CHAPTER SEVEN

Kyros, the Central Kingdoms

M aximilian froze, caught between disbelief and horror. Then he lunged forward, just as Borchard staggered back into the room.

There was a sword buried in his belly.

It was one of the Emerald Guard’s distinctive weapons.

Maximilian caught Borchard as he lost his balance, breaking his fall before he reached the floor. He lay him down gently, unable for the moment to look at the sword, thinking only that he needed to be careful as at least half a handbreadth of the blade protruded from Borchard’s back.

Borchard had his hands gripped about the hilt. His abdomen and thighs were soaked in blood, and now a thick stream of it bubbled from his mouth.

“Why, Maxel?” Borchard said, his hands scrabbling uselessly about the hilt of the sword. He spat out a great clot of blood. “Why?”

Then he died.

Maximilian could do nothing but kneel by his friend’s body, now staring sightlessly. He was in deep, cold shock, unable to process the events of the last few moments, or to truly comprehend what had just happened.

He did not realize that he was kneeling on the floor, his back to the door, utterly defenseless against Borchard’s murderer.

A step sounded behind him, then a soft gasp of shock.

“Maxel!”

He turned his head, very slightly, just enough to see Ishbel standing there, clutching a shawl about her nightgown, huge eyes in a white face.

“Why are you out of bed?” Maximilian said. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I heard something, and—”

“Go back to your bed, Ishbel.”

“Maxel? What has happened?” Ishbel crept a little closer.

“I said to go back to your bed!”

She froze. “Maxel—”

“Get back to the bedchamber and do not move from there until I allow it!”

Ishbel went utterly still. Then, very slowly and very deliberately, she turned her back and walked away.

Egalion came within moments, closely followed by Garth.

“Ishbel called me,” Egalion said, kneeling down next to Maximilian, who still had not moved.

Borchard remained as he had died, half on one side, his hands still wrapped about the hilt of the sword, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, blood still oozing very slowly from his mouth and belly.

“Garth,” Egalion said, “get the Emerald Guard up, weaponed and surrounding this room. Then get Lixel.

You can do nothing here.”

Garth nodded, leaving the room.

“Maximilian,” Egalion said softly. “What happened?”

Maximilian made a helpless gesture. “I don’t know, Egalion. Borchard opened the door to leave, took a step out, then staggered back in, the sword in his body. He died within heartbeats. I didn’t see who…I didn’t see anyone, gods damn it!”

“Ishbel?” Egalion said, his voice still very quiet. “Why was she here? I thought she was abed and asleep hours ago. Was she here when Borchard was struck?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I can’t think.”

“Death is following her everywhere, Maximilian.”

Maximilian didn’t respond.

“I will set guards about her bedchamber as well,” Egalion said, and Maximilian did not countermand it.

“Maximilian, I am sorry, but I need to ask this. Do you think she was responsible for this?”

“I don’t know. I can’t bear to think about it. She was here immediately after, and I don’t know why.

How she knew.”

Egalion looked at the body once more, then back at Maximilian. “Maxel, we need to get you away from—”

“No.”

“Maxel—”

“I will not run from Borchard’s death as I ran from Allemorte’s. Borchard was my friend, and I owe it to Malat to remain.”

“Gods, Maxel, don’t you see what kind of sword it is sticking out of Borchard’s belly? No one is going to believe your protests of innocence. You need to leave.”

“No.”

“Shit,” Egalion muttered. He wiped a hand over his face, unable to think, unable to see a way out of this.

What in the name of all gods was happening to them?

There was the sound of many feet, running quietly, coming closer. Garth returned, together with six or seven of the Emerald Guard.

Egalion rose from the floor, conferring quietly with the Emerald Guard, giving orders to secure the town house, guard Ishbel, and hunt for any other person within the compound who might possibly be a murderer.

“Borchard’s companions are on their way,” one of the Emerald Guard said. “They were in the kitchen.

They know something is wrong.”

“I wish they could have guarded their prince better than they did,” Egalion said bitterly. “Shit!” he said again. Then he saw Baron Lixel hurrying along the corridor toward them.

“Lixel,” Egalion said, and in a few terse words informed him of what had happened. “Maxel won’t leave.

