Arbuckle looked down the length of the Great Hall at the assembled peers of the realm. The nobles and courtiers were draped in a veritable rainbow of hues, the jewelry dangling from their ears, necks, and fingers enough wealth to finance several wars. The provincial dukes sat in their elevated balconies. He caught sight of the Twailin contingent. Duke Mir appeared uneasy, in stark contrast to the mage Woefler, who smiled and bobbed his head to the excited chattering of the duchess. All eyes were fixed on Arbuckle, but not all gleamed with the disdain he had come to expect from his nobility. Maybe, once he wore the crown and they saw the good he intended to do, some would actually look on him with love, or at least respect.
High Priestess Arranal of the temple of Eos All-Father, stepped to the fore of the high clerics. The last of the crowd’s murmurs withered beneath her incongruously deep-pitched voice as she recited the opening benediction. Her words recalled the glories of the empire past and extolled the promise of things to come. She might have been enumerating the ceiling tiles for all Arbuckle noticed. His gaze flicked here and there, always coming back to glimpse Duveau from the corner of his eye.
I must survive this day!
The mantra sounded hollow now, lost in the vast space of the Great Hall. Sweat trickled down his neck into the cowl of his mantle, and his stomach growled, soured by nothing but blackbrew and single-malt whiskey. Though attended by dozens of guards, Arbuckle had never felt so alone.
I’m not alone. Keyfur is with me.
“Why isn’t he doing something?” he whispered, trying not to move his mouth as he spoke.
“Patience, milord.” The whispered words hung in thin air inches from his ear. “If the moment does come, remember to touch no metal, nor any stone that’s not dwarf-wrought.”
Arbuckle waited, trembling with dread anticipation.
Arranal raised her hands, and her voice thundered in praise of her deity. “All Hail Eos! Father of All!” The very flagstones beneath their feet seemed to echo her blessing, trembling with divine power.
Or is it my knees shaking?
The crowd stood enthralled, their eyes gleaming and their mouths agape as they gazed upon the priestess. Their rapture turned to apprehension, then horror, when Arranal staggered, her face ashen, and the towering stained-glass windows behind them rattled in their casements.
Not my knees… Duveau!
Arbuckle couldn’t help it; he turned to look at Duveau, and his heart leapt to his throat. The archmage stood with one hand pressed against a great stone pillar, his eyes glazed over slate gray.
“Gods of Light protect us!” Arbuckle hissed. “You said he couldn’t bring the palace down!”
“He can’t, milord!” Keyfur insisted. “Perhaps he’s communicating with the bedrock beneath, but even Duveau can’t manipulate dwarf-wrought stonework.”
Keyfur’s assurance was less than comforting. Arbuckle’s mind screamed for him to flee, but his feet remained rooted. Don’t move! He had to trust Keyfur. If you move, you’re dead!
Keyfur’s airy whisper of a spell touched his ear, and a breeze cooled the prince’s neck. The air shimmered around him, muting the panicked exclamations of the crowd.
Don’t move!
Arbuckle gritted his teeth against his rising panic as the dais around him erupted into a storm of chaos and blood.
At the first fanfare, Mya realized that she’d made a grave tactical error.
“I should have worn higher heels!”
Amongst the tall lords and ladies, she couldn’t see the dais very well. She caught only glimpses of people moving, robed figures taking position before the dais, armored knights gleaming in their metal skins, the golden throne at the back of the platform reflecting the light of the lamps, and the glittering accoutrements of the ceremony awaiting use beside it.
“Which one’s Duveau?” she hissed to Lady T.
“The retinue is lining up to the left. He’s in the fore, wearing silver robes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he’d be on that side?” Mya cursed under her breath. This is what came from not casing a target properly. She was on the far side of the room from the wizard. How was she going to get through the crowd?
“How was I to know which side they’d be on?”
Mya and Lady T exchanged glares as a second peal of trumpets rang out, and more figures entered from the right hand corner of the room. Knights, guards, and among them, the crown prince, resplendent in full royal frippery. She rose on tiptoe and glimpsed a silver-clad figure on the far side of the dais.
