Gary Gygax - Dangerous Journeys 1 - Anubis Murders (23 page)

A voice like his conscience spoke in Llewyn's mind. "Do you really wish to slay your father?" The prince stilled the thought. Yes! he shouted back to himself as he neared the seated figure. "Can you slay your own sire? He has been generous, understanding, good to you. . . ." Llewyn-Inhetep paused and bowed to King Glydel, and as he did so his thoughts raced. I am ready to kill him, I am able. He felt the cold hardness of the hidden knife at his side, a sharp-edged blade laden with the most potent of venoms. And I will not falter in this, for he is not fit to rule, he has loved me not, and I hate him!

"Please be seated, Magister Inhetep," his father said in even tones. The king was turned slightly away from his visitor, so that Llewyn clearly saw his profile. Straight nose, heavy eyebrows bushed out to match the long moustache and jutting beard. The king was just completing his reading of some document or another, for even as he spoke Glydel folded the parchment rectangle in half and thrust it into his robe, placing it just over his heart.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," the false Setne Inhetep responded. Llewyn thought that the document would soon be cut through and washed clean by the blood of his father. A victim? To all others, yes. To the prince, only a stupid brute about to be slaughtered as an unwanted dog.

"I have heard of your presence here in my Kingdom, and there are rumors of some dark business involving my son, Atheling Prince Llewyn. You will tell me all that you know," his father said, turning to stare directly into his eyes.

Llewyn fought for control of himself. He felt sweat beading on his forehead, and his limbs were shaken by tremblings. How fortunate he was here now, ready to strike, for the king was onto the game! "I had come to speak of other matters," Llewyn-Inhetep said slowly, fighting still to regain composure. "I . . ."

"You will obey the command of a king, sir," his father said sternly. "This is a command."

"Of course, Royal Majesty," the false Inhetep said, inclining his head so as to shield his eyes from King Glydel's all-too-penetrating stare. Impersonation or not, the eyes could give the game away. The prince thought fast, mind racing. He would begin to relate the whole business, voice low, and as the dark truths came out his father would draw closer in order to clearly hear all of this terrible conspiracy, and so as to be sure none other did likewise, the king would order his foreign informant to speak even more softly. "How much detail do you desire? For there is much, and the whole awful business will be lengthy in recounting fully, your Stellar Majesty."

"I am prepared to spend as long as needed, Sir Egyptian, if what you say is accurate and meaningful," the king said as he straightened his spine.

That was no good at all. Llewyn thought quickly—and acted cleverly. "King Glydel, there is treason in your realm," he said boldly, voice ringing. "The Crown Prince is implicated!"

"What? What is that you say?!" His father straightened even more, eyes blazing. Then he seemed to realize that the guards could hear the exchange, for he slumped a little, leaning toward the false Inhetep. "You had better have incontrovertible evidence of such charges," he snarled softly.

Llewyn knew that treason and royal misbehavior shamed the whole kingdom, but especially its ruler. "I would not speak were it otherwise," he assured the hard-faced monarch. This would be enjoyable work, for his father would suffer with the knowledge of the whole business before Llewyn put him out of his misery with one fell stroke of the poisoned blade he had ready. "Your eldest son heads up a network of nobles, court officials, soldiers, and others less important. He has stolen from your treasury, subverted your men, and plots your death."

King Glydel paled. Then he fell back in his chair, staring with disbelief at the man he thought an Egyptian ur-kheri-heb, a wizard-priest of the ibis-headed god, Thoth. "Impossible ..." he muttered, shaking his graying head of dark gold hair. "Yet . . ." he murmured on, "yet Llewyn has always been . . . weak, weak and selfish, and full of hubris, too! You might speak true."

"Weak?" Llewyn felt rage surging through his veins once again. The old bastard dared to call him weak! Now his true feelings were surfacing, and the prince was filled with relish as he thought of the deed he was soon to perform. How joyful and fulfilling to plunge the steel into the hated breast! "He is not weak but strong!" Llewyn contradicted the king's words, not caring of consequences. A dead man's ire was nothing at all. "To devise and execute a successful murder demands strength far above the normal— heroic strength and resolve."

