CHAPTER 11

AND THEN THERE WAS ONE

For the third and final time, Sraldifari of the Oligarchy walked the path to the Tower.

As Sraldifari reached the massive, stone edifice, he noticed that the door was open. And he was the only one who had the keys.

Sraldifari stared at the mysteriously open door, and then shaking his head grimly, he went inside. The Tower was silent as ever and there was a strangely barren feel to it tonight. The veteran Oligarch calmly walked up the spiral stairway, his stony face bearing no signs of fear or worry.

The door of the Council room was open, and every lamp in the room was lit. Sraldifari stepped inside, and looked around warily. The room was empty, but on the table were two filled glasses of wine.

Sraldifari frowned and walked to where the glasses were kept. At that moment there was a soft noise from the corner of the room, and Thrymheim stepped out of the shadows. He walked forward until he was at the other end of the table, and then he and Sraldifari locked eyes.

The veteran Oligarch broke the silence. "When was the last time a single Emperor ruled Mullinor, without question or dissent?"

Thrymheim replied quietly. "That has not happened since the days of Yore in the Second Aeon. The name of the Emperor escapes me, but he ascended to the throne on the blood of the Council of Six."

"Indeed," Sraldifari nodded. "How did he die?"

"He was poisoned with a glass of red wine."

Sraldifari stared bleakly at the two glasses on the table. "You do not need to tell me what you've done with Hefring."

"What?"
"You know what I mean."

A pregnant silence fell between them. "Would you please be more lucid, Sraldifari?" said Thrymheim.

Sraldifari sighed. "Oh do stop beating about the bush, Thrymheim."

"I still don't understand you!" Thrymheim snapped impatiently.

"Very well," replied Sraldifari. "Since you insist on playing ignorant, I will say it for you. You are the murderer, Thrymheim. You have been the murderer all along."

Thrymheim stood still, unmoving.

"You killed each of them. You killed Skinfaxi and hid his body somewhere in the dungeons. You have just killed Hefring. Did you really think you could keep yourself from being found out?"

Still Thrymheim was silent, and Sraldifari went on relentlessly. "Did you really think you could fool me… me? I saw through you alright, young Thrymheim. I knew from the first that you were the murderer."
Now Thrymheim came to life. "If you knew all that," he said. "Why did you not expose me before?"
"Because you very kindly got rid of all those blithering idiots for me," Sraldifari finished with a smile of satisfaction.

Now Thrymheim said in a dangerous voice. "And if I am the murderer, I can kill you right now. What do you have to say to that?"

"My answer to you, young Thrymheim, is that I am not such a colossal old fool as I appear to be to you. Not only am I armed, but I have secretly bought two of my bodyguards along. They are waiting outside the door. The slightest sound from me, and they will force their way in. In fact, I have half a mind to kill you right now and end the matter right here. What do you have to say to that?"
"You would kill your own pupil?"

A thin film descended over Sraldifari's eyes. "The pupil I once knew is dead to me. I will have no compunction about killing you."

"Try it!" retorted Thrymheim. "I am no fool myself. Not only am I armed too, but I have my own retinue outside the other door.

For a time, they stood, looking daggers at each other. Then Thrymheim shrugged. "Forget it. After all, you are still my teacher. Let us have a drink."

Sraldifari chuckled softly. "So you want us to have a drink?"
Thrymheim looked straight at him. "I do."

"Very well. We shall drink. Let us take our seats."
They both sat, facing each other across the table. "As a token of our friendship," said Sraldifari, "Let us exchange our glasses before we drink."

"As you wish," said Thrymheim.

They duly exchanged their glasses, but as Thrymheim was raising his to his lips, Sraldifari called out sharply, "Stop!"

Thrymheim put down his glass. "Now what?"
"I think I liked the design of my glass better," said Sraldifari. "Give it back to me."

Without a word, Thrymheim handed back the glass, but Sraldifari did not touch it. "Will you not drink?"

"Not yet," replied Sraldifari. "You see, friendship runs much deeper than a mere carving on a glass. Let us exchange like we had."

Thrymheim shrugged. "I have no qualms about either glass, Sraldifari. But you remind me of a fox."
Sraldifari's brow darkened. "A fox?"

"A fox who tries so many tricks to hide her bushy tail that she ends up swallowing it," explained Thrymheim.

