The fifteen Azrin golds clinked against each other as Henric upended the pouch on the desk. King’s gold, he thought. “I want you to find the body” he said. “Even if you have to damn the river.”
The captain nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“I mean it,” said Henric. “Without that body I have no proof anyone even came after me.”
“I understand, my lord,” said Lucan. “We will begin tonight.”
“Thank you, Lucan,” he was calculating how large of a bonus to give the captain. Maybe I’ll let him have all of these. “Have your men call the Lords Aldrimar to council at once, my uncles too. You may go.”
“Should I have a steward sent up?” the captain asked, shrugging towards the unlit fireplace. The richly furnished office’s only light came from the small candle on Henric’s desk.
“Don’t bother,” said Henric. “I’ve got it..”
As he brushed the coins off the desk back into their pouch, he kicked up a light cloud of dust and coughed. With the candle in hand, Henric went over to the fireplace and found old, brittle, dust covered logs. Fair enough, he thought. Nobody’s been up here in two years. That changed now though. Luckily the wood was dry and sparked quickly, bathing the whole room in orange.
Located on the very top floor of the main part of the house, just above the library at the southeast end. It shared the large window wall that stretched the five stories from the council chambers all the way to where the lattice of metal and glass seemed to fuse into the stone. His father had told him once that the glasswork had cost the second Henric almost three years of incomes. Both moons shone brightly that night casting the countryside in pale light, and Henric found himself staring out into its comforting peace.
I wonder if a swimmer would be able to pull the body out of the river? he thought. Without the assassin’s corpse, he still couldn’t answer the big question, he couldn’t know who wanted him dead. He tried thinking of the consequences to see if he couldn’t puzzle out a few suspects. If he had died, there likely would have been infighting among the Aldrimars over succession, though he hadn’t needed to die for that to happen.
Count Phillip certainly fits the motivation, thought Henric. But he wouldn’t have put himself in harms way by attending this morning if he’d known. Then who else? And how did they even pull the blast off?
House Aldrimar certainly had earned the ire of a few of the other noble houses in the past, and though tensions had fallen since the end of the Rebellions nine years ago, that certainly didn’t mean the other dukes were above suspicion. But Henric found himself looking at the coin purse in his hand. Sestilan Crowns, he thought, and couldn’t help but wonder what part the king had in all this.
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It was still well before dawn as the Lords Aldrimar sleepily assembled in the council chamber.
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Count Phillip when he entered to find the large council table removed and only a single seat on the stage.
“The meaning of this Phillip?” said Henric. “Is that I am done playing games. There will be no more votes, no more discussion. At noon today, we will perform the Rites and I will be confirmed as duke.”
“How absurd!” started Phillip. “I will not simply...”
Henric cut him off. “Yes, you will. Simply.” He pulled back his robe to reveal the bandages on his left shoulder. “There was an intruder in my castle tonight. Waiting for me in my own room, and almost killed me.” He motioned to the two guardsmen behind him. “If not for these two you all would be burying two Henric Aldrimars tomorrow.”
“And you think I had something to do with it?” asked Phillip.
Oh, not at all, thought Henric. “You’ve given me every reason to. It was you after all that challenged my succession.” Henric enjoyed watching the count’s face pale. “None of my other guests arrived with as many followers. Perhaps you snuck him in with the rest, confident nobody would suspect you.”
“I did no such thing!” Phillip cried. Henric could see the seeds of doubt taking root in the counts of Marche and Limos. He had them.
Henric turned his face away in an attempt to hide a grin. Guards stood ready to arrest the count at Henric’s order. “I would be inclined to believe you cousin if there were not this rift between us. As it stands, I have no reason to suspect anyone else.”
Uxerre caught his meaning and sighed, defeated. “Fine. I withdraw my claim.”
At high noon that day, the city had gathered at the Cathedral of Theori to celebrate the final Rites of their duke, Henric Aldrimar the Third. The duke’s grandson stood next to his grandfather’s casket awaiting Father Ulan’s signal. Over his funeral blacks, Henric wore a black surcoat with a single vertical band of crimson baring in the white roaring lion on his breast. His mother had warned him against the splash of red, worried it might offend the crowd. Henric didn’t care, he was sick of mourning.
The priest began the ceremony, and hundreds of faces watched as Henric pushed his grandfather’s casket down the aisle and to the pulpit where it was opened and displayed to the crowd. Duke Henric’s mutilated face had been bandaged and reshaped by the embalmer, but it was still an unsettling sight and stunk so bad even the others were scrunching up their noses.
As Ulan produced and blessed the seven oils, Henric stood stared at his grandfather, wondering what had happened to his head. One by one, the old duke was anointed as the priest chanted. When the sixth oil was done, the priest motioned for the congregation to rise.
Holding the seventh oil high so all could see, the priest began “As we say goodbye to our Duke Henric Aldrimar, we ask the Lords Above to bless his grandson with all his wisdom and benevolence.”
“Amen,” said the crowd.
And with a tilt of the priest’s hand, the oil poured out and burst into an intense violet flame on his grandfather’s forehead. Henric concentrated on the flame, and he and Father Ulan began to speak the ancient words in unison. The violet flame became violent and wild, thrashing everywhere which almost made Henric take a step back. He felt a drop of the oil on his forehead followed by an intense burning as the flame leapt from his grandfather to him and enveloped his head.
“Agh!” Henric cried out fell to one knee. The whole congregation took a breath, and sighed collectively when the Duke of Zaksburg stood again after only a moment, flames subsiding.
Henric sat silently as the priest began another of his long sermons on the nature of death. Though the flames had subsided, he still felt an intense throbbing pain his skull. As the priest went on, Henric’s eyes grew heavier and heavier, and the young duke fell asleep on his pew.
