I shifted it to my left hand and waited for him to block the prisoners from my sight. Once they could no longer see me I summoned my tsincaat. The blade's magical appearance in my hand solicited a startled hiss from the warrior; then he lowered himself into a more defensive righting stance.
I sailed in at him. I arced my ryqril at him with an underhanded toss that he neatly dodged by pivoting back to the left. The ryqril flew past him and landed at Duke Vidor's feet, but the warrior paid it no attention because I slashed at his left leg and forced him to parry my blade wide.
His parry worked, and I let it because I continued my rush on past him and into the prison. I thought I'd made it past cleanly, mainly because his weight rested forward on his left leg, but he managed to bring his club back around and strike me just below the kidneys with a weak return blow. It stunned me for a second, and knocked me off balance, so I flew across the room and smashed into the wall to King Tirrell's right.
I bounced back from the wall and landed on both knees. I spat out dirt and tasted blood from a split lip. I knew the warrior was coming for me, and I knew I had to move, but the tingle running through my legs warned me they would not respond yet. My injury made me a target, but I knew my survival demanded I be more than that. I tightened both hands on the hilt of my tsincaat and a deadly calm ran through my body.
I heard the rasp of leathery footpads on dirt and felt the rush of air as the warrior raised his club for a crushing blow on my head. King Tirrell yelled "Look out, man, move!" and tried to knock me to the side with his body. His impact against me made me sway just a bit, but I returned to my original position and waited. The urgency of King Tirrell's cry and action failed to penetrate the hideous calm that had settled over me.
Feeling trickled back into my legs as the warrior's shadow dropped over me like a cloak. I saw the green flash of his body reflected on my tsincaat's blade. His breath hissed in, his tail scraped against the floor. A groan presaged his strike and without a moment's hesitation when I heard it, I struck.
I urged my body up, and forced my legs to uncoil as I thrust my tsincaat over my head. Locking my elbows, I stabbed up and back. The warrior's club smashed down where I had been, and safely within the arch described by his arms, I drove my tsincaat up through his jaw into his brain. My crossguard smashed into his chin, pitching him over backward.
I sank back down to my knees, having relinquished my grasp on the tsincaat, and turned to face the prisoners. The King had just rolled onto his back, but he joined the other two in staring at me. They could not believe what they'd just seen. The surprise on King Tirrell's face quickly melted into a narrow-eyed appraisal of my action.
At the same time I found myself appraising him as well. By trying to warn me and by trying to knock me out of line with the Dhesiri's attack, he had put himself in danger. That was not how I would have expected him to act, based on all I had been told about him. In his action I began to see some of the reasons His Excellency wanted King Tirrell kept alive.
I reached over and took my ryqril from where Duke Vidor was close to slitting Count Patrick's wrists and severed the Count's bonds. "Thanks for leaving me the spur tracks. I'd not have found you otherwise."
The Count brought his wrists forward and rubbed them. "What you just did, it was impossible."
I shook my head and sawed through the ropes binding Duke Vidor's wrists. "Insane, perhaps, just like heading out after you, but not impossible." I smiled, shrugged, then glanced back at the warrior and shivered. "Perhaps," I laughed nervously, "incredibly stupid and lucky would be a better description."
That broke the tension and drained the shocked looks from their faces. Count Patrick smiled as I shuffled behind the King and cut the ropes binding his wrists. "Your crest, you are from Yotan?"
"Aye." I tossed him the ryqril and bent to tug my tsincaat from the warrior's head. Once I'd freed it, I crossed to the tunnel mouth and watched for any workers or other warriors. "Lord Nolan ra Yotan."
Count Patrick made quick work of the others' leg-bonds. "Lord Nolan, may I present His Highness King Tirrell ra Hamis and Duke Vidor ra Sinjaria ra Hamis."
I turned and nodded to the others. King Tirrell locked eyes with me and an unspoken question passed between us. I nodded slightly.
The King stood. "I had word you would represent your family at the coronation."
I smiled. "Had I known you were Dhesiri-hunting I would have arrived even earlier."
