All the Gods be forever damned, he’d missed!
Before he could yank the crossbow bolt out of the back of his hand and try again, a fiery explosion rocked the bell tower and knocked hundreds of people off their feet. One of the magical carillon bells clanked off-key. Was this more of Neko Blood’s grand plan? Was she trying to thwart Lord Ragget? If so, he’d have to have words with her later. He did not appreciate being caught in the middle of their power struggle.
A lone musical note of unusual purity drifted out over the Square. Stephano Di Rygazzo gasped. His ears must be mistaken. The last time he’d heard such an exquisite tone was thirty years ago at a pre-Fallereus celebration in Sepeccare and it had come from the pipes of Philomel the Nightingale. The world-renowned musician had been killed during the ensuing massacre so who could be . . .?
The haunting melody abruptly turned harsh and cruel and even he felt a shock of apprehension. Who could be playing such music? He had to know!
A thunderous roar rumbled across the Square, but Stephano Di Rygazzo heard the magical notes playing beneath it, creating it, supporting it, and making it seem so very real. He spun toward the source and found the impressive construct of a great dragon sprawled atop the bank across the street. The fire spewing from the illusionary beast’s jaws though was quite real and quite hot. Stephano Di Rygazzo raised a hand to shield his face from the heat. A crossbow bolt was sticking out of it.
Amazing!
For a moment, he had forgotten what had just happened and what he was doing; such was the power of the music filling the Square.
He turned back to confront Sir Lumist and found himself face-to-face with the old knight.
“For Ian,” Lumist said. His hand shot forward.
Stephano Di Rygazzo glanced down. The knife he’d used to cut Ian’s forehead was jutting from his chest.
“Dammit . . .”
chapter 38
“DAMMIT!” Devin bellowed. He tossed Cecily aside and flung open the carriage door. “Can’t anyone do anything RIGHT?! Must I do everything MYSELF?!”
Cecily didn’t answer. Devin’s overflowing joy had turned to unbridled rage in a matter of seconds and she thought it best to keep quiet and hope he’d forget she was there.
Looking like himself again, Devin flew out of the carriage and charged the platform with his sword drawn. Cecily hastily pulled on her torn dress and draped Devin’s forgotten cape over her shoulders. She was sure she looked a mess, but between the two garments at least her nakedness was covered. Now all she had to do was escape while his attention was drawn away elsewhere.
Using the opposite door, she slipped out of the coach. Devin’s brutal assault had left her feeling raw and tender and unsteady on her feet. She took a few wobbly steps and stumbled into the path of two frightened women.
“Get out of my way!” one shrieked, shoving her aside.
Cecily tripped and fell and scuffed one of her knees. She crawled over to a nearby bench and pulled herself up onto it. Only then did she notice the fire raging atop the bell tower. She stared at the billowing black smoke pouring from the wreck of the balcony in stunned silence.
Her father had just been up there!
She thought she probably should shed a tear or two, but she couldn’t help but wonder; what did this all mean for her? With Tyran declared non de’herytae, she would not be named Queen Regent. And with Lord Oliver Orrington banished from the country that left . . . she ran down the List of Ascension in her mind . . . Lord Devin Ragget next in line for the throne.
Cecily chewed on her bottom lip. Was this what he had intended all along? Whoever he was? Whatever he was? She had known him for almost her entire life. Had he always been . . .?
She considered the . . . thing . . . that had violated her. Was he . . . it . . .? She shook her head. Was he a shape-changer? She’d heard tales of such creatures before, but she’d always believed them to be nothing more than myths. Like unicorns. Or dragons . . .
A mighty roar intruded on her thoughts.
Cecily cast her eyes toward the sky and inhaled sharply. Gods above! A dragon was on the Bank of Belyne’s roof!
Cecily immediately forgot her pain. She grabbed the hem of her dress and ran.
A few blocks away, she stopped to catch her breath. Once she found it again, she looked around and realized where she was. What a lucky coincidence! She wasn’t far from where she needed to go.
