Shadow Prowler (41 page)

“The guards are falling back and those skunks are following them. As soon as the killers are past our door, their backs will be exposed. And that’s when we’ll strike.”

“They’re getting close already,” said the gnome, listening to the battle with his ear pressed against the door.

My face must have betrayed too skeptical an opinion of the goblin’s
crazy plan, because Kli-Kli added: “Harold, use your brains! You’ve got bolts loaded with fire magic and ice! If we blast them from the rear, it will really make a difference!”

“How do you know what I’ve got?” I asked, already unloading the crossbow, removing the ordinary bolts.

After a moment’s hesitation, I flung the bag with the rest of the charges over my shoulder.

“I had a rummage in the things your dwarf tradesman brought with Stalkon’s ring,” Kli-Kli replied, not embarrassed in the least.

“Just a little farther!” Deler had joined Hallas and was frozen beside the door, holding up the torch and his poleax at the ready.

“Gentlemen, don’t get in the way,” I warned the Wild Hearts. “Or you’ll catch it from my bolts, too.”

“Magic!” said the gnome, pulling a disdainful face.

“Don’t you be so clever,” Deler told him. “Whatever you say, Master Harold. And if this wiseacre tries anything, I’ll rip his beard off.”

Just then, the gnome roared: “Now!”

He swung open the door and went tumbling out into the corridor, together with the dwarf. Kli-Kli and I followed right behind them. I prayed hard that I wouldn’t end up on the edge of someone’s sword.

The guards were fighting desperately, but retreating. They were being forced back by about twenty-five men in exactly the same gray and blue uniforms as themselves, but with white armbands. Fortunately the corridor was rather narrow, so the king’s men could more or less hold off their attackers, who were unable to take advantage of their superior numbers. And the spears that the small group of His Majesty’s men wereholding also gave them a certain advantage over the enemy. The attackers were advancing in two ranks. The ones at the back had not yet joined in the battle and were simply walking along behind. Their backs were unprotected. . . .

I had to take advantage of that as quickly as possible. The guardsmen had almost exhausted themselves holding back the enemy.

The bolt struck the crowd of conspirators, releasing the elemental fire. There was a rumble and a flash, and someone screamed in horror and pain. At least five of the killers were dispatched into the darkness. All that was left of the man I had hit was a smoking firebrand. But
I must give our enemies due credit—they were quick to figure out what was going on. Seven men separated off and came in our direction, leaving the rest of the unit to continue the battle.

The gnome roared and went dashing toward the fighters who were running in our direction, but Deler tossed aside his torch to free his hand and managed to catch Hallas by the beard and yank it downward, hard. Hallas howled in surprise and indignation and fell to the floor. Deler and Kli-Kli did the same, knowing what was about to happen.

I shot for the second time, aiming at the massive brute who was bearing down on me with the fluent stride of a delirious wild boar. This time there was a shrill ringing sound as the elemental snow was released from its magical trap, and my face was pricked by hundreds of chilly little needles. The impact was quite close, and it was a miracle that my own skin didn’t suffer any unpleasant consequences. As was only to be expected, the brute fell apart into two solidly frozen halves and the two men who were running immediately behind him had all the protruding parts of their bodies frozen solid, too. The others were stunned—they shook their heads, and put their hands over their eyes as they slid about on a sheet of ice and they all howled. Especially the lad who now had icicles instead of fingers and whose clothes were covered with a crust of snow.

Hallas started beating the enemies who had still not recovered from my latest shot. Deler decided that he wanted a bit of amusement, too, and his poleax started singing in unison with the gnome’s battle-mattock. One of the enemies tried to strike at him from above with his sword, but the ginger-headed dwarf dived under the blade as it descended, and sliced off both of the bold warrior’s legs. The man fell, choking on his scream, and the gnome ruthlessly finished him off by bringing his mattock down on his head. In literally half a minute there was no one left of the bold group of seven, or rather the group of four who had survived my shot. The dwarf and the gnome made an inspired team.

