Chapter 61
61
T AZAR RUSHED DOWN the street, sticking to the deeper shadows. Althea paced him on the left and the guildmaster of Anvil on his right. More of the Shayn’ra —accompanied by a mix of ruffians and cutthroats—swept through neighboring alleyways and narrow lanes. They all closed upon the walls of the Augury’s palacio.
Tazar passed two guardsmen sprawled on the ground, their blood still spreading across the cobbles. In a few more steps, another appeared, slumped against a wall, clutching his sliced throat, trying to keep his life from spilling away. They had already passed a dozen such victims, marking the handiwork of Llyra’s secret army as they silently dispatched patrols along the way.
While they crossed the town, shutters were clamped over windows and doors slammed. The denizens of Qazen wanted no part in the bloodshed to come.
“Slow,” Llyra hissed as they came within sight of the salt-encrusted walls of the palacio.
Blocks and blocks of imperial soldiers filled the square, guarding the gates into the palacio. They were easily two centuries in number. In addition, a large barge plied the winds above the villa.
“More than we anticipated,” Althea noted as they drew to a stop. “Even with the strength of surprise, we face a hard battle.”
Tazar conceded this point; still, his blood thrummed with excitement. “We can’t balk now.”
Especially when we’re this close to achieving the impossible.
They all waited for the signal before attacking. Llyra breathed heavily next to him. A tall Rhysian—an assassin named Saekl—shadowed her.
“We’ve already delayed too long,” Llyra said. “My spies inside the palacio report that everyone has gathered inside the Augury’s audience chamber. We must strike swiftly to keep them pinned there. We don’t want to risk—”
A muffled scream pierced the breeze off the ocean, coming from beyond the tall walls ahead.
Llyra scowled, looking ready to rush forward on her own, but Saekl held her back.
“Wait for the signal,” the assassin warned.
Then it came—the first of the latterday bells echoed across the town.
K ANTHE HAD REFUSED to look away as the sword fell hard upon Jester’s arrow-bit leg. The blade cleaved through the Guld’guhlian’s shin, just below his knee. The severed limb skittered over the marble as the man cried out, thrashing in the grip of two guardsmen. His scream echoed in the small space, as if a hundred men were being tortured.
Blood spurted far, all the way to the dais. Droplets spattered the hem of Aalia’s gown. Still, she didn’t back away.
Jester’s cries devolved into heaving curses, especially as the other giant dropped to a knee next to him. He swung around an ax that had been burning in the cauldron’s coal. Its iron shone ruddy. The giant pressed the hot blade against the stump. Flesh seared and smoked. Jester jolted, his back arching with pain, his breath trapped in his chest.
When it finally burst loose, his scream deafened the ringing of the town’s bells. After an interminable time, Jester sagged, snot running from his nose, tears from his eyes.
His brother, Mead, clenched both fists to his chest. Frell had gone pale. Pratik’s lips moved in a silent prayer.
In the quiet that followed, a horn blared outside. Before it faded, another answered, then another. A strident chorus soon rose all around.
Everyone in the room stared in different directions.
Kanthe glanced at Frell and Pratik, but he found no answer in their confused expressions. Next came shouting and the sharp blasts of bombs. Then screams, both furious and pained.
From the doors to either side of the dais, a score of guardsmen in shining armor—imperial Paladins—swept to encircle the emperor and his family.
Their leader offered a bow to Makar. “Hold fast, Your Illustriousness. A scrabble of baseborn dare to attack. Accompanied by the Shayn’ra. But they dash themselves against our forces. None will breach these walls.”
The emperor was on his feet. He did not look scared or worried, only angry at the interruption. He cast a hard glance at the Augury, as if he had expected the oracle to have anticipated this assault.
“We will prove victorious,” the Paladin promised.
W E CANNOT WIN this battle.
From the edge of the square, Tazar despaired. Moments ago, their two armies—his and Llyra’s—had crashed against the imperial forces. Even caught off guard, the two centuries of guardsmen formed a silver cliff that looked impregnable. Furious fighting continued along its edge, but little progress was made.
Frustrated and angry, Tazar could no longer stand by and watch.
If this is our end, I will die with my sword bloodied.
Althea grabbed his shoulder. “We cannot lose you, too. You are the foundation on which a new Fist can grow.”
Tazar ground his teeth. He glared over at Llyra, wondering if this were all some ruse, another trap set up by the imperium. True or not, he knew he was ultimately to blame, letting ambition overrule restraint.
I should have heeded Althea’s caution from the start.
Still, his fingers clutched as he stared over at the Guld’guhlian, wanting to strangle her for luring him to this bloody defeat. She ignored him, looking unfazed. Her gaze was not even on the fighting, but toward the sky. He glanced in that same direction.
The imperial barge swept outward from its hover over the gardens, coming to put a resounding end to the battle.
Llyra spoke firmly to Tazar. “Sound a retreat.”
“What?”
“Now!” she yelled.
Before Tazar could fumble for his bone whistle, Althea blew hers, heeding the woman. His second-in-command must have been awaiting such an order, knowing they were doomed. Her blasts pierced the clamor of battle. She blew four more times, making sure all heard her strident command to pull back.
