Gib glanced over the balcony again, and a swirl of color within the shadows of the gallery below caught his attention. His blood ran cold. Someone is down there. Gib swung around, looking for Joel, wanting desperately to call to him—but the mage trainee was already out of sight.
It might be a sentry, Gib told himself. Joel said one patrolled each floor of the palace. He craned his neck to look over the balcony ledge once more. The shadowy figure moved along the corridor beneath Gib, silent and lethal, like a predator stalking its unsuspecting prey. The tiny hairs on the back of Gib’s neck stood on end and suddenly he knew—without a doubt—this was no royal guard. This was the man he’d overheard that day in the hallway. The same man who had already once attempted to take King Rishi’s life.
Gib swung around and dove into the stairwell that led to the lower gallery. His footfalls were a flurry as he descended the winding stairwell, and the sound of his boots against the marble steps echoed off the narrow walls. The steps that seemed to have taken eons to climb flew by in seconds as the sentinel trainee ran down the flight of stairs.
He burst through the passageway that led into the lower gallery with the broadsword still gripped between his hands and body crouched low against the corridor wall. Use the shadows. Stay hidden within them. He took a trembling step forward, knowing full well the danger he was in. The sentinel trainee focused on keeping his breaths steady and making certain his eyes never veered away from the dark hallway ahead.
Gib nearly went tumbling to the floor when his feet were entangled by an unknown entity. He grasped the wall with one hand to regain balance and jerked his head down to see what was blocking his path. All the courage he’d mustered drained from his body at the sight of the second guardsman—as cold and lifeless as the first.
The ill-fated victim lay on his side, with the shaft of an arrow wedged into the space between the plated armor covering his neck and chest. The shot had been precise, and the lack of any evident struggle confirmed the sentry had died swiftly. Gib leaned against the wall, chest heaving and eyes wide. His hands shook so badly he nearly lost his hold upon the broadsword, but the rest of his body was frozen in fear. Two. He’s already killed twice. How many more people will lose their lives before the night is over? Will I be one of them?
The music and cheers of the crowd below reached a crescendo. Gib managed to turn his head away from the sentinel long enough to see King Rishi take hold of the flaming torch. As the King approached the pyre and began to lower the torch into the bundled tinder, Gib realized with a bolt of despair that he’d run out of time. I failed. I failed them all. I didn’t find the assassin in time and now the King is going to die—
Movement caught Gib’s eye. He pressed his back to the wall, wishing he could melt into the shadows. A figure materialized from within the gloom, further down the corridor. Gib gritted his teeth together, begging his arms and legs to stop trembling. He slammed his eyes closed. Here he is. And what real chance do I have against him? He killed two trained men. I’m just a student. Goddesses, help me. Gib sucked in a harsh breath of air and opened his eyes.
The assassin stood about fifteen paces ahead. Shadows concealed the man from below, but from Gib’s vantage point on the balcony, he could see everything—the plated armor and flowing cape, stolen from the sentry, and a small wooden crossbow by the man’s side. The killer stood rigidly as he cast his gaze downward, surveying the crowd like a bird of prey.
And then the man shifted within the dark, drawing nearer to the balcony’s ledge, as he watched King Rishi throw the torch onto the pyre. The tinder crackled, flames jumping to life, even as the killer made his move to end the King’s—
Gib held back a gasp when the assassin raised the crossbow, aiming the deadly weapon down into the ballroom—fixing it onto King Rishi’s chest. Oh Goddesses, he’s going to shoot the King! Move! Do something! Now!
Letting out a shrill battle cry, Gib launched forward, sword raised above his head as he charged the assassin. Seconds before the sentinel trainee reached his foe, he heard the snap of the crossbow releasing and a rush of air as the arrow was set free. Screams of shock and horror rose from the ballroom a moment later, but Gib had no time to dwell on whether or not the arrow had met its mark.
