Chapter 19 #2
Myth concentrated on staying out of his way, well aware she was the biggest liability and was no help at all. She tried to edge in the direction of the swarming Honor Guards while ducking enemies.
Unfortunately, two converged on her at once. One of them grabbed her by the wrists while the other plucked her dagger from her hand.
They held her for only a moment before Arvel rammed into the one holding her wrists, and lightning enveloped the second man, making him fall with a scream.
“Did they hurt you?” Arvel shouted over the pandemonium.
Myth shook her head. “I’m fine.”
I hate being so useless!
Arvel was off before he could respond, flicking one of his borrowed daggers at an incoming brigand, and lashing out at the turned back of another.
Myth saw a path open up between Arvel and the Honor Guards.
If I can get to them, Arvel can stop worrying about me.
She ran, jumping a few fallen enemies. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached the halfway point.
Almost there…
And then Lord Julyan stepped in front of her.
“Don’t move,” he shouted. “Or I’ll kill her.” There was an unsettling light in his eyes as he rested the point of his sword just over Myth’s heart.
Arvel skidded to a stop. He was so close, Myth might have been able to touch him if she reached back, but she didn’t dare with the sword hovering precariously over her chest.
Slowly, the fighting subsided as Princess Gwendafyn, the Honor Guards, and Lady Tari realized what was going on.
“If you even scratch her, you’ll never leave this room alive,” Arvel snarled.
“Call off your guards. And all of you, step back ,” Lord Julyan said.
No one moved.
“ Do it !” he yelled.
Arvel exchanged looks with Thad and nodded.
Thad made a few gestures, and he and his men slowly backed up.
Lord Julyan rolled his eyes to the side. “You as well, Princess.”
Princess Gwendafyn’s eyes were narrowed. “You can’t think you’re going to get away with this.”
“I think I can.” Lord Julyan’s smile seemed unhinged, and his eyes were bloodshot. “In fact, I think you’ll escort me through the palace, and I will leave here unhindered.”
Lady Tari narrowed her eyes, and her blades of light shone brightly on her arms as Sius growled at her feet. “You’re mad if you think we’re letting you go anywhere.”
“Then the translator dies.” Lord Julyan jerked the sword up so it pressed into the skin of Myth’s neck.
Myth inhaled deeply, but only blinked when she felt the cold steel against her windpipe.
Arvel bared his teeth in a silent snarl and clenched his hands into fists. “Fall back to the boundary of the room.”
“Are you sure?” Princess Gwendafyn idly twirled her sword and glanced up at the balcony.
Arvel didn’t follow her gaze, but he glanced to Thad, who nodded again.
“Yes,” Arvel said. “Move slowly.”
The Honor Guards backed up reluctantly—each step they took was small and begrudging, but Lord Julyan’s smile grew the farther they went.
The vengeful lord turned his attention to Myth and jostled his sword. “Once they reach the walls, you will walk with me, Translator.”
“Don’t hurt her!” Arvel seethed.
Lord Julyan scoffed at him. “If I hurt her, it is your fault for not giving in to my demands.”
Myth kept her hands pressed into her sides even as her palms grew sweaty.
Sluggishly, she lowered her gaze from Lord Julyan’s fever-bright eyes to the elven blade stretched between them.
This close, she could read the inscription that ornamented the blade, picking out recognizable words in Elvish, and a few of the symbols she’d managed to translate from the High Elf book on magic that she’d found.
As I thought, it’s the one that was on display in his town house. A true High Elf artifact. Seeing it this close, I know it must be illegally obtained or stolen given the potency of the magic laced into the blade.
She flicked her eyes up to Lord Julyan.
Which shows how stupid he is to possess a magic High Elf sword. Their weapons thirst for blood on a mild day, but anything forged with High Elf magic is a double edged blade, willing to harm anyone as long as the right words are spoken. Wait…
Lord Julyan lifted his chin up and smiled arrogantly when everyone—from Lady Tari and Sius to Arvel and the Honor Guards—stood with their backs to the walls. “Now, move, Translator.”
Myth stared at the sword, a solution dawning on her.
She wasn’t interested in fighting—it had never occurred to her to pick up anything besides a book.
But the library had burned. And Lord Julyan was actively seeking to kill Arvel.
For that reason alone, I’m willing to spill his blood on my hands.
“Why do you just stand there? Move !” Lord Julyan jostled the blade, slicing the delicate skin of Myth’s neck.
Arvel and Thad stirred, but Myth didn’t flinch.
She glanced at the symbols on the sword, saw the rune for flames, then smiled.
She spoke, the unfamiliar word dropping from her lips.
But although her throat and tongue moved, the sound that came from her mouth was warped, the magic in it twisting sound itself so the word sounded like the angry roar of fire.
The High Elf sword exploded into green flames, crackling with power and magic.
Lord Julyan screamed as the magic engulfed his hand, eating through his gloves and the sleeve of his jacket, burrowing deep into his skin.
The stench of burned flesh filled the air, and he dropped the sword, but it never touched the ground.
Myth held out her hand and spoke the second High Elf rune she recognized on the blade, the one that meant return.
Again, the magic in the command twisted the sound as it rolled off her tongue, turning it into a high-pitched keening.
The sword blinked out of existence midfall, then reappeared in her hand. The cold touch of its metal hilt was foreign and unfamiliar, but the weapon was as light as a feather. With astounding ease, Myth raised it to point at Lord Julyan’s chest.
“It seems no one warned you, Lord Julyan, about the dangers of using a High Elf blade…particularly when its directions for use are inscribed on the blade itself,” Myth said dryly. She smiled, then once again uttered the rune for fire.
Lord Julyan screamed as the sword shed green sparks that burst into more green flames.
He turned on his heel to run, and nearly impaled himself on Princess Gwendafyn’s sword. “Going somewhere?” she snarled.
“He is,” Lady Tari purred as she appeared at Lord Julyan’s open side, her giant snow cat hungrily licking his chops. “To his death.”
“No, no! You’re just elves!” Lord Julyan snarled. “Too soft to do anything!”
“I disagree, Lord Julyan.” Arvel had bridged the span between him and Myth in what felt like a blink and settled his hand on her lower back. “They’re too noble to strike first. But when they move, they’ll make sure it’s the last thing you see. Surrender. Or die.”
When Lord Julyan scoffed, Arvel pointed up.
Sometime during Lord Julyan’s tirade, Prince Benjimir and Sir Arion had brought what looked like three squads of Honor Guards onto the second-floor balcony of the hall. Each guard held a bow with an arrow—glinting in the dim light—nocked and aimed at the Calnorian lord.
“It’s over,” Arvel said.
Lord Julyan’s face became a mask of fury, and he lunged at Myth.
Arvel moved like quicksilver, flicking a dagger so it struck Lord Julyan, piercing the hand that was already burned by the High Elf sword.
Lord Julyan crumpled to the ground with a cry, and in an instant Princess Gwendafyn rested the edge of her sword on the back of his neck.
That was all Myth had the chance to see before Arvel scooped her up, hugging her from behind.