23
Holding the communications device with one hand, Priscilla leaned back away from the broadcasting unit. She could tell that her announcement—that the armed rebellion on Ginonhive was really just a prelude to the attempted assassination of the emperor—had inspired a fresh hubbub around the island. Just as she’d hoped, infighting had begun among the sword slaves.
“Those who believe in the success of this rebellion and those who have the slightest bit of sense in their heads have begun to embrace different objectives. Thus, we have two groups with opposing goals—and both of them are armed. They’re also both accustomed to brutal fights to the death, so it goes without saying that whoever attacks first will have the advantage.”
“Sure looks that way,” Balleroy said. He’d been listening very carefully and probably had an even better grasp of the situation on the island than Priscilla. He was putting all five of his well-honed senses to work. “Mm.” He nodded. “It looks just like you said, Ms. Wife—lots of arguing and fighting starting here, there, everywhere. If we leave ’em to their own devices, they’ll probably tear each other apart.”
“You really think it’ll go that well? These people aren’t bugs or fish. They’ll realize they’re in trouble as soon as their numbers start to noticeably drop. Though, I agree we can probably just keep our heads down until then,” Miles said.
“No, we cannot,” Priscilla responded. “Once they’re reduced to chiefly those who can use their heads to some extent, it will be time to implement the next phase of our plan. The initiation of new negotiations, with the powerful people as hostages without relying on their ringleader.”
“Ah!” Miles saw what she was getting at; Balleroy, meanwhile, continued to look perplexed. Priscilla saw that Serena had been quite right: The two of them complemented each other nicely, Balleroy with his slightly lacking wits and Miles making up in intelligence what he lacked in fighting strength. Miles fell somewhat short of Priscilla’s standards, which prized physical beauty as well—but taking Balleroy by himself wouldn’t be worthwhile, either.
For her beloved husband’s sake, she would consider this a victory if she could maintain relations with the high countess.
“Miles, Brother, do you get the weird feeling that we’re bein’…evaluated?”
“Well, you don’t have to say it out loud, moron. Still…for a kid so young, she’s sure got some presence. Noble and imposing. You just wanna discipline her.”
The brothers leaned toward each other for a whispered conversation, but Priscilla’s special ears easily picked up their secrets. Miles’s sadistic remark was technically disrespectful, but so long as he didn’t act on it, Priscilla didn’t feel compelled to consider it an offense. A man with a desire for her was a man who would put himself in her service.
“ ” Feeling their eyes on her, Priscilla continued down the hallway at a brisk pace. If anyone attempted to bar her way, Balleroy quickly dispatched them. Even the experienced warriors of the sword-slave island were no match for his spear skills.
Finally, Priscilla arrived untouched at the room she had been looking for.
“I advise you to move aside, peasants. I am here to retrieve my husband.”
“Wha?!”
The men in the room were amazed to find Priscilla kicking down the door and making demands, but the most startled of all was Jorah, who was seated in a chair in the center of the room. “Priscilla?!” he exclaimed at the appearance of his wife.
Priscilla clicked her tongue at the way Jorah forgot that she was going by an assumed name. “That’s the trouble with my dear husband—losing his mind just because he turned fifty,” Priscilla muttered as she grabbed a vase of flowers by the door and flung it into the room. Her aim was true; the vase struck the back of the chair Jorah was sitting in, knocking it over along with its occupant. It meant that just for an instant, the men in the room didn’t know where Jorah had gone. And in that instant…
“Go, Balleroy.”
“Yep. As you wish, m’lady.”
Commanded by name, Balleroy was off like a shot, piercing to the center of the room like a beam of light. The men had been slow to react to Priscilla, but they responded to this new intruder by drawing their weapons. The six of them all moved at once to meet Balleroy.
They were too slow. In the space of a second, his spear described a great half circle.
“Ya think a spear’s just for stabbing? Think again. It’s good for sweeping, too.” Balleroy winked one eye—and then the three men whose stomachs he’d slit open spilled their innards all over the floor. The trio pitched forward, adding themselves to the piles of their own guts.
