I saw the warrior menacing us react. He gripped his sword more tightly and leaned on it, as if hoping that the magic that held him back would give way for just an instant. Soldier’s Boy’s heart was pounding with effort. We both knew that if his shield of magic gave way, that sword would sink straight into his chest. Including Likari and Olikea in his sheltered space demanded a great deal of effort. I could feel the magic being consumed as his effort burned it away. He spared a quick glance for Kinrove.
With a greater reservoir of magic at his command, Kinrove was almost in control of the situation. With a pointing finger and a clenched-fist gesture, he’d forced his attacker to his knees. The man, his eyes dazed, seemed intent on trying to plunge his blade into the wooden floor of the pavilion. Soldier’s Boy shifted his gaze sideways. Jodoli and Firada were safe but under siege as we were. For her part, Dasie was using her strength to keep Kinrove’s warriors at a distance from her. Sweat stood out on her face. Four men, each bearing a large flint blade, had surrounded her. They pressed toward her but could not reach her. Her feeders had drawn knives of their own. They were back-to-back, outside her circle of safety and unhampered by it. Kinrove’s guard had chosen not to close with them. I read in that their inexperience. For too long, they had counted on the Great One’s magic to protect them all.
“Come take this man prisoner! Leave her for me to deal with!” Kinrove commanded them. His attacker had succeeded in wedging his blade into the floor. With an addled expression, he was trying to shove the blade still deeper. Kinrove’s guards looked relieved to be given a simpler target. They moved to close in around the man, and I dreaded that at any moment I’d see him slain. Kinrove turned his eyes toward Dasie. She met his gaze. Slowly he lifted both his hands, open palms toward her, and then began to bring them together as if he were squeezing something. I heard her make a strangled sound, as if she expended great effort. His moving hands slowed and then halted. Without touching, they struggled against one another.
Despite the threat that menaced us, Soldier’s Boy’s eyes were drawn to watching her. Dasie trembled suddenly and I thought all her defenses would give way. Then she suddenly took a deep breath, threw back her head, and gave a wild cry as if she had thrown all her resources into one blow. Kinrove flinched, shook his head wildly, and then hung his head, panting. His hands fell to his side. One of Dasie’s feeders laughed aloud, a hoarse triumphant sound.
Before Kinrove could recover, I heard a sound I’d never expected to hear in Speck territory. I knew well the clatter of hooves. I put the pieces together quickly. Dasie’s reinforcements had arrived. The force that she could not quick-walk down to Kinrove’s encampment had just charged into Kinrove’s encampment on horseback. And they bore iron, lots of iron. Soldier’s Boy could feel it.
We heard wild cries of confusion outside, shouts of angry men and shrieks of terror. The flap of the pavilion was torn loose and six armed Specks raced in. Each bore one long sword and carried a second, shorter blade of iron. The motley collection of armor they wore would have been laughable, if not for the impact of the iron. The shock of the metal near stunned Soldier’s Boy. He felt as if the air in the place had been torn asunder by an explosion. A man with an iron sword swiftly replaced the fellow who had threatened us with a copper one, and handed his extra blade to the first man. He waved the weapon at us and I felt Soldier’s Boy’s magic shield literally fall to threads. In that instant, I expected to die, but the warrior merely rested the tip of the blade against my breast. That was enough. Just the presence of the metal made it hard for Soldier’s Boy to breathe.
The presence of iron in the room disrupted all magic. The balance of power in the pavilion shifted until a blade was menacing every Great One in the pavilion except Dasie, while four were pointed at Kinrove. Dasie’s two feeders still flanked her, flourishing bronze blades. They quickly moved her and her chair as far as they could from the iron without taking her out of the pavilion. Her brow was furrowed and her breathing seemed labored, but undoubtedly she was in a better situation than the rest of the Great Ones.
Kinrove was pale and his lips puffed in and out with every breath he took. Not one but the tips of four iron blades touched his flesh. It was quickly apparent to me that all of his feeders and other hangers-on were accustomed to relying on his magic for defense. They gawked, stupefied, as if expecting that at any moment Kinrove would seize control of the situation. But, confronted with the iron blades that could end all his magic as well as his life and physically unable to defend his own person, he could barely sit up and was gasping in shock at his own predicament. His eyes darted wildly, taking in the situation, but he gave no orders. Perhaps he had no breath to spare.
