Shadow Prowler

“We showed them!” Kli-Kli said spiritedly.

The goblin jester was standing there with his short little legs set wide apart, and the blade of the ax, which looked huge in his hands, touching the marble floor. He noticed my skeptical look.

“All right, all right, Harold! You showed them,” he agreed amicably. “But if I hadn’t been defending you . . .”

“You were defending me?” I asked indignantly, reloading the crossbow as I spoke, but this time with ordinary bolts.

“Yes, I was!” It was not easy to embarrass this jester. “But even if you don’t agree that I saved you, my contribution is still worthy of all the treasures of Siala. After all, I was the one who invented the brilliant plan of attacking the unsuspecting enemy.”

“Be careful you don’t brag yourself to death,” I told Kli-Kli as I watched the final villain being run through by a guardsman’s sword.

“Behind you, Harold!” the goblin squealed, and I swung round sharply.

An entire detachment of warriors was coming toward us from the other end of the corridor, but it was hard to tell who they were—guardsmen or enemies dressed in guards’ uniforms.

When they saw me point the crossbow at them, the new arrivals shouted: “Stalkon and the Spring Jasmine!”

“Harold, they’re ours!” the jester shouted, concerned that I might shoot the king’s younger son by mistake. He was given the name Spring Jasmine for that time when . . . But that’s another story altogether. I hope someday there’ll be a time and a place for it, and grateful listeners.

The large detachment of guardsmen under the command of Stalkon the Spring Jasmine drew level with us. Miralissa strode alongside them, bow in hand, a long dagger at her side dripping with gore. Her eyes sparkled, as always, but this time it was an icy, focused gleam, fearsome to behold. I gave thanks to every god I could name that she was on our side.

“I see that you’re in the battle, too, Kli-Kli,” the prince chuckled.

The lad was only sixteen years old, but he held a sword with confidence, and the gentlemen guards would have followed their future king onto red-hot coals if necessary. The young Stalkon’s breeding was obvious. Like all his kind, he had been given every advantage—some of us had to learn the hard way, but not him. He seemed competent and well liked by his men, though. I’ll give him that. He didn’t look a lot like his father and his older brother, Stalkon Divested of the Crown. The slim, agile prince was more like his mother, Stalkon the Ninth’s second wife.

“Our glorious jester will defeat them all,” laughed the baron, whom I already knew from our encounter at the gate.

“We gave them a good hiding!” said Hallas, coming up to us with his mattock bloodied right up to the handle.

Other guards from the unit that we had helped to hold out started joining us.

“My prince!” Lieutenant Izmi’s shirt was soaked in blood, but he was standing firmly on his feet, ignoring the slight wound on his forearm. “I am happy that you came to our assistance!”

“It wasn’t him,” I said, determined not to be cheated of my share of glory and gratitude. “If the jester hadn’t come up with a brilliant plan, I wouldn’t have fired my magical bolts and the glorious gentlemen Deler and Hallas wouldn’t have put their weapons to work, and you, lieutenant, would be in the next world by now.”

The bugles started sounding again, but this time there was a note of victory in their voices, and immediately a messenger came ru

“The north and west wings of the palace have been completely cleared. There are still isolated skirmishes in the east wing, but Milord Alistan and the guard will deal with the curs themselves. On the third floor of the south wing the battle is in full swing. The enemy is well entrenched in the small ballroom and we can’t smoke him out.”

“What about my father?” the prince asked curtly.

“The king is safe. He is on his way with three units to join Milord Markauz. He asks you to enter the south wing from the Pearl Stairway, and Alistan will proceed from the Hall of Flowers.”

“Let’s go and crush these woodlice!” the prince growled.

The guardsmen went dashing after their future king. The gnome and the dwarf went with them, ru

“Let’s go, Harold,” said Kli-Kli, tugging on the edge of my unbuttoned shirt. “Your crossbow will be needed again.”

“I’m a thief, not a soldier,” I protested. “And anyway, there are plenty of men here with crossbows.”

I really had counted at least eight men among the guards carrying heavy army crossbows, which fire bolts that can go right through a soldier in heavy armor. But I tagged along with everyone else anyway, not really knowing what made me do something so insane.

The signs of battle were everywhere. Weapons lying around, broken urns, tapestries torn off the walls, blood, and bodies. There were guardsmen and impostors lying on the floor. Before the morning came someone would lose his head. It was more than just fifty or a hundred warriors who had managed to get into the palace. The count ran to hundreds, and there was no way that many could have slipped in here without help. So there were traitors among the servants of the court and also, I feared, in the ranks of the guards. The king’s sandmen had a big job ahead of them trying to uncover the villains.

As our unit moved through the corridors, stairways, and halls of the palace, more guardsmen joined us. Sometimes just one man, sometimes twenty at a time. The battle was already over; the critical point that decided whose side Sagra, the goddess of war, would take today, had been passed. We had held out.

The enemy had thought that the men in gray and blue could be taken by surprise, and he had paid for that. Whatever goal the supporters of the Nameless One had set themselves, this time they had failed completely, and I didn’t think there was going to be a next time. At least, not another daring attack like this one. Milord Rat would do absolutely everything possible to prevent even a mouse from slipping in, let alone several hundred killers.

“Izmi, take four platoons and enter the south wing from the garden,” the prince commanded. “We’ll spring this mousetrap shut!”

“Marquis Vartek, are your men ready?” Stalkon asked the white-haired guardsman.

“Yes!” Yet another of my acquaintances from the gate was in a determined mood.

“Along the north corridor, pin them to the wall. Everybody else follow me!”

“Harold, we’re with the marquis!” said Kli-Kli. He had completely taken command of my actions now.