Free Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations by Michael J. Sullivan

like, Wylin, but get out of my way. I want to see my father!” Alric demanded, pushing past him.
    “King Amrath’s body has been taken to his bedroom, Your Highness.”
    His body!
    Alric did not want to hear any more. He ran up the steps, his slippers flying off his feet.
    “Stay with the prince!” Wylin shouted after him.
    Alric reached the royal wing. In the corridor there was a crowd, which moved aside at his approach. As he reached the chapel, its door lay open with several of the chief ministers gathered inside.
    “My prince!” he heard his uncle Percy call, but he did not stop. He was determined to reach his father.
    He couldn’t be dead!
    He rounded the corner, passed his own room, and rushed into the royal suite. Here the double doors were open as well. Several ladies in nightgowns and robes stood just outside weeping loudly. Inside, a pair of older women busied themselves wringing out pink-stained linens in a washbasin.
    To the side of the bed stood his sister, Arista, dressed in a burgundy and gold gown. Her arms wrapped around the bedpost, which she gripped so tightly that her fingers were white. She stared at the figure on the mattress with eyes that were dry but wide with horror.
    On the pale white sheets of the royal bed lay King Amrath Essendon. He still wore the same clothes Alric had seen him in before he had retired for the night. His face was pale and his eyes were closed. Near the corner of his lips, there was a tiny tear of dried blood.
    “My prince—I mean, Your Royal Majesty.” His uncle corrected himself as he followed Alric into the bedchamber. Hisuncle Percy had always looked older than his father had—his hair was very gray, his face wrinkled and drooping; however, he possessed the trim, elegant build of a swordsman. He was still in the process of tying up his robe as he entered. “Thank Maribor you are safe. We thought you might have met a similar fate.”
    Alric was at a loss for words. He just stood staring at the still body of his father.
    “Your Majesty, do not worry. I’ll take care of everything. I know how hard this must be. You’re still a young man and—”
    “What are you talking about?” Alric looked at him. “Take care of what? What are you taking care of?”
    “A number of things, Your Majesty. There is the securing of the castle, the investigation as to how this happened, the apprehension of those responsible, arrangements for the funeral and, of course, the eventual coronation.”
    “Coronation?”
    “You are king now, Sire. We will need to arrange your crowning ceremony, but that, of course, can wait until we have everything else settled.”
    “But I thought—Wylin told me the murderers have been captured.”
    “He captured two of them. I’m just making certain there aren’t any more.”
    “What will happen to them?” He looked back at the still form of his father. “The killers, what will happen to them?”
    “That is up to you, Your Royal Majesty. Their fate is yours to decide, unless you would prefer I handle the matter for you, since it can be quite unpleasant.”
    Alric turned to his uncle. “I want them to die, Uncle Percy. I want them to suffer horribly and then die.”
    “Of course, Your Majesty, of course. I assure you they will.”

     
    The dungeons of Essendon Castle lay buried two stories beneath the earth. Groundwater seeped through cracks in the walls and wet the face of the stone. Fungus grew in the mortar between stone blocks, and mold coated the wood of doors, stools, and buckets. The foul, musty smell mixed with the stench of decay, and the corridors echoed with the mournful cries of doomed men. Despite the rumors told in Medford’s taverns, the castle dungeons had a limited capacity. Needless to say, the prison staff found room for the king-killers. They moved prisoners to provide Royce and Hadrian with their own private cell.
    News of the king’s death did not take long to spread, and for the first time in years, the prisoners