Conflict (17 page)

And he did not care.

Once more he heard that sinister voice coming from the sword, whispering in his ear:
Glory is ours, young warrior! Let the blood of the enemy quench my thirst, I promise you that victory will be ours today!

Hartz was filled with spirited energy. He watched Kayti dispatch her second attacker with a powerful sword-thrust straight to the heart. In her white armor, with her long fiery hair dancing to the sound of battle, she looked like a being out of mythology, a goddess of war: pure, lethal and filled with passion.

A spear aimed at his chest brought Hartz abruptly back to reality. With a strong whip of his wrist he deflected the blow with his sword, and the sharp point just grazed his right shoulder. With his left hand he grabbed the stem of the spear as the attacker was drawing it back. Hartz tugged hard, bringing the guard forward, and hit him hard with the pommel of the sword in his other hand. The guard dropped to the floor with his nose broken.

He looked around; all the guards were lying on the floor either dead or wounded. He could see three more in the outer courtyard, fleeing as if they were being chased by the hounds of hell.

“Looks as though the entertainment’s over,” Hartz said jokingly to Kayti, and waited for her furious reaction.

The redhead’s irate reply was immediate. “Only you could be uglier and more brainless than a Troll!” she said as she wiped the blood off her armor. “Only a Cave-Troll would call this entertainment!”

The giant laughed heartily in his enormous voice, the echoes sounded all over the ground floor of the building.

Kayti, realizing she had swallowed the bait, calmed down. Suddenly her cheeks went red. She looked at the big man and could not help but laugh herself, releasing all the tension which had built up during the fight.

Lindaro appeared behind Hartz. “I’ll never understand your fascination for fighting,” he said. “I was so afraid… There were moments when I feared the worst. I don’t understand how the two of you can be so cool after this blood-bath. I thank the Light for the protection it’s given us throughout this whole dangerous business.”

Lotas, who was bandaging his wounded arm with a scarf, came up to the group. “Well, I’ve carried out my side of the bargain. I haven’t betrayed you. I’ve fought beside you, and let me remind you that I could’ve change sides very easily, and if I had, the outcome would have been very different. Now I’m asking you to honor your side of the bargain and let me go.”

“What do you think, Lindaro, do we let this sewer-rat leave, or shall I finish him right here?” Hartz asked the man of faith, with the pretended indifference of a consummate assassin.

“If you ask me, we’d better kill him,” Kayti said. “It seems to me if we let him leave, we’ll regret it someday. This kind of vermin has a habit of resurfacing sooner or later, and they’re always bad news.”

Lindaro came to stand between Hartz and Lotas. “No, wait! You can’t kill him in cold blood like that! He’s carried out his side of the bargain, and now we should do the same. Let him leave, don’t harm him.”

The Norriel looked at the smuggler thoughtfully.

Kayti crossed her arms and waited for Hartz’s decision.

“All right, I’ll respect your wishes, Lindaro. You may go, Lotas.” He turned to the bandit and poked his finger at him. “Just make sure our paths don’t cross again. If I ever see your ugly face again I’ll put an end to your filthy life without even needing to stop and think.”

Lotas gave a slight bow, grinned malevolently and ran off.

“I know I’ll regret this decision,” Hartz said, watching him go.

“Very likely,” agreed Kayti.

“You did the right thing, Hartz. Don’t have any doubts. The Light will reward you for it.”

“Now I know why you insisted on coming…” Hartz said, his eyes on the man of faith. “You wanted to make sure we didn’t kill him.”

Lindaro shrugged and went outside without another word.

Komir placed his body sideways against the frame of the double door. With great care he turned the knob and gently pushed the door so that it opened inwards, moving his body away from the opening as he did so.

A treacherous arrow flew out into the corridor.

I was afraid of that, a trap!

Komir gathered momentum and rolled into the room. Another arrow whistled two finger-breadths from his head. On one knee, he unsheathed sword and hunting knife and looked at his attacker.

It was the old servant!

Surprise made him hesitate. What was the old man doing there? Why was he hiding in his lord’s office?

Then he understood.

Gaining time! That’s what he was trying to do.

He went across to the servant, who was hastily nocking a small bow with silver decorations. With a twist of his sword he disarmed the old man, who stared at him with eyes full of anger.

“What are you doing here? Where’s your master?” Komir asked, raising his sword to the old man’s face threateningly.

“I’m not saying anything to you, you filthy Norriel.”

Komir studied the luxurious room: fine silks of different shades decorated a magnificent hall, presided over by a carved oak table at the end. It was the office of the lord of the palace, he had no doubt about that. But if the man was not there, then where was he? He could not waste any more time.

“Get out of here, old man, before I cut your throat!”

“You’ll pay for this effrontery,” the old man said as he left the room hastily.

Komir hurried to the balcony and drew apart its long red velvet curtains. From the oval granite space at that height he could make out the complete structure of the palace. There were three major wings to the spacious rectangular building, together with one central courtyard of polished flagstones in black and white, like a chessboard. Lit by several oil lamps, an impressive round fountain decorated it. More than ten feet high, in the shape of a waterfall, it filled the courtyard with life.

Komir could make out three figures dressed in purple and black leaving the west wing through a side door. He strained his eyes and made out a smaller building to the north, not far from the palace.

The stables.

Guzmik was fleeing!

He was not going to let this happen.

He jumped back into the room and tore down the curtains, of rich foreign material. He tied them together with a double knot, then pulled hard to check that it would hold his weight. It looked as if it would, although he hesitated for an instant. There was no guarantee, after all. He might jump into the void and crack his skull.

