A Kingdom Falls (The Mancer Trilogy Book 1) (21 page)

“Her birthday is not for another five months.”

“It is a big surprise.”  Aslo pulled his cloak tighter around his neck and shuddered as a few drops of freezing water managed to fall upon his nape.

“I think you are too good at this, Marc,” muttered John Philips.

“Do you think I want to be?” hissed Aslo as a deep rumble of thunder sounded out.  “Do you think I want to betray my Queen?”

“Shhh, man,” said Captain Philips as he frantically looked around.

“Worry not, Philips; who would be out in this weather except people like us?”

Lightning flashed across the sky.  “Ill omens,” stated John Philips.

Aslo gripped John’s arm.  “Are you wavering, John?”

“No, Aslo, I am not wavering; I will do what my country demands.”

“And what is that?”

John pulled his arm away.  “To free it of a powerless puppet and make it great again.”

“And you know that I feel the same.  We may not like what we have to do, but we know it has to be done.  We must let this land live again.”

The rain got heavier.  John Philips wiped away the rain from his face, “I just hope history judges us kindly.”

“I do not care about history, John; I only care about what is right for this land,” responded Aslo.

“For this land,” nodded John.  “I must go.  I shall see you at the palace tomorrow.”

“You shall.”

Captain John Philips turned up his collar and walked away.  Chamberlain Aslo watched the man disappear into the darkness before looking up at the falling rain.  There he stayed until he felt a delicate touch on his shoulder.  Turning, he smiled as he saw a beautiful face.

“Is it done, my love?”  Her voice was like sweet honey.

“It is, my mistress.”

Banker Tania Stone of the Red Bank leaned forward and whispered in Aslo’s ear, “Then let’s get out of these wet clothes and fuck like rabbits.”

“Oh god, yes!” declared Marc, eagerly.

“I know a place near here that we can go and play.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Ah, but have you been a good boy or a bad boy?  Do you need to be punished?”

A shiver of anticipation ran through Aslo at the thought of Tania dominating him.  “I have been a bad boy,” he whimpered.

“Then you shall be punished,” stated Tania, “- severely.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

As Tania walked alongside the poor fool who so doted on her, she secretly smiled to herself and thought, “
It will not be long now.  Everything is going according to plan and Deep Lake will be mine,”
Tania’s smile broadened,
“and tonight I will celebrate on this pathetic thing’s flesh.  He will feel such sublime and all-consuming pain.”

***

The Queen’s sitting room

“Your grandfather loved the rain, for some unknown reason,” said Shadow Killer as he watched the rain lash against the window.

“Did he?” replied Rebecca Rothgal.

“Yes.  When things allowed, he would close his eyes and listen to it for hours.  It seemed to comfort him somehow.”

“They say that my brother takes after Grandfather.”

“He does, in a way.  They both have the same limp and Jack tries very hard to copy his grandfather’s smile.”  Shadow Killer gave a light laugh and shook his head.  “But no one, and I mean no one, could smile that extremely annoying mocking smile like Nathanial West.”

Rebecca stretched in her chair before asking, “What was my grandfather like?  I mean, what type of man was he?”

Shadow Killer turned his head to look at Rebecca.  “He was a hard man who sacrificed a lot to protect your mother.”

“I heard rumours that he sacrificed his soul to save my mum.”

“In some ways, he did.  Yes, in some ways, he did.”  Shadow Killer returned his gaze to the window and watched the rain chaotically slide down it.  Silence fell between the pair.

“What are you thinking, Shadow Killer?”

Silence.

“Do you know what I am thinking?” asked Rebecca as she took a sip from her cup.  “I am thinking that I will soon die.  I am not a fool.  I know I have many enemies, and soon, one of them will succeed and I will die.”  Rebecca took another sip.  “It’s strange - I’m not afraid.”  Another sip of tea.

Silence.

“What are you thinking, Shadow Killer?”

“I am thinking, your Majesty, what if, on that fateful day, your grandfather had made a different choice?  What if he had decided to save his wife instead of his daughter?”

Rebecca Rothgal thought for a moment before replying, “I would not be sitting here talking to you, sipping tea, and listening to rain.”

A distant rumble of thunder sounded, followed by a flash of lightning.  “That is very true - very true, indeed,” agreed Shadow Killer.

***

Three days later – on a beautiful blue-sky sunny day

Queen Rebecca Rothgal sat on her throne, alone within her throne room, and waited.  Occasionally, the sound of muffled fighting would be heard through the closed doors.

A noise from her right caused her to turn her head.  An expression of confusion, followed by minor annoyance, crossed her face as she saw twenty men walking towards her.  “I thought I had ordered you to stand down.  You have all served your country; there is no need to die here.”

“And where would we go, your Highness?” replied Private Caldecote.

Rebecca smiled sadly.  Here before her, defying her direct order, were the men she had decorated with the Rothgal Star.  “
So few
,” she muttered.  In the last eleven-odd years since the Battle of Light, only nineteen Rothgal Stars had been issued, and of those, only fifteen men still lived to wear them.  The remaining five men of the group were those originals that had survived the long years since the Battle of Light.

“We may be few, but we will stand by you.”

“It is a hopeless and last stand.”

A harsh laugh came from Caldecote.  “We are the men that survive last stands; that is why we wear the Star.  Anyway, where is Shadow Killer?”

“Out there.”  Rebecca turned to the door once more.

