Almost directly beneath us upon the next terrace was a palace gate
and as we reached a point where we could see it, I was horrified to
see that the Kalkars had made their way up the outer terraces to the
very palace walls. The Jemadar’s guard was standing there ready to
defend the palace against the invaders. The great stone gates would
have held indefinitely against spears and swords, but even the
guardsmen must have guessed that their doom was already sealed and
that these gates, that had stood for ages, an ample protection to the
Jemadars of Laythe, were about to fall, as the Kalkars halted fifty
yards away, and from their ranks a single individual stepped forth a
few paces.
As my eyes alighted upon him I seized Nah-ee-lah’s arm. “Orthis!” I
cried. “It is Orthis.” At the same instant the man’s eyes rose above
the gates and fell upon us. A nasty leer curled his lips as he
recognized us.
“I come to claim my bride,” he cried, in a voice that reached us
easily, “and to balance my account with you, at last,” and he pointed
a finger at me.
In his right hand he held a large, cylindrical object, and as he
ceased speaking he hurled it at the gates precisely as a baseball
pitcher pitches a swift ball.
The missile struck squarely at the bottom of the gates. There was a
terrific explosion, and the great stone portals crumbled, shattered
into a thousand fragments. The last defense of the Empress of Laythe
had fallen, and with it there went down in bloody death at least half
the remaining members of her loyal guard.
Instantly the Kalkars rushed forward, hurling hand grenades among the
survivors of the guard.
Nah-ee-lah turned toward me and put her arms about my neck.
“Kiss me once more, Julian,” she said, “and then the dagger.”
“Never, never, Nah-ee-lah!” I cried. “I cannot do it.”
“But I can!” she exclaimed, and drew her own from its sheath at her
hip.
I seized her wrist. “Not that, Nah-ee-lah!” I cried. “There must be
some other way.” And then there came to me a mad inspiration. “The
wings!” I cried. “Where are they kept? The last of your people have
been destroyed. Duty no longer holds you here. Let us escape, even if
it is only to frustrate Orthis’ plans and deny him the satisfaction
of witnessing our death.”
“But, where can we go?” she asked.
“We may at least choose our own manner of death,” I replied, “far
from Laythe and far from the eyes of an enemy who would gloat over
our undoing.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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