The Unknown Enemy.Chapter 8.

Chapter 8.

 

         When Rumours Became Truth.

 

Smike reached the capital at dusk. He slipped through the small back gate with a crowd of returning traders. His cloak was dusty and his boots were worn; he looked like any other tired traveller.

He didn't go to the barracks. He didn't go to the council hall. Instead, he circled the great palace walls until he reached the narrow servants' stair that led to the King’s private study. Only the footmen used these stairs. And Smike.

A single guard stood at the top. “Captain Smike!” he whispered, startled. “We weren’t told you were coming.”

“No one was,” Smike said quietly. “Is the King alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Smike slipped inside.  King Syldan was bent over a map on a large table.

But before he spoke, Smike didn't look at the King. Instead, his eyes swept the room. He looked behind the heavy velvet curtains. He checked the shadowed corner by the tall bookshelves. Finally, he looked at the small side table where a ledger and a stool usually sat.

For once, the space was empty. No clerk was waiting to record a signature. No silent shadow was hovering with a quill.

Only then did Smike relax his shoulders and face the King.

“Smike,” he breathed. “Thank goodness. I was beginning to get worried.”

Smike bowed. “I came as soon as I had the truth, sire.”

The King gestured him closer. “Tell me everything.”

Smike spoke plainly. He told the King about the empty towers and the hidden watchmen. He explained how the green fire was just a trick with tree resin, and how the "accidents" like the broken bridge and the scattered sheep were all planned.

“It is all coordinated, sire,” Smike finished. “All of it is meant to keep you guessing. And it is all being led by one man.”

“Tizard?” The King went still.

“They spoke his name openly,” Smike said. “He doesn’t want a war yet. He is testing you, counting how many men you send. They know every move you make.”

The King’s face tightened. “Everything?”

“Yes. They knew you sent Captain Mylon. They knew exactly how many Foresters went with him, and when they left.”

The King let out a long, slow breath. “A spy,” he murmured. “Inside my own palace.”

The King stood perfectly still, staring at the map. His brow furrowed as he thought back to the council meeting.

“When I sent Captain Mylon north,” the King said softly, “I dismissed the council. I sent the guards away.”

His fingers tapped the table. Tap. Tap. “There were only two others in the room,” he whispered. “One was Wilf,” the King said softly. “Old Wilf, who has served me since my coronation. And his father before him. A man who could lie even to save his life.”

A sad smile touched the King's mouth, but it faded quickly.

“And the other…” He closed his eyes, seeing the room again. “The other was the clerk with the limp. The clerks are always there, Smike. Quiet, patient, waiting for papers to be signed. They are like the furniture, unnoticed.”

Smike’s jaw nodded. “He would have heard everything, sire.”

“Yes,” the King whispered. “He heard everything.” He straightened up, his eyes turning cold. “We have found our spy. That could be very useful.”

“There was something else, sire,” Smike said, his voice dropping even lower. “They spoke another name. With respect.”

The King looked up. “Whose name?”

“Prince Wilgan.”

The King froze. It was as if he had been struck.

“They said that when Wilgan is king, and Tizard sits at his right hand, the bandits will be given land and gold.”

The King’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table. “Wilgan is imprisoned,” he said quietly. “He is under guard on Prince Mardan’s estate.”

“I remember, sire,” Smike said. “We were all surprised you let him live after his plot with the witch, Nesthana. We were lucky Sophrayni was there to stop her.”

“Wilgan claimed he was under a spell,” the King muttered. “He said he knew nothing of her plans. We had no evidence that he was lying. And now… his name is being used to rally traitors.”

The King turned away. The lamplight showed the deep lines of worry on his face. “How long have they been listening? How long have they been planning this?”

Suddenly, the King’s anger sharpened. “They dare to use my own blood as a banner! They dare to whisper Wilgan’s name in the mountains!”

He stopped himself, breathing hard. Then he looked at Smike. “You came alone? You told no one?”

“No one, sire.”

“Good,” the King said. “If the spy learns what you discovered, they will warn Tizard. If Tizard knows we have figured out his plan, he will change it. We cannot let him know we are onto him.”

The King moved to the door and slid the heavy iron bolt across. It was a rare gesture. He wanted no interruptions.

“No one hears this report,” the King commanded. “Not the council. Not the Chancellor. Not even the other Foresters.”

He placed a hand on Smike’s shoulder. “You have brought me more than news, Smike. You have brought me time.”

“What are your orders, sire?”

“Rest tonight. At dawn, come back to me by the side passage. We will plan our next move in secret. And Smike… if anyone asks where you have been, you tell them nothing.”

Smike bowed and slipped out into the darkness, as silent as a shadow. Behind him, the King stood alone in the warm, cedar-scented room, realising for the first time that the war for his kingdom had already begun.