Douglas Niles: Measure and the Truth

They descended the spiraling stairs quickly but as silently as possible. Within a few moments, Coryn and Jaymes were crouching on the lowest balcony of the long stairway descending from the top of the Golden Spire. They could hear voices raised in anger emanating from behind the closed door of the lord regent’s office. Two men-at-arms stood before that door, looking nervously at each other.

Jaymes pointed to himself, then at the guards, indicating first one, then the other. His hand clenched over the hilt of his sword, and the white wizard took his arm, looked at him, and shook her head. With an impatient expression, he held his place.

Coryn pulled a pinch of something from a tiny pocket in her robe. Gesturing to the emperor to stay where he was, she stood and started down the stairs toward the two guards.

They both looked up in surprise at her unexpected appearance. She smiled and murmured something, waving her hand before her face and opening her fingers. The pinch of sand she let go sifted down toward the floor, and the two guards slumped backward against the wall then slowly slid down to sleep on the floor.

Jaymes was already gliding down the stairs and drawing Giantsmiter for action. Coryn leaned her head against the door, listening. As Jaymes approached, she nodded, and he lowered his shoulder and hit the door with a violent crash.

Selinda lay on the couch, magically immobilized. Melissa du Juliette, still bound and gagged, was seated on the couch beside the princess. They heard the smash of wood and even without turning her head, Selinda could see that her husband, his great sword drawn, had come bursting into the room. Coryn was right behind him.

“Halt!” demanded the Nightmaster through his black mask, raising his hand. Magic pulsed through the room, and Jaymes stopped in his tracks, his body lurching forward while his feet remained fixed to the floor. He twisted, almost dropping his sword.

Coryn raised her hand, crying out a word that sounded like a terrible growl. A flash of light seared through the room, and Jaymes tumbled free, rolling once before bouncing, catlike, to his feet. At the same time, Selinda, who had been straining to see what was happening, felt her paralysis weaken. The magic holding her, as well as the spell restricting Jaymes, had been weakened by Coryn’s counter-spell.

The princess wrenched her head around. Relief flooded through her-not at the prospect of rescue but because she was starting to regain control of her body. She twitched her fingers and felt a rewarding flicker of mobility. Still, she knew she was too weak to stand and couldn’t quite gain control of her vocal cords.

Smoke swirled around them, and she saw the Nightmaster casting a spell, hurling a cloud of noxious gas toward the white wizard. With a sharp bark-like a guttural challenge-Coryn raised her wrist to parry the attack, and the cloud exploded, erupting upward to shatter a good portion of the ceiling. Dust and debris showered down. A beam broke free and tumbled downward, knocking the white wizard on the shoulder and sending her sprawling.

The Nightmaster was still there, standing in front of the cowering lord regent. “Kill them!” shrieked du Chagne. He was pointing at the emperor and the white wizard, but to Selinda’s mind, he might just as well have been talking about his daughter.

The priest cast a spell, and a force of mistlike energy materialized in the air. It smashed into Jaymes, knocking him flat on his back. The magical hammer swirled upward and smashed down again, driving her husband’s head hard against the marble floor.

Selinda’s voice came back to her as she croaked out a scream.

Jaymes lay on his back, his sword arm stretched to the side. Once more the hammer of the masked priest gathered for a mighty blow, but the emperor reacted first. Pulling his weapon over his body, he took hold of Giantsmiter’s hilt with both hands. When the magical hammer came down, the sword flamed and sliced cleanly through the enchantment. Springing to his feet, Jaymes closed on the Nightmaster, his face locked into a feral snarl. Coryn, groggy and bleeding, pushed herself to her feet, stumbling toward the lord regent.

Then the high priest spoke again, and the entire room was swallowed by darkness.

Bakkard du Chagne felt himself seized by the scruff of the neck. The surrounding darkness was total, so the lord regent couldn’t see who or what had accosted him, hoisting him off the ground like a child’s toy, but he felt pretty certain that whatever lifted him had force much greater than any mortal’s grip.

A chaotic tangle of noise surrounded him, and he tried to clasp his hands to his ears, blocking out the cacophony. But the power seemed to have a paralyzing effect because he couldn’t move his limbs, couldn’t feel his skin. He was consumed with terror, and the worst of it was he couldn’t even scream.

Then as quickly as the raging storm had started, it broke. Du Chagne found himself standing on a solid surface, perched high up on a tower-a tower much, much higher than the Golden Spire of his own palace.

“Where in the Abyss are we?” demanded the lord regent, staggering weakly, nauseated at the prospect of the dangerous depths just below his feet. He barely noticed the vista of lofty mountains pressing in from all sides, nor did he take note of the famous, sprawling outline of the fortress around him.

“This is the High Clerist’s Tower,” the Nightmaster said.

“Why did you bring me here?” the lord regent demanded.

“It was either that or let the emperor kill you,” replied the priest. “For reasons unknown to me at the moment, I elected to save your life.”

Blayne stood at the top of the steps leading up to the gate tower. The column of Dark Knights still milled around outside the gate, blocked by the portcullis he had just dropped, but there were a score or more of the attackers-including Captain Blackgaard-already in the city. The knights were charging him, coming up the stairway with swords drawn and murderous intent on their faces.

The young lord met the first of those foes with a savage downward chop, delivered with such force he shattered the knight’s upraised blade and cut deeply into the man’s face. Immediately twisting the blade free, he knocked a second knight to the side, sending the fellow tumbling back down the stairs with his throat cut.

But the stairs were wide enough for the Dark Knights to come at him two at a time and so they did. The next pair, no doubt gaining some respect for their opponent after seeing the fate of the initial attackers, approached more cautiously. Striking from below, they aimed at Blayne’s legs, both stabbing simultaneously. The young lord couldn’t parry two blows at once; he had no choice but to back away, even though that meant giving up his position at the top of the stairs.

He backed across the tower platform, moving into the corner and raising his sword as the attackers swept onto the platform. “Kill that one!” barked Captain Blackgaard, pointing at the young lord of Vingaard.

A trio of Dark Knights rushed at him. Blayne slashed to the right and left, cutting down two but leaving an opening for the middle attacker. That knight grinned coldly as he raised his blade. Then he croaked and stumbled sideways, an arrow jutting from the side of his neck.

Blayne wasted no time wondering who was shooting. He charged in a fury, cutting down another black-clad soldier and fighting his way toward the stairs. The other Dark Knights on the platform shouted in consternation as swords clashed against shields and other blades cut into flesh. A wild melee erupted, swordsmen ducking and dodging, parrying and attacking on all sides.

Captain Blackgaard stepped into Blayne’s path, and the nobleman feinted a thrust at the mercenary Dark Knight’s face. The veteran officer sneered and stepped back then charged again. Once more the lord struck high; once more Blackgaard parried the blow. Then too late, he saw his mistake. The lord stabbed straight ahead, driving his blade through the captain’s belly, pushing him back and down with the force of the killing blow.