“Oh, but I am, Pan’assár.” He pulled open the black robes of council that he wore, threw them to the ground, revealing the black tunic below, and the purple sash that contradicted Pan’assár’s words. “Perhaps you would put me to the test, see for yourself.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“One I do not grant.” Band’orán’s smile turned into a sneer as his eyes slipped to Thargodén at the commander’s side. His heavy collar of office winked and glinted in the candlelight, sash caressing his thighs as he walked. Turion, Handir and Rinon inched backwards, sideways, and Pan’assár commended the captain, knew he was aware of the danger.
A lone voice shouted out from the back of the Hall. “This is outrageous! This is—” An arrow pierced the elf’s chest, and the lord fell backwards with a thud, a scream. Silence descended on them all.
Band’orán walked up to the king’s empty throne and regarded it thoughtfully. Then he turned, felt the edge of the carved wood against the back of his legs. He sat, lifted his head. And then he leaned back, crossed his legs and turned to his left; looked at Handir. “That was very well done, Prince. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Handir stared back at him. “You can’t kill us, Band’orán. There are many still loyal to Thargodén. They will not condone it. You will always rule amidst opposition. You will be ousted, in time.”
“Ah, but what a time it will be.” He smiled.
Handir shook his head. He turned to Pan’assár, wondered why he didn’t attack. And then he heard it: the creak of wood over to his left. Pan’assár and the captains did not have bows, but the rebel guards did, and they were trained on Lord Aradan.
The councillors around him inched away, eyes searching for an unguarded door, some way out, but there was none. They were united now in their loyalty to Or’Talán, in their fear that they, too, would be targeted. The dignitaries at the back of the hall cowered behind the benches. They crept along them and to the sides, though they knew there was no way out.
“You were always a thorn in my side, Aradan. Had it not been for you, King Thargodén would never have returned from his lovesick wanderings.”
“Band’orán. Don’t do it. Your sentence will be harsh, but you can avoid execution. Stop now.” Thargodén stepped forward, until Pan’assár grabbed at his forearm.
Handir added his voice to the king’s. “He’s right. Don’t throw your life away. You can take the Long Road …” Handir couldn’t take his eyes off his mentor, his dear friend. Aradan’s eyes were heavy with grief, helplessness, love and loyalty. He bowed, and with a soft smile, he turned away from his apprentice, from his king, and to his wife and child. Thargodén clenched his jaw, fury and wrath surging through his blood.
“Please!” Miren shouted from the benches, Llyniel holding her back. “Mercy!” Her voice cracked. Band’orán smiled sadly.
With a flick of his jewelled hand … the archers lowered their bows.
Thargodén closed his eyes, and Handir swayed where he stood. “For pity’s sake!” he shouted, eyes too full. He searched for Llyniel, who stood taut and trembling, Miren unable to move beside her.
Pan’assár, Gor’sadén and the king surged forwards, but Band’orán held out the palm of his hand and shouted over the din. “Stop, or your princes are forfeit.”
Pan’assár did, eyes watching the rebel guards as they lifted their bows once more and this time, they trained them on Handir and Rinon.
“Band’orán!”
He turned, gleeful at the king’s desperate voice.
“Your life, Thargodén, in exchange for your sons. And I wonder what you will choose. Duty over love? Love over duty?”
“Like you, Band’orán?” asked Thargodén. “You chose, too, didn’t you? Chose the throne over your love for Canusahéi. You chose power over love.”
Pan’assár glanced at Gor’sadén. He knew what the king was doing: distracting Band’orán from his plan by baiting him with the past, angering him and waiting for him to make a mistake. Well done, Thargodén. He signalled behind his back as he caught Turion’s gaze, the captains inching around, towards the princes, three others backing away, out of the Hall in search of reinforcements.
“I had no choice! It was Or’Talán that took her from me.” He was cracking. Pan’assár could hear it in his voice, see it in his wide eyes.
“He did it to protect me. To protect Lássira. He fooled you, Band’orán. He lied to you, told you he would accede to your demands, but he had a plan.”
“You are a lying runt, a spoiled, lovesick failure!”
“It is the truth. He was always quicker than you. Always better. You were the failure, Band’orán, and you couldn’t stand that, could you, uncle?”
The black-clad figure was shaking, lips twisted and eyes bulging. The Three stood before him, Or’Talán was speaking through his son’s lips. How? How had they escaped the flood pit? No one ever had. All his plans, obsessively thought out, ruthlessly executed … they had all led to this day. But Band’orán had made just one mistake.
He had trusted Sulén and then Huren to kill the bastard. Or was he Or’Talán incarnate?
One mistake, and here was the king, standing before him. Not dead.
He felt himself sliding, grappling to the edges of his fraying sanity, on the verge of unravelling …
“It’s over, Band’orán,” said Thargodén. “Step away. Surrender your weapons. You are under arrest for the attempted murder of King Thargodén and Lord Fel’annár. For the murder of King Or’Talán and Lássira of Abiren’á.”
Band’orán turned to a guard, one short signal and bows tensed. Rinon launched himself at Handir. He heard arrows clatter across the table where they had been standing, shattering oil lamps and toppling candles. An archer sighted the king and a small blade flew from Gor’sadén’s hands, sank into his heart.
Handir watched from the floor as his scrolls caught fire. Someone was pulling him away, even as the flames caught on the heavy drapes behind and made their way upwards.
Band’orán drew his swords, his guards rallying around him, Kah Master and Kah Disciples. All he had to do was angle around until he was at the doors and from there, to the courtyard beyond the palace. He would be safe there, for the Dark Road was open, and his army awaited. Still, the captains of the Inner Circle were blocking his way.
Pan’assár strode towards Band’orán. He wanted to slit his throat, but two illicit Kah warriors jumped before him. He fought them, one eye on his prey, watching as he held his sword up over Huren who lay at his feet, one arm held out, palm towards his chosen lord. But Band’orán drove his sword straight through it, pinning it to his chest, and then pushed the blade through his heart. Pan’assár killed his last opponent. He caught Band’orán’s gaze and shivered at the gleam of satisfaction he saw there.