As I cross the room, Lord Aeron continues:
“I’m sure your nerves are still rattled, but have courage, child. You will be speaking in the Senate tomorrow. Once the protestors hear all about the Aurelian threat, they’ll understand that swift action was necessary to stop the spread of the Scorp infestation. That’s why the tragedy of Barl had to occur.”
I shudder as I hear his words. How can this man be so misguided? So led-astray by the machinations of that sinister Viceroy?
I reach for the decanter on the dresser – the one Lord Aeron specified. As I do so, I glance across at the three sets of Orb-Weapons lying within reach.
It’s so tempting to reach for the hilt of one of Forn’s Orb-Daggers. If I could only grab it, I could…
…I could put it to Lord Aeron’s throat and make him let the Aurelians go free.
But that plan is risky - very risky. If I lose control of the situation for even an instant, I’ll be killed – and the Aurelians will be put to death with even more swiftness than the fate which awaits them now.
I have another plan, and it’s a lot less risky.
Turning away from the tempting hilts of the Orb-Weapons, I instead reach for beautiful, crystal wine goblets. As I do so, I slip the vial of Mercy from beneath my tongue and quickly squeeze a single drop of the black liquid into one of the cups. Moments later it’s hidden by the dark, red wine I pour into the goblet.
A single drop. It’ll be enough to put even the beefy bulk of Lord Aeron into a deep, dreamless sleep – and yet will have no long-term, adverse effects.
While the Lord Aeron might seem like a force for evil, I’ve quickly come to realize that he’s simply a fool; used like a puppet by the true enemy of Independence: The Viceroy.
In many ways – even though he doesn’t realize it – Lord Aeron is as much a prisoner to the Viceroy’s machinations as I am, or the three Aurelians have become.
Therefore, to put two or three drops of liquid Mercy in Lord Aeron’s cup would be wrong. It reminds me of the first thing they taught us when I studied medicine at the city university:
First, do no harm.
I turn and serve Lord Aeron the wine, keeping my gaze down as I know he’d expect a commoner to do in the presence of his nobility.
He sips eagerly, taking a huge gulp. I politely take a sip, knowing that the glass I poured the wine into is probably worth more than I’d earn in a year at the chop-shop in Barl. Hell, the serving of wine itself was probably worth a week’s wages.
Lord Aeron burps gently, and I take the glass from his hands. He yawns, and starts to blink groggily.
Gods – I had no idea that Mercy worked so quickly!
Confused, Lord Aeron tries to stand; but instead slumps to the ground.
As soon as I see him sleeping, I cross the room and grab the hilt of one of Forn’s Orb-Daggers. I slip it into the pocket of my elegant dress – grateful that the seamstress included such a practical addition.
Then I open the door - and I start screaming.
“He’s passed out! Help me! There’s something wrong with Lord Aeron!”
Guards instantly rush in, yelling for the doctor. The doctor with the huge moustache clambers up the stairs and waddles into Lord Aeron’s chambers as well, his face a mask of concern.
“What happened?” The Doctor demands. “What happened?”
“He had a sip of wine and then passed out. I have monoxydren in my medical kit – can I get it?”
I say the name of a rare compound used to treat fainting conditions. The doctor ignores me – more concerned about Lord Aeron than a peasant girl like me.
I take the opportunity and rush downstairs in the confusion, not waiting for an answer, or even for the doctor to realize there’s no chance in hell that I have such a rare medicine my med-kit.
Yet as soon as I round the corner, I come staggering to a halt.
The Viceroy strand there on the stairs, blocking my path.
My heart freezes, as he looks at me with an almost reptilian understanding.
“Stop,” he murmurs in his cold, emotionless voice. I suddenly know that he realizes he’d underestimated me – and has no intention of doing so again.
Please work! Please work!
I think the words desperately to myself as I reach into the pocket of my dress and grab the hilt of Forn’s Orb-Dagger.
Yet I needn’t have worried. As my fingers curl around the hilt, it’s as though the dagger can read my mind.
I feel a connection to it – as if the weapon has a mind – and the blade activates – ripping a burning hole right through my dress as the shimmering, black weapon emerges to its full, humming length.
I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. The Viceroy may be in his forties, but he instantly jumps over the banister at the sight of the weapon. He screams to the guards:
“Seize her! Grab the woman!”
His voice echoes down the stairs, and I run in the opposite direction – not even knowing where I’m going.
Dungeon. It must be underground.
Suddenly figuring out where to go, I rush down the stairs. A woman screams as I hurtle pass her, dropping a tray of crystal glass that shatters against the floor.
I hear footsteps and guards lurch from around the corner, trying to grab me. I dodge their clawing hands and run down another flight of stairs, listening to the thunder of their boots as the guards pursue me.
At the bottom of the stairs there’s a closed door which I kick open cleanly, not knowing where it leads.
I see a long row of jail cells on the other side of it, and my heart starts. This must be the dungeon!
I’ve disturbed another contingent of guards. The soldiers guarding the dungeon are barely twenty years old, and they
