Chapter 27 The fall of a king
The Fall of a King
The palace of the Lycans had never encountered silence like the one that night. The moon hung full and pale above the spires and painted the courtyard with silver light. The guards changed posts as usual unaware that by dawn, the kingdom would be bleeding.
Elder Veyra stood in his private chamber putting on the dark clasp of his cloak. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him -- calm, composed and certain. Behind him his most trusted men were waiting, dressed not in ceremonial robes, but in the armor of rebellion.
"The king will be in the war chamber," Veyra said, his tone completely even. "When the council horn blows you move in." No hesitation."
A soldier stepped forward. "And the prince?"
Veyra's lips curved slightly. "If he survives his father's fall, we'll deal with him later."
The horn sounded through the palace corridors, sharp and sudden, and indicated what the king believed was an urgent call for council. But it was the call of death.
King Magnus entered the war chamber guarded by two guards. His heavy cloak was sweeping behind him and in the flicker of the torchlight the gleam of his crown. He was not an old man although tonight his shoulders appeared bowed by years of war, pride and loss.
"Where is the council?" he demanded. "Who has called this meeting at this hour?"
An old man came out from the shadows near the table, Elder Veyra. "I did, Your Majesty."
Magnus frowned. "You should have sent word beforehand."
"There wasn't time," Veyra said with a reply. His tone was polite, perhaps even gentle. Too gentle.
The king's eyes narrowed. "What's the meaning of this?"
Veyra had his hand behind his back. "A change, my king. One that will save this kingdom from your errors."
Before Magnus could draw breath to speak, the first blade came flying down. It came from one of the guards -- his own man -- dropping into the chest of the second guard before he turned the sword to him. Magnus reacted quickly, his own blade was drawn free, and he slashed across the traitor's throat. The man fell to the floor gasping and clutching the wound.
Veyra's unperturbable smile did not waver. "You still have the power of a wolf," he said. "But not the kingdom to match it."
The doors burst open. Armed rebels poured in the chamber -- a mix of Lycans and disloyal guards, who had sworn allegiance to Veyra. Steel clashed. The air was filled with the sound of blades, grunts and cries of pain. Magnus fought fiercely and with the precision of an old soldier.
He struck down one attacker then another, but there were too many. There was blood strewn across the floor.
"You betray the crown," said Magnus at the top of his voice. "You betray your own kind!"
"I save it from extinction," Veyra yelled back. "Your pride would burn us all."
Magnus turned about, heaving his breast, and cut another of the rebels. He could feel the shaking in his limbs, in his lungs. The hall reeked of blood and smoke.
Veyra advanced, sword in hand. You led us to hatred, to endless war. "You lost the faith of your people, even your son."
Magnus glared. "My son is twice the Lycan you're ever going to be."
The eyes of Veyra shone with satisfaction. "Then it's a shame that he won't live long enough to prove it."
He lunged. Their blades came together in a shower of sparks. Magnus blocked the first strike, then the second strike, his arm shaking with the force of it. But Veyra was faster, younger and fueled with years of ambition.
Veyra feinted left then drove his sword into the king's side. Magnus took in a gasp, the air coming out in a harsh sound. His sword flew from his hands and fell to the ground.
The king fell back against the war table, one hand held against his wound. Blood oozed out of his fingers, dark and warm.
Veyra stepped closer. "You ruled with fear, Magnus. You silenced every voice which cried out against you. Tonight, that silence ends."
Magnus forced himself upright, with eyes burning. "You think to kill me makes you a ruler?" he said through clenched teeth; "It makes you a coward."
He swung one final time, knocking across Veyra's chest. The blade caught through the fabric and skin. Veyra hissed in pain and shoved the dying king backwards. Magnus collapsed on the marble floor hard, his crown rolling off of clinking against the stone floor.
Blood pooled beneath him. His breath grew shallow.
Veyra touched his chest wound, and glanced down at the stain of crimson on his fingers. He stepped down closer to the fallen king and squatted.
"I was loyal to you once," he said low. "But you caused this kingdom to bleed. You made us slaves to a dying pride."
There was a fluttering of Magnus's eyes, and his voice was hardly more than a whisper. "You'll burn... for this."
Veyra smiled faintly. "If the gods still care, then perhaps I will."
The king's eyes scanned over to the door -- as if he could still see his son walking through it. His lips moved apart, yet no sound was made. His hand twitched once then stilled.
Elder Veyra got up and wiped his sword clean on the king's cloak.
"Send word," he said to the remaining of the rebels. Tell the people that the king is dead." By morning, a new era begins."
Outside, lightning cracked through the clouds. The walls of the palace were moving with the sound of thunder. Flames of the torches burned crazily and sent long broken shadows across the hall.
Veyra went to the window; his expression unreadable. The city stretched below not knowing the blood which had just been spilled for power.
"Long live the new order," he whispered.
Behind him, the body of King Magnus Kane lay still on the cold stone floor, his crown lying just out of reach.