La Morte di Råiden (Collab: Part VII)

[W Navarre]

Previously...

Unfortunately time ran out, and this grand episode has yet to come to life. But I have a good feeling about getting it built next month for Brickscaliber! You'll see it then!

 

The Tiger of Illaryian: Part VII

[...scene yet to be built...]

 

“Arama, Prince Råiden, we are betrayed! Ci hanno tradito!” Ilazio threw himself into the arms of his fellow conspirators. “They found your little nephew, Arama!”

It was the evening of the third day. 

“Of course…” Arama De Cioto said uncertainly. 

“They found the child in La Villa Moccenigo!” Ilazio threw himself back against the wall of a house, a chill passing through his frame, as he said words the meaning of which had scarcely even sunk in for him yet. 

Råiden stared at Arama, and she stared back at him, consternation and horror written on each of their faces. 

“Impossibile!” cried Arama, looking around her in fear. “But Råiden, isn’t the Rego dead? How could he still be vivo, with the amulet found in his possession by the Kolgari, whose rule is death to any who moves it even an inch out of suo posto?”

“The Rego? It was your own famiglia that discovered him, Arama. But now, la Guardia Reale is searching for me! I, Ilazio Moccenigo, have been blamed! How could il ragazzo be found in our Villa, in our own house?” Ilazio flung out the words with loathing. “Our agenti were all ready to spread the certain word of the Rego’s malvagio furto among the populace, we only waited for a single message.” Ilazio turned on Råiden furiously. “Is Luca di Carli, il maledetto, dead, Råiden? Dead or not!”

They were walking quickly out across a bridge now. Prince Råiden grabbed the balustrade in his hands, fiercely smashing them against it. “Arama, Ilazio, I cannot tell! Lord Círdan has not spoken to me! As he ought to have…” Råiden finished with a sick feeling in his stomach. 

“There still is,” Ilazio muttered gloomily, a horrible anger in his eyes, “one sure way to find out.”

“But che?” Arama asked. “What does this all mean?” 

She put her hand on Råiden’s arm as he was about to thrust it down into his pocket. 

“Nothing has gone our way,” Råiden slowly answered. “The Rego has escaped completely free so far.” 

“By what treachery?” cried Arama passionately. “How can the Rego be condannato now? Nothing has gone dovunque! No one is angry with the Rego.” 

“No one?” Ilazio’s face turned white and his hand slowly closed and opened around the handle of a cold, metal knife. “Anche se nessuno è arrabbiato, he must morire. I will get him before he gets me,” Ilazio said between his teeth. “And nothing starà sulla mia strada. Only it must be done mysteriously. And so it shall be,” he hissed. 

Without another word he sped off through the winding streets of Illaryian, a carved golden dagger trailing in his left hand. 

“He’s heading for la Tigre di Illaryian,” breathed Arama. But he must change those Moccenigo clothes first, she thought, watching him disappear around a corner with her eyes wide. This was not just what she had planned. She wanted to stay with Råiden a little bit longer! It would be kind… but would it be safe?

“He’s going to kill di Carli,” responded Råiden pensively.

“But Råiden, how come he is not dead yet?”

“I don’t know, non lo so, Arama!” cried the Kolgari, staring down into the water beneath with piercing eyes. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and Arama did not stop him now. 

The girl watched him nervously, looking back and forth between The Tiger leaning over the bridge in front of her and the distant silhouette of the great tiger pouncing upon thin air. She could barely wait any longer!

Suddenly Prince Råiden looked at her with a puzzled air. He pulled his left hand out of his pocket, and the healing amulet was there! 

It was the copy that Arama had slipped into his pocket only moments before, but it was impossible to tell the difference, for her cousin Raimonde De Cioto was a brilliant goldworker and had enlaced it to perfection. 

Arama’s jaw dropped. 

Råiden let go of the amulet so that it slipped right back down into his pocket. 

“Arama,” he said, blanching, “it’s here!” He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. 

Amara looked up at him with fear dawning on her face. She had already seen three figures dressed in black out of the corner of her eyes, watching them from the other side of the bridge. One was Falco De Fiori, another was Susto De Fiori, and the third was Lord Círdan. For an instant she thought that they might kill her too. 

“Che? Oh Råiden, what did you do!” Arama cried in distress. 

He put his hand on her arm. She started at the cold touch. 

“Arama,” he said in a suddenly steady voice, “go!”

And she knew that he had seen them too. 

But before she could obey, which she wasn’t going to do, Susto flew up over the bridge and Falco threw himself on top of Råiden, trying to wrench the amulet out of his pocket. 

Lord Círdan just stood motionless at a distance, and as Arama screamed in real fear and panic he slowly raised an ancient blowpipe to his lips. Arama knew what it was, for it was a blowdart that had nearly killed her when Råiden saved her life that day in the Sunken City. But now she couldn’t save Råiden, even if she wanted to! 

With a fierce yell Lord Círdan sent the deadly poison blowdart flying towards Råiden’s heart. Arama jumped forward with a cry and caught The Tiger in her arms as he stumbled to the ground without a cry. 

Susto and Falco stepped back, nodding approvingly at the elven way of assassinating.

“Arama!” muttered Råiden faintly. 

Arama blushed at her name and tears sprang into her eyes as she threw herself down by the Kolgari’s side, setting his head gently upon her knee.

“Råiden,” she whispered softly, with a sad smile on her lips. “Perché, Råiden?”

“Perchè è questo?” a harsh voice behind them suddenly thrilled her to her veins. “Thou hast perjured thyself with a fraud, Prince Råiden Tígrisdýrið?” Lord Círdan tore his cloak apart, dashing the golden copy of the amulet to the ground. The necklace tinkled down upon the flagstones. “This is not the true amulet! Where hast thou laid it?” the Kolgari Lord demanded of the dying man, viciously shaking his dark red jerkin. “Search the girl!” he cried.

“I stole it!” hissed Råiden. “I hid it! Only I!” Suddenly the Prince seemed to grow delirious. “I am… The Tiger!” he whispered. 

Lord Círdan looked at him reverently, waving off the assassins as they reached towards Arama as he had commanded. 

“The Untameable Tiger…” said Råiden, breathing in one last deep breath as his spirit fled out of him. “La ragazza didn’t do anything,” Råiden murmured with an effort, and Círdan bent down to hear the words. “She didn’t even know.”

The Kolgari Lord nodded and made the sign of three claws upon his heart. But then he shook Råiden violently again, “But where is it?” he cried. “Where have you laid it, O Tiger!”

Lord Círdan smashed his foot against the flagstones of the bridge and stood up. The dauntless Tiger was not going to tell him. They must honour his choice, justified in blood. He motioned to Susto and Falco De Fiori with a wave of his hand, wrapped his dark green cloak about him, and rushed quickly away.

“You have tamed The Tiger,” he murmured, as he hurried out of sight. 

“I didn’t know?” Arama half asked and half said, looking down kindly into Råiden’s blurry eyes. 

Råiden smiled. “You only knew how to be good,” he said, and then he closed his eyes and died.

Arama closed her eyes too, and one tear slipped down into the water as she stood up and looked over the side of the bridge.

“You were a noble soul,” she said. “And I am glad that you never knew that I was not…”   

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