He’s decided to stay.”

Lixel muttered a curse.

“I’m going to give you five of the Emerald Guard as escort,” Egalion said, “and I want you to get out of this city and ride as hard as you can to Ruen. Let Vorstus and the Privy Council know what has happened, and that it will be a miracle if they ever see their king again. Damn it, Garth, why did you save Maximilian from the Veins, if this is what you saved him for?”

“No time for that now,” Garth said. “Lixel, you have to go. Now. Egalion—”

“Yes, yes.” Egalion gave one of the Emerald Guards hurried, urgent orders, then looked back at Lixel.

“Be safe, Lixel. Let Vorstus know what is happening. Tell him everything you know. Now, go! Go!

Borchard’s men must surely be only moments away.”

Lixel shot one anxious look at Maximilian, still by Borchard’s body; then he hurried off with the Emerald Guard.

A moment later, Borchard’s companions hurried around a corner from the opposite end of the corridor.

King Malat was a tall man, handsome and well built, but in the cold gray of the dawn he looked old and fragile. He sat in a chair in the chamber in which his son had died, his son’s body laid out before him, the sword still in place, Borchard’s cold hands still wrapped about its hilt, looking at Maximilian who sat in a chair the other side of the body.

“Why?” Malat said for the twentieth time. “Why is my son dead? For what reason?”

Maximilian waved a hand uselessly. It was a gesture he’d made countless times since Malat had arrived four hours ago.

They had spent that time as they were now, sitting in opposite chairs, Borchard lying between them.

The town house was now ringed with Malat’s soldiers. Maximilian didn’t know where everyone else in his party was, but he assumed they were under close guard.

“Who am I to blame if not you?” Malat said.

Another useless gesture on Maximilian’s part.

“How can you say you did not see the murderer? The door was open.”

“Malat—”

“I wish I’d listened to what Sirus had warned me. I wish I had not listened to the honeyed words of your friends Garth and Lixel and offered you rest within Kyros. Borchard”—his voice broke on the name of his son—“would still be alive if I had not capitulated.”

“Malat, I am sorry. I—”

“I want you gone, Maximilian. I want you out of here. I don’t know who murdered my son. I want to believe it wasn’t you, but I just don’t know. All I do know is that I want you gone from my house and sight and city and life. Leave me to grieve for my son without your corrupting presence. If, one day, I discover that you were responsible for Borchard’s death, then I will come after you with everything I have. I will destroy your life as you have destroyed mine. Do you understand me, Maximilian?”

“I understand, Malat.”

“Then get out of here. You have one hour to pack, get on your horses, and get you gone.”

“Malat—”

“Get out of here, get out of this room, now. Now!”

Maximilian rose and walked for the door.

Just before he got there, Malat spoke again. “Maximilian? Please don’t drop in on any more friends on your way home. I cannot bear to think that another father might have to go through what I go through now.”

Maximilian stiffened, then he left without saying a word.

“Maxel?” Ishbel rose from where she’d been sitting on the side of the bed. “Please, tell me, what is going on?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I don’t know!”

“Borchard is dead. Murdered. As is happening to too many people about me. And you.”

“I am not responsible,” she said softly, but with great feeling.

Maximilian walked over to her, staring for a long moment at her beautiful face. What was happening to them? “Borchard was gut struck, Ishbel. A belly blow.”

“And your point?” Her face was very white now, and she clutched her wrap tightly about her.

Maximilian took a step forward and buried his fist in the material of the wrap. “Are you a priestess of the Coil, Ishbel? Be honest with me now if you want me to retain a single shred of trust in you.”

He was so angry, yet looked so lost. Ishbel didn’t know what to do. She was terrified that if she revealed the truth now, then he would believe she was responsible for Borchard’s death. Better to continue with the lies. He would never find out.

“No,” she said, holding his angry gaze with unwavering eyes.

His fist tightened momentarily in the material of her wrap.

“You’re lying,” he said softly.

Then he let her go and turned, striding for the door.

“Get dressed,” he said. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Ishbel stared after him, a trembling hand rising to her mouth, her eyes glistening with sudden tears.