put their plan into motion. Sam had gone back to the castle in the wee hours of the morning after the marathon planning session. There hadn’t been time or energy for him to make love to Isolde, much as he’d wanted to. She was clearly in pain again from her ankle, and although he kissed her sweetly before leaving, that was all he could do.
He’d been able to grab a few hours of sleep before the planned action, and that had to be enough. The apprentices had arrived before the court session was to begin. The window they were working on was in an adjoining chamber to the great hall, so it made sense that they would be moving about nearby. The apprentices were well-trained in stealth and making themselves seem unobtrusive and insignificant. One or two of the courtiers might have sniffed in their direction in disdain, but most simply ignored the industrious youngsters who were clearly busy with their task.
He dressed to attend court. It was one of the things he liked least about being a General. He had a duty to occasionally hob-knob with the nobles of the realm. It was important to keep them friendly for the times when his troopers might need their support in the field. He had the court finery but seldom wore it. Still, his costume had been specially tailored so that he could still move freely enough to fight well, even in the fine linen and silk brocade that appearance at the King’s Court required.
When he arrived at the great hall, Sam was pleased to see a number of dragons in attendance. There had also been a conspicuous presence of dragons along his path here and elsewhere in the castle. Anywhere they could fit, it seemed, the dragons had stationed themselves like sentries.
The King and his lady were well aware of Sam’s plans and had sent back their approval via Salveer. Luc and Lilly were keeping watch over the King and his lady, as was Shilayla. Nobody would get past those three, and even if they did, there was still Zallra to reckon with. The King was as well protected as they could make him. Which freed Sam for what he needed to do.
One by one, Sam tracked down his victims, maneuvering to get them off by themselves for a few minutes, so he could ask his questions. The questions bordered on rude and were rather pointed, but nobody besides Lady Habitha showed any outward signs of annoyance. She swept away rather majestically as if insulted, but Sam wasn’t sure if that indicated her guilt or just his rudeness. She had a reputation for being a bit of a stickler.
No matter. He hadn’t learned much from his questions about their situations, though Lord Orthan had been very cagey when asked about the large number of soldiers gathered at his country home. Sam had pushed Orthan as far as he could without being rude beyond the level he could get away with—which was very far indeed. Sam watched Orthan storm away from their conversation with a small sense of satisfaction. He’d managed to get under the older man’s skin.
“Tell the everyone to keep a close watch on Orthan. I just angered him, and if he’s going to make a mistake, now would be the perfect time,” Sam warned Salveer, who passed along his message to everyone else who could hear dragonish thoughts.
Sam saw Hunter and a few of his fellow apprentices carrying bits of glass and tools out the door after Orthan with satisfaction. Hunter may be young in years, but the others would take care of him if things got dangerous, and he could pass any information they gathered directly to the dragons. Frankly, Sam didn’t expect the apprentices would be in any danger. All they had to do was listen and observe. The odds of things getting violent were very slim, in his estimation.
He had talked to three of the others, and there was only one suspect left on his list, but Lady Iretnia was proving hard to get alone. She liked to show off her stylish gown and dazzling jewelry, and she kept a coterie of sycophants around her at all times. Sam would have discounted her as a suspect completely if not for the rumors about her recently becoming very involved with the training of the guardsmen at her country estate.
Isolde thought there might be a more—ahem—pleasurable reason for the lady’s new interest, but Sam wanted to talk to her to make sure. He was about to join the group that had formed around the lady when he caught sight of Isolde walking quietly into the chamber, the scythe held gently in both hands. And she wasn’t limping at all.
Sam changed direction and went to Isolde’s side. She greeted him with a smile meant only for him. Or so he felt.
“What’s this? No limp?” he asked, glancing pointedly down at her foot.
“Lilly came by this morning and did her healing thing. It was amazing!” Isolde enthused. “I’m almost good as new. And now I know a lot more about the kind of healing hall she is creating next door. Real magical healing, Sam. Not just herbs and potions, though she says that will be taught as well, once they get up to full speed. And they’re going to help everyone. From these nobles to the poorest of the poor.”
Sam was sidetracked by the way her eyes lit up as she spoke of Lilly’s plans. Sam already knew, having talked to Luc and Shilayla a bit about what they were creating. He’d found Luc to be a most excellent fellow, and they were forming a friendship, which suited Sam. He still didn’t know all that many people outside the army, and he was trying to change that.
“I’m glad Lilly found the energy to help you. And the scythe is back to polished perfection, I see.” He glanced at the deadly weapon held so lightly in her hands.
