Ruins of Camelot (12 page)

"That's not what I meant," she said, her cheeks reddening.

"We're here," Darrick announced as they reached the entrance to the King's chambers.  "Stay here outside the door.  I will wake him."

Gabriella grabbed his wrist.  "I'm not waiting out here.  I already told you—"

"And I told you," Darrick interrupted calmly, "that for now, I outrank you.  The King will not remain in his quarters once he is roused, as you well know.  It is dark inside, and unlikely as it is, there may be someone lying there in wait.  Here."

He unsheathed his sword and handed it to her, hilt first.

"I can't take this," she said, shaking her head.  "What if you're right and someone is hiding inside?"

"It'd be too dark for swords to be of use anyway," he answered quietly.  He drew his dagger from his belt and smiled darkly.  "This will do nicely.  Don't worry."

She accepted his sword then and gripped the hilt expertly.  "Hurry, Darrick."

"I shall, Princess," he said, and gave her a small kiss.  A moment later, he opened the door of the King's outer chamber and was gone.

Gabriella listened.  The castle seemed deceptively quiet at this hour.  From where she stood, there was no sign whatsoever of the search that must be going on.  She fiddled with the sword, certain that there was no chance she would need to use it but comforted by it nonetheless.  It was too long for her, and the hilt felt unnaturally bulky.  Slowly, she pressed her back against the stone wall and slid down it, crouching with the sword held upright between her knees.

A tense minute crept past, then Gabriella jumped as something tickled her neck.  She scrabbled at it, nearly dropping the sword, and felt the scuttle of a spider on her hand.  Fortunately, she was not afraid of spiders.  The tiny arachnid crawled over her fingers and rested on the back of her hand, regarding her with its strange, alien eyes.  A filament of web hung before her, nearly invisible in the darkness.  She followed it and found that it seemed to connect with the falcon sigil that hung at her throat.  She frowned curiously.

From some distance away, a voice spoke.

Gabriella's eyes darted around, looking for the speaker even though she could tell by the sound that they were too far away to see.  It was a woman's voice, echoing indistinctly.  There was a brief exclamation and then silence.

Gabriella strained her ears.  After a tense moment, she shook the spider from her hand and pushed herself upright.

"Who goes there?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.  There was no reply.  Clutching Darrick's sword, she crept towards the nearest cross-corridor.  Firelight flickered on the walls, making dancing shadows.  Grim faces peered down from tapestries, watching the young woman with the gleaming, oversized sword.

Gabriella reached the intervening corridor and peered down its length.  Doors lined the left wall, all of them apparently closed.  On the right, deep alcoves led to recessed windows.  Moonlight lay across the floor in pale stripes.  Nothing moved.  Slowly, Gabriella made her way down the hall, letting her gaze roam from side to side, peering into the window alcoves and doorways.

She stopped.  One of the doors was not completely closed.  Gabriella could see a dim bar of light from the fireplace inside.  Was it Constance's room?

"Constance," Gabriella rasped, "are you all right?"

There was a scuffling sound.  Gabriella startled, realising that the sound was not coming from the partially open door.  It came from further down the corridor, from one of the deep window alcoves.  She raised her sword and stepped forwards.

A flicker of colour appeared from inside the alcove, a flash of golden fabric.  Then someone backed partially into view.  It was Rhyss, still wearing her yellow bridesmaid dress.

"Rhyss!" Gabriella called, lowering her sword as relief flooded over her.  "You nearly frightened me to—"

Rhyss turned her head, peering around the edge of the alcove, and the look on her face stopped Gabriella cold.

"Bree," Rhyss said faintly.  "Run."

Slowly, Rhyss began to fall backwards, coming fully into view.  As she did, Gabriella saw the long blade protruding from her chest, drawing out even as she fell away from it.  Her blood smeared it brightly.

"
Rhyyyss!
" Gabriella screamed, lunging forwards.  Darrick's sword clattered to the stone floor, dropped unthinkingly as Gabriella scrambled towards her friend, falling upon her.

"Rhyss!  This can't be!  What…?!"  She collected the other girl in her arms, mad with shock and disbelief.

"I told you," Rhyss whispered with her dying breath, "to run."

A shadow fell over both of them, cast in the blue moonlight.  Gabriella spun, thrashing about for Darrick's sword, forgetting that she had dropped it five paces away.  Goethe stood behind her, his face red and strained, sweat running down his forehead in streaks.  He raised the bloody sword in his hands.

"Do not scream," he said in a low growl.  "Die like a princess."

