his neck, swinging its weapon in a wide arc. Tol ducked and iron cleaved the air over his head. He still could not free his sword. Cursing, he endured a rain of blows from the attacker he’d impaled. In between parries, Tol hit the impaled creature with the jeweled pommel of Prince Amaltar’s dagger. It was like punching a bale of leather, causing no real harm.
The sword-swinging monster landed a hit, the tip of its sword piercing the rim of Tol’s right ear. In a fury, he let go his sword and grappled with the creature who’d wounded him. The faceless beast was effortlessly powerful, but Tol gradually forced it back. Without a sound of protest or alarm, it fell on its back, smashing one of Hanira’s delicate side tables and losing its grip on its sword.
Tol snatched up the weapon. With a snarl, he brought the heavy blade down on the prostrate monster’s head, cleaving it in two. The creature quivered like jelly, arms flailing, slit mouth open. Tol leaned back to avoid a slash from the other monster, still carrying his sword in its chest, then planted a foot on the fallen one’s chest and struck again. The good iron blade severed the creature’s right arm at the shoulder.
Tol yelled in triumph and stood back, expecting the wounded monster to succumb. Instead, it rose to its feet, and the severed limb leaped about like a spawning salmon, fingers opening and clenching as though searching for its foe or owner.
Such enemies could not be slain by ordinary means. That being clear, Tol was not ashamed to flee. He ran through a gap in the screens. Clumsily, but with mindless persistence, the two monsters followed him, leaving the syndic behind.
Sweating, panting, and with blood running down his jaw from his injured ear, Tol paused in a corridor made of tall wooden panels to collect his racing thoughts. He’d never fought magical beings before. Too bad he didn’t have a spell-caster with him.
A revelation struck him like a clothyard shaft. Why did he need magic against magical foes? Did he not have the Irda millstone?
Wood splintered around him. The monsters were near.
How could he use the millstone against them? Should he strike them with it somehow?
A loud crash, nearer yet, sounded. Then another, behind Tol. They were encircling him.
Tol slit the stitching around the pocket holding the nullstone. In trying to move quickly, he fumbled it, dropping the artifact. It bounced beneath a table. He cursed under his breath and went to his knees, groping in the shadows.
Suddenly, his right wrist was seized in a painful, bone-crushing grip. Fantastic though it seemed, the monster’s severed limb had him! It must have crawled after him on its own, outdistancing its owner’s ponderous body.
Tol’s hand went numb, and the sword fell from his nerveless fingers. He jabbed at the disembodied arm with his dagger, but it merely tightened its numbing grip. Bone grated on bone in his wrist, and he gasped with pain.
He heaved the severed arm onto a nearby cushioned settee and frantically sawed at its narrowest point, the wrist, with the edge of his knife. The arm fought him back, flailing and twisting like a vengeful snake.
Now the other attackers appeared-two at one end of the corridor and the third, the one that was missing its arm, at the other end. Tol swiftly dropped to his belly, and crawled along the rug, dragging the severed arm awkwardly along. The three monsters advanced with heavy tread, but Tol’s groping hand finally came down on something hard and metallic. The millstone!
He rolled over and slammed the Irda artifact against the severed arm. Instantly, the powerful limb went stiff. Its fingers were still locked savagely around his wrist, but when he struck it with the butt of his dagger, the arm cracked. Elated, he hammered the limb until it was reduced to lifeless pieces.
Jumping to his feet, Tol yanked the lacing from the calf of his smallclothes. He swiftly used the linen strip to lash the millstone to the hilt of his dagger.
A sword streaked at his head, his own ceremonial weapon, now wielded by the one-armed thing. He ducked, and it shattered the oiled wood paneling behind him.
Whirling, Tol smashed the blade of his dagger against the dense blue flesh. The magical creature gave a start and then solidified into immobility, immediately turning to ashy white stone. Tol kicked hard at its leg, knocking out a sizable chunk. The suddenly inert monster toppled, shattering when it hit the floor.
The other two creatures were soon overcome in similar fashion. Parrying their attacks, choosing his openings with care, Tol struck each of the monsters with his millstone — enhanced dagger, and soon enough the fight was over.
Tol slumped in a chair, limp, gasping. His pulse throbbed in his battered ear, and wide bruises were darkening on his right wrist. He cradled his injured limb to his chest, muttering dire curses against whomever had sent the murderous beings.
A pale glow of light appeared around him. Hanira had arrived, bearing a candelabrum. She wore a robe of golden silk and a dazed, confused expression. Her black hair was loose around her shoulders.
Regarding the devastation in her private chambers with admirable aplomb, she asked, “What’s this?”
“Assassins. Magical creatures, sent here to kill.”
Her brow furrowed. “How did they get in? No one has ever penetrated the wards of Shinare which shield Golden House!” She nudged the debris of one shattered monster with the toe of her golden slipper. Shaking her head, she said, “Golems! I’ve not seen the like since I was married to my first husband.”
“Golems?”
“Beings of clay or stone, animated by magic and set to a specific task. They’re mindless and will persist in their duty until destroyed.”
She set the candelabrum on a table and planted her hands on her hips. The gesture parted her loosely tied robe and revealed she wore nothing underneath but a slender golden band encircling her waist. Tucked into the band was a stiletto.
“This is my fault,” she said. “My enemies must have learned of our meeting and fear I will make an alliance with you.” Her honey-colored eyes narrowed. “This isn’t the first attempt on my life. I shall make inquiries, and those responsible will be found.”
Hanira asked how he had bested the powerful golems.
“My dagger is enchanted,” he lied, placing a hand on the hilt. “I tried to fight the things with my court sword. It was no better than a feather duster.”
She put her arm around him soothingly, steering him back toward her bed chamber. At first Tol resisted, thinking he should return to camp, report what had happened here tonight. If truth be told, he was sore and injured, and Hanira was a beautiful woman; the danger seemed over. He let himself be led.
“I suppose Helx may be behind this,” Hanira mused, as they walked together slowly. “I rejected him tonight, and he has the money to hire any mage he wants.”
Hanira doctored his injuries, soaking a cloth in spirits and dabbing away the blood from his ear. From a small aromatic cedar box, she took balm, which she applied to his bruises. Finally, she tore a silk sheet into strips and made a tight bandage for his arm.
When she was done, he held up his wrapped arm, admiring her work.
“As a girl I was apprenticed to a healer,” she explained, “but circumstances led me elsewhere.” She’d become a courtesan at seventeen and had remained one until she married her first husband at twenty-two.
Tol had been nearly lulled into sleep again, when a tumult arose at the chamber door-a mob of servants led by Zae. Armed with kitchen knives and makeshift clubs, they’d rallied to defend Hanira.
“Mistress! Are you well? All the wards are down!” Zae cried, her eyes taking in the wreckage. She was still in her dressing gown, gray hair askew.
Hanira assured her people she was uninjured. A male servant behind Zae relayed terrible news. Six men lay dead in the courtyard. Four of Hanira’s household guards and Tol’s own escort had perished trying to stop mysterious intruders.
Tol was furious with himself. Sarkar and Belath had paid a high price for his dalliance.
Four marks past midnight, Zae reported, the main gate had been battered down by three powerful attackers. Hanira’s guard had tried to stop them but were slain. Sarkar and Belath, sleeping in the guards’ house, heard the noise of battle and rallied to action. The rest of the household, unarmed servants and lackeys, had cowered in their rooms until Zae finally managed to muster them in the entry hall.
