Fortunately, stone did not burn well and the fire would collapse upon itself soon, without more fuel to sustain it. Several bodies lay sprawled in pools of blood, arms, legs and a few heads littered the slate floor. I saw no weapons. None appeared to be soldiers, but looked primarily like slaves and servants attempting to escape the fighting. A few collars adorned necks, I noticed, clothing was plain and serviceable. Simple sandals enclosed rapidly stiffening feet. I scowled. The butchering of innocents always made my blood boil. What threat could unarmed servants be to armed and armored soldiers? By the stench of blackened meat, I suspected several more corpses burned inside the chambers.
Heat crisped my skin as I dodged around the leaping flames, my nerves stretched taut. I made an impatient, hurry-up gesture to my warriors behind me. Leading with my sword, I hurried them past the dying fires. I slowed to a careful walk, keeping myself tight against the wall. Battle sounded close, the slither of steel on steel, groans, curses, dull thuds of flesh striking flesh. Flattening my hand, I pushed downward, informing my followers they needed to slow their pace and imitate my behavior. Quiet infused the atmosphere behind me. Even breathing seemed to vanish.
The hallway opened onto another to my right. I glanced down it before crossing, witnessing a pitched battle between the High King’s guards—now Broughton’s, if he lived—in gold and purple and soldiers wearing dark blue and silver uniforms. A small banner bore the sigil of a leaping stag. I recognized them as colors of the men sworn to one of Brutal’s brothers. Which one? I fumbled mentally for an instant or two, then I remembered. Prince Falco. I knew him to be stupid, greedy and ambitious, but thought he’d have sense enough to not challenge Brutal. I remembered his eyes, pale and dead, like Brutal’s eyes, watching me at court. More than once Kel’Ratan stepped between his lust-filled, vapid eyes and me, shielding me from his gaze. I often thought his people were just as dumb and useless as he was.
I crouched a little, pausing to watch, my arm upraised to hold the others back behind the security of the wall while I peeped around the edge.
Counting about a dozen in the rebel force, I found them grossly outnumbered and outflanked. The royals had the weapons, the training and the discipline on their side. Four or five blue and silvers lay in bloody heaps on the slate, another sobbing and screaming as he fought to rise with a spiked halberd stuck in his back. A royal slid through the gore on the floor up behind him and stabbed him in the neck with his sword.
Feeling something abruptly at my back, I started and almost recoiled, glancing up. Witraz, taking advantage of his tall height, also peeped around the corner, his long hair hanging down. Considerably taller than I, he had no difficulty in merely leaning over me, taking advantage to watch the swordplay over my head. Feeling my eyes on him, he looked down. With his finger to his lips, he made a shushing gesture. Then Witraz grinned at me impudently.
With another jolt, I found Sele on her knees at my feet, also peering around the corner. Oblivious of my face scowling down at her, she watched the battle with bright eyes and an avid expression. I turned my attention back to the scene before us.
As we three watched the pitched battle, the royal guards slew two more men. A third blue and silver stupidly thrust when he should have parried, and had his arm slashed off at the shoulder. Shrieking, he seized his severed arm, his hand still gripping his sword, and decanted with it. He disappeared back up the corridor, his shrieks echoing back madly.
That broke the nerve of his fellows. Instantly, the remaining rebels dropped their weapons to the floor. As one mind, they turned and fled. With wild howls of glee, the royals gave chase, leaving behind only two of their own amongst the eight or so dead Falco retainers.
With a quick snap of my fingers, I led my warriors past the battlefield quickly.
“This is spooky,” Sele murmured at my shoulder. “Why hasn’t anyone seen us?”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” muttered Witraz.
I agreed, but saved my breath. For us to have come this far without a fight was incredible. I doubted our luck would hold until we escaped, but I continued at a rapid jog and hoped for the best. Past smaller hallways filled with kitchens, chambers, and panicked servants, I ran. The stables had to be around this corner, I thought frantically, grimly. Maybe it’s this corner.
