The Troll's Trove Ch. 08

Chapter 8 - The Expendable

Turls's eye jumped from corner to corner to door to window. The chamber assigned the King was a death trap should Magnar betray him to Trygg. Gudrun's tits, I should just leave. Get out while I can.

Magnar entered. No soldiers strode on his heels. Turls's heartbeat steadied.

"You know this castle, is the room secure?" Magnar said.

"Yes. Solid stone on all walls. Our secrets may be safely spoken here."

"Good." Magnar poured himself a glass of wine. "You did well. The whelp-King's staff is in an uproar. Surprise visit. Fire. Poor baby sister. It's all going according to plan."

"What about me? Do they suspect me?"

"Yes. But not your true motives. They've no clue why you set the fire."

"So, they know I set the fire."

"They suspect."

"The fire was a risk. We shouldn't've done it."

Magnar sipped his ruby win. "It was your plan."

Turls paced. "If I'd left the scroll someone might've read it. If I stole it and they captured me everything would've been for not."

"It still might be if someone figures out why we want the horn."

"Gudrun's vile kiss, Magnar, that can't be helped. Maybe—"

"King Magnar." The King sipped his wine. "Or your Majesty.

"Anyhow, forget the fire. It can't be helped now. We have a bigger problem. By sheltering you they'll suspect me."

Turls waited. Magnar held Turls's gaze over the top of his wine glass.

"Surest thing would be for you to die. Dead men don't talk."

Turls's fingers twitched towards the hilt of his dagger. Not yet, you fool. There's more to do. Not yet. He stilled his hand.

"Of course I rather enjoy your wicked plotting. Where's the amusement in a pre-mature death. No, best if you run. I've already announced my intentions to turn you over. You've just got to make your escape look convincing."

"Got someone y' want killed?"

"The imbecile Yorik splashed me when he dismounted. I'll send him when I turn you over."

Turls sketched Magnar a mock bow. "Anything else your Majesty? When are you going to betray me?"

"Perhaps now." He raised his voice. "Guard, get in here."

The door opened. Guard Yorik was big. He was of height with Turls and three times as heavy. His chain hauberk flexed with his breath.

"Whitewall's King wants to speak to this man. Escort him."

Yorik eyed Turls. His gaze rested upon Turls's dagger a moment. He nodded his head towards the door.

The hall was conspicuously empty. Three strides from the door Turls pivoted, shoved off the wall and came back at the startled guard with his dagger drawn. Yorik threw up his shield arm. Turls's blade bucked off his bracer and went wide of the man's throat.

Turls's momentum carried him through. He slammed chest to armored chest with Yorik. Yorik pushed off with his trapped arm but before he could disengage Turls rammed his dagger into the man's unprotected armpit.

Yorik burped blood. Turls stepped back from the still walking corpse just in time to avoid the deluge and the dead man thudded face first to the floor.

Turls cleaned his dagger and hands on a nearby tapestry. Without looking back he strode down the hall.

Three doors down the hall Turls stepped into a vacant boudoir. He peeked through the shared hearth to the next room. It was empty. He ducked through the hearth.

He brushed a touch of soot from his shoulder and stepped into a closet. He listened at the back wall. Satisfied, Turls slid asside the back panel and stepped into the small space beyond. He reclosed the concealed door.

Turls sped down two flights of narrow stairs, took a left and popped out of a linen closet in the servant's wing. As expected there were few servants about. Most were preparing for the banquet or the ball afterwards. The few that remained didn't stop him as he sped from the castle's back entrance.

The small courtyard beyond had been cleared of snow. Men and women hustled about upon banquet business. Horse-drawn carts delivered wine, mead and other foodstuff. Turls hurried up to an empty one.

"Need to go down to town. Mind if I?" he said. He pointed to the empty seat beside the driver.

"Not at all, hop on."

Turls pulled his hood low. The guards at the bailey's gate did not stop them.