Free Empire of Avarice by Tony Roberts

recognise any of the men for their
faces were covered in cloth so that only their eyes were visible, and they,
too, wore hoods so that these eyes were in shadows. Mercos’ sword was removed
and he was taken forcefully by the arm away from the palace and along the main
street to the next turning, then he was whisked off the street and down a long
narrow alley until the black yawning mouth of a set of double doors greeted
them.
    Mercos was thrust rudely into the opening and he
stumbled to a halt, trying to see in the near darkness.
    The doors closed behind them and one of the men
scratched a tinderbox – Mercos knew what they sounded like – and suddenly there
was light. The closeness of the three men to him intimidated the palace guard
captain, and he tried to shrink away from them. It was as much the menace and
feeling of intent coming from them that made him afraid as anything else.
    “Right my friend,” the third man who Mercos took to be
the leader said, “you’re going to tell us what was said at this meeting you’ve
been to and who else was there.” He dragged off his face cloth and Mercos felt
an icy chill run down his spine. It was Teduskis. “Being silent will do you no
good at all. It will only mean more pain and suffering to you.”
    “You think you can treat me, the captain of the guard,
like this?” Mercos blustered.
    “Yes,” Teduskis said. “Your replacement is already being
considered. Let’s get one thing clear, Mercos. You’re a dead man. How you die
is up to how co-operative you are. My two colleagues here aren’t averse to the
sight of blood; they’ve veterans of the Bragal campaigns, so they’ve seen more
suffering and pain than you can ever imagine.”
    Mercos stared from one dark shadowy form to the other,
and felt no pity or sympathy towards him. Teduskis was speaking the truth. Mercos’s
bowels turned to ice and his legs began shaking. He opened his mouth to shout
but no sound came, for Teduskis had been waiting for such a move and his hand
clamped over Mercos’ mouth and dragged him down to the rough floorboards of the
workshop, for that was what it was. The smell of sawdust came to Mercos as he
frantically breathed through his nose and the rough feel of wood chippings
against his face added to his discomfort.
    One of the men was kneeling on his back, preventing him
from getting up, and his hands were being bound behind him. A gag was roughly
forced between his teeth and his tongue felt the coarse, filthy fabric of some
workshop rag.
    He was dragged up and slammed into a creaking chair. Mercos
rolled his eyes in a plea, but the tall, dark, sinister figures in front of him
were having none of it. Teduskis was in the background, idly examining the tools
of the woodman’s workshop. It was one of the palace workshops, located around
the rear of the palace, out of the way of the streets that people inhabited, so
any noise would not be investigated.
    “Now,” Teduskis said pleasantly, sitting on the edge of
a bench. “Shall we begin?”
    Jorqel was awakened in the dead of night by his
bodyguard, Gavan. The bodyguard called his name repeatedly, getting louder,
until Jorqel’s mind registered it. He groaned and rolled over, opening one eye.
His bodyguard was sat a few feet away, unarmoured, unarmed. He looked as though
he’d been woken only a few moments ago. “Yes, Gavan, what is it? The scouts
have found a village of unmarried young maidens ready for our arrival?”
    “Not quite, sir,” Gavan grinned, his teeth visible in
the gloom of the tent. The only light was a single torch flickering by the
entrance of the tent. Two guards could be seen standing ready, armed to the
teeth. “A messenger has arrived in camp; he has a message for you from Kastan.”
    “Ah!” Jorqel was instantly on his feet. He was dressed
in a simple white shirt and thin leggings. “Bring him in.”
    “You’re not dressed, sir,” Gavan pointed out mildly.
    “I don’t care if I’m stark naked,