He swung the broadsword with all his strength, aiming for the assassin’s throat, but the man managed to thrust the empty crossbow between himself and Gib at the last moment, using the weapon as a shield. The broadsword crashed into it, sending shards of wood splintering through the air. The assassin uttered an angry cry as Gib’s momentum sent them both tumbling to the ground in a flurry of tangled limbs.
Gib struggled with the weight of the sword, trying to regain control of the weapon, but the assassin knocked it away, sending the blade spiraling across the corridor. Gib immediately dove for it, but his foe was much faster. The assassin pinned Gib to the floor, a growl rumbling from between gritted, yellow teeth.
Gib grunted when the man’s elbow made contact with his nose but barely had time to register the pain before the assassin’s fist crashed into his jaw. It felt as though a sharpened rock had been thrown against his face. He let out a gasp of pain, his head reeling to the side. A moment later, the killer’s hands fastened around his neck like a steel vice.
Gib saw stars as the pressure on his throat increased, cutting off the airflow to his lungs. He fought to break free from the iron grip, digging blunt fingernails into the flesh of the assailant’s hands, but the pressure didn’t lessen. Darkness swept across his vision and a dull hum rang through his ears. Gib tried to scream, but his voice was dampened by the hands around his neck.
In one last desperate attempt to free himself, Gib reached for the broadsword, but it was still just out of reach of his grasping fingers. His lungs burned, crying for precious, vital air. The sentinel trainee’s consciousness began to slip away even as he fought against it. He’s going to strangle me. I’m going to die—
Gib’s heart leapt when he reached, one last time, and could feel the hilt of the broadsword brush his fingertips. He clutched the leather-bound grip in one hand, knowing the sword was his last lifeline and if he dropped it again, he would die. He turned defiant, feral eyes onto the assassin, and with all remaining strength, bashed the steel pommel against the side of the man’s head.
The assassin wailed furiously and teetered back, releasing his hands to cradle the side of his face. Blood trickled from the man’s ear, a trail of bright crimson down his neck. Gib took in a deep, gasping breath and used the opportunity to escape. He rolled away from the assailant, putting distance between them.
“You little bastard!” the assassin jeered as he recovered from the blow. His voice was the same rough, grating voice Gib had overheard outside the academy lecture hall.
Gib raised the broadsword, keeping the weapon poised between the killer and his own body, hoping the sight of the blade would deter the assailant from advancing. Angry shouts could be heard all around, resonating off the stone walls. The sounds were like sweet music to Gib’s ear. Help was arriving.
Gib glared at his opponent. “The Royal Guard is coming. You’ll soon pay for the lives you’ve ended.”
The assassin hissed a curse at Gib but must have decided slaying the trainee wasn’t worth the risk of being captured. The man leapt to his feet and dashed away, vanishing into the shadows. Gib dropped the sword and collapsed to the marble floor. He was completely spent.
In the next instant, royal guardsmen had swarmed through the stairwell opening and out to the balcony. Gib forced himself into a sitting position, face throbbing and teeth chattering. He lifted a shaking arm and pointed in the direction the assassin had fled. “That way! He’s getting away!”
Four of the soldiers immediately turned to take chase—but one hung back, his dark eyes suspicious as he fixed a sharp look on Gib. The sentinel trainee realized belatedly how bad this entire scene must have appeared. Here he was, alone, with a stolen sword and crossbow in the place where the King had been
shot—Gib paled. The King! Did the arrow hit its mark? Is King Rishi dead? As he stumbled to gain his feet, the royal guardsman pulled his blade from its sheath.
“No, no, don’t!”
Joel’s frail voice bounced off the high ceilings as the mage trainee ran forward and took to his knee. He glared at the guard from his spot beside Gib. “I swear to you, he had nothing to do with this. We were trying to find the assassin!”
The soldier hesitated but lowered his blade. “You are the son of the seneschal. I’ll heed your words, but neither of you may leave my sight until I have further orders.”
Joel turned back to Gib, worry lining his beautiful face. “Are you hurt? Look at you—”
“The King,” Gib gasped. “How is the King?”
