Lightning split the clouds for a moment and then icy rain began sheeting down, blurring Tarja's vision and soaking him in seconds. He glanced over his shoulder at Ulran, who was sawing the rope, wiping the rain from his eyes as he worked. A strand unravelled and then another as he hacked at the rope, the weight of the ferry pulling it as taut as a harp string one moment, slackening the next, as the ferry rocked against the current. Somewhere over the rain he could hear angry shouting, but if it was the men on the ferry, the boatmen Tarja had sent the others to distract, or the Karien knights, he could not tell. He couldn't see more than a few paces in front of him. All he could do was stand on the balls of his feet, his sword at the ready, hoping that if they were attacked, he would see it coming.
Ulran sawed frantically at the rope as time slowed to a crawl. Tarja risked another look over his shoulder. Half the rope was severed now, but it was taking much too long.
“Hurry, Ulran!”
“You think you can do this any faster?” the rebel shouted over the downpour as another strand unravelled. He was panting heavily with the effort of sawing through the wet hemp, his muscles bunched under his wet shirt, his lips blue with the cold.
The shouting seemed closer and Tarja turned back in time to see a Karien knight riding down on them. Cyril had fallen near the edge of the square, the puddle he lay in red with blood. He could not make out the rest of his men through the sheeting rain, but the spectre of a massive Karien warhorse loomed over him as one of the knights, suddenly realising what they were attempting, rode straight at them.
“Out of the way!” Tarja shouted.
Ulran slipped and fell as he scrambled to get clear. Tarja swung his sword like an axe and struck the taut rope with every ounce of strength he could muster. The Karien was almost on him, the sound of hoofs on the cobbles almost louder than the rain. He swung again, wincing as the blow jarred his arms to the shoulder. The Karien was only a heartbeat away and still the rope held. Tarja swung one last time and the rope finally gave way under the strain of the ferry pulling against it. Rain swallowed the shouts of the panicked ferrymen as it whipped free; the barge suddenly swinging into the current, at the mercy of the hungry river.
Tarja barely had time to turn as the Karien rode him down. He had no time to recover his fighting stance or bring his sword around. He saw the blow coming, saw the flat of the Karien's blade aimed at his head and knew there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Pain blinded him.
Then there was blackness as unconsciousness swallowed him whole.
CHAPTER 22
There had been some dissension over whether or not Damin should be allowed to take up residence in the High Prince's Palace, his opponents fearing that his possession of it might imply their tacit agreement to his claim. Marla had put an end to the argument by pointing out that the palace actually belonged to the Wolfblade family, therefore she had a perfect right to be there and invite whoever she wished to guest with her.
That had been yesterday. Cyrus Eaglespike was evicted as the Wolfblades reclaimed their palace. Adrina had been shown to her apartments, the same quarters she had used when she visited Greenharbour for Lernen's birthday almost three years ago, and seen nobody since.
She paced the sumptuous rooms impatiently, striding past tall, diamond-paned doors that opened out onto a balcony overlooking the harbour. They allowed what little cooling breeze there was to sigh through the room, gently billowing the sheer curtains that screened the windows against insects. The screeching gulls circling the fishing boats grated on her nerves. The air was humid, worse even than Talabar.
Adrina hated not knowing what was going on. She knew there had been some sort of confrontation with Cyrus Eaglespike, and that R'shiel had somehow temporarily defused the situation, but other than that she was completely in the dark.
The door opened and Tamylan slipped into the room, bearing a tray with a silver jug beaded with condensation. She placed the tray on the gilded table by the door, then turned to her mistress.
“You should be resting, Your Highness. You look exhausted and there is more than yourself to consider now.”
“I can't rest,” she declared, stifling a yawn. “What news?”
“Not much, I fear. The city seems quiet. R'shiel has gone to the Sorcerers' Collective to meet with the High Arrion and the Harshini.”
“Where's Damin?”
“With Lord Bearbow and Lord Hawksword. I believe Princess Marla is with them also.”
“So I'm to be excluded from their council, am I? Where are they meeting?”
“Adrina, I really don't think you should —”
“I don't recall asking what you thought, Tam. Where are they meeting?”
“Downstairs in the throne room.”
“Then I think I shall join them,” she announced. Squaring her shoulders, she marched to the door and flung it open, only to have her way blocked by two heavily armed Raiders wearing Damin's wolf's head crest. “Out of my way!”
“I'm sorry, Your Highness,” the taller guard said. “Lord Wolfblade said you weren't to leave this chamber.”
“Don't be absurd! I'm his wife, not a prisoner! Stand aside!”
“Lord Wolfblade was very specific in his orders, Your Highness.”
“Actually, I told them to tie you down, if necessary.”
Adrina turned to find Damin coming towards her, his boots clicking on the mosaic floor. He was unshaved and still dressed in the same clothes she had seen him wearing yesterday. He had probably been up all night. Damin looked almost as tired as she felt. She quashed a momentary pang of sympathy for him, preferring anger to compassion.
“How dare you treat me like a prisoner!”
“It's for your own protection, Adrina. Until I'm certain the palace is secure, I don't want you wandering around.”
“You don't want me to know what's going on, more like it.”
The guards stood back to let Damin enter, tactfully closing the door behind him. Tamylan curtsied to him and he nodded absently in acknowledgment.
“Can I get you anything, my Lord?”
“Something to eat, Tam,” Damin replied wearily. “And something cold to drink. Have it sent up here.”
Tamylan curtsied again and let herself out of the room before Adrina could countermand the order.
“You seem to be getting very familiar with my slave.”
“I believe Tamylan has finally decided that I may not be an ogre, after all.”
“You haven't convinced me yet.”
He smiled tiredly. “Are you all right?”
“What harm can come to me here, locked away like a bird in a cage? Of course, I might die from boredom, but don't let that bother you.” She resumed her pacing as Damin flopped onto the chaise near the open balcony doors.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give the impression you were a prisoner.”
“Ah... now let me think... I'm stuck in this room. There are guards on the door. I'm not allowed to leave. How silly of me to think all that meant I was a prisoner.”
“My uncle has been dead for nearly two months now, Adrina. That's two months that Cyrus Eaglespike has had access to this palace. We've already discovered at least three rooms that were rigged with assassination devices.”
She stopped pacing and turned to him. “But you said the Assassins' Guild was on our side.”