The Powterosian War (Book 5) (9 page)

“Got it,” the second said, staring at the poison vile he took with caution.

Listening for any sound, the assassin heard nothing. He slid the door open just wide enough to see outside. There was no one on the landing. He hid back beside a bureau at the top of the stairwell with the broom handle ready. Footsteps on the stairs caused him to hunker down.

What if it’s not the servant with the gown, he thought. His heart raced as the footsteps grew louder in the stairwell. The servant stepped out onto the landing and the assassin saw the blue gown draped over his arm. Looking to the man’s feet, he thrust the broom handle between his legs as the man’s second leg came into the hall. The servant flew forward. The assassin’s heart skipped a beat, but then the man’s free hand hit the stairway wall and he fell back. The assassin jumped up and lurched forward, striking the man from behind. The servant fell down unconscious on the stairs. The assassin scanned the area; no one else was around.

The second assassin jumped out from the closet, grabbed the gown from the stairs and, opening the vile, poured the poison around the neck. He blew on the toxic substance to dry it and dropped it on the stairs.

Meanwhile, the first assassin had tossed the broom across from the stairwell to appear as if it had been knocked there by the retainer tripping. He checked the man on the stairs; he was breathing and started to moan.

The two assassins looked at the servant and each other. The first grabbed the second who had turned to rush back to the closet. He jerked the second back behind the large bureau, pointed to the broom, and then the closet. His heart was racing so fast he could hear the blood pulsing through the veins on the side of his head. He held the other back down against the wall with his arm thrust backward.

If the man saw even my shadow or remembers being struck, we’re lost, he thought. He held his breath for fear his breathing could be heard in the dead silence.

The assassin’s heightened senses seemed acutely sensitive to sounds. They heard the servant fumbling in the stairwell just around the wall from them. The moans grew worse. Something metal knocked against the stairwell wall and it tinkled down the stairs. Sandals slid on the stone stairs as the man struggled to get to his feet. Finally, he shuffled onto the landing with the gown again over his arm. He hesitated, his hand rubbing the back of his head. He leaned against the wall for a moment. Again, the assassin held his breath. What if he looks back this way? He wondered.

The retainer picked up the broom and, opening the closet where the two assassins had hidden only moments before, slung the broom inside and slammed the door. He shook his head again and stood for a moment, collecting himself.

If he looks around now, we’re lost,” thought the assassin.

The servant gently shook out the gown to remove any dust from the stairs. With it over his arm again, and rubbing the lump on his head, he stumbled down the curved hall to the queen’s apartment.

As the man went out of sight, the assassins listened for any sound from below. Hearing none, they dashed down the steps before someone else came and discovered them. They made it to the lower levels and mingled with others there, working their way out of the palace. After nightfall, they slipped over the wall and disappeared.

*

“I love that gown, the blue is so rich,” Queen Nonee said, seeing it over the retainer’s arm as he entered. “Are you okay?” she asked the man who looked strange. He nodded.

“Such a beautiful gown,” a maid said to the queen. She took it from the servant who left the apartment. The maid laid out the gown across the bed.

An hour later, Nonee dressed for the army officers’ dinner. The gown looked elegant, flowing gracefully over the queen as her pregnancy wasn’t yet so visible through the delicate fabric.

“I feel a bit woozy,” Nonee said to her maid as the attendant put on her crown and jewels.

“Are you all right?” the maid asked. Nonee looked at her. At first she appeared blurred, then when focused, the maid’s large eyes expressed alarm.

“I’ll be fine, just tired. I wore myself out walking this afternoon and then the climb up the tower stairs. It’s nothing.”

“Shall I send a message to the king, saying you can’t attend the dinner tonight?”

Nonee patted her maid’s hand. “No, I’ll be fine.”

When the queen started to rise from the dressing table, she sank back down. Her maid caught her and Nonee refused, again, to cancel her appearance at the dinner.

“This will be the king’s last dinner with his officers before the sortie. Some might not come back. I must be with Grekenbach and his captains at this important dinner to show my support. These are my people now.” Nonee smiled gently, got to her feet and, leaning on the maid, walked to the stairs. Slowly she descended to the state banquet hall. She felt faint and ate little throughout dinner, leaving as soon as her absence would be unnoticeable while the men chatted up their courage for the coming raid. One of her ladies-in-waiting was there at the banquet hall door to help the queen to the staircase. As Nonee climbed the steps to the second landing, she passed out and fell back unconscious on her lady-in-waiting.

*

“Help!” cried the lady-in-waiting, barely able to hold the queen up. “Someone help us here.”

Servants rushed up the stairs and carried the queen to her chamber, but her maid saw blood already flowed. She raised the coverlet over the queen to keep her warm.

“My Lady,” her maid cried and began to weep. “Send for the king, the midwife, and the physician.” Servants rushed out the door. Weeping, the maid tucked the covers around Nonee, sitting beside her, holding her hand. She assisted the midwife and physician when they arrived.

King Grekenbach rushed into the room moments later. He knelt beside the queen’s bed and tenderly enveloped her cool, delicate hand in his strong ones. Everyone in the room was crying. Grekenbach looked to the midwife and the maid. Both shook their heads.

“What happened?” Grekenbach asked.

“She felt faint earlier but insisted on going to the dinner,” the maid said.

“She was weak after the dinner and tried to make it back here but fainted in the stairwell,” the lady-in-waiting said.

“Will she be all right? What do the midwife and the physician say?”

All those in the room looked at each other, none at the king. The maid didn’t want to answer, but no one else would. She stepped forward and, glancing at the midwife, pulled the cover back from the queen, revealing she had bled to death from a miscarriage.

