The Sorcerer's Ascension (3 page)

“Your Grace, the Rook is very expensive, particularly on such short notice. Could we not just send in one of our own men to kill him?”

“No, we must deflect attention as far away from us as possible. Let the King think that he was working for a wizard trying to bolster his own power that then killed his courier for failing him as well as to protect himself from discovery," the duke responded shrewdly. He paused his pacing and clenched his fists. "The loss of that artifact could set us back years, and now that the King is aware that an effort is being made to recover and bring them into the kingdom, it is going to make it that much harder to acquire the others and complete my plans.”

“Of course, you are wise, Your Grace. I shall contact the black tower immediately.”

*****

Darius awoke in a dark but reasonably clean and dry cell. The only light came through the narrow, barred window set in a heavy, ironbound door from a torch flickering just outside. The floor of his cell was covered in straw beginning to mildew. A bucket to relieve himself sat in the corner. From the smell, he could tell that it was emptied occasionally but never washed out. His head was throbbing with pain and any movement caused his vision to swim and made him slightly nauseous. He lay back down on the stone bed that was built into the wall and let sleep retake him.

Darius was awakened some time later, but he had no idea of how much time had passed when he heard a noise at his door. A clay bowl full of bland but reasonably good stew was slid through a small hole at the bottom of his door. He rushed to the door, nearly toppling the bowl of food in his haste, and called out to whoever had brought him his meal.

“Where am I, why am I here? Please tell me!” he shouted but received no answer.

He picked up the bowl and sat back on the bed. They had given him no utensils to eat with so he simply tipped the bowl up to his mouth, drank the broth, and then ate the chunks of potato, carrot, and meat. A few hours later, he heard someone once again outside his door. He rushed to the door and again demanded to know where he was and why he was detained and this time he received an answer.

“You are in the magistrate’s jail and you are here for allegedly smuggling an artifact of power into the city,” the voice whispered through the door.

“Who are you?” Darius asked insistently.

“I am Chief Inspector Lazlo, the chief magistrate of Southport.”

“How long am I to be held?”

“Until your trial,” the magistrate answered.

“How long will that be?” Darius asked, barely able to comprehend what was happening.

“That I cannot tell you,” came the man’s reply. “A magistrate from the King’s court has been sent for to interview you. When he arrives, you will be questioned. I can tell you no more and neither can anyone else. The King’s Blackguard has ordered that no one may speak to you until the King’s magistrate arrives, so please do not bother any of my people again. They cannot speak to you and neither can I,” the magistrate insisted with finality.

The magistrate left Captain Giles alone in his cell so he lay back down on his bunk, closed his eyes, and covered his face with his hands.

I should be home now with my wife and son, but instead I'm sitting in a prison cell for some terrible mistake
. He could only pray that it would all be cleared up when the King’s magistrate arrived.

*****

The Duke’s chamberlain shuffled out of his patron’s chamber and back to his own room. Once inside, he bolted his door, crossed the room, and sat at his desk. He produced a black gem half the size of a hen’s egg from the top drawer and focused his will upon it. After a moment, the gem vibrated slightly in his hand and produced a tinny voice.

“What is your need, Master Alton?” the voice from the gem asked.

“Magus, my master requires the services of the Rook immediately,” the chamberlain insisted, speaking to the gem he held in his hand.

“Something must have gone seriously wrong for someone willing to pay for his
immediate
services,” the voice responded with amusement.

“There has been a complication with the transport of the Lazuul item. My master needs the Rook to contain the damage already done,” urged the old chamberlain.

“Very well, we will contact him and inform him of your urgent need.”

Chamberlain Alton always felt disconcerted talking to the mysterious wizard through the gem, but that discomfiture paled in comparison to how he would feel when he had to face the Rook once again. Alton returned the gem to the desk drawer and returned to his lord’s study.

“It is arranged, Your Grace,” the chamberlain informed the Duke as he entered the room.

“Excellent, at least that is done. This setback is going to cost me a great deal, and not just in gold. Other factions will certainly use this setback to their advantage and try to steal my prize out from under me. Inform my agents that they are to renew their efforts to locate more artifacts that I can use to bolster my strength and legitimize my claim to the throne."

“Of course, Your Grace, you will certainly be successful and the kingdom will be better for it, grateful even, I am sure."

"Send a missive to General Baneford. He is to recover the artifact at any cost," the duke growled.

Three nights after contacting the wizard through the gem, Chamberlain Alton awoke to the touch of cold steel on his face. His eyes snapped open and locked onto a pair of ice-blue orbs that seemed to glow of an unnatural light from under a dark cowl.

The hooded face stared down at the prone chamberlain, only those merciless eyes visible in the pale light of a dimly lit oil lamp. The cold steel of a wickedly curved blade held lightly in the figure’s left hand caressed his slack jowl.

“M-master Rook?” Alton stammered, barely able overcome his fear to form the question.

“Were you expecting another master assassin? I do give multiple target discounts and may have been able to save you some gold if you needlessly hired another assassin,” the Rook said with a twisted sort of humor.

“No, no of course not, Master Rook, I was expecting only you. As well as anyone can expect someone of your legendary skills.”