"Successful? I am still alive and ruling this kingdom," Glydel spat back.

"But for me here now speaking," Llewyn said with absolute veracity, "you would be dead. The royal prince is prepared to do the fell deed from selflessness, too, for he is determined to rule Lyonnesse and bring her to greater glory than ever known! Is that selfish? Nay! The sacrifice of personal pursuits, devotion of all energy to the glory of the kingdom bespeaks the greatest of spirits."

"Does it now, Egyptian? . . ."

"Yes. And who could say that pride in the accomplishment of such a scheme, the years of dreaming, the months of planning in fear of discovery and execution, and the final fulfillment of the whole betokens overweaning pride? Crown Prince Llewyn is filled with the grand and glorious sense of accomplishment, not hubris. It is the pride of nation, kingship, and what will be wrought by an imperial Lyonnesse."

"Then my son is a fool," King Glydel sneered. "He builds mist castles and dwells in the realm of the demented, for no such things as you speak of have or will come to pass."

"Were Crown Prince Llewyn here now before you, king, he would be prepared to say you were a fool and addlepated."

"But he is not!"

"Come near to me, so that I may tell you where the prince is even now," Llewyn whispered softly.

"Eh, what's that you say?" King Glydel asked, bending towards the impersonator.

Llewyn-Inhetep grasped the hilt of the envenomed knife inside his garment as he and his father leaned toward one another. "Your own son, your firstborn but least-loved, the one you have so often belittled, despised, and denigrated, Crown Prince Llewyn himself, is most near to you now," he hissed, staring into the king's blue-gray eyes. The blade came free, and he seized his father by the folds of his robe.

"Wha—" was all the man was able to get out before Llewyn drove the bright steel into his chest. The force of that blow sent the poison in the hilt jetting through the narrow tube in the weapon's spine and into the body of the Lyon-nessian monarch. There were strangled sounds from the king's throat as the venom coursed through his body, and Llewyn relished those noises. Then King Glydel's head wobbled and fell forward. The prince released his hold on the royal robe, and his father's head thumped loudly on the table. King Glydel was dead. Long live the king, King Llewyn!

This final interplay had taken only seconds. Llewyn hoped that his father had realized who had slain him thus before he died. "May your spirit wail in the deepest nether-realms!" he shouted, springing up and upsetting the chair in which he had been seated.

"GUARDS! MURDER! TO ... THE ... KII-ING!" The shouting of the subaltern of guards there in the chamber with Llewyn-Inhetep came as if from a slow, basso voice, so stunned were the prince's senses. The whole room seemed to whirl as he turned his head sharply to see the man calling for the armed soldiers just outside. "Plenty of time," flashed across his mind, but to be safe, Llewyn began edging towards the arras as he watched. The guardsman tugged upon the door nearest to him, so panicked that he forgot that it opened outwards. Just the thing to make the young fool seem as if he were assisting the assassin, for he was suddenly jerked off his feet and asprawl. Four of the men outside, two guards on each door, had yanked the heavy wood panel open. Sir Murdough was there as he should be. Llewyn began moving more rapidly now, even though his soon-to-be-slayers seemed to be responding in ultra-slow motion; the prince knew that it was only a few seconds' time since he had murdered his own father in cold blood. In truth, the guards were seeming to speed up as the rush of adrenaline began to trickle away from Llewyn's body. The captain actually trod upon the prone subaltern in his feigned eagerness to come to the king's aid. Seeing that, Llewyn turned away from the scene and made for the arras with all speed.

Cries and shouts full of alarm and hatred filled the chamber behind him as the prince disappeared behind the arras. He heard the thunking sound of quarrels impacting on the thick cloth. Murdough had been wise in having the arbalesters ready and then blocking their arm for the time needed by Prince Llewyn to get safely behind the hanging. He jerked open the door to the private library, slammed it, and shot home the heavy brass bolt. It would keep the guardsmen out just long enough. Dodging the long reading table in his path, Llewyn made for one long section of inset bookshelves. For the past month he had studied the room so frequently that he could have run through it in the pitch dark, though soft, golden witchlight now illuminated it perfectly. The shelves masked the secret passage to the private subterranean cavern belonging solely to the king. Of course, most of the royal family and its trusted counselors knew about it. No matter.

