“I’ve heard that eating excessively can make you drowsy,” Relam said complacently. His eyelids did feel rather heavy. In fact, he felt like he was in danger of falling asleep at the table. He could see his mother watching the pair of them, a puzzled expression on her face. Then, Relam’s eyelids drifted shut and he drifted off to sleep. As he did, he thought he heard a door open, but he was too far gone to be sure.
Chapter 8
“Your majesty, get down!”
Relam’s eyes snapped open and he looked around blearily, trying to figure out what was happening. As he did, he fell out of his chair and hit the ground hard.
All around him was noise, weapons clashing, the screech of steel on steel, grunts of pain, and screams of the injured. Relam put a hand to his head, wincing as it throbbed painfully. Where was he? What was happening?
He looked around slowly, trying to understand what was going on, but his brain was moving too slow to process what his eyes saw. The door to the hall stood open, two bodies sprawled in the entrance. They were the guards, their throats cut, their eyes wide and staring. In the main room, dueling furiously, were four black-clad men wielding knives and short swords against two palace guards. One black-clad man was down just inside the door, groping feebly for a weapon.
“Your highness! Can you hear me?”
Relam rolled over, moaning in pain. “My head hurts,” he told Griff.
The servant flashed a quick smile. “We can deal with that later. Right now, you need to get out of here.”
“What-?”
“I don’t know, but follow me quickly. We can disappear within the servants’ corridors.”
Griff hauled Relam to his feet and dragged him towards the narrow doorway. Just inside, his mother was struggling to support his father, half dragging him down the passage.
“A little further,” Griff urged. “Then I can get the door shut and help.”
Relam stumbled into his father and the royal family lurched forward and fell in a tangle of arms and legs. Griff slammed the servants’ entrance shut and threw the bolt, sighing with relief as he backed away from the door. “Right. Everybody up. Hurry. It won’t take them long to figure out where we’ve gone.”
The prince got to his feet shakily, trying to clear his head. He felt his mother’s gentle touch on his arm. “Are you okay, Relam?” she asked, worried.
“Fine,” Relam grunted. “What’s going on?”
“You and your father were knocked out,” the queen explained. “Something in the food I suppose. I didn’t get as large of a dose of it, I guess. I have a mild headache, but still full use of my wits. Your father is in the worst condition. He’s hardly stirred since the assassins broke in.”
A cold hand of fear gripped Relam’s heart. “Assassins?” he croaked. “Here?”
“Apparently,” Griff said, joining them. “Now, really, we must get moving. There’s simply no time to waste. I don’t know where we should go-”
“The kitchens,” Relam said immediately. “That gives us a lot of options, plus two guards if they’re still on duty there and haven’t come running upstairs.”
“Good thinking,” Griff agreed, reaching down and draping the king’s left arm over his shoulder. “Milady, can you help me with his majesty? I cannot manage on my own.”
“Griff, do you still have that knife?” Relam asked.
“Of course.”
“Give it here then. I’ll lead the way, just in case.”
“Your highness you are hardly in any condition to fight-”
“I’m even less able to carry the king though. Give me the knife, Griff.”
There was a pause, then Griff extended the knife to Relam, handle first. The prince grasped it quickly, testing its weight and balance. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”
They made their way slowly along the passage. As they moved, they passed a regular parade of simple lanterns, emitting a warm golden light that lit the whole corridor evenly.
“Left up ahead,” Griff gasped, hauling the king along gamely. “Then a right at the second hallway. That will take us to the nearest stairwell and we can use that to access the kitchens.”
Relam led the way, following Griff’s instructions. “This is much faster than using the public corridors,” he commented as they began moving down the stairwell.
“We servants have to be efficient to get everywhere we need to be on time,” Griff explained. “Take meals for example. In order for them to stay hot, we need the shortest distance from the kitchens to the royal apartments.”
“Makes sense,” Relam grunted, eyes and ears alert for any warning of danger in the stairwell below them.
Relam paused at the bottom of the staircase, waiting for further instructions. Behind, him he heard Griff and his mother stumbling forward under his father’s weight.
“Straight along here, all the way to the end” Griff gasped. “Nearly there now, thankfully.”
Relam led the way again, edging past side corridors, expecting black-clad assassins to spring from one of them at any moment.
At the third such crossing corridor, Relam heard footsteps approaching. He signaled for the others to halt and they did, leaning the king against the wall. Relam turned back and put a finger over his lips, then pointed to himself and tapped his blade. His mother frowned, concerned, but Griff nodded agreement, though he seemed a little confused. Maybe he was wondering what assassins were doing in the servants’ corridors.
Relam moved forward until he was right at the corner between the two corridors, scarcely breathing. The footsteps were still moving forward steadily. The prince could picture one of the assassins, inching along the corridor, trying to find the royal family. Relam knew he would have to be quick, he would have to strike immediately, predict where his foe would be.
The footsteps were nearly to him now. They seemed deafening to the prince’s
