Before the Babachenko could assert his authority into the vacuum, Grant pressed his offer. “I can offer something that no one else can.”
“And what might that be?”
“Assassins who’ve come to kill the king,” Grant said, pointing straight at Alexander and Anja.
“Now, Chloe.”
Two of the palace guards had dragged Mohan’s corpse out of the room while another had escorted his distraught widow away-that left nine plus the Lord Protector. All nine guards unhooked their maces and started to converge on Alexander.
Many things happened at once.
Tyr stood up, knocking his chair over and grabbing for his belt.
“Who stole my sword?!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, his face going red, veins popping out at his temples. His wizard stood as well and began casting a spell. Tyr grabbed the nearest guard and slammed him into the wall, taking his mace and brandishing it at the next guard. “Who! Took! My! Sword!” he shouted so forcefully that his voice broke with each word.
Alexander dropped his boot knife into his hand just as Nero turned to face him.
“Pretender!” Nero shouted, pointing at Alexander and drawing his long black dagger.
Alexander threw his knife. It flew true, burying to the hilt in the king’s throat. He held his neck, gurgling blood, frothy and red then slowly slumped out of his chair and under the table, his eyes frantic with pain and surprise. Grant’s head snapped around so quickly that Alexander thought it might unscrew and fall off on the floor. He stared at Alexander with total shock and growing horror, but Alexander ignored him … he had other concerns.
Time seemed to expand, stretching into the coming moments, giving him a glimpse into what might be, but there was so much danger coming his way, and all of it happening at once, that he couldn’t focus on everything, so he let go and gave himself over to the moment, reacting without thought, letting instinct and the simple need for survival guide him.
The nobles began to panic, many of them racing for the single exit, while others tried to find sanctuary at either end of the room. Their sudden, confused rush in every direction only served to amplify the chaos.
Two palace guards were pushing through the crowd toward Alexander, while another two were trying to shove their way through the stream of nobles crowding the door. The Lord Protector was quite suddenly wearing a suit of black wispy plate mail that looked translucent and yet Alexander had no doubt it would stop any blade.
The Babachenko snatched the Crown from atop the dead king’s head and ran for the door to the king’s chambers.
Nero appeared in front of Alexander, but he’d seen him coming and was already moving, pivoting to one side, grabbing Nero’s blade hand at the wrist and following through with a hard punch to the side of his head. Alexander stripped Nero’s blade out of his hand a moment before Anja grabbed him by the throat with one hand and flung him over the table; he vanished before he hit the ground.
Alexander spun to meet the attack of two palace guards, slicing the first across the throat, then sidestepping to put the dying man between himself and the second guard. Anja snatched up the dead man’s mace and advanced on the other guard. He smiled-she snarled. Alexander left them to it, turning toward Tyr’s seat and leaping onto the table, the guard behind him screaming in agony.
Within one stride across the table, he saw the threat, but there was nowhere to go … he was in the open, exposed, and the Lord Protector was pointing his mace at him. A moment later, he was blown halfway down the length of the table, landing on the end and toppling over into the trample of fleeing nobles.
Stunned and disoriented, he struggled to regain his senses, clambering under the table and crawling toward the chair where Tyr had been sitting.
“Now!” he thought urgently.
Chloe flashed into view for just a moment, bringing the Tyr Thinblade, scabbard and all, with her from the aether. Alexander emerged from under the table, blade drawn and ready. Tyr saw him almost instantly and his rage spiked, battle frenzy and pure fury giving him the strength to toss aside the two guards standing between him and Alexander.
In that instant, Nero appeared on the table behind Alexander, looping a length of rope around his neck and pulling him backward. Before his feet could be pulled from the floor, Alexander shoved backward, both to loosen the rope and to gain distance from Tyr. Thankfully, before Tyr could reach him, the Lord Protector blasted the pirate across the floor with his mace. In the back of Alexander’s mind, he imagined that the mace functioned on the same principle as the lances, though that thought didn’t intrude for long.
He stabbed up and back with the Thinblade, aiming for Nero’s head, but slicing through his shoulder instead. Nero’s scream was cut short when he vanished. Alexander scrambled back across the table toward Anja. The crowd was thinning … most had already fled the banquet hall, giving the guards more room to work.
One was charging Anja, mace poised to strike. Alexander reached the other side of the table, sliding forward, kicking a chair into the guard’s path and slicing him in half when the man stumbled over it. Anja had killed three, and another three were surrounding her, trying to get past her guard, but she had her back to the wall and was lashing out at them whenever they got too close.
Alexander moved behind the one in the middle, killing him and drawing the attention of the other two-a distraction that proved fatal for them both. Anja clubbed one in the head, crushing his skull and splattering a line of blood diagonally across her face. Alexander cut the other man’s mace and stepped into his guard, stabbing him through the heart.
The Babachenko returned, entering the room with both hands raised, chanting ancient words under his breath. Palace guards started pouring out of the door behind him. They quickly subdued Tyr, his wizard standing down and raising his hands in surrender as soldiers filled the room and started flowing around the table toward Alexander.
The Babachenko loosed his spell, a wave of crackling bluish energy emanating from his hands and washing over both Alexander and Anja. Alexander went totally blind when it hit him, his all around sight failing, his aura-reading gone, even his precognition vanished.
“Take them alive!” the Babachenko commanded.
Two men grabbed Alexander by the wrists, stripping the Thinblade from his grasp before he realized what was happening. His magic was gone … how, he didn’t know.
“What have you done to me?” Anja said, her voice beginning as that of a young woman and ending as that of a dragon. Alexander and the men nearby were shoved to the ground by her abrupt transformation. The men farther away stopped in their tracks, scrambling backwards when they were suddenly confronted by a dragon.
Alexander knew better. Her scales were not yet hard enough to stop steel and her breath was only hot enough to scorch; certainly not the dragon fire of legend. She was vulnerable … and she was the biggest target in the room.
The Lord Protector unleashed his force mace at her, blasting her a dozen feet away from Alexander. She roared. Alexander felt the warmth of her fire, but it wasn’t hot enough to kill any but those closest to her. Still, it did seem to instill a sense of caution within the ranks of the palace guard.
A collar snapped around his neck and started constricting.
“Run!” he shouted to Anja before his voice failed him.
She roared in defiance, whipping her tail around. Two more men screamed.
The Lord Protector hit her again with his force mace.
“Run!” Alexander tried to shout.
Pain exploded in his head, accompanied by a bright white flash followed quickly by oblivion.