“Privoth knows there is more at stake here than a single mage. Then again, the purifiers are emotionally charged zealots, so you could be correct.”
When they reached the steps to the palace, the entire procession dismounted. Wesson, Farson, Malcius, Yserria, and Brandt all wore the hoods, tabards, and black face paint as they had the first time they visited. Rezkin and his entourage were escorted through the palace doors. They did not have far to travel. They entered the throne room along with Minder Finwy, who said he was there to bear witness on behalf of the Temple, two of Yserria’s guards, and two Ferélli. The rest remained in the receiving hall or in the palace yard with the horses and supplies. Rezkin became suspicious when he noticed that none of the courtiers were in attendance. The council members were seated on benches along the walls. Armored guards stood between the benches, and two dozen purifiers filed into the room behind them.
Privoth sat on his throne, a drab monstrosity, roughly carved from stone and nearly reaching the ceiling. The leader of the purifiers, who had been so embittered by Wesson on their last visit, stood to the king’s right. Rezkin walked the path between massive stone pillars that were topped with huge bowls of flaming oil.
He stopped at the foot of the dais. “Greetings, King Privoth. I have returned to conclude our business.”
Privoth gripped the arms of his throne and looked at him with a scorching gaze. “Did you bring it?”
Rezkin held out his hand, and Farson stepped forward. The striker removed the silky wrap and handed the sword to Rezkin. Holding it high for everyone to see, he said, “I have brought the Sword of Eyre, thereby fulfilling my end of the bargain.”
Privoth stood from his seat and descended the steps. He took the sword from Rezkin and examined it as if expecting to discover a fake. He grinned and announced, “This is the Sword of Eyre.” The councilors clapped as Privoth walked back to the foot of the stairs. Privoth then turned and said, “Kill them.”
Every armed person in the room abruptly drew their weapons. Rezkin said, “We had a deal, Privoth—the sword for Cael.”
“You think I would give you a piece of my land—King of Lon Lerésh? You think I would share my land after you ally yourself with those, those women? And, King of Ferélle! You think to walk into my throne room and steal away my crown for your empire as you did Moldovan’s?”
“I never desired Moldovan’s crown, nor that of Lon Lerésh, nor yours. I only require Cael,” said Rezkin, “and, as we agreed, I will use it to take back Ashai.”
Privoth shook with anger as he said, “You have plenty of land for your precious refugees, yet you still seek to take mine!”
“It matters not how much land I possess. We had an agreement. You will fulfill your part of the bargain.”
Privoth’s smile was ruthless. “No, I shall watch you die.”
As Privoth’s guards moved in, the councilors began to shout at Privoth to make his men stand down. The councilors appeared genuinely confused, but Rezkin thought they likely desired only to escape from the room before blood was shed. Some tried to leave, but the exits were blocked and barred, so they huddled near the benches and in the corners of the room. The guards advanced on Rezkin’s people, who had formed a perimeter defense with Minder Finwy and Wesson at the center, the latter engaged in a battle of wills with the purifiers. The others had orders to defend Wesson if he could not defend himself. Ptelana drew her bow and was the first to attack. She released several arrows, taking down two purifiers and a guard before the swordsmen reached them. She repositioned herself in the center of the circle with the minder and Wesson and continued firing arrows into the fray.
As they had practiced, Rezkin’s unit ebbed and flowed, expanding and contracting the ring as one side or the other was pushed back. The doors at the front of the throne room shook, and then the pounding ceased as more swordplay could be heard on the other side. As the enemy fell, fresh troops swarmed into the room through the side doors. It appeared to Rezkin that Privoth had prepared his entire army for battle. It was only a matter of time before his people were overwhelmed.
Rezkin shouted to his people to close the circle as he rushed forward to meet Privoth. He was merciless as he cut a swath through the guards. Many of them ran rather than confront him. Privoth tossed his precious Sword of Eyre to the ground and drew his own two-handed longsword. He met Rezkin’s charge with fire in his eyes. Their blades clashed, green lightning crackling within the black blade. Privoth was on the defensive as Rezkin pushed forward, forcing the king up the steps. Once at the top, Privoth dodged Rezkin’s strikes by ducking behind the throne. Each time Rezkin struck at him, the king dashed behind the stone monolith and then returned with a strike or thrust of his own. Meanwhile, guardsmen continued to attack Rezkin from behind. He sliced one man across the throat and then stabbed another through the gap in his brigandine. After making a pass at Privoth, he gutted another guard, then began backing down the steps. With Privoth playing mouse behind the throne, he had the chance to implement his backup plan.
“You run, you coward!” called Privoth. “Your people already begin to fall!”
Rezkin would not be baited into turning his back to check on his comrades. He had already seen that two of the Ferélli guards and one of the Leréshi had been struck down. Yserria held her side as blood dribbled over her fingers, and it looked as if Malcius had been struck in the head. Farson bled from a few minor cuts, and Wesson and Minder Finwy had blood splattered over their faces, source unknown.
After fending off the few soldiers near him brave enough to attack, Rezkin sheathed the black blade and bent to retrieve the Sword of Eyre. One soldier thought to take advantage of Rezkin’s position and lost his legs. As he straightened, Rezkin summoned his focus. He had learned at an early age to protect himself from mage attacks using his focus shield and had even extended it to another person within close proximity; but, he had never attempted to shield someone from across a room. He formed the shield in his mind, a mental exercise that had not been required since forming one had become second nature. Then, he pulled the shield from the potential, as he had been taught, and cast it toward Wesson.
“Gah,” Wesson shouted as the shield struck him.
Rezkin did not have time to see the shield’s effect, if any, but he assumed it had been of some benefit when an explosion suddenly rocked the rear of the throne room. He held the sword out to his side and hummed to the sounds of wails and shouts and crashing stones. He hummed the tune of the wind, the sound of the swirling light.
Call should you need the power, power of life, earth, wind, and fire. In thoughts and senses, a focused sign. Bilior’s words echoed in his mind. He focused. He imagined his standard—the raven gripping a green lightning bolt. But, he knew, somehow, that was not right. His focus shifted, and he saw the rainbow of colors, his colors, shattered and pieced together in a mosaic.
Then, he felt the tug. Something had listened. Something was responding. He searched his mind for the source of the tug, and he saw them. Tiny flames danced all around his mind. He held his hand in the air, reaching toward the bowl of flame on the nearest pillar and pulled with his will.