Do not answer a fool according to his folly, lest you be like him.
This short story is an entry into the Free Kingdom Lore Contest. The contest is sponsored by Jon Warren. The judges will be three monarch candidates from the Free Kingdom competition: NiHZ, Seele, and Jon Warren. An official list of the lore contest entries will be frequently updated on the Lore Contest thread
This is a compiled and finished version of a story I previously posted, coming in at 3493 words on Google docs. Enjoy :)
I could just see the king’s figure through the crowd gathered in the banquet hall, now cleared of tables and packed with all manner of people. Knights, counts, and mayors attempting to keep some semblance of position even while they brushed shoulders with farmers and blacksmiths.
The king droned on and on, giving his eloquent speech meant to rouse the people’s spirits and inspire loyalty.
I was here to inspire fear and distrust. I felt the dagger hidden in my left sleeve. I was close, so close now that I could run up the stairs and stab him before anyone could do a thing about it, but I didn’t. My employer had been very specific.
One, I must obtain the king’s signet ring. Two, it must be a public and dramatic death. Three, it must happen at this meeting. Just one of those would have been easy, but all three made it a challenge.
I slowly walked to the back of the crowd. As I neared the far door, a guard gave me a questioning glance. I muttered an excuse about needing fresh air and shuffled outside.
The air outside was bright and cold, certainly freshening. The sounds of the king’s speech drifted outside. I didn’t know how long I had, I needed to get moving.
I walked around the building and entered a side door, breaking the rusted lock with by force. I moved quickly through the building and made my way to the balcony overlooking the banquet hall. With any luck, the equipment I had stowed would still be there.
I paused at the base of the stairs to the balcony, listening. Footsteps at the top, pacing. I listened for a full thirty seconds. The footsteps were heavy, even, slow. Probably a sentry set to guard the galleries.
I drew my hood over my face and set the bone-white scarf in place over my mouth. Slowly, I crept up the stairs till I was nearly at the top. The door in front of me opened toward the front of the hall. The sentry was pacing out of sight to my left.
I peeked my head around the corner and promptly received a whack in the face. The world slowed down; I began acting on reflex. The hit nearly threw me back down the stairwell. I retained just enough of my senses to launch myself out of the doorway into the wide balcony, rolling away and coming up ready to fight.
I was faced by a boy of fifteen, wielding a wooden sword with which he had hit me. The sentry, now facing me, stood a pace or two behind him, weapon sheathed.
“Oh, I’m sorry…” Began the boy, but his words died in his mouth when he saw my garb. An assassin's raiment is easy to recognize.
I rushed up to the boy, landing a single hard blow to his temple that incapacitated him. He fell to the ground on his side. The sentry had his weapon unsheathed by the time I reached him. I drew my dagger, but thought better of it. I didn’t want the noise of weapons clashing. I jumped back out of the sweep of his first attack, then rushed in close before he could stop the sword’s momentum. He drew a breath to yell for help. I slammed a fist into his gut, turning his yell into a gasping moan. Two bows to the head and he was unconscious. I laid him down gently to not make any noise.
The world resumed its normal speed and I examined my surroundings. I glanced down at the crowd, hoping no one had heard the commotion. A few people were looking up, but most were either sleeping on their feet or paying rapt attention to the king’s pontifications. Thanks to the wide balcony, nobody had seen the action. Next, I looked for the pack I had stowed here on my last visit.
I walked quietly to the front of the balcony, just over the dais, staying low to avoid being seen by the crowd below. found the loose floorboard, and lifted it. My sack lay there, undisturbed. I removed the crossbow, ten bolts, a length of rope, and two smoke bombs from the sack.
As silently as I could, I armed the crossbow and loaded the first bolt. From my vantage, I could see the king standing on the dais, but I was hidden from the view of most of the crowd. My plan was elaborate, but I had spent enough time planning this assassination to be confident. I would kill the king with the crossbow, throw the smoke grenades, slide down on the rope, steal the ring in the confusion, and make my escape.
The king paused a moment in his speech as I secured the rope. “And now,” he said, “I will address the assassin in our midst.” I looked up from my work to find the king looking straight at me.
