Storm Warning

The artist was gone; in his place was someone far more dangerous, and nothing at all like a mole, more like a cornered rat. Celandine's beady black eyes glittered dangerously; he had a mallet in one hand, and a sharp palette knife in the other. The edge of the knife had a nasty, sickly green tinge, and Karal had the sinking feeling that it wasn't paint. 'He'll kill me, you know,' the artist said, his voice deceptively calm.

'Who?' Karal asked urgently. 'What's wrong? Why would anyone kill you?' Stall for more time. Help has to be on the way.

'The Grand Duke. Tremane. I'm not his man. I'm expendable. I didn't finish the job. The little birds flew, and only pecked out the heart of one of the targets.' The glitter in Celandine's eyes wasn't danger, it was madness. He feinted with the knife, and Karal winced backward. 'He'll kill me; he has my likeness and my hair, he can do it. Unless I finish the job, right now.'

He feinted again, and Karal flinched. He obviously knew what he was doing; he had all the moves of an experienced knife fighter. Karal's best bet was to keep him talking.

But Celandine rushed him; he ducked and sidestepped and barely managed to avoid the knife and the mallet blow aimed at his head.

'If I get you, I can leave you in the garden with one of Elspeth's knives in your heart,' he continued. 'We made copies, you know, just in case. You know the one I'm talking about.'

'Actually, no I don't—'

Altra's mind-voice was frantic. :Karal! I can't get him! You're in my line of attack!:

Karal stepped to the side at once, but Celandine lashed out viciously with the mallet, and he stepped back again hastily.

'The one Elspeth left in the heart of our ambassador, of course!' Celandine said, as if he was some kind of dolt. Then he blinked. 'You're playing for time!' he accused, and slashed at Karal with the knife.

:Karal! There's poison on that knife! Stay out of reach—use something as a shield.:

A shield—something Celandine wouldn't want damaged!

He grabbed one of the canvases at random as Celandine drove him back, and held it in front of him as he backed toward the windows. Celandine's mouth twisted in a snarl.

'Put that thing down, you idiot!' he screamed. 'How dare you put your hands on—'

He never finished the sentence.

There was a crash of glass as all the windows shattered at once. Karal ducked instinctively, crouching and making himself as small a target as possible as shards of razored glass went everywhere. Celandine came up out of his fighting crouch in shock and glanced around wildly—

Then a dozen crossbow bolts hit him at once from the direction of every window; his body jerked wildly in a grotesque parody of a dance—

—then he dropped to the floor, eyes already glazing in death.

Karal dropped to the floor as well, as his knees gave out.

'Karal!' Kerowyn leapt through one of the broken windows and crashed through the easels to get to him, knocking paintings in all directions. 'Karal, are you all right? Did he scratch you? Sayvil said there was poison on his blade. Are you—'

'I'm all right, I'm fine,' he replied weakly. 'Oh, dear Sunlord, I have never been as grateful for any lessons in my life as I am for yours.' He hugged the painting to his chest, and took deep, steadying breaths. 'He was going to kill me and leave me with a copy of one of Elspeth's knives in me. He said they got it when she left one in their ambassador.'

He was babbling and he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself. Altra finally wormed his way through the tangle of art supplies and tumbled easels, and began winding around and around him frantically, purring loud enough to make both of them vibrate.

'Elspeth's knife?' A large man climbed over the windowsill with a crossbow in each hand; after a moment, Karal's mind put a name to him. Skif. He wasn't a mage, but he often sat on the Council with Kerowyn.