“Then it’s a good thing you weren’t the one in charge of this attack,” Narin grunted. “I’ve yet to meet an assassin that careful or devious.”
“You’d be surprised,” D’Arnlo said wryly. “The story of how King Heral was assassinated, for instance. Fascinatingly complex, a real mastermind was behind that one.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” the palace guard replied stoically.
D’Arnlo laughed genially. “Not one for reading, captain?” he asked, smiling.
“He has more important things to do, like guarding the palace,” Aven said, speaking up for the first time.
D’Arnlo turned slowly, fixing his eyes on Aven curiously. “And who are you?” the proud lord asked.
Aven flushed and averted his eyes. Relam stepped in to smooth things over.
“His name is Jerelte,” the prince explained. He saw Aven’s head jerk up in surprise at the false name. Relam quietly stepped on Aven’s right foot as he moved forward a half pace, signaling for the boy to be quiet. “A soldier in training, nephew of one of the palace guards.”
“Oh? Which one? Maybe I trained him?” D’Arnlo said, fixing the pair with a cold gaze.
“Gurdenson,” Aven replied promptly. “Tevin Gurdenson is my uncle, my lord.”
“I don’t know him,” D’Arnlo said after a moment’s thought. “Strange, I know most of the better soldiers in the city.”
Aven flushed angrily and ducked his head again. Even if Tevin Gurdenson was a totally fictitious uncle, he didn’t like the master of the Citadel implying that Aven’s family connections were somehow inferior.
“Very interesting,” D’Arnlo murmured. He then turned abruptly back to face Relam and Narin. “You will find the assassins on the fifteenth level of the Eyrie. The fastest way there is to take the tenth level sky bridge from the Anchor to the Bastion.”
“Thank you,” Relam said, nodding politely. “We’ll be on our way then.”
“Let me know what they say,” D’Arnlo replied, jaw set in sharp angles, eyes flashing. “I’m curious to know what sort of men would dare attack our beloved royal family.”
“Of course,” Relam said smoothly, inclining his head. Then, he and the others turned away to continue their search. As they moved away from D’Arnlo, Aven elbowed Relam sharply in the side, drawing his attention.
“You gave D’Arnlo a fake name. Why?”
Relam contemplated that for a moment. He wasn’t really sure, to be honest. “I don’t know. I just don’t like or trust D’Arnlo,” he said finally.
“Why not?”
“Do you remember when Narin and I said that he had some strange ideas?”
“Yes,” Aven said, brow furrowed. “What did you mean by that?”
“We meant that he is the leader of the supremacist faction,” Narin grunted.
Relam grinned at the blank look on Aven’s face. “We can discuss this back at the palace,” he said reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I didn’t know what supremacists were at your age either. In addition to that major fault, D’Arnlo stands for power. Anything that lessens his influence or shames him is removed. Any obstacle is overcome. He is the youngest, and some say the most ruthless, master of the Citadel in the history of the kingdom.”
“He’s a pompous ass,” Narin grunted.
“That too,” Relam agreed, grinning. “Ah, and here’s the sky bridge. I always wanted to cross one of these.”
Two guards flanked the archway, which led to an exposed stone bridge spanning a three story drop to the courtyard below. Two more guards were posted at the far end of the bridge, on the tenth level of the tower known as the Bastion.
“Whoa,” Aven said, staring awestruck at the bridge, seemingly suspended in midair. “Is it safe?”
“Of course! It’s been here for years,” Narin assured the boy confidently, leading the way onto the bridge. The first two guards followed, then Relam. Aven hesitated a moment, then fell in behind Relam before he could be trampled by the guards bringing up the rear.
The bridge was some twenty meters long and very narrow, just wide enough for two men to walk abreast. To the left and right, stone crenellations reached to head height, interspersed with lower gaps at chest height for archers to shoot through. Far below, dozens of soldiers were drilling in formation on the seventh level courtyard that surrounded the bases of the Bastion and Anchor towers. The drill sergeant’s voice was clearly audible, save when the wind gusted particularly strongly.
As they were preparing to enter the Bastion at the far end of the bridge, the two guards crossed their halberds over the archway, glaring suspiciously at the newcomers.
“We’re here to question the assassins,” Narin said, gesturing upwards to where the Eyrie was situated.
“Who are you?” one guard demanded.
Relam stepped forward. “I think you know who I am,” he said calmly.
“Your highness!” the guard said, snapping to attention and raising his halberd to the vertical. “Welcome to the Citadel. I’m sorry about the confusion, but security has been tightened since the assassins were brought in. Have you already gained clearance from Master D’Arnlo?”
Relam raised an eyebrow. “We spoke with him, yes. But I hardly think that a member of the royal family needs clearance to enter the Bastion.”
“Of course, your highness,” the other guard said quickly. “But since the attack Master D’Arnlo has ordered that everyone receive clearance from him before entering.”
“Then we have clearance,” Narin said shortly. “Can we move along now?”
The guards exchanged glances and stepped to the side, ushering the small band forward.
“Thank you,” Narin said with exaggerated politeness. Beside Relam, Aven smirked at the palace guard’s treatment of the Citadel soldiers.
Narin led the way through the Bastion to another stairwell, which took them right to the roof of the massive tower. To the left, an archway led out into the open, and several guardsmen were standing sentry duty with bows in hand. To the right, the stairs continued upwards into the eyrie
