Bane was suddenly between him and the king.
The Munrungs watched. There seemed to be two ways of swordfighting. Brocando went at it like a windmill, pushing the enemy back by sheer effort. Bane fought quietly, like some kind of machine-tamp, thrust, parry ... tic toe tic.
"Shouldn't we help?" said Snibril.
"No. Ten to two isn't fair," said Glurk.
The doors at the end of the throne room burst open and a dozen moul guards ran towards them.
"Oh. This is better, then, is it?" said Snibril.
Glurk threw his spear. One of the guards screamed.
"Yes," he said.
Snibril found that spears fought well against swords, if you didn't throw them. They could prod, and they could parry. And as more guards poured into the room, he realized that it also helped if you were outnumbered. It made it easier to hit an enemy, for one thing. And since there were so many of them, each one wasn't too keen to get involved, taking the view that there was no point in running risks when there were all these other people to do it for them.
This must be how the Deftmenes think, he told himself as he broke a spear over the head of a moul. Always pick a bigger enemy, because he's easier to hit ...
He found himself pressed up against the back of Bane, who was still fighting in his tictoc way, like someone who can do it all day.
"I've broken my spear!"
"Use a sword!" said Bane, parrying a thrust from a desperate guard. "There's plenty of them on the floor!"
"But I don't know how to use one!"
"It's easy! The blunt end goes in your hand and the sharp end goes in the enemy!"
"There must be more to it than that!"
"Yes! Remember which end is which!"
And then it was over. The few remaining guards fell over one another to get out of the door. Gorash was dead. The skinny moul dodged a last wild slash from Brocando's sword and dived through the open doorway to the secret passage. They heard it running down the steps.
Snibril looked down at his sword. There was blood on it, and he hoped it wasn't his.
"Well, that wasn't too hard," said Glurk.
"There's hundreds more out there," said Bane, gloomily.
Brocando went to the balcony. Early morninglight was flooding across the hairs. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
"I'mmm baaaack! Brocandoooo!"
He picked up a dead moul, dragged it to the balcony, and pushed it over.
There were already some Deftmenes in the square below the palace. A shout went up.
The king rubbed his hands together.
"Help me with the throne," he said.
It took three of them to lift it up. Underneath it was Antiroc, who hung limply from Glurk's grip as he was hauled to his feet.
"Give me the crown," said Brocando, in deadly tones. "It's the thing on your head. The thing that doesn't belong to you."
"We thought you were dead-"
"You look overjoyed to see me back," said Brocando. His expression was terrible.
"Someone had to be king, I had to do my best for the people-"
There was a commotion outside. A moul backed through, with an arrow sticking in it. Half a dozen Deftmenes charged over it. They hardly glanced at Brocando, but bore down with grim determination on Antiroc, who was snatched from Glurk's grasp and hustled towards the balcony.
"You can't let them do that!" said Snibril.
Four Deftmenes had hold of Antiroc's arms and legs, and were swinging him backwards and forwards, high over the roofs of Jeopard. "A-one-a-two-a-three," they chanted, the swings getting larger.
"Why not?" said Brocando.
"He's your brother!"
"Hmm? Oh, all right. Put him down, people," said Brocando. "Come on. Release him. I won't say let him go, you might get the wrong idea. I can't have you subjects throwing my family over the balcony, that would never do."
"Good," said Snibril.
"I'll do it myself."
"No!" It was a chorus. Everyone joined in, especially Antiroc, who joined in even more than everyone else.
"Just joking," said Brocando, who didn't look it. "Blast all this ... beholden to other people. You'll get me feeling guilty for throwing traitors
The Munrungs watched. There seemed to be two ways of swordfighting. Brocando went at it like a windmill, pushing the enemy back by sheer effort. Bane fought quietly, like some kind of machine-tamp, thrust, parry ... tic toe tic.
"Shouldn't we help?" said Snibril.
"No. Ten to two isn't fair," said Glurk.
The doors at the end of the throne room burst open and a dozen moul guards ran towards them.
"Oh. This is better, then, is it?" said Snibril.
Glurk threw his spear. One of the guards screamed.
"Yes," he said.
Snibril found that spears fought well against swords, if you didn't throw them. They could prod, and they could parry. And as more guards poured into the room, he realized that it also helped if you were outnumbered. It made it easier to hit an enemy, for one thing. And since there were so many of them, each one wasn't too keen to get involved, taking the view that there was no point in running risks when there were all these other people to do it for them.
This must be how the Deftmenes think, he told himself as he broke a spear over the head of a moul. Always pick a bigger enemy, because he's easier to hit ...
He found himself pressed up against the back of Bane, who was still fighting in his tictoc way, like someone who can do it all day.
"I've broken my spear!"
"Use a sword!" said Bane, parrying a thrust from a desperate guard. "There's plenty of them on the floor!"
"But I don't know how to use one!"
"It's easy! The blunt end goes in your hand and the sharp end goes in the enemy!"
"There must be more to it than that!"
"Yes! Remember which end is which!"
And then it was over. The few remaining guards fell over one another to get out of the door. Gorash was dead. The skinny moul dodged a last wild slash from Brocando's sword and dived through the open doorway to the secret passage. They heard it running down the steps.
Snibril looked down at his sword. There was blood on it, and he hoped it wasn't his.
"Well, that wasn't too hard," said Glurk.
"There's hundreds more out there," said Bane, gloomily.
Brocando went to the balcony. Early morninglight was flooding across the hairs. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
"I'mmm baaaack! Brocandoooo!"
He picked up a dead moul, dragged it to the balcony, and pushed it over.
There were already some Deftmenes in the square below the palace. A shout went up.
The king rubbed his hands together.
"Help me with the throne," he said.
It took three of them to lift it up. Underneath it was Antiroc, who hung limply from Glurk's grip as he was hauled to his feet.
"Give me the crown," said Brocando, in deadly tones. "It's the thing on your head. The thing that doesn't belong to you."
"We thought you were dead-"
"You look overjoyed to see me back," said Brocando. His expression was terrible.
"Someone had to be king, I had to do my best for the people-"
There was a commotion outside. A moul backed through, with an arrow sticking in it. Half a dozen Deftmenes charged over it. They hardly glanced at Brocando, but bore down with grim determination on Antiroc, who was snatched from Glurk's grasp and hustled towards the balcony.
"You can't let them do that!" said Snibril.
Four Deftmenes had hold of Antiroc's arms and legs, and were swinging him backwards and forwards, high over the roofs of Jeopard. "A-one-a-two-a-three," they chanted, the swings getting larger.
"Why not?" said Brocando.
"He's your brother!"
"Hmm? Oh, all right. Put him down, people," said Brocando. "Come on. Release him. I won't say let him go, you might get the wrong idea. I can't have you subjects throwing my family over the balcony, that would never do."
"Good," said Snibril.
"I'll do it myself."
"No!" It was a chorus. Everyone joined in, especially Antiroc, who joined in even more than everyone else.
"Just joking," said Brocando, who didn't look it. "Blast all this ... beholden to other people. You'll get me feeling guilty for throwing traitors
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