Warrior Queen - Karpov Kinrade Page 0,9

the path I just took gives way to be swallowed by darkness. I land on my shoulder and roll into a crouch just as Cerb leaps over my head. As all four massive paws hit the ground, the shelf beneath me vibrates, but miraculously, it holds.

A few seconds later, I release a pent breath. “Hold still,” I mouth, my heart pounding.

This time, Cerb listens.

With the ground beneath us stable, I turn my attention to the next threat: Clay’s men.

Spear in one hand and whip in the other, I wait, expecting to hear soldiers pounding our way.

But there’s nothing. Only the dim sound of laughter in the distance.

“Can’t say much for Clay’s guards,” I mutter, rising slowly to my feet.

A quick inspection shows the path we just took is now destroyed. There’s no going back that way. The only way out is over the wall and through the palace—which is where I was headed, anyway. So, no lemons lost… except I didn’t plan on having Cerb with me. One thing at a time, I suppose.

I lean my spear against the stones and inspect the wall. It’s as smooth as glass, offering no hand or footholds, and the entire thing is at least twice my height. No matter how high I jump, I can’t reach the bottom branch to lift myself up.

“Good thing you’re here, Cerb,” I whisper. “Quick, give me a leg up.”

Up close, Cerb’s fur is hot, and the stench of sulfur is much stronger as I climb up to balance myself on his enormous shoulders. He rises to all four paws and easily lift me into position so I can peer over the wall.

Through the branches of the olive tree, I see that the courtyard at the palace entrance is empty. Near the door, there are two torches driven into the ground, casting a circle of light in which a handful of soldiers squat, playing some kind of dice game. The empty wine jugs at their feet provide more than enough explanation as to why they didn’t hear all the commotion of our messy arrival.

“Cheater,” one of them laughs an accusation.

“Where’s the wine?” another bellows, rising to toe an empty jug. “How long does it take to get wine around here?”

“The servants are like everything about this place,” the first one grunts. “Falling apart.”

“Wine! Can’t you move faster than a snail?”

As they complain, a stooped figure lumbers into view.

My heart drops.

It’s Alfio, my arthritic servant, and he looks exhausted. His gray hair hangs in dirty strings and he’s hugging a clay jug of wine to his chest with shaking hands. The sleeve of his tunic is torn and there’s dried blood on his cheek.

I clench my jaw and send him mental energy. Hang on, Alfio. I’ll rescue you. Soon. Along with everyone else.

When he begins to fill the soldiers’ cups, one of them grabs the jug from his hands.

“I want my wine today, not tomorrow,” he snorts.

As the others laugh, Alfio starts to shuffle back.

It’s now or never.

Shoving myself off Cerb’s shoulder, I climb onto the wall and lean out from behind the tree.

“Psssst,” I signal, as loud as I dare while waving my hand.

Alfio’s head immediately swivels my direction. He may be old, but he’s obviously sharp-eyed and keen of hearing. He gives me a slight nod, alters course, and begins to meander my way, searching the ground as if looking for something.

The soldiers don’t even notice. With their cups refilled, they’re back at their dice.

“My lady,” Alfio hisses as he arrives.

I ease myself onto an olive tree branch and lean down so I can whisper-shout without being overheard, “Torak? Mirk? Ladron? Where are they? I’m here to get them out.”

Alfio hesitates. “They’re alive,” he says.

My pulse leaps in alarm. That’s not the answer I was looking for. “What is it? What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

“’Tisn’t natural, my lady,” he mutters as he shifts uneasily. “But they’ve been taken to the market square…to be executed within the hour.”

4

"For a man to conquer himself is the first and noblest of all victories." ~Plato

Executed. Ladron? Mirk? Torak? Executed. My head snaps back. “Clay won’t get away with this.”

Alfio’s wincing and I realize I’ve just shouted. It doesn’t matter. The soldiers are so focused on their own entertainment, they don’t notice.

“Epimetheus isn’t here, my lady,” Alfio sidles closer to the tree. “He left after the gods died… ‘Tain’t proper, at all. You do know they died?”

“I’ve heard.” I nod tersely.

“Well, Epimetheus ordered the same poison to be used