Taraquin

Prologue

One year in the future:

It's a chilly fall night and is darker than usual due to the new moon. This makes it easy for the dark figure to move around unseen throughout the grounds of Crayhaven Castle. Every now and then, the intruder stops to time the roaming guards. Warm breath turns to smoke in the cold air until the intruder moves once again. With a swift leap, the black robed figure climbs up onto the vacant balcony of the second floor. 

The figure enters silently into a large room, and then quickly blends into the dark curtains hanging over the open balcony entryway. Footsteps and a stern voice are heard down the hallway moving toward the office where the intruder now waits. A second man with a soft voice can be heard as well as the two men move closer to the office the intruder is hiding in. 

The man with the stern voice sounds like an older man in a powerful position, while the soft-spoken man sounds young and subservient. By the way the older man speaks to the younger, it is obvious that he works for him. A deep wet cough echoes through the castle just before the men round the corner. As the two men enter the office, the intruder can now identify that the older man is the Chancellor of the Military, and the younger man is in fact his squire.

"So, what did you find out?" asks the squire Talbot.

"Well, I did find out who has been secretly leading and funding the Rebels," reveals Lord Crispin.

"So who is it?" inquires Talbot.

"I can't tell you. It's already dangerous enough that I know. I wouldn't want the stress of this knowledge to be put on your shoulders as well. I will tell you that this person is important enough that the King needs to be notified immediately. But don't worry, you'll know soon enough. At first light, I plan to go to Brinonberg Palace and let him know personally," explains Crispin.

"The roads could be dangerous and you aren't feeling well, do you want me to come with you?" asks Talbot showing a concerned look on his face.

"Sick or not, I can hold my own. I didn't get where I am today by being scared of a fight," declares Crispin as he smiles.

"Well, be safe." insists Talbot

"I always am," winks Crispin with a sly grin.

"I'm off to bed," announces Talbot as he shakes his head with a smile and starts for the door. "I still have quite a bit of packing to do tomorrow, so I need some sleep."

"Well don't over do it. We still have time before we need to leave. Oh, and before I forget, make sure this letter is sent out tomorrow," insists Crispin as he hands him the letter.

"I will my Lord. Night." agrees Talbot as he heads for the door again.

"Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow." declares Crispin.

"Alright," announces Talbot as he disappears into the dark hallway.

Crispin grins as Talbot starts singing to himself as he walks down the echoing hallways of the castle. He sits on the edge of his desk in silence as he ponders about the day's events. He wishes he could have told Talbot but he didn't want anything to happen to him. He promised Talbot's father when he died that he would always look after him, and since he never had any children of his own, he thinks of him like he is his own son. Just being his squire put him in danger though, because if anyone ever comes to retaliate, Talbot would pay for it as well. He continues playing back the scene in his head where he learned of the rebel leader. He couldn't believe it when he found out who it was, and he still has a hard time believing it now. But the facts are overwhelming. There's no possible way it could be otherwise, even if he did wish that it wasn't true.

He picks up an old pipe and some dried coltsfoot leaves from a bowl next to the pipe on his desk. He struggles to pack the leaves into the pipe as he coughs uncontrollably. He grabs a small twig from his desk and heads over to the fireplace crackling with hot flames. Crispin sticks one end of the twig into the fire and then uses it to light the dried coltsfoot leaves. He puffs on the pipe a few times to get the leaves lit before throwing the twig into the fire. He moves toward his chair behind the desk while puffing on his pipe. He sits in his chair and feels instant relief from both the chair and the soothing effect the coltsfoot leaves has on his sore throat. With his cough finally at ease, he closes his eyes, but quickly realizes that something isn't right. 

He opens his eyes, leans forward, and grabs a dagger from his desk. He quickly swings it behind him, slicing through flesh before it hits the back of the chair. He attempts to get up, but a sharp dagger pulls on his throat, forcing him back into the chair. "What is the meaning of this?" Crispin orders, trying to sound unfazed and unaware, even though he already knows what it's about.

The intruder leans down close to him and a shrewd voice whispers into his ear. "You just couldn't let it go could you? You couldn't keep your stinking nose in your own business, could you?"

The voice sounds familiar to Lord Crispin but he is too scared to think clearly. "I don't know what you're talking about," declares Crispin in a shaky voice.

Angered by his denial, the intruder presses the razor sharp blade harder against his neck. A small stream of blood starts to trickle down his neck onto his tunic. "Don't play coy with me. I know that you found out about the Rebel leader. Your source spilled his guts, literally. And now you've forced my hand," admits the intruder.

"I don't know anything, I swear!" shrieks Crispin.

"Well, I guess if you don't know anything, then I have no use for you," admits the intruder.

Lord Crispin sighs with relief. "Thank you! Thank you for not killing me!" 

"Oh I never said that I wasn't going to kill you," reveals the intruder.

Lord Crispin is immediately mortified with fear. He feels the sharp blade slide across his neck as the intruder walks around the chair so that he may see the face of the one who bested him. Now that the intruder is in front of him, he can feel the tip of the blade digging into his neck right next to his throat. Realizing that he isn't dead yet, Lord Crispin opens his tightly quenched eyes. "You!" he acknowledges with a quivering voice.

The intruder grins at the amusement that his voice isn't so stern and powerful now.

"How could you of all people betray the King?" asks Crispin.

"Don't you worry about that. I have my reasons," retorts the intruder.

"What good would it do for you to kill a harmless old man?" questions Crispin.

"Ha, hardly harmless. The simple fact that you know my secret makes you dangerous, and I plan to keep that secret for a little while longer. Plus, I never really liked you anyway. So that just makes it easier to do what should have been done a long time ago."

Crispin starts to object, but with a slight flick of the wrist from the intruder, he's drowned out by the gurgling sound of blood that fills his throat as he gasps for air. The intruder watches as the old man holds his throat, gasping and fighting for every last second of life, until he finally collapses onto the floor. The intruder watches momentarily as a large amount of blood pools around Crispin's lifeless body. The murderous Rebel leader grins feeling accomplished, before leaping off the ledge of the balcony and disappearing into the night.

"Now that Lord Crispin is dead, there are no loose ends," declares the intruder with a quiet laugh.

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