Lightnings Daughter (25 page)

"What is it?" Gabria whispered behind the healer.

"The vaults are behind the throne room and that door is the only way in."

The guard shouted angrily at the clanspeople, "What are you doing here?"

"Quit yelping and help us," one of the noblemen ordered, ignoring the newcomers.

The guard gave a sharp laugh. "You'll never get that door open. She's barred it from inside."

"She?" Piers demanded. "The Fon?"

The guard glared at him. "Who else? Now, get out of here!"

Piers shoved past the guard, ignoring his sword, and shouldered into the group of noblemen. "I'll help,” he said, adding his weight to the door. The courtiers looked startled but they wanted badly to reach their ruler, so they moved over to include him. Al three threw their strength at the door, but the wood did not budge.

One of the noblemen sagged against the door. He was breathing heavily, perspiration dripping down around his round face, and his eyes were wide in fear. "I can't believe this!" he cried. "A riot in the streets, a fire in the palace, and she hides in her throne room. What are we going to do?"

More crashes sounded upstairs. Cries and screams filled the corridors beyond the audience hall, and the distant rumble of thunder sounded outside.

The frightened nobleman shoved himself away from the door and ran for the other room.

"Wait!" His companion shouted after him.

"You save the shrew,” he cried and dashed out.

The other men looked at one another. The courtier gave Piers an odd glance before turning away.

"There is no other way in?" Gabria asked.

They shook their heads and bent to try again.

"Look out!" the guard bellowed, leaping sideways as a smoldering chunk of the ceiling collapsed where he had been standing. Smoke bil owed through the hole, and the room was lit by the lurid glow from the flames in the timbers above the false ceiling.

"We'l never get this door open this way," the old nobleman shouted over the crackling of the fire.

"Are you sure she's in there?" demanded Piers.

The guard replied, "She ran by here a little while ago, before we knew of the fire,” He shivered and gripped his sword. "It was strange. She looked wild! Just slammed the door and barred it."

Gabria stared at the door while the guard was talking, and in her mind she formed the words of a spell. "Piers, get out of the way,” she ordered.

Before the two Pra Deshians could argue, Piers hustled them aside. Gabria raised her hand and concentrated on focusing her magical energy. In that moment she sensed again the strange feeling of growing power, and this time she recognized what it was: the latent magic in the area was increasing.

The phenomenon was stil not strong enough that she could identify the cause of the increase, so Gabria set the puzzle aside for now. She spoke the command for her spel . In a breath, the door col apsed into a heap of splinters and wood dust.

"Oh, Elaja!" the guard wailed, and he, too, took to his heels out of the room toward the audience hall.

"Nicely done, Gabria," Piers said thankfully.

"The sorceress?" the remaining nobleman gasped.

Gabria tried to reassure him. "We're here for Branth, nothing else. Do you know where he is?"

"Dead, I hope," the man snarled. He thrust his body into the open doorway and blocked their path.

"I thought I knew you from somewhere," he shouted at Piers. "You're the healer whose daughter was condemned for sorcery! Well, you helped kill one Fon, but you won't get this one."

Keth leaped past Gabria and lifted his sword. Piers held him back. He finally recognized the man.

"Ancor, I had nothing to do with the poisoning and neither did my daughter."

The courtier would not listen. "Her own husband admitted it!" he yel ed.

Piers shouted fiercely in reply. "And where is he? Keeping the prince of Calah company in the bottom of the pit?"

The old man blanched as if that thought had occurred to him in the past. "The Fon told us his ship went down with no survivors," he said defensively.

Another chunk of burning ceiling crashed to the floor, setting rugs and a tapestry alight.

"Healer," Keth cal ed, "we've got to get out of here."

"Not without the Fon," Piers answered harshly, and he tried to push past the nobleman.

The danger of the fire and the anger on Piers's face made the old man frantic. "No! Leave this place," he shouted. "You are a traitor and your daughter was a murdering heretic!"

Gabria was watching her friend and saw something break in the normally quiet, gentle man. All of the fury, the guilt, and the sense of injustice he had been carrying within him for eleven years had been stirred up by the sight of the dungeon and by the flood of memories that engulfed him. That this insulting old man would dare call his beloved daughter a murdering heretic was more than Piers could bear.

