“I am impressed with the fact that you can accept their loss so stoically, yet I have to wonder how much choice they had, and even if they had choice, should people be made to suffer for their gods? Whether you consider it the divine justice of the dark god, or the proper penance for their lack of faith in the Shining Gods… should men and women be put to death for failing to pick the winning deity? It reminds me too much of betting on horse races,” I replied with some bitterness.
“Your impiety is well known,” Nicholas responded. “Despite your power and opportunities, you deny the goddess that sheltered you before you reached the privileged position you hold today. Having seen Mal’goroth’s madness first hand, how can you deny the gods of our people?”
“A valid question,” I noted angrily, “I was raised, like most in the vicinity of Lancaster, to revere the Goddess of the Evening Star. Some there still worship her, but I feel a god or goddess should owe their followers the same due a liege owes his vassals. A priest of the Lady poisoned my father, along with the entirety of the Cameron household. That same priest almost poisoned the Duke of Lancaster’s household.”
“You cannot blame the actions of a single man upon his god.”
If my emotions were any gauge, there were sparks shooting from my eyes by that time. “I am certain his actions were ordered by his goddess. She later refused to heal my wife when she was gravely wounded, and action that caused even her greatest champion to forsake her,” I said, bringing up Marc’s defection, “but that was not her greatest crime…”
“Thus far you have said only that she failed to bless those that already doubted her,” Nicholas started, but I was far too incensed to let him continue.
“She resurrected the shiggreth! Is that crime enough for you?” I nearly shouted. The conversation at the table had nearly halted before my outburst, but now a heavy silence lay over the room.
“No one could believe that,” Nicholas replied angrily. “Where could you have gotten such an idea?” To his credit, he kept his reserve better than I had; his voice was still at a much more reasonable volume.
“It came straight from the mouth of one of the shiggreth. I’m pretty sure they would know,” I retorted in a strained tone.
By that point I was ready to throttle the presumptuous King of Gododdin. In part because he had made me lose my cool and no matter how things turned out now, it would reflect badly upon me. A host of clever arguments passed through my mind, but before I could utter any of them, destiny took a hand and completely disrupted our already tense dinner.
Several of the guards had approached the table at the sound of our argument, ostensibly to be close at hand should one of us (me) need restraining. Given the nature of the guests at our table though, I should have realized that no ordinary guard would dare to intrude on an argument between a foreign king and one of the most influential nobles in Lothion. Once again my peasant upbringing led me to miss something that would be more obvious to the noble born.
Dorian was more observant, as were both James and Sir Barnabas. Everyone else was too caught up listening to the argument to have paid heed to the approaching guards. One stood behind me, looming ominously, while the others stood behind King James, King Nicholas, and Walter, respectively. Before I could do more than feel slightly sheepish at having created a disturbance they drew sharp swords from their cloaks and all hell broke loose.
The second their weapons came clear, a word of power cracked out across the room in a language that even I didn’t recognize (it wasn’t Lycian), and each of their weapons were limned in a purplish, magical glow, the sort that indicated a spell to enhance the edge. A spell that would allow an ordinary sword to cut through the type of shields I habitually kept around my person.
Without uttering so much as a threat or battle cry, the four assassins struck simultaneously. The one behind Walter drove his sword through the older man’s back, sending blood spattering forth across the table while Elaine gaped. It had happened so quickly she barely had time to register their presence before seeing her father impaled.
King Nicholas might have suffered a similar fate but for the loyalty and quick thinking of his companion. None of us were armed or armored of course, dining in a royal hall, but Sir Barnabas never hesitated. As the assassin’s blade dove toward his monarch’s unprotected back, he surged up from his seat and threw himself sideways; and even so, he was almost too late. The blade was driven off course by his momentum, and instead it cut a bloody swath across his back and side.
James Lancaster was better prepared, and before his foe could strike, he had already come to his feet with a roar, causing his chair to fly backward and throwing his foe’s attack out of line, as the man nearly stumbled over the heavy furniture.
The ensorcelled blade driving toward my back had a clear path, and while my senses had registered, it my surprise had slowed my reactions far too much. Penny’s eyes were caught by the spectacle playing out with King Nicholas across the table from us, for she had been caught just as off-guard as I was. The assassins had played their hand well. They had prepared and executed their scheme flawlessly, and if the universe were fair, I would have been skewered by the blade coming at me.
The universe isn’t fair however. I can attest to that after the many trials I have endured. Although I had been caught with my proverbial pants down, I had already stacked the deck; for the man sitting beside Penny was Dorian Thornbear. I could give a ten minute description of how acutely deadly my dear friend is, but in the end, his deeds have always been the best testimony, so I won’t bother.
The first sound I noticed was a crack, rather like thunder. I discovered later that it had been caused by Dorian’s chair breaking into several pieces after it struck a marble pillar positioned a good ten feet behind where he had been sitting. That was how violently he had arisen.
Dorian was of course, completely unarmed, just like the rest of us, and dressed in a lovely outfit that consisted primarily of maroon satin and soft doe-hide; yet none of that mattered in the least. He managed to cross a distance of some four or five feet in the space of a heartbeat, and his hand swept up, catching the assassin’s arm by the wrist, and sending the sword clattering to one side, as the man’s wrist broke.
The would-be killer gasped as Dorian’s hand crushed his forearm, but he was committed to his task. With his free hand, he reached for the dagger at his waist; probably hoping to gut Dorian… he never got the chance. Stepping forward, Dorian’s right hand caught the man’s face as his heel slipped behind the assassin’s foot. Thrusting out and downward he slammed the killer’s head against the floor with such force, that it cracked the marble tiles even as it crushed the back of the man’s skull.
Those events passed in the amount of time it took me to stand and take in what was occurring around me. Nicholas had tumbled from his chair as Sir Barnabas fell over him, and both men wound up tangled on the floor. It seemed unlikely either of them would recover in time to avoid their attacker’s next stroke. Meanwhile, I was caught by the vision of Elaine’s beautiful face, as her mouth formed an ‘O’ of horror and surprise, and I could see several drops of her father’s blood on her cheek. The assassin’s sword was now rising above her. I doubted she would rouse herself from her shock in time.
“Borok Ingak!” I shouted. It wasn’t the best spell I could have used, but I hadn’t had the luxury of much time to carefully consider my choices. It was the same spell I had used in the past to shatter doors and destroy gates. The poor bastard standing over Elaine disappeared, as a force similar to an invisible battering ram sent him flying across the room to fetch up against the far wall.