The Prince Deceiver (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 6) (33 page)

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Liandra

The queen traded
silk for steel. Her women worked in silence, for there was something solemn
about donning armor, a ceremony of deadly intent. Liandra much preferred the
comfort of glamorous silk, but during the Flame War she'd come to appreciate
the value of burnished steel. Polished to a slivery glow, she'd discovered that
armor multiplied a monarch's ability to inspire steadfast courage and loyalty.
Clad in armor, she'd stood atop her castle ramparts, a beacon against doubt, a
relentless hope against hard odds. She'd won the Flame War and now she needed
to reclaim her people and her court, a battle of wits and image against a
shadowy foe. Anger brewed within her, bolstered by steel. Her courtiers sought
to ignore their sovereign monarch, such a travesty could not be allowed. She
would have their fealty or their heads. Trading silk for steel, she donned the
image of an invincible queen.

Her women
fluttered around, tightening greaves and gorget. A gold-hilted short sword was
buckled to her side, an emerald cloak affixed to her shoulders. Liandra studied
herself in the mirror. Glimmering glorious in reflected light, her silver armor
melded to her curves, enhancing her womanly form, a warrior queen once more.

"Will you
have the helm, majesty?"

The crowned helm
was tempting, another image of royalty, but Liandra preferred her people to see
her face and her dark mane of lustrous hair. "No, we'll have nothing come
between us and our people."

"Then,
majesty, you are ready." Lady Sarah dropped to a deep curtsy, a puddle of
bright silk. "You are magnificent."

Her women all
dropped to curtsies, admiration mirrored on their faces.

Touched by their
devotion, the queen gestured for them to rise. "You have all done well. Be
of good cheer, for we ride not to war but to purposeful image." Liandra
cast a parting glance in the mirror. She needed to reassert her power and then
find those who were missing. She'd spent too long mired in grief.

Sir Durnheart
strode into her chamber. A handsome hero in armor, the hilt of his blue steel
sword rearing over his right shoulder, he dropped to one knee. "Majesty,
you are a vision."

His reaction
pleased her. "Our knight protector, you are as gallant as you are
loyal." She gestured for him to rise. "Is everything prepared?"

"Ten loyal
guards stand ready outside your chamber. Another twenty will be waiting in the
courtyard with the horses."

"Good.
We'll ride north through the city to the outer gate, circle the wall, and
return from the south. The more people who see us the better. On our return to
the castle, we'll keep all our guards in attendance till our disloyal lords are
dealt with. Those who will not swear fealty will face the dungeon or the
headsman's axe."

"Yes,
majesty." He saluted, his gauntleted fist pressed to his silvery
breastplate.

"Then let
us begin." The queen strode from her solar to the outer antechamber.

Ten guardsmen
snapped to attention, their burnished breastplates embossed with twin roses.

Behind her, Sir
Durnheart snapped an order. "Salute the queen!"

The guardsmen
drew their swords and held them aloft, crossing them in a ringing archway.

Liandra gave the
guardsmen a gracious smile, appreciating their gallant gesture. She marched
beneath the crossed swords, Sir Durnheart following behind. Her smile deepened,
enjoying the martial splendor.

Armor and swords
held their own powerful mystique, adding a swagger to her step. The queen found
herself taking longer strides than she ever would in jewels and silks. She
pondered the difference, enjoying the boldness, wondering if armor made men
rash as well as bold. 

Liandra led her
loyal men down the long marbled hallway, a clank of arms and armor following behind.
Her forebears stared down from gilded frames, paintings of her royal ancestors
keeping watch on the castle. She wondered if her ancestors would be scandalized
to see a queen in armor, yet Liandra would wield any image to protect her
throne.

A clatter of
footsteps approached up the long marble stairs.

Master Raddock
appeared, huffing from the long climb, a bevy of guards in emerald tabards
following in his wake. "Majesty, you must return to your chambers."
Her dark-robed shadowmaster blocked the way forward.

"
Must
is not a word used with princes." The queen's anger sparked. "We know
what you've done. Drop to your knees and swear fealty or pay the traitor's
price."

He gave her a
surly smile. "Madam, it is you who do not understand. Return to your
chambers at once."

