Chapter II

For Darius, dinner was a fairly joyless event as he recounted to Jonathon the events of the past month. Darius explained how Hector and Walt had entered the Under-Realms with him to map the uncharted twisting passageways, and of the hidden trap that had sealed off the exit after only an hour into the labyrinth. Darius told of the near-constant running battles that became the norm as they searched for an exit, and about how the group fought to reach two exits before being beaten back to try to find another way.

“Walt was badly wounded in the battle for the second exit.” Darius was saying as Nara cleared away the dishes. “We knew that if we didn’t find another exit soon, we wouldn’t get out at all. Finally, nearly three weeks after that first trap sealed us in there, we found the third exit.”

“We were in bad shape, and Walt had lost a lot of blood. I pretty much knew that he wouldn’t make it, but we weren’t going to leave anyone behind. We all got out, or none of us did.”

“The creatures were waiting for us, just like at the other exits. We could see the seal - you know, that strange energy field that allows humans through, but not the creatures - anyway, we could see the seal glowing faintly behind them.”

“I’m still not sure how many we had to slay to get to that field, but Hector and I fought our way through, with Walt in between us. We were right at the barrier when the surge of creatures came at us with a renewed ferocity. They came in from all sides, even from above. Hector never saw the final blow coming. It hit him so hard that he was pushed completely through the barrier, the creature going with him. I can still smell the singed fur as the seal incinerated the creature to ash. Walt and I fought our way through the seal to the safety of the other side. But, I’m telling you Jonathon, that seal was awfully weak. One of the creatures almost made it completely through the barrier before the seal seemed to gain enough strength to burn it to a crisp.”

“I think Hector was dead before he even got through the seal. I managed to get Walt and Hector’s body to the surface." Darius' voice cracked, and he took a drink of his ale and paused for a moment to compose himself. "Walt’s last words to me were ‘At least I got to see daylight one more time.’”

“I buried them both on the plains south of Jaldor’s Bane, just this side of the Malthorm/Trideria border. It took me over a week to walk back to the castle.”

Darius sat there with a haunted look on his face. Jonathon could sympathize with his friend; Walt and Hector were good men. “Darius, there’s nothing you could have done. They knew the risk when they volunteered to go with you.”

Something else occurred to the guard captain “If the barriers have grown as weak as you suspect, it would explain the increase in the number of those creatures in the kingdom lately. This is just one more reason why King Tasraan’s plan to bring peace to the three kingdoms has to succeed. We may need everyone's help to stop those creatures if they escape.”

Darius grunted his agreement, “That’s why I need to speak to King Tasraan as soon as possible.”

As if in answer, Aria approached their table. She had happily rid herself of the jewelry and fancy green dress. In their place, she was wearing simple padded leather armor with a mail vest worn over the top. A sword in a well-used scabbard hung at her side. She looked more at ease and much more comfortable. Jonathon placed his arm across his chest in salute and lowered his head in greeting. “Good evening, Your Highness.”

“Good Evening, Jonathon.” she nodded in reply. Turning to Darius she said, “I spoke to my father during the banquet. He's made some time to see you now if you'd like. That is, if you will excuse us, Jonathon.”

He smiled, “Of course M’Lady.” Jonathon glanced over to Nara who pretended to ignore him. Taking a final swig of ale, the guard captain squared his shoulders. “I have some matters I need to attend to anyway. Goodnight Darius, good night Your Highness.”

Jonathon left the stunned pair, weaving his way through the tables over to help Nara with the table she was clearing. “Well I’ll be a Gah’Rin uncle.” Darius mused as he braced for the familiar sound of thrown dishes. “He finally did it….”

“…And he seems to be doing quite well, too.” Aria finished for him, equally stunned.

Nara was laughing at something Jonathon was saying, a pleasant smile on her lips when she noticed them watching. A familiar look flashed in the serving girls' eyes, as her expression hardened. Aria hastily grabbed Darius’ arm and pulled him from the room just in time to miss the soapy sponge hurled in their direction.

This time, it was Jonathon’s laughter that followed Darius down the hall.

As they walked to the Royal Council chambers, Aria’s curiosity finally got the best of her, “Halla's a very interesting woman, Darius. How do you know her?”

“She lived for a time in my village, telling stories and teaching the children, but I haven’t seen her in years.”

Aria glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “She told me about what happened to your village and your family. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Darius stopped short, studying the Triderian princess for a few moments. The old grief resurfaced briefly before he shoved it back down with an effort. “It was a long time ago.” he said finally, the memory still too painful to dwell on. “I just don’t like talking about it. I promised myself, though, that I would never let it happen again.”

