“Enough!” the Babachenko said. “I’ve warned you about this, Lord Tyr.”
“I want the Thinblade!” the king said, drool escaping from the edge of his mouth.
“I’m just trying to please the king,” Tyr said, feigning innocence.
“I want it,” the king said.
“Your Majesty, Lord Tyr holds the Tyr Thinblade,” the Babachenko said. “It’s tied to his bloodline just as the Crown is tied to yours.”
“But I’m an Island King. I should have a Thinblade!”
“Perhaps someday, Your Majesty, but Lord Tyr’s Thinblade would kill you.”
The king crossed his arms and sat back, pouting and glaring at Tyr. For the first time since Alexander had met Lord Tyr, the man actually seemed happy.
Once Tyr had returned to his seat, the Babachenko stood and addressed the room.
“Lords and Ladies,” he said, raising his glass until everyone stood. “We have come here today to mourn the loss of the crown princess. Pray that the Maker has taken her into his warm embrace.” Everyone raised a glass, standing, heads bowed with mock solemnity, while the king sat petulantly glaring at Tyr.
“As you well know,” the Babachenko continued, “the Andalian bloodline must remain as pure as possible to ensure the viability of the Crown. We are currently in the process of examining lineage records to identify who will have the privilege of serving as king’s consort.”
A number of women around the table tensed, their colors flaring with fear.
“Of course, if any of you believe you have a greater claim … or perhaps a lesser claim that warrants special consideration, I welcome your petitions.”
There was a collective sigh from the women around the table. The Babachenko smiled slightly, motioning for the music to begin. Jack played an ode to the king, singing the praises of his courage and gallantry in battle. While the words were ridiculous, Jack’s delivery was superb, drawing in even the most jaded guests in the room.
The Babachenko led the applause, standing to honor Jack and remaining standing after the rest of the guests had taken their seats.
“As I understand it, many of you have had the privilege of listening to Master Colton before. I now understand why he is so highly regarded, but I have come to learn something about him that isn’t widely known … he is a true and loyal servant of the Andalian Crown.
“Just this afternoon, he reported suspicious activity to the authorities. He saw something out of the ordinary and he reported it. So new to our city and yet a model citizen.
“What he wasn’t aware of was that the house he reported was a secret store for the notorious criminal Nightshade.” The Babachenko stopped, nodding to the crowd. “We discovered hundreds of thousands of silver crowns, all stolen from shipments bound for the shipyards. It didn’t take long from there for the overseers to determine who owned the house.”
The Babachenko looked straight at Nigel Mohan, holder of the Cartage Charter, and shook his head sadly. “An outsider, doing his duty to the crown, has unraveled one of the most dangerous criminal enterprises in the empire, and I’m sad to say that Nightshade is, in fact, Lord Mohan.”
Mohan stood, eyes wide, mouth working furiously without making a sound and his head shaking quickly back and forth.
“Lies,” he managed to sputter. His wife started slapping him on the shoulder and berating him while two palace guards stepped up behind him.
“We will soon know the truth,” the Babachenko said. “All of it. Take him away.”
“No!” the king said, standing with visible effort, leaning heavily on the back of his chair.
“Your Majesty?” the Babachenko said.
“He’s a traitor,” the king said, motioning for the palace guard to bring Mohan to him.
The moment Mohan was close enough, the king quickly pulled a thin-bladed dirk from his sleeve and unceremoniously stabbed Mohan in the heart. He didn’t look the man in the eyes, or even seem to notice that he was a human being. It was as impersonal a thing as Alexander had ever seen. The table fell silent as Mohan crumpled to the ground, his face a mask of confusion and disbelief. The king flopped back into his chair as if he’d just climbed a mountain, huffing loudly to catch his breath.
Grant stood up, drawing the Babachenko’s attention. “I will buy the Cartage Charter.”
The room fell deathly silent for just a moment before it erupted into chaos.
“I’ll pay more.”
“He can’t own two charters.”
