“You know what this means? It means that the throne is empty; Sarrat had no relatives and no named successors. It means that the first person who gets into the fortress and places the crown on their head will be the next King of Leersland.”
Gartnor nodded and had he not been so exhausted or so preoccupied he would have heard Andron’s change of pace and direction. As it was he only had a moment to cry out as the Great Lord’s long knife sliced through his throat spilling bright red blood cascading down his simple white peasant’s shirt.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
CHAPTER TWO The Beast
The prisoner opened his eyes slowly and blinked into the almost total darkness, concentrating on the small square of light in the far corner where daylight filtered through an open metal grill in the wall high above him. He resisted the temptation to crawl towards it and instead closed his eyes and concentrated on his other senses. From the smell of stone and dirt he was in some sort of cellar far enough below ground for the cold to make him shiver but not so deep that light didn’t penetrate. The place also smelled of damp and he could hear the drip of water in what was otherwise total silence. The other smell was dried blood and he realized it was his own.
Carefully he sat up and winced at the sharp pain in his side. As he pulled himself across the dirt floor to prop himself up against the wall, the pain in his side spread across his chest and he gasped at its intensity. When he reached the wall he rested his head against its damp surface and winced again as the lump on the back of his head pressed against the stone. He gently felt the lump which was just above the base of his skull and his hand came away damp and sticky.
He closed his eyes to ease the pounding in his head and took stock of his injuries; slight concussion, a couple of cracked ribs and heavy bruising down one side, presumably from the heavy boots of Prince Newn’s royal guard. The fact that he was whole and the rest of him was relatively unharmed told him that the changes he had made to his appearance had worked well enough for him not to be recognized. Whilst he couldn’t see what he looked like in the dark, he was certain that his disguise still held. What he needed now was sleep and healing before they came back to question him again. He closed his eyes and was instantly asleep.
The man woke to the sound of his prison door being opened and shielded his eyes with his arms just before a torch was thrust into the darkness. Not that it did him much good as rough hands grabbed him by his arms, heaved him to his feet and pulled him up the stone stairs and into the daylight. He blinked to clear his vision and thanked the goddess for her gift of healing. The day was overcast and chilly but by the distant smell of baking bread he guessed it must have been early morning. His stomach grumbled as he thought about food and he looked over to the east side of the courtyard where he knew the communal kitchens were located.
This particular courtyard was a place he knew well; kitchens to the east, barracks to the west and stables, kennels and store rooms to the north. He had just come from that direction so his guess that he had been held in some sort of root cellar was probably correct. The south side opened onto an area of packed earth where the guards trained and behind that was the old king’s sprawling hunting lodge.
Beyond was the forest where the king and the highborn of Tarbis used to hunt wild tuskers and forest runner. He wondered if the old king’s son kept up the tradition. His question was answered when a small party of horsemen approached from that direction and he watched them until one of the guards pushed him to his knees and rested his sword on his shoulder a finger’s length from his neck, daring him to rise again.
Prince Newn stopped in front of him flanked by his two body guards and stared