The Wolves of Gryning: Chapter 23
Part 3: The Storm Breaking
Chapter 23: The Attempt
Many beasts now roamed those halls who had lost their trust in Besegrare. He had been welcomed to the crown as a hero, because of the tyrant he'd slain. But they had never examined whether the beast was still worthy of the merits of their praise. More and more began to withdraw their support for the king, so that despite his popularity there was a detracting minority.
When the announcement of Besegrare's intent to wed Nashil was made, a new wave of resentment broke upon the backs of these detractors. He announced the news suddenly, and the date of the wedding was to be in three days time. The detractors riled up and challenged the king's decision.
"Marriage? What need have we of a queen, when a king can't even protect us?"
The one who spoke up was as usual Lord Khiifa, ruler of the people's keep. Publicly he had decried Besegrare once already. He approached the king now in the throne room, and there were other wolves with him who felt the same. Some of them wore masks to hide their faces, but others came publicly, and the faces that Besegrare saw among them filled him with sorrow. Hearing their leader speak against him in rage, Besegrare felt himself growing upset. But he wanted nothing more than to regain the support of his wolves, and he curbed his tongue.
"Let me remind you that I am still your king," Besegrare said. "And no matter who I marry, your king will I remain. But without a wife there can be no true heir, and your leadership would end here."
"Not if one of us replaced you," Khiifa said.
"A replacement!" Besegrare cried. "Am I to take it you want me dead? I should hope that's not what you're suggesting, Khiifa. I do not take such matters lightly! I am trying to do right by you -- always trying to do right by you. Never by me, no, my feelings have never had a place in the matter. But this time they will! I will marry who I want, and I will hear no word against it. I will hear no word against my bride, either; or against myself. If I should hear that any of you have been spreading rumors, grumbling about your king in the markets and squares, I would call that beast unfit to walk with the wolves, and I would have him exiled from here."
He had stood during his tirade, and was gesturing at Khiifa with both his hands out. The subject of his speech felt his ears flatten and his fur bristle, as he filled with anger and shame. But he stood and took it without speaking, then bowed low and grit his teeth together.
"No, my lord, I never meant to suggest any word against you."
He turned and departed from the place, followed by the rest of his cohorts. Those who'd arrived masked felt pleased and self-satisfied, while those who'd arrived in public drew their brows together in anger and bit their tongues in silence. They'd been expecting something more, something more from Khiifa, or perhaps something less from Besegrare. And now their king knew exactly which of them wished to see him gone. They withdrew to the privacy of the tea room and sat in a circle, discussing angrily amongst themselves what they should do, if anything. It was Khiifa's wife, a she-wolf named Thybion who spoke up first:
"We cannot abide this any longer!" she said.
The others nodded in agreement. Khiifa was the beast for the job when they had something to say to Besegrare. But the Lady Thybion was their only source of inspiration when they ran out of things for Khiifa to say. She was a lean wolf, a little brown streak of claws and teeth, and she poisoned the others with her thoughts and her will slowly. Always she bent the wills of others to match her own, so that they knew not when she had taken control; it was this tactic that she'd used on Khiifa, and by marrying the Lord she had elevated herself to the position of Lady quite easily, gaining a measure of power in the trade.
Thybion fell to her knees before the crowd of dissenters, and she spread her arms wide. She only ever wore the robes of a commoner, although she could more than afford lavish silks. She thought the poor robes would help her adopt a look of helplessness, and it helped with her affectations of distress. The Lady Thybion considered herself a lady of the people.
"I know how you suffer," she said. "I know how you cower in fear. You fear a war, do you not? Yes, that's it--I've heard the rumors too! Rumors of the dark army heading our way. There is a storm brewing, mind you, and your king would see you sink in it! He will not protect you. He will not fight for you. And what kind of a king is that?"
A chorus of agreement rose, and the nods and grumbles of the crowd started to make them look busy with excitement. They'd filled the room all the way to the door, the tops of their heads waving like stalks of grey and black and brown, and the sea outside grew choppy with their resentment.
"We can not," she paused, emphasizing her words, "Abide this any longer!"
She stood, whirling to face the crowd that gathered on her other side.
"He ignores out safety! Yes, he does, and he asks us to sit back. 'There is no threat!' he cries, while the shadows spill in through the windows! 'We are safe!' he cries, and asks us to be swallowed whole! Then in front of everyone he humiliates your Lord and your Lady, by which he means to humiliate all of you, the good wolves of Gryning."
