The Crown Conspiracy полностью

“Neat?” Esrahaddon questioned. “Dost thou mean to say, ’twas a clean thing? Or a well-done effort?” The four men responded with looks of confusion. “No matter, Arista hath been in the habit of visiting me for the last year. At least I think it hath been a year. ’Tis quite difficult to tell the time in this gaol. She fancies herself a student of The Art, only there art no schools for wizards left. She learned all she could and then sought me. She wished to be mine apprentice and I her grinder. I was bored, as thee can imagine. So I obliged her. She entertained me with news of the outside world and teacheth me to speak the new language style. I taught her some neat tricks.” His attention turned to Hadrian as he accentuated the last words.

“Tricks?” Alric asked concerned. “What kind of tricks?”

“Do not worry, dear boy, ’tis nothing of consequence. I believe thy father ’twas ill not long ago. I teacheth her to make a henth bylin.” They all looked at him puzzled. Esrahaddon’s gaze left them. He appeared to search for something. “Arista called it a…a…” His face strained with concentration. “Alas, I cannot remember.”

“A healing potion?” Myron asked.

The wizard eyed the monk carefully. “Yes, that is what she called the henth bylin—a healing potion.”

“You taught her to make a potion to give to my father?”

“Frightening, is it not? Such a devil as I, administering potions to a king. ’Tis nothing to concern thyself. I did not poison thy father. She had the same concern. I instructed her to bring a taste of the draught, and I drank it myself to prove there was no danger. She also sampled it for her own peace of mind. Neither of us died, nor grew horns, and thy father felt better, yes?”

“That doesn’t explain why Arista sent me here.”

“Was thy father recently killed?”

“Yes,” Alric said.

“That wouldst be why. I told her if thy father was killed, or died in a mysterious accident, to send thou here. She did not believe me. Why should she? But I suppose thy father’s death changed her mind. ’Tis a shame.” Esrahaddon looked deliberately at Hadrian, Royce, and then Myron. “Ye three must be the scrapegars? The ones accused of the murder? I told Arista not to trust anyone except the accused killers as they wouldst most likely be completely innocent.”

“Do you know, then, who killed my father?”

“I do not have a name, if that is what thou ask. I am not a fortune-teller, nor am I clairvoyant. I merely know how things work. Thy father was killed by a man to be sure, but that man is in league with an organization. I suspect it is the same one which holds me captive.”

“The Nyphron Church,” Myron muttered softly, yet still the wizard heard and his eyes narrowed once more at the monk.

“Why would the Church of Nyphron wish to kill my father?”

“Sadly, ’twas nothing more than a foolish case of mistaken identity. ’Twas merely a potion exercise for Arista and a remedy for thy sick father, but the Church, well, they listen to me day and night. Overhearing mine instructions to thy sinlist—sis-ter, they must have assumed thy father wert the Heir of Novron.”

“Wait a minute,” Alric interrupted, “the Church doesn’t want to murder the heir. Their whole existence revolves around restoring him to the throne and creating a new Imperial Era.”

“’Tis what they want thee to thinketh. In truth, they wish him dead. They desire the bloodline erased. ’Tis the true reason why they seeketh the heir even after all this time. And why they have imprisoned me for all these years.”

“Why?”

“Because I know it was the Church who betrayed the Emperor, who murdered him and every member of his family save one. If the heir is found, it wilt prove my innocence and their treachery.”

“The way we heard the story you were the one who killed the imperial family. You are responsible for the destruction of the entire Empire,” Hadrian said.

“And where didst ye learn that, the Church? Dost thou really think one man could do so much? Dost thou hast any idea just how ludicrous that sounds?”

“What makes you think they killed the Emperor?” Alric inquired.

“I do not think. I know. I was there, and ’twas I who saved the Emperor’s only son from death at their hands. I helped him escape in those last desperate hours of the Empire.”

“So you are telling us that you lived at the time of the Emperor. Do you expect us to believe that you are over nine hundred years old?” Royce asked.

“I do not expect anything. I am merely answering Thy Majesty’s question.”

“That’s just an answer like this is just a prison,” Royce countered.

“I still don’t understand what all this has to do with my father. Why would the Church kill him?”