Tazar glowered at Llyra, but the woman’s gaze remained on the skies. The barge reached the battle as their two forces fled from under the ship’s shadows. Out of the corner of Tazar’s eye, he caught Llyra give a small nod.
As if heeding this signal, a barrage of flaming spears shot from rooftops around the square. They twanged from longbows hidden until now, requiring two men to draw them. The spear’s passages left trails of emerald fire and smoke.
Tazar gasped, all too familiar with the eerie cast to those flames.
Naphlaneum.
The spears struck the barge’s balloon in several spots. The ship shuddered as if anticipating what was going to happen next. Then the gasbag ignited in one blinding burst. Tazar shielded his face, feeling the heat on the ground. The barge plummeted, its forges flaming under it, futilely struggling to hold it aloft.
The barge crashed into the centuries of guardsmen below, shattering into them, casting a wall of fire wider. The concussion blasted open the wall’s gates.
Llyra turned to Tazar. “Into the breach we go!”
Tazar stood, stunned, but Althea switched her whistle and blew for their forces to regroup and charge ahead. Llyra set off with her assassin shadow. Tazar got pulled in their wake and sped up alongside the Guld’guhlian.
“This was your plan all along!” he hollered at Llyra. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Couldn’t risk our forces hanging back. The battle had to be fierce and bloody.”
Althea understood. “To lure the barge overhead.”
Then they were into the fighting, dancing through flames and carnage.
K ANTHE PICKED HIMSELF up off the floor and rolled back to his knees. The blast had blown out the windows across one side of the chamber. Glass still danced and skittered on the marble. Lanterns swung wildly overhead. The clash of steel and screams reached them.
Ahead, the cordon of Paladins closed tightly around the imperial family. They looked ready to rush them off, but for the moment, no one seemed to know where safety lay.
Still, Emperor Makar remained focused, but not on escape. He pointed at the five in chains. “Dispatch them! Now!”
The two black-clad giants closed on their group, hefting ax and sword. The guards behind them pinned Kanthe and the others on the floor. The Paladins ushered their imri charges in the other direction.
The hulking swordsman stepped in front of Kanthe, blocking his view to the dais. He swung his curved blade high—then cringed. His other hand slapped his cheek, then his neck. A tickle of feathers fell, spinning to the floor, pulled down by a black barb.
Then the giant swooned, toppling backward. He crashed to the hard marble. The other took a step toward his felled partner, only to sway and stumble, falling headlong, smashing his face onto the stone floor.
The guards behind them fled in panic, but it was too late. Before they got far, feathered darts struck them. They dropped within steps. One toppled onto his own sword, carving the edge of his blade through his throat.
The threat finally revealed itself.
From the gloom along the walls, shadows broke free. They looked like dark sparrows, flitting and spinning into and out of the room’s dark edges, vanishing and reappearing. They held long pipes pinched between their lips. But their music was deadly.
Barbs flew from those pipes.
Knives flashed out of shadows.
With elegant efficiency, the Paladins were stripped from the emperor. Bodies fell everywhere.
It would have been beautiful if it weren’t so terrifying.
Emperor Makar, along with Rami and Aalia, were forced back to the dais by this storm of shadows. The Augury huddled with them. The oracle brushed a feathered barb that had lodged at his collar, just missing his throat. They all gathered near the dais’s tall throne.
Then, as if they were never there, the sparrows vanished.
On this cue, the main doors crashed open behind Kanthe. Men poured into the room, pursued by the strident clash of a continuing battle. In the lead rushed a familiar figure. The stripe of white paint across his eyes did nothing to hide his identity. Kanthe flashed to the streets of Kysalimri, the bloody ambush.
Here came the leader of the Shayn’ra.
Behind him, an impossibility strode in his wake, clearly supporting this assault by the Fist of God. Llyra stalked across the marble. Her eyes were as steely as the two half-swords in her hands. One blade was broken near its hilt. Her face was steeped in blood.
Saekl swept alongside her—though the tall woman looked hardly mussed. Only a single drop of blood marred her pale cheek.
Kanthe struggled to understand.
Unfortunately, the leader of the Shayn’ra was not so confused. Clearly focused on one goal, he swept straight to Kanthe and grabbed a fistful of the prince’s hair. Shackled and chained, Kanthe could not defend himself. His head was yanked back, baring his throat. A sword flashed high.
Before it fell, a shout thundered across the chamber. “Don’t!”
The blade froze in place.
The command had not come from Llyra or Saekl. Not even from Kanthe’s stalwart friend, Rami.
Aalia strode down the steps and whisked in her gown toward them.
Behind her, Makar and Rami looked as stunned as Kanthe felt.
She reached up and pulled the sword down. “No. There’s much you still don’t understand, Tazar.”
His captor released Kanthe’s hair and used that arm to scoop Aalia into his embrace. “All I understand is that you’re safe.”
He kissed her deeply, bending her back with his passion.
Kanthe met Rami’s eyes, as stunned as his friend.
From the floor, Jester voiced all their concerns. “What in Hadyss’s blistered, fiery arse is going on?”