‘Even if I killed him, the true leader would simply place another pawn into power. Let us go. I’m sure you have much of the information you need about their defences. You can organise your rebellion at your leisure.’ He glanced towards the empty balcony above them, as if in expectation that something might appear at any moment.
‘We will not leave!’ Phoenix hissed, before restraining her voice. ‘We came here to kill that tyrant, and we will! This is our best chance. He is only beyond the entry hall. We can reach him quickly and easily if we act now! Our losses will be slight.’
‘Very well,’ Samuel said. ‘If that is what you wish. I am leaving. You can stay and do as you please.’
A groan of steel was the only warning as the thick doors that led to the throne room clanged shut. The main door followed, sealing them in with a resounding boom. Orrell’s men drew their swords instinctively.
‘Well,’ Samuel said. ‘It looks like someone has indeed chosen poorly, deciding to test my threats. Very well.’ He eyed Phoenix squarely. ‘It looks like you will have your chance to kill Pradmet, should you live through this.’
A shuffling sounded from above them as Eudan soldiers rushed out to line the balcony along all four walls of the room. Each carried a loaded crossbow—each bolt capable of punching through the stoutest of armour at such short range—and they pointed their weapons menacingly. There was little delay. A command was called and the crossbowmen opened fire.
Leopold could not follow what happened next. He heard the clatter of mechanisms releasing and, immediately after, a rapid series of thuds. Remarkably, wonderfully, he did not die.
He swallowed twice, collecting himself enough to realise he was still alive. His mind rolled back, feverishly shoving events into correct order, witnessing the missiles launching, turning aside in mid-air and burying themselves into the walls.
Feathered shafts protruded from the stonework like dark hairs. Chunks of bleached mortar had sprayed out and now littered the floor around their feet.
Leopold felt panic overcoming him, but everyone else remained calm. Jessicah watched anxiously, straining at her bonds, while Leopold was still trying to determine if he had any bolts protruding from him.
The crossbowmen now ducked behind cover to re-tension their weapons, quickly replaced by swordsmen. They climbed over the side barrier and dropped from the balcony, landing heavily on the lower floor. Orrell’s men did not waste time watching, as did Leopold, and darted in and killed as many as they could before the Eudans raised their swords. Many were slain, but more kept coming, emerging from hidden doorways around the balcony and dropping wherever they saw opportunity. Steel rang on steel and Eudans wailed.
The party was forced to gather in the centre of the room. They had no wall to put at their backs, such was the intention of the room.
Leopold readied his father’s blade and took an unsure step, but Lord Samuel’s hand held him firmly by the back of his shirt.
‘Stand still,’ the magician told him.
One of the crossbowmen opened fire and a bolt hammered down beside Leopold’s foot. Leopold passed Samuel a wild and questioning expression, for another step forward and he would have been killed; but the magician was stone-faced, busy watching the battle unfold.
‘Watch out!’ Leopold warned, for Orrell’s elite had been drawn to one side of the chamber. The women, tied and bound, were unprotected, Eudans dropping beside them. He tried to rush to their aid, but again the magician’s grip remained firm.
He could only watch as the Eudans closed in upon the helpless women, yelling with bloodlust and raising their square-ended blades. He thought it would be their end, that he would be forced to witness them hacked to death. He struggled and wailed, pointing out the threat that everyone else was ignoring.
The Koian women, however, were far from helpless and far from unprepared. As the Eudan blades descended, the women snapped their bonds with a single flick of each of their wrists, simultaneously, as if prompted by some invisible signal. Leopold was sure the rope had been sound and the knots tight—he had tested them himself. It did not seem possible they could break free so easily. Only Jessicah and Lady Wind were left standing flat-footed, with Jessicah staring at the frayed rope dangling from her wrists, sharing Leopold’s surprise. Lady Wind was calm, observing with satisfaction.
The eight young Koian women exploded from their bindings, leaping into the faces of the Eudans and striking them with their bare hands. They were incredible, lightning released from a bottle, and they commenced felling Eudan swordsmen with bone-shattering fury. Fear blossomed across the Eudans’ faces as they realised what had been unleashed.
