Lynn Flewelling - Hidden Warrior

Kyman and Jorvai attacked the walls while Tobin and the Atyion garrison stormed up to the Palatine.

Red fire lit their way. The heat of the burning palace seemed to drive off the rain and the flames lit the surrounding area like a beacon.

The battle was still raging and once again they took the Plenimarans by surprise. It was impossible to tell how many they were fighting; with her guard at her back and Tharin, Ki, and Lynx close beside her, Tobin plowed on into the fray.

It was all confusion after that. The broken pavement underfoot hampered them, and familiar landmarks seemed to loom up at odd moments or in the wrong place. At the Royal Tomb the portico was empty, as if the stone effigies had somehow joined the fray. They fought on past the temple, but the pillars and roof were missing.

Small groups of Skalan defenders joined them, but they were outnumbered. The blackened walls around them caught the clamor of battle and magnified it.

They fought for what seemed like hours as rage carried Tobin past exhaustion. Her arms were soaked to the elbow with blood, and her surcoat was black with it.

At last the enemy seemed to be thinning, and she heard a cry among them that sounded like, “There away, there away!”

“Are they calling a retreat?” she asked Tharin, as they paused in the shelter of the tombs.

He listened a moment, then let out a grim laugh. “That’s dyr’awai they’re saying. If I’m not mistaken, it means ‘demon queen.’ ”

Ki chuckled as he wiped his blade on the hem of his sodden surcoat. “Guess word of you got around, after all.”

Captain Grannia climbed up to join them. “Are you hurt, Highness?”

“No, just getting my bearings.”

“We have them on the run. My lot just brought down what looks to be a general, and a good number of the others tried to run for the gate. We killed most of them.”

“Well done! Has there been any sign of Prince Korin?”

“Not that I’ve seen, Highness.”

The captain and her women set off again. Tobin stretched and yawned. “Well, let’s have at it.”

Just as they were about to set off again, however, she looked around at her remaining guard and her heart sank. “Where’s Lynx?”

Ki shared a dark look with Tharin. “Perhaps he got his wish, after all.”

There was no time to mourn him. A gang of Plenimarans found them, and the battle was joined again.

The rain and the battle ended just before dawn. The last of the Plenimarans broke and ran, only to be cut down by the Skalan forces manning the lower city. Lord Jorvai later estimated that even with the southern troops, they’d been outnumbered nearly three to one, but fury had driven them to a bloody victory all the same. “No quarter” remained the standing order, and none was given. Dawn found the rotting plague dead overlaid with dead and dying Plenimarans. A handful of black ships had escaped to carry the news of their defeat back to Benshâl, but most of the raiding fleet had been burned. Smoking hulks drifted on the tide or blazed grounded against the rocky shore. The water was strewn with floating corpses and thick with sharks feasting on this bounty.

Messengers were already streaming in from the lower wards and surrounding countryside. The lands south and west of the city were untouched, but to the north and throughout the city the granaries had been destroyed and whole wards burned flat. Enemy soldiers were rumored to have escaped inland during the night, and Tobin sent Lord Kyman after them.

Refugees were trickling back in, as well, and those who’d somehow survived the siege emerged from their hiding places, weeping, laughing, cursing. Like filthy, vengeful ghosts, they roamed the streets, stripping the dead and mutilating the wounded.

The Palatine was scarcely recognizable. Resting for a moment at the head of the temple steps with Ki and Tharin, Tobin wearily surveyed the grim scene before her. Just below, her guard and Grannia’s fighters kept an uneasy watch; it was too soon to tell how many Skalans here remained loyal to Korin.

Smoke cast a dreary twilight pall over the citadel and the stench of death was already rising. Hundreds of bodies choked the narrow streets: soldier and citizen, Skalan and Plenimaran, thrown together like broken dolls.

The king’s body had been found in a tower room above the gate. He was laid out in state, but the crown and the Sword of Ghërilain were gone. There’d been no sign of Korin or any of the Companions. Tobin had dispatched a company of men to look for them among the dead.

Lynx was still missing, too, and Chancellor Hylus had not been seen. There’d been no word of Iya and the other wizards, either, and Tobin had sent Arkoniel down to look for them by the gates. There was nothing more to do but wait for word.

Warriors and drysians were at work carrying the wounded to the Old Palace but the task was overwhelming. Flocks of ravens were descending for the feast, strutting among the dead and mingling their harsh triumphant cries with the cries of the wounded.

The New Palace was still burning and would for days. The Treasury had not been looted, but was lost for a time beneath the flames and rubble. Hundreds of fine houses—Tobin’s among them—were only smoking foundations, and those that still stood were stained black. The fine elms that had lined the avenue beyond the Old Palace were gone; their stumps stood like uneven teeth along the road, and the Grove of Dalna had been decimated by axe and flame. The Old Palace had suffered some fire damage, but was still standing. The Companions’ training ground, witness to a thousand mock battles, was strewn with genuine dead, and the reflecting pool was dyed red.

Ki shook his head. “Bilairy’s balls! Did we save anything?”

“Just be thankful that it’s us standing here now, and not the enemy,” Tharin told him.

Exhaustion settled over Tobin like a fog, but she forced herself to her feet. “Let’s go see who’s left.”

Near the Old Palace a passing general of the Palatine Guard recognized her surcoat and sank to one knee.

“General Skonis, Highness,” he said, searching her face with wondering eyes as he saluted. “I congratulate you on your victory.”

“You have my thanks, General. I’m sorry we were too late to prevent all this. Is there any news of my cousin?”

The man bowed his head. “The king is gone, Highness.”

“King?” Tharin asked sharply. “They found time for a coronation?”

“No, my lord, but he has the Sword—”

“Never mind that,” said Tobin. “You say he’s gone?”

“He escaped, Highness. As soon as the gates went down, the Companions and Lord Niryn took him away.”

“He ran away?” Ki said, incredulous.

“He was taken to safety, my lord,” the general shot back, glaring up at him, and Tobin guessed where the man’s true loyalties lay.

“Where did he go?” Tharin demanded.

“Lord Niryn said he would send word.” He looked boldly back at Tobin again. “He has the Sword and the crown. He is the heir.”

Ki stepped angrily toward him, but Tharin caught his arm, and said, “The true heir stands revealed before you, Skorus. Go and spread the word. No loyal Skalan has reason to fear her.”

The man saluted again and strode away.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Tharin growled. “You need to make yourself known quickly.”

“Yes.” Tobin glanced around. “The old audience chamber is still standing. Send out word that anyone who can still walk is to go there at once. I’ll address the people there.”

“You should have a larger guard, too. Grannia, assemble a guard of six hundred. Have them form up in the front courtyard at once.”

Grannia saluted and hurried away.