Footsteps.
They stiffened as one, and he held his breath, listening. Someone was coming this way; someone with the slow, heavy gait of the middle-aged-someone wearing men's boots-
Someone who saw no need to carry a candle; someone who knew there would be light and a fire waiting in here.
The door opened; closed again. Before them was the back of a large, powerful man. Kestrel struck, like his falcon-namesake.
Sheer youth and desperation gave him the reflexes to overwhelm a man who had fought for most of his life; he had a knife across his uncle's throat in a heartbeat, and Talaysen was right behind him. As the older man whirled, his first instinct to throw his attacker off, he found himself facing the point of one of his guard's swords in the hands of someone he didn't recognize.
"I wouldn't shout if I were you," Talaysen whispered quietly. "Between us, Sional and I can take out your throat before you could utter a single sound."
The man's eyes widened at Sional's name, and the blood drained from his face, leaving it pasty and white. His eyes went dead, and Talaysen sensed that he expected to die in the next few moments.
That, and the family resemblance to Sional, convinced him that they had the right man. That had been a possibility he hadn't mentioned to anyone-that someone else might be caught in their little trap.
"So, King Rolend, what have you got to say for yourself?" he continued, cruelly-knowing that he was being cruel, but with the memory of Kestrel's own frightened face in the back of his mind. "And what do you have to say to your nephew?"
The man was brave, he had to give him that much. As Sional relaxed his grip a little, and Talaysen transferred the tip of his sword to the base of Rolend's throat and backed him up against the desk so that Sional could come to stand beside him, Rolend didn't beg, didn't plead. His eyes went to Sional, then back to Talaysen.
"Who are you with?" he said, harshly. "Whose pay are you in?"
Talaysen shook his head slightly. "That wasn't what I expected to hear," he chided. "You've been sending killers after this young man for years. Don't you think an explanation is in order?"
"Before I die, you mean?" Rolend drew himself up with as much dignity as a man with a sword at his throat could muster. "I did what I thought I had to do for the good of the country."
"For the good of the country-or for your own good?" Rune asked, challengingly, coming up behind Talaysen, her own knife in her hand. "They're not the same, and don't try to pretend they are."
The King's eyes widened in surprise, and he opened his mouth, as if to shout-
But nothing came out, and Talaysen heard Gwyna humming behind him. "Robin's got him silenced," Rune said, not taking her eyes off Rolend. She raised her chin with that defiant look Talaysen recognized from the past. "You can whisper if you want, King, but it won't do you any good to call for help."
His eyes were now as round as coins, and his lips formed a single word.
"Magic-"
"Y-y-you ought to kn-know, Uncle," Kestrel said bitterly. "Y-you s-set it on m-m-me enough!"
He moved closer, and strangely, Talaysen saw tears in his eyes.
"Wh-why, uncle?" he whispered in anguish. "Wh-why? I n-n-never d-d-did anything t-to you! V-V-Victor w-w-was th-the only f-f-friend I h-had, b-besides M-Master D-Darian!"
The young man's obvious anguish got through to Rolend as nothing else had. "I thought-I thought-you'd hate me-"
Rune was humming, and Talaysen recognized the "trust me" spell. So far the plan they'd made had fallen in place-to find Rolend alone, and somehow convince him, with the aid of magic if need be-to leave Kestrel in peace. But would it work? He sensed the King fighting the spell-and a man with a strong will could get himself clear of it.
Then a gleam of silver on the King's wrist suddenly caught his attention, and he remembered that the elf they had spoken with had mentioned something about the non-humans of Birnam now being under a sort of royal protection.
He held up his wrist to show the elven bracelet there, and once again, the King's eyes went round in surprise. The surprise at seeing the elven token made his resistance falter. "You asked me whose pay I was in," he said fiercely. "No-not the elves. And not the Church's, nor the Bardic Guild, nor the men you cast down out of power. And Sional is not here as my puppet! We-we are here beside him because he is our friend, for no more reason than that."
"We are under the protection of the High King of the elves," Rune said, breaking off her humming, and showing her own elven token. "Think on that a moment-think what that might mean if you harmed us-and listen to your nephew."
"I d-d-don't want th-the d-d-damned th-throne!" Sional hissed. "I d-d-don't w-want the c-c-crown! M-my F-Father w-w-was a d-d-damned f-f-fool, and y-y-you're a h-h-hundred times th-th-the King he w-w-was! W-w-will you c-c-call off y-your hounds? I j-just w-w-want t-t-to b-be left alone!"
"I can't do that-" the King faltered. "You know I can't. I can't let you go free-the moment someone discovers that you're alive-"
He's weakening. We have him off-balance, and he's weakening.
"Wait-" Talaysen said, and held up the bracelet again. "Remember this. Remember that we are mages. We could have killed you; we didn't. If we say we know of a way to take Sional out of the game completely, will you believe us and at least listen?"
The King nodded, slowly, and Talaysen took a chance and lowered the sword. Rolend sagged back against his desk, then made his way to the chair behind it, and collapsed into its embrace.
"L-listen to me, Uncle," Sional said. "I'm n-not a r-ruler. D-d-do you th-think for a m-minute that p-people w-would r-r-respect a m-man wh-who s-sounds l-like I d-d-do?" He laughed, a sound with no humor in it. "N-not even a Ch-church m-mage c-could m-make p-people b-believe I'm anyth-thing other th-than a s-s-simpleton!"
"Well-" Rolend looked uncertain.
"I've b-b-been a b-beggar, a th-thief, a sh-shit-s-s-sweeper. Th-think those are g-g-good qu-qualific-c-cations f-f-for a K-King?"
"I-"
Rune was humming again; since Kestrel seemed to have the situation well in hand, stutter and all, Talaysen joined her. The King had stopped resisting the spell-now if they could just get it to take-
"B-but I've s-s-seen wh-what y-you've d-d-done. I've b-b-been one of th-the p-p-people. Th-they'd r-rather a g-g-good ruler th-than a fool. T-tomorrow m-morning, y-you and I c-c-can g-g-go stand on F-Father's d-d-damned b-balcony and I'll r-r-renounce th-the throne." He took a deep breath. "As I am. S-s-stutter and all. S-s-so p-p-people c-can s-see I'm n-n-not s-s-some g-g-gilded p-prince out of a b-b-b-ballad."
The King was capitulating; Talaysen felt it. So did Sional. "L-let me g-g-go g-get V-V-Victor," he urged. "We c-c-can all t-t-talk about it. Even Aunt Fe-Fe-Fe-"
"No-please," Rolend said, closing his eyes and putting his hand to his head. "Not your Aunt Felice. She'll raise half the palace, and then she'll take you off and have you married to one of her ladies-in-waiting before the sun rose. Go get Victor; he's in the Rose Room." He looked each of the Bards in the eyes, in turn. "You're right. We should talk. Perhaps-"