Half a dozen of the heavily armoured guards stand facing us. The King’s final defence. They draw their swords as we stop and face each other.
A pair of large painted doors stand at the far end and no others lead off to either side. At the edges of the fabric on the floor are two rows of life-sized sculptures. Each of them has the same crown resting on their heads. Some have swords in their hands, others books or crosses, but they all look down the hallway towards us. They crowd the hallway, their plinths lined up perfectly with the fabric. There may be six soldiers facing us, but the space isn’t wide enough for any more than two of them to approach us at a time.
Damion is forced behind as I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Orrian. It’s three against six, but we’ve come too far to go back now. We both start forwards, the first of the guards move to meet us.
Orrian shifts his blade into his other hand whilst we run, reaching behind his back with his free arm. His hand flies out in front of us and the last of his knives is released from his grip. The incoming soldier doesn’t have time to raise his gauntlet before the blade buries itself in his face, finding the gap in his helmet. The guard dies immediately, his armour crashes to the ground and trips the soldier behind him.
I strike the only soldier remaining at the front, he blocks my blow and I bend backwards to avoid the swing that would have torn across my chest. The tip of his blade rips through my shirt before removing one of the arms of a nearby stone king. Damion has moved in behind me and jabs at the soldier’s exposed side, he falls to his knees with a grunt. I end his suffering as Damion moves to meet the next soldier.
Orrian has used the soldier who tripped to give him a boost as he jumps through the air onto a soldier nearest the door. I cut down the tripped soldier as he tries to rise and tackle the last free guard before he can aid his companion against Orrian.
We’re too clustered for any of us to swing our blades freely. I throw myself into the side of Damion’s attacker to avoid the thrust that comes from my own. I’m too slow and the sword catches me as it travels past, cutting deep between my ribs.
Someone falls behind me as I take advantage of the soldier in front being off balance. I drive the hilt of my sword upwards into the soldier’s chin, he falls to his hands. My blade pierces the back of his neck and his redness flows into the carpet. As I pull out my weapon, the head of the guard behind me crashes into my calf. I groan as my knee smacks against the hard stone.
Orrian has forced his opponent back against one of the doors and pins him there just long enough for his blade to stick into the wood on the other side. The man falls as Orrian releases him, pulling his blade free. Orrian doesn’t look back. He reaches for the nearest iron ring and pulls one of the painted doors open. Sword high and ready to deal with whatever waits for him.
I rise to my feet and stumble after him, my free hand pressed firmly against the pulsing wound in my side. If a similar force waits behind those doors, he won’t be able to take them on alone.
The door leads to a spacious room with a set of large windows opposite which overlook the city. Orrian has already locked swords with Prince Arron to my left. The forest king kicks out and sends the prince crashing into a desk at the far end of the room.
The rest of the royals’ huddle in terror behind an older man who’s rising and drawing his sword. King Breyden.
Among the royals is a young lady, a princess. No, it’s her, the princess that visited Avlym. Time has sharpened her features since we last met, she’s not a small girl anymore. Her eyes find mine and there is little behind them but fear and worry. So, she does feel after all, when it’s her life in danger and not some villager, her safety and not some random serving boy’s.
Her expression is terrified and pleading. Of course, she won’t know that I won’t hurt them, as much as they might deserve it. That’s not me, although she doesn’t know that. There’s no doubt in my mind that she doesn’t recognise me, I doubt she’d even recognise Avlym. I leave her to the rest of her family and turn back to the room.
Orrian has left himself completely exposed as he rains a series of onslaughts on Prince Arron who desperately blocks as he tries to struggle to his feet. The prince has his decorated blade held in front of him, patterns etched into the blade’s edge and golden ribbons entwining themselves around Arron’s hand. I watch as King Breyden crosses over to defend his son.
“NO!” I shout, putting all my weight behind my shoulder as I drive it into the king of the colony.
King Breyden is knocked off his feet and his back slams into the wall beneath the windows. My sword goes flying out of my grip and slides into the post of an extremely large bed. I snatch it away from the cowering family as the king picks himself up onto his feet.
The figurehead of endless pain and misery stands before me. He is dressed in entirely golden armour and has both hands clasped
