“But, my lady, I have my instructions.”
Strange indeed. She allowed her eyes to wander to her table, searching for something to use as a weapon. Her dagger and sword were near the wardrobe, too far if he struck at her quickly.
“And now you have different instructions from your duchess. Do you really believe the baroness would have you argue the point?”
He stared at her, not appearing cowed as he should have, but rather seeming to search her face for some sign that she was growing suspicious.
“Your tidings?” she prompted again.
“Of course, my lady.” Something in the voice, the icy intensity that suddenly appeared in those pale eyes.
Diani took a step back, expecting an attack, but the man surprised her. Seizing the pot of hot brew from her tray, he whirled on the two guards, throwing the pot at one and pulling his sword free to run the other through.
The two guards were caught completely unaware. The pot hit one of them in the chest, splattering hot liquid on his face and staggering him. By the time the other man had his sword free, the killer had already driven the point of his sword into his chest. The guard could only drop his weapon to the floor, blood staining the front of his uniform as he fell to his knees and then toppled over. The first man had recovered enough to draw his blade, but the assassin was on him too quickly. The soldier parried one blow and then another, but even with the skills he had learned from Diani’s father, he was no match for the yellow-haired man.
For a moment, Diani couldn’t move. She had seen dead men before-soldiers killed in the hills by brigands and carried by their comrades back to the castle-but that was a far cry from actually watching a man die.
As the assassin drove the second soldier back toward the far corner of the chamber, she forced herself into motion. The pot of hot tonic, the one possible weapon she had spotted on her writing table, was gone. She thought about trying to make it to the corridor to call for help, but the two men were closer to the door than she. Instead she sprinted to where her own blade hung and pulled it free. As an afterthought, she grabbed her dagger as well. By the time she turned around, the second of her guards was dead as well, his head nearly severed from his body. The assassin, only slightly out of breath, a faint sheen of sweat on his face, was advancing on her.
“You truly think to succeed where your soldiers have failed?” he asked, grinning. This time the accent was unmistakable. Wethyrn, though she doubted he was here on behalf of the archduke. Assassins, it seemed, came from all realms of the Forelands.
He was bigger than she, stronger as well. And she had seen that he moved quickly for his size. Still, at almost any other time, speed would have been her one advantage. But she was conscious of the throbbing in her leg and shoulder, and she knew that she could not fight as she might have usually.
He closed the distance between them swiftly, trapping her near her wardrobe and leveling a powerful blow at her head. Rather than trying to parry it and being knocked off balance, she dropped into a crouch allowing the man’s blade to whistle harmlessly over her head. Anticipating her counter he swept his blade downward, to block her own sword. But Diani struck with the dagger instead, slashing him across the side of his knee. She gasped at the pain in her shoulder, but seeing blood soak into his trouser leg, allowed herself a small smile. Perhaps he wouldn’t be quite so quick now.
The assassin offered no response at all, but launched himself at her again, chopping downward at her so that she couldn’t avoid the attack by ducking. She raised her sword and was nearly hammered to the floor by the force of his blow. Her arm felt numb and as he raised his blade to strike once more she wondered if she could absorb another assault.
She stepped back and cried out for help, but she knew it would do her no good. There were always two men positioned just outside her chambers, but those two men lay dead on the floor, and with her guest wearing the colors of loyal Kretsaal, the captain of the guard would never have thought to send more men.
The assassin merely grinned and hacked at her again and then a third time. She blocked his sword with her own each time, but she fell to her knees after the third attack and had to drop her dagger in order to hold her blade with both hands.
He backed off for just an instant, lowered his hands and brought back his sword to deliver what would be the killing stroke. Desperate, she did the only thing she could. With all the strength in her frame, she swung both arms around, throwing her sword at the man. It hit him in the chest, hilt first, and clattered to the floor. But it stopped him for just an instant, long enough for Diani to retrieve her dagger and dive past him into the middle of the chamber. He came after her, lunging for her once with his sword and missing, then closing the distance between himself and the door so that she couldn’t escape.
She started toward the window, thinking to open the shutters and call for help, but he advanced on her, and she didn’t dare turn her back on him. Then she thought to reclaim her sword, but he cut her off from that as well.
In the end she could only back away from him, trying to keep her writing table between them. She started to cry for help, but was cut off when he leaped at her again, his blade just barely missing her breast.
“You must stop doing that, my lady,” he said, throwing the table aside as he spoke.
He had her trapped again, in the back corner of her room. She held her dagger before her, but she knew it would not be enough to stop him.
“Diani?” Her father’s voice, from out in the corridor.
“Father!” she yelled.
The door burst open revealing the duke and several of his men, all with swords drawn.
The assassin froze, looking frightened for the first time since entering Diani’s chamber. His pale eyes flicked about the room, as if searching for some path to freedom. He still held his sword before him and as his gaze fell upon the duchess he appeared to consider killing her, even though it would have meant his death.
Sertio seemed to see this as well, for he quickly placed himself between Diani and the killer. His soldiers followed him into the chamber, surrounding the yellow-haired man.
“I don’t want him killed!” Diani said, her voice unsteady as she lowered her dagger. Her pulse raced and her hands were shaking so violently she could barely maintain her grip on the hilt of her blade.
“Drop your weapon,” Sertio said, his dark eyes never leaving the man’s face.
The assassin did nothing, but he continued to glance around the chamber, perhaps trying to decide who among his captors would be easiest to kill.
“Drop your sword and you won’t be hurt,” the duke said again, his voice harder this time.
Still the man did not move, though a slight smile touched his lips. “You’re lying,” he said softly. “You’ll torture me until I tell you whose gold paid for my blade.”
Her father opened his mouth, perhaps to deny it, though everyone in the chamber knew it to be the truth. He never got the chance. The assassin raised his sword as to cleave the duke in two, roaring like a cornered beast.
Sertio, stepped to the side to avoid the strike, aiming a thrust of his own at the man’s shoulder, to spare his life, but disarm him. Had it been just the two of them fighting it might have worked. But the other men, seeing their duke threatened, closed on the assassin as well, pounding at him with their blades. In a matter of seconds the man lay on the floor of Diani’s chamber, blood flowing from several deep wounds.
Diani took a step forward. “Call for a healer! I want him alive!”
“The Qirsi who healed you would never get here in time,” her father said, staring down at the man, his voice low.
“One of the castle’s healers, then!”
Sertio glanced at her, his face as grim as it had been the day her mother finally died. “They’re all in the prison tower.”