Our luck broke when a small party of blue-and-silver soldiers, Falco’s again, erupted in my face from one of the seemingly endless side galleries. I skidded to a halt on the slippery blue-gray slate floor, my blade rising. Their leader’s expression told me he was as surprised to see me as I was him. It lasted perhaps an instant. I parried a pathetic, school-house lunge, too busy relieving him of his life to wonder, except absently, where he had received his scanty training. I took on the next in line, then my warriors pushed past me and engaged the rest of the band. Falco’s troops seemed not to care that we were not involved in the power struggle of the royal brothers, and charged with swords held high to kill. They were fewer than my band, but stupid enough to think bravery alone wins battles.
Swords flashed and men screamed battle cries, obviously hoping to frighten their enemies. I killed yet another idiotically brave soldier with my sword through his neck, shaking my head in wonder. Why did men think that yelling frightened anything? Did they think us deer perhaps? Did they think us rabbits who bolt at a sudden noise? Kel’Hallans fought silently, never shouting uselessly when their concentration should be on winning the fight. The Federal shouting did little good as far as I could see, as my warriors fanned out to flank the soldiers and cut them down.
Within a few minutes, Falco’s dead troops lay in haphazard piles, blood and entrails spattered on the slate floor. Disappointed they didn’t put up very much of a fight, I wiped my sword clean on the impeccable blue cloak of the unit’s commander. The last two days had been very stressful and I needed to vent my frustrations. One small fight against such imbeciles hardly took the edge off. I glanced over my small band for casualties.
“Anyone wounded?” I asked.
Only Witraz complained of an injury. When I examined him, concerned, I found only a small scratch across the back of his hand. Disgusted with him, I thrust his wounded hand back at him and turned away, storming down the corridor.
“It could get infected!” he called.
I snarled in answer.
“Big, one-eyed weenie,” said Yuri.
“Well, it could, you know,” Witraz said defensively. “Get infected, that is. I might lose my hand.”
The corridors seemed to stretch for miles. Damn, where were the bloody stables? They had to be here, just round this corner. Passing evidence of other bloody engagements, we saw dead soldiers in various uniforms, from purple, to blue, to crimson, to bright yellow. Sigils of the royal White Lion, to falcons, leaping stags, boars, bears and a few others marked to whom they had sworn their loyalty. Who in their right mind put a soldier in a yellow uniform? Heavens above!
Servants in livery, collared slaves, most alive but many not, fled from us, or cowered in terror. A very few nobles and courtiers slammed doors to their apartments, the sound of bolts sliding home the prevalent sound. Dogs, some hunting dogs, still more pampered housedogs, barked hysterically at us before also fleeing. I saw numerous dead birds in the ornate cages throughout the palace, their feathers singed. One gray cat, its fur partially blackened, jumped over bloody corpses and vanished under a door.
Naphtha-fueled fires continued to burn, doing little harm that I could see, except covering the stone and brick walls with a nasty, oily dark soot. The smoke, however, was another matter. It choked my lungs and brought stinging tears to my eyes. Subdued and muffled coughs sounded from behind me as my warriors sought silence despite the smoke invading their chests.
I sighed with relief and thought, about bloody time. Here at last and across the vestibule lay the doors that opened onto the west parade grounds. Just beyond the parade grounds the stables, and our horses, stood waiting.
I took three quick steps
forward and stopped dead. Stopped so quickly that Sele crashed into me from behind. She cursed fluently. I scarcely noticed.
Lady’s blood, I thought with dismay.
Theodoric led a band of about fifteen royal gold and purple Federates toward us. Dressed in half-armor and carrying a sword, he looked less like a priest than a fat merchant playing at being a soldier. I wondered briefly how much Brutal paid him for his allegiance. Brutal’s warm nature and kindness toward others did not win him any friends. Only his gold did. He paid for his friends, and paid handsomely.
Theodoric, too, froze as he recognized me, his pudgy face darkening with fury. I could all but read his mind. Brutal’s bitch was trying to escape. Perhaps he had a stake in my marriage to Brutal that my escape annoyed him so. Perhaps he rejoiced in the prospect of converting all of Kel’Halla to the worship of Usa’a’mah? I didn’t know whether to laugh or spit.