“Marc is with him.” Joel paused to stand and look over the edge of the balcony. “I think he’ll be all right.”
“He went down? He was hit?”
The devastation in the mage trainee’s eyes was enough to undo Gib. “Yes, he was shot—but you did all you could to stop it. The King is in the greatest of care. Marc is the very best healer I know.”
Gib swallowed his despair, the taste of blood in his mouth. His face hurt and his eyes wouldn’t stop watering. “I failed the King. I should have been able to stop the assassin.”
More voices echoed through the corridor as royal soldiers continued to pour into the gallery. The boom of Seneschal Koal’s voice could be heard above the others. He shouted for the guardsmen to spread out. “Search every room, every shadow! Find the criminal and bring him to the King so justice may be served!”
As the seneschal rounded the corner, Gib and Joel got to their feet. The soldier who had found them bowed and cleared his throat. “Seneschal Koal, these two boys were with the assassin’s weapon.”
Koal fixed a terrifying glare on the empty crossbow before responding to the guard. “Send for Aodan. He’ll want to inspect the weapon. Touch nothing and allow no one to disturb anything until he arrives.”
The sentinel nodded. “Yes, Seneschal.”
Koal turned his attention to the trainees. “What are the two of you doing up here? And what happened to Gib’s face?” His features softened just a little as he took Joel under one arm. “Are you both all right?”
Gib winced. His face did hurt. Gingerly, he touched his nose and lip. A sick knot formed in his guts at the feel of warm blood. Chhaya’s bane. That bastard did a number on my face. “I–I saw the man who attacked the King. H–he was standing right here. I tried to prevent it but—he elbowed me when I tried to stop him.” Nausea swept over him. “Is the King going to die?”
Koal kept his voice low. “No. King Rishi is wounded, but Marc is with him. He was complaining about being forced to sit as I left the ballroom. He seemed to be himself.” The seneschal set one large hand on Gib’s shoulder. “This man, the assassin, what did he look like? Was he working alone?”
“Y–yes, he was the only one. He was sort of tall, compared to me anyway. He was wearing stolen armor from—” Gib paled. “—from the guardsman he murdered. I can’t remember any other specifics. I–I didn’t get a good look at him, sir. It all happened so fast. He took off running just before help arrived. I’m sorry.”
“Did you see which way he ran?”
Gib nodded, trying to get his foggy mind to form coherent sentences. “He ran toward the opposite stairwell. I think he was trying to escape to the upper level.” He watched as the seneschal’s mouth fell into an even deeper scowl. “Will they be able to find him? He’s dressed like one of the royal guardsmen.”
“The Royal Guard all know one another. When they see his face, they’ll know he’s not one of them,” Koal replied, tone angry. The seneschal opened his mouth to fire another question but stopped short as an angry command was bellowed from above.
Gib sucked in a breath of air, a chill making its way up his spine. He would recognize that menacing voice anywhere. Liro Adelwijn.
Joel’s face went grim. “What is Liro doing up there? Why is he giving orders?”
Koal also looked up. “He’s acting on behalf of Neetra. The High Councilor has delegated this task to his understudy. The King was—preoccupied and voiced no command otherwise.”
The sound of shouts and scuffling could be heard overhead. Gib flinched, and Joel and his father froze. A loud clang brought to mind more toppling candelabrum and the angry cries of guardsmen caused Gib’s stomach to heave. Had they found and cornered the assassin?
“Seneschal Koal!” someone was shouting from the stairwell. “We have located the assassin—”
Before the soldier could finish his call, Koal sped away from Gib and Joel with a single command for them to stay. The severity of his tone was enough for neither of them to question further. Joel held up one hand as his father disappeared around the corner. “Be careful.” The words were so soft Gib barely caught them.
“He’ll be surrounded by the soldiers,” Gib reassured, wishing he could take Joel’s hand. “He’ll be okay.”
