‘I can’t succeed,’ Mordis explained patiently. ‘I’m female. I have no claim on the throne. If Prince Helgrim was removed, it would be some distant cousin; male. Not I.’
‘Were we to allow the shackles of law and custom to restrain us, aye,’ the guard captain replied. ‘But why should we, when the most suitable candidate for the succession is imprisoned? Come with me, my lady, and you will meet your supporters.’
Mordis looked down at him. ‘You’re setting me free?’ she asked.
‘We shall smuggle you from the castle and take you to your supporters in the city,’ the captain replied, as two more guards slipped in. One offered Mordis a voluminous black cloak, and she struggled into it hurriedly.
The guards led Mordis quickly through the passages, taking the least frequented. Eventually, they reached the main gates. Passing the two sentries - more of her supporters, the captain explained - they crossed the drawbridge and entered the city.
‘We will bring you to our leader,’ the captain told her, and they hurried through narrow, winding streets that stank of cesspools and open sewers. Mordis seldom went out into the city, and when she had, it was always in a carriage. She shivered with fear whenever anyone passed them, wishing she had brought her wolves, though the captain had insisted that they would give her away.
Her supporters! She hadn’t known that she had any supporters among the commonalty. They wanted to put her on the throne! Impossible, by law, but anything was possible if she had enough support. She could forget Prince Helgrim. If she could rule in her own right, what need had she to become his wife? The oaf could marry Gwen for all she cared; if he survived, if he could afford a wife in his exile! She laughed silently to herself.
‘We are here,’ the captain whispered. They had halted at the hide-curtain entrance of a stinking hovel. Mordis turned her nose up at it.
‘In here?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Come,’ the guard replied. He and his silent companions hustled her within.
They took her down an uneven stairway into a dank cellar. Other swart-elves huddled here. They looked up at her approach. When she took down her cowl, they bent their knees before her.
She looked about her, arrogantly. ‘Well? Where is your leader? I am not accustomed to being kept waiting.’
One of the conspirators grovelled at her feet. ‘He is on his way, my lady. Also on their way are otherworlders who wish to aid us…’
‘Otherworlders?’ Mordis snapped. ‘Coming here? Don’t be an oaf; you can’t trust them!’ She struck the captain across the face. ‘Fool!’ she breathed. ‘It was meddling with otherworlders that brought me to this pass!’
‘We are certain they are here to aid us,’ the grovelling conspirator said quickly. ‘I would suggest, however, that you conceal your face.’
Scowling, Mordis raised her cowl again. ‘I will view these otherworlders,’ she said, her haughty voice muffled. ‘And decide if they are friend or foe.’
* * * * *
‘How do we know we can trust you?’ Gangrel was asking as the nobles hurried them up the narrow street.
‘Come on, Gangrel!’ Hal said. ‘Lighten up. These are the first people we could trust that we’ve met since we got here.’
‘The boy is right,’ the leader of the swart-elf nobles whispered. ‘When you told us that you were Althiof’s friends, we believed you instantly. What else would dwarves and men be doing here? Surely you could not be agents of the Prince? Of all people, he is least likely to employ the other side…’
‘Here we are,’ another noble whispered. They had stopped at the hide-curtain that covered the door to a hovel. ‘Our new ally will be here. She will be interested to see you.’
‘In,’ the leader hissed. Tentatively, the four travellers entered the darkness beyond.
‘Down the steps,’ the noble whispered.
Hal followed the others down a flight of steps. They opened out into a cellar. Swart-elves stood in the candlelit darkness. A mysterious figure, cloaked and cowled in black, was with them.
‘These are the ones you spoke of?’ A haughty female voice came from beneath the cowl.
‘Aye, my lady,’ a swart-elf said.
‘Prince Helgrim thinks we are oafs, to send such obvious agents! ’ The cowled female laughed. ‘Bind them and slay them!’
6 MACHINATIONS
‘Don’t be fools,’ Gangrel said impatiently, as the swart-elves bound their wrists with long black ropes. ‘We are not agents of Prince Helgrim! We are his foes.’
‘We’re here to rescue one of our friends from him,’ Eric added.
‘Let us go!’ Hal shouted. ‘Let us go! I’ve got to rescue Gwen!’
The cloaked woman thrust back her cowl, revealing a night-black face of petulant beauty.