She pulled up her hood, slipped down a crooked street and ducked into a shadowy, deserted inn. The dusky-skinned bartender glanced up, obviously surprised to find someone in his taproom. She wondered briefly if he would stay in the city now that Gyunwarians were ordered to leave or if he’d pack up and follow them.
“The Square is that way.” He gestured back the way she’d come.
“I’d just like to sit for a while.” Cecily headed toward the darkest table furthest from the door and the fireplace. Her hands shook. She hoped he didn’t notice.
“Order a drink and you can stay as long as you like.”
“Wine,” she called over her shoulder. “A bottle of red wine, if you will,” she added a moment later.
Sliding into the corner chair, she turned and stared back at the door. She didn’t know how long she’d have to wait for the man she was meeting to join her, but she had no intention of leaving until he showed. She had questions.
She wanted answers.
chapter 39
Kylpin wanted sleep. As he ran across the street, sword drawn, rushing to the rescue of his friends, he couldn’t help but notice just how tired he was. His legs felt like they were weighted down by anchors and his arms felt like he’d been chained to an oar for a fortnight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. Had it been in his cabin back on the Serenity the night before arriving in Belyne? Could that be right?
Fleeting black images danced on the edge of his vision. The shadow hallucinations had haunted him before, and like before, he ignored them. All he needed was a few hours of sleep or a pinch of campornil and they’d disappear, and he’d be right as the sea again. He reached for his tin. It was gone. Gone, dammit? How had he lost . . .?
He remembered now. Josephine had taken it from him and thrown it out Theodora’s front door. He’d have to go back and find that sometime.
Blasts of fire scorched the sky overhead. A mighty roar reverberated throughout the Square. Kylpin cringed. The bone-shaking noise rattled him to his core, but the streaming comets of fire frightened him even more. They reminded him of the day he’d lost his Serenity.
For a moment, he considered running away. Thousands of Yordicians were already fleeing the area, scattering like leaves in a windstorm as spreading panic and fear overwhelmed them and drove them off. It would be so easy to join them, to run from the horror of the past few days. And if in his running, he could forget about his lost men, and Evie’s death and his promise to the Shi’kwarans to rescue their daughter and return her to their island, if somehow, he could wipe his memory clean by turning tail and never looking back . . . Oh, it would have been a tempting option.
But the truth was the world didn’t work that way and neither did he. He couldn’t run from his losses, his bad memories, or his problems. He’d have to face them head-on. Besides, no matter how much pain it caused him, he’d never abandon his friends. So, with that belief firmly entrenched in his mind, Kylpin ran, not away, but toward the platform.
On stage, Sir Lumist stabbed the bearded torturer. As the man backed away, disbelief etched into his ageless face, the old knight snatched the executioner’s sword from his hands. The wardens who had previously condoned off the platform and kept the masses from storming the stage now stormed the stage. Sir Lumist fought them off and retreated to where Ian was chained. Before he could free him though, the wardens drove him back to the center of the platform and surrounded him.
“I’m coming, my friend!” Kylpin called out.
One of the wardens behind Sir Lumist darted forward, sword raised, poised
to strike. Before he took his third step, a crossbow bolt thudded into his back and he pitched forward dead. Kylpin would have cheered Josephine’s deadly shot if he’d had the breath. Instead, he pounded across the narrow strip of grass between the street and the platform and dashed up the wooden stairs. He clubbed the nearest warden across the back of his head with the butt of his sword. The man dropped unconscious and Kylpin stepped over him to take his place next to Lumist.
“I was wondering if you were going to show,” the old knight wheezed.
“It looked like you needed a hand.”
“It couldn’t hurt, I suppose. How are you with a blade?”
“I prefer sailing and women, but I can hold my own,” Kylpin said. “You seem a little winded, old man?”
“I’ve been fighting? What’s your excuse?”
“Sadly, just running. There’s not much call for it on a ship.”
“Plenty of it going on right now.” Lumist snorted and gestured toward the Square. “Look at them scatter. Like a bunch of yellow-headed roaches with the lanterns lit.”
Another roar shook the platform.
“What the hell is causing all that noise?” Lumist shouted.