Duveau… Why in the name of the gods didn’t the prince have him dismissed or arrested? Had he not believed her warning? Had he not made any preparations to safeguard against the wizard?
The prince’s entourage took station, and the emperor-to-be stepped up on the dais alone.
Either he didn’t believe my note, or he’s a complete idiot exposing himself like that.
Mya forced down her apprehension. She’d vowed only to intervene if the prince’s defenses proved inadequate, and the massed knights and Imperial Guard seemed like more than enough might to protect one man from one wizard. Still, he looked horribly exposed up there.
As the high priestess of Eos started her benediction, Mya tried to pick out a path to reach the archmage, just in case. If violence erupted, she would have to keep from being swept away with the panicked crowd. The pillar at her back served that purpose, but to reach Duveau, she’d have to get through the crowd and a mass of knights and guards quickly. That seemed impossible.
As the high priestess raised her arms and her voice, Mya felt the floor tremble beneath her feet. A murmur of worry swept through the crowd, people looking around for the source of the tremor.
This is it…
Every nerve in Mya’s body sang. Her hand itched to grab a spear from one of the guards and throw it through the traitorous wizard, but she knew that would be worse than useless. She’d never hit him from so far away, and the guards would think she was attacking the prince. She’d be cut down.
Bide… Wait for it… You’re the last resort, Mya. The prince isn’t a fool. He’ll be ready.
With a horrific screech, the golden throne, gilded accoutrements, and every bit of metal on or around the dais rose up like a bizarre living thing, twisting and forming into jagged implements of death.
“Holy…”
The crowd around her erupted in panic, their shrieks and screams rivaling that of the twisted metal that lanced inward from all directions at the seemingly unprotected prince. Rainbow light flared around the would-be sovereign, and a second man flickered into being before him, arms outstretched, colorful robes fluttering in a cyclone of wind. The storm of metal struck, and a scintillating sphere of light arced and flickered, deflecting the deadly onslaught.
Maybe he’s prepared after all…
Mya braced herself against the pillar at her back, thrusting aside panicked nobles and courtiers as they fled in terror. She caught a glimpse of the Imperial Retinue just as a massive plate of gold sheared through the line of wizards standing beside Duveau. Five of them fell in a welter of blood, the tall woman in the red dress who had greeted Mya and touched her cheek cut cleanly in half. One, however, a flamboyantly dressed mage who looked like a mirror image of the one protecting Arbuckle, flew apart into a swarm of brilliantly colored butterflies.
What the hell? Mya had no time to wonder what had happened.
Shouts and screams clashed against the walls, and arms and elbows smashed against her, threatening to tear her away from the pillar. She fought against that tide, trying to see through the mayhem. She heard Lady T shriek a curse, and glanced back to see her huddling behind the pillar out of the chaotic flow.
Mya turned back. Through the thinning throng, she could finally see.
Knights and guards whirled with drawn weapons. The once-gilded dais had been stripped bare of metal, the gold flowing like a living thing, lashing out against the scintillating shield that protected the prince. Within the
sphere, the wizard’s hands glowed with rainbow light.
Three armored knights near the far end of the dais charged the archmage, but a flick of Duveau’s hand sent two of them flying aside like ragdolls. The closest screamed in agony as his breastplate crumpled inward, splintering ribs and pulping organs. The dead knight didn’t fall, however, but turned and lunged at the prince like a bloody marionette. His puppet-corpse smashed into the rainbow barrier and flew apart, fragmenting into a swirling storm of bloody metal and meat that clashed against the sphere again and again.
Most of the rest of the knights fared no better, lurching and stumbling as their armor crinkled and peeled away. Pieces of metal flew up to attack the prince, the knights, and the guards. A few protectors seemed unaffected by Duveau’s magic. Three knights formed up around their prince, fending off the onslaught of animated metal as best they could. One’s sword shattered into wooden splinters as the man tried to parry a sweeping golden blade.
Metal! Mya realized. Duveau’s only affecting metal!
