The man dragged her backward into the patachi's bedchambers. She was thrown onto the bed, and recovered to find herself staring at a man she recognised as a servant, in black tunic and lace collar, levelling a wicked looking knife. “Make a noise and you're dead,” he snarled. He was sweating, and seemed highly agitated. Through her terror, Alythia realised there was a weight on the bed to one side. She looked, and found Lady Halmady, her face pale and expressionless, eyes wide with shocked disbelief. Beneath her, the bedcovers were soaked red. On the floor beyond lay a maid, likewise unmoving.
Another man entered the patachi's chambers, giving a small whistle for recognition. He talked with the first in low, hushed tones, giving quick glances in Alythia's direction. Alythia saw that they had both armed themselves with sword belts-most unservantlike. Assassins.
Suddenly she could hear yells from beyond the balcony. Her heart leapt, hope and fright in equal measure. Someone had discovered the treachery. Any moment there would be armed men battering down the door and she'd be in the middle of the fighting. But, as hard as she listened, she could hear no running footsteps in the hallway. Instead, there came a faint metallic sound then a shriek of pain. The yells and clashes grew louder, seeming to come from all about the house. A battle, Alythia realised. Halmady was betrayed. The entire house was falling.
Alythia lay on the bed, frozen with fear. Only a few times in her life had she been truly frightened for her safety, but those had been nothing compared to this. She could not bring herself to move, barely even to breathe. Her left elbow was wet with Lady Halmady's blood. As much as she'd hated the old lady, she'd never wished upon her anything like this. Or if she had, she surely hadn't meant it. Nor imagined it so horribly, gut-wrenchingly awful a sight. Inexplicably, her frantic eyes fixed upon an ornate, golden sword in its sheath above the doorway. She'd seen such swords in her father's chambers in Baen-Tar and knew that, for all their decorative value, they were as sharp as any armoury weapon. But what could she do with a sword, even if she could retrieve it? Against two well-trained, professional murderers?
Footsteps rushed along the hall outside. A hammering at the door to the patachi's chambers. “Patachi! We are attacked! You must get to safety!” Alythia heard the door open, followed by a scream of pain. Then yelling in the chambers and the clashing of weapons. More screams and yells of rage. Through the doorway, Alythia saw a man fall, crash and roll. He struggled to rise, but seemed to register a helpless horror, for the sight of all the blood that poured out of him. Then to panic, tears in his eyes, a young man sobbing at the prospect of his own death, slashed from breast to navel and soaking in blood. Alythia nearly vomited, and then the world went black.
She awoke barely a moment later, for now the screams and howls of combat rang in her ears. Beyond the balcony windows, she could hear fighting in the garden. Vansy and Selyna! The thought of her maids thrust her from the bed and she leapt for the decorative sword above the door. It didn't come down the first time, so she knocked it upward instead, and it clattered to the floor. She picked it up and stared into the chambers beyond. There were bodies on the floor, Halmady soldiers, perhaps five. A bookshelf had collapsed, chairs overturned and the floor awash with blood. Beyond the central table, a struggle continued on the floor with desperate gasps and shouts. There was a final, horrifying scream, then a gurgle, as an arm thrust a knife repeatedly into a body.
A man rose-one of the assassins, his black servant's tunic bloodied and torn, a dripping knife in his hand. He turned, surveyed the carnage, and saw Alythia. Alythia's heart nearly stopped. The man's eyes were wild, yet cold. He saw the sword in her hands and snickered.
“You're not your sister, little Princess,” he said. “Put it away. I'll not lose my reward so easily.”
“I'm a princess of Lenayin! My father will double any reward you've been offered!” The words were out of her lips before she could think. She was aghast at herself.
Something hit the bedroom window behind from the outside, a shatter of falling glass. “What good is Lenay gold to me?” said the assassin, limping about the end of the table. He held his bloody thigh with one hand. “I live in Petrodor. So do you, Princess. The favour of Patachi Steiner will carry me further than your father's ever shall.”
Alythia stared at him. Patachi Steiner? They were attacked by Steiner? Their great and powerful ally? Marya! was her first thought. Her sister would save her. Marya would not see her harmed. But the roar of battle came loud and near from all about the mansion now and she was scared for her maids, and scared for Tashyna, and scared for little Tristi and Elra, and Halmady were so powerful, and there were so many guards, and surely they could not lose this fight in a direct assault…
She tore the sheath off the sword and circled the table, about the motionless body of the dying boy. She tried to hold the sword as she'd seen Lenay soldiers hold them, but this was a Torovan sword, thinner and lighter, made more for stabbing than cutting. There was only really room on the hilt for one hand, but she held it with two anyway, having no idea how it was done, otherwise.
The assassin blocked her way to the door. He held only a knife against her sword, yet to get past, she would have to go through him. It was clear from the look on his face that he didn't believe she could do it. Neither did she.
Suddenly there were new footsteps in the hall and a figure appeared in the doorway. The assassin half turned and Alythia saw a lithe man in embroidered tunic and tight leggings surveying the scene with horror, a sword in his hand. Gregan. In an eye blink, the assassin scooped up a fallen blade and threw the knife at Gregan. Gregan ducked aside before Alythia could scream, the knife slashing his sleeve, and charged the assassin. Blades clashed and Gregan half stumbled on a body, struggling to defend himself as he staggered sideways. Before she knew what she was doing, Alythia had charged, her blade upraised. The assassin cut at her and she jumped back just in time. Gregan took that chance to slash, taking the assassin across the forearm. He spun away with a strangled yell and Gregan was on him before he could recover, hacking once, twice, three times before the fourth finally exposed the man's defence and the fifth stabbed him clean through the ribs. The assassin fell into a wall and slid down, leaving a bloody trail behind.
“Papa!” cried Gregan, dashing immediately for the body behind his father's desk. He stared down at it, then spun and ran into the bedchamber as Alythia stood in helpless tears. When Gregan reemerged, he was ashen-faced. He stared at Alythia with haunted eyes.
“I'm so sorry!” Alythia sobbed. “I just came to talk to him about Tristi. Tristi wanted me to ask him if he could spend more time with the wolf, and I found that…that man here, and them already…already…”
Gregan embraced her. He looked her in the eyes and Alythia was surprised at the strength she saw there. And the fury. “He nearly had the better of me,” he said, jerking his head toward the dead assassin. “Your attack saved me. Today, I am Patachi Halmady. And you are Lady Halmady.” Alythia could only stare through tear-filled eyes. “Come, my love. We shall fight and defend our home.”
Petrodor was burning. Errollyn stood on the balcony and watched the flames and smoke rise from across the lower north slope. The house was a nondescript residence, humble for its position, upon the upper stretch of the Corkscrew, hemmed in on either side by crowded neighbours. But the balcony afforded a good view of the great houses of the upper ridge and a figtree ensured some privacy.