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“My lord, fire—”
“Attend to your duties,” Dom barked out, doing his best to seem like a knight. That is, stiff and over-proud.
Beyond the guards, the great hall looked half-empty, with only a few courtiers still within. They peered out, drunk and curious, half-interested in the commotion.
The Temur remained, their heads bent together around a gray-haired man who looked to be their leader.
Sigil wasted no time, grinning toward her countrymen.
“The iron bones of the Countless,” she called out, thumping her chest, “will never be broken!”
At their table, the Temur whirled, turning in Sigil’s direction. A few answered the call instinctively, speaking the words of the Temurijon. All looked confused, their bronze faces furrowed with suspicion.
Dom did not speak Temur, but he knew what Sigil told them next.
Move. Now.
Watching her, Dom felt some tension release in his chest. The Temur welcomed Sigil as they would an old friend, chattering happily in their own language. Whatever her game, they played along without hesitation, and even the ambassador took her under his arm. Quickly, they made for the doorway, abandoning their table at Sigil’s behest. To anyone else watching, they simply looked like courtiers done in for the night. One even tipped his head to the guards as they passed, leaving the great hall behind.
Dom let them go, sparing only a single glance at Sigil. She winked back at him, until the Temur closed around her.
“Prince Taristan and Her Majesty have safely retired for the evening,my lord. Should we abandon our posts to aid in the keep?” the closest guard said, but Dom ignored him.
Go!he screamed at himself, willing his feet to move. His task was done, Sigil safely delivered to her kinfolk. Despite his immortal nature, the Lionguard armor felt heavy on his limbs.
It was no mystery as to why. Every step was another inch away from the Queen’s chambers. From Taristan and Erida. Guarded only by mortal knights. The temptation of it was nearly blinding.
Keep to the plan.
Sorasa’s voice echoed in his head. Dom listened for her heartbeat in vain, but it was lost to the sounds of the hall. And beneath it, the steady crackle of flame as it consumed the old keep.
Reluctantly, Dom turned to leave. It felt like the closing of a door, like surrender. In his chest, something tore. He barely heard the guards calling after him. Their voices warbled in Dom’s ears, faded and faraway. He could only keep walking, one foot in front of the other.
This was the plan, this was the chance. He need only keep moving. Sorasa would do the rest.
Dom alone heard the snap of wood, the splintering of barrels, the cracking of many, many glass bottles beneath their feet. He braced, fists clenching, squaring his shoulders.
The explosion rippled, the force of it breaking against Dom’s back. He turned into the concussive wall of sound, just in time to watch the floor of the great hall crumble inward, collapsing into the storerooms below. As in the old keep, great columns of flame jumped up, fed by the liquor stores below. The barrels of ale and wine became a lake of fire, the bottles of spirits spitting glass. A swell of heat pulsed out in a wave, breaking against Dom’s face, heating the steel of his armor so quickly he ripped off his helmet.
He watched, wide-eyed, as tables and benches fell to the storerooms below, courtiers toppling with them. At the far end of the hall, the dais remained, hanging out over the open wound that was the floor.
The Temur were already out of harm’s way, safely ushered along by Sigil. But the lords and ladies of Erida’s court screamed, fighting their way out of the great hall any way they could.
“Evacuate!” a guard yelled somewhere, his shout barely audible over the roar of flame.
“Get outside!” “Get over the bridge!” “Save the Queen!”
Many voices called back and forth, the servants, nobles, and guards spilling out into the corridors in all directions. A few loyal soldiers fled deeper into the hall, fighting against the blaze to reach the Queen’s tower on the far side. But most fled.
It was better to run and risk treason than stay and be burned alive.
Sigil and the Temur broke for the nearest way out, and Dom followed, catching up in an instant. Many of the courtiers ran after him, desperate sheep in need of a shepherd.
Despite his hatred for Galland, Dom threw the exterior doors wide and stood back, waving for the courtiers to escape into the courtyard.
“This way!” he boomed, putting out an arm to hold the door wide.
Outside, he glimpsed the main gate, the Bridge of Valor arching beyond it. Back into the streets of Ascal. Only the canal separated the palace from the great city, its alleys and gutters a sanctuary just out of reach.
