gravest importance. Not for a moment did Tyrion doubt that he was in the right place. The question was how he was going to get inside.
One of the soldiers stared at him. It would be suspicious of him to back away now and he might be remembered if he returned in the future, so he squared his shoulders and strode confidently forward, as if he had every business being there, was on a mission of some importance.
He must have looked the part because no one questioned him as he strode within and made his way to the central chamber of the tent. There were several high officers, he recognised their rank from their garb. He had fought against that type before on many battlefields. In the centre, lying prostrate with her arms bound behind her back, and a gag on her mouth, was Alarielle. She stared at him with hate-filled eyes as he came in. She did not recognise him.
One of the high staff officers turned to look at him. Tyrion strode forward.
‘What do you want?’ the officer asked. ‘What are you doing here, sergeant?’
‘I bring a message from the commander,’ said Tyrion. He was almost within striking distance now.
‘What?’
‘It is of the utmost importance,’ said Tyrion.
‘It had better be or I will have you flayed alive,’ the officer said.
‘I do not doubt it.’
‘Then spit it out,’ the officer said.
‘It concerns the Everqueen. There’s been a change of plans.’
‘Impossible!’
‘No,’ said Tyrion. He drew Sunfang and decapitated the officer. With two more quick strokes he chopped down his companions. In a flurry of blows, he struck down the remaining dark elves within reach. Most of them died clawing for their weapons, desperately trying to react to the sudden fury of his onslaught.
Dorian wondered what was happening. A burning blade chopped down Captain Aeris and slashed off half of Captain Manion’s face. The stench of seared flesh suddenly filled the Pavilion. Had one of the druchii gone mad, he wondered, or was this some kind of sorcery? Were the Everqueen’s powers still at work?
Even as that thought occurred to him, Alarielle rolled away from beneath his feet, sending him tumbling backwards. That action probably saved his life, unintentionally, for he fell out of the way of that blazing sword. He felt the red heat of it mere fingers’ breadths from his face. He saw the warrior wielding the blade leap among his guard, slashing left and right as he went.
Maniac or not, the newcomer was eye-blurringly swift. He made the hardened veterans of Dorian’s guard seem like children. They could do nothing to stop him. They did not even seem to be trying. They had been taken completely off guard by the sudden, stunning savagery of the stranger’s attack. He recalled his own thoughts about how people responded to surprise attacks earlier. It seemed his own troops were no more immune to it than anyone else. Sheep, he thought.
Cassandra raised her hand as she attempted to cast a spell. Somehow the stranger was aware of it before she even half began. He pounced like a great cat springing. The brilliantly glowing blade slashed downwards. The protective spells surrounding Cass overloaded, burning out in a blaze of power. The sword smashed into her, snapping bones like twigs, cauterising flesh as it passed through.
‘No,’ Dorian shouted, rising to his feet. This could not be happening, he thought. Life and victory could not be snatched away from them so quickly. He remembered Cass’s forebodings of the previous night. It seemed they had come true, since Alarielle had summoned this daemonic warrior to her aid.
He ripped his sword from its scabbard and just managed to parry as the stranger was upon him. Dorian was gifted with a blade, and he knew it. He was considered among the best in the entire druchii army.
Somehow though, he instantly found himself on the defensive. It was all he could do to parry the newcomer’s weapon. The light from it dazzled his eyes in the gloom.
The fury of the stranger’s attack was astonishing. He struck with the speed and power of a lightning bolt. Dorian’s arm was numb just from maintaining his increasingly desperate parries. He would have liked to have gone on the offensive. He would have liked to have avenged Cass but there was no chance of it. He could barely find the time or the energy to shout for help. It took all of his concentration merely to stay alive.
There was something about the newcomer’s style that