King Callie: Callie's Saga, Book One (22 page)

“Your King asks you to tell him everything he needs to know,” the guard said, from behind Marrol.

“You’re King now? Not by honest means, I imagine,” Royth said, engaging Marrol directly. “What a disappointment.”
The King’s favorite Minister,
Royth thought. He didn’t need to See to know this was a possibility; Marrol always had ambition in his heart. It was sad to see him give up his honor so quickly for it, but he wasn’t the first - and he wouldn’t be the last.

“What do you know about honor?” Marrol replied, his eyes ablaze with anger. “You betrayed your king by murdering his son.”

“Your betrayal is far greater, Your Majesty,” Royth said, never lowering his gaze. “If you thought he’d approve of your insurrection, you’re wrong.”

“This is no insurrection, Royth,” Marrol said. He calmly produced his dagger, and plunged it into the torso of the guard, over and over. The Sparrow and Royth were silent as they watched the quick carnage unfold; within seconds, the deed was done. Marrol let the body fall, but held on to the dagger. “This is a coronation,” he said, admiring his handiwork.

“Long live the King,” the Sparrow said dryly, from her corner of the dungeon.

Marrol squatted next to the body, and picked the cell keys from the guard’s body. With a flick of his wrist, he threw them to the Sparrow, and let them land at her feet. “Enjoy my forgiveness,” he said. She wedged the keys between her slippers, and flipped them up into her hands. Across the room, Marrol pressed the dagger against his forearm, and dragged it across and down, wincing in pain as he did. Royth scowled.
A defensive wound
, he thought.
Or it’s intended to look like one
. A smile spread to his face, and Royth began to clap slowly, as he put the pieces together.

“Well done,” he said. “Well done. The vault guards are dead. Peacebringer’s gone missing. She escapes, you’re bravely wounded in the process, but you couldn’t stop her from accomplishing her deadly task, could you? Well done, Your Majesty,” Royth scoffed, clapping all the while. “Well done.”

Marrol smiled. “Close, but not quite, Royth,” Marrol replied. A flash of alarm crossed Royth’s face; he saw Marrol glance over at the Sparrow, who had almost finished unlocking her shackles. “Free him, and take him with you,” he said, “And ensure that he lives.”

“No,” she said, politely, sweetly, “He dies, and I leave. Those are my orders.” Royth watched as Marrol produced a small, bird-shaped, obsidian token from his pouch, and held it up for her to see; she stopped working the last shackle with the keys. Royth was not surprised that Marrol had previously wanted him dead; he was more surprised that Marrol wanted him to live.

“I’m changing the terms of our agreement,” he said.

“So you are,” the Sparrow replied, as she eyed the token. She turned the key into the first of the shackles, and then, the second; as she freed herself, she stood up on her toes, and stretched her muscles from feet to head, relishing the freedom with a cracking of her neck. Marrol tossed her the token. She caught it with her free hand, and walked right past him, towards Royth’s cell. “I accept the terms,” she said, as she slotted the key in the lock. “But know they can’t change after this.”

“Agreed,” Marrol said. “He’s all yours.” She turned the key, and opened the door. Royth balled his fists up, and held a fighting stance.

“I’m not leaving,” he protested. “I didn’t leave before, when I could have. I sure as hell won’t leave now.”

The Sparrow cocked her head to the side, and her red hair brushed her shoulders. “You’re a strange one,” she said in Barrish, with a smirk. “First man I’ve ever met who wants to stay in prison for the rest of his life.”

“This isn’t your kingdom anymore, Royth. If you stay, and you say anything,” Marrol chuckled, “You’re dead.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Royth replied. ”And you will kill me quicker than they ever did. That’s a mercy, Marrol. Not a threat.” He looked up at the Sparrow, who crossed her arms with impatience.

She sighed in frustration. “I’m not leaving without you,” she said. “You know what I’ll have to do if I fail.”

“I do,” Royth replied, with a sneer. “My apologies in advance.”

“Go back to your old life, Seer. Leave this kingdom, and take the blame with you,” Marrol said, “Your name will be our scapegoat within these walls, but beyond them, you will be free… and one day, you will even thank me.”

