Darius stopped at the entrance to the small clearing, his hands dropping to his knees as he leaned over and fought for breath. The group of rebels among the tangled roots gathered up their weapons and Kiva stepped unsteadily forward, his face weighed down with concern. The young man looked exhausted but that was to be expected; he’d run from the palace most of the way across the island, ducking in and out of shadows wherever he passed close to a patrol route or guard post. What the general hadn’t been expecting was the blood. Darius’ arms were stained to the elbows with almost dry blood, giving the impression that he wore red gloves or gauntlets. Equally, there were stains all over his chest and face. Clearly something unexpected had already occurred.
“What the hell happened to you?”
Catching his breath, the young man straightened. “I evened the odds by one. They’re already serving dinner. Time you all got into position, yes?”
Kiva stared at him again for a long moment and then nodded gently. “They all know where they’re going. Are you staying with me or going back to help the minister?”
Darius laughed. “No. I’m going to find that sergeant and cut him into pieces you could slide under a door.”
Kiva looked long and hard at the lad, tempted to order him to stand down or at least to argue with him, but there was a touch of hysteria about that laugh and nothing the general said right now would change his mind.
“Ok” Kiva agreed. “Your sword’s in the pile over by that big rock. You’ll need it.”
As the lad ran off toward the makeshift armoury, the general hobbled over to Athas. The burly sergeant patted his sword belt in satisfaction and looked across at his commander.
“Yes sir?”
“Keep an eye on that boy. He’s got murder in his eyes and I don’t think he much cares about anything else right now. Tythias can do your part and his together; he can handle it. You go with Darius and find this sergeant he hates so much, ok?”
Athas nodded and, with a quick glance over to the pile where the lad was untangling his sword belt, squared his shoulders. “Won’t their sergeant be in the dining hall with the rest?”
Kiva shook his head slightly. “I doubt it. He seems like a bit of a megalomaniac. If I had to suggest a place to look, it would be the old Imperial apartment on the top floor of the Peacock Palace. It’s luxurious and recently renovated and I would imagine he’s revelling in the power of command right now.”
Athas nodded and turned to watch Darius wandering back towards him with a curved, northern sword slung at his side. Everyone else was now armed and ready and the group came to a halt before the general. The only figure that strayed from the small unit was Sathina who gave Tythias one quick hug and then trotted around the edge to join the general. She and Kiva would be the only two to remain by the shore tonight, though one of the Pelasians had given her a small hand-held crossbow and three bolts as a last defence in case things went wrong and they needed it. Kiva smiled at the gathering.
“You all know where you’re going. Now go and be lucky.”
As the group filed out of the clearing and started to jog quietly across the turf, Kiva caught Tythias by the elbow as he moved. “Change of plan: Athas is looking after Darius, so you get to cover everything on the western side from the Water Gate to the Gorgon Gate. If you get to the Gorgon Gate and Jorun and Brendan haven’t got there yet, you’ll have to start picking anyone off from the high place until the others arrive, ok?”
Tythias frowned. “I thought we were giving them the chance to surrender?”
“They outnumber us at least eight or nine to one at the moment. I’d rather they died meaninglessly than we risked everything. Understand?”
With a simple nod, Tythias passed the general and disappeared off into the night. Sathina looked down at the small crossbow in her hand and then up at Kiva. “Will they be alright?”
Caerdin shrugged lightly and groaned; the motion still hurt. “If it all goes as planned, we’ll all be fine. If not, then your guess is as good as mine. A lot of this relies on the doctors brewing something up that’ll even the odds. If they can take out all the guard that are off-duty, we’ll be in a much better position.”
They both turned to look up toward the walls and the Water Gate, where the last of several quiet, dark figures flitted across the moon-dappled landscape.
Tythias watched from behind the tree as the guard on the tower of the Water Gate finished urinating over the battlements and disappeared from sight once more. With a quick glance over to the other side of the gate, he smiled. A bush at roughly the same distance from the other flanking tower did very little to conceal the bulky shapes of Brendan and Jorun. Tythias knew full well why Caerdin had split the men as he had. The Pelasians and Marco would be able to move quietly among the buildings of the island, picking off individual guards without being detected. Athas, Brendan, Jorun and Tythias himself were not genetically designed for sneaking. They’d been split into two pairs and sent to the Water Gate. When the first signal came they were to take the gate, subduing the guards any way they could, then they would head off in different directions around the perimeter of the palaces, clearing the walls as they went and meeting up again at the Gorgon Gate, where they would have the best vantage position on the island.