"
Guards!"
 The queen's voice barked with command. "Arrest this traitor and
escort him to the dungeons."

Swords whispered
from scabbards. A pair of emerald-cloaked guards stepped from behind the queen,
their swords leveled at the shadowmaster's heart. "You heard the queen,
yield or die."

Raddock flashed
a sinister smile. "It is you who will die!" He made a hand gesture
and a pair of soldiers in emerald tabards leaped from behind him. Swords drawn,
they engaged the queen's guards. Steel clanged against steel in the marble
hallway as men fought for their very lives.

The queen stared,
shocked by the fighting.

Sir Durnheart
yelled, "Protect the queen!" He gripped her arm, pulling her
backward, while more of her guards rushed to join the fray.

Shouting above
the clamor, the queen sought to end the conflict. "Lay down your arms and
stop this madness! Surrender and you will be spared!" but her words had no
effect. More soldiers in emerald tabards forced their way up the stairs. Among
them were short men garbed all in black. The queen watched horrified as the
dark-clad men darted among the clashing soldiers, wielding knives and slashing
hamstrings. The marbled hallway became a bitter battlefield, blood spraying the
gilded walls.

Sir Durnheart
pulled her backward, one gauntleted hand gripping her forearm, the other
holding his blue steel sword at the ready. "Fall back! Protect the
queen!"

Outnumbered, her
loyal guards died screaming before the queen's very eyes, consumed by the
onslaught.

When only two
loyal guards remained, Sir Durnheart released her. "An honor to serve you,
majesty." He gave her a heartfelt look revealing a smolder of unspoken
passion.

His look pierced
her heart, for she'd never suspected.

Sir Durnheart
stepped close, his voice a fervent whisper. "I'll hold them as long as I can."
Turning, he strode towards the onslaught. "
Run,
majesty!"

As the last
guards died, Sir Durnheart leaped forward, unleashing his blue steel sword.

Liandra knew she
should run, knew she should seek the safety of the hidden passageways, but she
could not bear to leave him. Unable to turn away, her gaze locked on her
gallant knight, praying for him to prevail.

"
For the
Queen!"
Roaring his battle cry, Sir Durnheart attacked. The swing of
his blue sword spanned the width of the hallway, holding the enemy at bay. He
fought three at once, slicing heads from bodies and arms from shoulders with a
single stroke of his sapphire blade. Blood fountained and men screamed,
releasing the stink of death. The blue blade became a blur. Swords shattered
and chainmail cut like leather. Sir Durnheart fought like a whirlwind, he
fought like a champion. None could stand in his path. The enemy fell before him
like wheat before the scythe, dying beneath the blue steel sword. Cut and
parry, he pushed the traitors back, forcing them all the way to the marbled
stairs. Victory was within his grasp.

And then the
clangor suddenly stopped.

Sir Durnheart
teetered at the top of the stairs.

For half a
heartbeat, Liandra feared he was wounded, but then he turned towards her,
elation lighting his handsome face. "We won!"

Relief rushed
through her. She stepped towards him. "Our champion!" Corpses littered
the hallway, yet she threaded a way through them, needing to be certain he was
not wounded. "Are you hurt?" She searched his face.

"Not a
scratch." A grin beamed across his handsome face. He hefted his sword
aloft. "They were no match for blue steel."

"Blue steel
in the hands of a champion." Her golds were never better spent. "You
saved us. You were magnificent!"

He hefted his
blue steel sword. "You gave me a magnificent blade."

For half a
heartbeat, their stares locked, sharing the elated of victory...but then the
ugly truth of the battle struck the queen. Betrayed by her shadowmaster,
ambushed in her own castle, Liandra surveyed the dead and dying. "And
Raddock? Where is the turned-cloak traitor?" She did not see the
dark-robed shadowmaster among the dead.
All the dead wear emerald green,
the
swift brutality of the battle remained a shock. "We did not expect an open
rebellion." And then she spied one of the dark-clad men lying dead among
the corpses. "Our enemy is bolder than we thought." The hallway stank
of death and dying. Corpses stared at her with accusing eyes. This battle
seemed her fault, a checkmate she should have foreseen, a trap she should have
avoided.