The others chuckled and quickly picked their swords out of a pile in the prison's corner. Patrick handed me back my ryqril and I slid it into its sheath. "Swords are only useful in tunnels this size, so if you don't have a dagger I suggest you take one from that pile." I jerked my head toward the dead warrior. "I don't think he'll mind too much."
Each of them recovered his own dagger and, despite my remark, we all left the prison with swords in hand. I led the others back through the tunnel. We all stopped at its terminus and looked out at the Grand Gallery. "I cut a diamond into the wall near the tunnel we need to exit through. The other symbol I used was a crown for the tunnel leading to the Queen."
"I have half a mind to visit her and repay her hospitality." The Duke sighted down the length of his blade as he spoke, and I saw green mosslight glint from its razor edge.
"You would need just half a mind to go in there." Count Patrick's gibe brought color to Vidor's cheeks even though he offered the comment in jest. Vidor said nothing in return, but glowered at Patrick for long enough to suggest to me the Count enjoyed baiting the Duke, and had done so for some time.
The King laid a hand on Patrick's shoulder. "Good cousin, let us get out before we fight amongst ourselves."
"I agree. Come on." I moved forward onto the ledge, with Vidor, Patrick, and the King following in that order. We moved quickly, but all paused at the entrance to each tunnel before crossing it. Twice I heard Dhesiri coming out the smaller tunnels. Each time the single worker did not see me. I grabbed each of them by the scruff of its neck and pitched it into the Grand Gallery, then signaled the others to follow.
It happened in a second. I heard nothing and signaled the tunnel was clear just as a worker strode from it and collided with the Duke. Vidor tumbled toward the edge and the worker squawked out a cry of surprise as I wheeled and backhanded it off the ledge. Patrick lunged and caught Vidor's wrist. The Duke went over the edge, slammed into the gallery wall, but did not cry out. The King tackled Patrick to prevent his being dragged over the edge and, being very careful to avoid his bared sword, I caught hold of the Duke's other hand.
We pulled him to safety, but other Dhesiri in the Gallery heard the worker's cry. Instantly they filled the central cylinder with echoes of the call. Workers boiled from the tunnels both above and below to advance upon us.
I helped the Duke to his feet and dragged him into the nearest large tunnel, which happened to be the one with a crown carved beside the mouth. "I hope you have something to say to the Queen after all, because we're going to visit her." I shook my head and spat out a little of the blood leaking from my lip. "Count Patrick, I need you and the Duke to act as rear guard." I turned to the King and inclined my head to him. "Your Highness, I'm not much of a diplomat, but I would be honored to lead you to your audience with the Queen."
Cut at an uphill angle, the tunnel to the Queen made any sort of fast assault very difficult. The passage was broken into small segments set off at angles to each other to limit the usefulness of bows or other long-distance weapons. Though large enough for us to use our swords easily, I knew the size was more for the warriors' convenience than ours.
We met two warriors in the corridor. We took the first one by surprise, but he hissed out an alarm despite my best efforts to finish him quickly with a blow to the throat. My decidedly desperate attack forced the warrior to parry it with his club, which left him open to another attack. King Tirrell stepped in and swung a heavy two-handed chop to the warrior's chest. The Dhesiri warrior collapsed, but whatever he'd cried out ale
rted the second warrior lurking further on. .
That warrior waited in ambush and nearly did to me what none of Morai's compatriots could. Slightly ahead of the King, I went wide around one of the corners. The warrior stepped from my blind side and swung a hard blow down at my head. I noticed it at the last second, and twisted enough to face him, but could not ward the blow off.
King Tirrell dashed forward and swung a sword cut from his feet up toward the ceiling. His sword pealed as he caught the descending club and deflected it back behind my body. The force of the blow he'd stopped drove him down to the tunnel floor and he sprawled between the startled Dhesiri and me.
I gave the warrior no chance to recover. I stepped in toward him and snapped a kick with my left foot at his knee. The joint broke cleanly and the monster dropped away from the King. Even as it fell I planted my left foot on the ground and pivoted to bring a two-handed slash down across his neck. My tsincaat swept through his throat and severed head from body.
