A familiar shrieking sent Cededa bolting out of the bed and into a dead run for the door. Tineroth’s warning. Someone had breached the city’s ensorcelled boundaries.
Startled awake by his abrupt movement, Imogen blinked groggily as he threw open the door and raced into the corridor. He was halfway down the stairs by the time she made it to the landing.
“Cededa, what’s wrong?” Her shout didn’t slow him down. He leapt the stairs three at time, heedless of his state of undress and bare feet, fueled by a towering rage that edged his vision in crimson.
“Intruders!” He called back. “Get dressed and follow Gruah. She and the others will take you to a safe place.”
He sprinted to the armory. His armor waited inside, along with his favorite weaponry. Years of fighting wars made him quick and efficient at donning harness and buckling straps. He needed no squire to help him and soon stood dressed to face whoever crossed into his city uninvited.
Cededa glanced back once at the palace, hoping Imogen didn’t linger there. If treasure hunters invaded the city, his palace was the worst place to hide.
Fleet and silent, he traveled along familiar streets until he reached the city’s gates, open now to reveal the bridge. Cededa snarled at the sight of armed men and horses. A wizard rode in that group, one powerful enough to force the bridge into solidifying. He clenched the glaive pole he held. He’d kill the wizard first.
He waited until the horses thundered through the open gate. The city’s hush exploded into a rush of shouts and motion as Cededa plunged headlong into the mass of horseflesh and men. Equine screams and agonized shouts followed his attack as his glaive sliced the air, the flashing blade cutting a bloody swathe through men and animals.
Spurred on by rage and the guardian compulsion triggered by the Waters, Cededa leapt into the air. He landed nimbly on a horse’s back long enough to swing his glaive in a lethal arc, decapitating two men in a single swing. Blood sprayed the air and him. A battle cry sounded behind him. He jumped to the ground, meeting the mounted soldier who charged him, sword raised high. The horse bore down on him in full charge. Cededa tipped the glaive, swinging it like a club so the weighted metal end slammed into the animal’s forelegs. It squealed, crashing to its belly and skidding across the cobblestones. It rolled, crushing its rider beneath it.
The melee intensified. Swarmed by men and horses, Cededa plowed through the ranks, killing and maiming in a sea of carnage. He’d broken his glaive but didn’t pause. The clang of metal striking metal echoed through the courtyard as he hacked and cut with axe and short sword.
He leapt over bodies, slashing his way to the back ranks milling around him in a confused chaos. Horses reared, their hooves pawing the air above his head. He shoved a soldier into the path of one of the crazed animals and heard a scream cut short by a dull thud. There were at least a score of men left, and he had every intention of killing every last one of them. He shrieked a Tineroth battle cry and slammed into their ranks with renewed fervor.
Battle frenzy roared through him, a blood heat undiminished by time. He was a warrior king bred of countless generations of warrior kings. This was his city, and he meant to defend her and the woman he claimed as his.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Cededa’s warning echoed in Imogen’s ears.
Intruders? Oh gods, she prayed. Please let him be safe. The horror of his immolation would forever be emblazoned on her memory. No one, no matter their actions, should have to suffer that twice. She dressed, warning off the mist when it tried to help her. “I think not,” she snapped. “I’m going fast enough.”
She sensed its impatience, its concern. The spirit of Cededa’s wife took form and motioned her to follow. They sped through the palace, navigating dizzying twists and turns that left Imogen disoriented and hopelessly lost. She finally emerged through a service door and into an enclosed bailey. The mist no longer gently roiled as before but shot across the bailey and into the street with Imogen sprinting to keep up.
It led her through winding closes as labyrinthine as the palace halls. They entered one of the multistoried buildings. This one was more derelict than most, with half the stairwell crumbled away and the upper floors inaccessible. Or so she assumed.
Imogen swallowed a startled gasp as invisible hands lifted and carried her upward. The vaporous mist surged over her legs and waist, enveloping her in an icy embrace before setting her down in the topmost room. Just as quickly it rolled back toward the door, pausing only a moment for Gruah to materialize once more and make a gesture that could only be interpreted as an imperative “Stay here.”
It slid out the door, disappearing from view. Unless someone possessed the ability to leap nearly two stories to the nearest stair, Imogen remained out of reach. Likewise, unless she wanted to fall two stories, she was effectively trapped.
She ran to the window and nearly cried out at the scene before her. At this height, she had a clear view of the city gates. The bridge had reappeared, stretching across the empty space between the cliff walls. Horses and mounted riders thundered across the span, armor flashing in the sun. Concealed by the mist but clear to her from this side of the gorge, Cededa waited in the center of the massive courtyard just inside the city gates, a solitary defender against impossible numbers. His chainmail shone a dull silver in the morning light, and he leaned on his glaive with all the casualness of a man about to greet an old comrade instead of a hostile force.
The invaders galloped through the gates, and Cededa transformed into a shrieking demon of slicing blades and fury. Bile rose in her throat when he swung the glaive in a back swing. The curved hook behind the blade caught the metal collar of a soldier’s armor, yanking the man off his horse and peeling his hauberk off him like an orange rind. Merciless, ruthless and giving no quarter, Cededa brought the glaive down and was instantly doused in blood.
Sickened and horrified by the growing slaughter, Imogen didn’t notice when the door behind her opened and a silent figure crept in. Her only warning came too late—the scrape of a sole on the dusty floor. She turned in time to catch a glimpse of a man’s gaunt, vulpine face before he struck her with a gloved fist. Black stars exploded behind her eyes, and she saw nothing else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Shaken by the ferocity of the Undying King’s attack on his forces, Dradus fled the battle and took refuge in the shadow of a temple. Visions of finding treasure houses filled with gold faded before the white-faced juggernaut decimating his troop. Hayden would have to accept the idea his cousin and the trade agreements tied to her were lost. Dradus’s only interest now was creeping out of Tineroth with his head still attached to his shoulders.
All his machinations revived when he caught a glimpse of dark hair fluttering from a high window and a woman’s hands gripping the window frame. Niamh’s cursed fosterling. It had to be, but even if she wasn’t, it mattered little. She dwelt in a sheltered building, a sure sign she was of value to the Tineroth king.
With the aid of a few spells, it had been easy enough to reach the upper floor, despite the broken staircase. Cursed or not, he took no chances and struck her unconscious. He eyed her, crumpled at his feet. This was indeed the long lost princess of Berberi. Others might not see the resemblance, but Dradus had been an advisor to Hayden’s family for many years. He recognized Selene’s features in the shape of her daughter’s mouth and her stubborn chin.
He lifted her, careful not to touch any part of her where bare skin was exposed. He dragged her limp frame to the window. Outside, the fighting continued unabated. Dradus incanted another spell, and his voice thundered across the city, sending the already panicked horses into a frenzy.
“King Cededa!”
The entire courtyard froze, as if caught in the spell’s enchantment. Bloodied axe and sword still in hand, Cededa half crouched, prepared to face off against his next opponent.
He took a running leap, cleared several bodies of horses and men, and raced for the temple, a murderous rage evident in his stride. He halted when Dradus jerked Imogen’s head back, exposing her pale throat to a knife’s blade.
