Although the drain was not wide, Tagerill managed to squeeze his broad shoulders through, following Birlerion and Jerrol who nimbly climbed ahead of him, Fonorion bringing up the rear. The reek of damp stone and the sharp tang of water filled the air as a constant stream of rainwater ran down the walls, draining off the battlements.
Birlerion helped pull Tagerill out the other end, as Jerrol scouted the outer corridor. He came back grinning. “Serillion and Darllion are above us. It sounds like they made it into the inner courtyard.”
They shed their cloaks, and the worst of the rain, as Jerrol led the way through the deserted corridors and up to ground level. A trail of wet boot prints marked their passage, though there didn’t seem to be anyone on the lower levels to notice them. The sound of Serillion’s commanding voice berating the palace guards greeted them as they crept through the lower corridors and reached the courtyard undetected.
Tagerillion chuckled under his breath, and he exchanged glances with a grinning Birlerion, who was unsheathing his bow. “Oh, that brings back memories.”
Fonorion followed Jerrol as they left for the south tower. Birlerion scanned the courtyard for his best vantage point before disappearing into the shadows.
“Keep them contained; if they escape the barracks it’ll make more work for the rest of us,” Tagerill called after him.
The thrum of arrows and the surprised faces of the guards as men began dropping around them had Tagerill laughing as he strode into the courtyard, swinging his sword indiscriminately around him.
The horrific noise of the remaining Sentinals drawing their broadswords compounded the effect. Birlerion was sure the sound of Tagerill’s laughter didn’t help as the Sentinals methodically took the palace guard apart. Birlerion skewered any man that poked his face out of the barracks, and then Serillion wedged the door shut.
Chapter 37
New Vespers
Jerrol led the way to the King’s apartments in the south wing, flitting down dimly lit corridors which were surprisingly guard-free. The Prince must set great store in his defences, Jerrol thought to himself, his face grim. He arrived at the decorative doors of the King’s apartments, still without seeing any guards. Had they all left their posts? He would not have left the King unguarded.
Fonorion hissed a warning, and they flattened against the wall as a guard stomped towards them. He stopped in surprise as Fonorion detached himself from the wall and pointed his sword at his throat. “Do you want to die?” His voice was a deep growl.
The guard raised his hands immediately. Jerrol watched him with suspicion before leaving Fonorion to deal with him. Gently, he eased the carved door open; his fingers traced the shape of the moon carved in the wood. Fonorion reappeared like a ghost behind him. He wondered what Fonorion had done with the guard, but he pushed the thought aside as he entered the room.
The plush red carpet absorbed all sound as they crept forward. The room was unexpectedly ornate and richly furnished. Thick curtains draped the windows, softening the harsh stone interior; shadowed obstacles became upholstered chairs, hairbrushes and mirrors gleamed on the table. Jerrol gripped his sword; he didn’t remember the King’s apartments being so opulent.
The King preferred a more austere environment. His wife passed many years ago, and there was no longer that feminine touch to soften his edges. Jerrol eased the connecting door open and peeked into the chamber. A huge bed dominated the room, the posters swathed in yet more material. He peered around the curtains and opened his left hand; in the silvery light he saw two sleeping forms in the bed. Definitely not the King.
He recognised the dark-haired man and bit back a curse, clenched his fist and began to ease back out of the room. The man jerked and rolled out of bed, rising with his sword in his hand. “Guards,” he yelled, awakening his wife, who started shrieking as she saw two armed men in her bedroom.
Jerrol winced at her piercing shriek, as did the Crown Prince, who growled at her to shut up, but she ignored him, grabbing the sheets around her. She continued to shriek and wail.
“Haven, I should have known you couldn’t stay away,” he said, squinting at Jerrol.
“Where is the King?” Jerrol gave ground as the Prince advanced. Fonorion glanced out the door at the sound of pounding feet and, after a glance at Jerrol, turned to meet the new threat.
Crown Prince Kharel snorted. “He’s no use to you anymore. His time is over.”
“Do you really think the Ascendants are going to allow you to rule? Was it worth it? To throw away a sure bet for the chance to take the throne early?”
“Of course it was. You don’t know what it’s like to wait when you know you could do a better job.”
“But the Ascendants want everything for themselves. What makes you think they need you?” Jerrol circled the Prince.
“They couldn’t get to my father without me, not even Isseran could get past you,” the Prince snarled, lunging at Jerrol.
Jerrol parried his thrust easily. “And once the King is out of the way, what next? I heard Isseran wanted to play Regent.”
Kharel swore and struck wildly. Jerrol flicked his sword up and twisted, disarming the Prince. The Prince cowered away from him as he approached and Jerrol flinched as Princess Selvia jumped on him from the bed. She screeched as she pummeled him, trying to gouge his eyes out. He stumbled back, tumbling to the floor under her unexpected weight. The Prince dashed for the door, leaving his wife struggling with Jerrol.
“Guards,” he screamed, rushing out the door into the corridor. He stopped and slowly backed up with his hands held high, Fonorion’s sword at his throat. “You’ll regret this,
