They were wrong, of course, but he still had something he thought they’d like almost as much.
Soon, Christopher would go out onto the balcony and tell them all what was going to happen, but for now they had to listen to Talon’s long introductory speech. At least Talon’s speech was more than just puffery. The giant man was revealing Christopher’s first surprise now, the new tax laws.
It was one of the surprises Christopher and Morty had been working on. He was proposing a lower tax rate with no drop in services, something he had worked very hard to accomplish. It wasn’t the seven-percent rate he’d dreamt of in his youth, but it was a good bit lower than twenty all the same. The peasants would surely be happy about that.
Still, Talon was taking a long time doing it. The young king decided as he sat there, waiting, that all public functions must be there to bore you, and nothing else.
I really wish they would just let me out there and let me talk to my public, he thought with a sigh. After all, it is my birthday, not Talon’s. Oh well, I guess this is just the way things go. Maybe I could fake an attack or something to get him to stop speaking, He sighed. Nah.
The young king sat back in his throne, waiting. He was suddenly growing tired, despite an upright spell that had been cast on him to keep him alert, and so he closed his eyes and imagined how his speech was going to go. He imagined the people cheering as he told them what surprises he had in store, their anticipation when he started talking about brides, all of it.
He got so absorbed in the words of his upcoming speech that he didn’t even see the assassin’s dagger as it inched closer and closer to his exposed neck. Nor did he hear the rustling of the curtains as the crimson-robed arm of the assassin passed through them. He didn’t even hear the muted snicker the assassin let slip as he neared victory.
It was only by fate that Christopher was saved. Seconds before the assassin’s dagger found purchase, a servant walked by to check on the young king, catching the assassin’s actions out of the corner of an eye. “Watch it!” the servant implored.
Christopher shuddered, startled back to full consciousness by the servant’s words. His reflexes kicked into gear as he caught the glint of metal near his side and he lunged out of the way.
The assassin swiped at the king anyway, finding purchase on one of his arms, slicing it open with a sickening slice. The blade didn’t sink deep, but it left a nasty gash along Christopher’s arm.
The young king looked at the blood seeping down his arm. It seemed to enrage him more than anything. Christopher let out a growl as he grabbed the assassin with his good arm and threw him over the throne onto the ground in one smooth motion. “Talon! Get in here!” he screamed toward the balcony. Then he kicked the assassin’s hand, knocking the dagger far away, and started in on the would-be assassin’s face.
* * * * * * * * * *
Talon was there in a flash, the crowds outside forgotten. He pulled the king off the hapless man on the ground and took in the scene – the blood seeping from Christopher’s arm, the poisoned dagger in the corner of the room slick with the king’s blood, and the broken, bloody face of the would-be assassin staring up at him through purpled, swollen eyes. Christopher had the man’s arms pinned under his legs.
He pulled out a blade of his own and lifted it to end the assassin’s life.
“No!” the king demanded, stopping him. “He must be alive for questioning!”
Talon cocked his head to the side and glared at the king, but he nodded.
The king turned his attention back to the attacker. “Who told you to do this? Who hired you?” He gave the assassin an evil glare and wagged a finger in his face.
“I think you know the answer to that, my liege,” the assassin sneered.
“Talk, boy,” Christopher insisted. He put his face right up next to the assassin’s and grabbed the killer’s shirt, twisting the fabric in the process.
The assassin responded to the young king’s question by spitting in his face. “Go to dimgate,” he quipped.
King Christopher made a low, guttural noise, and then wiped the spit off calmly. He asked the assassin again who had sent him, and the assassin responded in a similar manner.
Talon watched as the king took his father’s sword in his good arm and slashed across the assassin’s face, leaving a mark the same size as the spittle on his own cheek.
The would-be assassin howled out in pain and tried to cover up the fresh wound but could not since his hands were restrained.
With the point of his sword, Christopher pointed to Talon, then to a room not far off to the side. “Take the prisoner to interrogation,” he said calmly.
Talon nodded and lifted the assassin like he was a bag of rice, punching him in the chin once to knock him out in the process, then carried him away.
Chapter SevenLost Magic
“Though they say time heals all wounds,
This is nothing but a lie
To soothe the minds of the guilty.”
Book of Gallian, 3:10.
Year 4999 (Present day)
Light filtered in through one of the windows in the Blue Library, bathing Teryn in a pale glow that hurt his sensitive eyes. It was enough to rouse him from unconsciousness.
He raised a hand to block out the light
