Chapter 51
Alexander grabbed his pack and his bow and quiver. His friends wasted no time either. They heard commotion out in the hall a moment later, followed by a volley of arrows from the square below that shattered the glass of the balcony doors and allowed the wall of liquid fire to spill onto the carpets of the plush sitting room and ignite the floor and drapes.
Alexander threw the door open to the glass bridge. What he saw stunned him to the core.
The man in black was standing in the middle of the bridge. He held nothing but a knife. There was a trail of broken bodies crumpled in pools of crimson littering the hall behind him. Commander P’Tal stood at the center of the bridge with his knife buried into the heart of the wizard that had been standing watch with the guards. Jataan P’Tal pulled the knife free and started walking toward the dozen troops standing between him and his target. He wore no armor, had no shield, and wielded only the medium-sized knife for a weapon.
The remaining guard force was divided into two squads of six. The squad nearest the door held its position. The men down the hall fired a volley of crossbow bolts at the lone advancing enemy. Alexander saw Jataan P’Tal’s magic flare brightly. He contorted himself almost impossibly and the six crossbow bolts passed him by without so much as a scratch. He walked briskly but not overly hurried, like a man on his way to an important meeting.
The six men rushed to the attack with spears and swords. Jataan P’Tal met the attack with practiced ease. He seemed to know what his enemy would do before they did. When their attack came he was simply not in the way of the strike but had moved to a position where he could counterstrike with deadly effect.
The first guard thrust with his spear. P’Tal stepped at an angle just outside the thrust and slipped his blade over the top of the thrusting arm, slicing to the bone across the inside of the man’s upper arm. Blood sprayed across the guard’s chest and his spear clattered to the floor. Jataan P’Tal was already past the dying man. The next guard slashed with his sword. P’Tal stopped cold in his tracks and the blade whistled past just inches from his belly. A moment later he lunged with impossible speed and drove the point of his blade through the leather breastplate, under the lower edge of the ribcage, and into the man’s heart. He pushed the man off his blade and into another advancing soldier, then caught the haft of the third man’s spear thrust, pushing it down and to the left and casually slashed the man’s throat with the tip of his knife. More quickly than any man should be able to move, he rolled around the man he’d just killed and drove his knife into the ribs on the left side of the fourth guard, grabbed him by the throat before he could fall, and pivoted his body into the path of the spear being driven at him by the fifth man. He slipped past the man whose spear was now impaling a dead man, ducked low to dodge the blade of the sixth guard, and sliced the inside of his thigh to the bone. The fifth man let go of his spear, drew his sword and spun with a powerful slash. The blade missed Jataan P’Tal’s throat by mere inches, while he stood stock-still, waiting for the attack to pass. When it did, he smoothly moved into the man’s now open guard and drove his blade into his heart. He’d killed all six men in the space of four heartbeats, but it would take a few minutes more for some of them to die as their lives literally drained out of them in angry red pools staining the floor.
Alexander was shocked at the precision of the violence. Everyone stood almost mesmerized by the spectacle. When Jataan P’Tal began to casually walk toward them without missing a beat, their trance broke. Abigail was first to respond with an arrow from her new bow. When she released it, her target was his heart. It leapt from the bow with more speed, power, and deadly purpose than any arrow Alexander had ever seen, but Jataan P’Tal turned sideways and the arrow passed within a fraction of an inch of his chest. He gave Abigail a look of curiosity. It wasn’t anger or indignation but respect. She had come close and he seemed to give her a slight nod even as he came to kill them. The remaining six guards fired another volley of crossbow bolts. He dodged them with a kind of speed and intuition that Alexander knew with icy certainty was driven by deep and powerful magic. In that moment he understood why Mage Gamaliel knew it was unwise to engage this man.
Behind them, another ball of liquid fire hit the lip of the balcony wall and sprayed a wave of flame through the now shattered balcony doors and into the already burning sitting room. Alexander could hardly believe how quickly the attack had taken place.
Anatoly barked an order to retreat at the remaining six guards. They obeyed with unusual quickness. Once they were safely in the foyer, Kelvin took one step forward with his great battle hammer and swung a mighty overhead stroke down on the abutment of the glass-encased bridge. The floor beneath them shuddered and the floor of the bridge cracked and split. Jataan P’Tal staggered as the floor of the bridge reverberated under his feet. Glass shattered for twenty feet from the point of impact, sending countless shards raining to the ground below, followed first by one small chunk of the floor, then another, and finally a six-foot section of the bridge fell away, leaving only the trusses below to keep the entire bridge from collapsing and crashing to the ground.
