The Poison Throne (The Moorehawke Trilogy)

  "Razi persuaded me to stay. To work with his horses."

  What was he hiding?

  Perhaps he's a thief, after all. Perhaps that's what happened to his hands. He stole from Hadil. It would be just like Razi's mother to demand the full rigours of the law. And just like Razi to take him in as charity afterwards. But why not just tell her? Didn't he realise that she'd find out anyway?

  He threw her then by holding up his hands. "This," he said, clearing his throat again, "this happened about two months later. Bandits. The Loups-Garous..."

  The name made her startle. "In the Moroccos?" she gasped. "That far south?"

  He looked at her knowingly. "Oh aye," he whispered and she suspected that his dealings with the Loups-Garous were far greater than this one savage attack.

  "Why?" she asked, gesturing to his hands. Again he faltered, and once again she realised that he was going to lie.

  "I suppose I fought just a little too hard," he said quietly, spreading the fingers of his left hand, not quite managing to straighten them. "They were very upset with me."

  Perhaps, thought Wynter with a flash of inspiration, this is not so much deceit, as it is a need for privacy.

  Christopher smiled at her, his cheeks a high pink now, his eyes very troubled. "They took my bracelets," he said, as if that were almost as bad as them having ripped the fingers from his talented hands.

  A shrill whistle cut across the noise of the nearby traders. It was Razi, stalking towards them, his face taut with well contained excitement. He was ringed by guards, and they seemed to loom over him with renewed vigilance, as if they had to make up for their laxity at the arena. They pressed so close that Wynter wanted to scream at them, Let him breathe! Let him move!

  Christopher muttered, "Goddamn. They'll get him with child if they don't back off!"

  Then there was the unmistakable thwack of a longbow being fired, and the guard to Razi's right keeled over onto his companion, an arrow piercing his head from temple to temple.

  Thwarting the King

  There was pandemonium. Suddenly everyone was shouting and running, pointing in different directions. The guards crowded around Razi and one of them tried to shove him back against the wall of the palace. Razi struggled to push free and see to the fallen soldier, though it was obvious even to Wynter that the poor man was dead.

  Christopher grabbed Wynter by the arm, restraining her from running forward. He had gone very still and quiet, his eyes roaming the trees beyond the path.

  A woman screamed, "There! There!" and pointed as some hapless gardener came round the far corner, his scythe over his shoulder. The guards turned as one, and the poor man took one look at their faces and fled, dropping his scythe to the grass as he ran. With a roar, all but one of the guards took after him, leaving only a big lumbering fellow to stand in front of Razi and shield him from further threat.

  Wynter started forward, her hand up in frustration. "NO!" she shouted at the retreating soldiers. Suddenly, Christopher whistled sharply to get Razi's attention, and pointed high up into the trees. Then he was off up the path, cutting quickly right and heading upwards at tremendous speed through the woods.

  Razi ducked from under the guard's arm and dodged away as the huge man made a panicked swipe at him.

  "My Lord!" he bellowed as Razi escaped his grasp.

  "Get the others!" Razi ordered the man. "Stay there!" he yelled imperiously, pointing at the few civilians who had run forward to join the chase. They came to an uncertain halt.

  Razi took off into the woods, angling left, then up to intersect with Christopher's trajectory. Wynter was on Razi's heels like a shot. He was obviously still suffering the effects of his recent wound, for she rapidly overtook him, and went crashing through the scant underbrush to try and catch up with their quarry.

  She could see Christopher ahead of her, haring through the dappled shadows, obviously fixed on his target. It was a steep hill, though lightly wooded, and the ground was slippery with leaves. Wynter was quickly winded, and before long her heart was hammering in her chest. She could hear Razi panting and struggling behind her.

  She looked past Christopher and saw the assailant. An enormous man, his bow cast aside, running for his life through the trees. Christopher was angling past him, gaining height on the slope, and Wynter saw that he was intent on getting above the bigger man and bringing him down.

  He's too big to hold! she thought. Christopher will never keep him down!

  Christopher launched himself through the air from the slope above the man. He brought his legs up and around in the same action he had used on the first assassin, and felled the man with a flying kick to the chest. The two of them rolled in a flurry of leaves and debris down the slope towards Wynter.

