Lathendar 4 -Step into my Parlour

Melwick took one deep breath, and then another. He felt he needed the air, and the space, but it didn't help at all. When the young king opened his eyes again, nothing had changed. Dashim Guernos still smiled at him expectantly, patronizingly. The man's disdain was a corrosion, constantly eroding away what little self-esteem he had left. His younger brother's words rang through his mind once more: just have a drink, Mel, they'll stop harassing you if you can't give them what they want. Cuthbert was always ready with a new scheme for slipping the yoke of responsibility. He remembered once, right before he turned twenty, they'd been up all night, and...

"Your Majesty?"

Melwick made a show of picking some lint off the arm of his chair before looking back to the ambassador. "We have seen the revised plans for the reconstruction already. We have approved what we have seen, as you well know, save for the tower. We do not believe that such a monument has a place in our city. If you wish to build your trophy in Our lands, it is true that We cannot stop you, but we will not give our sanction." There, he had said it. He hoped his voice had been strong, that the tremor of fear had been audible only to himself, but he did not believe. The Dashim continued to smile, and Melwick could not meet his eyes.

"Your words are well rehearsed, your highness. As brave as they sound, I believe it is my duty to advise you how poor an idea it is to encourage us to start acting without your approval. Your people may not be pleased to hear you give us free reign. But I do have an alternative suggestion, if I may?" The king nodded nervously, desperately wishing he had not agreed to this meeting, or had refused the coronation, or forced a delay until his youngest sibling had recovered, or, or, or... Guernos continued. "With the recent death of your father, a truly tragic event, perhaps you might consider having the tower named as a tribute to him, or perhaps some sort of tomb built instead"

"That is not our way! I could never disrespect my father like that, you have damaged this family enough! And the people would never support it!"

"Sit down, and calm yourself, majesty." Guernos held out his arms in submission, seemingly surprised at Melwick's outburst. "It was only a suggestion. I have not had the opportunity to acquaint myself with all of your customs, as there has been so much to do."

Melwick did as he was told, gathering his robe about him and readjusting his wig before lowering himself into the throne. Rather 'I can't be bother to learn anything about you, you gnats, I'm too busy plotting how to break you,' he imagined. It was just like Lathendar had pointed out: the invaders had nothing to gain at this play of diplomacy. They had already cut the city off from the rest of the world. Toren's natural resources weren't fantastic, and they had the power to do whatever they wanted. It was like an exercise. Melwick knew he was nothing but an inconvenient rubber stamp ruler, but he couldn't fathom why they bothered. He also didn't understand why his brother was so opposed to the stupid tower anyway. What did it matter? The Torenese already knew they were a conquered people. And the man was right, too. If he didn't approve this tower and they built it anyway, might it not just become a slippery slope? What would they do next? Their priestess was already pressuring him concerning importing their national religion for official ceremonies; wouldn't it just be better to comply on this issue and to retain power over the more important ones? They were importing most of their own materials, and manpower wouldn't be an issue, what with all the other construction.

"The people would not stand for any member of the royal house being taken out of the castle ossuary. But since you seem so eager to have your tower, We shall concede the point, this time. But you must accept that whoever We chose to appoint as overseer to direct the project in association with your own people."

The Dashim smiled. "How very gracious of you, your majesty. I will accept your condition."

"Very well. I shall notify Prince Lathendar of his appointment upon his return." He didn't have the pleasure of seeing his antagonist flinch, or his eyes so much narrow, but the atmosphere in the room changed slightly. It was well known how poorly the Imperial Legions had been received by the youngest royal brother, and how much of a dislike for him their leaders had cultivated in return.

"I only hope his highness is not too busy to devote his time to the project, your majesty. I understand the role he has taken on the reconstruction council is very demanding. I do hope he returns soon, his safety is a matter of great concern to us all."

"We have confidence in him." Melwick nodded, and waved his dismissal. Guernos bowed shortly, never dropping his smile.

"Of course, your majesty."

As soon as he had gone, Melwick sent his guards from the room, rang for Cuthbert, and poured himself a tall glass of fortified wine. He desperately hoped that Lathendar would not be away for too much longer.