Aria stared back at her friend and placed a gentle hand on his arm, her heart going out to him, “That’s why you travel the three kingdoms, trying to help whenever and wherever you can, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer immediately, just started walking again. They were almost to the council chambers. This line of conversation had him edgy, but there was something else that was bothering him. He was beginning to feel like something was seriously wrong - a feeling he had learned not to ignore. He listened closely, not hearing anything. Aria, noticing the change in his attitude, tried again.

“I’m sorry, Darius, I don’t mean to pry, but....”

“Shhh....” he hissed through his teeth as realization struck him. After a second of listening, he whispered, “Shouldn’t there be guards positioned along here?”

Aria, used to a lifetime of ignoring the presence of guards, gazed around suddenly, surprised by the fact that they were indeed alone. “You’re right....”

Twenty feet ahead, the doors to the King’s study chambers were open, light spilling out into the corridor. Darius and Aria crept slowly forward, alert for any sudden movements or sounds. With practiced ease, Darius drew his sword from the sheath strapped to his back and crept forward with amazing stealth for a man of his size. Aria’s blade was already in her hand.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Reaching the doorway they peered inside.

The chamber was mostly as Darius remembered it. Rows of books lined the bookshelves along the walls. A massive table that could seat over twenty people dominated the room. However, something was seriously wrong here. Several chairs on the far side of the table had been knocked over, and the silver goblets and water pitcher on the table were overturned. A struggle had occurred recently.

Cautiously they entered the room, slowly rounding the table. Finally the source of the disarray came into view.

There, in a growing pool of blood on the floor, lay King Tasraan, a knife by his hand fallen from where he had removed it from his own chest.

“DADDY!!!” Aria screamed, running to his side. Gently, she cradled her father in her arms, sobbing her grief, her sword forgotten by her side. Darius could see that the king was already dead. Far away, voices could be heard followed by the sound of many feet running to answer her scream.

Moving warily, still searching for trouble, Darius crossed to where the knife lay and carefully picked it up to examine it.

“Aria, I’ve never seen this type of knife before.... Does it look familiar to you?”

As if in a daze, Aria took the knife from him, looking at it without truly seeing the blade. It was an evil looking thing, with a haft that almost looked alive somehow. The twisted razor-sharp blade fashioned from a material that looked more mineral than metal gleaming wetly in the torchlight.

Along the wall, a shadow shifted near the doorway. Darius was instantly alert and back on his feet, turning with his sword in his hand.

From the doorway a gravelly voice ordered, “That’s far enough!” Standing there, surrounded by guards was Count Vladimir Lotch glaring down at them. “I always knew YOU were never to be trusted, Darius. But, to have seduced Aria into murdering her own father.... I truly underestimated you.”

Aria looked up at her relative from where she knelt, still cradling her father and sobbed, “How can you even think such a thing, Uncle! We just arrived, and.... and found Daddy like this!”

The Count merely sneered cruelly down at his niece as more guards arrived, and in a voice dripping with disdain said, “How can I think such a thing? Look at you my dear, dear, niece. You have your father’s blood all over you. You’re kneeling over his body with the murder weapon still in your hand. And this --” he gestured at Darius, “--this Malthorm spy is standing guard with a drawn sword in his hand. THAT’S how I can think such a thing. But don’t worry, my dear, we’ll have a fair trial for you -- before both of you are executed for treason and Regicide.”

Gesturing to the guards, the Count bellowed, “Take them away!”

Surrounded by over fifteen guards, several of whom Darius had known for years, there was little choice but to surrender and allow himself to be led away. Struggling to look over his shoulder one last time at Count Lotch, Darius was almost certain that he saw the Count smiling as Aria's uncle reached down to pick up the Triderian crown from where it had fallen on the tiled floor.

----------------------------------------

“This is ridiculous!” Darius shouted, slamming the metal water pitcher down on the small wooden table, denting both in the process.

They were in a small cell in the dungeons below the castle. Aria had been allowed to wash the blood off of her clothing before being thrown in with him. He had slept that night on the floor, allowing her to cry herself to sleep on the single cot in the cell. Dawn had not improved his foul mood. By the time Jonathon had finally heard about the charges and came to try to comfort his friends, Darius had already managed to put the guards on duty into a foul mood as well. “Aria has already been through enough without that accursed half-uncle of hers throwing accusations around everywhere!” he ranted.