The crowd murmured and shifted uneasily. The guards drew their weapons, but their eyes were on the king. The king had known, but no one else had.
I dropped low, out of sight of the dais.
“I know why you’re here.” The king continued. “To steal my ring and take my life, and sow confusion and discord in the process.”
How did he know?! No one had known besides myself and my employer. The duke’s man had promised that!
“The Duke of Antilhem sent you to kill me, didn’t he? His plan will fail. We will not be broken by rabble-rousing malcontents!”
The guards were gathering around the king, urging him to exit. The crowd stirred, ready to act but with nothing to do. I had only three options: Stick to the plan, improvise, or go home empty handed. I chose to improvise.
I raised the crossbow, sighted. In the instant before I fired, the captain of the guard saw me and tackled the king to the ground, covering him. I fired. The bolt struck the guard in the back, penetrating through him. Not a mortal wound, but it would serve its purpose. I quickly packed my gear and made my way down the stairs before my route could be cut off. They would take the king to the most secure room in the palace, the king’s personal chambers, located at the end of a long hall, in a tower with no ground level windows. At all times of day two sets of guards were set at each set of doors leading to it, but now there would be a half-dozen or more at every point between myself and the inner door.
The lower levels would be sealed off by now, but I was going up, not down. I was in the stairway to the turret adjacent to the one that held the king’s chambers by the time the alarm bells finally tolled. In another minute, I was outside, running along the inner wall of the keep toward the junction of the wall and the projecting hallway that connected the king’s chambers to the rest of the palace.
I reached it and paused for breath. The roof of the hallway was steepled. Only a precarious few inches offered passage to the turret.
There was no time to hesitate. I climbed the parapet and stepped out onto the round tile cap of the steepled roof. Twenty paces would bring me across.
I took five steps. The wind gusted, and I paused to balance myself. Six, seven, eight. A man in the courtyard below and behind me yelled out an alarm. Eight more steps. My pace was picking up. I had four steps to go. On my seventeenth step, my balance wavered, the wind gusted, and an arrow from the courtyard flew past. I knew before my right foot landed that I had no time. I made a desperate eighteenth step, gaining as much distance as I could, and lunged for the conical spire. Only my left hand reached around the far side of the cone. An instant later, I was hanging by my weak hand on the edge of a hundred-and-fifty-foot drop. My grip could only last a few seconds. I hauled myself up as much as I could, reaching my other hand around to grab the spire as well. I was safe, but only temporarily, and I still had to reach the king.
I situated myself so I could work freely with both hands. In less than thirty seconds, the rope was secured to the spire and I to the rope. According to my previous examination of the building, the windows facing outward were narrow and barred over, but the two windows facing inward on either side of the hallway were much wider and less secure.
With my weapons secure, rope tightened, and visage appropriately menacing, I began lowering myself down the edge. Once in place, I jumped outward and swung down at the window. It was beautifully executed. Perfect swing, exemplary entry, glass shattering as my boots crashed into the ornate stained glass—Definitely my best entry to date. It had only one flaw: As soon as I rolled to a stop, I was clubbed in the back of the head and fell to the ground unconscious.
I awoke in a dim prison cell. No windows; Probably underground. Across from me, I could see the hallway through an iron grate that formed the fourth wall of the cell. A guard stood, lounging against the wall on the other side of the hallway, illuminated by weak torchlight. “Oi,” He called to someone I couldn’t see. “Assassin’s awake.”
I examined myself. Aside from a throbbing headache, I felt uninjured, but they’d removed every last weapon from my person. Even my boots with their hidden knives have been confiscated. I slowly stood up, careful not the faint from the effort.
I looked at the guard. He said nothing, just stood there watching me through the grate. Several minutes passed like this, the two of us watching each other. I could see other cells through the grate, but all appeared empty.
Finally, the creak of an iron door and the sound of footsteps heralded someone’s approach. I stood and prepared to fight my way out if necessary. Even with no weapons, I was a match for anyone here.
