Kevlin pawed his belt, then cursed the fool who had banned long weapons from the ball. He could only do one thing.

Run.

Two more black-clad men stepped into the doorway behind him.

Not good. The men advancing from the stairs spread out and the ones not brandishing heavy clubs produced a pair of nets.

That was just not fair.

Kevlin drew his belt dagger. It was a pathetic show of defiance, but he didn't have anything better. He tried to bolster his confidence by reminding himself he'd been in worse situations. That sparked an idea. The only worse situations he could think of were being nearly consumed by magic.

He had a little magic.

Connor threw his dinner plate at the advancing men, who lurked almost within striking range of those nets. As the food tumbled through the air, he focused on the piece of white cake he'd been saving for last. He wrapped it in a sphere of air and held it suspended in front of the lead attacker's face.

The man laughed. "You gonna fight us with a pastry?"

"Watch carefully," Kevlin said with forced confidence. "That piece of cake is going to save your life."

At the same time, he focused on the invisible connection with his swordbrothers. This time he felt it, vibrant and strong.

Brothers, he called to them. Help. I'm under attack! And he pushed to them the location.

# # #

Jerrik cursed and spun away from a voluptuous blonde with coppery skin who wore a stunning red silk gown that caressed her as she moved. The beautiful young woman kept talking, as if she didn't notice him leaving.

She probably hadn't. She was the youngest daughter of a minor Freyarri noble house, known for her good looks, not her brains. Plus, she'd been drinking a lot.

Jerrik threw his drink at a young nobleman with a wide-brimmed floppy hat who didn't move out of the way in time. The idiot caught the cup in the face and toppled to the floor.

Jerrik charged right over him, shouting, "Ukko's Beard, get out of my way!"

His voice carried over the constant din of the ball, and people scattered out of his path. He didn't slow for the few too stupid or too drunk to move in time, but just bowled them over.

He pushed them harder than strictly necessary. Jerrik loved a good fight better than anyone, but Kevlin's timing was terrible. That girl had been getting very friendly.

# # #

Drystan raced from the dance floor and wove through the crowd with his customary grace. Despite the press, he barely slowed, and people spun to watch him race for the wide southern exit where he met up with Jerrik.

Few noticed the willowy young woman with a sleeping baby strapped to her back who shadowed his steps and kept pace with him the entire way.

# # #

The lead attacker barked a laugh and said to Kevlin, "You're proving a lot more entertaining than most. All right, laddie, tell me how this little piece of cake is going to save my life."

Kevlin used the recently-learned technique and exploded the cake inside its containing sphere of air. It shattered in a brilliant flash of cream and fire. Three seconds later, it was reduced to a greasy smear.

Kevlin released the sphere of air and a cloud of black smoke wafted over the attackers, who cringed away. He spoke into the silence. "First one to take a step forward gets his head blown up just like that cake."

They all stepped back.

Several exchanged nervous glances and one, a thin fellow with a scraggly beard said, "No one said nothing about him using magic."

The leader clapped the fellow on the shoulder. "Risk is part of the business." He shoved the man forward.

The unlucky fellow stumbled several steps and shrieked like a little girl.

Kevlin cursed. He didn't have enough magic left to kill the clumsy fool. So he poked him in the eye with an invisible finger of power.

The man howled and rolled around, clutching at his head. That helped a little, but Kevlin needed something more. He didn't have enough magic left now to even blow up another piece of cake.

The leader grunted. "Nice trick. Take him, lads."

The black-clad soldiers advanced again, forming a loose circle around Kevlin, clubs raised.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Time to change tactics. He preferred steel over magic anyway.

Two net-wielding men stepped into range and hefted the net to throw. Kevlin brought his right arm down hard to release the stiletto hidden in his wrist-guard.

He was glad he had decided to keep it on, worn under the loose sleeve of his new shirt. The tiny blade sprang out and he caught it with a practiced motion.

Kevlin threw it just as the men committed to throwing the net. The stiletto caught the right-most of the pair in the eye and sank to the hilt. The man screamed and fell into the net, tangling it.

The second pair weren't deterred, but threw their net, forcing Kevlin to dive out of the way. He rolled and drew Bajaran's cursed silver dagger from its hidden sheath at the base of his neck.

He came to his feet closer to the outer door. One of the men stationed there meet him with a heavy blow of his club.

Kevlin tried to dodge, but the club smashed his left shoulder. Something cracked and pain exploded all the way down Kevlin's arm. His belt dagger fell from numb fingers.

He stumbled and slashed wildly with the silver dagger, scoring a light cut on the man's arm.

It was enough.

The fellow screamed and dropped his club. He staggered back against his companion and screamed again, a high-pitched wail of agony. It reminded Kevlin of the sound he'd heard a sailor make when attacked by a shark.

That kind of scream a man doesn't forget. The other attackers paused, staring at their companion.

The doomed soldier collapsed, clutching at his wounded arm as his fingers blackened and began to smoke as if being charred from the inside. Tendrils of blackness crawled up his neck, just under the skin.