Kylpin glanced over his shoulder and nearly lost control of his bladder. His hallucinations were getting worse! A mighty dragon was standing on top of the bank. It reared onto its hind legs, spread its great sail-like wings and spewed another stream of fire into the air.
“I think . . .” Kylpin swallowed and tried again. “I think that might be Philson’s and Garett’s handiwork.”
“You think?”
“Well, if it’s not, my friend, we’ve got more than just a few wardens to worry about.”
“You call eight just a few?”
“Are eight too many for you?”
Lumist harrumphed. “Me? No. But, I’ll leave a couple for you since you bothered to come.”
“You’re a generous man.”
“Too generous sometimes.”
Kylpin eyed the ring of men milling around them. None looked like seasoned warriors. Nor did any of them seem all that eager to make the first move. Two were already nursing weeping cuts and a third had suffered a gash over his left eye. Lumist had been busy.
“What do you think?” Kylpin said in halting Gyunwarian. “Cowards in uniforms? Look at their frightened faces.”
“I think you scared them,” Lumist responded in Gyunwarian. “Have you seen yourself lately? You look like a wild savage.”
Kylpin brushed a hand through his mussed hair. “Me? Have YOU seen YOURSELF lately?”
Dark circles ringed the old knight’s gray eyes and his jaw hung slack. His earlier wound had opened again and he was bleeding from it and a nasty-looking gash on his arm. “I was trying for crazed and half-dead.”
“Oh. Then you’ve succeeded, my friend.”
“I thought so,” Lumist rasped. “And while I’m rather enjoying this little conversation, perhaps you should free Ian and we can make a break for it before these youngsters gather their courage and do something truly stupid.”
“No, you free him. I’ll cover you.”
Before Lumist could open his mouth to argue, one of the wardens issued a command and the other seven men shouted “Yordic!” at the top of their lungs.
“Dammit . . .” Lumist muttered.
“What’s wrong?”
Lumist shot him a look. “Here comes the stupid I warned you about.”
The eight swarmed in as one, all bellowing a fierce battle cry. Adrenaline coursed through Kylpin’s veins, but rather than offer some wild shout of his own, he fought quietly, conserving his strength, knocking aside the jabbing swords just enough to remain unharmed. For a little while, he forgot his weariness. His movements were fluid, his strikes, precise. He and Lumist fought well together, slowly circling around each other, parrying three or four blows each before chasing a warden back with an attack of their own. Kylpin bloodied a couple of them and was surprised when the young men didn’t flee.
Perhaps he’d been wrong about them. Perhaps they weren’t just cowards in uniforms.
Eventually, the adrenaline waned and Kylpin’s concentration wavered. A thrusting sword crashed through his defenses and plucked at his side. He spun away from the pain only to find more headed his way. A blade ricocheted off his slashing sword and banged against his shoulder. Fortunately, only the flat of the blade struck him, but it still hurt. He whipped his steel around in retaliation. The tip carved a deep gash across the warden’s handsome face from cheekbone to cheekbone, cutting the bottom half of his nose off in the process. The newly ugly man screamed and snorted and staggered away, the fight gone right out of him as he hacked and coughed up swallowed blood.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kylpin caught sight of a warden stringing a bow. Dammit. Neither he nor Lumist had a shield. He tried to reach the crafty bowman, but two big-boned wardens stood in his way. In a past life, they both might have been farmers. Or maybe just bulls. He slashed at them both, but neither gave ground. He tried again. Again, he was rejected.
The bowman’s steely gaze landed on him and with a smirk, he reached for an arrow. Kylpin growled in frustration. He only had a few seconds left to live. Feigning to his right, he stepped left, balled up his empty hand and clobbered the thick-necked warden in front of him with a straight jab to the chin. Kylpin had hoped the man would topple over like a felled tree. Instead, he just stood there staring down at him with a faint look of surprise on his broad face.
Dammit!
The bowman raised his bow, drew back and sighted along the arrow. Perhaps Lumist had been wrong too. Not all these men were stupid.