Liro’s voice rose above the din upstairs. “He’s one man! Catch him and hold him d—”
The unexpected break in his words caused both students to stiffen and share a concerned glance. Without a word, they rushed to the edge of the balcony and looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was happening above them. Through the darkness, it was difficult to see anything until—
Gib grabbed Joel, yanking him back from the railing. An ear-piercing scream rippled through the air as a body plunged from the third story balcony. It barely missed the students on its descent. A sickening squelch of bone and flesh came as the body hit the stone floor below, and more voices cried out in horror.
“Oh Goddesses.” Joel stood frozen, eyes wide with terror.
Gib held up a hand for his friend to stay. The older boy didn’t need to see the body if it was Liro or Koal—Gib took a deep breath and forced himself to peer over the railing.
Below, the body of the assassin lay in a tangle of unnaturally positioned limbs and the twisted cape of the dead soldier. King Rishi was on his feet, bleeding arm cradled to his chest, and glaring upward. For a terrifying second, Gib thought the King was looking at him—but, no, he was looking farther up.
Gib craned his neck and saw the hard, cold face of Liro Adelwijn as he stood at the third story balcony with not a single hair out of place nor bead of sweat on his brow. He was the deadly eye of the storm.
“Tell me it wasn’t Father or Liro.” Joel’s voice was a broken gasp.
Gib whirled around. “No. It was the assassin. He’s dead.”
Joel put his hands over his face and sobbed openly. “Oh, thank the Two. I thought—for a moment—” The mage trainee shook his head, unable to continue speaking through the tears.
Gib came to Joel and put an arm around his shoulders. “No. It’s all right. Your father and brother are alive. I could see Liro above.”
Joel shuddered and wiped at his face. He took a step back from Gib. “Thank you.”
Gib wished he could offer more comfort, but now was not the time or place. A moment later, Koal had raced back down the stairs, Liro right behind. The seneschal’s face was set in a hard scowl as he interrogated his eldest son. “You had no choice? You’re sure of it?”
Liro’s soft voice dripped with venom. “Father, an armed assassin launched himself at me. What was I supposed to do? Fall victim? In the struggle, he toppled. There is nothing more to tell.”
Koal glared hard. “He should have been questioned! You’ll have the King to answer to for this.”
“Your concern for my welfare is overwhelming. Really, I must insist you keep your head.”
The seneschal stopped short and turned to look over his son at length. With a sigh, he asked, “Are you all right?”
“So fatherly of you to inquire. I am fine.”
Joel ventured a step closer as the two adults approached. “I’m glad to see you’re not hurt, Liro. When the body fell, I feared the worst—”
Koal balked and Joel winced. Gib opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say in defense of his friend. Before any of them could retort, Liro waved them off and continued toward the stairwell to the ballroom. “Save your breath, all of you. It’s my duty to report to the King, seeing as preserving my own life cost the assassin his.”
Koal sighed and motioned for the two students to follow him down the stairwell. “Come. You both may have to explain what you saw to King Rishi as well.” Joel bit his bottom lip and dutifully shadowed behind his father. Dumbfounded, Gib had no choice but to do the same. He trailed his roommate in silence.
By the time they reached the ballroom, Joel had dried his face and gotten his breathing under control. Gib continued to glare at Liro’s back, hating how the elder brother made Joel feel and hating even more how nothing could be done for it.
The ballroom stood cold and deserted, save for a group of men gathered around a very irate and injured King Rishi. He stormed back and forth, face in a fearsome grimace with his bloody right arm hugged to his chest. A ragged hole in his uniform showed where the arrow had pierced him. All the other guests had been sent home and the cheerful music which had resonated off the marble walls was replaced by muted voices and nervous whispers.
Koal gave Joel and Gib a severe look before stopping long enough to speak to them. “You boys stand back. I have to speak with the King. Don’t move from this spot.” Neither said anything as they halted next to a pillar and watched the seneschal march away to join the other men. Not a word was exchanged between them and though neither drew attention to the fact, they both pointedly looked away from where the assassin’s body lay in a ruined heap on the opposite side of the room.
A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden Page 30