Had the news come from another source, Yadin would’ve demanded proof. However, Brodin wasn’t a man to send a message of this magnitude if he weren’t completely sure. The King’s death was a sorrow-filled certainty.
The face of Yadin’s father floated in his mind. He’d inherited many of the same characteristics, such as sharing narrow frames, as if underfed. Like the departed King, Yadin’s facial features were similar, square jaw, hazel green eyes and short blonde hair. Every time Yadin looked in the mirror, he thought of his beloved father.
He didn’t attempt to compose himself in front of the messenger. He sobbed into the silky purple robe draped over his shoulders. After a long stretch of minutes passed, he ordered the messenger to reveal the remaining details. “I’m sure Sergeant Brodin sent you with more than just that. Tell me everything.”
The lad spoke rapidly, as though spitting out every word of his message before it could be forgotten. Yadin made the boy repeat key elements of the message. When the youth finished, the Prince dismissed him. He wanted some time alone to absorb all that he’d heard.
His father, the King, had been assassinated not more than six hours ago, while returning to Avendis. Brodin had been riding beside him, acting as bodyguard, when the attack came. Both rode at the head of the caravan through a winding forest road. Doubtlessly, Sergeant Trebor Brodin had advised against such a prominent position, but Father was stubborn in that respect. He felt a leader should do exactly that – lead, not follow behind his guards with the women and children.
The assassination had been both ridiculously simple and brutally effective. As the King and the Sergeant led their caravan on horseback, the assassin simply stepped out of the thick forest of trees and onto the road, facing the oncoming caravan. The man patiently waited for their approach. He looked terribly thin and dirty. The tattered clothing, unkempt beard and dreadlock hair made the assassin appear to be a harmless beggar looking for a handout.
The King, only a dozen steps away, dug in his pockets to give this beggar a few silver coins – which were probably more than the destitute man saw in a year. As the King held out his coin-filled hand, the beggar reached into his torn, moldy overcoat and pulled out a silver-colored object. Within heartbeats, the silver spinning object flew through the air, and embedded itself in the King’s throat.
Incredibly, the assassin didn’t attempt to flee. He simply stood his ground, staring blankly at the dying King. Berserk with rage, Sergeant Brodin pummeled the murderer with kicks and punches until forcefully removed by his fellow soldiers. The assassin offered no resistance when bound and gagged. He accepted his arrest as though it were nothing more than a child’s game of Slayer and Dragon.
Trebor would arrive this evening with both the prisoner and his father’s body. The assassin would wait in the dark, damp dungeons far below the castle until he could be sentenced. With so many witnesses to the tragedy, a trial would be unnecessary. By tomorrow morning, he’d have the assassin’s head in a basket.
Yadin looked out on the city of Avendis once again, not noticing his firm, white-knuckled grip on the handrail. It was incredible how news of this sort changed one’s perspective. What had promised to be a day of beauty and joy was now a curse of weariness and despair. His teeth ground together in anger as tears of sorrow streamed down his face.
“Yadin? What’s wrong?” The Prince felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. The melodic voice belonged to his wife, Libeth. He turned and looked into her blue, almond-shaped eyes. Her beauty lifted his spirits momentarily. Even now, his childhood sweetheart captivated all who surrounded her.
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