The men behind him drew their swords, their eyes narrowing as they studied me. I suspected they believed me to be alone save the two, Sele and Witraz, behind me. With my left hand hidden behind my back, I made a subtle gesture. In response, the rest of my band swarmed into their view, pouring into the vestibule like angry hornets from their nest, and spread out into a V-shape line with me at the tip of the angle.
The High Priest’s fat with its loose jowls face contorted in a snarl. “You faithless bitch.”
Rumbles of fury behind me met his insult. I smiled sweetly, refusing to let him bait me into acting rashly. “That’s an interesting observation from one whose loyalty is bought and sold.”
My riposte caught him flat-footed, and he gaped for a moment. I laughed.
I studied Theodoric, measuring his stance and the grip on his blade. Eyeing his arrogant posture, I suspected he was not as puissant a fighter as he thought he was.
“His Divine Federal Majesty wants you alive,” he sneered. “These others will die right here—”
“His Divine Majesty?” The snort of laughter erupted from my nose, burning my throat. “Since when did Brutal become divine? Did he have to die first, or what?”
A ripple of laughter flew around the vestibule as though on wings, infuriating the Federal troopers. Their expressions darkened, scowls bloomed on nearly every face. My comment did not help the ancient antagonism between Kel’Halla and Khalid, nor the ensuing hatred the Federal soldiers felt toward my people. They needed little excuse to attack, and I just gave them an excellent one. Theodoric’s mouth slid open, his pale eyes bulging from their sockets in utter shock. Shock that someone would dare impugn his royal master, I supposed.
He recovered himself quickly. “I’ll take you myself,” Theodoric sneered, walking slowly toward me, his sword at the ready. He certainly enjoyed sneering. “His Majesty did not specify I could not have my pleasure of you. Then you’ll know what it means to have a real man between your legs.” He clasped his groin suggestively.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please. I am so not interested in a man with no balls. Let me know when they drop.”
Making sport of a man’s manhood was like waving a red flag at an irritated bull. They go absolutely, deliciously, insane. I cannot remember how many times I managed to spur an enemy into acting rashly with that line.
With a roar of rage, Theodoric charged, his sword raised high over his head.
Stupid man, I thought happily. Stupid, stupid, to allow yourself be goaded into falling into your own trap. How wonderfully easy it was to make you attack whilst unprepared. I managed to keep the giggle behind my teeth.
Since birth, I’ve been trained to fight men bigger, stronger and heavier than I was. I trained for speed, for agility, to give way under heavy blows rather than stop them, to turn aside strikes and retaliate with slashes. I seldom sought to stab an enemy, rather cut and move aside, cut and move aside, bleed him down. I aimed for unprotected eyes, slashed behind the knees, cut into armpits as the arm raised a sword up to strike. Too often, a man saw before him a slight, slender woman wearing little or no armor and believed her an easy mark. He let himself think bigger meant better.
Theodoric was no exception.
I did not stand to meet the fat priest’s charge. I melted to the side and slashed him across his sword arm. The sword dropped, his charge became a stagger, his bellow of rage changed into a howl of pain. His Federal troops followed his lead, spreading to the flanks to engage my Kel’Hallans. I had time enough to watch as many royals singled out the female warriors, thinking them easy prey. Sele almost negligently cut across the eyes of her man, and casually slit his throat with the edge of her blade. His sword fell to the slate floor with a ringing clang. He stumbled about, blind, making throaty gagging noises, strangling on his own blood.
“Oh, there you are,” I said, as Theodoric came around again for another try. “I feared I might have offended you.”
He growled low in his throat, swinging his sword hard and fast. I danced out of reach, and when his blade hit the top of its arc, flicked my sword at his eyes. He recoiled, the returning slash faltering. Rather than jump away, I leaped toward him, so close I could have kissed him had I wanted to. Such might have enraged him enough to kill him from an apoplexy and that would have spoiled my fun. I kneed him in his pride and joy instead.
While Theodoric strangled on his groans, clutching himself, I idly watched the battle ongoing in the vestibule. Outnumbered and outmaneuvered, the royals died, blood splashing the nearby stone walls and tapestries. About eight or so already lay dead; another wounded man tried crawling along the wall, holding his blue-white entrails close to his body. Bronze statues lining the hall tumbled to the floor and smashed. Beautiful tapestries of the finest weave hung splashed with blood.