I looked quickly for any other warriors, then bent and helped the King back up. "Thank you, sire." The words came hard for me, but I forced them out nonetheless. "I owe you my life."
King Tirrell took my proffered hand and stood. "And I owe you my life, and that of my cousin and the Duke." He looked me hard in the eyes. "And, if what your masters fear is true, I expect I will owe you my life yet again."
I nodded. "Perhaps, but first we'd best get out of here."
King Tirrell lead the way into the throne chamber. Situated at the top of a long, sloping but straight section of corridor, it looked unremarkable from the outside. The King stopped cold when he stepped through the portal and shifted his grip on his sword. I stopped behind him and swallowed hard.
The chamber was huge and dark and deep. The throne, a squat hill set about twenty-five feet beyond the doorway, rose only fifteen feet above the corridor floor, but it appeared taller because of the fetid moat around it. A narrow causeway, about six feet wide, ran from the doorway to the throne itself.
Lying atop the throne-mound was the Dhesiri Queen. She was an incredibly obese lizard with four stubby legs that could not even touch the ground because of her massive girth. Her flesh was a mottled, grainy pattern of orange, brown, and black. Her eyes were all black and had an opium smoker's glazed look to them.
Workers moved over the throne like a living carpet of flesh. They ferried food—the last of a horse by the look of it—up from the moat to the worker at her head. She opened her mouth, displayed a triple set of triangular teeth, and let a thick tongue flop out to lick the offering. The worker advanced, rotated the raw horse haunch to strip the flesh off the bone and onto her teeth, then actually had to force her tongue back into her mouth before she shut it and swallowed. At the other end, beneath her stub tail, workers carried away feces and ivory-colored eggs. The grapefruit-sized, translucent eggs showed the silhouette of a Dhesiri within. Workers passed these eggs along and carried them into a side chamber where I could see nothing but moving workers and piles upon piles of eggs that varied widely in size.
A warrior stood between us and the Queen on the causeway. He hefted a club and I knew, on the narrow strip of earth, we could not get past him easily. He hissed something and, for the first time, the workers and Queen took notice of us.
"Don't issue a command to attack." I stabbed my tsincaal into the earth and pulled my sling from a pouch on my belt. I fitted a stone into it and whirled it gently. "I will kill her."
The Queen hissed something at the Warrior and he hissed back. The workers left off their duties and threw themselves on her. They grasped each others' hands and formed an interlocking, living armor that left only her eye open. She nictitated a clear membrane up over it and continued to watch us. I shook my head. "How long can she survive like that? She'll suffocate quickly."
The Dhesiri shrugged. "She will survive long enough for the workers to kill you and your compatriots." The warrior opened its mouth in what I guessed passed for a Dhesiri grin. Its tongue flickered out once, then again. It closed its mouth. "How many warriors have you slain?"
I held up my left hand and raised three fingers. "We'll kill more, and will fight while standing amid the eggs if you force us to do so." I nodded my head toward the egg chamber to the right of the throne and his tongue flipped out quickly, then retreated.
Behind me Count Patrick and Duke Vidor entered the throne chamber. They both stood dumbfounded for a moment, as had the King and I, but the Count recovered himself quickly enough. "There is a horde of them coming after us."
Duke Vidor nodded in agreement. "It is a wall of the little goblins."
My eyes narrowed. "Any other warriors?"
"One." Patrick raised his left hand and touched his forehead. "He had a triangular red blaze on his brow."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the warrior react to the Count's description. I decided to gamble. "I trade you that warrior's death for our lives. No other will compete with you for the Queen."
I saw the light of intelligence in the reptilian eyes. "That warrior is fruit of my seed." He shook his head slowly. "You have killed all the other competitors for the Mother-Queen."
I shrugged. "Then it's a siege."
