The Knight Marshal (The Silk & Steel Saga) by Karen Azinger Page B

deliberately
turning his back on the statue. Poised on the balls of his feet, his blue sword
gripped in both gauntleted hands, he listened for an attack, yet none came. Six
heartbeats later, he pivoted just in time to spy a small dark-haired lad scurry
up the palace steps, disappearing between the golden doors. Skinny and short
and clad in a filthy tunic, the lad looked like a street urchin…yet he carried
a short sword. A short sword …mischief or malevolence, Blaine decided to
follow.
    Taking the
stairs two at a time, Blaine slipped between the golden doors just as the lad
turned down the left hand hallway. Blaine followed, stepping lightly across the
marble floor. Braziers glowed the length of the hall, striping the walls with
light and shadow. The boy moved like a thief, scurrying from one shadow to the
next. Carefully peering around each corner, he flinched at any sound. Clearly
the boy was afraid, yet he pressed deeper into the palace, the sword clutched
awkwardly in his two hands.
    Intrigued, Blaine followed, keeping just enough distance to remain unheard. The palace was a labyrinth
of luxury; marble hallways, gilded braziers and rich tapestries, yet the urchin
seemed to know his way, compounding the riddle. Blaine turned the corner…and
the lad was gone. He scanned the hallway, but found nowhere for the lad to
hide. Swearing silently, Blaine ran to the far corner, but saw no sign of the
urchin. Puzzled, he retraced his steps. A strange, bitter smell rankled his
nostrils. Breathing deep, he traced the smoky scent to a tapestry. A
tapestry! Twitching the tapestry aside, he discovered stairs leading down,
a bracketed torch glittering at the bottom. The god-cursed palace was a tangled
labyrinth, worse than he’d ever thought.
    Sword at the
ready, Blaine descended the stairs. Instead of dark marble, the walls were dull
granite, gray and unadorned. Perhaps he’d stumbled onto the servants’
quarters...or something worse. The smoky smell grew stronger, scratching at his
throat. Bitter and irritating, the noxious scent was vaguely familiar. He’d
smelled it before, in other parts of the palace, but never this strong.
    Peering around
the corner, he spied the urchin-lad standing in front of a closed door.
Gripping his sword, the lad glared at the door as if summoning his courage.
    If the lad truly
needed the sword, he wouldn’t stand a chance. It was time to end this charade. Blaine stepped into the hallway, torchlight glittering on his silver surcoat, but the boy
never turned. Instead, he opened the door and plunged inside.
    Angry shouts
erupted from the chamber.
    Blaine leaped forward, barreling through the doorway. Bitter smoke stung his nostrils, a
blue haze clouding his vision, but then he saw them, dark robed priests! With long bright knives, they slashed at the boy. Blaine grabbed the lad by his
tunic, and hurled him backwards. Stepping between the boy and the priests, Blaine snarled, “Fight me!” He slashed left and right, his sword’s tip slicing a priest’s
throat, opening a bright red slash. Blood sprayed the others, a flailing corpse
falling to the floor.
    By all rights, the
priests should have fled…but instead, they leaped to a frenzied attack. Knives
slashed towards his face. Hands clawed at his legs. They swarmed him, fighting like
rabid dogs, biting and kicking. Blaine struck left and right, cleaving a path
through flesh and bone. Screams filled the chamber and blood spattered the
walls yet the priests kept fighting. Stumbling over fresh corpses, they clung
to Blaine’s arms and legs, trying to pull him down, trying to bite through
chainmail and leather. And then he saw their faces, their mouths stained dark
blue, their eyes filmed white like wet maggots. Horror and revulsion gripped
him in equal measure. Flinching from their touch, he punched and kicked,
gaining space to wield his sword. A berserker’s madness took him. Laughing, he
hacked and cut, his sword cleaving flesh and bone till nothing