The wooden armor and weapons fared poorly against the storm of gold and steel, however, and two of the knights went down in moments as the shreds of their metal-clad brethren stabbed and slashed.
Imperial guards joined the fray, slashing at Duveau with gleaming halberds and firing bows from the balcony. Those close to the wizard found their own weapons turned against them, and although some arrows seemed to find their mark, the archmage remained unscathed. Wherever an arrow struck, his robe changed hue and texture, from silver cloth to polished stone, then back again. The shafts shattered and fell in pieces.
With another wave of Duveau’s hand, the high balustrade above and behind the dais smashed back against the row of archers there. Several bowmen crashed through the lofty stained-glass windows in a shower of colorful shards.
The fleeing crowd of nobles and courtiers thinned, expanding Mya’s view even further. Twin storms of metal now flew in deadly swarms around the prince and Duveau, the former lashing against the scintillating sphere, the latter slashing and stabbing at anyone who came near. Arbuckle’s defenses had failed to kill the archmage, and from the look of the continued onslaught, the barrier surrounding the prince was slowly shrinking.
“Is it time for you to intervene yet?” Lady T peeked around the pillar for a glance, then ducked back, horror plain on her face.
“You think?” Mya grasped the release tabs of her gown and jerked. The dress fell away and she kicked off her shoes.
Unfortunately, Mya didn’t see how she could get to Duveau without getting cut to pieces. If she simply charged him, she’d fare no better than the poor guards trying to fight through the flying swords, shields, and bits of armor surrounding him.
How do I kill him if I can’t even get to him? Mya gritted her teeth. Think! Think like Lad…
“I’ve got to get over there!” Mya looked for a path that might not get her killed and didn’t like what she found. Nothing for it… “Try not to die while I’m gone!”
“Your concern for me is touching!” Lady T hunkered behind the pillar.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Lady. I need you alive!”
Mya ran straight at the next pillar and leapt. Planting one foot against the column’s engraved surface, she launched herself up. Her fingers met the lower edge of a balcony, and a deft twist brought her up and over the balustrade. Nobles cowered among the seats, and she did a double-take when she recognized Duke Mir of Twailin.
Damn it, what were the chances of that?
The duke and duchess stared at her in terror.
“Sorry! No harm intended, milord. I’m trying to save the prince’s life, but I’ve got to get to Duveau.” Mya crouched, readying herself to leap.
“Wait!” Another man—a wizard by his rune-embroidered robes—crouched on the balcony, incongruously unrolling a large painting on canvas. “I have a way to distract Duveau, but it won’t last long.”
She glanced at the dais and cringed. The shimmering sphere around the prince and his wizard was still shrinking. It wouldn’t be long before Duveau’s magical attack broke through.
“Whatever it is, do it now!” Without looking back, Mya launched herself from the balcony.
Bouncing off another lofty pillar, she landed in a sprawling heap among the seats on the adjacent balcony. Lad would have done this much more gracefully. Another duke and his entourage were fleeing, and barely noticed her. Mya disentangled herself from the broken furniture and took another running leap toward the dais, launching herself as far as she could.
Don’t miss, Mya! If she fell, she’d plummet into a tornado of sharpened metal.
She caught the twisted balustrade above the dais in an iron grip and slammed into the wall. Thankfully, Duveau didn’t seem to have noticed her, so focused was he on fending off the attacking guards while besieging the prince with flying steel and gold. Scrambling onto the balcony, she dashed along it, leaping over the twisted metal and several dead and wounded guards. In passing, she snatched a handful of arrows from a quiver, ignoring the daggers and swords. Nothing metal… She noted with satisfaction that the tips of the arrows were bone. The prince had prepared his forces after all.
At the far end of the balcony, she glanced back at Duke Mir’s box, and her jaw dropped.
A tiny burning woman hovered in front of the now-blank canvas in the wizard’s hands. No more than three-feet high, her skin shimmered orange, and her hair writhed in crackling flames. Blowing a kiss to Mir’s wizard, she flipped around and soared straight at Duveau.