The warrior nodded and raised his club as if to attack. My slingstone struck high on his chest plate and ricocheted up through his throat. He knew I'd have to kill him and, one warrior to another, he acted to provide me the excuse I needed to finish him. He toppled over into the moat with a splash and sank from sight.
I turned to the others and spoke to stop the Duke from heading toward the egg chamber. "No, not there." I looked to the King and he nodded. "We'll defend the corridor into this chamber."
The Duke looked up to protest, but the King raised his hand. "The corridor is a superior position."
King Tirrell and I strode through the doorway and into the tunnel about twenty feet. I expected Duke Vidor or Count Patrick to step up beside me, but the King waved both of them back. Using his sword he drew a line across the tunnel. "Let us stop them here, shall we?"
"Agreed, but you should not put yourself in danger this way, sire."
The King raised an eyebrow. "Do you think I would be in any less danger standing behind you?"
"No."
"Nor do I, but I can hope so. I want Duke Vidor and my cousin back there because they are the future of Hamis, I am just its history. I can fight here to preserve the future, and consider it my most solemn duty do so."
I found a smile growing on my face. "For the future of Hamis, then." I toed the line he had drawn and prepared myself to kill for as long as I could stand and saw the same resolution mirrored in King Tirrell's eyes. Count Patrick and Duke Vidor took up positions behind us to protect us from any workers that slipped between us, or who decided to attack from inside the throne chamber.
The worker army turned the corner down below us and began a slow advance. Their little heads bobbed like so many buoys on a choppy sea. Though they were small, the sheer weight of their numbers would drive us back and tire us until we couldn't strike another blow. We were doomed and all of us realized it as the corridor continued to fill.
I cleared my throat and looked at my companions. "Well, my lords, I'd guess there are only a thousand or so Dhesiri to slay in a colony this size. Shall we say an Imperial a head?"
The Duke chuckled. "And five for a warrior?"
I looked over at the King. "Only if we can count those we've already killed."
King Tirrell nodded enthusiastically. "A most worthy suggestion, Lord Nolan." The Duke and Count nodded their agreement and we turned back to begin our grim work. The horde had reached us.
I won't attempt to recount a blow-by-blow description of the fight because I cannot remember that much of it. Little pieces of it come to mind unbidden—like a lizard face being chopped in half or a worker reeling away with an arm gone. Visions such as those are just enough to remind me I've been in a battle, but everything else just fades from memory. Not that I mind the loss
of those memories; such lapses keep me sane.
Any man who claims to remember and can recount each cut, parry, and riposte in a melee like the one we faced is either a liar or did nothing but watch. It was less a pitched battle than it was butchery on our part. The workers just kept pressing forward and gave us no opportunity for the finer points of swordsmanship. I felt as though I was trying to smash out a fire instead of fight an army, because all I did was chop and slash and hack at little green hissing monsters who clawed back at me. I struck with either edge of my tsincaat and smashed some creatures with the flat of the blade, but all my blows seemed to have no effect. The workers just kept coming.
I've heard, in bardic accounts of other sieges, of fighters having to push bodies away so they can get at more foemen, but we had no such problem. Before the bodies could pile up to form a breastwork behind which we could hide, the workers dragged their dead and dying comrades away. Because the line of workers lay unbroken as far as I could see, I easily imagined the bodies being hauled the full length of the corridor and being tossed off into the refuse hole in the Grand Gallery.
The King tired a bit before I did—at least before I admitted to myself I was tired—and with a shouted order to his cousin, he withdrew. Count Patrick stepped into the fight and attacked with a vitality I'd not have guessed he had. Both Tirrell and I had been pushed back down the corridor toward the throne room, but Patrick's ferocious attack actually cut into the Dhesiri forces and drove them back. I redoubled my efforts and we won back a few precious feet of the corridor.
My body ached all over. Soaked with sweat on the inside and spattered with Dhesiri blood on the outside, my hunting leathers hung heavily on me like an outsized second skin. My boots were scraped and torn, my trousers were slashed open, and my legs bled from several shallow scratches. Sweat stung my eyes, and I tried to blink it away. I did not need to see to kill Dhesiri.
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