As he regained his footing, Jataan P’Tal picked up a spear and, in a blinding flash, hurled it at Alexander. It was like nothing Alexander had ever seen or could even imagine. No one could move that fast. The short spear hurtled in a straight line with impossible speed and terrible force. It struck home before Alexander could blink: a clean, direct hit just slightly left of center in the middle of his chest. The impact of the spear tip against the dragon-steel chain knocked Alexander clear off his feet and sent him tumbling across the floor, while the haft of the spear shattered from the rebounded force of the sudden stop.
Pain shot through Alexander with suffocating intensity. Surely he was dying; no one could survive such violence. He felt his chest and found, to his surprise, that there wasn’t an inch-thick spear haft protruding from it. Once he realized he might not be dying, he started to struggle for breath but it felt like a horse had kicked him.
He could hear activity in the distance but it sounded very far away and unimportant in the face of the darkness slowly threatening to swallow him. He looked in the direction of the door just as Lucky tossed a glass orb filled with angry-looking liquid fire onto the bridge. In the same moment, Abigail and Isabel both sent arrows toward the enemy. P’Tal dodged them without much effort. The orb shattered against the ceiling of what was left of the glass tunnel and burst into flames that dripped down across the passageway as if a curtain of fire had been drawn across it.
Jataan P’Tal stopped and picked up a sword. With one stroke, he cut a gaping gash through the fine wrought-iron web of glasswork that enclosed the bridge and deftly climbed up on top of the bridge to avoid the fire.
Anatoly and Jack slammed the heavy bound doors shut, dropped the bar in place, and jammed the floor and ceiling pins home. The conflagration coming from the sitting room was growing quickly and sending waves of heat into the foyer.
Darkness closed in on Alexander’s vision. At last, with great effort, he took a breath. The hot fury of the gasp sent shockwaves of pain through him. He rolled onto his side and saw the spear tip of the weapon that was meant to kill him. It was curled over as if a man with impossible strength had driven it against a heavy plate of hardened steel. The first three inches of the blade were neatly curled around and around into a tight little circle. He closed his eyes and steeled himself for another breath. The shock of the pain was lessened only by the anticipation of it. Alexander retreated into the place within his mind that he’d found during the mana fast: the place where the witness lived, where there was no feeling, consequence, or importance attached to any event. From there he observed his pain with ruthless detachment. He accepted it and focused his will. He needed to act. The enemy would be here soon and he needed to move. With an act of sheer stubbornness, he drew another breath and sat up. Fire ignited within his chest anew.
Lucky knelt beside him and raised Alexander’s shirt to revea
l the clean and unblemished surface of the dragon-steel chain armor he’d been given only an hour earlier. Lucky nodded in grim satisfaction and permitted only the briefest glance of gratitude to Kelvin before digging into his bag for a jar of healing salve. He took a big dollop of the thick ointment and pulled up the chain and Alexander’s undershirt, revealing the red, swollen, and bruised spot just over his heart. Lucky examined the wound for only a moment before slathering the enchanted ointment over the whole area. Next, he dug a couple of numbweed leaves from his bag and unceremoniously stuffed them into Alexander’s mouth.
Alexander took another breath just as a thunderous jolt shook the door and doorframe. Cracks spread out from the center of the double doors. He started to get up in spite of the waves of pain, but was unable to lift his own weight and that of the pack still strapped on his back. Isabel and Lucky each offered a hand and helped him regain his feet.
Jack was talking to Adele. “Do your quarters have a balcony or a window?” She nodded quickly, with a look of shock and disbelief at the sudden turn of events.
Kelvin turned to Anatoly. “Go! I’ll hold this ground and give you time to escape.”
Anatoly looked the Guild Mage in the eye and nodded with the battle-tested resolve of a hardened soldier. He barked a command to the remaining six guards. “Stand with the Guild Mage! Hold this ground!”
The door shuddered against greater force than it could bear. The cracks widened. The heavy oak bar started to splinter and the locking pins in the floor and ceiling sheered off.
Alexander steadied himself and drew another breath. He could feel the numbweed working. The pain was becoming distant and less urgent. He followed Jack and Adele into the dining room, through the door to the serving quarters, and down the stairs to the level below. With each step his breathing came more easily and the pain receded a little bit more. The injury wasn’t severe, mostly bruising and a few cracked ribs, but it still hurt.
Adele led the way past the kitchen and a number of startled cooks and scullions to a comfortable but simple-looking sitting room with a little balcony about fifty feet up on the side of the detached palace wing.