“Dissolve the Cartage Charter and let us transport our own goods.”
“No one’s ever held two charters before.”
“Preposterous!”
“Silence!” the Babachenko shouted, waiting for the room to quiet. “The Cartage Charter is not for sale until we can put it up for auction.”
“I can pay more than anyone at this table,” Grant said. “I will give the entire contents of the underdark for it.”
There was a gasp, and then the room erupted again.
“That’s not fair.”
“You can’t let him get away with this.”
“Only silver crowns are money.”
The shouting escalated even as the Babachenko tried to get the room to quiet down. When he was unsuccessful, he started casting a spell-a bubble quickly floated off his outstretched hand, rising into the air over the table where it burst like a clap of thunder, rattling the glass walls and ceiling and momentarily stunning everyone in the room.
Before the Babachenko could assert his authority into the vacuum, Grant pressed his offer. “I can offer something that no one else can.”
“And what might that be?”
“Assassins who’ve come to kill the king,” Grant said, pointing straight at Alexander and Anja.
“Now, Chloe.”
Two of the palace guards had dragged Mohan’s corpse out of the room while another had escorted his distraught widow away-that left nine plus the Lord Protector. All nine guards unhooked their maces and started to converge on Alexander.
Many things happened at once.
Tyr stood up, knocking his chair over and grabbing for his belt.
“Who stole my sword?!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, his face going red, veins popping out at his temples. His wizard stood as well and began casting a spell. Tyr grabbed the nearest guard and slammed him into the wall, taking his mace and brandishing it at the next guard. “Who! Took! My! Sword!” he shouted so forcefully that his voice broke with each word.
Alexander dropped his boot knife into his hand just as Nero turned to face him.
“Pretender!” Nero shouted, pointing at Alexander and drawing his long black dagger.
Alexander threw his knife. It flew true, burying to the hilt in the king’s throat. He held his neck, gurgling blood, frothy and red then slowly slumped out of his chair and under the table, his eyes frantic with pain and surprise. Grant’s head snapped around so quickly that Alexander thought it might unscrew and fall off on the floor. He stared at Alexander with total shock and growing horror, but Alexander ignored him … he had other concerns.
Time seemed to expand, stretching into the coming moments, giving him a glimpse into what might be, but there was so much danger coming his way, and all of it happening at once, that he couldn’t focus on everything, so he let go and gave himself over to the moment, reacting without thought, letting instinct and the simple need for survival guide him.
The nobles began to panic, many of them racing for the single exit, while others tried to find sanctuary at either end of the room. Their sudden, confused rush in every direction only served to amplify the chaos.
Two palace guards were pushing through the crowd toward Alexander, while another two were trying to shove their way through the stream of nobles crowding the door. The Lord Protector was quite suddenly wearing a suit of black wispy plate mail that looked translucent and yet Alexander had no doubt it would stop any blade.
The Babachenko snatched the Crown from at
op the dead king’s head and ran for the door to the king’s chambers.
Nero appeared in front of Alexander, but he’d seen him coming and was already moving, pivoting to one side, grabbing Nero’s blade hand at the wrist and following through with a hard punch to the side of his head. Alexander stripped Nero’s blade out of his hand a moment before Anja grabbed him by the throat with one hand and flung him over the table; he vanished before he hit the ground.
Alexander spun to meet the attack of two palace guards, slicing the first across the throat, then sidestepping to put the dying man between himself and the second guard. Anja snatched up the dead man’s mace and advanced on the other guard. He smiled-she snarled. Alexander left them to it, turning toward Tyr’s seat and leaping onto the table, the guard behind him screaming in agony.
Within one stride across the table, he saw the threat, but there was nowhere to go … he was in the open, exposed, and the Lord Protector was pointing his mace at him. A moment later, he was blown halfway down the length of the table, landing on the end and toppling over into the trample of fleeing nobles.
Stunned and disoriented, he struggled to regain his senses, clambering under the table and crawling toward the chair where Tyr had been sitting.
