"Darkness and the Long Night take the alliance!" he snarled. "Do you love me?"
"The declaration of unity, I… yes. Yes, I love you, Colwyn."
He nodded once, then smiled gently. "Then do this for me. Go with the captain. Lead him if you cannot follow, but go."
She shook her head resignedly. "No time for wisdom, too much time for panic. I will do as you ask, but it is unfair of you to use so strong a lever."
"I don't care if you think it unfair of me. I care only that you are safe." He looked over at the captain. "Is there a safe way out of this castle?"
"An underground tunnel." Colwyn whirled, to find that it was Eirig, standing close by, who had spoken. "Little used recently. It would be the best way." Eirig spoke to the captain: "Lord Colwyn's orders are to be followed as though they were my own. Conduct the princess to Timrick City. We will send word when the castle has been secured. Take a suitable escort."
"Yes, sire." The captain turned away and began pulling soldiers from the ranks trying to push their way outside.
Eirig embraced his daughter. "We've had our disagreements, you and I. I cannot count the occasions when you made me angry enough to burst. Yet I think you have chosen your man well."
Colwyn tried to hide from the compliment. Compliments made him nervous. "Take care, daughter." "I will, Father."
"Enough," Colwyn yelled. The sounds of fighting were coming closer. "Get her out of here!"
Eirig nodded sharply to the captain, who saluted smartly and extended a hand to the princess. Lyssa accepted it, looking back over her shoulder as she departed.
"Come back to me, Colwyh!"
"It's not possible to conceive of anything else," he assured her. A hand came down on his shoulder. He found himself staring into the face of his father-in-law.
"Now then, my boy, there's killing to be done. The Slayers are many more than I thought. Never fear for your lady. She will get out safely." He cleared his throat self-consciously. "I won't try to hide the fact that I expressed more than one reservation about this match. There were many who agreed with me and argued about it. They sought to discredit you in my eyes. I see now that they were wrong. As always, Lyssa's judgment is proven sound. Come and fight alongside me."
"I'll be honored," said Colwyn. Together they moved toward the courtyard and the battle raging outside.
One of the guards cursed as he banged his head against a low beam. It was hard to see very far ahead, and the men were nervous.
"Captain," one man complained, "is there much more of this?"
"It leads beneath the walls and emerges far out in the hills. Hold your patience that long." He looked to his charge. "Is my lady all right?"
"I'm fine, Captain," Lyssa assured him, "but I don't like this place. I share your men's unease. Maybe it would be better to retrace our path and find a less confining egress. I know of a back window above the great hall. We could throw down a rope and escape by that route. Surely the Slayers will not be watching so precipitous an exit."
"Risky. Though I think the idea has merit, the king himself instructed me to go this way, and I have to follow his orders."
"I understand, Captain." Her eyes searched the corridor ahead, as if she could see farther than her escort. "Still, I am uncomfortable here."
"Rest assured we will soon be out in the—"
The Slayers who dropped from above cut the captain off in mid-sentence. Others dropped from rafters and beams behind, cutting off any retreat. In the narrow tunnel the sudden blasts of energy from the Slayers' strange spears mixed with the screams of dying men to overpower the senses. Those Slayers who fell perished with a single piercing, inhuman wail.
Lyssa picked up a knife and pressed her back against the corridor wall. Her retreat was cut off, as was the way out.
As she watched, one of the Slayers disengaged himself from the battle and moved toward her. She sliced at him with the knife, feinting as best she could before stabbing upward. She wasn't quite quick enough.
The knife barely pricked the Slayer as he twisted to the side. A powerful hand reached out to grasp her wrist. She tried to break free, trying not to stare into the empty holes in the creature's head where a face should be.
Several more of the massive figures moved to help the first. The knife was wrenched from her fingers. She felt herself rising in bloodless arms as she probed for her captor's eyes.
He did not have any.
Odd how they died, Colwyn thought as he swung the heavy sword in wide, sweeping arcs. It didn't matter how you slew them; a throat-thrust, a stab to the chest, a blow to the skull; all perished with the same unearthly scream before collapsing and disintegrating, save for the strange length of flesh that emerged to vanish by itself into the ground. Even when they dodged and stabbed, they seemed more dead than alive. They used no shouts, offered up no cries of mutual support as men did. Yet they fought together, communicating in some voiceless, cryptic fashion only another Slayer could comprehend.
And always there were more of them to cut down, as if the pattern from which they'd been stamped could repeat itself endlessly. The soldiers fought hard and well, but there are limits to what bravery and courage can accomplish. When a soldier fell, there was none to replace him. When a Slayer dropped, it seemed two more appeared to take his place.
Why now, he wondered? Why tonight this unprecedented assault on the White Castle? It seemed the fates intended the crudest of jokes, to turn what should have been his happiest of days into one of darkness.
Or was there more to this attack than met the eye? What was the purpose behind it, if not simply more destruction? Certainly it seemed that the Slayers fought with an unaccustomed tenacity.
A glimpse of pale skin and dress near the ruined gate caught his attention. For the first time since the battle had been joined, his fury gave way to fear.
"Lyssa!"
She heard him call out and looked up toward his voice. Her hands were free to reach helplessly out to him. She rode the shoulder of a huge Slayer. There was no hint of blood, and her struggles told him that she had not been harmed. That was encouraging, and yet it was not. He did not care to think of what the Slayers wanted with a live captive. As she shouted his name, he forced himself to concentrate on killing.
He threw himself forward and began cutting a path toward her. The first Slayer to oppose him lost his head in a single stroke. Others hurried to intercept him. The whole direction of battle shifted subtly, as if the objective now were not the taking of the White Castle but the separation of the two lovers.
Though half-blinded by sweat, he did not pause to clear his eyes. He kept moving forward, the sword heavy in his hands. Off to one side he suddenly saw his father hard pressed to hold off several Slayers. At the same time he saw Lyssa being lifted into the air. A Slayer on horseback took her up behind him and urged his mount toward the open gate. Colwyn shouted to her again, but this time could not tell if she heard his words of encouragement.
As he tried to divide his attention between Lyssa and his father, a burst of fire from one of the strange weapons struck him in the shoulder. He staggered, fell backward on the steps. His last conscious thoughts were of father and betrothed, his last sight that of the night sky indifferent above him.
There was peace, but it brought him no comfort.
The old man hid behind the tree as the ranks of mounted Slayers galloped past. Never before had the Slayers attacked a major fortress. And the White Castle at that! Truly, Ynyr thought, the Beast spends his minions freely tonight.
Strange things were adrift on the ether this night. There had been signs for weeks now. They had brought him down from his mountaintop aerie.
Amidst the hysteria of battle, his calm advice would have been useless. Now he could only pick his way sadly toward the ruined gate of the castle, the white flash of the princess's dress a warning flag weaving through his thoughts.