With a roar of fury, the healer balled his fist and hit the nobleman in the face. The man fell like a poleaxed cow. Piers sprang over his body and dashed into the throne room with Gabria and Keth close on his heels.

No sooner were they through the door than they al skidded to a halt. Their attention was drawn to a large, canopied throne that sat on a wide dais against the opposite wall. The fire had already reached this smal , opulent room through the ceiling.

Sparks and flaming chunks of wood were raining down, starring more fires on carpets, tapestries, and on the red canopy over the golden throne. Beneath the flaming canopy sat the Fon of Pra Desh, her eyes staring horribly at the intruders.

Piers's fury stil burned in his blood. Without a conscious plan, he snarled a curse and ran toward the Fon, ignoring the smoke and flames.

"Piers, no!" Gabria shouted.

The healer lifted his hand as he raced up the marble steps of the dais, and he was about to grab the Fon when she looked up at him.

The healer faltered. He hardly recognized the woman. Her face was twisted into such a mask of horror that he realized instantly she had slipped beyond the edges of sanity. Her eyes were empty of reason and filled with insensible fear. When she saw him, the Fon cowered down into her seat, moaning and trembling in terror.

Piers stared at her with pity and astonishment. What had happened to turn this strong-willed woman into a crazed, fearful wreck?

He was about to take her arm when a large piece of the ceiling crashed down to the floor behind him. Piers whirled around and cried out. The wreckage had fallen on Gabria and the warrior. Frantically the healer ran back, dodging small fires, and dragged Gabria's body out from under the smoking chunks of timbers and paneling. Keth was still conscious and able to move. He crawled out by himself and dazedly helped Piers smother the smoldering sparks on Gabria's clothes and drag her to the slim protection of the Stone doorway.

Piers breathed a silent prayer of thanks as he examined the sorceress. She had a bump and a cut on her head and was dazed, but she was already coming around.

"Piers,” Keth yelled, steadying Gabria. "If we don't go now, we'll never get out." The healer agreed.

The rooms behind them were already burning, and the throne room was almost intolerably hot.

"I'm going to get the Fon,” he called. He started forward, when something caught his eye. He half-turned, and a man burst through the doorway, slamming into Keth and knocking the warrior sideways.

Gabria cried out and fel . The man rushed past Piers, his eyes hooded in smoke and shadow and his mouth twisted in a maniacal smile. He had a large book under his bleeding arm.

There was something familiar about that man, Piers thought, then all sensibilities fled from his mind. Horrorstruck, he stared at the Fon. She had risen from her throne and was watching the stranger, terror warping her face into a hideous grimace. Just as the man reached her, she screamed a heart-tearing wail of despair. Piers saw the flash of a dagger blade in the man's hand. Before the healer could move, the man had grabbed the screaming Fon by the hair, hauled her off the dais, and slashed her throat. Laughing gleefully, he flung her bleeding body to the floor.

In the waiting room behind the clanspeople, the Pra Deshian nobleman regained consciousness. He gazed at the body of his ruler for one horrified second before he fled.

The murderer saw the movement and raised his head.

"Branth!" Piers whispered, shocked to his soul.

The exiled clansman ignored him. Stil clutching his bloody dagger, he bolted past Piers for the door.

Keth tried to block him, but the man slashed wildly, cutting through Keth's tunic into his arm. The warrior fell back, and Branth ran, laughing, out of the throne room.

Piers pul ed himself together. There was nothing more to do but get out fast. He and Keth took Gabria's arms and helped her out of the room. Behind them the blazing canopy col apsed over the golden throne.

Gabria was still woozy from the bang on her head, but she was able to walk. With the aid of Keth and Piers she hurried past the fires in the waiting rooms and into the audience hall. The hall, too, was hot and fil ed with smoke. They rushed through the hal and entered the corridors. The roar of the fire in the Fon's wing assailed their ears.

"This way,” Piers said, and he led them away from the sweeping flames. There was no sign of Branth or anyone else. The people had long since fled that part of the palace. Bending low, the two men and Gabria ran, coughing and gasping, along the dark corridors to the spacious front entrance hall in the center of the palace.