Back in his own rooms, Guernos looked down at the city, or what was left of it. The rebuilding was going slowly, but that didn't matter. It was an excuse, really, to have the gate built and not questioned. Now that the king had finally caved in and agreed to the building of the monument which was to house it, everything was falling into place. The political games he was being forced to play irked him immensely. It would have been simpler to wipe out the snivelling, vainglorious nobles, and the peasantry as well if needed, make their headquarters in what was left and build the gate without any setbacks. But it was not his choice, and he wasn't going to be the one to questioning the Enlightened. He didn't even speak to Meyellis about how he felt, as he knew the Priestess would find a way to use it against him. To the best of his knowledge, she was also planning on using this assignment for personal advancement, and discrediting him would work well towards that goal.

At least they had agreed that it was worth their while to get Lathendar out of the city. Even if he were to learn anything of importance... well the influence that they would gain over the King in his absence would far outweigh that risk. And what could he do? Run away? He had no ship, as not even the pirates ventured close to the coast anymore. Wyvernloch was in the midst of some civil revolution, and the wasteland was so vast that he would never be able to find his way to the pitiful civilizations that thrived on the outer edges. And Guernos was positive that the prince was as aware of this as he.

The business that he had been sent away on had been as unexpected as it was convenient. The building materials for both the tower and the town were suppose to all come from a certain set of quarries on Madden Ur, as part of some make work project that he hadn't interested himself in the bureaucracy of. It turned out that it wasn't going to stand up well enough to the costal environment, but that there were local sources that had proven durable and particularly resistant to the ravages of wind, weather, and salt. The peoples who mined the quarries were fringe clans who ostensibly made their homes on the outskirts of Toren, but who in reality spent more time each year in the hill mines. The city also had contracts with these clans to provide silver and iron which would also have to be re-negotiated, and since Lathendar was the only member of the reconstruction committee who had dealt with them before, at least officially, he had been the obvious delegate to send.

When he had heard of these mines, he had ordered that a small contingent of troops be sent out to 'supervise their operation'. One member of the reconstruction planning committee was sent in order to renegotiate the contracts and to explain the situation to the clan leaders. Lathendar was selected for this because he had the experience, and also because his influence over his brother was making life for Guernos very inconvenient, and an outright assassination would only cause more problems, and more delays. This would give him time to establish his own sway over the young king, and allow him to accomplish a few other things besides. He had sent out two Bolts initially, and allowed a small personal guard for the Prince. As the unit was to be staying behind, he had also sent out a small pack of wraithlings to observe from a distance and make certain that the Torenian party made straight for home without any detours, and maybe try to pick a few of them off. Meyellis didn't want to hear of any attempts on the prince's life, for reasons she hadn't revealed, but he saw it as an opportunity to test out the rumours of Lanthendar's invulnerability.

Guernos smiled and allowed himself to relax, for now. Everything was already falling into place as it should, and he still had plenty of time before the delegation was expected to return. If there were even anyone left who had the potential to realize what was happening, by then the events would be inevitable.

They'd had trouble finding the clans. Lathendar was in charge of the diplomacy, but the travel had been left in the hands of someone who knew the area better. Or who had claimed to. The guide, a man by the name of Bryan Turnbull had a sister who had married into the McLyan clan, and had been out to visit her several times before the invasion. There was no one at the site now, and once they'd arrived he remembered what she had said about the mines being almost dry. There was so little evidence of a camp having been in the area at all that it must have been over a year since they had been there. Lathendar was not amused, nor was the contingent of troops that had been sent to occupy the camp.

If the mines had dried up, Turnbull explained, they would have returned to Toren, but they hadn't. This concerned the troops even more. Lathendar felt slightly relieved, but he tried not to show it. He could deduce what might have happened. There was a window of opportunity for them to have come and left unnoticed; the same window that had inadvertently been taken by the Sinister Family's envoy, Nilm Hesher. They could be anywhere...

But.

Surely if they had gone elsewhere and taken the news with them someone would have at least made an attempt to make contact and find out what had happened? Had they done so, and their letter been returned? He had heard of no ships approaching the coast save those of Nova Libertalia, and he made sure to keep informed of even the slightest rumour of sightings. If the clans had moved to Wyvernloch they might not have been welcomed warmly, as the last rumor he had heard from the Southern city was of a brewing civil war.