She was really working them up, and they were positively frothing with their rage. The wolves cried out in approval, in anger towards the king, in fear for their own lives.
"Oh yes, it's all true," she said. "I can vouch for it myself. And now this king of yours wants to take a commoner, some low beast from the outside world, and make her into a queen? No, no, I don't think so! You're telling me that I should allow a wolf to rule us who wasn't even born in Gryning? What could she know of our ways? A beast from Himmska, no less?"
"And what would you have use do?" the one who spoke now was Thiall, who'd spoken out against Besegrare in the courts. The girl had become well respected in the circle of dissenters, for the emotions that they all kept hidden when they traversed the keep she displayed brazenly.
"Unless you're suggesting we kill him," the Lord Khiifa said, "Then I'm not sure what you could have in mind."
The mention of assassination brought the rage of the wolves down a notch, and their roar died to a murmur. They feared for their lives, and they no longer trusted their king--but was he not still a hero? And could they possibly kill him?
"I didn't say we kill him," Thybion said, growing hushed. She glanced around, her eyes low to the ground, then said, "But... It is an interesting idea, isn't it?"
She let it sink in. Thybion knew exactly what she was doing, and knew that the vagueness of her complaint would lead to a suggestion like that. All she had to do was let someone else suggest it first. No surprise my idiot husband thought of it, she said. But it didn't matter if it was his idea, or even if he'd suggested it out loud. What mattered was that she get the others to believe in it, that they all slowly accepted the possibility of an assassination attempt. She could practically hear them thinking about it, and she egged them on.
"An interesting idea. But I wouldn't want to suggest death on any beast--No, not unless that beast wished for my own death."
She raised a finger and spun in a circle, her eyes never focusing on any one wolf, but reining them all in. They leaned towards her to hear what she had to say.
"Then again, I suppose he has wished for my death. And for yours--and yours--and all of yours. In his own way, he has wished for the death of every beast in Gryning. Wouldn't you say?"
The crowd took to it, almost too eagerly. They were like a wave about to crash. They wanted blood, they could taste it in their jaws already. Now that the suggestion had taken hold, they would not settle until somebeast was dead. Yes, yes; they were only being civil, after all--it was their own king who'd driven them to this! There were cries from angry wolves, cries of "Kill him!" and "Down with the king!"
"Easy," Thybion raised her hands. "Easy, everyone. We mustn't get in over our heads. We cannot swarm him. How would that look, to the rest of Gryning--to the rest of the world? What could we do if we overtook him as a mob? It would be chaos, and we would brand ourselves as traitors. We would lose the trust of wolves everywhere."
It was true. She heard a voice from somewhere in the crowd question here:
"What's the alternative?"
The voice who'd spoken was Seuthu, the captain of the guard. She stood in the doorway, addressing Thybion directly. Everybeast turned to see who spoke, then fell silent. Seuthu was part of the king's inner circle, a trusted one. What was she doing here? Seuthu strode in, the beasts parting before her, and she jabbed a finger at the Lady's chest.
"I've seen what he's doing. And what he's doing is nothing--that beast is going to ruin us all. If you ask me, he deserves to die."
"I thought we agreed on that," Thiall added. "Why are we arguing? What is the alternative?"
She'd been expecting the pushback. The Lady Thybion was a wily and subversive beast, and she had already forged a plan.
"Listen close," she said, and they all stepped even closer. If such a thing were possible. The crowd of beasts now thrummed with the song of murder and blood. "We need to appoint one single beast. Just one, and nothing can go wrong. With just one beast, we do not put the rest of us at risk. Even if our assassin fails, we will not fear the revelation of our identities."
The wolves calmed themselves when they had discussed it at length. They didn't all need to expose themselves. They realized that now. The thirst for blood abated somewhat, and they pleased themselves in the knowledge that Besegrare would die. Besegrare's death would bring about safety for all of them, and the blood would only be on one set of hands. One would spare the guilt of the many.
Seuthu volunteered herself. She felt something of a thrill in the task. Her king had seen the destruction of her town, and he had done nothing to prevent the destruction of his own. He was doing nothing for the survivors of the attack she'd lived through either. He was doing nothing for anybeast but himself. She thought that she would be recognized as a hero for the deed--something like the king had once been. But she felt no more loyalty towards that idol. He'd killed a tyrant just to lead like a fool.
