fell away like snow swept away by the wind.
After the rush and roar of battle, the still of the aftermath was haunting. It was as a soft symphony of sobs and moans, the pathetic cries for help mixed with the weeping for the dead. From what seemed like far away drifted the urgent shouts of rescuers.
As quick as he could, Pinch stumbled over the bodies of princes and priests to find his friend. He found the halfling propped against a throne, raggedly breathing through his ruined face.
'Sprite!'
'Pinch-that you?' the little thief whispered. A little foam of blood bubbled on his lips. 'What happened?'
'Manferic's dead. We won, I think.'
'That's good.' The halfling weakly groped until his hand found the regulator's. 'Pinch, I can't see.'
'It's just the light. Your sight'll come back.'
'No, Pinch. It's my eyes. He ruined my eyes. I'm blind.'
It was true and the rogue knew it. The halfling's eye sockets were bloody hollows. There was nothing he could say.
He turned away as Lissa came up. The giant hand had vanished with Manferic's death. It had only held her, not harmed her. 'Tend to him,' he asked, filled with exhaustion.
Lissa nodded and gave a weak grin. 'It seems I'm always fixing you up.'
'It seems I'm always saving your hide.'
Voices came from the body-choked hall as the first reinforcements tentatively ventured into the realm of destruction. Guardsmen and a palace wizard picked their way through the bodies, fearfully peering into the hall. Among them the exhausted rogue saw Therin, Maeve, and the woman from the tunnels, Lady Tulan, his mother. She was thin, pale, and trembling, overwhelmed by the wonder and terror of the surface world she had lost so long ago.
'Pinch?' Therin and Maeve hailed suspiciously and in unison, spotting the form of their leader where he sat on the steps.
'It's me, you gallows cheat,' Pinch groaned. 'Manferic's dead. Maeve, you can read me, unless drink's muddled your mind.'
'That's Pinch,' Maeve confirmed, not even bothering with the spell.
'Who's king? What happened?' they demanded to know as they hurried to his side.
Pinch looked to the thrones. Vargo was poisoned. Throdus and Bors were charred corpses. Marac's chest was split open by some magical blast. 'No more princes,' he mumbled with exhaustion.
Therin, blunt-minded and practical, looked over the hall. 'Well, Pinch, someone's got to be king.'
Pinch looked up. The Gur was smiling at the purely larcenous outcome of it all. 'You're right,' the regulator nodded, 'someone needs to be king.' He got to his feet, retrieved the bag from Sprite's side, and in the center of the dais unwrapped the Cup and Knife.
'Citizens of Ankhapur, I present myself, son of King Manferic III and Lady Tulan, as candidate for the Cup! Let all who see know!'
Eyes turned in wonder at this new development as an upstart stood before them all with the royal regalia. Whispers and twitters overwhelmed the somber tones of death as even the most dazed could not resist the temptation of gossip.
With all the solemnity he could muster, Pinch wetted the cup with blood from his wounds while Therin mixed the wine. Pinch drained the cup.
The tittering stopped. To the amazement of the onlookers, the golden halo, the crown of kingship, formed on Pinch's brow.
'All hail King Pinch!' Therin bellowed.
'All hail King Pinch,' came the reply, weak at first but growing over and over until it was a lusty cry.
'All hail King Pinch, indeed.'