He went back on to the balcony and tied the curtain to the railing, making sure the knot was firm. He looked down.

You’re crazy, you’re going to kill yourself
, he thought. It was more than twenty
-
five feet to the ground. He breathed deeply and saw the three figures approaching the central fountain. He would not let them escape. He needed answers, and he was going to get them. He would cut them off; he had to climb down fast and block their escape to the stables.

He threw the curtain out, but it was too short. He leapt over the rail and prepared to climb down, choosing to ignore the danger completely. His arms were doing all the work while his legs guided him down the vertical wall. He came to the end of the curtain, wondering how far it still was to the ground. Should he leap or not?

The decision was taken out of his hands.

Up on the balcony the old servant cut the knot, laughing evilly as he did so.

Komir fell.

A dull, sullen blow brought the fall to an end.

Pain. Komir felt an intense pang of pain.

He tried to get up, but there was such a stabbing pain in his right side that he was forced to lie still.
I’ve broken something, a rib most likely. Just my damned luck!
he thought. He looked at the fountain. The three men were looking at him from a few paces away. He had cut them off, he had made it in time. They would not escape. He just needed to stand up. He tried again, slowly, leaning on his other side. He managed to get on one knee and draw his weapon.

“Stop!” he ordered, threatening them with his sword, pointing at the closest of the three.

They wore violet masks over their faces decorated with a silver fringe down the middle. Their purple tunics were covered by black breastplates and black hooded cloaks. The furthest one wore a showy breastplate in silver, trimmed with gold. This had to be Guzmik!

Komir thought he recognized the masks and purple tunics… he had seen them before… but where?”

Then he remembered.

The Sorcerer! The attack on Kayti’s group!

Fear kicked him in the pit of his stomach. He remembered with crystalline clarity the wicked power of the Sorcerer and how he had almost killed them with his maleficent spells. Things were going to get worse any moment. He had to get ready.

The three enemies unsheathed their swords almost simultaneously, like synchronized dancers. The swords were short and curved, with rich gold pommels. In fact they looked more like ceremonial swords than combat ones, and they were foreign.

Komir tried to stand, but the pain would not let him, so that he had to stay there on one knee. The closest of the three foreigners aimed his sword at him and murmured a few unintelligible words. A violet flash ran down the weapon.

Hell! That was a spell!

One instant later he began to feel a pain in his chest.

Sorcerers!
he thought apprehensively.
The three must be Sorcerers. I’m finished, there’s no chance for me against three of their kind.
The pain increased in an instant until it was absolutely unbearable, expanding from his chest to every inch of his body. He felt as if an invisible hand were pulling his heart out of his chest, he could almost swear he had seen a spectral purple hand extending from the Sorcerer’s sword to his body. Such was the pain that he dropped his weapon. Fighting it with all his will, he reached behind him and grabbed one of the throwing daggers from his belt. The foreigner chanted more words, and another violet flash came from the sword. Komir could make out a sinister purple claw flying towards his chest and piercing it. As it did so, the pain multiplied. It was killing him. In a moment his life would end in a sea of torment. He tried to throw his dagger, but the pain was so overwhelming that he could do nothing. He remained writhing on the ground, his thoughts useless, their place taken by abysmal pain.

“Leave him alone, you scum!” a powerful voice thundered from the other side of the courtyard.

Komir turned his head with an inhuman effort and saw his giant friend running determinedly towards him with his sword in his hand, followed closely by Kayti and Lindaro.

The three foreigners turned to the new threat and readied themselves to face it. Komir felt a slight reprieve in the pain which was killing him, most likely because his torturer was distracted. Without thinking, he reached for the mystical Ilenian medallion which hung round his neck.

Hartz was advancing on the nearest enemy, the one with the ornamented silver breastplate. There was only one thought in the mind of the big Norriel: he had to help his friend, rescue him. He would not let them kill Komir. He had sensed what was happening: those vermin were casting some kind of spell on Komir, and if he did not stop them immediately his friend would die. He fixed his gaze on his target and went faster, racing across the courtyard. He was sure Kayti would follow close behind him.

The Sorcerer pointed his sword in his direction and spoke a series of words. A spell was coming at him, he knew it! Hartz clenched his teeth and felt something strange happening to him. His legs began to feel as though they were made of granite. He lost speed immediately, and two steps later found himself firmly fixed in the middle of the courtyard. Concentrating all his immense strength on his legs and pulling with all his furious will, he managed to walk slowly in the direction of the enemy. The Sorcerer cast another spell and the weight of an entire mountain fell on Hartz’s back, crushing him like an insect.

He lay there with dust from the cold floor in his mouth, feeling all that weight crushing his bones and leaving him in agony. He could not move.

He looked at Kayti, searching for help. She passed beside him like lightning, on her way towards the third purple-clad enemy.

When Kayti overtook Hartz, she realized something was wrong with him. The daring Norriel was lying on the ground a few steps away from the enemy. She leapt at the third assailant. When he saw her he raised his sword and spoke a few rhythmical words in an unknown language. Kayti realized this man too was a Sorcerer and was casting a spell on her. But to her surprise nothing happened, or at least she did not feel anything strange. She reached him and launched a blow to his throat. No spell could save him now.

She missed!

Unheard-of! She had missed, just one step away from an enemy!

Unflinching and defiant, the Sorcerer cast another spell, which filled her with unease. What had he done to her? What perverse magic was he using against her? She tensed her arm and thrust her sword at his groin, where the enemy was least protected.