Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [121]
Albain slept, undisturbed.
Elandra’s relief was intense, rolling over her in a wave that nearly pushed her to her knees. She closed the narrow door behind her without a sound, breathing hard through her mouth, and felt herself tremble with delayed reaction.
Only now was she aware of how much her side ached from running. Her hands were shaking. She put down the lamp, afraid she might drop it.
All was well. Her fears had been groundless. How foolish she was, dreaming up night terrors.
Then the jinja glanced at the door. Elandra looked that way too, listening.
She heard the soft murmurs of hushed voices in the antechamber, furtive footsteps, and the incautious sound of a dagger drawn too hastily.
Fear clamped around her throat, and she longed intensely for Caelan. Why had he deserted her like this? What was the good of saving her father, if he was not going to stand and protect him?
She knew she was being harsh and irrational, but she needed something to build up her courage. In a moment they would be coming through the door.
Crossing the room, she took down a sword. It was incredibly heavy, and she nearly dropped it. Lugging it with both hands, she carried it over to the bed and slid the hilt next to her father’s hand.
She shook his shoulder, hating to wake him but knowing she had no choice. “Father,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “Father, wake up.”
He frowned and snorted, his eyes dragging half open. “Wha—”
A rattle of the door latch brought the jinja off its cushion. Ears erect and spitting, it jumped onto Albain’s bed. “Danger,” it said. “Danger!”
Elandra ran back to the weapons display and dragged down another sword. It was of a different era from the first, not as heavy. She returned to her father’s side and shook him again.
“Wake up!” she whispered. “Assassins come for you.”
He coughed and rubbed his face, making groggy sounds. She gripped his shoulder hard in warning, and his good eye snapped open. He looked first at Elandra, standing at his side with a sword in her hand, then at his jinja crouched on the foot of his bed with teeth bared.
Sitting up with a wince, he gripped the sword lying beside him just as the door flew open and four men came rushing inside.
In a glance, Elandra saw that none were warlords. Their insignias had been torn from their surcoats to conceal the identity of their cowardly masters.
Rage swelled inside her. “Stop there!” she commanded.
The men faltered within two steps, for whatever they had expected, it obviously was not Elandra and her father side by side, armed with swords and ready for them.
The jinja squealed loudly and began to jump up and down on the bed. “Danger! Danger! Danger!”
Albain’s face turned scarlet with rage. Brandishing his sword, he yelled, “What in Murdeth’s name are you doing in my chamber? Bandits and thieves, the lot of you!”
His free hand swept past Elandra and seized one of the fist-sized stones rowed up on the bedside table. He hurled it up at the large bronze bell hanging over his bed. A mighty gong reverberated through the chamber.
Panic filled the men’s faces. They turned as one and battled at the door, all of them trying to go through it at the same time.
“Damned assassins!” Puffing, Albain flung off the bedcovers and went staggering after them in his sleeping shirt.
“Father, wait!” Elandra said in alarm. “Don’t chase them. Father!”
Albain ignored her, busy jabbing one of the men in the buttocks with the tip of his sword.
The valet came running in, his hair askew and his eyes bugging out. He set up a shout while the jinja went on shrieking at the top of its lungs. Elandra followed her father, terrified that the assassins might yet turn on him.
The guards lay slumped on the floor, drugged or dead. Albain stumbled over them and stood roaring in the corridor while more guards came running.
“Catch those men! Stop them!” he shouted.
The guards ran in pursuit, their feet