Shadow War - Deborah Chester [131]
One leaped at her, but she fended it off by holding the topaz aloft. The jewel’s fierce glow spread around her like a golden nimbus, protecting her. Its heat nearly burned her hand, but she dared not drop it.
She worked her way back across the room, dodging the fire as best she could, until she reached her clothes chest. Throwing open the lid with one hand, she rummaged swiftly for a gown, shoes, and the golden cloak given her by the Mahirans.
As she pulled it forth, the shadows shrank back, fleeing to the corners of the room.
Elandra tossed the cloak swiftly about her shoulders, ducked her head against the stinging smoke, and fled.
They pursued her, silent and terrifying, moving quicker than thought. Yet the next time one leaped at her, it bounced off the cloak and shriveled to nothing.
Heart pounding in satisfaction, Elandra whirled around defiantly to face the remainder. “Get back from me, things of hell!” she cried, brandishing the glowing topaz. “I am not your prey.”
The shadows fell back as though they understood her threat, and Elandra turned and ran again.
None of her ladies-in-waiting were to be found anywhere in her chambers. And when she burst out into the main passageway, she found her guards slumped on the floor. Dead or unconscious, she had no time to find out.
She stepped over them and looked both ways. In the distance she heard shouts. Her heart leaped with hope, but then she realized they were not sounds of imminent rescue but instead sounds of battle.
Smoke poured from the doorway behind her, reminding her she must not linger.
She brandished her topaz at the shadows following her, and they seemed reluctant to venture forth into the lit passageway. Seizing her opportunity to escape, Elandra ran full tilt past the throne room, where flames were licking around the edges of the doors as though a fire had been started inside it also.
The lamps were not lit in the passageway ahead of her, and she slowed down, renewed fear making her cautious.
Shouting men stormed along a cross-passageway, brandishing torches and drawn swords. They looked foreign, barbaric.
Elandra flinched back, pressing herself against the wall. To her relief, none of them noticed her. But it had been a close call, and her heart would not stop pounding. She dared not continue forward, but she feared to turn back.
Who were those men? Hadn’t Kostimon boasted to her only hours ago that the invading Madruns had been turned back?
“Majesty,” whispered a voice from behind her.
She whirled around with a muffled cry, only to sag with relief at the sight of one of her guardsmen. He was missing his helmet, and his gold cloak was ripped and stained, but he was an ally.
She ran to him, grateful. “Take me to the emperor, at once.”
“Not this way,” he replied, his eyes darting back and forth on the alert. “Come, I must get you to the stables.”
He hurried her back the way she’d come, then pulled her down a short flight of steps into the servants’ corridor. They wound through a series of seemingly endless passageway, sometimes using the main ways, sometimes the servants’.
After several minutes, when Elandra was quite breathless from keeping up with his loping stride, the guardsman abruptly turned and pushed her into the scant protection of a doorway. She stood there beside him, trembling, her gown and shoes still clutched in her arms, and listened to the sounds of approaching men.
He touched her arm lightly. When she looked up, he put his finger to his lips.
He was very grim as he drew his sword, taking care to make no sound. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed to her.
She realized he meant to confront the band approaching. He would fight them, outnumbered, to give her a chance to run. She wanted to weep for his courage, but she could not indulge in her emotions now. She must not waste the gift of his life. She must be ready to run faster than she had ever run before.
His hand gripped her arm above the elbow,