Sir Durnheart
hovered protectively at her side. Blood dripped from his blue steel sword, yet
his voice was tender with concern. "Majesty, you should return to your
chambers while I seek more loyal swords."

She stared at
the dead as if they held an unplumbed riddle.

"Come,"
he sheparded her back towards her chambers.

They nearly
reached the door when a voice rang out. "
Stop!"

The queen turned
to find Raddock standing at the top of the stairs with six of the dark-clad men
at his back.

"So the
traitor returns." The queen faced him across a hallway strewn with death.
"It seems you are a coward as well as a betrayer."

"I serve a
higher power."

"
A
higher power?"
His words made no sense, yet she sought to draw him
out.

He strode
towards her, his hands held wide in supplication, yet his a face was a surly
threat. The dark-clad men kept pace with Raddock, staying close like
bodyguards, yet they bore no swords, only knives sheathed at their belts.
"I did not want to go to him, but you insisted."

"
Him?"

"I found
power in his gaze."

Sir Durnheart
raised his blue steel sword. "Come no closer lest you seek death."

Raddock came to
a stop three sword-lengths away, but a sneer rode his thuggish face. "You
think a sword makes you powerful? You've no idea what true power is."

The queen gave
him a scathing look. "Who is this enemy you serve?"

Footsteps rang
on the marble floor.

Raddock's sneer
evaporated, his dark eyes betraying a flicker of fear. "See for
yourself." Stepping aside, he bowed low, opening a pathway down the hall.

A lone man
approached. Boot steps rang on marble as he strode amongst the dead. His hooded
cowl was drawn forward, hiding his face with darkness. Cloaked from head to toe
in deepest black, he appeared as a faceless silhouette, yet he conveyed a sense
of power and menace, his floor-length cloak swirling around him like an
embracing shadow.

A sense of
foreboding slithered down the queen's back.

Beside her, Sir
Durnheart stiffened, his blue sword raised as a warning and a threat.

The cloaked
stranger stopped five sword-lengths away. Pale hands bejeweled with rings
reached up to draw back the hooded cowl.

A gasp escaped
the queen. "
You!"

"Checkmate."
The Prince of Ur had traded imperial purple for darkest black. A subtle smile
rode his ruddy lips but his ice-blue eyes were implacable. "I told you I
would win the last game."

The queen knew
better than to bandy words with a viper. "
Kill him!"

Sir Durnheart
leaped to the attack.

The black-clad
men moved faster. Lightning-quick, they raised narrow tubes to their mouths and
blew.

Sir Durnheart
gasped. Twisting in mid air, he crumpled to the floor, armor clattering against
cold marble. Her knight fell well short of the prince, his blue steel sword falling
useless from his gauntleted hand. Groaning, Sir Durnheart turned towards her.
His gaze sought hers, his eyes stricken with pain. Blood frothed at his mouth,
darts riddling his throat and face. "
Run!"

His dying word
jolted her from shock. Liandra leaped for the door.

She rushed
inside her solar, slamming the sturdy oak door behind her. Her hands shook as
she rammed home the iron bolt.  Her heartbeat hammering, she backed away from
the door, shocked by the enemy, shocked by Sir Durnheart's death.

"
Majesty!"
a plaintive whisper at her back.

The queen
whirled.

A dark-clad
stranger held Lady Sarah to his chest, a knife threatening at her throat.

Another
ambush,
two of her women were slumped on the floor, puddles of unmoving
silk. The others cowered on the far side of her solar, fear on their faces.

The queen gasped.
"
How?"

Lady Sarah
answered. "He came in through the window."

The casement
window stood open, yet her solar was at the top of the tower. The answer made
no sense.

The dark-clad
intruder spoke. "Unbolt the door or she dies."

"Don't hurt
her." The queen sidled away from the door, yearning for the safety of the
castle's hidden passageways.

Lady Sarah
stifled a gasp, a drop of blood at her throat.

"Last
chance, unbolt the door or she dies."

"Don't harm
her." The queen could not risk her friend's life. Moving back to the door,
she drew the heavy bolt and then stepped away.