Jonathon glanced over at Aria. She didn’t look in very good shape. She was huddled in the corner, with her arms clasped around her knees, staring off into space. He didn’t think he had ever seen such a haunted look on her tear-stained face.

“Look, Darius”, Jonathon began, “I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding, and that we’ll catch the real killer soon. No one can truly believe the charges. My men have sealed off the grounds and are already searching the castle. Also, with the Ruling Knights here in the palace already, everything should be resolved quickly.” Jonathon looked worried, though. Darius knew that he needed to be with his men trying to find the assassin, instead of trying to calm down his friends.

Darius took a deep breath, calming his nerves. "How many guards were lost?" he asked his friend and wondering if he knew any of them.

Johnathon replied with a pained expression, "There should have been at least eight guards around the King at all times. We still don't know where they are, they're just... missing." The guard captain's shoulders slumped. He looked exhausted from a night of searching the castle grounds for any signs of the escaped assassin or missing guards.

A soldier that Darius recognized as one of Jonathon’s men hurried into the small cellblock and motioned Jonathon over. They spoke for a few moments before Jonathan's face purpled and he burst out, “What! On whose authority?” The knight answered, and a shadow seemed to pass over Jonathon’s face. The soldier saluted and left. Jonathan returned to the cell, much more subdued.

“It seems that Count Lotch has called off the search and is meeting with the Council about the events of last night. He’s trying to convince the Council that you are a Malthorm spy sent to assassinate the King in an attempt to weaken the Triderian Government, and that you seduced Princess Aria to achieve that goal.”

“Darius, I don’t know if you have heard or not, but this is the fourth murder in the palace since you left. The others were two Councilors, and one Ruling Knight. All of whom were strictly loyal to the Royal Family. There are rumors that Lotch may be plotting a coup. With the death of the King, Aria is the only other heir to the throne. If Aria is convicted and removed from power, then the rulership of Trideria passes from House Altor to House Wyvern – the Count’s own House.”

“If that’s true, then my dear sweet Uncle may be behind this whole thing.” Aria stated, her voice dripping with disgust.

Darius jumped, he thought that they had been talking too quietly for her to hear, but Aria was glaring at them now, her eyes flashing. The haunted look was gone, replaced by cold fire. She got up and joined them at the door to the cell.

“I noticed that most of the soldiers that were with my Uncle last night bore the winged sigil of House Wyvern." Aria stated icily. "Jonathon, is there anything that can be done to get us out of here? If my uncle is behind this, I have to stop him." She closed her eyes briefly, fighting down the pain of her loss as the realization of her duty settled around her. Composing herself, she continued in a shaky voice, "My father's murder aside, my Uncle is power-mad. He's been urging my father to go to war with Malthorm for years. He'll tear the lands apart if he's allowed to rule.”

Johnathon hesitated before replying, “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but according to Triderian law, until the Ruling Knights officially declare you Queen, your Uncle as First Minister still has the right to command the army, and the dungeon guards are strictly loyal to him. My men, and many of the Palace Guards are with you, M’Lady, but if we were to try to release you, it could lead to civil war.”

“That’s probably just what my uncle is counting on. It would only solidify his claims about Malthorm. He has always felt that they were a threat, and that we should strike first before they strike us.” she sighed looking at Darius. “Any ideas?”

Darius just shook his head. “None that won’t get us killed.” he mused.

Jonathon left, and the day passed slowly. A royal page arrived to read the official charges drafted against them. Obviously, Count Lotch had convinced the Royal Knights to proceed with the trial. Nightfall arrived, and with it the tasteless gruel that all prisons seem to call food. The guards changed as darkness fell, and soon a servant arrived to bring the guard his meal.

The guard, another one of Lotch’s men, refused to light the torches along the walls, and made a great show of eating and drinking in front of Darius, laughing cruelly as the prisoners pushed their own bowls of grey mush away in distaste. Finally the guard seated himself at the desk near the single door leading up the stairs to the castle and poured himself another drink. Darius noticed that he kept yawning, and wondered if all of Lotch’s men were as lazy as this one. Resigned to another night on the floor, Darius lay down to sleep.

Darius was just drifting off to sleep when the clatter of the guard’s goblet on the stone floor brought him around. The guard was slumped over in his chair, the goblet on the floor where it had fallen from his limp hand while he was still drinking. Startled, Darius watched with wide eyes as the heavy door began to inch open slowly. A breeze coming down the stairs blew out the single candle on the desk, plunging the room into darkness. The dark crack widened and a shadowy form stepped through the doorway into the dungeon. The moonlight from the slits in the wall high overhead glinted evilly on the sword held in a withered hand....