He paced thoughtfully up and down the room. He had dismissed his advisers and aides. He wanted to be left alone. The news brought to him by the messenger had disturbed him. He stopped in front of the row of large windows that overlooked the back of the castle and reread the bishop's letter. His life was ultimately in greater danger than he thought. And not just his. Now suddenly everything fit. What he thought were mere coincidences. The stranger who a few days ago broke into the castle and wounded two guards, the poisoned food and the disappearance of the cook's assistant, the two excessively husky monks who appeared out of nowhere before losing track of them after the fight in a town tavern. And now the news of the bishop's poisoning and his deteriorating health. They all stood for one thing. Someone was trying to exterminate him. Someone wanted his throne. And he was ruthless. All these incidents that had frightened him so much in the previous days were mere warnings. Someone was preparing a major blow against him. And the people who were next to him were in danger along with him. Who supported him. The poisoning of the bishop proved it. And he waited, like a mouse in the lens, locked in his castle, helpless, for the final blow. This fearless warrior, whose prowess was celebrated throughout his kingdom, now feared even his own shadow. He had a month to get out of his castle. He went nowhere without his guard, six chosen men, the best knights he had in his kingdom. He slept alone, apart from his wife, he didn't trust anyone. But now he had to come out of his shell. The bishop's letter was clear. She had to go find him. He was very ill, and what he had to tell him could not wait. And he had to hurry. Otherwise it might have been too late. For all.
He mounted his horse, haughty as when he led his army into battle. Around him, his six armored bodyguards looked at him in awe. He was their king, they had sworn to serve him. They would give their lives for him. And now they had to accompany him on a journey that seemed uncertain and dangerous. The king made the decision to go see the bishop. They would gallop day and night. They would stop only for absolute necessity and always in the wilderness. It would take them less than two days. The king hoped at the end of this journey he would find the answers he was looking for…
…
He only had one chance and he knew it. He had to be sure. He had to complete his mission. She was standing with her back against the stone wall of the belfry. At any moment the gate in front of him would open and seven horsemen would pour out into the streets of the city. He had a chance. He had to succeed. He closed his eyes and listened. Only a few moments passed that seemed like centuries to him. He heard as if in a dream the heavy gate open and the hoofs of horses fill his hearing. He took a deep breath and turned to aim. He followed the procession with his eyes. They were all dressed exactly the same and wore helmets with no insignia. For a moment he lost it. He regained his composure quickly and gathered himself. He was prepared for this. After all, he was the best. He was looking for the details. He was looking for differences. The procession reached him. In a few seconds she would pass him. He had no more time. Suddenly his gaze lit up. He marked the second rider and pulled the trigger. An arrow sped away and lodged in the horseman's neck. He jerked sharply pulling the reins of his horse which rose to its two legs throwing its rider with force to the ground. The rest of the animals stopped in fright with the knights pale and full of terror looking up at the roofs of the houses. A beggar pointed to the top of the bell tower.
He was sitting again with his back against the stone wall. Breathe quickly. He could hear the commotion just a few feet below his feet. He smiled. He had achieved his purpose. He was the best. He expected the king to be very careful. But he could not part with his horse. The "Marked Horse". He remembered word for word the story "he" had told him. In a battle some years ago the king was very seriously wounded. He almost died. His horse saved him, carrying him away from the battle. The spear that wounded the king had left a large mark on his horse's head, cutting off one of its ears. The king never rode another horse after that. And this detail betrayed him.
Heavy footsteps could be heard on the wooden stairs. They had found him.
…
The two knights fell with all their weight on the wooden door. They broke it and went out onto the platform, at the highest point of the bell tower. They saw a tall man sitting with his back to the wall. He wore a black woolen cloak, with a wide hood. A large scar ran down his left cheek to his jaw. He had a dagger stuck in his chest. A small chessboard was open beside him. The pieces were placed in a position probably taken from some batch. On the d5 square there was a pawn that threatened the black king. The king was checkmate.