‘They are Koian warriors from the mountains, Leopold,’ the magician explained, responding to the young Emperor’s hanging jaw. ‘They do not need any help from us. They can protect themselves and Jessicah and Lady Wind, and probably Captain Orrell and his men, too, if need be. You just have to worry about staying with me and keeping out of trouble. Don’t go swinging that sword around and taking your eye out. I am too busy to mother you, so stay close.’
Crossbow bolts continued to fly, accompanied by the sudden clank of the weapons that launched them. Each missile struck an invisible barrier before it could near, spinning end-over-end to the ground. The room was full of shouts and the blare of battle, the screams of agony as swords entered flesh. Only the Koian women fought quietly, only the sound of their breath moving in and out, gliding like dancers amongst the chaos, ducking and turning effortlessly amidst the fray, letting each man they touched drop to the floor as if swooning from their beauty.
The air in the room, hot already, filled with the heat and smells of battle. The stench of something vile wafted from the grating above them, and Leopold half-expected boiling oil to rain down. Samuel also looked up, and a clatter sounded from out of sight, followed by screams. The magician lowered his gaze once again, without hurry, and that seemed to end the prospect of that.
‘Why don’t you just kill them all?’ Leopold asked, aghast as the carnage waged on. ‘What are you waiting for?’
‘There is more happening here than you can judge with your dim-witted eyes, Leopold,’ the magician replied. ‘Their sorcerers attack and I am doing my best to keep them busy while stopping us from being boiled or skewed or slain in a dozen different ways. I am also hoping to draw out whoever is in command. I would like to see you try to do ten things at once, Leopold, perhaps even one thing properly. Now stop nattering so I can concentrate.’
There was a metallic ringing of steel as the last Eudan amongst them dropped his butt-ended sword and slumped dead to the floor. The Eudans ceased sending down more men, granting them some respite.
Perhaps thirty of the dark-skinned men lay dead, covering the floor, while only one of Orrell’s men was injured, nursing a gash on his sword arm.
‘Amateurs!’ Captain Orrell declared, wet with sweat, blood sprayed across his face. He cleared his throat and spat on the floor.
‘Damn them!’ came a shout from above—the voice of Pradmet—and a flash of white cloth could be briefly seen as he escaped back out of view. ‘Kill them quickly! Kill the magician first!’
From the unseen doors at the ends of the balcony, more men appeared. This time they were unarmed, olive-skinned Koians. Leopold recognised three of them from the street, including the wild-eyed one. The rest looked nearly as mean, muscled and determined to commit violence. They leapt out far from the balcony—not dropping themselves gingerly like the Eudan men—and landed amongst the Koian women as light as feathers, readied for battle, as if vaulting down from such a height was child’s play.
The Koian women put their backs to each other with Lady Wind and Jessicah at their middle, and they held their fists readied, their knuckles white, their faces fierce and defiant.
Leopold shuddered to think he may have insulted the women earlier and ended up like one of these Eudans broken on the floor. He had probably escaped quite lightly with only the bruising to his ego. No
wonder they found his swordsmanship laughable.
For an instant, the Koian warrior men and younger women faced off against each other. Then, together, they leapt into motion.
The men stepped in and the women met them. Their hands danced circles around each other, and their feet slid smoothly, making ovals and lines gracefully upon the stones. It seemed unreasonable they were fighting, for at first no blows were struck. There was no contact at all as they measured each other, inching closer towards contact with each attempt. The men made as little noise as the women, simply setting themselves to the task of battle as if it were of no great importance, fists striking like vipers.
The attacks became faster, stronger, creeping closer, and the graceful motions became interspersed with desperate ones as the intensity increased. Then, contact could be avoided no longer, and both sides parried and blocked, meeting each other’s flesh for the first time, slamming their arms and legs against each other to deflect incoming blows.