Sraldifari's coloured. "We are friends no more, Thrymheim. Return me my glass if you will."
Thrymheim was just handing it back when Sraldifari laughed joyously. "Once again, Thrymheim," he exclaimed, "Your face betrays you. Once, long ago, I counselled you to hide your emotions however strong and powerful they were. Obviously, you did not heed me."

"What do you mean?"

"I knew all along that you had poisoned one of the glasses. I only had to figure out which. And that smug expression on your face gave you away. You had planned a double-double cross, and put the poison in my glass. Well, now you can take it and drink it."

Once more the glasses were exchanged, and this time Thrymheim hesitated before picking up his glass.

"Drink!" thundered Sraldifari, and Thrymheim suddenly found a sword point at his throat.

"Drink it," said Sraldifari again, "Or you shall die in any case. The only difference is that drinking will save you unnecessary pain and me unnecessary explanations."

Thrymheim said nothing, but silently downed the wine. Sraldifari saw him and chuckled. Withdrawing the blade, he took a swig out of his own glass. "You are wise Thrymheim, but you tried to be wiser than your mind would allow you to be. Let this be a lesson to you- albeit a short one. Never try to outsmart an Emperor- for that is what I shall soon be…"

As Sraldifari trailed off, a look of horror suddenly came into his face. He spat out the wine, and put a hand to his throat, coughing.

Thrymheim saw him, and laughed loud and long.

"You outsmarted yourself, Sraldifari," he said. "I had never thought beyond an ordinary double-cross. The poison was in your glass all the time. You really are a fox, old man."
Sraldifari stared at him, and Thrymheim continued speaking. "And you were wrong about everything, Sraldifari. You knew very well- as did I that it was you who killed the Four. You stabbed Unn, strangled Skinfaxi, threw Hrimfaxi from the stairs and drowned Hefring…" seeing Sraldifari's look of horror, he continued, "Yes, I happen to have read Intrigues and Plots of Old Mullinor too. Ingenious Sraldifari, but now the stories will not match. Your accusations seeking to unnerve me were futile- and fittingly, the last murder is done by me, Emperor-to-be. You were right- never try to deceive an Emperor, because…"

But at that moment, it was Thrymheim's face which shone horror-stricken. For now, it was he who had begun to cough, and the first warning signs were telling him that poison was in his system. "Wha… what…?"

"No, Thrymheim," said Sraldifari softly. "It is you who are wrong- about a great many things. Yes, I did kill all of them. And I pretended to be poisoned so that you could enjoy your brief victory. You see, young Thrymheim, I am sorry to say that you fell for the oldest trick in the book. While your face was turned, I switched the glasses."
Thrymheim sunk to his knees, the pallor of death coming into his face. Sraldifari continued speaking. "Hefring was the only clever one. He fled- and that is why, unlike you, he will see tomorrow's Sun."
Thrymheim glared at Sraldifari, pure hatred shining through his eyes, which were rapidly glazing. "You'll get yours, Sraldifari," he coughed. "You'll get yours… someday!"

"Indeed? And who will give it to me?" said Sraldifari. "You, returning from the grave? I do not believe in ghosts anymore."
"I… have something to say," Thrymheim croaked, his breathing sounding laboured. Sraldifari leaned down to him. "What?"

"I… have been… building…" but at that moment, Thrymheim pitched over and sank prone on the floor, his limbs twitching briefly before attaining rigid postures.

Sraldifari knelt over him, checking his pulse. It beat doggedly, but with rapidly increasing faintness.

"Guards!" he called, and four guards entered.

"I regret to say… that only one member of the Oligarchy now lives," said Sraldifari, his eyes cast to the ground. "Thrymheim," he pointed to the Oligarch's inert body, "Tried to poison me. But he mixed glasses, and as a result ended up poisoning himself. Take him away please… and send my counsellor Nadul to me."

Without a word, the guards carried Thrymheim out. Nadul, a short balding man with deep-set grey eyes in a high, domed forehead, entered the room. "Is it over?"

Sraldifari nodded. "Hefring is hiding somewhere, but I shall not bother about him. Announce it through all Mullinor that Sraldifari is now Emperor of the realm. At first light of dawn, I leave with the army for the Plains of Malfi. You shall rule as regent in my place."
Nadul bowed. "Your will shall be done." He turned and exited the room, leaving Sraldifari alone with his dreams of power, conquest and glory.