The man who stepped into my view was none other than the King of Longshire himself whom I’d just attempted to assassinate. He was some fifty years old with the build of a swordsman. No longer in his ceremonial clothes, he remained quite imposing. A Neran, by his appearance. I’d been Neran a couple times in my career.
“You may leave,” He said to the guard, who gave him a concerned look, but obeyed without verbal question.
When we were alone, the king spoke again. “Excellently done. Beautiful. Ha! You’d have convinced me.”
I stared at him, uncomprehending. Had he just complimented me on my attempt to assassinate him? My eyes narrowed and I scowled in confusion.
“Oh, your pay.” He continued, evidently misunderstanding me. You’ll get your pay, of course, along with all your gear. It’ll be hidden outside the wall two hundred paces to the south.”
“What?” It was all I could manage to express. Was he giving me my pay and all my gear back?
“Two hundred paces to the south, outside the western gate.” The king answered. He stood up to leave. “I may have need of your services again in the future. If I should, how can I find you?”
“I try to make sure people don’t find me,” I answered.
The king nodded, and left without reply.
For a long time, nothing happened. I had thought the guard would come back to watch the cell, but he never did. It appeared the king intended for me to escape, but why? More importantly, how? I walked to the door and gave it a light shove.
It opened.
The door was unlocked, had never been locked. I was now in an empty hallway a mere hundred paces to freedom.
I sat at my table in the usual place: facing the front door, seated near the back door, waiting for the man I knew would come looking for me.
The inn was less busy than usual, even this early in the morning. Only two other people shared the common room with me, they both sat at a table by the door, mumbling to each other about weather and taxes and crops.
At last the man entered the room. I knew it was him by his searching gaze, by the fact that he didn’t take one of the twenty empty tables. I also knew that he would know me by the fact that I was the only man in the room with a hood to hide my face.
“Mr. Lot?” he asked cautiously.
I nodded and motioned for him to have a seat. Mr. Lot, the name I’d chosen. This would be the Duke’s man, come to find out why the contract had not been completed.
“I don’t need to explain myself,” he said.
I said nothing, studied him. He was lithe, young, nervous, and probably underpaid, judging by his attire. Red hair and a short beard framed his young face.
“The Duke sent you?” I asked. I knew already, but it was the expected thing to say.
He nodded, biting his lower lip. “And of course, since you failed the contract, he must withhold the other half of your pay.”
I waved a hand. “Don’t worry about the pay.” I paused and reached into my coin purse. “In fact, I may be able to help you in that area.”
He looked confused. “I’m not sure what you mean, Waerd…”
I held up two gold pieces. “Help me out, and these are yours.”
The man eyed me hesitantly for a moment. I could see he needed the money. I pulled out a third coin. The change in his expression was immediate.
“What do you need?”
“Do you have access to the Duke’s personal mansion?”
He leaned back, tearing his eyes off the coin to look at me. “Yes… I’m a courier, a trusted one.”
“Excellent.” I pulled out a fourth coin. “I also need to know who else knew about this contract. Who else did you tell? Who might the duke have consulted about this?”
He glanced around the room, then leaned in conspiratorially. Conspicuous. Annoying.
“I heard that the Duke of Antilhem visited the day before I was sent to the Waerd with the contract. Could be unrelated, but I thought they were political enemies.”
How much did he know? I took a breath, exhaled slowly. “The King knew of it beforehand. In fact, he planned on it. Tried to use it to his own advantage.” I leaned back, took a long pull at my drink— only water, but no one knew that— watching the courier closely over the lip of my mug.
His eyes widened and his fingers tensed slightly. “Oh no. No, no, no. How much does he know? Did he know who ordered it? They couldn’t have known of my involvement, right?”
So, he didn’t know that the King seemed to have planned it. Curious.
“I doubt it.” I said. “But we need to get going. If we don’t find the leak in the Duke’s household, it could be bad for business. I need to have a one-on-one with the Duke of Graveood.”
He nodded. “Right, right. Let’s be off.”
Today I was a young nobleman. Gerard Strockhold, from one of the lesser houses in the southern lands.