Mya gripped the arrows in one fist and gauged her target. A whirlwind of metal surrounded the archmage. Timing, Mya… If she leapt before the fiery woman distracted Duveau, he might direct the hail of steel at her. One blade through her heart, and she’d be finished. But if she waited too long, the crown prince would die. Timing…it’s all about timing.
The flaming woman streaked right at Duveau’s head. With a flick of one hand, the archmage sent metal lashing at her, but the shards that touched her burst into molten fragments. She was knocked aside by the impacts, but on she flew, stoically fighting through the storm of steel, eyes blazing and black teeth gleaming. Molten slag spattered the floor around the archmage, but the hail of metal thinned with every piece that fell in glowing hot bits.
It’s now or never.
Mya leapt.
Arbuckle crouched behind Keyfur, gritting his teeth to hold his panic in check at the horrific onslaught. The scintillating shield reverberated as pieces of metal, and worse—pieces of bloody armor, pieces of men and women he knew—all torn apart and flung at him like weapons hammered against it. Duveau’s powers exceeded anything he could have imagined. The men and women of the Imperial Guard, brave knights and squires, all sworn to protect him, fell in bloody tatters.
My fault…
He knew they all couldn’t have been warned against wearing metal for fear of Duveau learning, but that gave the prince no comfort. They were dying because of him.
Metal sang against the shimmering shield, inches away now as it shrank with every resounding blow. His ears rang with the howl of impacts, the muffled screams of his dying guards, and the continued stoic chant of his brave wizard protector.
Keyfur…
The mage no longer stood straight over his charge, but crouched to remain inside the shield. His voice rang hoarse, his sweat dripping onto the floor as if he had been laboring for hours, though the attack couldn’t have been going on for even a minute. The shield scintillated and shrank as missile after missile slammed into it. Arbuckle hunkered closer, pressing up against Keyfur’s legs, and felt them trembling.
Suddenly the wizard’s chant rose into a shriek. The mage didn’t stop his recitation, but each word sounded as if it had been ripped from his throat. Arbuckle felt a warm spatter against his cheek and looked up. A rain of blood blinded him, but not before he saw that Keyfur’s outthrust hands were now thrust outside the rainbow barrier into the tornado of metal.
As Keyfur�
��s blood smeared the rainbow of light about them, Arbuckle prepared himself for death.
Mya plunged through the tornado of steel. Tattered armor and broken weapons pierced her without pain, knocking her off target. Twisting like a cat, she thrust the arrows down at the crown of the archmage’s head.
Duveau moved.
The arrows pierced the wizard at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, just above the collar of his enchanted robe. The force of the blow drove the shafts down into his chest, and blood flooded over Mya’s fists as the arrows snapped off in her grasp.
She smashed to the floor with stunning force, felt a sickening crunch as the bones of her knee and shoulder shattered on the unyielding flagstones. Her head cracked down hard as she rolled, and her sight faded to gray. Her subconscious would have none of it, screaming at her, You missed! He’s going to kill you! Move!
Too late—shards of metal showered down on her.
Huddled on the cold stone, Mya wondered why she didn’t feel the painless rending of flesh and organs, the sickening weakness of her lifeblood leaving her body. She knew what that felt like. Instead, she shuddered as bones began to snap back into place. She wasn’t dead. Rolling over, she looked up at Duveau.
The archmage stood in open-mouthed shock, one hand scrabbling to stem the bright blood that pulsed from his neck. All the flying metal surrounding him had fallen from the air, inanimate as his magic failed.
Ha! I didn’t miss… Mya bridled her elation as she noticed Duveau’s other hand fishing something from a pocket, a small black sphere no bigger than a marble. Clutching it in trembling fingers, he raised it to his mouth.
Mya didn’t know what the sphere was, but whatever Duveau meant to do with it couldn’t be good for her. Knowing she couldn’t regain her feet and reach him before the black sphere met his lips, she felt around desperately for some sort of weapon.
Weapon of Fear (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy II Book 1) Page 40