The commander of the Imperial troops, or imps in Lathendar's mind, was a man called Vient. His rank was Sargent or some equivalent, and he did not show the sort of initiative that would commend him for further promotion. He was not prepared for the scene he had encountered, and to gather time to think had ordered the expedition to make camp at the spot regardless. That had been mid-afternoon, and dusk was falling rapidly now. The fire which Lathendar's tent faced was a ways off from that of the troops, as had been the custom for the entire journey. He shared it with the few other Torenese who accompanied him: Lord Garon Avande and his son Trevor who also sat on the reconstruction committee, their three servants, his own aide Bennet, a quartet of Torenian guardsmen, and of course Bryan Turnbull. The servants and guards kept mostly to themselves, including only Turnbull in their clique. The Avandes he found pretentious and ingratiating, especially Trevor who was a close associate of Cuthbert and therefore an automatic subject of his disdain. Bennet was terrified of him, though the prince actually found his service laudable. He needed only be a better conversationalist.

Bennet stayed in the prince's tent, though he seemed to wish he were with his own people. He was currently helping clean up from the evening meal or something similar, which left Lathendar on his own, pacing the inside of the musky canvas shelter and thinking. He wanted to know what the imps were up to. Just a short while ago he had heard some sort of signaling happening in the other side of the camp, and was sure that at least one grunt had been sent off into the woods. Curiosity mingled with apprehension scratched at his mind, but reason kept them in check. It would be nice to know, yes, but if he were meant to know he would have been informed. If he were not meant to know, well, he was sure that Vient had been told that if he were to be the victim of accident or prey to some forest hunter that the Sargent would not be faulted. Luck or fate or something else had spared him twice now, but it did not seem wise to put faith in a power he didn't understand. Still...

Lathendar buckled his sword belt around his waist and stepped outside, overcome by a sudden desire to catch some fresh air. At least, that would make a good excuse. Strangely enough, this felt to be the most proactive thing he had done since the invasion had occurred. The current palace intrigue was interesting, but he knew that at his best he could only inconvenience the intruders. There would come a point where he would be silenced or the sham of diplomacy would be dropped, or both.

The night air was fresh and cool. Toren itself was usually quite balmy, but they had ventured some distance up the mountains and the effects of the altitude were noticeable. Lathendar exhaled a cloud of white precipitation, releasing the breath he'd been holding. This brought back memories of his youth, sneaking through newly discovered passageways and naively believing himself to be the only one who knew their secrets. Age and experience had stripped that innocence from him, replacing it with cunning and a certain measure of caution. He drew on his reserves of both as he slipped into the cover of the forest proper, in the direction from which he had heard the signals. It was a rash, risky and dangerous move on his part, and the rush of adrenalin that caused his heart to beat stronger in his chest was exhilarating. This was different from the rush of anger, or the barely controlled energy of combat practice. It was flavoured by apprehension, by the knowledge of very real consequences should he be caught. He'd experienced something similar before, trading words Dashim Guernos or Meyellis, when they drew their considerable power to them, but it had never been so intense as it was in the fast fading forest light. He felt possessed by an alien sense of urgency.

Lathendar knew he was not skilled in the art of stealth, and so he paid special attention to where he stepped. He was good at walking softly through the palace, but that was more an effect of familiarity rather than any true ability. Listening over the beating of his heart, he heard at first only the scuttling of forest animals anxious to avoid any confrontation which may end up with them becoming food. Beyond this he thought he could hear something else, a quiet muttering. He strained to hear where it was coming from, or if he could make out any words. A minute more of listening and he moved forward once again, grateful that the forest they travelled through was not too thickly overgrown and that the dark colours of his clothes helped him blend in with the shadows of the night. Soon enough he could make out words of a conversation, and once they were clear enough to discern, he approached no closer. He didn't want to push his luck any further than he had stretched it already, so he wrapped his cloak about him for extra warmth and shielding and leaned back against a tree to listen.

"...an adequate plan," the first voice was hushed, low and hissing and not quite human., "but far from ingenious, as expected. I will send you Leissemex, Lzisrishes, Kshentiv, Vroshkev. It should take a day, two perhaps."

A lull in the conversation followed, and Lathendar could hear some movement. Thinking he had missed the meat of the exchange, he hissed to himself at the foolishness of the risk he had taken.

"What is it?" A second voice, one which sounded much more normal and which the prince could almost place a face to, perhaps on of Vient's Corporals. The voice sounded cowed.

"Nothing, " replied the first. "Tell Vient to proceed. Xysivixis and I will fulfill our original assignment alone. The native escort will not be aware of us, and will not be able to protect their charges if they do try to escape, or we see an opportunity. They are weak, more so outside of their own city grounds."

"That'll please the Sargent. The others will be leaving tonight?"