‘Rescue whom?’ she demanded. She held up a hand, turning to her minions. ‘Wait!’ She turned back to the captives. ‘What did you say?’ She moved so close to Hal that her thigh brushed against his. ‘This is not the first time I have seen a pasty-faced otherworlder. What was that name you said?’
‘Gwen,’ Hal stuttered.
‘That is the name of the human wench for whom Prince Helgrim jilted me!’ The swart-elf swung round to her companions. ‘Prince Helgrim has schooled his agents well. Nevertheless, they shall die.’
Hal heard a footstep from the stairs above, and turned. Making its way down the steps was a small, dwarfish figure. As it came into the light, Hal recognised it instantly. ‘Althiof!’
The dwarf halted, and gazed confidently round the cellar.
‘Leader!’ a noble said. ‘Here is our new ally! Behold, Princess Mordis!’
Althiof crossed to the Princess’ side. ‘My lady, welcome! Any opponent of the oppressors is our ally. Welcome to our humble cell.’
He glanced at Hal and the others. ‘So you’ve met my friends, Gaflok. Why have you bound them?’ He bowed to Hal and his fellow travellers in turn. ‘Apologies. When I left you in the “Bleeding God” to attend to certain matters, I sent a message to my followers to meet you. I didn’t realise Gaflok and his oafs would think you were Prince Helgrim’s spies. Oafs!’
‘But, leader,’ Gaflok said. ‘We believed in them. The Princess thought they were Prince Helgrim’s agents...’ He broke off as Mordis shot him a quelling look.
‘Why didn’t you tell us you were running the resistance?’ Eric asked, as the swart-elves unbound them.
‘I can tell you little,’ Althiof replied. ‘The less you know, the less you can betray under torture. I am working for the dwarves of Aurvangar. We have been working to bring down Hrafnsvart and his son from the inside. We met little success, but now Prince Helgrim’s played into our hands…’
He addressed Princess Mordis. ‘I was deeply saddened to hear of your ill-treatment by your cousin. Rest assured; my people are here to help you back into power.’
Mordis patted him on the head. ‘Very good, my man,’ she said absently. She looked at Hal. ‘You say you know Gwen. Are you lovers?’
Hal blushed. What kind of question was that? ‘No!’ he said, feeling flustered. ‘We’re… just good friends.’
‘Good,’ Mordis purred, giving him a cool, appraising glance. The air seemed to crackle. Hal returned her look with compound interest.
‘Sorry to break up the party,’ Eric said meaningfully, ‘but have you seen Gwen?’
Mordis looked at him briefly. ‘She is in the Dark Tower,’ she replied. ‘Prince Helgrim holds her prisoner.’ She made an airy gesture. ‘He jilted me for her. He intends to marry your friend.’
‘Why’s he keeping her prisoner?’ Hal asked.
Mordis looked at him from under her eyelashes. ‘So strong and bold,’ she murmured, rapt. ‘And so stupid… Your friend tried to escape. I aided her. Our attempt failed, and Gwen was imprisoned.’
‘We’ve come to rescue her!’ Hal said, scowling at her insults. Or were they insults? They made him feel… peculiar. He quite liked it.
‘Yo
u hope to take her away from this place?’ Mordis questioned. ‘Far from Prince Helgrim? Good… Though I would be sorry to see you go...’
Hal gulped. Maybe they hadn’t been insults.
* * * * *
The dungeon cell stank like a sewage farm.
Gwen sat carefully in the least filthy corner, gazing up at the small, barred window high overhead. The cell was shaped like a well, dug deep into the bedrock but rising up into the castle itself. Twelve feet above her was a thick oak door, reached by a slippery flight of steps. The window was in the wall directly across. Its segmented light fell on the slimy rock floor beside her.
She laid her head on her hands. If her previous imprisonment had been unbearable, at least it had included a bit of luxury. This was her idea of a cell; thoroughly unpleasant. It smelled worse than Hal’s farm. She wondered where Hal and the others had got to; if they were still alive.
That led her on to the subject of Ilmadis, and her heart sank. The poor girl… to be executed. Or had Ilmadis already been killed? All because of her, she told herself miserably. Poor girl. To endure slavery, and now this.
She looked up unhappily at the door. No way out. No escape this time. Prince Charming had made sure his bride could not escape again. She sighed. All she could see ahead of her was a long, unhappy marriage.