The twins, fighting dramatically back-to-back, parried sword strokes in unison, almost as though they had choreographed the fight. How did they get so damn close to the front? I told them…
Witraz killed his man with a blade to the man’s chest, and spat upon the corpse in a most un-Witraz like fashion. Kel’Ratan, in the back, did little except bellow orders. With all the enemy troops already engaged, he had no one to fight. At his side, Rannon danced in place, his long strawberry hair bouncing, and his face a mask of anger and frustration. I grinned, for he reminded me of a little boy who badly needed to pee. I turned casually back to Theodoric.
“Are you ready yet?” I asked.
Theodoric staggered toward me, his heavy blade carried low, for a fast thrust into my midsection. I sidestepped and cut him across his left cheek. His howling began to irritate me. Really, I thought. How could a grown man whine so bloody much?
Quickening my strokes, I slashed the High Priest across his right cheek. Then, ducking low and spinning behind him, I swiped my blade’s edge across the back of his thigh. Theodoric stumbled, cursing, flailing about with his blade. Flicking my sword toward his face again, I forced him to shut his eyes and flinch away. That exposed his ear to a wicked slice. Although I was kind enough to not actually cut it off. Any bit of holy skin not covered by his armor received a cut deep enough to wound, and bleed freely, but not slay. He roared in pain and frustration. I drew a thin red line across his brow and stepped back.
Sweat mixed with the blood on his face, and dripped redly down his fat jowls. He gasped in fear, exhaustion and pain, his breath coming in quick, sharp wheezes. The sword he gripped so confidently a short time earlier now hung tip down. Had he not come to my apartments to threaten me and mine, I might have felt sorry for him and relented.
“Ly’Tana!” Kel’Ratan bellowed. “Cease playing with that bastard and kill him!”
I flapped my hand at him in disgust. Kel’Ratan always pooh-poohed my fun. Glancing around, I saw most of my warriors busied themselves cleaning the blood from their swords on the cloaks of the dead, resheathing, smiling, cracking jokes. Only two royals still stood, the rest on the floor, dead, or the next best thing. The one I had noted earlier had died, his entrails oozing from the gap in his stomach. One survivor had his sword across his han
ds, offering it to Sele in surrender. The other stood unarmed, his hands over his head.
“This will give the Federal soldiers a bad name,” Witraz called.
Sele turned her head, smiling at his wit. The hand she extended to take the man’s sword halted, her own blade lax. Too fast for me to scream a warning, the royal’s eyes flattened. Spinning his blade in a sudden swift move, the hilt returned to his hands. With all his strength, he stabbed Sele between the breasts. The sword slid nearly to its crosspiece before halting, sticking from her chest like a macabre ornament.
I screamed.
Too late, Alun took off the man’s head with a choked cry of grief, the sound suddenly cut off. The royal’s corpse slid in an oily puddle at her feet, his head bouncing off her boots. She stared down at the sword protruding from her bosom in disbelief. Slowly, her face rose, tears standing in her huge brown eyes as she stared into mine. Then she collapsed on top of the royal who killed her.
With a roar of rage, Witraz stabbed the last survivor through his throat, nearly taking the man’s head off. At the same instant, Theodoric saw his chance and took it. Like a frightened rabbit, he bolted, dropping his sword with a steely clang and fleeing up the stairs, out of sight. I hardly cared.
Seizing Sele’s sagging body, I held her close, her life’s blood pooling beneath us both. I swept her dark hair from her eyes, my tears dropping onto her upturned face. Weakly, she raised her hand to my face, a tremulous smile on her lips.
“Don’t cry,” she whispered.
I couldn’t help it. Sobs broke from my chest, the chest that burned with a savage grief, with a hot, tearing sense of loss. Sele: my best friend, my sister, my staunchest companion. Lady, how could this be happening? How can she die like this, die so stupidly?
“Don’t cry.”
Her bloody fingers caressed across my cheek, as light as a butterfly kiss. Mysterious dark eyes held my gaze captive. I saw the light in them slowly fade, grow dim, and finally extinguish, a tiny candle blown out by a strong breeze.
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