Again he grinned. If it weren’t so important, he’d have laughed. Although it’d be inaudible up on the gate in the night breeze and with their crackling brazier, the low susurration of Jorun and Brendan arguing drifted across the grass to where Tythias stood. They were like children at times.
For a few moments more he watched them and then turned his attention to the trees behind them, down towards the water’s edge. There was something eerie about the island tonight. A stiff but warm breeze blew, making the torches on the walls gutter where they burned, and causing whispers among the trees and shrubs that filled the night with imagined conversation. He watched.
And then only a minute or so later, there was a single flash from the top of one of the trees. It could easily have been mistaken for the twinkle of a star or possibly even a distant night fisherman’s boat from the walls, but Tythias knew it for a signal. That would be his little Sathina with her lantern, high in a tree under the watchful eye of his ally and long friend general Caerdin. He smiled. Along time ago he’d served as a Prefect under Marshal Covis and had been on temporary assignment under Caerdin several times. It’d been said that when Avitus became old and moved into politics, Tythias was one of the names that would be considered as the next Marshal, but the Empire plunged into chaos too soon and that time never came. And here he was now, Kiva and he both Mercenary captains with more than two decades passed since they served together, but it was astounding how naturally it came trusting to the man’s leadership and taking orders from him. With a sigh of genuine satisfaction, he glanced over at the other two crouching in the bushes. They were so busy arguing they hadn’t seen the signal. With a grin Tythias picked up a small pebble and took aim.
The stone bounced off Brendan’s shoulder and he spun around to see Tythias behind a tree gesturing wildly back towards the sea and then up at the gate. With a nod, he crouched lower and whispered to Jorun and a second later, the two broke cover and ran for the gatehouse. Tythias ducked out from the tree and ran with them.
“Keep your mind on your work you two!”
The three of them disappeared under the arch and Tythias pointed to Jorun and at a small door that led to the gate’s small guard room. It may be unoccupied but there was light shining out from under the door and enemies should not be left behind you. Jorun nodded and stepped to one side of the door, drawing a heavy mace from his belt. Tythias and Brendan didn’t stop to sightsee and the only evidence of Jorun’s activities was a brief distant crunching noise as they moved quietly up the steps to the next level.
The first floor of the gatehouse had a long table and a number of chairs, but they were rotten and ancient and largely unusable. The dust remained undisturbed except around the periphery, so no one used this level and probably the next one except to move between the ground and the wall walk.
Sure enough the third level was dusty, deserted and entirely unfurnished. The two rebels spared the room only a cursory glance as they passed through, up the final flight of stairs and out onto the roof of the gatehouse. The two huge drum towers of the Water Gate were connected by a central walkway, with stairs down from each tower onto the wall itself. Tythias had watched the roof for several minutes while waiting for the signal and had counted only three men. Three unprepared men.
The scarred mercenary captain was first out of the doorway, his straight sword with the serrated section of blade close to the hilt held forward and ready. There were in fact four men on the gate, one of whom had remained seated and hidden from the ground. Despite Caerdin’s order, he came to a halt several feet from where the four stood and sat around a brazier warming their hands. Moments later, Brendan came scraping to a halt beside him, his own sword out and paired with a long dagger in the other hand.
“One chance… that’s all” the captain of the Lion Riders announced clearly, if quietly. “Surrender and no one has to die.”
It was a hopeless gesture as far as Brendan was concerned and, as the men rose, their hands going to their weapons, the shaven-headed mercenary leapt forward. The seated man, struggling to his feet with his sword half-drawn was the first casualty. Brendan’s knife plunged through the back of the chair, pinning the stunned man to the wood. Letting the knife go, he spun round, his sword flashing as the second man finally freed his weapon. The two blades met with the ring of metal and a few sparks. Beside him, Tythias had leapt for the other two. Brendan fought like a maniac, his blade hammering across and down at the guardsman. The man was good and despite his surprise he was holding his own. Stepping back, the bald mercenary grinned and made a beckoning gesture. Behind the man he saw Tythias’ sword rammed deep into another guardsman’s chest and even he winced at the noise as the captain withdrew the blade and the serrated section sawed through bone on its way out.
The guard, growling, leapt forward at Brendan, his blade flickering. The mercenary grinned all the more as he turned the dancing blade easily aside each blow.
