Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

Rojer tried to raise his knife, but the guard stomped hard on his wrist, and the blade fell from his fingers in a blast of pain. The baton was thrust into his stomach, and when he curled reflexively, the next blow took him in the balls. He screamed, but it was shattered as a third blow put out two of his teeth.

Rojer fell back stunned, seeing Amanvah and Sikvah choked from behind with batons. Whenever they struggled, the guards tightened their grips, choking them into submission. The men had the advantage in muscle and weight, either of them heavier than the women combined.

One of the crank bowmen lay farther down the hall, Coliv’s spear in his chest. Kendall was pinned by the other. His spent weapon was slung over his shoulder, and he held her wrists to the floor, kneeling on her thighs so she could not kick at him.

There was a clapping, and Jasin Goldentone came out of the shadows, followed by Abrum and Sali.

“Goldentone?” Rojer croaked.

“Oh, not Nosong now?” Jasin asked. “You remember respect late, Halfgrip.”

“Golden toad, I said.” Rojer tried to spit at him, but his lips were swelling fast. The slimy mix of blood and spit dribbled down his chin. Still, the move earned him another blow across the face.

“You piece of hamlet shit, you think you can just come to my city and humiliate me?” Jasin asked. “That you can spread lies and threaten my very commission, and not expect retaliation? You should know better than that.

“Not that it was hard to enlist allies.” Jasin nodded at Amanvah and Sikvah. “Tonight will make me a very rich man. You’d be surprised how many lords will pay good coin for a pair of Krasian princesses to hostage. More when I add proof that the Baron’s Ball Queen is a nothing but a royal whore.”

Sikvah pulled at the spear, but her captor tightened it further. “Best quit your squirming before you give me ideas, girl.”

“No ideas,” Jasin said. “Not here. We need to finish our business and be gone.”

“They killed Anders,” the guard pinning Kendall said. “Can’t let that go without blood in return.”

“He knew the risks,” Jasin said, “but you can beat Rojer and the girl to death in recompense.”

“Ay, all right.” The guard grinned, reaching for the baton on his belt.

“No!” Rojer tried to roll away, but the guard standing over him ground his boot heel into Rojer’s wrist, keeping it pinned as his baton repeated its pattern of stomach, balls, and head. Lights spun like drunken dancers before his eyes.

When his vision cleared, he looked at Amanvah. “I’m so sorry.” His words were a slur.

Amanvah met his eyes with a hard look. “Enough of this. Sikvah.”

Sikvah kicked straight up, connecting solidly over her shoulder with her captor’s face. She grabbed his wrists crosswise and ducked forward, twisting into a throw that sent him tumbling into the far wall and left the baton in her hands. She did not hesitate to throw, striking the man standing over Rojer in the head and knocking him back.

Amanvah struck a precise blow of her stiffened fingers into her own captor’s shoulder. The arm fell away limp, and she grasped the other, locking it straight and twisting to bring the man down onto the steps, her foot in his throat.

Sikvah was already moving, springing for the man pinning Kendall. He rose to meet her, but she wove around his attempt to grapple, leaping to hook her leg around his neck. She twisted in midair, using her own falling weight to break his neck.

Jasin did not hesitate, pulling a knife and lunging at Rojer. The man Sikvah had knocked away was recovering, and Abrum and Sali produced clubs of their own as they charged in.

A flick of her fingers, and one of the sharpened triangles Coliv favored buried itself in Jasin’s knife hand. He dropped the weapon and screamed as Sikvah came in.

Rojer supposed what followed was a fight, but it seemed an unfair term for a conflict so one-sided. Sikvah did not fight. She simply killed.

Sali swung her baton, but Sikvah grabbed her wrist and rolled in close, redirecting the momentum into an elbow strike that crushed Sali’s throat. She threw the big woman’s body into Jasin, stepping like a dancer to meet the masked guard. The guard swung and she spun out of the blow’s path, completing the circuit to drive an elbow into the man’s spine with an audible crack. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Abrum decided to live, turning to flee the scene, but Sikvah threw a baton, catching him on the thigh. It seemed only a glancing blow, but the leg collapsed and he fell to one knee. She grabbed at his head as she sprang over him, turning a somersault and breaking his neck.

And as quickly as that, it was done.

Jasin was struggling to get out from under Sali’s bulk. She’d always had a face like a wood demon, but now it was a blackening horror.

Rojer picked up the knife Jasin had dropped, stumbling to his feet. Amanvah was kneeling over Coliv, staring into unseeing eyes. “Take the lonely path with honor, Sharum. Everam awaits you with rewards in Heaven.”

Rojer felt his throat tighten. He and Coliv had stood alone together in the night. He didn’t have the same romantic notions about such things as the Krasians, but there was no denying it was something to bond men.

And now he was dead because Rojer had been too afraid to kill Jasin. Another name to add to his medallion. How many could it hold?

“No more,” Rojer said. He had never killed anything other than a demon, and always wondered if he had it in him. But there was no hesitation now, no desire for a final word. The blade slid into Jasin’s eye like a boiled egg, and Goldentone’s body gave a last violent jolt as he twisted it.

And that was how the real palace guards found them.

Rojer tensed at the click of the lock. The door was thick goldwood, banded with steel. There was no window or peephole, only a trap at the bottom just large enough to slide a tray. No way to tell who was on the other side.

But in truth, it did not matter. Rojer had little fight left in him. The palace guards, enraged at the deaths of their comrades, had shown little restraint as they tried to beat a confession out of him. They took their cues from Janson, after all, and the first minister was livid at the death of his nephew.

He was barely conscious when they finally relented, passing out gratefully, only to awaken here.

A single glance from the tiny window told him where he was. The South Tower.

The great Cathedral of Angiers had been built before the Return, with four stone towers, one at each point of the compass. The northernmost held the great bell, which could be heard for miles. The others towers were cells that had held heretics and political prisoners for centuries. Men and women too powerful—or royal—to be executed; too dangerous—or endangered—to be kept in the common gaol.

Rojer knew the famous tales of the towers, had spun quite a few himself, but never imagined he’d one day be part of them.

Rojer sat up as the door swung open. Through the puffy slits of his eyes he saw Leesha and sighed with relief, collapsing back on the simple bed.

“Rojer!” Leesha cried, rushing over to him as the door slammed behind her. She took his face in her hands, but it was all business as she examined his bruises. Rojer yelped as she stripped the covers back, probing for broken bones and bleeding.

“Ripping savages,” Leesha muttered, getting to her feet. She went to the window, pulling the heavy curtain shut and returning to his side.