  Christopher landed awkwardly, and came at the assailant from a bad angle, his first blow landing poorly, his balance off. In the end, he was just too light to overpower the huge man and the assailant easily kicked him off. He sent Christopher slamming into a tree where he slumped for a moment, blinking and winded, before staggering to his feet.

  By then Wynter was on top of them. She ran at the man and kicked him hard in the side of the head before he could turn on her. He spun away into the leaves, blood flying from his mouth, and before he could get back up, or before she could think, Wynter jumped and landed her full weight, feet-first, onto his back.

  She felt a horrible cracking give beneath her boots. The man let out an agonised shriek, and Wynter tumbled off him in shock and revulsion. Then Christopher was there, and the two of them dragged the man onto his back.

  Christopher slid in behind the man and wrapped his arm around his neck. He heaved so hard that the man's head and shoulders were pulled up, his eyes bulging from lack of air. Wynter flung herself across the man's legs and did her best to hang on. Razi arrived in a swirl of leaves and straddled his would-be killer, pinning his arms to the ground.

  "Quickly," said Christopher. "We don't have much time!"

  For what? Wynter thought wildly, and then had to tighten her grip on the man's legs as Razi knelt on his wounded chest, causing him to screech and thrash about in pain. Razi grabbed the man's hair and yanked his head back, loosening Christopher's grip and exposing the man's pulsing throat. Then Razi, his eyes cold, pressed his knife hard into the man's taut neck. Bright beads of blood showed along the blade where it bit into his flesh.

  "I know you!" said Razi softly. "You're Jusef Marcos, one of my father's huntsmen. You fought by his side during the insurrection, you were under Oliver's command."

  The man just rolled his eyes to meet Razi's, panting with pain. Razi grunted and struck him hard with the handle of his dagger, making Wynter wince.

  "Who sent you?" he hissed, pressing the blade back to Jusef's throat.

  Christopher's gaze flicked past Razi, down the slope. They could hear shouts rising up by the palace. "Hurry, Razi!" he urged, "Make him talk!"

  Razi leant in close to Jusef's pain-creased face. "If you tell me who sent you, I promise to kill you quickly. You won't feel a thing." The man's legs jumped under Wynter's weight, and she clutched them convulsively. She glanced in horror at Razi's ruthless profile. His voice was so sure, so blackly cold. Christopher was staring past them, down the hill, his face tense.

  "I am loyal to the crown," Jusef growled, then he gritted his teeth against the pain as Christopher twisted a handful of his hair.

  Christopher bent his head down, and murmured in Jusef's ear. "You just tried to kill a royal prince, you syphilitic cur. That don't sound too loyal to me."

  "I am loyal to the crown!" shouted the man again, bucking against their combined weight and then yelling at the pain it caused his ribs.

  Christopher glanced back down the slope and his eyes widened. Wynter turned her head and saw that there were shapes moving towards them through the trees. Suddenly Christopher was talking, urgently and persuasively.

  "Now you listen," said Christopher, his lips moving against the man's ear, "they're coming
for you. They're already at the base of the hill now. If they get you they'll take you to the keep."

  Jusef continued to struggle, despite his pain, but Christopher just kept talking, and as he went on, the big man gradually stilled, his eyes widening, and he began to pant with more than just pain. "Shall I tell you what those vultures did to the last fellow Razi gave them? First thing they did? They drew his eyes from the sockets. They were amazing careful, didn't even puncture them. You ever seen an eye drawn from its socket? It's like a bloody grape, so it is. They left them hanging from strings, swinging on his cheeks."

  Wynters stomach lurched. No Christopher! No! I don't want to hear this!

  "I kept wondering," mused Christopher, his tone conversational. "Could he still see?" Jusef's eyes rolled to Christopher, but the young man was bent so close to his ear that he couldn't have seen anything but hair and a portion of Christopher's cheekbone. "Then they took hot pokers... have you ever smelled that? Hot metal on flesh?"

