David Weber - The Road to Hell

She was just passing Mister Kinlafia and his bride, the Privy Voice, who were talking to First Councilor Taje about some piece of legislation, when shouts erupted on the balcony above the terrace. Relatha jerked her gaze up to see the emperor running toward the Palace, shouting at the empress to get off the balcony.

She froze, unable to breathe, even, when Security started to run, as well, converging on the Imperial family. The emperor was shouting for Anbessa, but Relatha didn’t see the youngest Imperial Grand Princess anywhere on the long marble balcony. She raked her gaze along the whole, immense length of it-the marble balustrade ran for at least fifty or sixty feet along the open doors of the Grand Imperial Salon-but there was no sign of Anbessa anywhere.

Relatha gripped her tray of wineglasses hard enough to hurt when Security lifted the Empress Varena and Grand Princess Razial over the side of the balcony rail, lowering them to the armsmen below. What was wrong, up there? Why hadn’t they just retreated into the safety of the Grand Imperial Salon? Was there a crazed gunman in the salon? Surely not-Security would’ve been on top of him long before this and there hadn’t been a single gunshot. But if everyone else was running away from the salon, why was the emperor running into it-?

The empress touched the terrace first, followed an instant later by Razial. More Calirath armsmen were vaulting the rail, jumping down to close in around the empress and her daughter. They were shouting at everyone to get back, away from the building, and Relatha stumbled backward, her hands unsteady on the tray. She needed someplace to set it down as more people crowded back, away from the palace walls, but her eyes were locked on the emperor as he slid between two or his armsman like an eel and disappeared through one of the Grand Imperial Salon’s dozens of doors.

The armsmen charged after him. She could hear them calling his name, but the emperor’s voice rose over theirs like thunder, shouting at Anbessa. The girl must be inside the Salon, Relatha realized, and craned her head, trying to see as more people crowded around her, partially blocking her view-

The Salon exploded.

Relatha screamed. She dropped the tray as the whole, long room filled with fire. The Salon was a raging inferno-an inferno licking out to envelop the Emperor of Sharona and his armsmen. There was fire everywhere- only fire, roaring and hissing like one of the Arcanans’ dragons-and then a small, familiar figure arrowed out of the furnace, thrown high into the air. She cartwheeled out above the crowd, her gown smoking and trailing cinders.

“It’s Anbessa!” someone screamed, even as a heavier, far more massive body came charging out of that flaming hell.

And then there was a second explosion.

The blast front picked up that heavier body and flung it out across the night in a corona of fire.

Dozens of people were reaching up, trying to catch the grand princess as she fell, but Relatha’s gaze tracked that second, heavier body. She knew exactly where he’d come down, and she started to run, shoving her way through the stunned crowd, even as the Salon blew apart in a third massive explosion.

Flame and death belched out into the night, an overpressure of sound and debris roared across the terrace at treetop height, and the entire balcony came down.

Chunks of marble slammed down into the crowd, and Zindel chan Calirath plunged down like a boulder as shocked spectators screamed and scattered. He crashed into the elegant little tables set with crystal and candles, punchbowls and wine and fancy pastries. He smashed down across them. Slid through them. Tumbled and rolled sickeningly off the end. Vanished into a large flowerbed filled with trees and shrubbery and flowers.

Panic-stricken people slammed into Relatha. Heavy bodies almost knocked her down, and she cursed and shoved people aside. She ran frantically forward, toward the spot where the emperor had fallen. More of the balustrade crashed down around them, sending people running in wild terror, but Relatha Kindare didn’t care. She fought her way to him. She hurled overturned tables out of the way, climbed across tumbled chairs, heaved burning debris aside with her bare hands as she searched frantically through the shrubbery.

There!

He lay at a grotesque angle, and he was frightfully still. Horribly still. No! she cried in denial, and dropped to her knees, nerved herself to search. Her fingers shook as she reached for his wrist.…

A pulse ! She sobbed aloud just once. Then she closed her eyes, concentrated…and whimpered.

There was pain everywhere. Pain from broken bones- dozens of broken bones. Some of those breaks lay near major arteries, too close for her to dare to move him, even though his pulse was thready, fast, and weak. Shock was dropping his blood pressure, far too quickly, and she concentrated hard. Energy flowed through her body, down through her heart, where she filled it with as much love and strength as she could muster.

She sent that healing flood through her arms, out through her hands, and her life force merged with his. She absorbed some of his shock, reeled under the wave of agony that crashed through her, and her hands shook as it threatened to suck her under. But she refused to yield. She fought the darkness aside, sent more of her life force into him. Her training told her to stop-screamed that she must stop! She was pouring too much of herself into him, spending her own life force like fire, emptying herself into a cold, dark void of death. She knew that…and she didn’t care. He was the Emperor, her Emperor. She would die before she let him go, and she turned her back on her teachers’ warnings. She emptied herself against his pain and the savage injuries of his broken body.

And it wasn’t enough.

She could feel him slipping away, under her fingers.

“ NO !” She screamed at him, but her voice emerged as little more than a hoarse, rasping whisper. Tears blinded her. “Don’t you dare go!”

She moved by raw instinct now and lunged for his feet. She jerked off his shoes, jammed both hands hard against the balls of his feet, locked what her instructors had called the “wellsprings of life” in the soles of his feet. Energy centers there drew energy in and let energy flow out. When death came, her instructors had said, a person’s energy bled away to nothing through those wellsprings.

“ You may not leave !” she screamed at him, her voice stronger, and his soul hesitated, trapped by her hands and her will. “We need you,” she cried. “We need you too desperately to let you go! Oh, goddess…Shalana, give me strength, we need him. Please, Your Majesty, stay with us…”

A terrible spasm went through him. Then he started to shudder, violently. The shuddering lasted for several terrifying seconds. Then he relaxed with such suddenness, such totality, she thought for a moment he’d died, after all. She drew breath to howl in anguish, when a low, deep groan tore from him. He tried to move under her hands, and pain flared, cruelly. He cried out in agony.

“Don’t move!” she cried. “You have broken bones!” She didn’t dare release her grip on the wellspring points, but he was trying to move, trying to thrash around.

“Anbessa…” The name tore from him, raw with anguish.

She searched the terrace with a frantic gaze, trying to find someone-anyone-in an Imperial Security uniform. There were so many people running in panic-stricken horror, she could see nothing but total confusion. But then a face she recognized resolved itself from the wild melee and she screamed out a name.

“ DARCEL! ”