A bolt zipped across the platform and plunged into the bowman’s neck. His eyes lost their focus. His arms dipped. The arrow shot forward and thudded into the platform at Kylpin’s feet. The bowman’s knees buckled, and he collapsed. Relief washed over Kylpin as he gulped for air. Again, there was no time to acknowledge Josephine’s fine shot. The warden with the mildly bruised chin lunged straight for his gut. Kylpin twisted away. A slash came in high from his right side. He ducked. Something sharp scraped across his thigh. Kylpin swallowed down his scream and sent a backhanded swipe toward the third man who’d injured him. His blade arched through the air and sliced off the warden’s right ear. The bloody bit of flesh spiraled away and landed out in the street.
Behind him, Lumist shouted something in Gyunwarian, but his words were sharp and quick and Kylpin didn’t understand them. Was it a warning? Kylpin spun around and almost caught a thrown knife with his face. As it was, the blade skimmed past his cheek so close it took a bit of his beard with it.
Kylpin’s heart hammered. His cheek burned hot. The knife had taken a bit of skin too.
Before he could catch his breath, the two hefty wardens resumed their relentless assault, attacking him from either side. Bruised Chin on his left. Big-Bone on his right. He had no idea where Missing Ear had gone. He hoped Lumist had him in sight.
A dull ache developed in Kylpin’s sword arm. Each parry sent a new jolt of pain to his shoulder and back. Bruised Chin and Big-Bone bore down on him with seemingly unending supplies of energy. A sharp edge grazed his left wrist. Another nicked his right knee. He heard the now familiar whistle of Josephine’s bolts tearing through the air, but neither of the men he faced went down.
Was her reliable aim being affected by their handsome fresh faces? He hazarded a glance at the bank window across the street. Josephine was still there, but her attention was on something behind him . . .
A sword hissed past, sliding through the thin empty space between his ribs and his left bicep. A few inches closer and it would have pierced his heart! With a determined cry, Kylpin slashed at Bruised Chin’s outstretched arm. His blade cut right through the man’s elbow and the lost limb and sword plopped onto the platform at his feet. Bruised Chin’s face went white. A scream tore loose from his trembling lips. He spun away, his stump waving wildly in the air. Blood sprayed into Kylpin’
s eyes. Momentarily blinded, he took a couple of steps back and wiped at his face with his sleeve. Through the red haze he saw Big-Bone lunge.
Kylpin batted the man’s sword away and countered with a thrust of his own. His blade tip hit something solid and then slid home. Big-Bone gasped and clutched at his chest. A bloody stain spread across the front of his uniform shirt and out from behind his massive hand. Kylpin didn’t waste any time savoring his victory. He turned to help Sir Lumist . . .
And found the old knight engaged in a furious duel with Lord Ragget.
Across the body-littered platform the two opponents traveled, back and forth, trading blows, their swords sometimes moving so fast Kylpin was unable to follow them. The clashing and clanging of striking metal created a violent cacophony of shrieking noise and the sparks leaping from their crossed blades danced about their heads. Four of Josephine’s bolts protruded from Lord Ragget’s sword arm and yet he still fought with tremendous skill, grace and strength. Sweat beaded across Sir Lumist’s red face and dripped from his chin. He fought with pure grit and determination. At first blush, Kylpin might have thought the two were evenly matched, but the longer the duel lasted, the more obvious it became to him.
Sir Lumist was going to lose.
The strain of exertion was showing on the old knight’s haggard face while Lord Ragget’s remained as impassive as granite. Sir Lumist gasped for air. Lord Ragget wasn’t even winded.
Fear clutched at Kylpin’s heart. Frantically, he searched for a way to aid his friend, but he knew he wouldn’t find it. Anything he might try would likely only put him in Sir Lumist’s way. He’d heard tales of the old knight’s fighting prowess, about his near decade of dominance in the fighting arenas, and admittedly he’d thought most of those stories had been nothing more than pure fancy, exaggerations told to impress the younger fighters. Now, he knew the stories hadn’t done Sir Lumist justice.
Stolen Crown Page 15
