Imperialist: The Voyage

Chapter Six; A Royal Murder

Sieberon was cold by day and colder by night. It was two hours after midnight and no one stirred in the royal castle, save for the odd guard patrolling along the mist covered barbican wall and inner court.

In an isolated section of the castle, pale moonlight shone inside a room and fell on the frail form of King Bandu. His cheeks had collapsed inwards, the once broad-shouldered frame was a shadow of its former self, while his dirty fingernails dug into the bedsheet as he tossed and turned.

A side door in the wall swung out, exposing two figures dressed in black cloaks with hoods pulled over their heads and shadowed faces. As they stepped out into the room, the moonlight revealed that they both wore masks under their hoods, only their eyes and a small grill for speaking, exposed. The taller, powerfully built one went straight to the bed and pointed a leather-gloved finger at the main door. The smaller figure took up position behind the door, as though they had rehearsed.

Satisfied that all was ready, the tall figure knelt next to the king and yanked the pillow out from under his head. The king's eyes flew open as his head fell back, but before he could react the figure pressed the pillow over his face. What followed was an old man's desperate struggle for what remained of his life, as he raked his fingernails over the assassin's cloak sleeve and tried to reach for his face. Even though the pillow completely covered the old king's face, muffled guttural screams came from underneath.

The smaller figure by the door tensed and then the door was thrown open. A guard with his hand on his sword hilt came barging in. He froze as he beheld the huge dark figure pressing down on the thrashing king like a hellish incubus come to claim an unwilling victim.

"Hey-"

He never saw what hit him. The figure behind the door stepped out and hit him with the edge of the hand to the side of his neck. As he gasped with pain, the figure stove in his knee with a brutal snap kick. The soldier fell on all fours, heaving for breath and the figure stepped behind him, cradling his head and pulling him upright. The figure positioned a hand under the soldier's chin, even as he opened his mouth to scream and with a powerful twist and sickening cracking sound, snapped his neck.

On the bed, the king managed to use the last of his strength to hook his attacker's mask by the mouth grill and pull. The mask fell away, revealing Prince Votrek's sweaty face. After some more thrashing, the king's body went limp, hand falling on the bed with the mask clutched in a death grip.

"He's dead, father." the figure had dragged the soldier's corpse from the door. They came to a stop next to the bed, where the figure raised up and pulled away the mask. It was Thovina. She looked at Votrek, who finally removed the pillow and fixed it under Bandu's head.

"Had to be sure," Votrek muttered, as he wiped away spit from the corner of his father's mouth and prised the mask from his bony hand. As he fixed the bed, he looked down at the man who had fathered him and felt nothing. Shouldn't he feel something? He'd killed dozens of enemy soldiers with his bare hands before, what made Bandu any different? His father had been nothing more than a cold, unloving and distant stranger in his life. He'd had servants who were far more of a father to him.

In any case, this was strictly business. Not personal. It wasn't his fault. He'd been happy to continue as Prince Regent until his father died from natural causes. But from the time that bronze chest had arrived from Bremon, his father's fate was sealed.

"When are we going to talk, huh?" Thovina asked. "I'm not going to marry him, you know."

"This again? Thovina, its not up for discussion," Votrek said, climbing down and taking a last look at the frail body on the bed. His mind flashed back to one of the many hurtful memories he had of his father when he was a little child.