Jack went out and looked down. He turned back to Adele. “Do you have a rope?” he asked urgently.
She looked flustered for a moment before answering, “Just the one in the well that the kitchen uses for water.”
“Show me,” Jack commanded.
They rushed off and Alexander took the opportunity to sit down and focus on breathing. He drew breath to the limit of his endurance and released it slowly in an effort to keep the bruised muscles of his chest from tightening. The numbness had set in and the drowsiness that always accompanied the healing salve was settling in as well. He was in no danger of losing consciousness but he was starting to get tired. In the distance, they heard another loud thud followed by the cracking and splintering of the doors as they burst open, swung wide, and crashed into the walls. A moment later the whole structure shook violently. Alexander heard shouting followed quickly by the cries of men in battle. He hoped Kelvin would survive the fight.
Jack returned with a rope. The building shuddered again. Alexander heard a groan followed by a loud cracking noise. The structural integrity of the entire building began to fail from the repeated hammer blows of the Guild Mage. Jack ignored the battle raging upstairs and deftly tied one end of the rope around a couch and tossed the other end over the balcony railing. He pushed the couch up to the doorframe to secure the rope and turned to Alexander.
“Can you make it down?” he asked.
Alexander nodded through the pain. “Send Adele and her staff down first. This place isn’t going to hold for long.”
Jack started to protest but stopped short at the look Alexander gave him. Adele was scared of the rope descent but she was more frightened of the fire and battle raging upstairs. She and her staff obeyed their instructions without much fuss and were quickly on the ground. Isabel and Abigail went next, followed by Lucky and then Alexander. He came down too quickly and hit the ground hard, sending him onto his back as the weight of his pack pulled him over. He rolled out of the way for Jack and Anatoly who followed closely behind. There were people in the street looking and pointing at the wing of the palace now half engulfed in flames.
Another great and terrible shock reverberated through the building and into the ground beneath, followed by an ear-splitting crack as the building started to fail. Adele and her staff scattered. Alexander and his companions ran toward the square to get some distance from the building. He knew even as he ran that the enemy waited in the square, but it was the only option. The other three sides of the building were too close to the outer walls of the palace. If the structure collapsed, those roads would be buried with stone and debris.
Even before they reached the end of the road and entered the square, Alexander had drawn his sword. It gave him focus and cleared his mind. Everything else receded from his awareness, even the pain. Right now, he was in a fight and he had a blade in his hand.
They rounded the corner and saw at least twenty men surrounding Wizard Rangle and the giant. The enemy was easily seventy-five feet away and looking up at the burning structure, but they noticed Alexander almost immediately. Even if they hadn’t, they would have in the next moment when Abigail’s first arrow drove cleanly through one of the soldiers and skittered across the flagstone square, trailing blood behind it. The middle of the square was empty with the exception of the enemy, but citizens of New Ruatha stood in clusters all around the square’s edge watching the spectacle.
The enemy turned as one and loosed a volley of crossbow bolts at them. They were close enough to the corner of the building to retreat behind it to avoid the deadly rain. Alexander cast about for an escape route. The square was mostly shopfronts with a few roads leading out here and there, but the closest road was a hundred feet away.
The building shuddered again and the side opposite them started to crumble. It was slow at first as if the building was reluctant to let go of its life and form, then it accelerated in a great rumbling, crashing cacophony. Alexander stole a look around the corner and saw that the enemy was distracted by the collapse of the building and the rising dust cloud. He shouted, “Now!” and ran for the road.
They were almost there when Alexander heard the giant command his troops to give chase. He glanced and saw Rangle creating another ball of liquid fire between his outstretched hands. The undulating bubble filled with angry-looking orange-red liquid. He looked back to his sister. She was running with an arrow already nocked. Alexander pointed at Rangle and shouted, “Abby!”
She spun, saw the threat, and drew just as Rangle released the ball of liquid fire. She brought up her aim a bit and let her arrow go. It leapt from the bow and streaked to the ball of fire sailing toward them. Arrow and magic met in the sky above a cluster of charging troops. The arrow entered the bubble whole and exited as a spray of char and fire. The bubble burst, showering liquid fire down onto the mercenaries below.
Alexander heard Anatoly in the background shout, “Well done!” to Abigail.
They made it to the edge of the square and raced into the street with the sound of screaming in the distance and footfalls somewhat closer. There were at least ten men still chasing them, followed by the giant and Rangle. They ran to the first turn and rounded the corner when Alexander stopped. His chest ached and his lungs burned. He’d had enough of running and was starting to feel an implacable anger at the injustice of Phane and everything he stood for well up inside of him again. They all stopped with him, looking for a place to escape.
