Page 241 of The Cradle of Ice

To the side, off in a back corner, Prince Mareesh huddled with a hard group, all surrounded by a barricade of guardsmen and archers. More supporters to his cause flooded through the main doors, drawn by the fighting, summoned from their posts.

As the battle worsened, Pratik focused his attention closer at hand.

Not far from Mareesh, keeping from the edge of the fighting, the white robe of Zeng ri Perrin glowed like a lantern. An arc of nine Venin protected him from the room. But those mutilated creatures were doing more than just protecting. Their arms were lifted outward, toward the battle.

When any of the throne’s defenders brushed too near, they fell into a swooning malaise, allowing Mareesh’s men to slaughter them. Zeng slowly backed from the fighting, clearly willing to slip away if the tide should turn against him.

Pratik was unsure what to do. He dreaded to watch the malevolent scholar escape yet again, but Pratik was no warrior.

As he hesitated, movement drew his attention back to the fighting. A familiar figure had been driven back by a fierce brawl. Althea drifted too close to the arc of Venin. Her legs wobbled and her sword arm fell.

No …

She stumbled—but mercifully forward. She fell out of the malaise and regained her footing. An ax swung at her chest, but her sword burst up and blocked it. Still, she was held at bay, fighting at the edge of the Venin’s oblivion.

Unable to watch her die while standing in shadows, Pratik covered his face with the drape of his byor-ga coif and slipped out of hiding. He crossed to the back of the throne room and hurried along the wall, feigning a fearful baseborn trying to escape the fighting.

Pratik clutched a knife, keeping it hidden in a fold of his robe.

Once he got close to Zeng’s position, a body slammed in front of Pratik, hitting the wall and sliding down. It was a Paladin with a spiked mace cracked into his skull. Pratik did not need to feign crippling terror. He skirted over those legs and crossed toward Zeng’s back, lifting his blade.

It was not a noble act, but sometimes even an ignoble one was necessary.

He stabbed down hard—only to have Zeng spin around before him and thrust a dagger into Pratik’s throat.

The Dresh’ri hissed at Pratik, “Do not think you can fool me twice.”

* * *

TAZAR FOUGHT SAVAGELY toward the dais. Paladins still protected Aalia, but with each step that he carved across the room, another defender fell.

Hold out until I can get to you.

Atop the dais, Shield Angelon still guarded over Aalia, but even the huge man was faltering. His face bled heavily, gashed by fallen glass from the shattered window. He had protected Aalia with his body. Impaled shards still poked from his back, turning any movement into a wrench of agony. Still, determination etched his face.

To the side, Sail Garryn protected Jubayr. Tazar lost sight of Rami, but the chaotic battle had allowed for only quick glances toward the dais.

A loud shout drew his attention over his shoulder.

“Archers! Hie!”

Tazar caught a slash of an arm by Mareesh.

From the traitorous prince’s position, bowmen fired a volley of arrows, so dense that it dimmed the lanterns overhead. The barrage arced through the air and fell toward the thrones.

No …

Mareesh must have held off such a brutal attack until now, perhaps willing to spare his brothers. Or more likely—simply waiting for enough archers to gather and get into position.

Tazar turned to the dais, praying for Angelon to protect Aalia one last time.

As the Shield stared at the doom sweeping down, he swung around to do just that—only to have an armored soldier break through the line of Paladins and heave a heavy ax at the Shield’s back. Steel imbedded deep. Like a hooked fish, the attacker threw Angelon off the dais.

Before the bastard could do more harm, Sail Garryn tackled into him, and the two rolled down the steps into the fray.

Tazar could only watch as arrows rained down upon the dais.

* * *