Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
Tisera
I sprinted back to the prince’s quarters and barged into the suite, then into his bedchambers. I halted at the sight of the carnal act before me. Veora straddled the prince, sitting proud as she rocked herself over him. Her hands combed up through her hair, head thrown back. The prince’s hands clutched her — very well endowed — breasts as he drank in her beauty. Then he looked at me, a little shocked.
“The palace is under attack!” I hissed at them. “I’ll protect you, but you should bar your door and find cover!”
That stopped them both, and since I didn’t want to see any more than I already had, I left, returning to the hall.
If the attackers got this far, I’d have no cover along this open hallway. If they had any crossbows with them, I’d be an easy target. Which meant I’d want to be at one end of the long hall or the other, either to attack them up close as soon as they turned the corner or be able to use that corner as cover if they were coming from the other direction… but that would mean leaving the prince’s door unprotected and I couldn’t do that. I had to stay here, out in the open.
To make matters worse, I was dressed as a commoner, not a soldier. I reached under my skirts and drew forth the two long daggers strapped to my thighs.
What I wouldn’t give for a sword and shield, but this was all I had, and it would have to do. If I was lucky, I could take a sword from one of the attackers.
But then I realized something… the fact that I was dressed as a commoner could be used to my advantage. I flipped both daggers, holding them reversed so they were almost completely hidden behind my arms. If anyone saw me — including the attackers — they’d not think me a threat. They might get close without trying to harm me… then I could take them.
With luck, though, the attackers wouldn’t even get this far. I was deep in the royal wing of the palace. It was highly unlikely that?—
Was that the sound of fighting?
Fuck.
I heard the clank of metal and the thud of heavy booted feet from one direction and turned to see — thankfully — a troop of four palace guards coming around a corner, jogging urgently toward me.
“What are you doing out here?” one called to me. “Find cover, they’re in the royal wing!”
I nodded but didn’t move. Hopefully they’d think I was some silly, scared-stiff, courtier or servant.
They ran past me to the far corner of the hall, where the sounds of fighting drew closer. They waited at the corner, then charged around in a rush.
More sounds of combat, mixed with the groans and screams of dying men.
Someone staggered into view around the corner: a palace guard. He looked disbelieving at the crossbow bolt sticking out of his stomach. He collapsed to his hands and knees and looked up at me.
“Run!” he wheezed, then collapsed.
I cowered, crouching low, as more men came into view. These were not palace guards, and the amount of other-people’s blood on them told me they were hardened mercenaries, very skilled at close quarter combat. There were seven of them, some injured. Two men with crossbows hurried to the front.
One man spied me and laughed. “Look at the pretty lass, Sergeant. You sure I can’t have a little fun?”
“No, our orders are clear, kill her.”
Dear gods! Their orders were to kill everyone? Even civilians? What sort of inhuman commander did they have?
“No!” I yelped, and it wasn’t entirely feigned. I’d have much preferred if the cocky one had tried something with me, gotten close with no weapons out. It would have been easier to kill him that way. But now…
Luckily the men with the crossbows didn’t want to waste ammunition on me, since I’d be easy prey for one of their mates with a sword. They passed me as if I was no threat to them. One of the others approached, sword out.
“Sorry lass,” this one said. “I’d much rather stab you with a different sword, but orders is orders.” He drew back his sword, ready to stab me through the chest, quick and mostly clean.
I surged to my feet, meeting his blade with a dagger and pushing it aside. Then I slit the wrist of his sword hand with my other dagger. Dropping one dagger, I plucked the man’s sword from a now lifeless grip, then swung it up across his neck. Yet I was a bit too eager, my aim too high, cleaving through his jaw, but it had the same effect.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
“Fuck me, she killed Petric!” one shouted.
I couldn’t afford to stop. I had six others to kill, and I wasn’t in armor. I had to trust in speed and surprise. And surprise wouldn’t last long.
I charged a second man and stabbed for his throat. He shook off his shock and raised his sword to parry mine, but he wasn’t expecting the dagger I drove into the un-protected spot under his right arm. The long-bladed dagger plunged deep and he fell, dying.
Knowing there might be attacks coming my way from behind, I threw myself down, diving and rolling. I came up kneeling at the back of the group, where one of the injured men swung at me awkwardly with a sword in his left hand — clearly not his usual sword arm.
I blocked the clumsy blow with my dagger and drove my sword up, trying to get under the faulds of his armor and hopefully slice into his belly. But the blade deflected awkwardly and tore into his codpiece, my sword sinking into his soft and precious parts.
The man screamed and dropped his sword to clutch his bloody loins. I took that moment to surge to my feet and slice my dagger across his throat.
Another injured man — clutching a wound on his side with one hand — lunged at me. I twisted — unable to get fully out of the way in time — and took the hit on my hip, instead of my stomach. The blade glanced off my hipbone, scraping and biting deep.
I cried out at the searing pain, even as I slashed wildly at him. My sword rang off his helm. He staggered, stunned. I surged in and punched him with my sword-hand, smashing the cross-guard of the blade into his nose. He gave a gurgling cry and fell back, clutching his ruined face. He might die, he might live, but he was out of this fight.
I turned to the remaining three… just as the two crossbowmen fired at me.
I tried to move, to spin or drop, but was too slow. I only got out of the way of one. The other hit the outside of my left shoulder and tore a hideous chunk out of my arm.
I screamed, a wild and desperate cry, as I collapsed.
Years of battle training took over. I needed to get up, needed to keep fighting. If I stayed down, stayed still, I was dead.
I gritted my teeth and struggled to rise, managing to get to one knee. But by then, the one man not holding a crossbow had reached me. Behind him, the two crossbowmen had reloaded, fingers on triggers, in case I tried anything.
The man standing over me was the sergeant who’d reminded the others of their orders: kill everyone. His eyes held no mercy as he raised his sword dispassionately.
To be continued…