Or a short one. If Prince Charming was going to lead his armies against the forces of order, the world would end. So Gangrel said. She found herself wishing it would hurry up about it.
At last, with a sensation of relief, she heard a stamping and scraping of feet from above. The gaoler’s voice grew audible. Then the door rumbled open, and Gwen found herself blinking in the torchlight from outside.
Silhouetted in the doorway was the gaoler, a fat, lecherous-looking dwarf, with two guards flanking him. They entered, the two guards levelling halberds at Gwen. In the gaoler’s hands was a simple wooden tray bearing a jug and a bowl.
‘Gruel for my lady,’ said the gaoler, in a high-pitched voice. He banged the tray down beside her, and put a blubbery arm round her shoulders. Gwen shrugged it off.
‘Cheer up, my lovely,’ the gaoler roared. ‘You’ll soon be out of here. Soon as the Prince thrashes the dwarves of Aurvangar, he’ll come back and marry you. Then you’ll be out of here. Unless you go running away again, naughty, naughty.’ He glanced at the silent guards, and then hunkered down next to her.
‘What are you afraid of, then?’ he asked in a quiet voice. ‘Is it what all young girls are afraid of, eh? The first night.’ He leaned over and squeezed her thigh. Gwen’s hair stood on end. ‘Nothing to be afraid of. And just as a favour, if you want to know what it’s like in advance…’
‘Don’t be an oaf, Svadi,’ one of the guards said. ‘What d’you think the Prince will think if he gets damaged goods on his wedding night? Comes back in triumph from hammering the dwarves and finds the gaoler’s been meddling with his bride? Heads would roll.’
‘What has happened to Ilmadis?’ Gwen asked suddenly.
‘Who’s that, my dear?’ the gaoler asked. ‘The slave who conspired with you? Oh, that was naughty of you, leading her astray like that. Of course, she’s being executed for it. Can’t have the slaves thinking they can rebel like that.’
There was a catch in Gwen’s breath as she asked, ‘When?’
‘Tonight,’ the gaoler replied. ‘Poor lass will be out of her misery then. And as soon as the Prince comes home from the wars, so will you.’
Gwen bristled. ‘You’re all very confident he’s going to win!’ she cried.
‘No doubt about it,’ said the guard. ‘The Aurvangar dwarves can’t touch us, they reckon. Not now that we’ve got dragons. As soon as the armies are mustered, we’ll chase them straight back to Niflheim where they came from. They’ve got nothing to compare with our dragons. ’
The gaoler rose. ‘Get that gruel down, there’s a good girl. Remember me when you’re queen, won’t you? I’ll be back again tomorrow.’
Gwen’s blood ran cold at the thought. The gaoler led the guards out again, and the door slammed shut with a thump of grim finality.
So that was why he had been speaking to her! He hoped to earn a few favours when she was Prince Helgrim’s wife. Already she was an unwilling player in the games of intrigue that seemed to preoccupy the people of this world. Well, if she did become queen, he’d be the first one to lose his head.
She had given up hope of seeing home again, or being rescued by her friends. The only way out of the situation that she could see was suicide, and she didn’t fancy that much. Besides, how was she going to kill herself? She gazed thoughtfully at the gruel. It looked pretty lethal. Tentatively, she tried some, and spat it out immediately. Vile! She was starving, but no way was she going to eat that slop. She pushed the tray away, lay down on the cold stone, pillowing her head in her arms, and tried to sleep.
She had nothing better to do.
* * * * *
Gangrel and Tanngrisnir had been talking with the conspirators, while Hal and Eric exchanged notes with Princess Mordis. By now, it seemed the plans for insurrection were fully formulated.
‘It begins tonight,’ Althiof told them. ‘We have been preparing for weeks, but unexpectedly the most opportune moment has come about. We must strike while the iron’s hot.
‘Rumours have spread like wildfire about the arrest of our guest, Princess Mordis, and the imminent execution of the slave Ilmadis. The mob is convinced that the slave tried to save the Princess from Prince Helgrim, and that’s why she’s being executed. We should anticipate rioting throughout the city, but especially in Execution Square, where the slave will be publicly beheaded before the castle gates.’