"Yes. Lzisrishes will be in charge of the specifics. Send Caular to them tonight as well, Vient should be able to spare her. She has spells that will tell us if this exercise is even worth the time."

"Good. I'll report back now, and the next you'll hear will probably be from Caular."

After another pause and more ruffling, one dark shape slipped from behind a copse of trees barely 10 mentics away. It headed back towards the fires of the Imperial camps, but did not pass near enough to where the prince hid to cause him concern. He wondered wether he should slip away then or wait until the second speaker made its appearance and try to see where it had come from. It seemed fairly clear that the human troops were not the only ones the Dashim had sent on the excursion, and that they had continued the policy of hiding the nature of their other allies from his own people. He decided to wait.

It seemed ages before he heard anything, and then he could not be sure it came from the copse and wasn't just an animal filling in the silence. Thinking he must have missed it somehow, or that perhaps its form was intangible or that the communication hadn't actually been face to face, he stepped forward. It wasn't long before he felt he was being watched. He could taste the presence of something on the air, feel the warning pumping in his veins. If he listened closely, he thought he might have heard a single word, hissed into the rising wind.

"Soon, " it promised.

The imps stayed behind, waiting for something; the Torenian party were given supplies, mounts, and sent home. That had been three days back. Lathendar had shared what he had learned with the Avandes and with the leader of the guards, Lance-Sargent Harnet. He assumed that it would be disseminated to the others one way or another. They had been on alert the whole way, expecting something to happen. So far, nothing had. With nothing so much as a strange noise after dark to go on, tensions were starting to dissipate. Tonight, only one guard was posted as watch, and everyone else slept soundly. Almost.

Lathendar lay awake, contemplating. Earlier that day, Garon Avande had approached him and given voice to an idea that had already run through his mind once or twice. The only escort they had to return them to their city was a phantom one. Should it be real, its numbers were already diminished. They could slip away, or some of them could at least try. They might be able to make it to the coast, and flag down a ship. If one of them were to make it to Wyvernloch, civil war or not, someone would be willing to help them out. He had often fantasized about escape, even before the invasion, but as always he wondered if he couldn't do more where he was. In the end, he usually decided that yes, he could, and so he'd stayed. Even now, he realised that while having a voice on the outside would be very useful, it couldn't be him. Toren would crumble from the inside if he left, and there would be nothing left to speak for.

This afternoon, the senior Avande had agreed with him, though his son had had other things to say. In the end, they had agreed that in the morning, the Avandes would take their servants and two of the guards and make a break for the coast. Trevor claimed to know ways of contacting the Nova Libertalian ships, and that it would be only a matter of days before they were picked up. They would take extra precautions to cover their trail, and Harnet would lead the party. Lathendar had been impressed at how much the two nobles were willing to leave behind. The lady Avande still lived, and the family had always possessed considerable power at court. Trevor was also turning his back on a circle of friends that included the king himself for a cause they were not likely to endorse. It seemed a noble act, but the prince could smell cowardice beneath the facade. It was another reason he had chosen to stay.

Many things were running through Lathendar's head tonight: reasons to go, reasons to stay. He couldn't run from his position, and he couldn't run from his ghosts either. There had been little time to dwell on the past since the occupation, and even less since his father's murder. That meant little time to think of Felicity. Part of him was relieved, but another part felt only guilt. He would change that when he got back; no one would think anything of it were he to resume old habits at this point, especially when his father's death was so fresh. He would at least bring down some fresh flowers. He realized he hadn't heard from his assassin lately, either, and wondered if the man had had any more success than his predecessors. Probably not.

It was as his thoughts turned to violence that the prince heard the first sounds of struggle. For a moment he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, his imagination overacting. He heard a scream from the Avandes' tent, and it was quickly cut off.

Groping for his sword, he shook his head at Bennet, who was groggily reaching for the lantern. The youth nodded once, and found his own weapon beside his bedroll. Lathendar had never undressed, but Bennet wore bare feet and britches out into the cold night. The moonlight filtered through the branches of the trees overhead, weakening its already diffuse light and casting everything as shadow. They heard something from the nearest tent, a rustling sound like canvas in the breeze, only there was no wind.

Cautiously, they separated and flanked the tent. A moment later, they were facing each other through twin holes that had been ripped in its sides. Between them, everything was red. The sound they'd heard was Trevor's blood dripping down from the ceiling where what was left of him was suspended by the knees, his throat wrenched wide open. They could only identify his father in parts.

