The War of Six Crowns: The Vanished Knight

Another Day, Another Assassination Attempt

Darrion wrenched the flaming torch out of the ground and went to the head he'd severed. He picked it up by its hair and inspected the face. Not a Lyrian assassin after all. He'd seen this man in the general's tent often.

He dropped the head in the mud and sloshed over to the other corpses, casting light on them. All of them familiar. All of them from the Nordian camp. They must have stolen clothes off Lyrian soldiers they'd killed over the past few days.

"Are you okay?" Kaela asked from the darkness behind him.

Trust her to be the first person to come to his aid. Even when it was a bit too late.

"Fine." He kept his eyes on the corpses, trying to place them.

Kaela moved into his circle of light, staring at them. "House of Waernich," she said, answering his unstated question. She wiped raindrops from her unmarred cheek.

"You're sure?"

She nodded emphatically, pointing to a corpse with short, blond hair. "He's my cousin." Her finger moved to one with dark hair. "His brother. The other two are second cousins."

"Westenmeres like you, then?" If the first family of Waernich was involved, big trouble brewed somewhere out of sight.

She scowled at him, letting her scar further disfigure the left side of her face. "Westenmere, yes. But not like me. They can burn in hell for all I care."

Kaela disappeared into the darkness, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Westenmeres didn't get their hands dirty unless they thought they could get away with it. Why now? Usually they hired poor fools to come after him. Maybe they'd finally figured out that nothing less than the best-trained knights could kill him.

And given that Lorcan Blaecoine—Black Knight of Sylmion and last blood heir to Nordaine's crown—would have no children, Darrion's death had to be the Waernich's heart's desire. After all, Darrion, his best friend Gawain, and the Waernich's son, Quinlan Westenmere, were the three candidates for appointment as Lorcan's heir. That appointment was sought after; people would kill for the chance to be the future King.

As heir to the House of Murion, Gawain had a family as powerful as the Westenmeres to protect him. Darrion didn't. His only protection lay in the fact that he was a ferocious fighter with a wicked reputation.

He dug his hand into his pocket and ran his thumb over the pebble inside. The Waernich, Ulric Westenmere, had just risked some of his more important direct family members in that assassination attempt. They'd suddenly become a lot more determined to see him dead. Even willing to risk tying themselves to the murder of one of the King's favorites. Why now? What did they know that he didn't?

He'd have to send a messenger home to find out. In the meantime, he had a gift to send to the Waernich. Darrion pressed the torch into the mud so it would stand. He pulled off his cloak and put the severed head on it. After that, he went to work cutting off the others.

Once that was done, he wiped his sword clean on his cloak and sheathed it. Then he tied his cloak closed around the heads before hauling the makeshift sack over his shoulder, heading to his tent.

A man stood waiting before its flap, shivering in the misty rain and making his torch shake. One of House Murion's messengers.

Darrion frowned. "Are you here to deliver a message to me?"

"Yes, Commander." This was said with the leery respect Darrion knew so well.

"What is it, then?" He entered the tent and held the flap open in invitation.

The messenger eyed him for a moment before giving up on his distrust in favor of warmth. "It's a sealed letter, sir." He headed straight to the fire burning in the tent's center.

"I see." Darrion lowered the flap. He dropped the sack by the entrance and went to the fire. "Hand it over then?"

The messenger eyed him some more. "You're younger than I expected."

"Eighteen. Same as the young lord Gawain."

"Of course...you're his friend, correct?"

Oh. This had to be very important if the messenger asked this question. And it had to be from Gawain's mother. "You could call us blood brothers."

The messenger relaxed more and took the letter from his breast pocket. "Strange things are happening back home, sir."

Darrion reached for it and opened the seal. "Strange things?"

"Yes, although I'm not ranked high enough to know what they are."

"Hm." He picked up a burning stick from the fire and lit the lamp hanging from the tent's roof. "I'm sure you're one of those smart ones who pays attention to everything happening around you."

The messenger's posture straightened proudly. "I am, sir, and I'm telling you, most of the five houses are worried about something."

"Most?"

"All except—"

"Waernich."

My my... Is it me, or is there something rotten afoot? Also, anyone catch on to the relevance of the previous chapter yet?

Let me know in the comments. Please don't forget to vote!