“Stalkon and the Lonely Giant!” Hallas roared, waving his mattock as he ran toward the rest of our enemies, who were now battling with guardsmen revitalized by the unexpected help that had come their way.

Deler went after him.

The advantage of numbers was on our side now, and the guards all roared together as they crushed the final resistance.

“We showed them!” Kli-Kli said spiritedly.

The goblin jester was standing there with his short little legs set wide apart, and the blade of the ax, which looked huge in his hands, touching the marble floor. He noticed my skeptical look.

“All right, all right, Harold! You showed them,” he agreed amicably. “But if I hadn’t been defending you . . .”

“
You
were defending
me
?” I asked indignantly, reloading the crossbow as I spoke, but this time with ordinary bolts.

“Yes, I was!” It was not easy to embarrass this jester. “But even if you don’t agree that I saved you, my contribution is still worthy of all the treasures of Siala. After all, I was the one who invented the brilliant plan of attacking the unsuspecting enemy.”

“Be careful you don’t brag yourself to death,” I told Kli-Kli as I watched the final villain being run through by a guardsman’s sword.

“Behind you, Harold!” the goblin squealed, and I swung round sharply.

An entire detachment of warriors was coming toward us from the other end of the corridor, but it was hard to tell who they were—guardsmen or enemies dressed in guards’ uniforms.

When they saw me point the crossbow at them, the new arrivals shouted: “Stalkon and the Spring Jasmine!”

“Harold, they’re ours!” the jester shouted, concerned that I might shoot the king’s younger son by mistake. He was given the name Spring Jasmine for that time when . . . But that’s another story altogether. I hope someday there’ll be a time and a place for it, and grateful listeners.

The large detachment of guardsmen under the command of Stalkon the Spring Jasmine drew level with us. Miralissa strode alongside them, bow in hand, a long dagger at her side dripping with gore. Her eyes sparkled, as always, but this time it was an icy, focused gleam, fearsome to behold. I gave thanks to every god I could name that she was on our side.

“I see that you’re in the battle, too, Kli-Kli,” the prince chuckled.

The lad was only sixteen years old, but he held a sword with confidence, and the gentlemen guards would have followed their future king onto red-hot coals if necessary. The young Stalkon’s breeding was obvious. Like all his kind, he had been given every advantage—some of us had to learn the hard way, but not him. He seemed competent and well liked by his men, though. I’ll give him that. He didn’t look a lot like his
father and his older brother, Stalkon Divested of the Crown. The slim, agile prince was more like his mother, Stalkon the Ninth’s second wife.

“Our glorious jester will defeat them all,” laughed the baron, whom I already knew from our encounter at the gate.

“We gave them a good hiding!” said Hallas, coming up to us with his mattock bloodied right up to the handle.

Other guards from the unit that we had helped to hold out started joining us.

“My prince!” Lieutenant Izmi’s shirt was soaked in blood, but he was standing firmly on his feet, ignoring the slight wound on his forearm. “I am happy that you came to our assistance!”

“It wasn’t him,” I said, determined not to be cheated of my share of glory and gratitude. “If the jester hadn’t come up with a brilliant plan, I wouldn’t have fired my magical bolts and the glorious gentlemen Deler and Hallas wouldn’t have put their weapons to work, and you, lieutenant, would be in the next world by now.”

The bugles started sounding again, but this time there was a note of victory in their voices, and immediately a messenger came running up to the prince and started gabbling rapidly:

“The north and west wings of the palace have been completely cleared. There are still isolated skirmishes in the east wing, but Milord Alistan and the guard will deal with the curs themselves. On the third floor of the south wing the battle is in full swing. The enemy is well entrenched in the small ballroom and we can’t smoke him out.”

“What about my father?” the prince asked curtly.

