Chapter Thirteen

Tirisfal Castle, the Feast of the Moon, 1373 DR

Gilchrist came out of the reconvened council disappointed. There had been almost nothing to report; divinations had failed, investigations turned up nothing, and the utterly predictable behavior of the Order of the Blade (riding about challenging everything that moved) had of course produced no results.

‘At least the feast will be good,’ he thought to himself as he walked off towards his chambers to give the servants time to prepare the great hall for the feast night.

His sword was still not yet reforged, a fact that irked him. The castle weaponsmith had said that he would work silver into the edge to help it strike against the vampire, but the process was delaying the work, and so Gilchrist had no weapon at all. The thought bothered him as he strode into his rooms and shut the door behind him. A fire was roaring in the fireplace across from his favorite chair, warding off the cold that was rapidly setting in with the beginnings of winter, but Gannon was nowhere to be seen. Gilchrist frowned at the absence of his servant, but quickly dismissed it; he could have any number of reasons to be elsewhere. The prince sat down in front of the fire and started poring over a set of scrolls he’d gotten from the royal libraries several days before, detailing known lore of vampires.

The fire was burning low by the time he rolled up the scroll he was reading and stood to go down to the great hall for the feast.

* * *


Gilchrist didn’t get far down the torchlit passage before being accosted by Gannon.

“My prince,” his servant said to him in a low voice, quickly bowing his head before looking up.

“Where have you been?” Gilchrist also spoke quietly, instinctively taking Gannon’s cue.

“No time. You’re in danger; you have to get out of the castle.”

“What?”

“They’re going to strike at the feast, you have to leave!”

“Who is? Gannon, what are you on about?”

“I don’t know who; I heard voices in the dungeons, near the armory.”

“Gannon, I can’t just leave everyone else. If someone’s going to attack the feast then the court has to be warned; most of them will already be there!”

“But Highness,” Gannon said with great gravity. “It’s your father the King.”

“Gannon, you’re not making any sense,” Gilchrist responded in a bewildered tone.

“Your father’s voice, it was one of the voices.”

“Maybe someone who sounds like him, but…”

“No, it was him! I’ve been a servant in this castle for fifteen years; I know what the king sounds like.”

“Then there’s sorcery at work. I have to go warn the court now.”

“Highness, if you won’t take my warning, then at least take this,” Gannon said, holding out a long, thin bundle.

Gilchrist unwrapped the cloth to reveal what he’d suspected it was: A sword. He was about to ask where his servant had gotten it when his eyes fell on the device engraved on the crossguard.

“Gannon, this is Justitia! What were you doing in the royal armory?”

“You need a weapon, my prince, and that’s the best one I could lay my hands on,” responded the servant grimly.

“You realize that if Father finds out…”

“We have other worries. Whipping for delivering you King Caerlon’s sword will be the least of them.”

Gilchrist relented as he allowed Gannon to strap the sword onto his belt. “Very well. If you truly believe the danger is so great, you should leave the castle now. Go to New Tirisfal; look up Gregor Reeves at the farriers’ guildhall. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll see to your safety until you’re sent for.”

His servant nodded his thanks. “Helm watch over you, my prince,” he said before turning and walking briskly down the corridor.

Gilchrist looked after his servant for a brief moment before turning and hurrying off his own way towards the great hall.

* * *

The prince entered the great hall, which was arranged much differently than when he’d left it that afternoon. The floor was scattered with rushes, and the trestle tables were laid with food of every description. Knights and nobles sat around the tables, with proximity to the royal dais indicating rank and position. Gilchrist started to move towards the dais to take his place by his father when the king noticed his entrance and stood.

The room quieted at once, and Gilchrist stopped in his tracks. No one spoke or moved while the king was standing at feast or in court, not even the crown prince.

“Now that my son is here,” Artair boomed out across the hall, “we can begin.

“I am pleased to announce that several of my loyal subjects have managed to reach the bottom of the conspiracy against the Crown of Eire.” A mutter went around the room at that, the courtiers unable to help themselves before falling silent again a bare moment later. Artair waited for it to subside before continuing.

“Foremost among these subjects is Lord Jocelin, head of the Order of the Crown. Lord Jocelin, if you please?”

At Artair’s word, the missing lord himself stepped out of one of the side doors near the dais and walked up to flank the king. He was wearing a full suit of field plate and was fully equipped for battle. Maybe it was a trick of the lanterns mingling with the stark light of the magic spells used to light the dais, but Gilchrist thought the lord looked extraordinarily pale. Gasps went up from the section of the table bearing the most Crown Knights as they caught sight of their heretofore missing leader.

“My lords and ladies,” Jocelin said gravely as he stood next to the king. “Over a tenday ago, I was ambushed by forces loyal to the conspirators. It was only through skill of arms and the swiftness of my horse that I escaped death, and even then their treacherous arrows carried poison that nearly spelled my doom. I am only now able to return.” An angry muttering went around the room.

“The nature of the conspiracy is most foul. I can say now that the perpetrators are none other than our own fellow knight commanders, led by Lord Ewaine, in a bid to place Prince Gilchrist on the throne in his father’s place.”

The court exploded in shouts at the accusation. Ewaine stared at the dais in shock from his place just below it.

Artair pounded his fist down on his table. “Guards, seize them!”