That’s what passes for mercy
, Royth thought. “So I’m absolved of my sin, as long as I leave?” he taunted. “Is this your first true act as King? I thought you’d have come here to kill me yourself.”

“And what would I gain?” Marrol said. “That is what I’ve come to realize - killing you would be foolish. If I take your life, I have justice. But if you escape, then I have a villain,” he said, with a faint, sneering smile, “A saboteur.”

Royth bit his tongue. He knew well what Marrol intended; Royth’s once-good name would be dragged through shit-caked mud, and worse besides. The blame for Valric’s death, for the robbery, for the killings - even King Rionn’s sickness, poor crops, and the pox - all would be his fault. His would be the name whispered in children’s ears to frighten the wickedness from their hearts; his would be the form burned in effigy. And his Amaniren brothers and sisters would suffer, should they be so far north. Their dark skin would mark them for a greater pain, because of him - because he ran. It was a cruelty he’d never expected of Marrol.

If he stayed, Marrol would not be satisfied with silencing him, or keeping him from helping anyone who would disrupt his power. There’d be an axe’s blade nicking the back of his neck, as soon as Marrol found the opportunity. More than anything, Royth wanted to live and see Caliandra on her throne - and Marrol, the pretender, cast out.

But when?
He wondered. With the axes gone, it could be months - years, even - before they were recovered.
If
they were recovered. Marrol would not let him live so long, if he stayed. He’d be dead within weeks. But Royth knew if he left - if he
lived
- then he’d have ways of helping Caliandra. And even if he never saw it in person, he’d make damn sure he did all in his power to bring that day to fruition. That called for hardness. For strength. For the Royth of the old days; the Zstraki days. Nothing showed on his face as he looked the King in the eye, and made his decision known.

“Then I will be your villain,” Royth replied, bitter. Marrol smiled; it was the grin of a man who’d bested a rival with great cleverness. Royth didn’t doubt that for a second.
Don’t get too familiar with that feeling, Your Majesty,
he thought.

Royth glanced at the Sparrow. “Follow me,” he said. “I know a way to the woods.” As they took to the stairs, Royth heard Marrol speak one last time.

“Yom-speed, Royth,” Marrol said. “And never come back.”

“Not while you’re alive,” Royth said, as he led the Sparrow out of the dungeon, and into the castle proper.

He looked left and right - and then, darted down the southern hall, towards the buttery. “Say nothing,” he said. “If there is a butler there, do not attack him. Let me handle him.”

It was fortunate, then, that there wasn’t; they took the steps down into the buttery quickly, and found no one watching the royal stores. Royth passed the collection of bottles, barrel, and casks, and led the Sparrow to a dark corner, blocked by a particularly large barrel. He rolled it aside to reveal a passage carved out of the stone - barely big enough for him to fit through on hands and knees, but well large enough for her. “Go through,” he said. “It’ll put you on the outside of the castle walls. I’ll come after.”

He felt her grab his arm. “Like hell,” she said. He saw a single-minded determination in her eyes; something he hadn’t felt in years. “You go first, and lead me out. The hell with the barrel.”

Royth was about to argue when he heard steps in the distance - near the buttery door. “Fine,” he said, as he ducked to his elbows and knees, and crawled into the passage. The Sparrow was quick behind him, keeping pace with his movements. There was no light to be had, but he didn’t need it; he’d carved it out himself, along with six other such passages, scattered throughout the castle. The dirt and rubble tore at the skin on his kneecaps, but finally, he saw the cracks of light - around the false side that he’d set in the outer wall.

He got close, and pushed. It stuck, at first, but he persisted; finally, it gave a few inches, and then a few inches more. Enough for a burst of fresh air to come through. He was glad for it; the still, stultifying air of the dungeon was enough to dim any man’s hopes. He pushed harder, until it fully moved aside - and let him out, to freedom, and the outer walls.

Feeling the dirt and grass beneath his fingers was a welcome relief; being able to stand, tall and free, was another. The Sparrow crawled out of the passage behind him, and found her footing next to him.

“Where now?” she asked.

“If we can make it through the woods,” he said. “There’s a town not far from here. We’ll steal what we need, and then you’ll take me back to the Nest.”

