin aimed at the kennels and fired. Out and down the quarrel flew, finally thumping against wood.
Ferrin started to pull away, but Tark held him. “After we find the mine, somebody will have to start the explosion.”
“Yes,” Ferrin said. “It will not be the sort of task a man could possibly survive.”
Tark nodded, tears of relief shimmering in his eyes. “Since we set out from Mianamon, I’ve wondered why I was included. I don’t mean to sound pompous or selfish, but I can’t help suspecting . . . I think this might be my destiny.”
CHAPTER 30
JUSTICE
The castle was finally silent. Nedwin had waited long into the night, prowling the hidden passageways, listening to feet walking, armor jangling, clothes rustling, fire crackling, doors closing, locks clicking, liquid pouring, utensils clinking, lips smacking, and furniture creaking. He had caught fragments of hushed conversation and heard muffled giggles. He had listened to a woman humming an infant to sleep. But eventually the fires had burned low and stopped snapping, the quietest discussions had ceased, and people had quit haunting the corridors.
There would be guards posted at certain doors, and many sentries out walking the walls, but the halls of the castle were as deserted as they would ever get. Soft snores and skittering mice were the loudest exceptions to the silence. In another hour the kitchens would revive as bakers got an early start on fresh bread, but until then the castle belonged to whoever could furtively claim it.
The target he had chosen for tonight was not a matter of vengeance. After weighing his options for days, Nedwin had concluded that his decision to pay Copernum a visit was not driven by personal prejudice. It was an important step toward reclaiming Trensicourt. It was a matter of justice.
Galloran had treated Copernum with leniency. And how had Copernum repaid the undeserved mercy? With treason. He had stolen the kingdom while his king was away. He had murdered good men in the night. He had openly claimed Trensicourt for the emperor.
Copernum had not even tried to conceal his crime. By announcing it publicly, in essence he had confessed to high treason. The punishment for treason was execution.
Despite his many unsavory characteristics, Copernum was an excellent strategist. While he survived, Trensicourt would be much more difficult to reclaim. The usurpers already lacked their giants. Without Copernum’s leadership, the false government would be significantly more vulnerable.
It would not be easy to reach him. Copernum had abandoned his former rooms and claimed the royal residence as his own. Nedwin knew of no secret ways into the royal tower. If Galloran were familiar with any, he had kept the knowledge to himself. In the interest of making the tower secure, it was possible that no such passages existed.
But long ago Nedwin had noticed a single vulnerability. A certain balcony was theoretically accessible from a particular window across the way. Nedwin had never been able to avoid noticing such things. Taking advantage of the vulnerability would require skill, and a little luck. Nedwin felt sure he could do it.
There was another option, much less subtle. Nedwin knew where to find the stash of twelve orantium globes. With liberal use of the spheres he could probably blast his way through doors and guards quickly enough to reach Copernum. But Nedwin knew that if he entered with orantium, he would never escape. The commotion would rouse too many guards.
Nedwin wanted to survive. There would be many other targets besides the giants and Copernum. The deceitful chancellor had started a dishonorable war, a sneaky war, the kind of war without banners or trumpets, a quiet war waged in the darkest hours of the night, and Nedwin was uniquely suited to this form of combat.
Galloran would not want him to throw his life away. How could Nedwin keep serving the king and his causes if he let the guards cut him down? The other men still loyal to Galloran needed his leadership and expertise. He would enter quietly, claim Copernum, and escape to fight another day.
The castle remained still. The hour to act had come.
Nedwin passed into an empty room through a hidden panel. He wore moccasins and quiet black clothes. Stealth was his armor. He wore a short sword nearly broad enough to pass as a cleaver. The heavy blade would serve well for tonight’s errand.
Listening carefully, Nedwin hurried down a hall and then climbed a winding stair. He reached the desired door, a monstrosity of wood and iron. With slender tools he coaxed the lock. The resultant click boomed like a gong to his ears. He held still, senses straining. The sleeper within breathed evenly.
After putting the tools away, Nedwin produced a handkerchief. Among the vials around his neck he found the desired solution, and he dampened the cloth. He eased the door open and strode to the bed. A stocky man in his fifties lay on his side. He had bushy eyebrows and black hair poking from his ear.
Nedwin firmly placed the handkerchief over the sleeper’s nose and mouth. The man gasped, shuddered, and fell still, his breathing slower than before. His eyelids had squeezed but never opened. He would not wake until late in the afternoon.
After pocketing the handkerchief, Nedwin shut and locked the door. Pulling a rope and grapnel from his pack, he crossed to the window. Using tools belonging to Nicholas, Nedwin had fashioned the grapnel himself for this very purpose, sizing it to grasp the desired balustrade. His life would depend on it.
Setting the grapnel aside for a moment, Nedwin checked his three crossbows—two small, one large—all excellent weapons designed and crafted by Nicholas and his niece. He knew from experience that the small bows would fling their quarrels with astonishing velocity for their size. The larger bow could be fired twice, as it held a pair of quarrels. All three bows were loaded and ready. He strapped them into handy positions on his body. If a shot was not fatal, the substance on the tips of the quarrels would leave a man unconscious in seconds.
Opening the window, Nedwin gazed at the balcony of the royal tower, above him and separated by a wide gap of empty space. Too high to reach from the ground, the balcony was only available from this solitary window. Leaning out, Nedwin could see the kennels.
He took a deep, steadying breath. He would have to be quick. He had no room for error. There was no guard on the balcony, but at least two awaited inside. The balcony was three floors below Copernum. If he failed to dispatch the guards silently, the endeavor would fail. If the guards reached the balcony before him, he was a dead man.
This maneuver was risky. It was by far the greatest risk he would take tonight, the price he had to pay for access to a very cautious man. Hefting a crossbow, Nedwin aimed at the kennels and fired. Out and down the quarrel flew, finally thumping against wood.
