They each wanted the crown for the glory of their own House. They had killed the dwarves for this prize. All that was left for them was to kill each other.
An ancient manticore, scarred and missing one eye, was the first to reach them. ChuKang met him with both blades, but the seasoned warrior traded him blow for blow. Two more manticores swiftly moved to join the combat. KriChan and Karag rushed forward to help. Ethis stepped backward toward Drakis, his narrow head swiveling about, looking for approaching enemies on all sides. Belag rose up against a chimerian from House Sutharan, cutting him down just as a human lunged toward him.
Drakis held the crown in his hand.
The dwarves have no doors. . the dwarves are no more. .
A goblin lunged at ChuKang from behind. The Centurai commander howled in pain, falling forward into the blades of the Tajeran manticores. KriChan sliced downward, nearly cutting the goblin in two just as one of the Tajeran manticores thrust from the side, running his blade upward. KriChan took a single gasp before collapsing. Karag stepped forward, impaling the Tajeran manticore on his own blade, but the blow left him open to the third manticore on his right.
Belag roared at his brother, rushing toward him. Karag did not see the danger. The blade cut into his leg behind the knee. The manticore howled, turning just as the blade swung again, this time downward into his chest.
“What do we do?” Thuri yelled at Drakis.
For the love of her. . for the loss of her. .
The song was raging once more in his head. The melody sounding over and over.
“Drakis! By the House gods!” Thuri yelled again. “What do we do?”
For the love of her. . for the loss of her. .
Drakis’ eyes suddenly focused.
He looked at the crown. He could have bought a life of his own with it-but if he kept it, he would never live to claim it; none of them would.
Drakis leaped up to stand on the arms of the throne, holding the crown high over his head. He felt more than saw more than a thousand pairs of eyes fixed on him.
He searched at the far edge of the army. He could see the larger Cohorts, now organized, making a determined run toward the thrones.
He caught a glimpse of the glowing headpiece of a Proxi staff beyond the edge of the pressing mob. There was the face of a manticore next to it. Was it Jerakh? Had Tribune Se’Djinka sent them help at last?
For the love of her. . for the loss of her. .
With all his remaining strength, he hurled the crown toward the distant manticore next to the familiar looking staff at the far edge of the mob.
It sailed out high over the heads of the Impress Warriors, tumbling in the air above hundreds of greedy, outstretched hands. The warriors who were on the stairs groaned but turned almost as one, charging back toward where the crown was falling.
“Madness,” Ethis said, shaking his head as he watched Rhonas Warriors converge on where the crown had landed in its flight, killing their brothers-in-arms to claim it for their own.
Drakis just looked down into his empty hands.
Four figures wandered listlessly among the dead.