“We stand,” he said. “Right here. Isabel, Abigail, take positions over there and kill that wizard if he rounds this corner.” Alexander pointed to a wagon parked without its team across the street and forty feet or so from the corner.
“Anatoly, are you tired of running?” Alexander asked his old mentor.
Anatoly set his face and nodded slowly as he hefted his axe onto his shoulder.<
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They could hear the fall of boots approaching quickly. Alexander shrugged off his pack, bow, and quiver. Anatoly tossed his pack aside, too. Jack pulled up his hood and vanished against the pattern of the wall, while Lucky backed off a dozen feet or so down the sidewalk and pulled a vial from his bag.
The moment the first three men rounded the corner, the ground shook from the collapse of the remaining part of the north wing of the palace. The men were distracted just enough by the huge crash that they were totally surprised to find Alexander and Anatoly standing there waiting for them.
Anatoly struck first. A great downward diagonal stroke with his war axe caught the first man on the left shoulder and cleaved him clear through to the right hip. Alexander caught the next man on the point of his sword and drove the blade through his heart and out his back before swiftly drawing it out, stepping past the dying man who hadn’t yet slumped to the ground, and deftly chopping off the arm of the next man with a swift downward stroke.
The rest of the men poured around the corner and something snapped into place in Alexander’s mind. He released all thought. An icy calm flooded into him. He found himself in the singular moment of the now. There was nothing but him, the enemy, and his blade.
He whirled, slashed, and thrust with precision and economy of motion, no longer driven by thought or calculation but by instinct and magic. When he struck, the enemy fell. When they struck, he simply wasn’t in the path of their attack. Their blades fell on empty space while his unerringly found its mark with ruinous precision. He felt the melding of his blade skill and his all around sight. He found that he didn’t need to see with his eyes because his mind’s eye saw more quickly and more accurately. Anatoly fought with the discipline of a trained soldier. Jack could be seen flickering into view and lashing out with his knife. Alexander saw the giant coming and altered his course through the enemy to meet the new attack, but Anatoly was closer.
Anatoly and the giant met head-on and crashed into each other with fury. Their battle was a contest of strength, mass, and anger. Their collision drove them both to the ground where they lost hold of their weapons and resorted to grappling. The giant was a good six inches taller than Anatoly and at least a hundred pounds heavier, but Anatoly was wearing the belt that Kelvin had given him. Alexander calmly, almost routinely, killed the last of the charging guards while Anatoly gained his feet with one of the giant’s hands in his vice-like grip. He spun around once, then twice, and tossed the giant through the air and into the window of a shopfront across the street.
Alexander turned to see Rangle standing thirty feet away preparing another ball of liquid fire. He didn’t waste a moment. He tossed his sword into his off hand, slipped a knife from his boot and threw it with clean precision at the fire wizard. Rangle saw it coming and did the only thing he could, the only thing that would save him. He interrupted the casting of his spell, causing the magic to dissipate and the liquid fire to evaporate before it could fully manifest. The alternative was to allow Alexander’s knife to break the bubble as it formed and have his own liquid fire splash all over him. Alexander’s knife drove into Rangle’s shoulder instead. Alexander steeled himself with grim determination. He was going to kill Rangle and he was going to do it right now. He started toward the wizard until the giant rose from the rubble of the shop and hurled a javelin at him. Without his all around sight he would have been too late to avoid it. As it was, the javelin missed him by just inches.
Rangle was casting another spell but this time it came out much more quickly. A plane of reddish heat formed before him, blocking Alexander’s path. Two arrows zipped by Alexander from behind but turned to ash when they passed through the wall of heat. The giant was preparing to throw another javelin when Abigail and Isabel turned their arrows on him. Each of them loosed an arrow, causing his javelin to go wide. Isabel’s arrow bounced harmlessly off his breastplate, but Abigail’s arrow drove through the steel breastplate and an inch into his chest over his right lung. He cried out in rage and surprise.
Both turned and fled, Rangle retreating back into the square toward the rubble of the collapsed palace wing and the giant into the storefront he’d just demolished. Alexander wanted to pursue them but he reminded himself that the battle mage may well have survived the confrontation with Kelvin and could still be coming for him. Alexander gave one last look toward the burning mound of broken stone and timber that only minutes ago had been his lavish quarters and silently asked the Maker to deliver Kelvin alive and whole from the rubble. He turned without a word and found his pack.
Thinblade (Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book One) Page 53