The deed would take place in two days time. The night before the wedding. If ever a night lent itself to the confusion of an assassination, that would be it. Beasts would be coming in and out of the royal chambers all day. In the confusion, she'd slip in as well, and hide herself. Only late at night, when the king finally retired, would she reveal herself. Knife in hand, she'd approach the sleeping ruler and silence him once and for all. Neck cut from end to end--that's what they'd all see in the morning. But no beast would suspect who could possibly have done such a thing. The king would be gone, Nashil would not be queen, and a new ruler would be appointed to lead the wolves of the world.
The plot against Besegrare was thwarted before it even began. The wolves were quick to place blame, and quick to act in anger, for they felt emotion passionately. Today they still act based on passion, and issues of leadership have the capacity to turn violent quickly. But the violence they planned was not the violence he faced.
The same night of the dissenter's meeting, Besegrare was accompanied to his chambers by his advisor. Tanda had met him in the halls of the main keep just as the king was dismissing Seshi for the day. He had called the fox over to discuss the public dissent in the courts; but neither knew about the secret meeting in the tea room. They talked it over until they reached the royal chambers, but both were startled at the open door.
"Is it meant to be closed?" Tanda asked.
"Normally," Besgrare said. "It's possible I forgot. I am busy at times."
"Best we be careful," Tanda urged, for his senses were sharp and he felt a sense of wrongness about the situation. But Besegrare strode forward and threw the doors open, flashing up a candle to illuminate the room. It was empty.
"See? We're all just feeling paranoid. The room is safe."
"Then I will leave you," Tanda bowed. "My lord."
"Be well, friend."
Tanda left, but the feeling of unease hadn't shaken away. It couldn't possibly be anything worth worrying about, he insisted. The beasts were afraid of ear, but would they actually rally against their king? Still, the unease clung to him like a terrible smell, like rot and decay.
Then he heard Besegrare give up a deep, guttural moan. There was a sound of crashing, and Tanda turned tail to run as fast as he could. He kicked off the wood-soled slippers he'd been wearing and sprinted on the pads of his feet. When he flung the door open, he saw a beast in shadows reaching out. There was a knife, and he saw the beast yank it from the king's shoulder. Besegrare roared again. The blood that had spilled across his chest looked like spilt ink. The glimmer of torchlight across it made it slick and shiny like oil paint. The beast with the knife was shrouded in black, a hood and mask obscuring its features.
There was no time to think. Tanda, well versed in the skills of the knife, launched into action. He had not expected that he would need to draw blood again, and so he had given up the practice of carrying knives. The fox looked around desperately for a weapon. He reached for a dagger that was in a rack on the wall and felt its weight in his hand. He flipped it once in his fingers and then whipped the arm forward, fingers out, and the blade struck. His aim was true, hitting the beast just above the chest, and the attacker fell with only one short, rough bark of pain.
The sudden calm only served to amplify the excitement. Besegrare clutched his shoulder in pain and Tanda stood frozen where he was.
"That was a ceremonial knife," Besegrare said. His chest still heaved.
"Fire and flame, that's my thanks?" Tanda inspected the king's wound. It was shallow, and clotting already.
"It doesn't feel deep," Besegrare said.
"It's not," the fox said, but he bundled up the king's sheets and pressed them against the wound. "Still, hold this here until the bleeding stops. I'll go get someone from the chapel to take a look at it."
Besegrare nodded, his face drawn, his eyes cloudy with pain and fear.
"They really meant to kill me," he said.
"And look at what's happened? We've made an example out of them. Who will try now?"
"If one tries, and fails, another will try and succeed. It's the likely thing," he nodded at the beast on the floor. "Go ahead, tell me the name of my attacker."
The beast was not yet dead, its chest rattling with sharp rales. Tanda felt a little sickened at unmasking the beast before it had died, but the king was waiting. He looked away while he peeled the fabric away from its face, then ventured a glance. He blinked in surprise.
"L-Lord KhiiFA: " Tanda said.
"Khiifa," Besegrare growled. "I should have known. What have you done?"
"It wasn't the plan," Khiifa mumbled. "It wasn't supposed to be me."
"What do you mean? Speak, beast!"
But Khiifa coughed up blood and shook his head.
"Not her choice. She didn't make me."
And then shudders began to wrack his body. Tanda stepped away swiftly, looking away until the beast was still. Besegrare felt like a veil was descending upon him.
"We have entered dark times," he remarked.
"We've been in them for some time now," Tanda replied. His face was silent and still as he closed the dead lord's eyes.