The sky was overcast and a light drizzle dampened everything as we climbed the road to the duke’s estate. A far cry from the refreshing, cool winds of the desert. Still, it would mean an excuse to be invited into the duke’s mansion. The duke’s man, Kasok, as I’d learned his name was, looked miserable as well.
As we neared the gates to the estate’s grounds, a guard poked his head through the window of the gatehouse. I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to come outside in this weather either.
“Names and purpose?” He called curtly.
“Kasok. You know my business.” My companion called. “And Sir Strockhold. Here to see the duke.”
The guard’s head disappeared from the window and a low muttering drifted out. Finally, he came shambling out of the gatehouse, huddled in a cloak. He grumbled the whole while as the found the key and unlocked the gate.
“Good day to you, sirs,” he said, every bit of his voice proclaiming that it was not a good day.
Ahead stood the mansion, imposing in the gloomy evening. We entered the walled courtyard under a stone arch and handed our horses off to a stable boy who was much too happy for this weather. A servant girl stood just inside the grand entryway, ushering us inside. We were led through the entrance into a comfortable sitting room with a dying fire in the hearth. The servant left, presumably to retrieve some firewood. I glanced around to ensure we were alone, then approached the door at the back of the room.
“Watch for the servant’s return,” I said to Kasok as I tried the door. It was locked. I put my ear up to the door and listened.
Nothing.
According to Kasok’s directions, the duke’s rooms would be up a staircase to the left, then left again toward the eastern wing, his door being the last at the end of the hall. If the duke maintained his schedule, he ought to arrive home from court this evening, in an hour or so. Enough time for me to situate myself.
I waited another minute, then left the door and seated myself at one of the cushioned chairs to await the servant’s return. Kasok paced around uneasily. Two minutes passed before the servant returned with the firewood.
“Is the duke here?” I asked. It was, after all the expected thing to say.
“He’ll not be home for another hour, maybe more,” she said. “I’ll be sure to let him know you are here.”
“And the duchess?”
“No, she is away.”
“Thank you. You may go on your way.”
She left us again, and I returned to the door to listen. Still nothing. I pulled out my lockpicks and quickly did the lock. Hiding the picks in the cuff of my sleeve, I stepped though. The hall outside was dark, save for a candlestick near the stairs. I walked quickly toward them and up the stairs, then turned left, making my way before I could be stopped and questioned. I found the door— it was unlocked— and opened it.. Inside was a sitting room. Through one of the two doors would be the study. I guessed left, and was rewarded with the sight of a large stone desk. Who knew how they got that up here.
I spent my time waiting for the duke searching through his papers, looking for information, memorizing it. All of it would be useful to someone. When I had satisfied myself with that, I hid in the shadows near the wall to await the duke.
It was an hour and a half later that I heard footsteps approaching the door. Candlelight illuminated the richly decorated interior as the door opened. The duke, a man of average height with short, unkempt black hair, stepped into the room and slumped into the chair at his desk. I stepped out behind him and closed the door.
He started, but didn’t jump up. “You were not invited into here,” he said warely. “Leave at once.”
I stepped closer. “You invited me when you presented a mystery. How did the king know of the assassination?”
He frowned, but stayed seated. “How did you know of that?”
“Are you really that thick?” I sighed, and pulled my dagger from my left sleeve. “I was the one chosen. I failed the contract because the king saw me coming. He treated it like a show. Why?”
“Why should I tell you? You have nothing that want—”
His words faltered as my dagger rested under his chin. “If your life is not payment enough, I have a few coins in my purse…” I smiled.” “But they won’t be much use to a dead man.”
His face turned red and he gripped the arms of his chair. “Fine...” He said under his breath. “The king concocted a plan to stage an assassination to give him grounds to oust the duke of Antilhem. The duke of Antilhem caught wind of it, and approached me with the plan to assassinate him in actuality. I told the king I would handle everything. And you messed it up! Why do you even care? What is my kingdom to you?”
I chuckled and sheathed my dagger. “Every secret is priceless to the right buyer.”
Do not answer a fool according to his folly, lest you be like him.