He screamed again as the fingers of blackness reached his face. He convulsed, then lay still, his dead eyes fixed on the ceiling high above. His companions recoiled from the sight.

Kevlin gritted his teeth against the pain pounding through him like a high sea and focused the tiny bit of magic still remaining to him on the silver dagger.

"Fire."

A ripple of blue flame appeared around the dagger, coursing the length of the blade. A single tongue of fire slipped off the point and dropped to the floor where it burned for a second before being joined by another, and then another.

Kevlin hefted the burning blade, drawing every eye. Battle fury swept through him, helping to drive back the pain. He planted his feet, beckoned with his dagger, and snarled, "Who wants to die next?"

The leader spat. "Those were good men you killed, laddie." He hefted his club. "I'm gonna break your arms and legs for that."

Kevlin had never met a more determined group of mercenaries. Most soldiers for hire would cut their losses and run. It wasn't fair.

A distant echoing laughter sounded in his ears.

Curse you and your Wheel, Kevlin shouted the thought. May you get stuck in the mud of Asherah's displeasure!

Kevlin shifted toward the wall in hopes of getting his back to it, but the mercenaries cut him off. He turned a steady circle to keep them in view.

The men hovered just out of reach while two of their number prepared the net again. He tensed to launch a desperate charge before they could snare him.

Jerrik charged into the room, bellowing his battle cry, "Kamen Seig!"

Without slowing, he caught up one of the heavy benches situated near the door and heaved it. It blasted two mercenaries into the next world.

The leader shouted at his net-wielding men, "Throw already." To the others, he gestured at Jerrik. "Kill that one."

Drystan joined the fray. He sprinted into the room, wielding nothing but a pair of short daggers.

One soldier intercepted him, club raised to strike.

Drystan spun around the man in his trademark move and whipped his tiny blades across the man's throat as he passed. The mercenary clutched as his neck as his life blood spurted between his fingers.

Drystan had already closed on the next man and, with a flying leap, slammed both knees into the center of the man's chest. He drove the fellow to the ground and struck him in the temple with the pommel of one blade.

The sight of his brothers invigorated Kevlin. He charged the men with the net. They threw it.

Maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

Kevlin dove forward and tried to roll under it. The impact on his wounded shoulder drove a shocking wave of pain through him and he ended up in a heap at the feet of the mercenaries.

One of them kicked Kevlin in the head. The blow rattled him and he lost his grip on the silver dagger. The flames winked out.

The other mercenary scooped up the blade. Kevlin struggled to bring his vision into focus as the man leaned over him with the weapon.

"Too bad I can't kill you," the man said. "But I'm going to keep this little knife as a gift."

Kevlin kicked him in the knee.

When the man lurched forward, Kevlin grabbed his wrist and drove the silver dagger back into his stomach. The blade cut through his boiled leather armor like butter and sank deep into his stomach.

The mercenary screamed and collapsed. Kevlin pulled out the blade and turned toward the man's companion. That one, in true mercenary spirit, turned and ran.

Keelin arrived in the doorway first.

The mercenary bore down on her with a shout and raised his club to smash her and her baby out of the way.

Drystan and Jerrik were fully engaged with the other mercenaries and didn't see the danger. Time seemed to slow as Kevlin helplessly watched the mercenary bear down on Keelin.

Instead of fleeing, Keelin reached under the strap of her baby's pack and extracted a two-foot leather cord capped with a metal ball. As the mercenary closed on her, she danced aside and flicked the strange weapon at him.

The metal ball smashed into his forehead. His head snapped back while his feet kept moving, flipping him over backward. He landed on his head and didn't move.

Keelin stepped over him and moved to Kevlin.

As she settled daintily to the ground beside him, Kevlin stammered, "How did you . . . ?"

"Oh, dear," Keelin said with a warm smile. "If that impressed you, I'm afraid you're in for rather a shock when you see me back home."

"You're not like most new mothers."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Now, tell me what hurts."

The tide of battle turned against the mercenaries. Jerrik picked up the leader and threw him into two of his other men and then wrapped the three of them in their own net. Drystan took another mercenary's club away from him, clobbered him on the head, and broke the legs of the last two mercenaries as they tried to flee.

"Now that you've finished, why don't one of you tell me what's going on?" Harafin stood in the doorway, with Leander close behind.

"They started it," Kevlin said.

Jerrik clapped his huge hands together, threw his head back and roared, "And by the gods, we finished it!"

Harafin gestured with one hand, and glowing prisons formed around all of the still-breathing mercenaries. He stepped into the garden and asked, "Why did they do this?"

Kevlin shrugged and then groaned from a new wave of pain from his injured shoulder. Keelin helped him stand. "I don't know anything about them. I was looking for you."

"You think they planned this?" Jerrik asked.

"Clearly," Harafin said. "They meant to take Kevlin."

Leander moved to Kevlin's side and began examining his shoulder. "Again, the question is why."

Harafin said, "That is exactly what we are going to find out."