Outside, people were dashing about with lighted torches—for some reason, not one of the magical lanterns the Order had installed in the grounds of the palace was lit. Several guardsmen ran past right below my window, two of them carrying a wounded man. A little farther off there was a unit of soldiers heading in the opposite direction with the points of their spears glinting menacingly in the flickering light.
Two human shadows darted out of the palace and ran off into the depths of the garden. One of the guards in the first detachment spotted the fugitives and most of the soldiers ran off in pursuit, leaving their two comrades with the wounded man.
One of the men they were chasing stopped and threw his arms up. Then he started spinning round and swaying from side to side. The guards slowed from a run to a walk, approaching the strangers cautiously, not really sure what this madman was doing. They realized the answer to the riddle too late. The man stopped his crazy spinning and flung one hand out toward the soldiers, and the guards were simply tossed in all directions like children’s straw toys.
Darkness! He was a genuine shaman!
In immediate response to the shaman’s magic, a silver streak of lightning struck from somewhere in the upper stories of the palace. I ducked down in surprise, trying to get rid of the multicolored carousel that was spinning in front of my eyes, and when I could see normally again, the fugitives no longer existed. On the spot where they had been standing there was a huge round circle of scorched earth, with the grass still burning around its edge. Some magician of the Order had really put everything into his blow against the enemy. There was nothing left of the intruders.
The bugles began calling again, sounding the alarm and calling men to arms. The din outside my door was unbelievable. There was already fighting at the end of the corridor where my bedroom was. Which meant there must be a lot more of the attackers, otherwise why couldn’t I hear cries of victory from all those guardsmen?
“The king! Stalkon! Valiostr!” The royal guard roared out their battle cry.
“The Nameless One! Vengeance!” was the reply.
So it was the supporters of the Nameless One who had resolved on this bold move!
Those rotten skunks were everywhere now. Sometimes it seemed like it would be wise to suspect your own frail old granddad of sympathy for the Nameless One, even if he wouldn’t normally harm a fly. And the stronger the rebel magician became, the more supporters he acquired among humankind.
Someone pounded hard on my door and I trained the crossbow on it just in case.
“Harold, it’s Kli-Kli! Open up, quick!”
The voice certainly sounded like the one that belonged to the king’s jester.
The battle was moving quite rapidly in my direction and if the little goblin really was outside my door, he could be in big trouble pretty soon.
I hastily opened the lock.
“I’m not alone, don’t shoot!” shouted Kli-Kli, darting past me into the bedroom like a little green mouse, with two shadows following straight behind him. They were a little bit bigger than the goblin, but a lot smaller than me.
“Close the door,” said the goblin. It was a good idea. “Deler, let’s have some light.”
I did as I had been told and turned the key, wondering if we ought to barricade the door with furniture.
A small flame flared up, and then a torch, illuminating the faces of my visitors. The jester was without his cap with the bells and his expression was unusually serious and intent. There was a dark, shallow scratch on Kli-Kli’s cheek and he was clutching an ax in both hands. Standing beside the jester was Deler, holding the torch in one hand and a double-edged poleax in the other. It had a vicious-looking half-moon blade. Unlike the goblin, the dwarf didn’t look disheveled. Even the hat with the narrow brim sat on the short fellow’s head as if it were a part of him.
The third visitor was Hallas. The gnome paid no attention to me, as if he were simply visiting his home in the Steel Mines, and ran across to the window and looked outside. He casually leaned his battle-mattock against the wall.
“This is Master Harold,” said Kli-Kli, introducing me to the warriors.
Deler politely doffed his hat; the gnome simply nodded.
“What’s happened, Kli-Kli?”
“An attack! They were trying to get through to the king, but the