A Dance of Blades

22

I n the dark of Felwood’s dungeon, Oric shivered. He sat on a wood cot and listened to the water drip. Where it dripped, he didn’t know. To pass the time, he’d tried to guess, but the echo always seemed to change on him. His cell was completely dark, without a single shred of light. He’d scoured the floor with his palms, but everywhere he touched was wet, and a drop never landed upon him. Still, the search did better to pass the time than thinking about his fate. Anytime he thought of that, or of how long he might be in the total darkness, his head swam and his heart lurched into his throat.

He’d tried talking to anyone else, a guard or fellow prisoner, but his voice only echoed through the emptiness, never answered. For some reason, that always made it worse. Without light, company, or a single meal, time was meaningless. At least two times he slept, and in his dreams he saw color, women, friends. He wished he could sleep more often.

A loud creak startled him from a doze. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. Orange and yellow flickered along the walls, at first a wonderful sight but soon painful in their brightness. Holding a hand before his eyes to block the pain, he felt a wretched sight as John Gandrem stepped in, soldiers at his side.

“Stay seated,” he said, “otherwise my guards will open you up in many places.”

“But a man should always rise at the arrival of a lord,” Oric said. He held back a cough. His voice felt scratchy, dry. He remained sitting despite his protest. With how light his head felt, he thought he’d pass out if he stood too quickly.

John crossed his arms and looked down at him. In the yellow light, his skin seemed like stone, old and unmalleable. His eyes looked even worse. For all the stories he’d heard of Lord Gandrem’s kindness, he’d yet to hear a story describe those eyes. Mercy didn’t belong in them, not now, maybe not ever. Perhaps this was the lord of the dungeon, a different man than the lord of Felwood.

“Before we start, there’s a few things you should know,” Gandrem began. “First, I have talked extensively with the boy, Nathaniel. His story is consistent, and most damning. Second, the man Ingram thought he killed, the farmer Matthew, is not dead. Third, my men have already worked over Uri, and how he sang, Oric. I know what you did to that farmer’s wife. The idea that you could claim they assaulted a caravan and held Nathaniel hostage is laughable.”

“I never claimed it. That was Ingram’s stupid idea.”

The faintest hint of a smile stretched at Lord Gandrem’s lips, but then vanished.

“Perhaps. A shame I cut his throat before I could tell him the farmer lived. I plan on ensuring Matthew is well rewarded, as is his wife. But the question remains now, what do I do with you?”

“Well, between the rope and the ax, I think I’d prefer the ax.”

“In time, Oric. In time. See, my biggest problem is not with you, but with your master, Arthur Hadfield. Mark Tullen visited me before meeting with you and Nathaniel in Tyneham. I know he was escorting the boy back, and I’m not a damn fool. Everyone knows he was a potential suitor of Alyssa, and Arthur wanted him gone. Proving that, however, is another matter.”

His soldiers rushed in and grabbed Oric by either arm. Up went his hands, back and above his head. Chains rattled, and then he felt clamps tighten about his wrists. With him safely shackled, John sat on the small cot and pulled his heavy coat tighter about him.

“Now I don’t mean proving it to just Alyssa,” he continued. “She’s a bright gal, and there’s too much here for her to ignore. However, Arthur’s long held those mines at the edge of my lands, always refusing taxes. I want those lands. It is my knights that have protected them. It is my lands his traders travel across to Veldaren. It is on my roads he ships his gold and sends for his supplies. By all rights, they should be mine, and would have been if not for the Gemcrofts.”

“What could I possibly have to do with that?” Oric asked. His shoulders were starting to cramp, and he had a creeping feeling it was about to get a whole lot worse…especially if they left him like this for several hours, if not days.

“King Vaelor has rejected every claim of mine for taxes, no doubt because he fears the Trifect more than he fears me. That, and their bribes. But Arthur has no heir, and he’s never written a will in case he does have a son. Doesn’t want anyone feeling jealous of the brat, or thinking he suddenly stole their wealth. If he dies as such, his lands will be joined with the closest lord’s.”

“You. But you aren’t the one holding Arthur. Alyssa is. You think she’ll make him foreswear his lands before she strings him up?”