He looked round at the sombre faces. ‘Among the rioters will be many of our own agitators, who will stir up enough trouble to need a large force of soldiers to quell it. Someone in the castle will make sure the gates are open and unguarded. Under cover of the confusion, you’ll enter the castle and be joined by warriors friendly to the cause. Right, Gaflok?’
The noble nodded. ‘Several troops are commanded by warriors I have sounded out,’ he said seriously. ‘They will mutiny, and move at once to secure all important areas; the main gates, the great hall, the residential quarters, the dungeons…’
‘The dungeons?’ Hal asked. ‘Is that where Gwen will be?’
Gangrel raised a finger to his lips. Althiof glanced at Hal, and gave a quick nod. ‘You can rescue your friend during the battle.’ He turned his attention to the main group.
‘Is everyone clear about what action they must take?’ he asked. The gathered conspirators nodded their assent. ‘Then make your separate ways to Execution Square.’
He rose. ‘I must go. We meet again tonight.’ Pulling up his hood, the dwarf stamped back up the steps and disappeared from sight.
Excited voices bubbled through the cellar.
‘We’re going to rescue Gwen!’ said Hal. ‘At last!’
Eric looked in the direction Althiof had taken. ‘He’s a cunning one, isn’t he?’ he said in tones of mock wonder. ‘Agitators in the crowd, troops ready to mutiny… Who does he think he is, Che Guevara?’
Gangrel nodded. ‘Indeed, he pulled the wool over my eyes,’ he confessed. ‘And few folk have achieved that in the past, even cunning dwarves.’
‘And the dwarves of Aurvangar are implicated as well,’ Tanngrisnir said. ‘Or so he says. I wonder who’s really backing them.’
‘Don’t you believe him?’ Eric asked. Tanngrisnir looked offended. Eric shrugged. ‘They’re dwarves, aren’t they?’ he pointed out. Lowering his voice, and gesturing towards the swart-elves, he added; ‘And they’re obviously running this lot. Why do you think that is? Stirring them all up to fight among themselves?’
Tanngrisnir shook his head. ‘We dwarves of Aurvangar are honourable folk. We would not stoop so low.’
Gangrel stroked his beard. ‘We cannot know for certain where this conspiracy has its roots,’ he told them. ‘But it s
eems our fellow revolutionaries are already making their way!’
Hal looked around. The cellar was swiftly emptying of swart-elves, except for Princess Mordis, who had remained behind.
‘Shall we go?’ she asked haughtily, looking down her nose at Gangrel. ‘Are you not anxious to rescue your friend?’
‘As anxious as you are to see your cousin overthrown and yourself in power, madam,’ Gangrel said placidly. ‘Aye, it is time to go. Come!’
He led them from the cellar.
* * * * *
The castle rose above Execution Square, tower upon tower of brooding Gothic gloom. Between the square and the castle was a gatehouse, and beyond that a drawbridge where sentries patrolled vigilantly.
In the middle of the square, which was a wide, open space surrounded by shops and illuminated by several large bonfires, forty guards stood in a square, surrounding a wooden platform, bare but for a block. In the vicinity, groups of swart-elves and other citizens were crowded, growing ever more as the minutes passed. A feeling of anger hung in the air.
Hal and his companions watched from nearby. Hal was scanning the crowd. ‘I can’t see any of the others,’ he said worriedly. They had lost their fellow conspirators in the winding streets and alleyways of the city. Now he could see no sign of them among the gathering crowds.
‘They’ll be there,’ Tanngrisnir said. ‘And with them, Althiof’s agitators. Look, he must be one!’
A swart-elf was standing on a box, haranguing the gathering crowd. His words were only faintly audible, but he seemed to be shouting about injustice and tyranny. Before he could make himself clearer, a small contingent of guards detached itself from the group surrounding the platform, and dragged him from the box. He vanished into the crowd.
‘What are they doing to him?’ Hal gulped, as the guards milled round and the mob rumbled angrily. Suddenly, one burst into sight, holding up a severed head. Hal felt sick.
The mob muttered and roared. It looked as if the riots were already about to break out, when the Square resounded with the dull boom of drums, and the clatter of hooves and marching feet.
From the gatehouse came a column of soldiers, infantry and cavalry, crossing the square towards the platform. At their head rode a bare-chested swart-elf wearing a black skullcap that covered half his face, leaving only the eyes visible. In his hands, he held a headsman’s axe.