He broke off as the sounds of weapons clashing reached his ears. He looked around, confused, seeing no conflict on the seventh level, then looked up.
High above, on the bridge that ran between the Anchor and the Eyrie, two men were fighting furiously, one of them retreating steadily across the gap. Behind the other, at least a dozen warriors were packed in close together.
“How the devil did they get up there?” Yavvis asked.
“Oreius must have remembered the palace guards too,” Relam muttered. “He’s retreating towards reinforcements.”
“Why not come here, where he knows the rest of your force is?” Tar asked, looking up, his mouth hanging open.
“Because the rest of my force is children,” Relam pointed out. “No offense, Cevet, Sebast. I’m including myself in that assessment as well.”
“None taken,” Cevet managed, eyes fixed on the fight far above. “I feel like a child anyways right now. These Citadel guards and D’Arnlo are good.”
“D’Arnlo may be good, but the two of us plus Oreius can best him,” Tar said confidently.
Relam nodded decisively. “Sebast, Cevet, gather the others. Leave the prisoners tied up where they are. We’re going to help Oreius. And kill D’Arnlo.”
Chapter 43
Relam let Tar lead the way through the Citadel as they raced towards the bridge to the Eyrie tower. The place was crawling with Citadel guards. Rarely was there a corridor or stairwell where the small group did not encounter a guardsman. Tar and Yavvis kept their promise, disabling the men in their path rather than killing them outright. Each time they approached a group of potential enemies, Relam called on them to surrender or join his group. Invariably the guards chose to fight, and paid the price.
“We’re not moving fast enough,” Tar grunted as he knocked out a Citadel guard. “Oreius has been fighting D’Arnlo for a long time now.”
“Which means D’Arnlo will be tired when we finally do catch up with him,” Relam said, shrugging.
“Oreius will tire first,” Yavvis replied, slashing another guard across the thigh. “He’s a fine warrior, your majesty, but he’s older than D’Arnlo.”
“And better,” Relam shot back.
“Maybe. If he has the stamina,” Tar said, knocking the last guardsman against the wall. He dashed sweat from his brow and started down the now clear corridor at a jog. “Come on. We need to hurry.”
They raced through corridor after corridor, climbing from level to level, always drawing closer to the bridge. Finally, they reached the wide archway that led to the narrow path. Four wounded guards lay on the floor, moaning and clutching at various injuries.
“I’d say Oreius is having to fight more than D’Arnlo,” Yavvis murmured, looking impressed.
The clash of swords caused them all to whirl around quickly. Then, Relam realized that the sounds were coming from above them again. He moved out onto the bridge and looked up, craning his head back. There were figures moving on the roof of the Bastion, but he couldn’t make out Oreius or the traitorous master of the Citadel.
“Get down!”
Relam was jerked off his feet by Tar as the sword master hauled him back inside. The young prince slammed against the floor, pain shooting through his shoulder and wounded leg. He turned his head, ready to berate Tar, and saw three arrows hiss through the space where he had just been and clatter off the stone bridge.
“Thanks,” he muttered instead, stunned. “I didn’t even see them.”
“Lucky Tar did,” Yavvis commented. “The problem is, how do we get to the Bastion now?”
“Down and around?” Sebast suggested, stepping up beside Relam and peering out at the bridge.
“It would take too much time,” Relam said, shaking his head. “We have to make a run for it.”
“Are you serious?” Cevet asked, eyes widening.
“Yes,” Relam said, nodding. “It’s the only way we get to Oreius in time.”
“Relam, that’s a lot of open ground to cover,” Tar warned. “We don’t know how many archers they have up there either.”
“And that’s another problem,” Yavvis pointed out. “If there are archers on the roof of the Bastion, we’ll have to deal with them when we get up there too.”
“But Oreius-”
“Is in a tight spot,” Tar agreed. “He has to stay close enough to D’Arnlo that the archers can’t risk a shot. Which means no rest and a continuous, deadly battle.”
“We only have one option,” Relam said. “Charge. Confidently and quickly. No war cries, not as we cross the bridge anyways. Grab the shields from those guards if you don’t have one, and let’s go.”
“Your majesty-”
“Do it!” Relam shouted. Then, he raised his own shield overhead and charged across the bridge. Tar and Yavvis followed right behind him. The lordlings held back, watching in shock as their three leaders charged. Narin stayed behind as well, blocking the entrance.
Relam didn’t look up, didn’t try to guess where the arrows would be coming from or where they would strike. He just ran, as fast as he could, eyes fixed on the archway that led into the Bastion tower. He could see two more guards sprawled in the entrance, dead.
Something struck Relam’s shield, screeching off the metal surface and skipping on the battlements to his left. Relam’s mouth went dry with fear but he ran on, determined to make it to the other side. Another arrow hit his shield, sticking with a menacing thunk.
Then, amazingly, he was into the Bastion, sheltered by the tower. He dodged to the side to give the others room to follow, then peered back out around the edge of the archway. Tar pelted past, his shield held high overhead, Yavvis close behind. Both had multiple arrows stuck in their shields, and they wore identical scowls.
“Are you insane?” Yavvis demanded, lowering his shield and stepping closer to Relam. “You could have