“We’re fightin’, not pissin’ about!”
The guard came on again and, as his blade flicked again toward Brendan’s shoulder, he ducked to one side and brought his foot down very heavily on the guardsman’s knee. There was an eye-watering crunch and the man collapsed to the floor whimpering. He opened his mouth to scream and the burly mercenary brought the pommel of his sword down on the top of the man’s skull with another unpleasant crack. The body went limp.
Brendan looked up to see that the fourth man had surrendered and Tythias had given him cord with which the man was already tying his own legs tightly. The burly mercenary grinned as the captain glanced over at him.
“Is that one dead?” Tythias asked.
Brendan shrugged. “Dunno. Hang on.”
With a grunt, he lifted the body, the lower leg dangling at unnatural angles and, with a step backward, tipped him over the parapet.
“I’d say yes, at a guess.”
Tythias grinned and turned as Jorun burst through the doorway at the top.
“Ack! ah-ah-ah.”
Tythias nodded sympathetically and pointed at the man busy tying his own legs together. “Make sure this little prick is very securely tied and gagged and then you and Brendan get going. I’ll see you at the Gorgon Gate.”
Jorun nodded and Tythias made for the stairs onto the wall. At the last moment, he looked back at Brendan. “And don’t try to make him fly. He surrendered.”
The burly mercenary gave him an exceedingly innocent grin and then trotted over to join Jorun. Tythias turned once more and jogged down to the wall. “Gods help the Empire with those two running amok together!”
Prince Ashar moved through the shadow of the Arch of the Four Seasons without a sound. He dropped back against the wall and scanned the Ibis Courtyard. Empty. Lifting his hands to his face he called out with the sound of an owl and was answered from all around with the sounds of night-time wildlife. Six. Six men in the courtyard. Ashar was proud of his men and wondered how many guardsmen had met an unfortunate end before they’d all made it here. He waited again for a moment and watched as the door to the Raven Palace opened and a number of the islanders exited with Sarios, Mercurias and his own doctor among them. The Prince moved quietly out of the shadow and made three barely perceptible movements with his hand as he trotted lightly across the stone. Figures melted out of the shadows all around the courtyard. Two came towards the door the islanders had just left, converging with their Prince. The others unhooked already prepared grapple lines from various places around the decorative stonework and began to climb. Ashar and his two assistants dropped back against the wall as Sarios led the islanders past. Neither the minister nor any of his fellows made any sign they’d noticed the black-clad assassins. Ashar nodded. They were being watched then.
Again, he made a motion with his finger and one of his men ducked around the doorway for a split second. When he stepped back he held up his hand, all fingers spread. With a nod, Ashar ducked round and disappeared into the doorway, the other two entering silently behind him. Five guardsmen stood on the ground floor, sharing a flask of something and leaning on the rail of the great staircase. Two of them collapsed instantly clutching their throats; Ashar had made no such promise about taking prisoners.
Not a sound escaped from their victims as they were systematically and quietly dispatched. The last body had not even hit the floor before they were up the stairs and into doorway of the dining room. The sight that greeted Ashar assured him that the meal had gone down well. Perhaps too well. Not a single figure exhibited a sign of life in the room. It had been a slaughter; a mass poisoning on an unprecedented scale. With merely a shrug, he gestured for one of his men to check the room thoroughly while he and the other continued on along the corridors.
Athas worried about the young man in his charge. Darius had said nothing throughout their spasmodic journey across the island, ducking from shadow to shadow. He hadn’t been waiting for signals and had been moving at pace like a man possessed. And now they were standing at the bottom of the servants’ staircase in the Peacock Palace, listening carefully. There were definitely sounds up there… likely the Sergeant was preparing to dine. The meal had been taken through to the rest of the men first, as the Sergeant had sneered at the broth and demanded something special. Well, looking at the glint in Darius’ eyes, he was damn well going to get it.
Athas laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and he didn’t flinch.
“Listen to me, lad…” the dark-skinned giant whispered quietly. “You killed your first man tonight and that should take something out of you. You should feel something about it and it worries me that you don’t seem to care. Killing coldly is not healthy; look at Kiva. Do you really want to become like him?”
Darius turned to face the sergeant and Athas’ fears grew as he saw the look on the boy’s face. “This isn’t murder; it isn’t even killing. This is cleansing. Don’t worry about me Athas; I’m quite in control.”