"Open, damn you!" Llewyn hissed, as he triggered the catch with one hand and shoved with the other. The heavy unit swung inwards soundlessly. He nearly leaped back at that moment, for there stood Inhetep! It was as if he were looking in a mirror, save that the Egyptian's face was blank, eyes staring vacantly into space. "Well met, Magister," the prince said with mock sincerity and warmth. "I jape," he added, "though my heart is truly glad at the sight of you, ungainly and copper-skinned as you—we are! You see, my dear fellow," Llewyn continued as he entered the little passageway at the top of the stone stairs leading down, "you are now to play the part of a prince—or is it playing the part of a prince playing the part of a wizard-priest? Now .. ."

There were heavy blows raining upon the locked door. Swords and glaives would soon have it a splintered ruin, and the guards would come pouring through seeking vengeance upon the one who had murdered their sovereign. "Now, Setne Inhetep, go out and play your role in this masque." The witticism made Llewyn laugh. It would be a brief dance, while he escaped to regain his own form. He had been masked by magick to perfectly resemble the bald foreigner, and soon no one would ever be able to unmask the ruse. Inhetep was a mere automaton, standing still until led, moving woodenly when so guided. Llewyn hastened the Egyptian along so that he faced the assailed door. The tip of a sword showed that it was about to be sundered. "Out you go," he grunted, shoving the obedient form just far enough into the library so that Llewyn could close the secret panel behind the drugged man. It closed with a reassuring click. The prince stood in darkness.

It was easy for Llewyn to get to the stairway nonetheless. Three long strides, then a cautious probing with his left foot. "Ah," he breathed aloud. Once he felt the hard stone edge of the flight, he went swiftly down the steps. Ten stairs, turn left, eight more, turn left again, and the last ten stone steps to the hidden rooms below the palace. He groped along the right-hand wall and found the little leather bag he had placed there. Inside was a crystal bearing a spell of witchlight: a soft, pink radiance further reduced by the cylinder containing the stone, so that only a small ray of the reddish illumination went forth. The light enabled Prince Llewyn to pass through the several rooms and halls he needed to traverse so as to get to another secret stairway, the one leading to his own suite.

"Behon!" he cried as soon as he had dashed up the long flight and passed through the door concealed in the side wall of a storage closet.

"I am here my king," the mage responded. "Hurry, for I must remove the dweomers which give you the Egyptian's form. They are crying alarm nearby even now!"

"Stop yammering and do it!"

Myffed began muttering hastily, making passes with his hands as he spoke, and then tapped the prince three times with his forefinger, once on the head, once again on the head, and then on the chest. "The dweomer is broken," he said.

"I feel no different," Llewyn said, but then he was struck by a wave of dizzying energy, and blackness closed his vision. It passed swiftly, perhaps four or five heartbeats, and Llewyn felt perfectly normal. "Is it now done?"

"You are your true self," the Behon said with conviction.

Just then there was a heavy hammering on the door to the outer hall.
Duml Dum! DUMM!
Weapon metal being beaten on wood regardless of dents ruining the precious panels of exotic timbers. "Prince Llewyn! Are you there?! Come quickly—your father, the king! He has been attacked!"

"Open yon portal, dear Myffed, and let in those noisy guards so they can observe Atheling and Ovate in this far corner of the palace, see our shock at the news they bear, our worry and our grief. Hurry, man!" The regicide actually laughed with joy as he spoke, and he had to work very hard to compose himself as the justiciar jumped to the door and opened it.

"What's that you said? My father, my king, harmed? If this is so, heads will roll!"

The guardsmen blinked and pulled back, but their officer had to relate the news. "I fear it is very bad, Your Highness—Lord Justiciar. Lord

Tallesian has sent us here to bring you instantly to the council chamber, for he thinks that King Glydel has been struck dead!"

Faces set in grimmest looks, both prince and magus went off with all haste after the two soldiers and their leader. Now was the time of conclusions. They must complete the charade before celebrating their complete success!