  Christopher's voice had dropped a register and Wynter tried to bury her head in her arms, so that she wouldn't hear the rest. But it was impossible to do so and still keep hold of Jusef's legs, so she heard Christopher say, "Well, anyway, they took those pokers, and they made certain that the poor miserable bastard would never shit again. You get my meaning?"

  Jusef let out a hoarse yell of terror, and Christopher's voice dropped blessedly low so that Wynter was spared any further additions to her awful library of horrors. All she heard after that was Christopher's indecipherable murmuring and Jusef's strangled moans of fear.

  She turned her head away and pressed her wet cheek against the man's trembling legs. A movement downhill caught her eye, and she started in panic at how close the soldiers were. They were nearly upon them and, oh God! Jonathon was with them!

  "They're coming!" she screeched, "They're coming! Don't let them get him! Don't!"

  Jusef screamed in panic.

  "Tell me!" shouted Razi, his blade still pressed to Jusef's straining neck. "It's your last chance!"

  "His Highness, the Royal Prince Alberon! It was Prince Alberon! He sent the word, my Lord! He sent the word that I kill you."

  Razi snatched the knife away from the man's neck and sat back, horrified.

  "Razi," hissed Christopher, his eyes on the huge body of men approaching through the trees. "Razi!"

  But Razi was staring at Jusef, the knife dangling uselessly, his eyes wide with shock.

  "Razi! Razi!" Wynter begged, her mind full of that chair, those flames, and the terrible images that Christopher had painted. "Don't let them! Don't let them!"

  "Please, my Lord," whispered Jusef, tears running down his face. But it was too late. The King was already striding towards them, his face hard, his squad of guards on his heels.

  "Good Frith," moaned Christopher. He whipped the knife from Razi's hand and, in full sight of the King and all his men, ended Jusef's life.

  Wynter wailed. "NO! Christopher! NO!"

  Razi leapt up, his face appalled and took two horrified steps back. "Oh God! Drop the knife!" he cried. "Chris! Drop the knife! They'll kill you!"

  Christopher, looking stricken and terrified, dropped the knife to the ground. He rose to his knees, his hands up, palms out.

  "He's unarmed!" Wynter called out, turning to face the advancing men. "He was protecting my Lord Razi!"

  The King stormed across the small space between them, and Razi spun to intercept him. Jonathon's face was wicked with anger, and when Razi stepped between him and the still kneeling Christopher, Jonathon backhanded his son without any warning. It was a massive bear-like swat to the head: Jonathon was a huge man, as tall as Razi and broader. The powerful blow sent Razi spinning to the ground. He rolled a short distance down the steep slope and smacked against a tree, curling around his wounded shoulder with an agonised cry, even as he was trying to gain his feet.

  Wynter yelled and leapt towards him, but one of the guards latched onto her arm and dragged her back. She struggled and he shook her so hard that her eyes vibrated in her head. Her teeth clicked together onto her tongue, filling her mouth with the bright copper taste of blood.

  Jonathon strode past her, intent on getting to Christopher Garron. Wynter fought the guard, straining to keep the young man in her sight. He was gazing up at the King who now loomed over him. Then Wynter saw the awful truth dawning in Christopher's eyes, and she stopped struggling. Christopher looked into the King's face, dropped his hands and accepted that he was about to die.

  "Your Majesty..." he whispered, but got no further. Jonathon grabbed him with a roar, lifted him from the ground and swung him, head first, into the nearest tree.

  Razi howled as he scrambled his way towards them, and Wynter resumed her frantic struggle against the guard.

  "Christopher!" she screamed, "Christopher, no!"

  Christopher's head rebounded off the trunk with a resounding crack. Incredibly, he didn't go down. Instead, he staggered backwards a few steps, his mouth open, his eyes dazed and then stood there, swaying drunkenly but not falling. A thin line of blood dribbled down his forehead and ran into his eye.

  One of the guards eyed him with sneering amusement. He jabbed him with his finger, and Christopher staggered sideways a step or two without seeming to notice.

  "Leave him be!" bellowed Razi, pushing his way through the ring of soldiers. "And let her go!" he snarled, slapping the guard's hands away from Wynter. She stumbled from his grip, rubbing the top of her arms, her eyes glued to Christopher.

