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Procopio Septus stepped forward and surveyed the dumbfounded jordaini with a faint smile.
"We will hold the palace," Procopio announced. "Someone must stand ready to take over the throne if Zalathorm should fall."
"If all the city's wizards stand with him, the king's chances of survival rise considerably," Matteo shot back. "These men are needed against Akhlaur's army."
Procopio's face darkened. "That is my decision to make. You have yet to learn, jordain, that it is the wizard-lords who rule."
"Do what you will, but let us pass," Matteo said. He drew his sword, and Andris followed suit. "Every blade is needed."
The wizard shook his head. "And let you carry this tale to Zalathorm, like a faithful hunting dog retrieving a partridge? I think not."
The two jordaini advanced.
Procopio sneered. "What can two men do against twenty warriors and a wizard?"
One of the militia-a tall, thick-bodied man-shouldered his way though the group. He bowed to Procopio and drew his sword, as if he intended to offer himself as champion. Before Procopio could respond, the big man fisted his free hand into the wizard's gut. The flair of protective wards flashed, but the man shrugged them off without apparent effort. Procopio folded with a wheeze like a punctured wineskin.
"With respect, my lord," Themo said distinctly to him, "that would be three men and no wizards."
An enormous grin split the big man's face. He fell into step with his two friends as they stalked down the stairs toward a sea of ready swords.
As one, the men threw down their weapons. Themo's face fell. "Where's the fun in that?" he demanded.
"You're ranking officer now," one of them said to Themo, "and it's treason to fight a commander. There's a bigger battle to fight, but by all the gods, if you tell us to fight Halruaans I'll run you through myself."
The big man grinned fiercely. "I'm guessing Akhlaur's army were Halruaans, mostly, but they've been dead too long to take offense."
At his signal, the battalion picked up their weapons ant prepared to run toward battle.
"To the royal stables," Matteo shouted.
They quickly claimed swift horses, mounted, and rode hard for the northern gate. The dueling field was a short ride, and the horses ran as if they sensed the urgency оf their riders.
Matteo leaned low over his horse's neck, skirting battle and riding hard for Zalathorm's side. He saw Akhlaur striding forward, a glowing black ball held aloft.
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