Black wizards - Douglas Niles [11]
"Perhaps he knew that your father had no ambitions," conceded Daryth. "But perhaps your father was not the target of this assassin. It may be that he was simply an unfortunate victim – the real target could be one that the High King does not know to be a loyal vassal – the one most responsible for the great victory of last year."
"Me?" Tristan was shocked.
"Of course, that is just a guess," admitted Daryth. "But your father was no threat to the High King. Maybe you were."
"But what could be gained by slaying me? The king has enemies by virtue of his position. Who knows how many petty cantrev lords will be arriving here to fight for my father's position? One of them could have done this."
"I think that is unlikely," argued the houndmaster. "For one thing, the graduates of the Academy of Stealth do not work cheaply – I doubt whether one of the cantrev lords could have afforded them."
"Perhaps they were hired by the High King, or at least by some wealthy individual of Callidyrr," Tristan said. "I cannot accept the idea that I was the target." Still, he recalled his father pushing over his chair and the dart that followed.
"Very well," Daryth shrugged. "But have a care for your back nonetheless."
"I shall. The coming council of lords gives me enough cause for nervousness, in any event. The major lords of Corwell will ride here upon hearing of the news of my father's death. After the funeral feast they will select a new king."
"What do you plan?" asked the houndmaster.
"I plan to be the one selected."
* * * * *
The sliver of a moon cast little light over the vast wilderness of Myrloch Vale. It did not penetrate the thick canopy of aspen leaves, and thus the confines of the bower remained pitch black.
The shriveled figure there twisted and sat up, breathing heavily. He had slept all afternoon and now felt strong enough to move.
With exaggerated stealth, he reached a clawlike hand into his tattered pouch, pulling forth a black rock. It was curved, with smooth surfaces. Like a stone sculpture of a heart. Some of its facets were pure, deep black, and others seemed even darker. It absorbed light and radiated a faint heat. Deep within its center, it throbbed with a deep, evil cadence that few could hear – but those that heard it, heard it most profoundly. Nervously peering into the woods surrounding him, he hunched over and clasped the object to his breast.
Rabbits and squirrels shifted uneasily throughout the woods as some nameless disturbance penetrated their rest. The flowers in the garden closed their petals. In the pond, the lilies shivered and shifted away from the sinister presences, until all of the blossoms had gathered against the far shore like a nervous flock of sheep.
Suddenly, a cackle of glee passed the man's lips, and he jumped in fright. Panicked, he jerked his head about, straining to hear if he had been detected. Carefully, he wrapped the object in its filthy pouch and lay down again upon the bed of grasses.
Within the cottage, two hundred feet away, Genna thrashed in her sleep, apparently caught in the throes of a nightmare.
And Robyn sat up suddenly, drenched with sweat – for she had just awakened from a numbing nightmare of her own. She had dreamed of the king, her step-father, laid upon his funeral bier. Surrounding him, descending slowly, was an unspeakably menacing black mist.
She could not return to sleep for the rest of the night.
* * * * *
"To Good King Kendrick. May the goddess reward him!" Lord Pontswain raised his mug, allowing foam to spill onto the broad tabletop.
The council of lords was meeting in Caer Corwell's great hall, for the royal study was not large enough to accommodate the gathered throng. The lords represented the villages and towns of the small kingdom, from tiny highland communities to thriving fishing cantrevs. They sat drinking dark ale in toast to their deceased sovereign.
All thirty-one of Corwell's cantrev lords had gathered at the castle to decide upon the future ruler of the kingdom. Tristan, as host, sat at the head of the table. Daryth sat to