“Now!” he thought urgently.
Chloe flashed into view for just a moment, bringing the Tyr Thinblade, scabbard and all, with her from the aether. Alexander emerged from under the table, blade drawn and ready. Tyr saw him almost instantly and his rage spiked, battle frenzy and pure fury giving him the strength to toss aside the two guards standing between him and Alexander.
In that instant, Nero appeared on the table behind Alexander, looping a length of rope around his neck and pulling him backward. Before his feet could be pulled from the floor, Alexander shoved backward, both to loosen the rope and to gain distance from Tyr. Thankfully, before Tyr could reach him, the Lord Protector blasted the pirate across the floor with his mace. In the back of Alexander’s mind, he imagined that the mace functioned on the same principle as the lances, though that thought didn’t intrude for long.
He stabbed up and back with the Thinblade, aiming for Nero’s head, but slicing through his shoulder instead. Nero’s scream was cut short when he vanished. Alexander scrambled back across the table toward Anja. The crowd was thinning … most had already fled the banquet hall, giving the guards more room to work.
One was charging Anja, mace poised to strike. Alexander reached the other side of the table, sliding forward, kicking a chair into the guard’s path and slicing him in half when the man stumbled over it. Anja had killed three, and another three were surrounding her, trying to get past her guard, but she had her back to the wall and was lashing out at them whenever they got too close.
Alexander moved behind the one in the middle, killing him and drawing the attention of the other two-a distraction that proved fatal for them both. Anja clubbed one in the head, crushing his skull and splattering a line of blood diagonally across her face. Alexander cut the other man’s mace and stepped into his guard, stabbing him through the heart.
The Babachenko returned, entering the room with both hands raised, chanting ancient words under his breath. Palace guards started pouring out of the door behind him. They quickly subdued Tyr, his wizard standing down and raising his hands in surrender as soldiers filled the room and started flowing around the table toward Alexander.
The Babachenko loosed his spell, a wave of crackling bluish energy emanating from his hands and washing over both Alexander and Anja. Alexander went totally blind when it hit him, his all around sight failing, his aura-reading gone, even his precognition vanished.
“Take them alive!” the Babachenko commanded.
Two men grabbed Alexander by the wrists, stripping the Thinblade from his grasp before he realized what was happening. His magic was gone … how, he didn’t know.
“What have you done to me?” Anja said, her voice beginning as that of a young woman and ending as that of a dragon. Alexander and the men nearby were shoved to the ground by her abrupt transformation. The men farther away stopped in their tracks, scrambling backwards when they were suddenly confronted by a dragon.
Alexander knew better. Her scales were not yet hard enough to stop steel and her breath was only hot enough to scorch; certainly not the dragon fire of legend. She was vulnerable … and she was the biggest target in the room.
The Lord Protector unleashed his force mace at her, blasting her a dozen feet away from Alexander. She roared. Alexander felt the warmth of her fire, but it wasn’t hot enough to kill any but those closest to her. Still, it did seem to instill a sense of caution within the ranks of the palace guard.
A collar snapped around his neck and started constricting.
“Run!” he shouted to Anja before his voice failed him.
She roared in defiance, whipping her tail around. Two more men screamed.
The Lord Protector hit her again with his force mace.
“Run!” Alexander tried to shout.
Pain exploded in his head, accompanied by a bright white flash followed quickly by oblivion.
Chapter 14
Abigail nudged Kallistos into a shallow dive, Magda riding her right wing, two more Sky Knights in formation trailing behind them. This was her favorite moment. They’d been flying for hours, gliding on the wind, covering distance to the coastline and then floating above the shore toward the first of the shipyards. Tipping her wyvern forward, feeling the exhilaration of acceleration, the wind drowning out everything but her thoughts, leaning into her steed’s neck, descending toward her target, she forgot all of her concerns-the present moment eclipsed past and future, thrusting her into a place where there is only now.
