A March of Kings. Morgan Rice

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СКАЧАТЬ did not leave it,” Firth said proudly. “I’m not stupid. I disposed of it.”

      “And what blade did you use?” Gareth asked, his mind spinning with the implications. He went from remorse to worry; his mind raced with every detail of the trail that this bumbling fool might have left, every detail that might lead to him.

      “I used one that could not be traced,” Firth said, proud of himself. “It was a dull, anonymous blade. I found it in the stables. There were four others just like it. It could not be traced,” he repeated.

      Gareth felt his heart drop.

      “Was it a short knife, with a red handle and a curved blade? Mounted on the wall beside my horse?”

      Firth nodded back, looking doubtful.

      Gareth glowered.

      “You fool. Of course that blade is traceable!”

      “But there were no markings on it!” Firth protested, sounding scared, his voice trembling.

      “There are no markings on the blade – but there is a mark on the hilt!” Gareth yelled. “Underneath! You did not check carefully. You fool.” Gareth stepped forward, reddening. “The emblem of my horse is carved underneath it. Anyone who knows the royal family well can trace that blade back to me.”

      He stared at Firth, who seemed stumped. He wanted to kill him.

      “What did you do with it?” Gareth pressed. “Tell me you have it on you. Tell me that you brought it back with you. Please.”

      Firth swallowed.

      “I disposed of it carefully. No one will ever find it.”

      Gareth grimaced.

      “Where, exactly?”

      “I threw it down the stone chute, into the castle’s chamber pot. They dump the pot every hour, into the river. Do not worry, my lord. It’s deep in the river by now.”

      The castle bells suddenly tolled, and Gareth turned and ran to the open window, his heart flooded with panic. He looked out and saw all the chaos and commotion below, mobs surrounding the castle. Those bells tolling could only mean one thing: Firth was not lying. He had killed the king.

      Gareth felt his body grow icy cold. He could not conceive that he had set in motion such a great evil. And that Firth, of all people, had executed it.

      There came a sudden pounding at his door, and as it burst open, several royal guards rushed in. For a moment, Gareth was sure they would arrest him.

      But to his surprise, they stopped and stood at attention.

      “My Lord, your father has been stabbed. There may be an assassin on the loose. Be sure to stay safe in your room. He is gravely injured.”

      The hair rose on the back of Gareth’s neck at that last word.

      “Injured?” Gareth echoed, the word nearly sticking in his throat. “Is he still alive then?”

      “He is, my lord. And God be with him, he will survive and tell us who performed this heinous act.”

      With a short bow the guard hurried from the room, slamming closed the door.

      A rage overwhelmed Gareth and he grabbed Firth by his shoulders, drove him across the room and slammed him into a stone wall.

      Firth stared back, wide-eyed, looking horrified, speechless.

      “What have you done?” Gareth screamed. “Now we are both finished!”

      “But…but….” Firth stumbled, “…I was sure he was dead!”

      “You are sure of many things,” Gareth said, “and they are all wrong!”

      A thought occurred to Gareth.

      “That dagger,” he said. “We have to retrieve it, before it’s too late.”

      “But I threw it away, my lord,” Firth said. “It is washed away in the river!”

      “You threw it into a chamber pot. That does not mean it is yet in the river.”

      “But it most likely is!” Firth said.

      Gareth could stand this idiot’s bumbling no longer. He burst past him, running out the door, Firth on his heels.

      “I will go with you. I will show you exactly where I threw it,” Firth said.

      Gareth stopped in the corridor, turned and stared at Firth. He was covered in blood, and Gareth was amazed the guards had not spotted it. It was lucky. Firth was more of a liability than ever.

      “I’m only going to say this once,” Gareth growled. “Get back to my room at once, change your clothes, and burn them. Get rid of any traces of blood. Then disappear from this castle. Stay away from me on this night. Do you understand me?”

      Gareth shoved him back, then turned and ran. He sprinted down the corridor, ran down the spiral stone staircase, going down level after level, towards the servants’ quarters.

      Finally, he burst into the basement, to the turned heads of several servants. They had been in the midst of scrubbing enormous pots and boiling pails of water. Huge fires roared amidst brick kilns, and the servants, wearing stained aprons, were drenched in sweat.

      On the far side of the room Gareth spotted an enormous chamber pot, filth hailing down from a chute and splashing in it every minute.

      Gareth ran up to the closest servant and grabbed his arm desperately.

      “When was the pot last emptied?” Gareth asked.

      “It was taken to the river just minutes ago, my lord.”

      Gareth turned and raced out the room, sprinting down the castle corridors, back up the spiral staircase, and bursting out into the cool night air.

      He ran across the grass field, breathless as he sprinted for the river.

      As he neared it, he found a place to hide, behind a large tree, close to the shore. He watched two servants raise the huge iron pot and tilt it into the rushing current of the river.

      He watched until it was upside down, all of its contents emptied, until they turned back with the pot and trekked back towards the castle.

      Finally, Gareth was satisfied. No one had spotted any blade. Wherever it was, it was now in the river’s tides, being washed away into anonymity. If his father should die on this night, there would be no evidence left to trace the murderer.

      Or would there?

      Chapter Five

      Thor followed on Reece’s heels, Krohn behind him as they weaved their way through the back passageway to the king’s chamber. Reece had brought them through a secret door, hidden in one of the stone walls, and now held a torch, leading them as they walked single file in the cramped space, working their way through the inner guts of the castle in a dizzying array of twists and turns. They ascended a narrow, stone staircase, which led to another passageway. They turned, СКАЧАТЬ