Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,71
help them, nobody at all.
Except.
A voice rang out. “No!”
Long legs strode past and Loth saw the silhouette of Ser Greylord, sword extended towards Lord Doom. Loth stole a desperate glance at Quinn, who thankfully seemed unharmed except for a slash in his sleeve, and silently willed him to move. By some miracle Quinn did the sensible thing and backed quietly away, and Loth allowed himself to breathe.
Doom still had the sword in his hand, but he dropped it to his side as he looked Ser Greylord up and down like he was some sort of interesting bug. “What on earth are you doing, Greylord?”
“My duty,” Ser Greylord said, “I’m defending my prince.”
Doom snorted. “Oh, isn't that noble of you. Tell me though, Ser Greylord, haven’t you forgotten something?”
Greylord smiled, sharp and dangerous. “Have I?”
“There’s the small matter of your son. I have him, and I won’t hesitate to kill him for your treachery.” Doom advanced, sword extended, but his movements were more cautious, less assured, and it was the work of seconds for Ser Greylord to knock the sword out of his grip. Doom’s hand darted to his boot but Greylord was quicker, smacking at his hand with the broadside of his blade and earning a yelp as yet another knife clattered to the ground.
Greylord’s voice was cold. “Except you don’t. I knew you could only be trusted to keep my son alive as long as it suited you—after all, you killed your own sister. Luckily, I’ve been able to foster a lot of goodwill among the ranks over the past few years. It wasn’t hard to find men willing to rescue him—they’re loyal to me, not you.”
“Rescues go wrong all the time. He could be dead,” Doom sneered, but he suddenly sounded a lot less sure of himself.
Ser Greylord stepped forward, the tip of his sword grazing Doom’s throat, and a shadow of a smile passed over his face. “You left me in charge of training an army and didn’t think I’d send my best for my own flesh and blood? I received word last night that my son is safe. So there’s nothing to stop me killing you here and now.”
“You wouldn’t dare! You can’t seize power singlehanded!”
“I don’t plan to, M’lord,” Greylord chuckled, and Loth reflected that if he was going to die on the floor, at least he could do it knowing that his side had the last laugh. “I plan to seize it with an orc, an elf, a dwarf, two princes, and a dragon.”
At that, Doom paled. “A dragon?” He ducked out from under the tip of Greylord’s blade and ran to the window, repeating “You have a dragon?” frantically scanning the outside sky, trying to spot where the creature might be.
Loth made a soft clicking noise and prodded the wriggling lump in his scarf, and said dragon’s head popped out. Tiny claws dug into Loth’s skin as Pie squirmed free. He perched on Loth’s nose, his tail dragging against his chin, and chirped, before blowing a tiny puff of smoke.
Lord Doom’s head whipped around and when he saw Pie he froze for a moment, then pointed and made a dismissive sound. “That? That’s not a dragon! It’s barely a—a newt! I was actually worried for a moment there!” He laughed and wiped at the tears in his eyes. “Sorry, sorry, this is serious. Ooooh, you’ve got a dragon!”
Pie beat his tiny wings frantically and alighted from Loth’s nose. He buzzed through the air like a dragonfly; the sunlight catching his stained-glass wings, and dove straight at Lord Doom, biting him soundly on the finger.
“Ow! What the fuck was that?” Lord Doom shook Pie off and stared where he landed on the ground. He looked incredulous for a second and then began to smile. “Is that—gods, is that the best it can do? A nip? Pathetic! That has to be the tiniest, most useless, absolutely fu—”
And then, without uttering a single word further, he suddenly jerked, his expression freezing, and then pitched face-down onto the floor, utterly stone-cold dead.
Pie puffed out his chest and trilled.
Chapter Seventeen
The dull thumps echoing in Loth’s skull weren’t the last drawn-out beats of his faltering heart playing a solemn, fading tattoo to escort his soul into the afterlife. Loth craned his neck to see: it was Dave, in the doorway, knocking a pair of soldiers together like wooden blocks. He was beaming like a delighted child, his tooth-tusks gleaming in the light.
Loth turned his head. Yup. Lord Doom was