There was an approving murmur, Belundrar blinked at Maethor. The pretty boy baron wasn't called 'the Silver-Tongued Poisoner of Galadorna' for nothing. What was he up to?
Maethor gave everyone a last smile and glided quickly back within his protective ring of handsome aides in silks and leathers, with not-so-hidden daggers ready In their lace-wristed hands.
A stir of excited talk arose at this surprising…and to many, bright in promise…offer. A stir that rose sharply, only to fall away into tense silence once more, as the last baron slipped through his supporters to scuttle close to the throne, causing guards to stiffen and turn until Ilgrist waved them back.
Feldrin's big brown eyes roved around the chamber. His hands fluttered as nervously and as restlessly as always, as their thin, weak-looking owner bent near the ear of the king. Feldrin's fine but ill-fitting clothes were drenched with sweat, and his short black hair, usually straight-plastered to his skull, looked like a bird had been raking it for nesting material. He was almost dancing with fearful excitement as he whispered in the royal ear. On the other side of the throne, Ilgrist bent close to listen too, evoking one nervous glance from Feldrin…but only one.
'Most Just and Able Majesty,' Feldrin breathed, along with a strong scent of parsley, 'I too, in my not-so-bold way, love Galadorna and would at all costs see her escape the bloody ruin of war between us barons-moreover, I have good information that at least three ambitious lordlings of Laothkund will ride here with the best mercenaries they can muster if we do take up arms 'gainst each other, to carve away all of Galadorna that they can hold. These three have a pact, their men shall never turn on each other whilst any of us live.'
'And so?' the king growled, sounding very much like Belundrar in his dislike of threats and whispered schemes. Feldrin wrung his hands nervously, his brown eyes very large as they darted this way and that, peering to see who might be close enough to hear. He lowered his voice still further and leaned close, Ilgrist pointedly raised one fist and let the ring on its middle finger gleam and glow for all to see. If Feldrin drew dagger on the king, it would be the last thing he ever did.
'I, too, will support Lord Tholone, if you, sire, can agree to my conditions…which you will appreciate must needs be kept secret. These are two: that Hothal be executed here and now…for he will never accept Tholone where you sit now, and will harry us all for years, spilling the best blood of the realm…'
'Including that of one Feldrin?' the king muttered, a smile almost creeping onto his face.
'I…I…well, yes, I do suppose,
'And one Feldrin most assuredly has no need of such a pretty rival at scheming,' Ilgrist murmured, so quietly that perhaps only the king heard.
King Baerimgrim thrust out a hand suddenly and caught hold of Feldrin's chin. He pulled, dragging the baron around to face him, and murmured, 'I agree to these two conditions, so long as you stand steadfast and no one else dies by your hand, direction, or maneuverings. For your own good, I place one condition upon you, clever Feldrin: when you straighten up from here, look worried…not pleased.'
The king thrust the whispering baron away, and raised a voice that held a quaver of enfeeblement, yet also the snap of command: 'Lord Tholone! Attend us here, for the love of Galadorna!'
There was a momentary excited stir…in some corners of the throne room, almost a shout…then breathless silence.
Out of the heart of that waiting, watching stillness Lord Tholone came striding, face a pleasant mask, eyes wary. There was a faint singing in the air around him, his mages had been busy. No doubt daggers would prove futile fangs if thrown his way now or in the near hereafter.
If…given the number of wizards and warriors ready for battle and on edge with excitement…there would be a hereafter for anyone in this room.
The silence was utter as Tholone came to a stop before the Unicorn Throne, separated from the king only by the crimson and gold expanse of the Blood Unicorn banner.
'Kneel,' Baerimgrim said hoarsely, 'on the Unicorn.'
There was a collective gasp of indrawn breath, such a bidding could mean only one thing. The king reached to his own head, and slowly…very slowly…did off the crown.
His hands did not tremble in the least as he raised it over Tholone's bent head…a head that had grown a triumphant, almost maniacal smile…and said, 'Let all true Galadornans gathered here bear witness this day, that of my own free will, I name as my rightful heir thi…'
The crack of lightning that burst from the crown at that moment deafened men and hurled them back hard against the paneled walls. Baerimgrim and the Unicorn Throne were split in twain in a blackened, writhing instant, the crown ringing off the riven ceiling. As the blazing limbs of what had been the king slumped down amid the sagging wreckage of the throne, the golden unicorn's head that surmounted it sobbed aloud.
The court mage looked astonished for the first time, and snatched out a wand as he looked sharply at the painted wooden head … but whatever enchantment had made it speak had fled, and the head was cracking and collapsing into falling splinters.
Ilgrist glanced swiftly around the room. Feldrin was lying lifeless on the floor, his arms two scorched stumps and his face burned away, and Tholone was on his back, dawing feebly at gilding from the smoldering banner that had melted onto his face.
The court mage fired over them, calling forth the fury of the wand in his hand, and a veritable cloud of magic missiles sang and snarled their blue-white death around the room. Not a few of Tholone's magelings crumpled or slid down the wall, wisps of smoke issuing from their eyes and gaping mouths…then the air was full of curses and swords flashing in the hands of running men.
Fire leaped up in a circle around Ilgrist then, and the wand in his hand spat forth a last trio of magical bolts… they struck at mages who still stood, and one fell…before it crumbled.
The court mage let its ashes trickle from his hand as he looked calmly around the ring of angry armed men and said, 'No, Galadorna is too important for me to allow such a mistake. Baerimgrim was a good king and my friend, but… one mistake is all that fells most kings. I trust the rest of you, gentlesirs, w…'
With a roar that shook the room, Belundrar the Bear launched himself through the flames, heedless of the pain, and leaped at Ilgrist.
The wizard coolly took a single step back, raising one hand. The knife in the baron's grasp, sweeping sidelong at Ilgrist's throat, struck something that broke it, amid sparks, and sent the Bear's arm springing back involuntarily, to hurl the hilt into the balconies. The fire that blossomed in the wizard's hand caught the Bear full in the face, and his roar became a gurgling for the brief instant before his blackened, flaming body crashed face first into the floor.
Ilgrist lifted a fastidious foot to let it slide, blazing, past. 'Are there any more heroes here today?' he asked mildly. 'I've plenty more death in these hands.'
As if that had been a signal, the air filled with hurled daggers and swords, spinning at the court mage from roaring men on all sides…only to ring off an invisible barrier, every last one of them, and fall away.
Ilgrist looked down
'Never!' Baron Hothal thundered. 'I'll die before I'll allow su…'
Ilgrist's mouth crooked. 'But of course,' he said.
He made a tiny gesture with two of his fingers, and the air was suddenly full of the twang and hum of crossbows firing, from the throne guard up in the balconies, their faces white and blank, their movements mechanical.
Warriors groaned, clutched vainly at quarrels sprouting in their faces or throats, and fell. Hitherto-concealed crossbows spat an answer from many baronial armsmen around the chamber…and the helmless Hothal, his head transfixed by many bolts, staggered, then toppled onto his side.
Baron Maethor would have tasted as many flying deaths had he not possessed an unseen barrier of his own that kept both hurled daggers and crossbow bolts from him. Many of his unarmored men fell, but others surged
