“We gave them a good hiding!” said Hallas, coming up to us with his mattock bloodied right up to the handle.
Other guards from the unit that we had helped to hold out started joining us.
“My prince!” Lieutenant Izmi’s shirt was soaked in blood, but he was standing firmly on his feet, ignoring the slight wound on his forearm. “I am happy that you came to our assistance!”
“It wasn’t him,” I said, determined not to be cheated of my share of glory and gratitude. “If the jester hadn’t come up with a brilliant plan, I wouldn’t have fired my magical bolts and the glorious gentlemen Deler and Hallas wouldn’t have put their weapons to work, and you, lieutenant, would be in the next world by now.”
The bugles started sounding again, but this time there was a note of victory in their voices, and immediately a messenger came running up to the prince and started gabbling rapidly:
“The north and west wings of the palace have been completely cleared. There are still isolated skirmishes in the east wing, but Milord Alistan and the guard will deal with the curs themselves. On the third floor of the south wing the battle is in full swing. The enemy is well entrenched in the small ballroom and we can’t smoke him out.”
“What about my father?” the prince asked curtly.
“The king is safe. He is on his way with three units to join Milord Markauz. He asks you to enter the south wing from the Pearl Stairway, and Alistan will proceed from the Hall of Flowers.”
“Let’s go and crush these woodlice!” the prince growled.
The guardsmen went dashing after their future king. The gnome and the dwarf went with them, running in the front row and almost overtaking young Stalkon himself. Those two races really would give anything for a good battle.
“Let’s go, Harold,” said Kli-Kli, tugging on the edge of my unbuttoned shirt. “Your crossbow will be needed again.”
“I’m a thief, not a soldier,” I protested. “And anyway, there are plenty of men here with crossbows.”
I really had counted at least eight men among the guards carrying heavy army crossbows, which fire bolts that can go right through a soldier in heavy armor. But I tagged along with everyone else anyway, not really knowing what made me do something so insane.
The signs of battle were everywhere. Weapons lying around, broken urns, tapestries torn off the walls, blood, and bodies. There were guardsmen and impostors lying on the floor. Before the morning came someone would lose his head. It was more than just fifty or a hundred warriors who had managed to get into the palace. The count ran to hundreds, and there was no way that many could have slipped in here without help. So there were traitors among the servants of the court and also, I feared, in the ranks of the guards. The king’s sandmen had a big job ahead of them trying to uncover the villains.
As our unit moved through the corridors, stairways, and halls of the palace, more guardsmen joined us. Sometimes just one man, sometimes twenty at a time. The battle was already over; the critical point that decided whose side Sagra, the goddess of war, would take today, had been passed. We had held out.
The enemy had thought that the men in gray and blue could be taken by surprise, and he had paid for that. Whatever goal the supporters of the Nameless One had set themselves, this time they had failed completely, and I didn’t think there was going to be a next time. At least, not another daring attack like this one. Milord Rat would do absolutely everything possible to prevent even a mouse from slipping in, let alone several hundred killers.
“Izmi, take four platoons and enter the south wing from the garden,” the prince commanded. “We’ll spring this mousetrap shut!”
“Marquis Vartek, are your men ready?” Stalkon asked the white-haired guardsman.
“Yes!” Yet another of my acquaintances from the gate was in a determined mood.
“Along the north corridor, pin them to the wall. Everybody else follow me!”
“Harold, we’re with the marquis!” said Kli-Kli. He had completely taken command of my actions now.
The rest of the guards were following the prince into another corridor.
“An extra crossbow won’t come amiss,” Vartek said with a nod, accepting our company into his little unit.
We turned into a wide, dark corridor where there were no torches or lanterns burning. They had either been put out or quite simply never been lit. The only light was about a hundred paces ahead of us, so we almost had to feel our way along. Fortunately, no one attacked us, only Deler started groaning and hissing when someone stood on his foot in the darkness. In this part of the palace four corridors came together all leading into an immense hall with mirror walls. Of course, it wasn’t as gigantic as the throne room, but it was quite big enough for the remaining supporters of the Nameless One to assemble in. They were crowded together in the center, waiting with their weapons drawn. About forty men in a circle. There was something large and dark behind them, covered with a black cloth. I couldn’t really see what it was—the defenders’ backs screened the unknown object very securely.
We had cut off all four corridors: the prince and his guards were approaching from one side, Izmi’s unit from a second, Alistan Markauz, in his beloved armor, was creeping up with his spearmen from a third, closing the ring. And we were on the fourth side, with five guards and the Wild Hearts. Now there was simply nowhere for the intruders to go.
“So there you are,” grumbled Uncle, giving the gnome and the dwarf a look of disapproval. “Where did you get to?”
“We’ve been having some fun,” said Deler, casually wiping the blade of his poleax on the rag hanging at his belt.
“All right, Vartek!” Izmi shouted from the far end of the hall.
The eight crossbowmen moved forward and the army sklots froze in predatory anticipation, ready to spew bolts at the target at the first word of command.