Gabriella didn't hesitate.  As he raised his sword to run her through, she launched herself beneath it, slamming against him.  He stumbled backwards, still clinging to his sword, and struck the window.  It cracked into a hundred pieces, but the iron framework miraculously held his weight.  Realising the precariousness of his position, Goethe dropped his sword and scrambled for something to hold onto.  Gabriella heard the sword clatter to the ground and immediately kicked it backwards.  She lunged away from him then, revolted and horrified.

"How could you…," she said, her voice unnaturally high.  "Rhyss…"

His eyes darted towards the sword where it lay behind her.  He coiled to lunge for it, but she realised his intention.  Being smaller and quicker, she leapt forwards once more, connecting with his chest and driving him backwards yet again.  This time, the iron framework buckled, snapped, and exploded outwards with a ringing screech.  Glass shattered away into the night, and Goethe followed it, clawing desperately at Gabriella in an attempt to take her with him.  His fingers nearly captured her ponytail as it flopped over her shoulder.  There was a tug, and then he was gone, dropping away into darkness.

Gabriella tottered and nearly fell after him.  Her hands scrambled and clutched onto the stonework of the alcove, arresting her fall.  Weakly, she pushed back from the broken window and stumbled to the floor.  She panted, staring into the gaping eye of night, shocked at the suddenness of what had transpired.  Then, remembering, she turned and crawled back to her friend's body.

Rhyss lay with her feet tangled, one arm across her chest, hiding the bloody wound.  Her eyes stared calmly up at the ceiling, as if lost in the deepest of thoughts.

"Oh, Rhyss," Gabriella sobbed, laying her cheek on the girl's breast.  "Oh my dear Rhyss, no… no…"

She was still sobbing, cradling the girl's dead body, when, minutes later, Darrick and the palace guard found her.

"It was the Battle Master," Thomas said, examining a broken vase with the toe of his boot.  "He let the murderer in.  He was in league with the villains.  Wasn't he?"

Yazim nodded as he walked into the gloom of the castle ruin.  Sunlight speared through the shattered remains, making hard beams in the darkness.  "They say that he held a grudge against the King for the loss of his wife and child years earlier.  A plague had spread through the city, and Barth had been refused succour within the walls of the castle.  The King's guard had declared that the woman and boy were already infected and would compromise the castle quarantine.  They died of course, although the stories say that Barth swore that they had not been sick when he came to the castle.  Perhaps he was even right."

Together, the two men picked their way into a grand room.  Its ceilings and walls were mostly intact, although a large section had caved in over the hearth, burying its once impressive façade.  The ghosts of ancient frescoes showed on the walls and ceilings, faded and cracked nearly to obscurity.  Rubble and grit covered what remained of the marble floor.  Many of the blocks had been pried up and carted away, probably decades earlier.

Thomas reached the centre of the ballroom and turned on the spot, trying to imagine the space as it might once have looked.  "The prisoner, the father of the boy Gabriella killed, what became of him?"

"Escaped," Yazim replied, hunkering down near the rubble of the collapsed ceiling.  "His intention was to murder the King in his bed whilst his son guarded their escape.  With the death of the boy, however, the plan was ruined.  The father fled, taking the life of another guard whilst gaining his exit.  The Princess's new husband led the search for him that night, canvassing the sleeping city, but to no avail."

"And all of this," Thomas said, rejoining his friend in the decrepit darkness, "at the order and command of the brute, Merodach himself.  Yes?"

"This was the spearhead of his final plan," Yazim nodded.  "Merodach did not expect the prisoner to succeed in killing the King or even to escape.  The farce was meant only to make a point, and the point was very simple: 'I can get to you, O King.  Trust no one.  My people are everywhere.'"

Thomas asked, "Did the King understand this?"

Yazim remained hunkered near the pile of rubble.  He reached and plucked an object from the debris.  It was a bit of broken plaster, still coloured with the remains of its ancient fresco.  The image showed part of a face, with one stern blue eye peering out, patient and grim.  "Yes, the King understood Merodach's point very clearly.  They hanged the man, Barth, and he went to his demise willingly.  The King intended to send his own message, that traitors would be dealt with severely, but by then, it was too late.  The flames of doubt and fear had already been lit and were spreading swiftly."

Thomas shook his head.  "Surely, he did not merely sit idly by and allow the villain to wrest control of Camelot from him?"

"No, he did not," Yazim admitted.  "King Xavier launched an attack, intending to finally rout out the beast and his rogue armies.  It was a daunting task, and one that many said was doomed to fail.  It was, as they say, too little and too late.  But the King refused to believe all was lost.  The attempt on his life had been thwarted after all.  He was still the ruler of the grandest kingdom on the earth.  He believed, to his great shame, that no force mounted against Camelot could ever succeed."

Slowly, Yazim stood again.  He dropped the bit of painted plaster, and it broke at his feet.  "If he had only acted sooner," he said quietly, "that might even have been true."