  Razi shoved the men aside in an attempt to get to his friend. But before he could reach him, Jonathon took the young man by the hair and slammed his head against the tree once more. This time, Christopher did fall, sliding smoothly to the ground with a moan, his eyes still open. Blood welled slowly from his nose.

  Razi launched himself in a two-fisted blow at the King, punching him soundly in the chest. Jonathon staggered sideways and looked at Razi in genuine surprise, as if he'd just dropped from the sky.

  The chief guard stepped between father and son, his fist raised, but Jonathon stayed him with a gesture. He looked Razi up and down with puzzled disdain and said, "What are you doing, boy?"

  "He's my friend!" screamed Razi. "He was protecting me!"

  Jonathon's face crimsoned with rage, and he grabbed Razi by the collar suddenly, and shook him until Razi gagged. "Your friend? Your friend? You're not a commoner, boy! You have no friends! You have subjects! He's your subject!"

  Wynter put her hand to her mouth, not knowing what to do. She was like a child among giants, and she couldn't take her eyes from Christopher who was just visible behind the shifting screen of the guard's legs. He was lifting and dropping his right hand in a slow ineffectual movement, his unfocused eyes roving the dappled canopy above him.

  "He was protecting me!" Razi's voice cracked with desperation, and Jonathon released him with a small push, causing him to stumble backwards.

  "He cheated us," the King said, his voice dangerously low. "He killed a man we wanted taken alive, and he robbed the throne of its informant. He'll be taken to the keep, Razi, and we'll see how many more fingers he will lose before I feel repaid."

  Razi cried out in despair, and this time three of the King's guards grabbed him before he could fly at Jonathon's throat. Wynter sobbed loudly, then immediately pressed her lips shut, wishing herself invisible, when Jonathon turned his baleful glare on her. She saw him assessing her, and like beads clicking on an abacus, she saw plans and options and schemes form and shift and take shape in his eyes as he puzzled out her place in all this.

  "What are you doing here, Protector Lady? Do the Moorehawkes thwart me too?"

  Razi groaned and closed his eyes in desperate frustration. "Oh leave them be, Father! I beg of you!"

  The King roared at him, making Wynter jump. Jonathon raised his fist to his son, but caught himself at the last moment and just shook it in Razi's now furiously defiant face. "Stop talking like a peasant! You do not beg! You neve
r beg! You are the heir apparent!"

  "I think the sun is in the King's eyes," growled Razi, spit flecking his lips, his teeth bared as he surged against the restraining guards, putting his face up to his father's. "His Majesty mistakes me for my brother!"

  Father and son faced up to each other for a moment, like territorial wolves. Then gradually Jonathon's expression changed into something darker than rage. He looked at Razi in a new manner: an up and down, speculative manner. Wynter didn't like this new expression. It was remote and calculating, all Jonathon's fury fading in exchange for a carefully scheming assessment of his still furious son.

  On the ground, by the tree, Christopher murmured something in Merron and rolled onto his side. The King glanced at him and gestured to his guards.

  "Take him," he said casually. "Feed him to The Chair. Let the remaining inquisitors winkle him out."

  Wynter screamed in panic and tried to push her way to Razi, but he didn't react. He had gone very wary and still, and was watching his father, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

  Two soldiers dragged Christopher up by his arms, and he hung between them, limp as a rag. He mumbled again in Merron: "Is mise... fear saor." He tried to raise his head but couldn't, and his face was hidden in a tangled, bloodied net of hair.

  Jonathon turned his head slowly back to Razi, and met his eye. Wynter saw the sly triumph in the King's face, and her heart skipped a beat.

  "Well, boy?" asked the King.

  "I will not wear the purple," said Razi, very quietly.

  "Yes, you will," said the King. "You will sit without protest. You will eat at each remove. And you will wear the purple."

  Razi shook his head slowly, in sorrow and despair. "I will not wear the purple," he whispered, his eyes glittering.

  Christopher was making a real effort to move now. He managed to hold his head up for a few moments at a time, and kept trying to bring his feet under him. He tugged vaguely against the guards' grip.