“The king is safe. He is on his way with three units to join Milord Markauz. He asks you to enter the south wing from the Pearl Stairway, and Alistan will proceed from the Hall of Flowers.”

“Let’s go and crush these woodlice!” the prince growled.

The guardsmen went dashing after their future king. The gnome and the dwarf went with them, running in the front row and almost overtaking young Stalkon himself. Those two races really would give anything for a good battle.

“Let’s go, Harold,” said Kli-Kli, tugging on the edge of my unbuttoned shirt. “Your crossbow will be needed again.”

“I’m a thief, not a soldier,” I protested. “And anyway, there are plenty of men here with crossbows.”

I really had counted at least eight men among the guards carrying heavy army crossbows, which fire bolts that can go right through a soldier in heavy armor. But I tagged along with everyone else anyway, not really knowing what made me do something so insane.

The signs of battle were everywhere. Weapons lying around, broken urns, tapestries torn off the walls, blood, and bodies. There were guardsmen and impostors lying on the floor. Before the morning came someone would lose his head. It was more than just fifty or a hundred warriors who had managed to get into the palace. The count ran to hundreds, and there was no way that many could have slipped in here without help. So there were traitors among the servants of the court and also, I feared, in the ranks of the guards. The king’s sandmen had a big job ahead of them trying to uncover the villains.

As our unit moved through the corridors, stairways, and halls of the palace, more guardsmen joined us. Sometimes just one man, sometimes twenty at a time. The battle was already over; the critical point that decided whose side Sagra, the goddess of war, would take today, had been passed. We had held out.

The enemy had thought that the men in gray and blue could be taken by surprise, and he had paid for that. Whatever goal the supporters of the Nameless One had set themselves, this time they had failed completely, and I didn’t think there was going to be a next time. At least, not another daring attack like this one. Milord Rat would do absolutely everything possible to prevent even a mouse from slipping in, let alone several hundred killers.

“Izmi, take four platoons and enter the south wing from the garden,” the prince commanded. “We’ll spring this mousetrap shut!”

“Marquis Vartek, are your men ready?” Stalkon asked the white-haired guardsman.

“Yes!” Yet another of my acquaintances from the gate was in a determined mood.

“Along the north corridor, pin them to the wall. Everybody else follow me!”

“Harold, we’re with the marquis!” said Kli-Kli. He had completely taken command of my actions now.

The rest of the guards were following the prince into another corridor.

“An extra crossbow won’t come amiss,” Vartek said with a nod, accepting our company into his little unit.

We turned into a wide, dark corridor where there were no torches or lanterns burning. They had either been put out or quite simply never been lit. The only light was about a hundred paces ahead of us, so we almost had to feel our way along. Fortunately, no one attacked us, only Deler started groaning and hissing when someone stood on his foot in the darkness. In this part of the palace four corridors came together all leading into an immense hall with mirror walls. Of course, it wasn’t as gigantic as the throne room, but it was quite big enough for the remaining supporters of the Nameless One to assemble in. They were crowded together in the center, waiting with their weapons drawn. About forty men in a circle. There was something large and dark behind them, covered with a black cloth. I couldn’t really see what it was—the defenders’ backs screened the unknown object very securely.

We had cut off all four corridors: the prince and his guards were approaching from one side, Izmi’s unit from a second, Alistan Markauz, in his beloved armor, was creeping up with his spearmen from a third, closing the ring. And we were on the fourth side, with five guards and the Wild Hearts. Now there was simply nowhere for the intruders to go.

“So there you are,” grumbled Uncle, giving the gnome and the dwarf a look of disapproval. “Where did you get to?”

“We’ve been having some fun,” said Deler, casually wiping the blade of his poleax on the rag hanging at his belt.

“All right, Vartek!” Izmi shouted from the far end of the hall.

The eight crossbowmen moved forward and the army sklots froze in predatory anticipation, ready to spew bolts at the target at the first word of command.