“I wanted to return it to the King, now that it’s clean again,” she said.
Sam read between the lines of what she’d said and knew she had used the return of the scythe as an excuse to be here at this moment, when things were happening. She wouldn’t ask her apprentices to do anything she wouldn’t do herself. He liked that about her, and he had the same rule about his own army.
“Hunter says you better come quick. Something is wrong with Lord Orthan,” Shera’s voice broke into both their minds. “He’s in the antechamber, and he’s got a weapon.”
The antechamber was a small room just off the dais where the King sat that he used to come and go from the great hall without having to walk among the gathered throng. It made it easier for him to arrive after the nobles were assembled and leave before they departed without getting waylaid by each person that wanted to seek his favor or a private word. But that antechamber was off limits to everyone but the King’s personal guard because of the ease of access it posed to the dais.
“I’m going to give this back to the King and keep myself near the dais,” Isolde said immediately.
“Good. I’m going around the back way,” he told her, already on the move.
“Where is the guard?” Sam demanded of the dragon as he left the great hall.
“Hunter says Orthan did something to them,” Salveer replied. “They are on the floor, and Orthan is lying in wait for the King to leave the dais. We can’t fit into the antechamber, but I am in the corridor outside with Hunter and the other apprentices.”
“Get them behind you,” Sam advised.
“They already are. I would not let harm come to these children if I can help it,” Salveer replied immediately.
“Thank you, my friend,” Sam sent as he rounded the corner and saw the dragon standing just to the side of the doorway to the antechamber.
The door was open, and a booted foot lay across the threshold. Apparently, one of the guards had dropped right where he’d stood in the doorway, and Orthan had left him where he’d fallen. There had been two guards. One at either door.
Sam peered carefully into the antechamber, keeping as far back out of sight as possible, but Orthan was focused on the other end of the room and the door through which the King would step. Sam could see the other guard, also on the ground, out cold near the other door.
Sam wasn’t sure what Orthan had done to them, but Orthan had to be more skilled than anybody realized to have knocked out two of the King’s finest Guardsmen without getting a scratch on himself. Sam wondered how he hadn’t known Orthan had such skills. Or did he? Could there be magic aiding him in some way?
“Salveer, could you tell if Lord Orthan used magic to fell those guards? Is there a way to know?” Sam asked before taking action. If Orthan had done something magical, he could well use it again, and then, Sam would be unable to help protect his liege lord.
The dragon leaned his head closer and took a long sniff. “Now that you mention it…” Salveer seemed to think for a moment. “There is a trace of magic, but there is also a chemical smell that lingers just under the surface. I think he sprayed something potent into their faces, but I cannot say what it is. I have never encountered this scent before.”
Sam tugged a square of dark cloth out of his pocket. His court garb had come equipped with all sorts of things, including a dark handkerchief in case he needed to obscure his face. Sam tied the cloth around his face, just under his eyes, hoping the fabric would offer some protection should Orthan try to dose Sam with whatever he’d used to fell the guards. Of course, Sam didn’t plan to get close enough for Orthan to use that trick if he could help it. Sam stepped into the antechamber, his sword drawn.
“Lord Orthan, what are you doing here?” Sam used his best command voice, though he kept it low enough that nobody in the great hall could hear.
“None of your business, boy. Go away,” Orthan spat, seeming not to recognize Sam. He returned his attention to the door through which the King would enter the antechamber.
“I think not, milord. You should not be in this antechamber. It is forbidden except by the King’s express invitation.” Sam stepped a little closer, but the man’s attention was focused out the tiny window in the door through which he could see the dais.
“And do I not have the King’s invitation?” Orthan screeched, sounding affronted. “How would you know? You’re only a servant. Now, get out and leave me to my business.”
That might have worked with an apprentice, but not with a General.
“Try again.”
Sam was edging forward, ready to take action as soon as he saw the right opening, but then, the door to the dais opened, and Alric stood there, Zallra at his side. Damn.
“Sire, please go back into the hall,” Sam said in a clear voice.
But Alric had a frown on his face, and he advanced into the anteroom, Zallra beside him. She closed the door behind them, preventing those in the great hall from knowing what was happening in the much smaller chamber.
“No. Though I thank you, General. I am through letting others fight my battles, and I want to know why Lord Orthan felt it necessary to betray not only me, but the kingdom,” Alric enunciated clearly.
