One of the guard sendings, the leopard-like creatures, had surprised them. It had its jaws locked around Baazalanan’s neck and had borne him to the floor of the gallery, white sparks blazing as Charter-Magic fangs rent Free Magic flesh. But Baazalanan had its thin fingers about the leopard’s throat, and Aziminil was hacking at the great cat with her bladed feet, white sparks geysering up with every blow.

Mogget was perched on the railing of the gallery, looking down into the hall. Clariel looked too, trying to take in everything she saw. A dizzying sensation of recent death rolled across her, the result of many violent deaths in so short a time. There were dead guards everywhere, guild and royal. The Royal Guards were fewer by far, but they had killed many more of their foes. Only strength of numbers had overborne them in the end. Most of their dead lay around the dais at the far end of the hall, where they had formed a shield ring around the throne.

But that ring was broken, and the King they had sought to protect was slumped on his throne, with Kilp and Aronzo and a half dozen of their Goldsmith guards around him. A moment before they had been laughing, relieved to have survived a hard-won victory.

Now they were all staring back towards the gallery, at the creatures battling there and the strange bronze-masked apparition that returned their stare.

The rage came unasked as Clariel saw Kilp and Aronzo for the first time since they had killed her parents. It rose in her like a vast wave capsizing a ship, complete in an instant, with no possibility of turning it back. She howled, white smoke issuing from her mask like steam from a kettle. Her sword burst into hot, red flames that sent a sickening metallic stench across the hall.

Ignoring the battle on the stair, Clariel jumped over the railing, down the fifteen paces to the hall below. Her ankles turned as she landed, but the pain was simply taken up by the fury as additional fuel, adding to the rage and hatred that already stoked it high. Striding forward, Clariel called out in a voice that could never be recognised as her own.

‘Stand away from the King or die!’

Three of the guards stood away from the King and fled. Of the remaining three, one began to slot a bolt in his crossbow, his fingers trembling. When it fell on the floor, he also ran. But the other two were made of sterner stuff. They edged forward with Aronzo, very slowly, their swords held high.

Kilp drew his dagger and stayed by the King. Orrikan swayed back on his throne and lifted his head, his old nose sniffing the stench of Free Magic in the air, his eyes wide.

chapter thirty-two

revenge, not so sweet