Now he heard sounds from a second direction-perhaps a second attacker. Off to his right, there was another sword-scrape. Three assassins?
He waited, heartbeat accelerating, as the muffled footfalls came nearer. He timed his first move with care. Two intruders were approaching straight at him, and one flanked him on the right. The two were nearer, and when he judged them close enough, he ran forward and planted a foot squarely on the tall wooden screen in front of him. It flew back, crashing into something that prevented it from falling. Tol heard a raspy snarl as the panel shattered to kindling.
Facing him were two hulking figures, thick-necked and bald or perhaps wearing smooth helmets. In the dim light it was impossible to tell. Tol presented his sword in his right hand, dagger in his left. The pair lumbered forward.
As they drew closer, he realized with a start that the two were not human, but he wasn’t sure exactly what they were. Man-shaped, half a head taller than himself, the two creatures wore neither clothes nor armor. Their bodies were made of some translucent substance, tinged blue. Their faces were vague, frightening representations of normal features, with bumps for eyes, thin noses, and simple slits for mouths. Wielding swords, they rushed at him.
He met the near one’s overhand chop with his thin dress sword. The blow made his hand sting. Tol slashed at its neck. He felt the dagger tip rake over rubbery flesh, but the creature gave no sign it felt any pain, and no blood flowed from the cut. Tol leaped back to avoid the second monster’s blade.
Tol scrambled around Hanira’s furniture, thinking frantically. He’d never heard of a race of beings like these. They were sent to kill-who? Hanira or him? Both Syndic Hanira and Lord Tolandruth had many enemies.
The third intruder was crashing through screens off to Tol’s right. Hanira slumbered on in her glass box, and Tol led the monsters away from her. If they did not follow, if they went for the syndic, he would know their true target.
They followed him. They seemed brutes, strong but dull-witted. One of the monster’s legs became tangled in one of Hanira’s low couches. Tol let out a yell and jumped over a chair, lunging at the creature’s chest. It parried, but too slowly. Tol’s narrow sword blade hit and penetrated. He leaned into the thrust, knotting the considerable muscles in his shoulder. The monster’s flesh was denser than a man’s, but he pierced it with a full span of metal before his blade stopped. His strange foe seemed unaffected, no blood, no evidence of pain. Had it no organs to pierce, no arteries to slash?
Fending off counterblows with his dagger, Tol tried to work his sword free. The other creature aimed a cut at his neck, swinging its weapon in a wide arc. Tol ducked and iron cleaved the air over his head. He still could not free his sword. Cursing, he endured a rain of blows from the attacker he’d impaled. In between parries, Tol hit the impaled creature with the jeweled pommel of Prince Amaltar’s dagger. It was like punching a bale of leather, causing no real harm.
The sword-swinging monster landed a hit, the tip of its sword piercing the rim of Tol’s right ear. In a fury, he let go his sword and grappled with the creature who’d wounded him. The faceless beast was effortlessly powerful, but Tol gradually forced it back. Without a sound of protest or alarm, it fell on its back, smashing one of Hanira’s delicate side tables and losing its grip on its sword.
Tol snatched up the weapon. With a snarl, he brought the heavy blade down on the prostrate monster’s head, cleaving it in two. The creature quivered like jelly, arms flailing, slit mouth open. Tol leaned back to avoid a slash from the other monster, still carrying his sword in its chest, then planted a foot on the fallen one’s chest and struck again. The good iron blade severed the creature’s right arm at the shoulder.
Tol yelled in triumph and stood back, expecting the wounded monster to succumb. Instead, it rose to its feet, and the severed limb leaped about like a spawning salmon, fingers opening and clenching as though searching for its foe or owner.
Such enemies could not be slain by ordinary means. That being clear, Tol was not ashamed to flee. He ran through a gap in the screens. Clumsily, but with mindless persistence, the two monsters followed him, leaving the syndic behind.
Sweating, panting, and with blood running down his jaw from his injured ear, Tol paused in a corridor made of tall wooden panels to collect his racing thoughts. He’d never fought magical beings before. Too bad he didn’t have a spell-caster with him.
A revelation struck him like a clothyard shaft. Why did he need magic against magical foes? Did he not have the Irda millstone?
Wood splintered around him. The monsters were near.
How could he use the millstone against them? Should he strike them with it somehow?
A loud crash, nearer yet, sounded. Then another, behind Tol. They were encircling him.
Tol slit the stitching around the pocket holding the nullstone. In trying to move quickly, he fumbled it, dropping the artifact. It bounced beneath a table. He cursed under his breath and went to his knees, groping in the shadows.
Suddenly, his right wrist was seized in a painful, bone-crushing grip. Fantastic though it seemed, the monster’s severed limb had him! It must have crawled after him on its own, outdistancing its owner’s ponderous body.
Tol’s hand went numb, and the sword fell from his nerveless fingers. He jabbed at the disembodied arm with his dagger, but it merely tightened its numbing grip. Bone grated on bone in his wrist, and he gasped with pain.
He heaved the severed arm onto a nearby cushioned settee and frantically sawed at its narrowest point, the wrist, with the edge of his knife. The arm fought him back, flailing and twisting like a vengeful snake.
Now the other attackers appeared-two at one end of the corridor and the third, the one that was missing its arm, at the other end. Tol swiftly dropped to his belly, and crawled along the rug, dragging the severed arm awkwardly along. The three monsters advanced with heavy tread, but Tol’s groping hand finally came down on something hard and metallic. The millstone!
He rolled over and slammed the Irda artifact against the severed arm. Instantly, the powerful limb went stiff. Its fingers were still locked savagely around his wrist, but when he struck it with the butt of his dagger, the arm cracked. Elated, he hammered the limb until it was reduced to lifeless pieces.
Jumping to his feet, Tol yanked the lacing from the calf of his smallclothes. He swiftly used the linen strip to lash the millstone to the hilt of his dagger.
A sword streaked at his head, his own ceremonial weapon, now wielded by the one-armed thing. He ducked, and it shattered the oiled wood paneling behind him.
Whirling, Tol smashed the blade of his dagger against the dense blue flesh. The magical creature gave a start and then solidified into immobility, immediately turning to ashy white stone. Tol kicked hard at its leg, knocking out a sizable chunk. The suddenly inert monster toppled, shattering when it hit the floor.
The other two creatures were soon overcome in similar fashion. Parrying their attacks, choosing his openings with care, Tol struck each of the monsters with his millstone — enhanced dagger, and soon enough the fight was over.
Tol slumped in a chair, limp, gasping. His pulse throbbed in his battered ear, and wide bruises were darkening on his right wrist. He cradled his injured limb to his chest, muttering dire curses against whomever had sent the murderous beings.
A pale glow of light appeared around him. Hanira had arrived, bearing a candelabrum. She wore a robe of golden silk and a dazed, confused expression. Her black hair was loose around her shoulders.
Regarding the devastation in her private chambers with admirable aplomb, she asked, “What’s this?”