“Yaaaah!” Two of the surviving sword slaves leaped over the corpses of their three companions, trying to make a move against Balleroy. One was a hand-to-hand fighter with hobnails pounded into his fists, and the other, a beast person with a hand ax in each hand. Neither had the reach of a spear, but if they could get in close enough, they would have a distinct advantage.
Indeed, they did manage to get close and were trying to press their gains when—
“Spear users can only use spears. Is that what you’re thinking? Another lil’ misconception there.”
Balleroy’s left fist came down at the face of the fighter, costing the man his consciousness as well as his front teeth. Balleroy had tossed his spear to his right hand, leaving his left free to strike.
The unconscious man fell backward—directly into the line of the beast person’s ax attack. There was a dull thump of the ax connecting with the back of the man’s head, depriving his absent consciousness of anywhere to return to. The beast person, unfazed, attempted to push clear through his companion’s head to smash Balleroy’s slim frame. The sheer physical strength this demi-human wielded was something to behold, but—
“I’m still faster.”
Balleroy let go of the spear with his right hand, lashing out with a spear-hand strike. His two extended fingers caught the beast person in the face, jabbing into his eyeballs and blinding him.
The beast person gave a howl of pain and stumbled backward. That he exposed his neck while doing so was the ultimate mistake. Balleroy stepped on the man’s windpipe with one foot, caught his spear up in his left hand, and rammed the butt into the man’s throat. The beast person fell back, choking on his own blood, twitching, unable even to utter a death rattle.
With that, five of the six men in the room were dead. As for the last one, he had gone not for Balleroy, but for the toppled Jorah.
“Don’t move! If you take one step, I’ll—”
It was a decent idea, but it was all the man could do to hold his dagger to Jorah’s neck.
“Now, Gaius!”
“—Hkk!”
From behind Priscilla, Miles, standing in the entrance, shouted—and the ceiling of the room came crashing down, a winged dragon sticking its head through the hole and latching on to the head of the man threatening Jorah. He was dragged helplessly upward and out, only his scream echoing behind him. A copious shower of blood poured through the eviscerated ceiling, drenching Jorah, who was directly below.
“Gah?! Blood? This is blood! Priscilla, I’m done for…”
“Fool. It’s not your blood. It belongs to a commoner.” Priscilla sniffed at the sight of Jorah losing his mind over a bit of gore. She glanced up and found herself looking into the eyes of the sky dragon peering down through the ceiling.
She recognized the creature. It was one of the winged dragons that had brought them to the island on the dragon ship. Given that it had obeyed Miles’s order, she presumed it was his pet.
Priscilla said, “A fine performance. However…”
“That’s everyone in here, ain’t it? What about that, uh, ringleader?” Balleroy said. A quick glance around the room confirmed that the pretty boy, Ubirk, was not among the dead. Priscilla narrowed her crimson eyes as she looked at the corpses; beside her, Balleroy rested his spear on his shoulder and seemed to be searching for the same thing. But Ubirk was nowhere to be seen in the island master’s chamber. No—perhaps it was more than that.
“Perhaps he’s fled the entire island,” Priscilla said.
“But the drawbridge’s still up. Ain’t no way out of here.”
“No easy way. But it might still be possible to get around. Even the emperor in his capital has access to hidden devices akin to magic that allow one to move instantaneously to a distant location.”
“Yikes! I feel like I could be killed just for knowin’ that,” Balleroy said. He was, though, at least tutored enough not to ask where Priscilla had gotten the information.
Once again reevaluating her opinion of Balleroy and Miles, Priscilla went and looked out from the room’s balcony, letting herself sink into the distant clangor of battle.
“Priscilla? Ahem, I think it may be dangerous to stay here for very long…”
“Things are already settled for the most part,” she said, silencing the annoying background noise that was Jorah’s voice. “All that remains is for the sword slaves to decide where they stand. As for the drawbridge, there are any number of ways to bring it down.” She closed her eyes. “For the moment, I’m enjoying listening to the breeze.”
The clash of swords could be heard from every corner of Ginonhive—the sound of everything being shattered, destroyed. The most noticeable crash of all came from the direction of the still-raised drawbridge.
Along with the great gusts of wind and the clamor of fighting, she heard a small sound, something like a rat struggling desperately for its life. However—
“They say a cornered rat knows how to bite. I wonder who will be consumed in the end.”
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