The Gold in the Dark

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The king and his adviser stayed back as Arik and Dunna circled one another. Dunna wasn't surprised. Three on one would settle the fight in seconds, but wasn't this the way of kings and lords, to stay out of the fray and let their underlings take care of the dirty work? He wondered if they were enjoying the show.

Arik charged, sword held high. Dunna knew the move well, remembered it to be a favorite of that young guard back in the day. Having been on the receiving end of that technique, the instinct was to protect the shoulder, all while leaving the belly exposed. An unexpected slice across the abdomen was a deadly finishing move, leaving the victim to die a long, excruciating death.

Dunna couldn't recall ever having told that young guard that he left his right side exposed for half a second when he lowered his arms into the gut-spilling posture.

A well-timed kick found the mark.

Arik came down with a hard thud, his hand releasing his saber as he hit the ground. He scrabbled on the floor towards the sword, gasping to regain his breath, but Dunna was too quick and kicked the sword away towards the far wall.

And then he aimed a second kick squarely at Arik's head. Arik went down in a heap and did not move again.

Dunna turned to the king and his adviser, scarcely believing he was still alive. He expected to find them horrified, disbelieving at the sheer improbability of him living.

But Dunna found them both looking expectantly behind him. He turned and saw a wall of royal guards charging straight for him.

There were no visible side passages or doors in the room, and even if there had been, a simple doorknob would halt his flight. The defeat of one guard had been a miracle; ten was an impossibility.

And so Dunna went the only way available to him—crashing straight through the glass windows lining the exterior wall into the swirling snow outside. Glittering shards of glass stung his cheeks as he fell, followed by the welcome, cold kiss of snowflakes.

~

The door slammed behind them, and the figure who had beckoned them through grabbed a chair from beside the door and propped it beneath the doorknob, wedging it shut. Tia didn't wait for her eyes to adjust to the dim light in the servants' corridor; she had her knife pointed at the person before they could turn around.

"Who are you?" she asked in a quavering voice, hoping her suspicions were correct and she wouldn't actually have to resort to using her knife. Natlin and the boy had both shrunk back against the wall. The boy was taking in great gulps of air as tears streamed down his face. Natlin put an arm around the boy and regarded Tia with a healthy mixture of encouragement and disbelief.

The figure slowly turned around. The flickering light of the hallway lamps revealed a haggard female face lined with wrinkles. The woman's gray hair was frizzy and pulled back in a messy bun; she was of short stature, which was not helped by her permanent, slumped posture. As far as Tia could recall, she had never seen this woman before.

But her eyes... Tia knew those piercing, gray eyes well.

The woman answered Tia's question in a creaking, tired voice tinged with sadness.

"Lorna Sempis. You, Tia Inkman, would know me as Roge Sempis's mother." The woman eyed the knife. "You're right to question me, child, but I'd put that back where it came from if I were you. That idiot secretary will already have told someone about your disappearing act, and they'll be combing these corridors in a few minutes. One poorly wielded knife can't do anything against a whole squadron of guards."

Everyone jumped as someone outside tried opening the door, to no avail. The chair's legs creaked, but held.

Natlin shot a glance at Tia. "We can trust this woman?"