Before the sergeant could reply, the lad had started moving lithely up the spiral staircase, curving round to the right as he climbed. Muttering unhappily under his breath, Athas followed close.
Darius slowed as they reach the upper levels. This staircase was a private one for the slaves and servants working in the kitchens below to deliver food directly to the Imperial apartments on the top floor and with any luck the guardsmen didn’t know about it. Athas remembered the couple of times he’d actually been admitted to the apartments in the old days. The door was disguised from the inside as part of the wall’s decoration. The Emperor Basianus had had the door hidden for aesthetic reasons, but that might work to their advantage now.
The staircase came out onto a narrow landing with shelves of stone built into the wall on either side, beneath which stood old bronze braziers. Here the stone shelves would be kept constantly warm and dishes could be left while the rest of the meal was brought up from below. Then, when the entire meal was ready and stored in the warming corridor, the servants could knock and approach the apartment with a full spread. Darius had stopped and was looking about himself vacantly.
“The wall ahead is a door,” whispered Athas. “One good push and it should pivot open if it’s still in good repair.”
Darius nodded and stepped up to the blank wall with the burly sergeant at his side. There were at least four voices within. Darius put his shoulder against the wall, but the sergeant’s hand came down heavily on his shoulder yet again in restraint.
“Shh. Listen.”
The voices were not clear, muffled as they were by such a thick and heavy door, but the guard sergeant was recognisable, and several other guards were present.
“…figures moving on the roofs and no answer to our signals from the Water Gate…”
Athas ground his teeth. “Someone’s fucked up. We’d best get back down to where we can help.”
Darius shook his head as he listened. There was the muted sound of heavy booted footsteps leaving the room. “They’ve all gone bar two. I’m not leaving yet.”
Athas made to pull Darius back by his shoulder, but the lad wrenched away from him and slammed his shoulder into the door. There was a creak and a groan from the aging construction. “Help me!” he demanded.
The big dark mercenary growled in frustration, but bent forward and added his shoulder’s weight to the lad’s. The door swung ponderously open, but the speed of their entry and the noise it caused had attracted far too much attention. The guard sergeant and his companion were already in the middle of the room and moving on the door with their weapons ready. The leader sneered at them. “So the boy brings me one of the missing islanders, eh? That’ll save time; I can punish you now and relax a little tomorrow.”
Darius shuffled out of the doorway and danced sideways to cut off the exit to the rest of the apartment as Athas walked slowly and purposefully out into the room and dropped his sword point first to the floor and leaned it against the wall next to the door. The big man growled gently as he examined the sergeant.
“I’ve been trying to convince myself that you all deserve a chance to surrender, but Darius was right. You are a shifty piece of shit. You have no idea what’s going on, but you assume that you’re in control of it. You’re not.”
The other guard made a lunge for Athas, his blade held out in a very artistic fashion, as though he were engaged in a sport or display. The big sergeant pivoted, kicking the man’s wrist hard and the blade skittered away across the floor. He smiled as he stepped in toward the man.
“I’m not an islander, you pointless ass.”
The guardsman put his fists up to ward off the blow of the big mercenary, but Athas knocked them aside and, reaching out to grasp the man’s head, wrenched it around with a crunch, so that the entire head was reversed and the suddenly sightless eyes stared out above the man’s spine. Ignoring the body as it fell to the floor next to him, the big man’s smile grew wider.
“So, would you like to surrender?”
The guard sergeant’s eyes widened as the big mercenary drew himself up before him and the young man with the hateful eyes stepped slowly but inexorably towards him from the other doorway.
“I submit to your charge,” the man said, reversing his sword and pointing the hilt to Athas. The big man grinned.
“Ah well, you see I accept your surrender, but I don’t think Darius does, so I can’t really help you. If I were you I’d turn that blade around, cos I don’t think he much cares whether you’re armed or not.”
As Athas leaned back and folded his arms, the sergeant hurriedly flipped his sword over and gripped the hilt tight, just as Darius was on him. From the start, Athas had been aware that the lad had a good physique and handled his blade like a professional, but had been sceptical about his actual swordsmanship. After all, how good could someone be with only ministers and farmers to train him? Athas’ own sword was in reach and in a fraction of a second he could grip it, lift it and land a blow on the guard officer, but as he watched Darius come in for the first strike, he relaxed and settled back against the wall.
