Page 155 of The Cradle of Ice
“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.
* * *
KANTHE 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.