“Why didn’t you just die yesterday, like you were supposed to?” Orthan cried out, spittle flying from his lips in his agitation. “Or all the other times I tried to have you killed? That damned Osmian wanted to play with you too much. I told him that a hundred times, but he insisted it would be better his way, and I let him do as he liked. At least while you were blind, I could do what I liked. But now that you can see again…” Orthan shook with rage. “And this…this…harlot you plan to wed.” He gestured rudely toward Zallra, who was watching with quiet judgment at his side. “I’m through waiting. I’ve spent my entire fortune trying to kill you, and every hireling has failed me. So I’m going to have to do this myself.”
Sam moved ever closer, waiting for Orthan to spring so he could stop him, but Orthan didn’t spring at the King. In fact, he tossed his sword aside, reaching instead for his pocket. He moved quickly, uncorking a wide-mouthed vial with his teeth before Sam could get close enough to stop the splash of fluid out of the dark bottle toward the King.
Sam acted, his sword running through the traitorous lord’s heart from behind while an instant swirl of magic occurred at Alric’s side, and Zallra’s wing blocked the fluid from getting anywhere near the King. It dripped off her wing and landed on the carpet, turning the bright red wool weave to a sickly tan color almost instantaneously.
“Zallra!” the King shouted from behind her. “Are you all right, my love?”
“I’m fine,” Zallra stated for all those who could hear her. She lowered her wing, obviously mindful of where the rest of the fluid landed. “It can’t penetrate my tough hide, but I should wash this off somewhere safe as soon as possible. Anything the potion has touched will need to be burned, and the utmost care needs to be taken in removing anything that could be contaminated. This stuff kills on contact.”
“Zallra!” The King’s voice sounded agonized.
“It won’t kill me, my love. Not in this form. But it will kill anybody who comes into direct contact with it. Safest thing to do is put the rug and anything else into the big fireplace and have one of our dragon friends incinerate it down to ash. Let the smoke float out from the highest chimney to dissipate harmlessly in the air. As for me, I’m going to the river to soak my insulted wing for a good long time.”
Smallest of all the dragons he’d seen, Lady Zallra’s black form walked carefully closer in the small room. It was just large enough to fit them all. She looked down at Lord Orthan’s dead body. Sam had run him through cleanly.
“Good work, General,” Zallra said in his mind. “Perhaps Salveer can use his flame to incinerate the refuse.”
Sam looked back to where Zallra was looking and saw Salveer’s head inside the room, his large body crowding the doorway. It looked somewhat absurd, but Sam wasn’t going to quibble. Salveer backed out of the way as Zallra walked toward the door to the hallway. She could just about squeeze through it in her dragon form, and the hallway was the quickest way to get out of the castle without running into too many people. The dragons would run interference for her, he was sure.
Alric stood where she’d left him, shaking his head. “I never would have suspected Orthan. He’s a distant cousin and was boyhood friends with my father.”
There was a tap on the door behind Alric. The one leading to the great hall. Sam could see Isolde looking in through the small window set in the door.
“Isolde says the courtiers have all left, and the great hall is empty but for the dragons,” Salveer told Sam and the King.
Alric turned and opened the door, letting Isolde in. She still held the scythe in one hand.
“What can I do to help?” she asked, ready for action.
“You’ve already done it,” Alric replied. “I had not suspected Orthan of anything until you gathered the evidence with the help of our new ice dragon friends. I owe you all a great deal,” the King said, gazing from Sam, to Salveer, to Isolde. “I am both gladdened to have your loyalty and trust, and saddened that Lord Orthan chose to betray his land and me, personally.”
“He was in league with the Alchemist Osmian, Sire. It appears Lord Orthan has been your secret enemy for a lot longer than any of us suspected,” Sam said, wiping his sword on a clean section of the ruined rug that was destined to be burned shortly. He then stood and bowed to his King. “If you will go with the dragons, Sire, I will arrange help cleaning this up. We dare not leave something so deadly out in the open any longer than necessary, but there could still be danger to you. Perhaps Mistress Isolde can accompany you as well?” A smile lifted one corner of the General’s mouth. “She keeps trying to return the scythe to you, but something always happens.”
Alric smiled wryly at that and gestured to Isolde. “Yes, my dear. Let’s go raid the kitchens with some of your clever apprentices. A special treat for them after all their hard work on my behalf.”
“I think they’d love that, Your Majesty,” Isolde replied immediately. “Thank you.”
The King gestured for Isolde to precede him to the door and stopped at Sam’s side. “We must talk later. Come to my private office tonight, after dinner.”
“Yes, Sire,” Sam replied immediately. He wondered what the King had in mind but couldn’t ask. He’d find out tonight.