A Flight of Ravens by John Conroe (thriller books to read TXT) 📗

Drew and Soshi’s bolters from the sandy shore where they had landed. Jella had ridden the white mare across the river and checked on Toothaker’s accomplice, but the man had bled to death.

The sergeant in command snapped off a brisk salute to me, his eyes flicking to the prisoners, the canoe, and the bodies. I ordered him to send one of the squads after Toothaker and kill him on sight.

My constable’s horse might not like fast runs or freezing rivers, but he had no qualms about me carrying Slinch slung over his broad back, as well as my own wounded self.

Not willing to underestimate Slinch, I slipped one of Jella’s snare wires over his head and anchored the other end to the saddle horn.  One slip, one twitch too many and he’d strangle himself, and if he fell completely off the horse, he’d likely garrote his own neck straight to the spine.  He couldn’t even talk, which likely saved his life.  Had I heard one word from the man who attacked my princess and killed my teammate, I’d have pulled the wire tight and let him kick out right there.

Chapter 39

We rode straight to the castle and our escort carried both men right into the main entry, straight to the throne room.  The massive doors, blackened and charred, hung on bent and broken hinges, testimony to Cort’s skill with the Powder of the Punished.

Inside the throne room, a pair of castle staff were mopping up a pool of blood.  Back by the throne, I could see the princess, Rose, Brent, and Salis, along with Colonel Erser, the seneschal, and a full dozen other people, including Oscar and young Sydney. Then heads moved and I could see Lords Grantell, Sampson, and Samuel, Lady Kardian, Kiven Armstrong, Bishop Miller, and… my father.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, the moppers leaning on their handles and the throne party all looking up as the guardsmen dragged Slinch and friend straight to Her Highness while Jella paced alongside my limping self.

Brona, sitting upon the throne itself, looked from Slinch to me.  “Captain, report.”

I had never seen her on the actual throne and the implications were immediately clear.

“Your Majesty,” I said to her for the second time in my life, a strange joy racing through my body.  “My team tracked Raven Slinch to the riverfront.  During the chase, his fellow conspirators were killed, as was my teammate, Drew.”

Her hard expression flickered over me, noting my leg and posture, then settled into glacial ice.  She nodded for me to continue.

“Slinch escaped the scene by canoe along with this man and two others.  Forester Jella and I, using borrowed horses, were able to intercept the canoe down at the Maple Ridge ford.

The king’s rook, Carter Toothaker, was waiting for them with horses and another accomplice.

Toothaker escaped, wounded and on foot, but a squad of guardsmen are on his trail. No one else survived.”

She took that all in, glanced again at my bloody leg, at Jella, the boatman, and finally settled her gaze on Slinch.  Then her head tilted to one side.  “Captain, could you perhaps loosen that wire around his neck?  He’s turning purple and while I don’t object to the idea of his death, I do wish to delay it bit.”

I limped over and stuck a finger between the snare wire and Slinch’s neck.  With a short tug, I loosened the loop a bit.

“Neil Slinch, Director of the Royal Ravens, I charge you with attempted regicide, treason, subversion of kingdom resources, embezzlement, and offering aid to Montshire’s enemies,” she said. “How say you?”

He looked at her, his body reeling as blood flowed back into his head.  Behind Brona, little Sydney suddenly looked at me and mouthed, “Watch his neck.”

Instantly I stepped forward and pulled the anchor end of the snare wire from the guard corporal holding it.  No sooner had I freed it than Slinch threw his whole body forward as hard as he could, his face bouncing off the hard stone.

“Tsk, tsk, Neil,” Queen Brona said.  “You wouldn’t deprive me of a long chat with an old family friend, now would you?”

The guards regained control of him and stripped the wire noose from his neck. Held up by the guards, his head lolling to one side, face bruised from his faceplant, he still tried to grin.  Jella reclaimed her wire from the guard, rolling it neatly and putting it into her belt pouch.

“We have much to talk about, Neil,” Brona said.  “But no worries. We won’t torture you, and there will be plenty of witnesses, right, Victor?  Right, Bottis?” she asked the two lords, who both nodded.

“You don’t fool anyone,” Slinch said.  “You’ll use your abominations on me, which is only fitting as you yourself are the biggest abomination of them all.”

Before anyone could respond, the guard holding him backhanded the side of his face with a metal reinforced glove.  “You will address Her Majesty with respect,” the corporal said, guaranteeing that I would be buying him many rounds of drink.

Slinch spit blood on the floor and tried to make a bloody, drooling smile of superiority at Brona. His expression faltered into a brief frown when Oscar leaned over and whispered into Her Majesty’s ear.

“Berkette?  You’ve gone over to the Republic, Neil?” Brona asked, clearly surprised.

Slinch smoothed his expression to blankness, his jaw clenching.

Brona gave him a little smile, then turned to Colonel Erser and nodded.  He, in turn, waved to a guard at the doorway, who stepped outside.  Moments later, a big, bald-headed man with a leather blacksmith’s apron entered with three young men behind him.  The men carried a small farrier’s anvil, an assortment of tools, several chains with attached manacles, and a small brazer which, based on its carrier’s thick leather gloves, appeared to be filled with coals.

“Mastersmith Tir, please bolt wrists, ankles, and his neck,” Brona said.  Despite the polite wording, it wasn’t a request, but clearly an order.

Moving with an economy of motion that bespoke tremendous skill, Smith Tir