The Sparrow raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “That won’t go poorly at all,” she said.

“It’ll go better than you think,” he replied. “This way.”

He ran for the trees, and she followed him - mirroring his every footstep. He let his mind drift, and as he wove through the forest, he began to plot.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

The blood had not yet stopped flowing from Marrol’s arm when Kells descended the dungeon stairs with urgent purpose. Marrol could feel the slick warmth mixed with the pain, and hoped Kells’ first reaction would be one of alarm, or pity. It was not. “They’ve escaped,” Marrol said to the Captain of the Guard. “Now help your King.”

Kells looked around the room, and observed it. “Where are the prisoners, Your Majesty?” he asked. Marrol did not flinch, but he did not think as quickly as he had hoped; he was not in the least bit accustomed to lying.

“They escaped,” he said, nervous. “Royth had picked his lock, and freed the woman. They caught us unaware, and killed my guard.”

Kells squinted, with scrutiny. “It is lucky you survived, then,” Kells remarked, “and that you were not taken hostage.”

Marrol blanched. “Well, they couldn’t,” he said, as quick as he was able to come up with it. “They had to escape, so I was hit with a club, or a chain, or some sort of blunt weapon - I came to only moments ago.”

“I disagree, Your Majesty,” Kells said, as he descended the stairs. “I think you let them go. Much like you had men loyal to you kill the vault guards, and arranged for the Sparrow to attempt to kill Royth, and kidnap Caliandra. Would that be correct?”

Marrol gritted his teeth. His hand hesitated near his sword, but he kept it sheathed. If he drew on Kells, and someone were to see - it would be the end of his plan.
But if Kells drew on me
…

“Falsehoods,” Marrol said. “Nothing but lies and falsehoods. I have been attacked, prisoners have escaped, and you say such things of me?”

“I measured the wounds on the vault guards,” Kells replied, as he came to the bottom step. “Do you know what I found, your highness?”

“You found that they were dead,” Marrol said, harsh. “Now, go find Royth, and the Sparrow. Bring them here.” But Kells ignored him.

“The wounds inflicted were a match for our own soldiers’ daggers,” Kells said. “The vault guards were killed by their brothers. Just as this one was betrayed by his king,” Kells added, gesturing to the man on the floor, “I’d wager the dagger on the floor is the one you should have in your empty sheath.”

Marrol grew pale, and felt a nervous tremor jet through his body. His breaths became rapid, and his thoughts raced. Kells knew. Marrol’s mind darted to the dagger - but that wouldn’t work. Killing Kells would only make things more difficult. He thought of a possibility - a different way out. “And what if it is?” Marrol said.

“So you admit it? You admit your treason?” Kells said, firm.

“I admit that if you try to jail me, or draw steel upon me, it will look all the worse for you,” Marrol said. He felt a certain thrill from the words, and allowed it to course through him. “Can you prove it? Do you have more than mere suspicion?”

“It has been signed with blood,” Kells replied.

“But dead men are not witnesses, Kells,” Marrol said. “And the living who could speak to it have escaped. The killers of the vault guards could have as easily taken another guard’s dagger and used it themselves.” The King saw each retort clear in his mind’s eye, and seized them. But Kells was more than unsettled; he was incensed.

“You killed them, and set the traitor free,” Kells said. “I should slit your throat and be done with it.”

Marrol laughed. “Washing blood away with blood… think about what has happened here, Kells. For the first time in ages, a Barrish man has assumed the throne without
fate
, without
magic
- and you want to kill him?” Marrol almost said wanted, but held his tongue. “Do you not believe in your fellow man?”

“I believe if there is justice, you’ll lose your head,” Kells said, eying Marrol angrily, hand on the pommel of his sword.

“There won’t be justice,” Marrol replied. “Not when all evidence points to you. Arranging the death of the vault guards, the theft of the Axe, the disappearance of the prisoners in your care… the poisoning of the King, and the untimely death of Prince Valric.” Marrol watched Kells flinch at the last bit, and knew the money he paid was worth it. “Oh yes,” Marrol said, “Your men are nowhere near as loyal as mine, Kells.”