What Is The Epilogue To Grigs Rebellion

1
What am I doing? Grigs thought as he made his way through the cold and gloomy castle. There had been a fog for the past three days that had sunk its way into the ancient stones and had permeated the hallways. Grigs walked through the halls on his way to what he believed was going to be his death. His heart was racing and despite the cold, found that his hands were sticky with sweat, making the torch he was holding slippery. Normally a guard would be leading him down this deep into the castle proper, but a gold piece had made the guard decide that Grigs was an excellent navigator and could do the journey on his own.
He had entered through the Dawn Gate, which meant that he was further from his destination, but had much less chance of being
seen, especially at such an early hour. Before he entered he had heard the Watcher cry three-o’-dawn.
He had never seen the man in person that he would be meeting tonight, but the tales and rumors about him were plenty. The tame ones ranged from saying that he never slept or never aged, the more dramatic claimed that he was part dragon and was immortal. Grigs felt that even if he landed somewhere in the middle that was still too dangerous to be near. Around the fires at night, after a few too many ales, some men would boast about how they would be the one to find him and stick a knife through his heart. Most people would laugh raucously at this, but Grigs had never been one of those men. He was brave in his own right, but he never went looking for trouble, even though most of the time it had a way of finding him.
Yet here he was, walking down the halls to the chamber that housed this man.
Grigs’ only communication with him had been through a currier. They had set the bait of a rebel that wanted to defect and stop the rebellion once and for all so he could go home. Grigs had practiced for hours to convince himself that he was a betrayer. Jornis had helped him enormously, as had Caleb, coaching him on exactly how to act and what to say when they finally had their meeting. Caleb almost seemed to have personal knowledge of him, and only passed his counsel to Grigs when he knew they were both alone. It was this that Grigs took with him as he neared the outer chamber.
Two guards were posted, both clad in midnight black leathers, studded with onyx. They both carried Blackblades, long swords that had been forged with such heat that the metal had turned a midnight blue. These swords had a sharpness that was legendary and only the most talented of swordsmen could use them. They were members of his Wolf Guard, handpicked by him out of scores of soldiers. They were few in number and took orders from him only.
The guards brought themselves to attention before Grigs reached
them.
“He’s been waiting for you. I need to search you for weapons.” Said one of the guards, stepping forward. Grigs put his arms up and let the guard do a pat down. He had trusted Caleb and did not bring any weapons with him at all, just the pouch containing the parchments that he was to turn over.
“Wait with him.” The guard said, looking at his companion. He entered the room and came back a moment later. He held the door for Grigs and tilted his head giving him permission to enter.
The room was dark, lit by only a few candles, of which most were centered on a crowded desk. There was an empty table in the room, a stark contrast to the cluttered but organized shelves that lined every wall. A chair was at the desk, to Grigs it looked like nightswood, but in this light it could have also been cherry. Both woods were known to be favorites of wizards, as both could channel the power that came from the Elisphere, and a large black fireplace which appeared to have a mantle of the same wood the chair was made from.
The guard continued to stand at the door, watching Grigs intently.
“He is here, my lord.” The guard announced. There was the scraping of a chair being pushed back in the adjacent room, followed by a voice.
“I will handle him from here. Leave us and wait for my orders.” The guard turned and left the room, shutting the heavy door behind him. Grigs was left standing alone in the center of the room. It felt colder in here than it had in the rest of the castle. He began rubbing at his arms trying to warm himself, and started pacing the floor.
Grigs heard a whisper behind him and suddenly the once dark fireplace blazed to life with a roaring fire. The room was instantly illuminated and Grigs saw the person he was sent to meet standing in a doorway.
His first thought was that he was tall, at least six feet, and pale, a result of hiding during the day if the rumors were true. He was wearing a black robe of what looked like velvet, belted at the waist, with a hood attached that was lowered, revealing his head. His eyes were dark enough so that Grigs could not discern a pupil in them, and matched his equally dark hair which was long enough to hang down and frame his thin face.
“Do you have it?” The wizard asked with a look of growing irritation on his face.
“Ye…Y...Yes,” Grigs stammered, reaching inside his pouch to pull out a handful of rolled parchments. Corin walked towards him with his hand out, Grigs passed the scrolls over and walked over to the table with him.
The wizard untied the parchments and rolled them out on the table. There were three maps, each one showing a different area of the kingdom with carefully drawn circles and arrows showing the camps and movements of the rebellion over the past year. It was the third map which drew his interest the most. This map showed the castle and the surrounding area, with a large circle drawn in an area just under two miles from the Kings Gate.
“Th...This is where they are tonight. Th...They’ll be here for two weeks. Hiding as a carnival. All the leaders have been called, Jor…Jornis wants to win this within the month’s end.” Grigs had practiced there words religiously with Caleb. With him he was able to deliver them flawlessly and felt confident with the tutelage that had provided him. Now his mouth was dry and he felt the wizards’ eyes boring holes into him, as if he was looking into his soul. Grigs tried to keep himself from panicking, and as he felt his control slipping the wizard shifted his gaze and stood straight.
“Good” he said as he rolled up the parchments in front of him. The squat man fidgeted nervously, going from foot to foot as if something pained him. Corin didn’t blame him, nervousness was the least of what he had seen when people were in his presence.
