Drake, David - Lord of the Isles 2 by Drake David

Author:Drake, David
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

Several other fellows with their hair cut like his followed him. After a moment's pause twenty-odd men and a few women plunged after the leaders crying, “Death to the queen!” in loud, drunken voices.

Tenoctris took a bronze stylus from her sleeve. With the pointed end, she began to scratch words in the

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Old Script around the edge of the circle she'd prepared. The stylus marked the soft wood easily, but it was intended for wax tablets: the other end flared like a fishtail for smoothing over mistakes.

She seemed oblivious of the people running toward the mansion. Everyone else outside the perimeter, Garric and Liane included, watched them in fearful anticipation.

The half-shorn men were members of a street gang. Very possibly they'd worn the queen's colors in the past, but the lure of disorder had caused them to revert to their old ways this morning—and thereby saved their lives, because it was very unlikely that anyone caught wearing orange in public had fared better than had the customs officials.

Their lives were forfeit now, along with those of the ordinary citizens the gang members had drawn across the perimeter with them.

They intruders had lost their way already. From drunken bravado, their demeanor had changed to confusion and fear. They stopped running. Their voices grew thinner, as though they were at a great distance, and they obviously couldn't hear the directions shouted by friends outside the zone of wizardry.

“Can't we... ?” Liane said, looking down at Tenoctris. She caught herself before Garric could hush her.

No, they couldn't disturb Tenoctris in order save a score of people guided by wine rather than sense.

Garric and Liane knew the only hope for the insurrection was that it succeed before the queen could marshal her enormous, scattered powers to deal with them, the three of them. He, Liane, and Tenoctris were the only present opponents with knowledge enough to be dangerous to the queen's power.

Those who'd entered the garden had drawn into a tight group. A statue that was half-man, half-woman stepped from its base. Its face was perfect but inhumanly cold. It walked toward the interlopers at the measured pace o'f an officiating priest.

A man flung down his stoneware bottle and threw himself on the ground beside it, kicking like a child having a tantrum. He covered his head with his hands. The remainder of the interlopers bolted away from the androgyne as a group—

With one exception. The husky fellow who'd led the others into the garden now swaggered toward the oncoming statue.

“Kaias,” Tenoctris murmured. “Saseri tayam....”

The bravo's staff had a fist-sized knob on the end of a six-foot shaft, a murderous weapon if used with that intent. He swung it into the androgyne's head with a sharp whock.

The dense wood cracked and a few chips flew away. The staff rebounded, quivering like a lute string.

The bravo screamed curses but kept his grip despite the numbing vibration.

The statue came on. Its expression, a faint smile, did not change.

“Daya quayamta alista. . .

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