It had seemed frantic until that point, but now the battle became wilder; a blurred flurry of movement, unrestrained violence and intent to kill. Effort was plain on the faces of both sides. The men breathed heavily and the women grew ruddy in the cheeks.
That being said, the women were not at all outmatched by the men, despite their smaller frames. They skilfully turned every punch and kick aside with a palm or shin or forearm, diverting the blows with a minimum of effort. They struck back with equal fury, with fist and foot and elbow—indeed, every part of their bodies seemed like weapons, sometimes clawing or poking with their fingers or striking with their heads. Grunts of exertion accompanied each attack; from Phoenix especially, who flew like a storm, bellowing with exertion. Just the sight of her put fear into Leopold, but her noise was further disturbing.
She landed a solid blow to one of the men and the male warrior fell back with a torrent of blood jetting from between his lips. He choked and clutched at his chest, before collapsing backwards onto the floor. She took no time to gloat in her victory and joined one of her colleagues who was failing.
‘These women are impressive,’ Samuel said, taking a moment to admire the display. ‘They obviously did not lose their edge while on the island. The men, however, seemed to have grown soft from the spoils of their new masters. None of them are even close to the league of Horse. I must say I am disappointed.’
Leopold was about to ask Who is this Horse? when one of the women, Arrow, gave a broken shriek and fell to the floor with her neck at an obscene angle. The others fought on, taking note of her fate and continuing without hesitation, showing no distress from her death. Leopold was aghast at the sight, but there was nothing he could do. His father’s sword, still in his hand, may have well as been a feather duster for all he could do with it.
One of Orrell’s men spied a male Koian warrior within reach, and took a swipe at his back. The Koian slapped the man’s sword out of his hand and returned it into his chest in one uninterrupted movement, never pausing from his assault upon the women. The Turian fell to the floor, gasping and spouting blood from the wound.
Captain Orrell ducked beside him, but could not stem the flow. The soldier gasped his last breath and was still.
Another Koian male slammed his fist into the forearm of a woman and she staggered away clutching the limb, unable to move her fingers. In that instant, the male took advantage of the break in the defence and covered the distance from there to Leopold in the blink of an eye. The wind from his fist blew in Leopold’s face, but the Koian warrior fell dead at his feet, the front of his throat crushed inwards. Samuel had shoved his fingers into the man’s neck, abruptly ending the threat.
The magician could move blindingly fast when required, somehow shifting from place to place without effort. Once again, why he did not do more to help with the battle, Leopold could not guess, but it was that same moment when the magician read his thoughts and proved him wrong.
Samuel shot his splayed hand up towards the balcony and ‘Damn you, pests! Begone! I’m sick of you!’ he bellowed.
The crossbowmen wailed as their weapons exploded in their hands. Those that were visible fell behind the balcony wall. Others hidden beside them shrieked with pain. Whatever happened, the men were not seen again.
It looked like the battle was fairly evenly matched, even outnumbered as Leopold’s party were, but more dark-skinned figures now appeared on the balcony—bald and sashed with bands at their wrists.
‘Sorcerers!’ Leopold exclaimed.
The men held their palms outstretched with fingers opened wide. Amber streaks of power emanated, but all such spells turned aside.
‘Is that you?’ Leopold asked.
Samuel nodded. ‘Yes. These men are intriguing. See? They act almost as one. Their timing is impeccable. It strikes me as strange considering how poorly trained their soldiers are. Their teacher is uncompromising; much better than whoever trains their troops.’
The sorcerers gestured with their hands in unison, casting more spells.
‘Now they seek to bind us,’ Samuel said. ‘The same spell from all of them.’
‘How long can you protect us?’ Leopold asked.
‘All day, given their paltry skills,’ he said, ‘but we should leave this infernal room and get some space around us. I’m growing tired of this. I want to draw out their leader, not play with these underlings.’
It was then that steaming bags dropped onto the floor, thrown from behind the cover above. Pungent yellow smoke issued from the sacks, pouring through the coarse material.
‘Scour spice,’ Samuel said, taking a sniff, ‘and hogwurt. And something else.’