“Tell the guards outside to muster the Captains. I want them mounted and ready within the hour. If they’re this close then we’ll grab them while they sleep and have them in the dungeons before dawn rises.” He took the maps and fitted them into an inner pocket of his robes. Taking out a tied leather bag, he tossed it to Grigs. Grigs stood there looking at the sac which must have held at least one hundred gold pieces. “I meant now unless you’d like to join them.” He gazed at Grigs and he quickly left the room.
Spies he thought. He had good reason not to trust anyone who would throw away their loyalty for a few shiny coins, but if this information was correct the whole rebellion could be put down in a matter of hours. It was much too tempting to ignore, despite where it had come from.
He set about putting a few last things in order, then he took down his wolf-hide cape and clasped it around his shoulders. He wanted to be at the stables and mounted when the Captains had finished kicking their nearly useless recruits out of sleep. Most of the seasoned troops had been sent to the front when it looked like the rebels were going to take the King’s Bridge. It had been put down in the end, but not without the steep price of well-trained blood.
The guards were gone by the time he left his chambers. He set a brisk pace down the corridor. Being this close to the dungeons meant that he would need to move quickly if he hoped to get ahead of the Captains. He was almost gleeful knowing that tonight may be the end of fifteen years of hard work. A part of him was scolding himself that he should be so optimistic with what could be shoddy information, but it was still satisfying that his plan was so close to completion.
The King has been made useless, and once the rebellion is destroyed nothing will be left to hinder the final piece. The thought made him grin wildly and his steps quickened.
After five minutes he reached the outer rooms of the barracks wing. He was expecting to hear the sleepy grumbles of soldiers hastily putting on armor and a Captain or two yelling at them about how sorry they felt for their mothers having borne such impotent slobs, but instead he was met with silence. He slowed and attuned his hearing.
The arrow behind him was in flames midair before he even turned around to see it. In the dying light of the now incinerated projectile, he saw the would-be assassin running and take a swift right through an adjacent door.
“Of course” he sighed. Knowing nearly every passage in the castle meant that he knew that archer had just put himself in a storage room with only one entrance. He sprinted towards it, the glow of his magic beginning to form in an aura around him. The door knob glowed bright red for a split second then the door flew inward. The terrified archer huddled in the corner trying to make himself one with the bag of grain behind him. The wizard walked forward slowly, smiling more than ever now and chuckled softly.
“You’ll die of fright just being near me. Was Grigs careless enough to think an arrow would kill me? I’m almost insulted.” He squatted down in front of the cutthroat and reached out to place a fingertip on his forehead.
“Corin!” A voiced boomed behind him. His head turned in an instant to see at least a dozen men coming through the door of the storeroom. He did not immediately see who the speaker was, but he now understood what the plan had been. “Surround him! He must be taken alive!” the voice continued.
The men that now crowded in on him were all wearing hard leathers like the wood fighters that had joined the rebels last year. Most of them carried long blades, bigger than a dagger but quicker and more maneuverable than a short sword making them perfect for close quarters. One or two carried crossbows, which were probably acquired from dead King soldiers.
“Is this all the men you brought?” Corin asked the still hidden commander. He could feel the fire beginning to form in his left hand. He would probably suffer a burn or two from it also due to the enclosed space, but it would easily melt the flesh off of every person in the storeroom.
“Don’t try it wizard,” the voice made his way through the rebels to stand in front of Corin.
He held something in his hand and as he approached, the wizard felt the magic that had started to gather begin to ebb. He was a tall man, broad of shoulder but thin and very agile looking. Corin recognized him at once.
Jornis was the leader of the rebels. He was the one that threw the first rock at the Kings Grain carriage that had started the rebellion. They had taken that wagon, and with it the resolve of the small group he had started with had swelled into a tidal wave, bringing villages and rabble alike to their cause of overthrowing an unfair monarch and replacing it with the pipe dream of elected rule.
It was him who Corin was supposed to be obliterating this night. Him, and his inner circle. He now realized that the rebels had not gathered to make their final plans, they had gathered for him, and he had fallen for it. Jornis may have been walking these very halls for the last three months and it was likely that he never would have noticed. Hiding in plain sight had become a specialty of Jornis’s. A damned annoying one from the wizards’ point of
view.
“So am I invited to your festivities after all? I was about to join you if you had given me a few moments.” He chuckled lightly. Jornis still had his hand clasped on something, and Corin was chronically aware the closer he got, the more drained he was starting to feel.
“Oh yes, you’ve been invited. Not quite in the way you wanted to make your entrance, but I’m sure we can come up with something that would suit a man of your stature.” Jornis moved even closer and started raising his hand.
“Hold him!” he shouted to the men. They apprehensively moved toward the wizard.
“Step no closer,” the wizard warned. Before he could continue with his threat Jornis raised his hand to reveal a large glowing crystal. Corin tried moving and found himself transfixed by it. Any attempt at movement was futile, as was any of his magic. He tried to speak and the words in his mind became disjointed.
The men who only a moment ago hesitated, were now grabbing him by the arms and shoulders.
“Tie him and carry him to the wagon. This will keep him for an hour or so but he needs to be contained before the effects wear off. Be quick men!” The soldiers set about tying him up and began carrying him out to the rest of the men who had been waiting. Jornis carefully walked in front of them, making sure the crystal was no more than six inches from Corin’s face at all times. When they got him into the wagon, Jornis touched the crystal to Corin’s forehead, and the wizard collapsed.