CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


A familiar shrieking sent Cededa bolting out of the bed and into a dead run for the door. Tineroth’s warning. Someone had breached the city’s ensorcelled boundaries. 

Startled awake by his abrupt movement, Imogen blinked groggily as he threw open the door and raced into the corridor. He was halfway down the stairs by the time she made it to the landing.

“Cededa, what’s wrong?” Her shout didn’t slow him down. He leapt the stairs three at time, heedless of his state of undress and bare feet, fueled by a towering rage that edged his vision in crimson. 

“Intruders!” He called back. “Get dressed and follow Gruah. She and the others will take you to a safe place.” 

He sprinted to the armory. His armor waited inside, along with his favorite weaponry. Years of fighting wars made him quick and efficient at donning harness and buckling straps. He needed no squire to help him and soon stood dressed to face whoever crossed into his city uninvited.

Cededa glanced back once at the palace, hoping Imogen didn’t linger there. If treasure hunters invaded the city, his palace was the worst place to hide.

Fleet and silent, he traveled along familiar streets until he reached the city’s gates, open now to reveal the bridge. Cededa snarled at the sight of armed men and horses. A wizard rode in that group, one powerful enough to force the bridge into solidifying. He clenched the glaive pole he held. He’d kill the wizard first.

 He waited until the horses thundered through the open gate. The city’s hush exploded into a rush of shouts and motion as Cededa plunged headlong into the mass of horseflesh and men. Equine screams and agonized shouts followed his attack as his glaive sliced the air, the flashing blade cutting a bloody swathe through men and animals. 

Spurred on by rage and the guardian compulsion triggered by the Waters, Cededa leapt into the air. He landed nimbly on a horse’s back long enough to swing his glaive in a lethal arc, decapitating two men in a single swing. Blood sprayed the air and him. A battle cry sounded behind him. He jumped to the ground, meeting the mounted soldier who charged him, sword raised high. The horse bore down on him in full charge. Cededa tipped the glaive, swinging it like a club so the weighted metal end slammed into the animal’s forelegs. It squealed, crashing to its belly and skidding across the cobblestones. It rolled, crushing its rider beneath it. 

The melee intensified. Swarmed by men and horses, Cededa plowed through the ranks, killing and maiming in a sea of carnage. He’d broken his glaive but didn’t pause. The clang of metal striking metal echoed through the courtyard as he hacked and cut with axe and short sword. 

He leapt over bodies, slashing his way to the back ranks milling around him in a confused chaos. Horses reared, their hooves pawing the air above his head. He shoved a soldier into the path of one of the crazed animals and heard a scream cut short by a dull thud. There were at least a score of men left, and he had every intention of killing every last one of them. He shrieked a Tineroth battle cry and slammed into their ranks with renewed fervor.

Battle frenzy roared through him, a blood heat undiminished by time. He was a warrior king bred of countless generations of warrior kings. This was his city, and he meant to defend her and the woman he claimed as his.