Michael Manning - Mageborn - The Blacksmith’s Son

That was when the screaming and yelling started up again. The doorway to the great hall only had a couple of guards still standing at it. Most of the others were scattered through the crowd trying to calm everyone down. The two by the doors were watching the events inside, so they never saw the men in black leathers who crept up on them from behind. They died quickly, but one of them screamed before his windpipe was cut through. Pandemonium erupted as people scrambled to get back from the doors.

The men spilling into the room were all dressed similarly, in black leather with masks tied over their features, hiding everything but their eyes. They carried sharp knives and long curved swords. I was pretty sure they hadn’t come to dance; they had the wrong shoes on. They spread out and began methodically cutting down the guests. People trampled each other in their efforts to get away, making it easier for the men to reach them.

Duke Lancaster was pushing his way through the crowd, he still hadn’t seen them yet, “What the bloody hell is going on here!?” He roared as people fought to get around him, then he saw the men. He was nearly cut down then, as he was still unarmed. Two of the men had him caught between them and a fallen table, but Lord Thornbear rushed into them from the side roaring like a bear. He didn’t have his sword either, but he held a chair and used it to smash one of the men to the ground. Then he drove the other back like some eastern lion tamer, holding the chair in front of him.

At least thirty of them were already in the room, spreading out, killing anyone they found. I could see many more entering through the main doors. “Lyet Bierek” I spoke and the men all around the doorway fell back, shocked and stunned. That bought us some time while Sir Kelton and the guards in the room struggled to form a line between the remaining guests and the men in the room.

The Duke and Thornbear were still cut off from the rest of us, surrounded now by a dozen men. The assassins were still disoriented and Thornbear fought like a maddened bull, swinging his chair back and forth, cracking skulls. Even so they would have been slain had Dorian not come to his father’s aid. He charged from the line of men with Sir Kelton and cut his way past those before him to reach his father.

I had never seen Dorian fight like that before, nor do I hope to ever again. He became a demon of slaughter with a sword in each hand. I wondered where he had found the second blade, and it was only later I realized he had taken Devon’s sword from the ground. Dorian ran through the men in his way, and as he passed they fell back, dropping weapons and crying out from the wounds he gave them. He went through them like a scythe through ripe grain.

Once he had reached the Duke and his father he paused to toss the sword in his off hand to Lord Thornbear who caught it deftly. The two of them fought on either side of the Duke then, steadily working their way toward Sir Kelton and his men.

During all of this I had taken a position among the guards who were struggling to form a defensive line. Marc was to my right wielding a sword to deadly effect. I tried to do the same but I was far less skilled, if it had not been for my magical shield I would have died several times over. We strove to drive them back but there were too many. Man for man the Duke’s guardsmen were better at face to face combat but the assassins outnumbered us several times over. We were driven back, step by step, till they controlled more than half of the great hall, and we were even further from the two Thornbears and the Duke, still fighting for survival.

The guards were falling one by one and now we had fewer than thirty men, barely enough to form a line across the room. A few more down and we would be overrun. “Dorian!” I yelled, “Run!” He caught my eye for a second and I hoped he understood. He said something to his father and the Duke and they turned their backs on the men in front of them, charging toward those that remained between them and our line.

“Lyet Bierek” I shouted, placing the center of this one behind them. The sound of it would probably deafen them, but at least they were facing away and the men ahead and behind them were blinded. The huge noise even unsettled those before us and we gained a few feet as some of them fell.

Lord Thornbear and his son hacked their way through the stunned men, while the Duke finished those he could with a long dagger he had found. It looked for a moment as though they would reach us unharmed. Five steps, then ten, they were almost to us, when two men managed to time their strikes at Lord Thornbear. He stopped one blade, and almost dodged the other but his age betrayed him and he was too slow. The sword plunged into his chest just below the sternum.

Dorian came of sturdy stock, the elder Thornbear grimaced and grabbed the man who had slain him. Dragging him close he rammed his own sword home before collapsing with his dying foe. I heard a cry come from Dorian’s lips, a sound I will never forget as he saw his father fall, but there was no help for it. Lord Thornbear was dead.

Dorian slew the second man and might have charged back into the fray but the Duke stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Instead they leapt over the last fallen man, reaching our line. I saw my friend’s face as he came past, spattered with blood and tears falling from his eyes. I would have spoken to him but I had no words, and the assassins were pressing us harder now.

The Duke armed himself and with Dorian among us our line gained strength, still we were little more than thirty men, and the hall before us held scores, easily a hundred black garbed killers. The conclusion could only be bloody and it would not be in our favor. As we fought I could see some of the women and noble ladies picking up swords from dead men, shoring up the line. Rose and Penny were among them. I even saw Ariadne arming herself, though she did not try to enter the battle.

Genevieve Lancaster stood behind us now, shouting at those unable or unwilling to fight, organizing them to form a barricade of tables and broken furniture, seeing that I had an idea, one that would either save us or kill me in the effort. I have since learned that my ideas are something of a mixed blessing.

Last Stand in the Great Hall

We withdrew behind a makeshift barricade of fallen tables and broken chairs. To call it a barricade was a bit of a stretch, I’ll admit, but it gave us a slight advantage. It hampered the men coming at us, making it easier to kill or wound them as they struggled to get over the tumbled furniture. They drew back for a moment to coordinate their final push and the fighting paused.

“Genevieve!” I shouted to the Duchess, “I need your help, I have a plan.” She nodded and came quickly to me. She had seen enough to realize that whatever I might do it was better than the alternative.