Mad, Bad & Dangerous

“Now,” Kett said. “Send them now!”

She yanked her knife back, shoving at the dying man with her foot and thrusting her scryer into her bodice so her hand was free to grab his sword as he fell. Whirling on the next man, she cut him across the chest. None of the men were properly armored, and the sword cut through his clothing enough to leave a line of blood. The man turned on her, but she used the momentum of her swing to whirl and slam the sword into his head.

But not before he’d yelled, “Guards! We’re under attack! Gua-”

His head split open, spraying blood, and Kett twirled to the next man.

But there were no more. The other four men lay on the floor in various states of dismemberment, Bael and Dark standing over them, breathing hard. Bael stepped forward in the sudden silence and picked up Lya, whose eyes were closed tight.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and she opened her eyes, nodding. They both looked down at Var, whose striped fur was dark with blood. Lya’s body had shielded him from a lot of blows, but not all of them.

“Is he?” asked Kett.

“He’s okay. Nothing serious.” Bael set Lya on her feet and knelt by his twin, placing his hand on the tiger’s back. “Tigers have incredibly thick fur, helps repel blades.”

“I know,” she said, and he smiled at her. She smiled back, tremendously relieved he was all right. The fight had only lasted a minute or two. How could she possibly have been worried enough to call for backup?

Var got to his feet, leaving behind the bloody, mauled mess that had once been Albhar. The tiger’s legs, belly and face were smeared with the old man’s blood, and Bael regarded it with his jaw tight.

There was silence for a long moment.

“We should go,” Dark said, and they all nodded, moving toward the huge windows and the little courtyard beyond. Kett was already working out the best escape routes in her head. Take to the skies? She and Bael could each carry a passenger, but she was fairly sure the Maharaja had snipers on his rooftop, alive to the possibility of an aerial invasion.

Maybe if she and Bael disguised themselves again, they could just walk out. No; someone would check their quarters long before they got to the outside wall. And they were all sprayed with blood.

Maybe-

“My gods!” cried someone from outside the guest quarters, and without even sharing a glance, the four of them, plus Var, broke into a run, through the windows and toward the archway at one side of the courtyard. “After them!”

“Thought that went too easy,” Bael said, his hand brushing her arm as they ran. “Are you okay?”

“Five by five.” She grinned. “Nothing like a good fight to get the blood pumping.”

“Just as long as it only pumps inside you,” he said, and they shared a smile.

They’d left the little courtyard attached to the guest quarters by the time the guards found the bodies. They ran through another little piazza, then another, each one hung with vines and trellises, the sound of heavy boots on stone echoing behind them.

“It all looks the same,” Lya cursed. “How do we get out?”

“I follow my nose,” Bael said, flashing her a grin. “This way!”

But “this way” led them into a bigger courtyard, one with many exits. Soldiers entered through three of them.

“Nice one,” Lya snapped. She ran with a sword in one three-fingered hand and a crossbow in the other, both apparently stolen from Albhar’s guards. She raised the bow as she ran and felled one soldier, but a hail of arrows were returned.

They ducked behind a fountain. “There are four of us,” Kett said.

“Five.” Bael pointed to Var, still tiger-shaped.

“Six.” With a shimmer, Dark separated into two forms. Vean, a lion eight feet from nose to tail, tossed his long, dark mane and pawed the ground, leaving behind long gouges. An undulating growl rose in his throat.

“Still. There are hundreds of them. Within a minute or two there could be thousands. And they’re good. Have any of you ever faced troops in battle?”

“Yes,” said Dark, his face grim.

“Yes,” said Lya.

“No,” sighed Bael, “but I’ve been in a hell of a lot of bar fights.”

Kett passed her hands over her face in despair. Six against even one hundred was terrible odds. Six against several hundred, maybe even a thousand, was such terrible odds she couldn’t believe any of them were contemplating it.

“Where the fuck is Striker?” she asked, looking around as if he might reveal himself, a shape silhouetted in the ever-present dust clouds.

“Not here,” Bael said. “Not since we entered the palace.”

“Great,” Kett said, and hauled out her scryer. But Striker didn’t answer.

“He’s probably busy roasting babies or something,” Lya said.

The sun beat down on them. Sand drummed up by the marching soldiers filling the courtyard clogged the air.

Kett started looking around for cover. “Okay, we need to hide. Barricade ourselves somewhere until the battalion shows up.”

“Will they?” Lya asked. “Show up?”

“They’d bloody better,” Kett growled, pointing toward the nearest part of the building. “In there. Get as deep into the palace as we can. Find somewhere defensible. Everyone ready?”

“No,” said Bael. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, hard. “Now I am.”

“You’re a lunatic,” she told him.

“So are you.”

He grinned, and then so did she, and they both took off running.

***

By chance they ended up in the throne room, its high doors slammed shut and barricaded with furniture. It had been empty but for the Maharaja and one pretty concubine, who both fell silent when Var and Vean bounded into the room.

“Are there any other entrances?” Kett demanded, and the terrified, gibbering man pointed to a small door no doubt used by the servants. She smashed a table with the hilt of her sword and used one of the legs to barricade the door.

Outside, someone yelled a command, and a hail of arrows came in through the high windows. Annoyed, Kett manifested a pair of wings, grabbed the Maharaja and flew up there.

The big courtyard was full of soldiers. Rank upon rank of them filled the space, crammed into every corner, jammed up against the walls. Weaponry glinted in the sunlight.

The silence was intense.

Kett held the Maharaja in front of her, leaning away from his wriggling body and kicking legs. “Shoot again and you might hit him,” she shouted.

“Kill them!” he squealed to his soldiers. “Kill them all!”

“If we die, you die,” she told him, and dropped him the ten or so feet to the tiled floor of the throne room. He landed with a crack and howl, at which the concubine let out a cry.

Kett landed by the fallen ruler and aimed her stolen sword at him.

She let her disguise slide away.

“You were the one who handed me over to Albhar, weren’t you?” she asked. “You told him where I lived.”

“I’m sorry!” he cried, sobbing like a child.

“Yeah, me too. I should do to you what Var did to him.”

The Maharaja looked up, fear and tears staining his face. Kett gestured to Var, who padded over and rested one bloody paw on the Maharaja’s chest.

The Maharaja fainted. The concubine whimpered.

“I’m not going to kill him,” Kett said in disgust.