“I have no doubt she could,” John said. “But she’ll only do that if she discovers what happened. Now do you understand? I hold all the control here. Arthur won’t dare challenge me about your deaths, for the truth gets him killed. He can only keep his mouth shut and pray for the best. I, however…”

Oric tried to flex his back, but he was held too closely to the wall. He rolled his neck back and forth, and it popped loudly. Minutes. It’d only been minutes, but he already wanted out. Far better to shiver freely on the floor than sit unable to move half his body. He didn’t want to think about hours. Or days. Or gods forbid, years.

“I hold Arthur’s life in my hands, and yours as well. I might have used Uri for this, but he didn’t take well to my low servants’ questionings. We had to ensure he spoke the truth, of course. So it is down to you. Where do your loyalties lie, Oric? You deserve death, we both know this. What might you do to be spared that fate? Help me, or otherwise…you said it yourself: rope or ax.”

Oric couldn’t believe his luck. He thought that he’d have nothing of value to offer, but if he could roll on his former master and somehow escape with his head…

“What is it you want from me?” he asked.

“I need you to kill Arthur before he can discover things have gone awry, and before Alyssa might realize his involvement. Before you do, I want you to sign a statement I might use in the king’s court detailing every bit of yours, and Arthur’s, involvement.”

“What do I do once I kill Arthur?” Oric asked. “What happens then?”

This time lord Gandrem did smile.

“A man of your talents? Surely you could disappear into a crowd afterward, and then, well…Ker’s a long way away, and Mordan even farther. I also hear the sailors in Angelport often need a good sellsword aboard their ships.”

“What about the farmer?”

“He’s injured, and my healers say it will take several days for him to recover. We should have this concluded before he can be of any concern. Besides, these matters are far above his station, and his word in any court would be suspect at best, being just a low-birth simpleton.”

It couldn’t get any better. Oric was hardly afraid of a little travel, and killing Arthur would be no skin off his nose. Given the nature of his mission, it’d only be natural they go somewhere quiet to talk, and after a bit of knife work, he’d have his freedom.

“I’ll do it,” Oric said.

“Excellent. We’ll claim you escaped the dungeon after we extracted your confession. When you went to Arthur, he tried to cut ties and claim everything was your plan. You killed him and fled, and to where, I don’t want to know. Is this understood?”

“It is.”

“I’ll have a servant down here with candles and parchment. Tell him everything you know, every possible detail. Farewell, Oric.”

He stood and left, and to Oric’s great relief, he had his guards remove the clamps at his wrists before he went. Sure to his word, an elderly man with crooked nose arrived.

“The beginning, please” he said, dipping his feathered quill into an inkwell.

So Oric did, starting with Arthur’s theft from the Gemcroft mines and smuggling it to the Serpent Guild for laundering.

*

“W ill you truly let him go?” asked one of the soldiers walking alongside Lord Gandrem, a veteran and trusted knight named Cecil.

“Of course not,” the lord snapped. “The Gemcrofts have had those mines tied up in legal protection for over a century. I could wipe out half their family, their extended family, Arthur included, and they’d still find someone besides myself to be legal heir.”

“Then why the ruse?”

“I need his confession, quick, truthful, and most importantly, damning to Arthur. I’ll be sending you to Veldaren with that confession in your hands, along with a letter of my own.”

Cecil bowed to show he was honored.

“Will we not be bringing Nathaniel back to his mother?” he asked as they exited the dungeon, doused their torch, and headed toward the mess hall.

“Nathaniel was already abducted once on the road, and when he should have been in my care, no less. My own damn foolishness for trusting that snake, Arthur. I will keep him here, and in safety, until Alyssa comes for him. But you…you can let Alyssa know of his survival. She’s a bright lady, but Arthur has a way with words, and who knows what lies he has spun about her to protect himself? That confession should burn them all away, and if she is who I think she is, she’ll deal with him accordingly. Let me get some food into these old bones, and then I’ll pen my letter. When you have mine and Oric’s, ride hard to Veldaren. If Arthur suspects something’s amiss, I fear he will make a move against her.”

“Of course, milord. What of Oric?”

John grinned, but something dangerous sparkled in his eyes that made it seem sinister.

“He said he preferred the ax, so prepare the gallows. He deserves nothing, not even the choice of his own death. Let him hang from my walls, the honorless bastard.”