‘What’s that?’ Leopold asked with concern.
‘Sleeping agents. Vapours to overcome us and weaken my magic. Cover your nose.’
Several of the bags flew back up and into the balconies as Samuel gestured at them, but more and more of the things plopped down around them, several at a time. The vents and grates issued the same foul stench.
‘Damn them!’ Samuel said. ‘They have not been as idle as I presumed. They were ready for just such an event, plotting against Cang’s return.’
Orrell and his men were already down, collapsing within moments of inhaling the gas. Jessicah and Lady Wind were also limp upon the floor, overcome by the fumes. The Koian warriors from both sides were fighting at a fraction of their speed, staggering as they struggled against the effects of the vapour. Soon, they too would fall victim to the gas.
Leopold felt his legs turning to jelly beneath him, but then Samuel’s hand wafted before his face and his senses cleared. He slid his sword into its sheath before his fingers grew too numb to hold it.
‘Magician!’ called one of the sorcerers. ‘You have lost. Concede defeat.’
No sooner said, the man flew up into the roof, rolling over the balcony and tumbling to the ground, broken and limp as a discarded doll.
‘That will do you no good,’ called another sorcerer. ‘You will succumb to the gases eventually. You waste your precious time to escape, playing your games and hoping to sate your curiosity. Abandon your friends and flee!’
Lord Samuel looked to his left and right, and both doors blew open as if fleeing from his scathing glance, but it did little to thin the air. The gas clung to the floor stubbornly, refusing to move.
‘You cannot escape,’ the sorcerer added and then he, too, flew into the roof and was dead.
Still, there were plenty more of them in the room and the heavy vapour pouring from the sacks was slow in reaching their height. It stuck to the floor and hugged against the walls, crawling up anything it touched, a creeping yellow mist.
‘Let us go,’ Samuel said. ‘This is growing wearisome.’
‘We can’t,’ Leopold told him. ‘They have everyone. We can’t leave them.’
Samuel looked to the sleeping figures. ‘Damn them twice! They continue their spells to wear me down.’
He raised one finger and that was enough to release a savage spell. A
ring of violence circled the balcony. The stone pillars cracked and vomited rubble as the line of power raced along them. The sorcerers were cleft in two, bright blood painting the pale walls: twenty sorcerers dead in the blink of an eye.
Eudan soldiers poured in through the broken doorways, their noses and mouths covered with moist strips of cloth. They charged at Samuel and Leopold, shouting battle cries with spears poised. They fell by the score as Samuel looked towards them, left and right in turn, but even more poured in.
‘Samuel!’ Leopold called fearfully.
‘Don’t worry. I can take as many men as they have to throw at us.’
And true enough, the bodies piled up in the doorways, but more Eudan soldiers clambered in and over their comrades to get at Samuel—a seemingly unending tide.
‘Oh, not more!’ Samuel sighed, for more sorcerers had already replaced the dead ones on the balcony above, nearly as numerous as the soldiers below.
The spearmen could no longer get in the door, so high was the pile of bodies, but the ones behind pushed until the piles fell and still they scrambled through.
A bead of sweat was creeping down the magician’s cheek and it gave Leopold cause for worry.
‘I need to clear this air,’ the magician declared. He looked to the wall behind him and half of it exploded outwards. Behind it was another wall, which also broke open, then another and another in rapid succession until daylight was visible across the grounds and through a dozen rooms and buildings. ‘Leopold, bring her closer to me.’
‘Who?’ the reluctant Emperor asked.
‘Jessicah, of course!’ the magician roared with little patience. ‘I cannot leave without her.’
Leopold did as he was told, presuming Samuel had a plan, and he dragged the sleeping woman over and laid her by his feet. All the while, he heard strange whizzing sounds as if invisible things were flying past his ears.
‘That’s enough,’ Samuel declared. ‘Stand close. Let’s go,’ he said. ‘We will return to the ship and come back for the others later.’
‘But we can’t leave them!’ Leopold objected.
The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3) Page 32