***

Shadow Killer ripped off another attacker’s face as he lashed out with his razor-sharp claws.  Blood matted his fur, both his and his foe’s.  He was covered in cuts, which were only just healing as fast as he was being damaged.  With a ferocious howl, he shoulder-charged a group of soldiers, ignoring the wounds he was taking.

“Stand back!” shouted Captain John Philips.  He lifted up a crossbow, took aim, and fired as the men parted to give him a clean shot.  The silvery bolt flew true and struck Shadow Killer in the chest.  Shadow Killer howled in agony and collapsed to the floor as the silver bolt sent waves of searing pain through him.

Captain Philips loaded another one of the silver bolts, which the Church had given Lady Rothgal–Ackroyd and she had passed to him.  Looking at the thrashing werewolf, John Philips moved closer and fired the bolt once again into Shadow Killer’s chest.

Blood erupted from Shadow Killer’s fang-filled mouth as his back arched, and his feet and one remaining hand went into spasm.  A weak pitiful howl escaped his muzzle.

Waving away his troops, Captain John Philips made his way to the twitching body of Shadow Killer and loaded his crossbow a final time.  “You are an abomination, Shadow Killer, to both nature and the true Church believer.”  John spat on the creature below him.  Then, on impulse, he knelt down on one knee and whispered, “
I wonder how long you can live with three of these bolts in you.  I wonder what the pain will be like.  I wonde
...”

With one last surge of effort, Shadow Killer powered his one remaining arm forward, grasped John Philips’ throat in his claw, and pulled.  Blood from John’s ruined throat flowed over Shadow Killer’s face as he squeezed the bloody and mangled piece of meat in his claw.  Shadow Killer barely felt the blades as they pierced his body, or the boot that pinned his head to one side.  From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of movement, and then felt a surge of pain in his neck and shoulder area.  Again came a flash of movement, a blur of metal, and the pain returned briefly, before everything faded away to the deepest of black.

Corporal Kars grasped his axe in one hand before reaching down and lifting the gruesome prize of Shadow Killer’s severed head above his own to the sound of cheering.  Kars walked a small circle, showing the head to all. He stopped before a group of heavily armed men who had just arrived.  Kneeling, he held the trophy out.  “The vile abomination is dead, my lady.”

The guards parted to reveal Lady Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd.  “So the werewolf known as Shadow Killer is finally dead.  You have done well, Corporal.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“I see that Captain Philips has not done so well.”

“The vile beast struck him down with the last of its energy.”

“A pity, is it not, Chancellor Aslo?”

Chancellor Aslo stepped from behind Lady Rothgal-Ackroyd.  “It is, my lady, but at least he is with our Lord now.”

“That is true.”  Amanda took one last dismissive look at Philips’ body before raising her eyes to the doors that led to the throne room.  “Our mission is not finished.  Onwards! Open those doors!  Corporal, with me, and bring that head.”

“Yes, my lady.”

With everyone’s attention fixed on the doors ahead, no one noticed the smoke-like substance that flowed from Shadow Killer’s severed neck.  It drifted along the paved floor until it discovered a crack, where it proceeded to flow like water into the stone and earth below, returning back from where it had originally come.

***

Queen Rebecca Rothgal heard the muffled loud cheer and bowed her head.  “
Farewell, my good friend
,” she whispered.

“Right, men - front and centre!” commanded Corporal Caldecote.

Rebecca watched the grizzled and determined men line up before her.  All bore scars and most had a limb missing.  They were men who had gone through hell and, by luck or skill, still remained.  “
You survived
,” she murmured.

“My Queen?” questioned Caldecote.

“I said you survived.”

“Er... yes, my Queen.”

At that point, the throne room doors were thrown open.  In marched a company of heavily armed men led by Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd, her Confessor, and a blood-covered man who was carrying the severed head of Shadow Killer.

“Your vile abomination of a lover is dead!” spat out Amanda.

The blood-covered man threw the head in the direction of the throne, where it bounced a number of times before settling at the foot of the stairs leading up to the throne.

“Dramatic as ever, Amanda,” responded Rebecca.

“Your time as Queen has ended, Rebecca.  You no longer have the support of your people or the Church.”

“And you think you can do a better job than I?”

Amanda strode towards the throne.  “You have done nothing but lead this great country from one disaster to another.  A fool could do better than you.”

“You are welcome to try, Amanda.”

“Men!” shouted Amanda Rothgal –Ackroyd.  “Seize that harlot and remove her from the throne!”

“If they do, you shall be the first to die, my lady.”  Corporal Caldecote’s voice was deadly neutral.

Amanda looked round and, for the first time, noticed that she had put a distance between herself and her followers.  She took a hesitant step backwards.

“I would not move, my lady.  Old John and Brain both have hand crossbows pointed straight at you,” informed Caldecote.  Raising his voice, he addressed the room.  “You all know us!  We are the Men of the Star, and you know what we have done to earn the right to wear the Star.  We know we are going to die.  I just hope all of you are as willing to die, as well, because we will take many of you bastards with us.”  Lowering his voice, Caldecote added, “My apologies for the language, my ladies.”

Rebecca closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  “My first duty is always to my kingdom and its people.”  Opening her eyes, Rebecca looked down at Amanda.  “Lady Rothgal–Ackroyd, I trust you are an honourable woman.”

“I am.”

“Then swear by the god you follow that, if I step down, none of the Men of the Rothgal Star shall be harmed.”