The attackers had no real chance. When Serra managed to suppress the spell of darkness and restored light in the hall, their fate was sealed.
A mere ten minutes later, the two remaining enemies were forced to their knees in front of the King. Their masks were then torn off and the people gasped when they saw that these were young men no older than eighteen winters. They were shocked not so much by their youth, but by how many legionaries the assassins had managed to kill.
The King looked at them silently. Then, snarling, he snatched his blade from its scabbard and cut the body of the nearest man in half with one strike.
The people cried out again. Some of the women hid their faces in their companions’ shoulders. Even Serra, who had seen awful things during the war, turned away and pressed herself against Nero. The King’s fury always scared his subjects because they knew that it could one day be directed at them.
Only Hadjar remained calm. Fortunately, no one except an old man was looking at the former General. The guests stared at the bloodied blade, the hand that held the man’s head, and at the last assassin.
“Who... sent… you?” Primus almost choked with rage and anger. “Tell me and you’ll die as swiftly and painlessly as he did.”
The man remained silent. He looked into his captor’s face with hatred.
“The King gave you an order!” General Bermengton barked out from the crowd. Surprisingly, his blade was covered in blood. Hadjar was pretty sure that the bureaucrat had simply thrust his weapon into someone’s cooling body.
The young man turned sharply and spat right into the General’s face. Alas, the spittle didn’t reach him and fell on the table instead.
“This usurper isn’t my King!” The kneeling prisoner cried out, full of despair, fear, and hopelessness.
He turned toward the King and tried to spit on him, but he was stopped by a strong blow to the face from Hadjar.
“King’s mongrel...” the assassin wheezed, spitting out teeth. “A false hero in the service of a kin and king slayer!”
The people whispered, and Primus tried to swing his sword, but there wasn’t enough space for him to do so — the Mad General was standing over the young man, who continued his final tirade: “But you, usurper, won’t ravage our country for much longer! The hammers in the damned mine will rust soon! The green boots won’t be trampling our meadows and fields soon enough! In the north, the true King is gathering his army! The spirits of his parents are with him! Glory to Prince Hadjar! Glory to the true King!”
Unable to bear it any longer, Primus pushed Hadjar aside, but it was too late. The young man had grabbed the collar of his cloak with his teeth, swallowed, and a moment later, fallen to the ground, convulsing. Fragrant, gray foam bubbled out from his eyes, mouth, and ears. His skin quickly dried up, and the bones crunched and ripped out through his flesh and blood. Some of the guests vomited. The others recoiled in fear. The young assassin had believed in the long-dead Prince so strongly that he’d been ready to accept such a terrible death in his name.
Primus, moving his sweaty hair away from his forehead, looked around the room and at the whispering guests. They all looked at Primus with suspicion and... Far less fear than before.
Damned Prince! Even after his death, he still causes me trouble!
“General!” The King barked. “Bring the members of the highest military council to the small throne room immediately. It’s time to end this heresy.”
“Yes, my King,” Bermengton bowed.
Primus gave the official a scornful look.
“Not you,” the King said and turned to Hadjar. “General Traves, you are hereby reinstated. You must lead the army once more and rid the north of this filth.”
Now it was Hadjar’s turn to bow.
“Your will is law, my King,” Hadjar said, and no one in the hall saw the General’s victorious, sad smile. The success of the first stage of his plan had already exacted a grim toll. How many people would die for his ambitions by the end of it?
However, the spindle of Fate was already spinning and weaving the tapestry. Hadjar would either lead the parade or be trampled by the marchers.
Chapter 231
Behind the King, several other people entered the small council hall. Hadjar knew some of them: the Princess, Nero, General Bermengton, and other people who were involved in governing the country or its military.
Only Hadjar and Serra were impressed by the hall. Apparently, the other members of the upcoming council had visited it often. Hadjar had been in this small room once before, hidden behind the wall of the main hall. At the time, the room had been very different.
There was now a wide table in the room, atop which sat a paper map of the country and its environs. Primus had spared no expense. Paper was only imported from the Empire and it cost so much that it was better to not even think about it.
A massive ebony chair at the head of the table was immediately occupied by Primus. The rest of the council sat in their customary seats.
Nero sat to his father’s right and Elaine sat to his left. The rest sat in a strict order, depending on their usefulness to the King.
“General,” Primus pointed to the chair opposite the royal one at the far side of the table. The aristocrats looked at Hadjar with envy. That seat was intended for those the King was going to talk to the most, the main person after Primus. Taking the sleeping Azrea out of his clothes, Hadjar sat in the indicated chair.
After a short moment of silence, the King sighed heavily and ran his hand over his face, as if trying to wipe his fatigue away. Behind him, the Governor
