Page 32 of To Kill a King

Zadé shook her head. “Nope. Why’d ya ask?”

Because he’d hoped that some small part of the Zadé Brightleaf of old, the best tactician in the elven army, was still there, buried beneath the drunkard. He could use some of that strategic genius right now. “We need to leave. Can you create a distraction?”

“What, like start a fight?” At his nod, she broke out into a huge grin. “Yeah! Sure! I love bar fights!”

Howling with glee, she jumped up, knocking her seat to the floor. Pulling her hair back to reveal her pointed ears and grabbing Aliya’s mostly finished soup, she threw it with all her might. The contents rained down on several of the patrons before the bowl disappeared into the crowd.

Elessan grabbed Aliya’s wrist, urging her to her feet and away from the red cloaks and inquisitor.

Someone from the next table stood and turned on Zadé, drunken rage on his face. He balled up his fist and swung. She tripped over her overturned chair, avoiding the other man’s punch. As she flailed for balance, her hand connected with another patron’s nose, which collapsed with a loud crack and a spurt of blood.

Elessan shook his head. Zadé was an incredibly lucky drunk when it came to brawling, it seemed. He pitied those who’d fought against her two hundred years ago, when she’d been sober.

Someone on the other side of the room screamed, “Bar fight!”

That was the cue the rest of the tavern was waiting for. A chorus of screeches like fingernails on slate assaulted him as several people stood, scraping their chairs across the floor in unison. Food and fists flew.

Valek. Who would have thought it’d be so easy to start a room-wide brawl? Tensions in the region must be simmering more than he’d realized.

Nudging Aliya behind him, he drew a sword and backed toward the corner furthest from the red-cloaked mercenaries. The two closest to him brandished their blades.

His fingers tightened as they slid into the worn grooves in the hilt. He could handle a couple local thugs, if Aliya stayed out of the way. It was the Arcane Inquisitor that worried him.

Zadé’s whoop of joy carried over the din. She was several paces to his left, holding a bar stool and spinning as fast as she could. The seat acted like a club, dropping unconscious bodies at her feet. Then she tripped over one. Her chair went flying, smashing into the face of the nearest red cloak. The mercenary dropped to the ground with a sickening thud.

“Woo-hoo! I got him, Elsan, I got him!” She flashed him a gleeful smile before twirling and slamming her fist into another patron’s gut.

Elessan managed to back Aliya underneath the stairs, out of the crossfire. She peeked around his side, wide-eyed as the red cloaks creeped ever closer. Her shallow breaths caressed the fine hairs covering his arm.

One of the mercenaries, still by the door, drew a crossbow and shot a bolt over the crowd. It landed with a loud thunk in the stair frame above Elessan’s head.

He ducked.

Valek!

He pressed his sword into Aliya’s hand. “Hold this for a moment.” Drawing his bow, he notched an arrow. Aiming at the inquisitor, he fired through the crowd.

The arrow buried itself in his target’s lower left abdomen, missing the vital organs.

By Abaddon. Of all the ill luck.

Brooks stumbled to a knee, dropping out of sight.

Hopefully the wound would slow him down so they could get away. Sliding his bow over his shoulder, Elessan reclaimed his blade from Aliya.

“We’re trapped,” she said. “What now?” Panic pitched her voice higher than usual.

“We need a way out.” He scanned the room. Surely there was a window or door with a clear enough path for them to escape.

Across the tavern, the fire in the hearth exploded as though someone had spilled some high-proof alcohol near it. The flames scaled the wall. Elessan’s stomach plummeted to the floor.

Zadé slammed into the panel beside them. “Elsan! Princess! Let’s go!” She gestured to a tiny porthole off to the left. “Help me get that open!”

Elessan turned to the too-small opening he’d overlooked. It was impossible—they’d never fit. From the corner of his eye, crimson flashed. Bringing his sword up, he intercepted the red cloak’s blade as it sliced toward his neck.

“Zadé, stand back!” Aliya’s order barely registered. Seconds later, a wave of heat broke against his shoulder blades, followed by the shattering of glass and timber. Her quiet “Oops” drifted through a momentary break in the din.

“Don’t let them escape!” Brooks screamed from halfway across the room.