The king jumped up, his gaze fixed on his beloved, as the maid covered her mistress once more. Grekenbach stood silent for a moment, then fell on his knees again clutching Nonee’s hand in both of his, rubbing it tenderly. His head fell to her hand and he wept uncontrollably. The others quietly slipped out of the room leaving the king to his queen.

*

At the state funeral, many of the queen’s new subjects begged to speak of their loving experiences with her. King Grekenbach sat listening, sitting upright, stiff, his face hard as stone. At the end, the Duchess of Elb, the king’s aunt, touched him gently, bringing him out of his trance of grief. King Grekenbach rose to thank the court for their love of the royal family and their adoration of their beloved queen. Tears streamed down his cheeks, though he ignored them until his voice broke and his face fell to his chest. He stood frozen, staring at the love of his life, begging any powers that could help to restore her to him. His soul seemed to empty and his very essence drew back from life. He was torn, wanting to go with her, yet knowing all the people before him and throughout the city stood silent to honor Nonee. They needed his strength and guidance to survive the war they were all embroiled in. 

The duchess rose and went to the king. She wrapped her arm around his, pulling him to her. Her strength for a moment held him up. Then he lifted his head and the two of them walked back to their seats. The whole court passed by gently handing flowers to a courtier who put them by the armfuls into containers to take to the royal tomb. At the end, royal guards carried Nonee to the crypt with just members of the royal family attending. There, they sealed her in the mausoleum to wait, when the king himself would join her.

King Grekenbach remained with his grief in the palace tower until the chatra knocked on the door. “What do you want?” Grekenbach asked, his voice rough and broken.

“Majesty, I must speak with you.” the chatra said.

Grekenbach was with his Nonee in his grief and came back to the reality outside the door slowly. How can I deal with the responsibilities of state, all those people looking to me to save them when I can’t save myself? He thought. The forces of Dreaddrac are beyond the walls about to attack us, wanting to kill us to the last man. How can I find the strength to lead my people now?

“You must open the door, Your Majesty,” came a voice soft, yet serene. “Your people need you. You are among the living. Nonee would want you to go on living for you both, for all.” The Grand Duchess of Elb, Klekkenska, it was who spoke, his father’s sister. That proud but soft patrician voice was threaded with the ancestral reassurance and strength that faced adversity head on. The strength was just so in his father’s voice. It spread living warmth through the king, driving back the cold call of death. Grekenbach rose stiffly, like an old man.

How I’ve aged, he thought as he walked slowly to the door and opened it. The chatra nodded to the duchess who stepped back in deference to the king and his chatra.

“Majesty, the city remains in grief, the people are milling about aimlessly,” the chatra said. “The soldiers on the walls are dejected. They seem not to care about the defensive preparations you must have in place quickly. General Vylvex has aligned his legions, brought up siege machines before three gates and your generals are begging you to assume command again. They tell me to convey to you that Vylvex is expected to attack tomorrow morning. Your majesty must put aside your grief and come to your people.”

Grekenbach listened, trying to hear what the chatra was saying, trying to hear what the words themselves conveyed. Shock still held him in an icy grip beyond his body and he couldn’t think.

The duchess stepped forward and hugged the king. “You must come back to us.”

“Give me a moment,” Grekenbach said and closed the door gently. Back in the dark, gloomy queen’s room, the king splashed water on his face, looked once again at the portrait of Nonee and smiled at her. “They’ll not disturb your peace, my love.” The thought of Vylvex looking down, grinning at orcs ransacking the palace and despoiling the dynastic tombs shocked Grekenbach. He left his grief in the room, closing the door behind him.

“Have my body servant prepare my armor. I’ll need it now,” Grekenbach said to the chatra. As the man was about to rush off, Grekenbach added, “Have the generals assemble in the throne room at once.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the chatra said, his face alight, seeing his king again coming to life. He nodded to the duchess and then rushed off to his appointed tasks.

“Thank you, Klekkenska,” the king said, embracing his much loved aunt who had been his strength since his father’s death. “Once again you come to save me from myself, as when father died.” He hugged her, then the two walked arm in arm to the king’s chamber to dress for resuming the leadership of his kingdom and people. She left him there renewed, able to move forward for the challenges ahead.

*

The king walked resolutely across the back of the throne room to the dais and stood before the throne. For a moment, he looked over the hall filled with the kingdom’s senior officers, their stares fixed on him.

This is a critical moment, their faces plead for reassurance. I must convince them their king is back, the self-assured king they knew, back in command of the state, and importantly, of myself.

“Gentlemen, thank you all for your support and patience during my bereavement. Let us assure you we are back with you. We are in control of our person and this state.” Grekenbach watched as the generals, colonels, majors, and the smiling officers all looked at each other, then back at the king. “Tomorrow we will take the offensive and make a sortie on the forces of Dreaddrac. Know this is not an act of grief-stricken vengeance for personal reasons, but an attack planned before the death of our queen. We cannot survive hiding behind these walls waiting for reinforcements to arrive, bolstering General Vylvex’s army. We must take the initiative and wound him while we still can.”

A round of applause arose from the hall and spread through it front to back. Grekenbach looked at the strength of Graushdem, its armed leadership merging into one with him, willing to follow him where ever he should lead.

“Thank you, one and all, for your devotion to this court and kingdom. Those of you that are involved in tomorrow’s campaign, from the leading generals to the support staff that has arranged the supplies, we thank you again for your patience. While lives may be lost in this courageous attack, no lives will be wasted needlessly. All who fight in this battle fight to save their homes, families, futures, and the kingdom.” Another round of applause flowed through the hall.

“Return now to your assigned positions and forces and get some rest. I believe the orders will be available at the door from the chatra’s staff. Go with brave hearts and your king’s eternal gratitude.”