Murder the Heroes

Chapter Two; Section One

“This is impossible!” Koral’s gauntlet gouged a deep scar into the antique table. He didn’t much care. He probably didn’t even notice. Arrend, duke of Drieburg and heir to the throne, noticed. He felt the blood drain from his face. The table was probably his father, the King’s, favourite piece of furniture. It was a family heirloom, with each successive generation’s achievements carved into its surface. The scar ran right through the story of the treaty his great, great grandfather had made with Bridgeton. Dad certainly wasn’t going to be happy about that! He treasured the family history. As if he could somehow take credit for everything their ancestors had done.

Here was to hoping he wouldn’t find out.

The truth was he might not. He might not even wake up, for he was in a pretty bad state. The healers had tried everything to drive out the magic that was eating at him. They’d failed. It was like a cancer, only then incurable. It was wicked magic, cruel magic; a kind of magic only truly evil people used.

And the Krull.

Arrend shied away from that thought.

Koral had offered his services, as a healer. There hadn’t been any takers. The big man had been assured that everything that could be done was being done and sent back upstairs. Arrend wouldn’t have minded if they’d have kept the big bully, even if he was useless. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with him. He always dominated the conversation – never seemed to know his place. Or call him ‘your highness’. Truth was, none of the Champions did that. They took liberties.

“I know what I saw,” Elaine said, her voice tight, “I wasn’t the only one.”

Snow nodded and said something in that weird chirping voice of his, “It was Coil.” His mandibles worked for a split second longer, as if he could taste the name on the air, and didn’t know what to make of it. Dead silence for one, two, three.

“But he’s dead!” Koral thundered, his voice echoing around the high chamber. Gods, this conversation was like a spinning top that just wouldn’t stop!

“Somebody must have brought him back,” Snow inclined his head, “Again. His grave is empty.”

“So what does this mean?” Arrend asked, “Why would your former companion attack the King?” Annoyed looks – or was that contempt? It wouldn’t be the first time. He often had to work hard to ignore their looks!

“They must have compulsed him,” Koral said with conviction, “That’s easier to do to the weakened right? Coil wouldn’t attack us!” Wait, had they just acted like he hadn’t even spoken? Arrend’s gritted teeth went unnoticed. Snow was looking at the big man, with a look that would have been inscrutable even if he hadn’t been Krull. He said nothing. Nobody else filled the silence. It stretched. Again.

Starts and stops.

Time to assert his authority. “I demand an answer!” He shouted, slamming his own hand onto the unyielding wood. He had to work hard to keep his expression neutral. Maybe he should make sure he too was wearing a gauntlet when he tried such things. At the same time, he’d look a damned fool. His physique didn’t suit metal. Velvet was more his style – red velvet and red wine. That reminded him. He took a gulp to numb the pain. This was a particularly good vintage. Not like the bottle he’d had that morning, or the two after that. He took another sip in case the first one got lonely on its way down.

“My lord,” Elaine said, soothingly, her tongue like honey – she was a vixen, she was. What Arrend wouldn’t give to bed her! So far she’d resisted his advances. The bitch. “We don’t know if it was an attack on the King. It might have been an attack on us. Coil might have been compulsed, or he might have felt betrayed.” A shadow flitted across her features – quicker than a passing sparrow. Arrend was about to speak, to dig deeper, but Koral beat him to it. Again.