The huge double doors were open, and a strong draft blew in through the hall. Outside, Gabria could see hundreds of people mil ing around the gates and the wal , watching the great fire.

She and the men were about to go to the doors when a new sound caught their attention over the roar of the fire and the crack and groan of the dying palace. They heard a thud and a clash of blades by the opposite wall in the shadows of a broad staircase.

"Branth!" someone shouted in fury.

Gabria's heart froze. It was Athlone's voice.

The sorceress and Keth leaped forward at a run to find the source of the noise. They dashed across the wide, dark hall and found three men locked in battle in the shadows at the foot of the stairs.

Just as Keth shouted the Khulinin war cry, one figure broke away from the other two and raced for the door. What looked like a large book was tucked under his arm. A pale flash of lightning filled open doors, and the light revealed the man's face for only an instant. In that instant, Gabria recognized him.

"Branth!" she hissed furiously. Her hands rose instinctively, and she fired a bolt of the Trymian Force at the fleeing man. The blue bolt seared toward him, but Branth dodged around the door. Gabria's arcane force exploded on the wooden frame.

The gorthling's step hesitated when he realized a magic-wielder had attacked him. Unfortunately, it was too late to do anything about it. The gorthling's new powers were untried and there were too many people around. He had to get away from this place as quickly as possible.

By the time Gabria reached the door, Branth had already disappeared into the crowd of onlookers.

"Gabria!" Sayyed shouted behind her. She turned to see the Turk and his group running into the hal from a corridor in the south wing. She went to join them, and the whole party converged at the base of the stairs.

Gabria took one look at Athlone and Bregan and stifled a cry. Bregan lay on the bottom step, a bloody dagger buried to the hilt in his chest. Lord Athlone was leaning against the wall, coughing and groaning. No one said a word. Sayyed and Valar picked up Bregan, Secen put his arm under Athlone, and the whole party fled the burning palace.

They crossed the courtyard and took shelter on the far side of the wal . Somewhere in the north wing, a section of the roof collapsed and a huge portion of the front wall slowly crashed into the raging inferno. Sparks and flames soared high on the night wind.

For a moment, Gabria leaned gratefully against the cold stone and gulped in the clean night air. She was sick, dizzy, and utterly exhausted. Her head felt as if a stone mason was pounding on her temples.

She ignored the curious onlookers and wished desperately for a drink. Tam pressed against her, trying hard not to cry.

Beside her, Athlone had sagged against the wall and was taking deep racking breaths to expel the smoke in his lungs. She reached over and clasped his hand.

"What happened?" she asked.

For a long time he could not answer. Final y, he croaked, "We searched upstairs as far as we could and found nothing. The palace was a bonfire."

Gabria took a close look at him and winced. His face was black with soot, his clothes were riddled with bums, and the soles of his boots were charred.

"We came down the stairs to get out and saw Branth in the hal ." The chief struggled to stand straight. "We tried to stop him, but he was . . ." Athlone tried to find the right word. "Wild. He just leaped at us like a mad wolf. Bregan saw his dagger and threw himself in front of me." The chief’s voice cracked, and he shook his head in grief and anger.

Gabria glanced at Piers, who was bending over the old warrior. The healer caught her eyes and shook his head. Gabria wanted to weep.

At that moment, Khan'di came through the crowd. The nobleman's clothes were spattered with blood, and his face was strained with worry and weariness. His smile lit up when he saw the travelers by the wall. "Praise Elaja, you are safe,” he cried. His expression fell when he saw Bregan, but he had little time for sorrow then. Urgently he turned to Gabria. "Sorceress, we desperately need your help."

Gabria groaned. She did not feel well enough to help herself, let alone Khan'di. Nevertheless she stood up, hanging on to Tam for support, and fol owed the noblemen back around the wal to the entrance gate.

For a long time they simply stood and stared at the monstrous fire that was consuming the Fon's magnificent palace.

The city's fire brigade was frantically trying to protect what was left of the central block and the south wing, but the blaze was too much for their bucket lines.