With a slap against his coarse hide, Kallistos flared his wings, rapidly slowing their descent until he was nearly hovering on the wind. It was crushing, but Abigail expected it; she pressed herself against her wyvern’s neck and waited out the pressure of such sudden slowing, then sat up into the calm that followed, throwing her firepot very deliberately before coaxing Kallistos into a climb just moments after it was away. She watched the clay pot filled with liquid fire shatter harmlessly against the shield covering the single-berth shipyard cut into a secluded cove on the north coast of Fellenden.
She turned away, back toward Fellenden City, still looking over her shoulder as her scout team followed her lead. A dozen drakini tried to give chase, but the wyverns easily outpaced them.
***
“It is as we feared,” Abigail said. Her most trusted advisors were seated around the long table, and scores of officers lined the walls of the room. “Zuhl has established at least five shipyards along the northern coast. Each is protected by a powerful magical shield and several drakini.”
“Beg pardon, My Lady,” said a commander in the Fellenden legions. “What’s a drakini?”
Abigail nodded to Magda.
The Reishi triumvir stood, prim and with perfect poise, nodding deferentially to the officer who’d raised the question, then facing the assembly with grim purpose and sobering presence. “Drakini are a creation of Zuhl, the blending of dragon and man. They stand seven feet tall with blue-scaled hide that’s proof against steel. They have broad powerful wings, a long snout lined with needle-sharp teeth, and claws capable of rending flesh from bone. Also, they breathe frost cold enough to paralyze even the most hearty warrior.”
“How do we fight such a thing?” another commander asked, this one from the Ithilian Army.
“Most of you won’t,” Abigail said. “Prince Conner will lead the bulk of our ground forces against Irondale. We’ll leave two legions of the Fellenden Army commanded by Prince Torin to guard the city, while the remainder of our forces will move to destroy Zuhl’s best foothold on Fellenden. Nine wizards, including Mage Dax and Wizard Sark, will lend support to the assault along with two wings of Sky Knights.
“Forty-seven ships of the Ithilian Navy left Elsmere three days ago. Two wings of Sky Knights, led by Flig
ht Commander Corina will coordinate with them to systematically destroy Zuhl’s shipyards … and his ships, if the opportunity presents itself. These wings will include nearly all of the witches in the flight, since they’ll need magic to defeat the shields.
“Zuhl outnumbers us. His army is bigger than all other armies in the Seven Isles put together. As long as his soldiers remain on the Isle of Zuhl, they’re no threat to the world. Let loose, they’re the end of us all.
“The attack on Irondale is cleanup work, necessary and vital, but not worth one single life on our side. Zuhl has abandoned over four legions of his men, choosing to send his ships to establish other shipyards rather than reinforce his foothold on Fellenden.
“He’s forsaken those men, but we have not. Play on their fear, poison their courage with messages of the truth, tell them in every way possible that Zuhl has abandoned them. Use their doubt against them to break their resolve and gain entrance to the city … then kill them all.
“Zuhl cannot be allowed to control Irondale. His men hold to a code of conduct that does not accept surrender-they will fight to the death, and that makes this a hard business. I would burn Irondale were it not for the countless innocent people within its walls living in terror of Zuhl and in hope of our arrival.
“That leaves brute force … or something else. I’m hoping that Conner and the wizards under his command will find that something else.”
“I have something in mind,” Conner said, with a polite nod.
“I suspected you might,” Abigail said. She had worked closely with both Conner and Torin over the past weeks; both men had proven to be dedicated to the Old Law and willing to learn at every opportunity. Both had become her friends, familiar and close, trusted and relied upon. She feared for them both, even as she placed them in harm’s way.
“The Ithilian Navy and the Sky Knights will bring the fight to the shipyards and destroy them one after the next,” Abigail said. “Good hunting.”
***
Abigail floated easily on the high winds, Magda at her right, looking down at two wings of Sky Knights lining up to begin their attack runs. Nearly fifty wyverns flying in two strict V-formations began to shift into four columns.
Linkershim sotsi-6 Page 18
