Chapter Eighteen

The first thing that happened was that the drawing room exploded. Dryden was thrown to the ground. Everything was thrown backwards in a huge wave of pure force. Even though he had fully intended to follow Mar’s instruction, there had simply not been time, and Dryden was not sure that ducking would have helped in the first place. The blast was so forceful that Sala Shuja had been thrown back in his chair through the far wall, as had the guard who was with Shuja. The blast wave had emanated out from Mar who was next to Dryden, and had flown away towards their host. The guard at the doorway stood open-mouthed in awe at the display.

Zhan An-Zhigo pushed past the guard and pointed his sword at Dryden, fury on his face. The Vuruni warlord said nothing because there was nothing more to say. Dryden had killed three of his kin, and had cost him an arm on the retreat from Vurun. He advanced on Dryden, who drew his sword and blocked an overhand swing. There was nothing subtle in the man’s attacks. He swung again and again, trying to batter Dryden down by sheer force. It was all Dryden could do to block the hacking attacks. Then on the fourth swing, Zhan’s sword snapped in two. He looked at the half of his blade in surprise just as Mar hefted half of a broken chair and smashed the warrior over the back with it. The man sprawled on the ground, unable to catch himself with his missing arm. The guard in the doorway fled as Zhan fell. Dryden kicked the partial sword away and put his sabre at Zhan’s throat, “Do you wish to die as your son and grandsons?”

“You are a curse on my family,” Zhan growled at him, his dark hateful eyes locked with Dryden’s, then he paused before asking, “Did you kill Vezh?”

“He killed himself to keep from being a prisoner,” Dryden answered truthfully, “Is that the fate you hoped for him?”

“Better that, than be a tool of our enemies.”

“We were not your enemies until you made us so.”

The man laughed, “You are enemies of all, even those that do not know it. They will see, and your empire will become dust.”

“Where is Aisa?” Dryden asked. He knew the man would not tell him. He suspected that she was not far.

“Kill me, Dry-den.”

“You wish a warrior’s death?” Dryden demanded.

The man stood, the tip of Dryden’s Styranian sabre, the blade he had been given by Gorst, poked into Zhan’s chest. The runes glowed a subtle red as if anticipating the letting of blood. “I wish it.”

“Then tell me where she is,” Dryden shouted, “Tell me and I will run you through your vile heart.”

“The bazaar,” The man spoke coldly. Dryden heard shouting outside. Captain Khathan was demanding entry to the manse to see what was happening. He heard more shouting and footsteps. Men, both friend and foe were coming, drawn by the blast. Dryden hesitated, his sword resting on the man’s chest.

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“Kill me. You promised.”

Dryden started to turn away but Zhan grabbed the blade of the sword up near the hilt and lunged. Together they fell to the ground. The sword went straight through the Vuruni man. Blood gushed out in spurts, covering Dryden’s hands, chest, and face. The blade had gone straight through the man’s heart. The blade seemed to grow warm in his hand. He lay there a moment in shock, then gathering himself he rolled the dying man off him and pulled the blade from his enemy with effort.

All this, from the explosion of magic, to the killing of Zhan An-Zhigo had only taken mere moments. A shot rang from outside, followed by more shots. There was more shouting now, louder and frantic. Dryden strode through the door of the drawing room, out into the hall. Mar followed. The hall was empty.

“I did not mean the spell to be such,” Mar whispered as they went.

Dryden turned left and went further into the mansion.

“Where are we going, Dryden? The door is that way,” Mar pointed right.

“He said she was in the bazaar, but is she? I would know for certain.”

“What of the men?”

“They are in capable hands with Captain Khathan. I suspect they will soon be joining us. Are you hale enough to cast another spell, Mar?” Dryden asked as he mounted the stairs.

“I believe so, though that surprises me. I have always found myself spent after wizardry. Fair warning, however, I cannot promise my spells will work as I intend. That spell was intended to give us a fair fight, not destroy the room.”

They came to a landing on the second floor. Dryden looked both directions down the hallway. The stairs went up to a third floor, “In what room would a princess stay?”

“The nicest one, I’d wager,” Mar replied, “Does she strike you as the type to want a view?” He asked glancing at the stairs up.

“She strikes me as the type who wants to see her enemies coming,” Dryden replied.

They went up the next set of stairs. The hall was narrower but well-appointed. Vases with roses lined the walls. Down to the left, two guards stood next to a large door at the end of the hall. They lowered spears in Dryden’s direction and he advanced. Dryden pulled his pistol from his belt, aimed, and fired. The shot went wide and hit a window but the man flinched as glass ricocheted into his face. Dryden did not waste the moment. He leapt in, slapping the spear aside, and cut the man deeply in the face. The second man tried to bring his spring around, but there was no room for him to turn easily. Dryden cut him down too. The runes on his sword glowed red now. That was something to discuss later. They had a sorceress to find. Neither guard seemed dead, but both were wounded and neither one rose. He kicked down the door. Aisa sat reclining in a divan. A hookah was on the table next to her. She exhaled indigo smoke and grinned. Dryden’s breath caught in his throat. Not this again, he thought as he watched.

“No,” Mar said, “You will not.”

Dryden smelled something like rusted iron, and not from the sticky blood that covered him. Then a slight breeze and a feeling of static swept across his skin. Aisa lifted from the ground into the air, the exultation gone from her eyes. It was the first time that Dryden had seen something like fear in her. Her arms were pinned to her sides and she thrashed in impotent rage.

Dryden heard footsteps behind him. He turned to find Captain Khathan coming into the room, his sword covered in blood. More men of the 13th were behind him. The Guludan man just stared at the sorceress who was trapped floating in the air in shock. They had the sorceress. Then without warning, Mar collapsed to the ground, his whole body seizing violently. Aisa dropped like a stone. She began to scramble to her feet. Dryden was not sure what she intended, though he knew it could not be good. He had never hit a woman before, and he loathed men who did so as the very worst kind. This was no mere woman, however, so Dryden stepped forward and kicked her full in the face. She went down to the ground where she lay mewling.