“Treason is a matter of victory and defeat,” Prince Selnikov said.
I caught Count Zukov’s eye. He had come to stand beside Ankhelina, blade bare, almost between the prince and the Champion, his sword pointed vaguely towards Selnikov’s chest. I nodded to him, and his face took on a grim countenance. He pulled his lancer from its holster and aimed it, but not towards Selnikov.
Before I could shout a warning, Count Zukov pointed his lancer at Ankhelina’s head and pulled the trigger.
“No!” I screamed, drawing my broadsword and rushing forwards, but the deed was done. Several guards turned on the others with such alacrity, it must have been planned. The demon lords united behind their prince and charged, with only me in their way.
“Astrid, get out of here,” I shouted, wishing I’d worn my lancer, but reduced to relying on my blade. A demon guard came on, thrusting his swordstaff at me, but I parried the blow, slid in close, and drove my blade through his chest.
That was the last attack I made, for a pair of burly demons bore me to the ground. I drew my dirk and drove it through the forearm of one, but then my wrist was pinned to the ground. Astrid struggled against her attackers, all of them bleeding, at least two corpses lying before her, but she was beset by too many. I watched as her limbs were arrested and bound, and she was carried away, screaming to shake the ceiling.
As her cries faded down the corridors, a deathly silence befell the hall. My battle-rage cooled, and despair began totake hold. My vision faded to grey, and I fell still, waiting for the killing blow.
As I wallowed in my uselessness, I heard footsteps approaching me. With great effort, I forced myself to focus my eyes, and saw the white-haired Count Zukov standing above me.
“Count Zukov,” I croaked, my throat surprisingly dry. “You betrayed us.”
The count knelt beside me, looking deep into my eyes. “You played the game well for a newcomer, but take the advice of an old player: when you discover an enemy is planning to move against you, you don’t give him a chance to correct his mistake. You kill him.”
I laughed without mirth. “I told you before, and I’ll tell you now – I am ready to die. Kill me and be done with it or bring me a drink so I may dull the inanity of your treacherous words.”
Count Zukov smiled. “I would have you dead, but the decision is not mine.” To the demon lords who held my arms and knelt on my chest, he ordered, “Take him away, and keep him alive. His worth alive is greater than any threat he might pose.”
LOWS AND HIGHS
THE CRYSTAL PALACEhad been a palatial royal estate before the war, famed across the Rim for its lavish accommodations and the wild soirees which raged beneath its roof. Such a facility did not have a dungeon in the Imperial style. However, it did have several holding cells where the proprietor could lock violent, unruly, or overly intoxicated guests until they cooled off and sobered up. The rooms were decadent, but gilded scrollwork did not make my cell any less of a prison.
If I had any misconceptions regarding my situation, the armed guards were more than happy to remind me.
I remained on my back as the door swished open, eyes closed, ankles crossed, fingers laced on my chest. Whoever had come to see me didn’t deserve the respect of even a cracked eyelid’s observation.
As the massive hand closed about my neck, I realized I’d been foolish to think I’d have a choice.
The demon guard lifted me bodily from my comfortable cot and slammed me against the wall. My legs kicked out,but without leverage, my blows were weak, and my legs could barely reach the demoness’s chest.
She was a fearsome specimen, much larger and obviously stronger than the Emperor, nearly on par with Ankhelina. Her left arm and cheek were scarred from repeated pain-duels, and she wore the furs of vicious bearcats as a warrior’s skirt and stole.
“So weak. So fragile. I could choke the life from you with such little effort,” the soldier said, a nasty grin curling her lips.
I couldn’t respond. It was all I could do to breathe.
“No wonder Prince Selnikov overthrew her. Look at her choice in lover. I wonder what she sees in him?” the guard pondered.
“Maybe he’s a spirited fuck,” another guard, this one male, replied. “Much can be overlooked if he brings the right pressure to bear against the right places.”
The guard holding me purred, lascivious and laughing. “Is that it, little man? Were you good in bed with her? Would you be good to me?” Against my wishes, the demoness pressed her torso against my body, her lips against mine.
I did not twist my head away. It would be pointless with her thumb keeping my head aligned. However, I had enough freedom to bite her as hard as I could.
I had the satisfaction of seeing the guard’s eyes fly wide, then she withdrew in a spray of blood. I expected a blow, but the guard and her companions merely laughed. “Such spirit,” the one holding my throat said, her voice full of mockery as she wiped blood from her mangled lip. “Maybe he has some worth after all.”
One of the other guards said something, but I wasn’t listening. The demoness holding me transferred the pressure from my throat to my collarbone, and that gave me leverage. Decade-old close-combat classes flooded my memory,exercises I had practiced with Astrid flashed in my mind. I thrust out from the wall, swinging my legs up to bring my heel down into her elbow with all my weight and as much strength as I could muster.
The Imp cried out, more in shock than pain as her arm buckled. I fell to the floor, curled, landed on my shoulder and rolled. To my surprise, I rose on my heels, an instinctive maneuver I could not have managed if I’d meant to do it. Regardless, I crouched below my attacker, her legs spread in a wide stance. Without thinking, I lunged upwards, driving a vicious uppercut directly into her groin. Comedies often show a man suffering from a swift kick to the nuts, but women have the same number of nerve endings in that region. It may be harder to hit since they lack the dangly bits, but a solid blow to the groin will incapacitate any foe, regardless of gender and despite the presence of shields.
The guard fell to her knees, and I went for her zeroblade dirk. I heard the metallic clicks of a quarter-score’s lancers cocking, and knew I was dead.
“Halt!” a high, feminine voice yelled in badly accented Imperial. I paused, the demon guard’s oversized dirk clumsily pointed against her back, my hand yanking back her hair, my body hidden from the other demons’ fire by hers. I couldn’t see who had called the command, but I could hear from the relative silence that the demons had obeyed her.