The young man stepped in and swung his own blade wide. The blow was slow; ponderous, and the sergeant easily raised his own sword to block it, smiling. However, Darius was lithe and prepared and the manoeuvre had been designed to elicit that very reaction. As the sergeant’s blade struck his own, Darius was already spinning back on his heel in the opposite direction. The connection of the two blades had knocked his back and he allowed his arms to join the momentum and carry it back the other way, picking up speed as he pivoted. To his credit, the sergeant saw it coming and managed to struggle his sword back in the way of the unexpected attack, but the effect this time was much different. The blow slammed his own blade into his side flat-first and jolted his arm badly, so that he shook and his arm hung limply for a moment, forcing him to maintain his grip with difficulty. Darius stepped back.
“You’re not leaving this room.”
With another step, the young man dipped to the left and brought the sword up in a jab. The sergeant struggled with his shaken and bruised arm and, gripping the hilt in both hands, desperately tried to turn the attack aside again. This time he prevented the more crippling blow but was too slow to stop it connecting altogether. The point of Darius’s sword ripped up through the sergeant’s side just below his ribs and the man grunted in pain. Once more the young man stepped back.
“Come on. You’re supposed to be a soldier and an officer. Make me work a bit!”
He stood for a moment watching the anger building in the sergeant’s eyes. With a smile, he stepped forward a little. “Would you like me to make it easier for you?”
The sergeant’s blow came suddenly. So suddenly in fact that Athas couldn’t believe the boy was prepared and, sure enough the blow did take Darius a little by surprise. The straight Imperial blade snapped out to one side and although the young man’s curved sword dropped to meet it, the sharp edge bounced along his blade to the hilt and scraped across his knuckles as he turned.
Once more Athas reached out to where his sword stood propped against the wall, but again he stayed his hand. Though the blow had caught and blood flowed across the lad’s hand, he maintained a tight grip on his sword and once more used the momentum caused by the sergeant’s swing to pivot on his heel and, dropping almost to a crouch, he swung the blade three hundred and sixty degrees and felt the edge bite beep into flesh. In fact the sergeant, sure of victory in that moment, had pulled his sword back for a second blow just as Darius’ blade smashed into his leg just above the kneecap, shattering the femur and almost completely severing the leg.
The sergeant collapsed with a cry, his sword dropping from useless fingers.
“This is for Sandro,” Darius growled, “the poor bastard you had almost kicked to death in the courtyard.”
He stepped across the widening pool of blood and kicked the sergeant’s sword away from him before turning back to the thrashing figure. With a vicious grin he put all of his might into a hefty kick delivered to the man’s wounded leg. The sergeant screamed as the leg flopped around, threatening once more to detach. Urged on by the scream, Darius delivered another kick, this time to the face, shutting him up amid the sounds of breaking teeth.
He drew his leg back for another kick but was thwarted as Athas knocked him roughly aside and brought his own large blade down heavily, severing the sergeant’s head and shattering the marble tile beneath. Darius turned on him, sword down by his side, but his face contorted with anger. Few men around had the height to meet Athas eye to eye, but the young man was one such. The big mercenary merely glared back at him.
“What will you do now, Darius? Fight me?”
Darius backed away and reached down to wipe his sword on the sergeant’s tunic.
“He deserved so much more than that.”
Athas nodded. “Perhaps, but if you give him that, you make yourself what he was. A soldier does not torture. Only a murderer does that.”
Wiping his own blade and watching the cavalcade of emotions parading across the young man’s face, he turned towards the window. With a couple of steps he sheathed his sword and looked out and down from the apartment.
“Sabian told us there were a hundred and fifty men. We’ve probably taken out twenty or so around the perimeter. If Mercurias and the other doctors are on form we should have taken out about sixty or seventy in the dining hall. Problem is: we don’t know how many more there are and, depending on how well the Pelasians have done in the buildings, there could be anything up to sixty out there that we’ve missed and one of the guards is out there trying to form them up into some sort of defence. We have to make sure everyone’s out of here and moving towards the shore.”
Darius continued to glare at the big man for some time and then finally gave a nod of agreement. “The minister will already have everyone out of the main palace. The Great Courtyard’s the meeting place for anyone who hasn’t got out yet and he’ll be waiting for us escort them once the palace is clear.”