"Sire!"

Lathendar whirled around to face one of the guards. Two others, Krillin and Vishan, trailed behind him, armoured in chain mail tunics and armed with spears. It was Harnet who had addressed him.

"I think the servants ran, sire." He glanced quickly to Bennet, who was picking his way through the blood soaked tent, and amended, "The others. And Turnbull. I'm damned sure they weren't forming a hunting party... They may have a bow with them."

Lathendar nodded, scanning the woods around him while the other two guards moved to his sides. Once again, he could hear the pounding blood in his veins, but his nerves were eerily calm, sensing somehow that fear meant death. His calm gave him more confidence than the circle of steel around him, as they moved towards the brighter light of the fire.

It came from nowhere, and the man beside him died before he even had a chance to raise his spear. Warm blood sprayed across his shirt and neck, pasting his hair to his head. The corpse fell backwards onto the prince, mutilated face pouring blood and brains down the front of the ex-guard's armour. Lathendar sidestepped quickly, and the body slid to the ground. The creature had already moved on, attacking the next man in line, Harnet. The elder guard was better prepared that his underling, and had managed to shove his forearm into the thing's mouth, hoping it would catch its jaws or teeth in the mail and he could get a shot in with his other hand. His plan had worked to an extent, and afforded his three remaining allies a view of their opponent. It was black furred, with glowing red eyes. The only features that seemed important were the claws and teeth.

The disadvantage was, of course, the pain. Blood streamed down Harnet's forearm and into the thing's mouth as it tore away at his mail. The rings had held for the first swipe, but it had wised to this and instead concentrated on the arm it had. Harnet responded by screaming, and pounding the thing's skull with his free hand, his spear lying useless on the ground. The remaining guard --Lathendar thought it might be Vishan --reacted by trying to ram his spear into the thing's side, but it took him two tries to realise that he could barely manage to draw blood though the creature's tough hide. It left the quickly weakening Lance-Sargent to bleed to death and spat a mouthful of blood and fingers at the spearman, who recoiled and brought up his weapon to parry.

Lathendar stepped back as well, turning sideways to its flank. It ignored him for the moment, and batted away Vishan's spear like a child's toy, slamming it back into his chest with the wet cracking sound of breaking bones. A familiar fire burned in the prince's mind, directing his actions. He saw everything clearly, but from a distance. His thoughts came fast, his heart felt numb. This thing had a weakness for him to exploit, and he took his opening as it lunged forward at the guard. He twisted his body just so, and time seemed to slow as he used both his and its momentum to shove his short sword hilt deep into its eye. It kept going for a few steps, and then slumped forward onto Vishan, still drooling human blood thought its animal fangs.

A moment later, Lathendar was hit from behind. There was pain, then numbness and the sensation of falling, and then all the all too familiar blackness of death.

Underneath the screaming, he could hear something else, a low hissing monologue. He feared for a moment that the screams were his own, but then drew a breath and realized that couldn't be. The air taste of fear and death; feces, blood and urine. He felt cold, and wet, on his back and chest and face, so he opened his eyes carefully. Dirt and dead evergreen needles stained with blood were his first sight. He didn't feel hurt, but he thought that whoever --whatever was causing the screaming would want to fix that. Lifting his head gave him a better perspective, and he could see the creature, the one he thought he'd killed, crouching over a prone form. He needed a weapon.

Lathendar pushed himself up slowly, hoping not to attract its attention, and looked for anything that he could use. His sword was still sticking out of the other creature's eye socket, which meant there were two. It had been rolled off Vishan, and the guard's chest had been ripped open. His own shirt was shredded as well... He needed a weapon, he could think later. Half of Vishan's spear lay close, and it was luckily enough the one with the spear head. He reached for it, and turned back to the second creature. It was watching him. Almost casually, it reached back a hind leg, and twisted. The screaming stopped.

"So, " it murmured, "it is true."

Lathendar recognized the voice, or at least the raspy sibilance of its speech. Weapon in hand, he stood to face it. It was a creature designed to kill, and he wondered how he had managed to stop the first. "What's true?" He wondered why he wasn't dead.

It paused for a moment, its cat-like face considering him, before it leapt into the shadows of the tents and was gone. Lathendar waited for the symphony of the night to reassert itself before moving, and when he did, it was to examine the form the creature had been torturing. He couldn't recognize it, but he thought it may have been Bennet.