Kohath seemed oblivious to what had occurred moments ago. How could he tell his friend what he had seen, especially after all that had already transpired? Moreover, what would he tell him? None of it made sense to Tiuren.
As the bard watched, still unsure what to do, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He pulled back farther into the concealing clothes in the wardrobe. The sight before him made him regret his hesitation.
Diccona approached her husband from the next room. Only her silhouette was visible in the dark doorway where she emerged.
"Oh, you're here," Kohath stated, smiling, but not looking up. "Are you packed yet, my darling?" He continued his work as the queen drew near.
A glint of light caught Tiuren's eye. No! A knife blade, cold and metallic in the light from the nearby window, rose above Diccona's head, a slender arm carrying it down toward the hunched form of the former king. It went in with the speed and smoothness of sorcery. Diccona sank the long blade up to its hilt into Kohath's lower neck.
Kohath's response was only a low moan of pain and surprise as he turned toward his attacker. A warrior such as he would not die quickly, even from such a lethal blow. There was possibly time for Tiuren to act, but what should he do? Could he strike the queen? Would Kohath even want him to?
Tiuren readied himself to spring from the wardrobe, but instinct gave him pause. There was yet another figure in the darkness behind Diccona-oh, yes, the wizard Darius! Kohath collapsed to his knees, his shirt now drenched in blood-and then fell heavily onto his back, looking up wordlessly at his wife.
Only then did the new king move forward, laying a familiar hand on Diccona's soft shoulder.
The illness had been a ploy-a plot to unseat Kohath using the queen, who had never been in any real danger. She had betrayed Kohath-but worse, Kohath also now knew. How better it would have been for him to die not knowing that his own love, for whom he had renounced all, had not only betrayed him, but had done so counting on the fact that he would make such a sacrifice.
Although a storyteller known for his imagination, Tiuren could not conceive of the pain a man of such strong passions as Kohath was feeling right now.
"Diccona…" Kohath managed to sputter. His eyes narrowed, filled not with the love that had always been there, but with hatred. His emotional misery surely surpassed the physical pain-though neither lasted long. The murderous pair watched, expressionlessly staring at their victim, as Kohath died.
Though not a coward, Tiuren realized he had to flee. Kohath was dead. The whole thing had caught the bard with his guard down. He had not acted fast enough to save his friend-he had not acted at all. But what could he have done? Unarmed and unprepared, he could have probably overcome Diccona, but Darius was certainly armed, and a sorcerer. Either way, Kohath would have died.
No, Tiuren had to run-for the moment, the pair had their backs to him. He had to act fast. He had to reveal the new king's insidious plot. Maybe he could not save his friend, but he could avenge him. He sprang from the wardrobe and ran for the door.
Tiuren was quick, but not quick enough. As he left the bedchamber and dived into the antechamber, the door slammed shut, seemingly of its own accord. He reached it and tugged, but it held fast. His foe had cut him off using some sort of spell. Count-King Darius stood behind him, a curved blade in his hand, his skin crackling with amber lightning of magical origins. Tiuren whirled to face the wizard, his hand instinctively going for a sword that wasn't there.
'Tiuren," the evil wizard said flatly. "Always where you aren't wanted."
Steely eyed, Diccona stood behind Darius, her arm casually resting on his shoulder, her other hand still covered in her husband's blood.
"How… how could you do this?" Tiuren asked, directing the question toward Diccona. As he spoke, he pressed his body against the door behind him, still attempting to somehow get it open. No use-he was trapped.
"It was simple," Diccona boasted. Her long black hair whipped about her face as she grew excited at their victory. "The old fool did it to himself, really. I married him for power. He married me for love. Now I am with Darius, who will bring Vantir to new heights with his wizardry. I have more power than ever, and Kohath is dead." She paused to glance back at her husband's body.
"How could I?" The queen laughed. "How could I not?"
"With the growing magical might of the larger, more powerful kingdoms like Netheril, Asram, and Anauria, how long could we have survived without a wizard on the throne?" Darius said, stepping closer, clenching the knife more firmly. "This land needs me. Diccona needs me. Neither needs a foolish old sword-swinger blinded by emotions."
"No," Tiuren protested, bracing himself against the locked door. "Kohath's love for his wife, however misplaced, was a virtue, not a shortcoming. And no one has ever or will ever do more for this kingdom than he," With that, he sprang at Darius, throwing his own body into his foe, sending both crashing down. The knife clattered to the floor, and Tiuren lunged for it.
He never made it. Hot, searing fingers jabbed him in the back. Magical energies reached into his guts and twisted him from the inside. He wrenched himself around so he lay on his back, his body rigid with pain.
Diccona stood over him, dark eyes smoldering, an evil grimace contorting her face. She had cast a spell upon him. Gods! She was a wizard too.
By this time, Darius had righted himself and retrieved the knife. His forehead bore a red welt from hitting the floor, not enough of a wound to disable him. Besides, Tiuren could not even move, his body so cramped with agony.
It was all over.
The Dark Eye marveled at the incredible ease with which love could be manipulated, twisted into hate. And such hate. As it watched the events unfolding in the palace above, it realized that no mortal it had ever known had burned with such passionate malice. The Eye suddenly concluded that a mortal's emotions had much greater power than it had ever dreamt.
The intensity of the feeling was perfect for its purposes. This Kohath was perfect. The fact that he was dead made him even better. After observing Kohath's emotional transformation, the Eye began magically working upon his physical transformation. Soon, the Dark Eye would have a new tool.
From his position on the floor, Tiuren glanced over to his fallen friend. He wanted to look upon him one last time before Darius buried the knife in his own chest.
How could it be? He had never seen anything like it…
Kohath's flesh-the skin, muscles, and organs-had almost completely liquified. Most of his friend's bones and skull were already visible, glistening wet in the fading light from the window. Even worse, the bones were shaking in some sort of death palsy. Tiuren had seen death before, but never like this.
Rather than focus on this disturbing sight-it had to be a delusion, the bard told himself-Tiuren turned back to his attackers. Diccona still reveled in the success of her dark spell. Darius muttered something unintelligible while gently stroking his head wound and summoning his strength for the deathblow.
Suddenly, the wizard's face curled into a visage of utter pain, his mouth forming a silent scream. The upraised dagger glowed white-hot. Wisps of smoke issued from between his fingers. He unclenched his hand to drop the weapon, but it was already seared to his flesh. He dropped to his knees, stuttering out a high-pitched sob, his unhurt hand squeezing his wrist to force the knife from him.
Diccona saw this and screamed in terror. She had enough intuition to turn around, though the sight was probably one she would rather have missed.