Athas nodded as he started to move toward the main stairwell. “Problem is: we haven’t cleared it. Come on…”
Athas and Darius, swords gleaming in the moonlight, burst out of the Hall of the Swans and into the Great Courtyard. There were a group of around twenty islanders standing in the middle and Brendan and Tythias, both with their swords held in a defensive position, circled them protectively. It took only moments for Athas to notice the danger. There were half a dozen guardsmen blocking the gateway that led toward the shore and a considerable force coming through the arch from the Ibis courtyard. Brendan turned as he heard them running from the doorway.
“’bout time sarge. Got ourselves some serious shit ‘ere!”
Athas nodded. The group of guards from the gateway to the Ibis Courtyard had increased in numbers and were moving slowly and cautiously forward. The ones between them and the shore were still only half a dozen but could hold the gate well. Trying to get the civilians through there with only four swordsmen while they had two dozen chasing them down from behind could be a slaughter. Athas considered for a moment herding everyone back into the Hall of the Swans but there just wasn’t time.
“Brendan and Tythias, get out front and take that gate. Darius and I’ll hold the rest off at the back!” As the two mercenaries made their way to the front of the crowd and the entire group started moving, there was a cry and the guards from the Ibis Courtyard started to run.
“Get them out!” yelled Athas, pushing Darius away and stepping out alone to face the oncoming force. Turning his attention to the rush of men, he failed to notice that Darius had not moved and that others were joining him. Ashar and half a dozen Pelasians fell in beside the sergeant and the young islander, protecting the retreating civilians and bracing themselves against the attack that hit moments later with a sound of crashing metal that rang across the courtyard. Athas smiled at his companions and turned all his attention to the fight, sure of the Pelasians’ skill and unaware that Darius remained close by, fighting like a lion.
Blow upon blow rained down on both sides, and Athas twice felt steel bite into his arms, though never deep enough to stop him. Beside him a black-clad Pelasian collapsed under a hail of blows. The guards were not particularly good warriors but odds of at least three or four to one were still favouring them. Suddenly, Athas noticed they had reached the arch and were being slowly pushed into a defensive semicircle. Desperation gripped him as the other Pelasian to his left disappeared underfoot and he found himself fighting three men and protecting the flank of the retreating civilians.
Another blow landed on his hip, mostly turned away by the armour, but jarring him badly and leaving a hefty bruise… and then suddenly they were through. The islanders were running for the shore and Tythias and Brendan rejoined the rearguard. Marco and Mercurias had appeared from somewhere to help and all four were covered with blood. Brendan displayed signs of several blows that had connected, including a new vivid cut on his chin but it was Tythias, his eyes gleaming and swinging his sword like a man possessed, that Athas saw first. His left arm had gone just below the elbow and though the stump dripped gobs of blood as he moved, his other arm swung his frightening blade as though he were practicing against a wooden stake.
“Athas, you big daft sod,” he laughed as his blood trickled down onto the big sergeant’s boot, “how’d you end up here?”
Athas grinned as he fought back with a renewed vigour. “You know the Wolves. Wherever there’s a fight, you’ll find us somewhere in the middle!”
The numbers in front were beginning to thin out, but beyond they could see another wave forming in the courtyard as more guardsmen who’d escaped the action gathered to put down the insurrection. Marco shouted a warning to Athas and leapt across to deal with a guardsman that appeared from a doorway in the gate but, as he swept his sword up, a lucky blow from one of the other guards caught him in the armpit as he moved, the blade sliding in deep. With a gasp Marco collapsed, dropping his sword. Brendan caught him as he fell and hurled him over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
Prince Ashar pushed away the man he was fighting and drove his blade into his chest as he glanced around him. “We’ve got to run Athas; get to the boats. We’re losing too many men here.”
Much as the burly sergeant hated to admit it, the cost in casualties was increasing as they fought. Already half a dozen Pelasians lay dead, Marco was either dead or unconscious, Tythias fighting with one arm and no sign of Jorun at all. Athas ducked back, sheathing his sword, and reached out for the huge beam that had once barred the ornamental gates. It was not one of the powerful oak beams that held the main gate house closed, but was sturdy enough even after years of neglect.
“Run!”
As the others leapt back, disengaging from the enemy and fled toward the shore, Athas swung the huge bar, slamming it into the guardsmen and knocking them back into a heap. Dropping the timber he ran, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the guard units that had now joined and were trying to get past the carnage at the gate.
Ahead, the others ran with Brendan at the rear, carrying the limp body of Marco. Tonight had already carried far too high a toll and it was far from over yet.