Chapter 81
REVOLUTION
Camar was ablaze in lights, as the city enjoyed the festivities of Founder’s Eve. In public squares, raucous taverns, and in small private gatherings, the people of the city celebrated the holiday in a loud and vigorous fashion.
The noise radiated particularly powerfully from the Great Square, in the city’s Gold Quarter. The lights were especially bright there as well, and on a closer examination some of the illumination would have been seen to come from bonfires, and from an assessor’s house that was on fire. The light from those fires glinted on the angry faces of shouting people, and on the gleaming breastplates of soldiers from the Duke’s Guard, sent to quell the disturbance and restore order. At more than a few places, blood already stained the cobbles of the square, and it was almost certainly likely that more of it would flow before the night was out.
Within the Ducal Palace, an almost preternatural quiet filled the place, a jarring contrast to the revelry outside. The marble halls of the palace were almost unnaturally pristine, the white monotony of the stone walls occasionally broken by a fine tapestry or an expensive, rare vase on a small pedestal. The place was a museum, and at night, the halls felt haunted by the spirits of those leaders that had come before, for good and for ill.
A sound of metal clattering on the marble floor echoed unnaturally loud through the silent palace. The noise was followed by a cry of pain that was abruptly cut short. The source of the sounds was an alcove where huge double doors of polished mahogany were flanked by life-sized statues of armored knights, staring down in mute judgment. At the moment, they were looking down at two unconscious men, and a third who was bleeding out a copious amount of blood from the arrow that pierced his chest.
“Bind them, quickly,” Talen said. His men leapt into action, securing the unconscious guards with short lengths of silk cord. The burly northman Baraka Suhn bent to check the wounded man, and shook his head.
“It had to be done,” Talen said to Pella, the archer. The woman nodded, as the gruff ranger finished the injured man. “We will all have blood on our hands ere this night is through, captain,” she said.
Thus far, their plan had worked far better than they could have hoped. Alucinor’s gas had taken out both the kitchen staff and the guards. One man had gotten away, but Suhn and the two scouts he’d brought with him had run him down before he could get to the thick door that led out into the palace proper. Only two of their men had been hurt, suffering just minor wounds.
After securing the captives, the strike teams had moved quickly forward. A guard station was neutralized with efficiency, allowing them to toss four bombs into the adjacent barracks. All twelve guards were taken out without the attackers suffering a single wound. Suhn detected a wandering patrol before they got close, allowing them to jump the four guards, and again take them down without problem.
And now they were standing at the doors to the Duke’s private chambers. “This is going far too well,” Talen said quietly.
“Yeah, it sucks when a plan actually works,” Dar said. “Well, there could be a hundred crossbowmen behind that door, or twenty wizards, or a dragon, or nothing. There’s only one way to find out.”
Talen gestured to his scouts, who took up flanking positions. Then he himself walked up to the doors, and with a heave pushed them open.
There wasn’t a legion of waiting guards beyond the doors, only a broad, empty chamber. Unlike the bare outer corridors, this one was richly carpeted, and decorative hangings covered every wall. A cool evening breeze wafted in from a narrow slit window, its shutter left slightly open. The room was unlit, but starlight drifted in through a large round window that dominated the wall to the right, comprised of thirty heavy panes of clear glass set in thick bars of iron, like a spider’s web. The window offered a dramatic view of Camar below, with pinpoints of light visible all over the city.
Talen pointed toward the double doors on the far side of the room. The strike team darted into the room, moving silently into position. Dar shadowed Talen, as the captain moved up to the door. He looked at his troops, meeting the eyes of each in turn. Once he was sure that they were all ready, he turned back to the doors.
“For Camar, for Tiros, and for justice,” Talen said, thrusting his shoulder into the near door. Opposite him, Dar did the same on the other portal.
The fourteen assassins burst into the room. The place was a spacious hall, set up as a conference chamber. The décor had a military theme, with tapestries showing scenes of notable battles from Camar’s history, suits of armor arranged on stands, and various weapons hanging from mounts high along the walls. A huge oval conference table, fashioned from a slab of pure white marble, dominated the center of the room. Gathered around the table were the thirteen noble lords of the Duke’s inner circle, men of power, influence, and prestige. Lord Sobol was among them, seating at the place of honor on the Duke’s right.
And next to him, standing with his palms upon the surface of the table, was the Grand Duke of Camar, Nicolidas di’Tenerassa. The Duke was a man of high middle age, and he bore a mantle of authority that hung about him like the folds of the long blue cloak that he wore. His eyes were a dark, deep blue, and as cold as a mountain lake.
“What have we here?” he said, his voice deep and powerful. “Uninvited guests.” His nobles had turned to look at the armed intruders, but none of them had stirred as of yet. The nobles carried weapons as well, mostly long, slender swords that hung in their scabbards from the backs of their high-peaked chairs.
“We have come to put an end to your tyrannical rule!” Talen yelled. “Too long have you bled the people of Camar for your own gain!” Behind him, his soldiers had readied bombs and arrows, but like the Duke’s men they held their attacks, as if the tension between their leader and their enemy had frozen everything in the room except the two of them.
“I think not,” the Duke said. “Camar... and its people... are mine.”
Talen made a gesture. An arrow from Pella’s bow shot across the room, striking the Duke in the chest. Under his tunic, he had to be wearing armor, for while the arrow drove him a step back, it failed to penetrate. A second arrow, from one of the scouts, narrowly missed, shattering on the wall behind him.
A pair of alchemical bombs hit the table and exploded in a swirl of white smoke. The cloud obscured the table for a moment. There was a slight scraping noise, of chairs being drawn back, but there were no shouts, no desperate coughing, no sound of bodies hitting the floor.
The cloud persisted for only a few seconds before it started to dissolve. When it revealed the Duke’s high council to them again, their appearance had changed dramatically.
Twelve of the noble lords, while still clad in their finery, now sported large bat-like wings that spread from their backs. Their expressions had also changed, their human countenances replaced with fiendish visages complete with horns, deep red skin, and protruding jaws filled with pointed teeth. They were half-fiends, creatures of diabolical origin.
Sobol had changed as well. His clothes, covered by some sort of glamour, had morphed into a suit of dusk-gray spiked mail. He’d drawn a sword of black steel flecked with spots of red that radiated an ugly pale light. His appearance, too, had shifted, his already sinister look further warped into the gaunt features of a narzugon.
Only the Duke had remained outwardly the same. But as he looked upon the would-be assassins, they could see that the cold blue pools of his eyes had been replaced by flickering red flames.
“Only now, in the hour of your death, do you understand,” the Duke said, lifting his hand. Flames exploded around his fist, coalescing into an angry ball of fire.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
But then you have been nicknamed the Cliffhanger King... 
