bought a scroll or hired someone to cast a spell—Codesh looked like the sort of place where illicit magic was available for the right price. But halflings, as a rule, had no use for money and didn’t buy things, either. Probably they were dealing with nothing more dangerous than a hidden latch.
Probably.
He hammered the door several times, getting a feel for its movement and the likely position of its latch and hinges.
He’d decided that it swung from the top and was tackling the latch problem when he felt the mood change behind him.
“There he is!” Mahtra shouted, pointing over everyone’s head and toward a section of the two-story high wall.
The distance was too great and the shadows on the second-story balcony were too deep for Pavek to recognize a halfling’s face, but the silhouette was right for one of the diminutive forest people. He had the sense that the halfling was looking at them, a sense that was confirmed when a slender arm was extended in their direction. One instant Pavek wondered what the movement meant; the next instant he knew.
Kakzim had given a signal to his partisans on the killing floor. Well-fed and well-armed butchers were coming for them.
Pavek drew his sword and said his farewell prayers.
“Magic!” the dwarf cried. “Magic, Great One. The Lion-King!”
“No time!” Pavek shouted back, which was the truth and not an excuse.
He needed both hands on his sword hilt and all his concentration to parry the deadly axes massed against them. Their backs were to the false-front door; that would be an advantage for a moment, then it would become disaster as Kakzim’s partisans gained the roof. They’d be under attack from all directions, including above. The slaughter would be over in a matter of heartbeats, and they’d be gone without a trace or memory left behind.
While the Lion-King could raise the dead and make them talk, not even he could interrogate sausage.
Civil bureau templars received the same five-weapons instruction that war bureau templars did. The dwarf drilled three-times a week. Pavek had kept himself in shape and in practice while he was in Quraite. If the brawl were fought one-against-one, or even two-against-one, he and the dwarf could have cleared a path to the gate where—one hoped, one prayed—they’d be met by yellow-robed reinforcements from the watchtower.
If they could have picked a single target and attacked rather than being confined to a desperate, futile defense. They had no time for tactics, no time for thought, just parry high, parry low, parry, parry, parry.
And a flicker of consciousness at the very end telling Pavek that the final blow had come from behind.
* * *
Mahtra felt the makers’ protection radiate from her body: a hollow sphere of sound and light that felled everyone around her. She saw them fall—Pavek, Ruari, and the dwarf among them. Her vision hadn’t blurred, her limbs were heavy, but not paralyzed. Maybe that was because, even though the danger was real enough, she’d made the decision to protect herself. Or, maybe her tight grip on Zvain’s trembling hand had made the difference. Either way, she and Zvain were the only folk standing in a good sized circle that centered itself around them.
She and Zvain weren’t the only folk standing on the killing ground. The makers’ protection—her protection—didn’t extend to the walls. Men and women cursed her from beyond the circle. Those who’d fallen near the circle’s edge were beginning to rise unsteadily to their feet. The balcony where she’d seen Kakzim was empty. Mahtra wanted to believe the halfling had fallen, but she knew he’d simply escaped.
“You better be able to do that again,” Zvain whispered, squeezing her hand as tightly as he could, but not tight enough to hurt.
She’d never protected herself twice in quick succession, but as Mahtra’s mind formed the question, her body gave the answer. “I can,” she assured Zvain. “When they come closer.”
“We can’t wait that long. We got to start moving toward the door. We got to get out of here.” Zvain pulled toward the door.
She pulled him back. “We can’t leave our friends behind,”
The young human didn’t say anything, but there was a change in the way he held her hand. A change Mahtra didn’t like.
“What?” she demanded, trying to look at him and keep an eye on the simmering crowd also.
“There’s no use worrying about them. They’re dead, Mahtra. You killed them.”
“No.” Her whole body swayed side to side, denying what Zvain said had happened. Yet the folk nearest to them, friend