“Have you finally decided to hire me to assassinate your beloved king? I long to savor such a delectable target once again.”

“No! I mean, no, the King must not be assassinated. It would not suit my master’s plans for the King to die in that way,” the chamberlain exclaimed, sitting up as the Rook stepped away from him.

“Neither of you were so squeamish when you had me kill his father.”

The chamberlain sighed. “At the time, we were unaware the King had an heir. Duke Ulric was the most logical choice for succession at that time. King Jarvin has managed to endear himself to the commoners far more than his father had. If you killed him you would have to kill his children and the people would almost certainly turn against whoever tried to claim the throne, particularly if they were implicated in the King and his family’s death.”

“What is your urgent need of me then?”

“There is a prisoner held in the magistrate’s jail that must be silenced immediately,” Lord Alton explained as he gained his feet and straightened his nightclothes.

“That sounds like a rather simple task, and I do so find simple tasks insulting and beneath me, Chamberlain,” the Rook warned without a trace of humor in his voice.

“Evidence must point to a killer with the ability to wield magic, Master Rook, and it must be done with the utmost speed and competence. There is far too much at stake for my master to risk any more mistakes no matter how slight, which is why we must have you. My master knows you are supremely reliable and would not dare to ask you for such a task below your skills if it was not extremely important,” Alton soothed, trying to appease the deadly assassin.

"You are trying to flatter me, Chamberlain. Fortunately for you, I am able to appreciate flattery when it is true. How many prisoners and guards are with or near the target?”

“He is being held in isolation, no visitors, only the guards that bring him his meals and empty his waste bucket go near him, and even then they never go inside the cell and are forbidden to speak to him.”

“Very well, your prisoner will be dead by morning,” the assassin assured the chamberlain. “You have my payment, I expect.”

“Yes, of course, allow me to get it for you.”

Alton hurried the room and swung open a small door in the wall hidden behind a painting and false stonework. He took a key from his desk, removed a large lock from a steel strongbox within the cubbyhole, and pulled out a small sack of gold.

“It does seem a bit light, my Lord Chamberlain. I hope you did not expect me to work so cheaply,” the assassin said mockingly, the hint of humor only heightening the threat that lay beneath.

“Of course not, Master Rook, the other half of your payment is here when you have completed your task,” Alton assured his deadly guest, sweat starting to bead on his brow.

“My dear chamberlain, your prisoner is already dead; he just doesn’t know it yet,” came the assassin’s cool reply, his hand outstretched.

The chamberlain handed over a second bag of gold, not wishing to argue with one of the most lethal men in the realm. Alton replaced the lock, closed the false stone door, and hung the painting back up. When he turned back the assassin was already gone and not a single trace remained in the room to show that he was ever there. Alton knew it was barely past midnight but got dressed knowing that he would get no more sleep this night.

*****

Captain Giles was woken once again by a sound outside his door. He had no indication of the time; he had no windows that opened to the outside of wherever it was that he was held. He watched the door thinking that the morning had come and one of the guards had come to bring him food to break his fast.

As he watched, the stonework around the door seemed to melt like candle wax and dripped onto the floor. With nothing to hold the bolt in place any longer, the door swung open freely and a dark hooded form glided silently into the room. Fear filled his body as a wave of what could only be described as pure evil washed over him. He stood up, tried to back away, and call for the guards but he found himself locked in place, his limbs refusing his commands to move, and his voice frozen in his throat.

“Do you know why you are going to die tonight?” the terrifying, hooded creature asked.

Darius tried to answer but could not speak or even shake his head. He could only look into the luminous ice-blue eyes that promised his death.

“Of course you don’t, pawns never understand the greater strategies of the game they are forced to play. That is what you are, a poor pawn unfortunate enough to be caught up in a game much bigger than himself. A game of kings, queens, knights, and of course, Rooks,” the frightening figure said with a small laugh.

Darius did not understand the joke but he did know that this man was going to kill him and there was nothing he could do about it. He thought of his family and what would happen to them. In that moment, he knew the pain of true regret, knew he would not see his son grow up, or to give him a brother or sister. Hundreds of thoughts raced through his mind as the dark figure advanced, a wickedly curved blade in his hand. He could not move, but he could still feel the steel as it pierced his heart.

The Rook disliked killing people of such little stature or power, but he was a professional and was paid to do a job. Normally he would draw out his executions, but this was just a merchant that had been caught up in greater people’s schemes through no fault of his own. He took little pleasure in this man’s killing, so he granted him a clean quick death even though it would not look it once the guards found the body.

The assassin finished his gruesome work within minutes and vanished as quickly and mysteriously as he had appeared.

Lord Crassus, the King’s magistrate, arrived early that same morning and insisted on seeing the prisoner immediately. Chief Inspector Lazlo and four guards led the King’s magistrate to the isolation cell. They saw immediately that the door to the cell was ajar. The inspector’s first fear was that the prisoner had somehow escaped. He then noticed that the stone all around the doorframe was melted, the rocky slag in spatters upon the floor. The chief magistrate pushed the door open and his mouth opened in shock at the horrific scene.