
“Questioning again, I see,” Weallix said. He waved curtly. “A price must be paid. You will remember to whom you belong.”
Daerils began to descend upon the townspeople. There was variety to the inhuman monsters in skin, shape, and color, some with claws, others with eyes that burned. They shoved among the people, grabbing young women from their families-including the daughter of the outspoken man.
“No!” the man said, trying to push the daerils away. “Please, no!” One daeril-lean like a wolf, with bony knobs on its skin and a face that appeared burned-hissed, then raised its sword and swung down at the man.
A clang rang through the cavern.
The stranger stood there, arm extended, sword blocking the daeril’s attack.
The townspeople, the daerils, and Weallix all seemed to notice the stranger for the first time. People pulled back from him in a ring.
Then they saw the sword.
That sword. Long and smooth at the sides, with a distinctive set of three holes in its center . . . it was a symbol every child in the land was taught to recognize. A symbol of power, of authority, and of rulership.
It was the God King’s own weapon.
The daeril was so surprised that it could do nothing but gape as the stranger spun the weapon and impaled the creature through the throat. The stranger moved in an eyeblink, ripping the sword free and dashing forward, cloak trailing behind him. He grabbed one of the chains, moving with practiced familiarity, and swung on it. He swept to a pair of daerils who were towing a young woman toward the stage.
The two fell easily. These were not the champions of the God King’s palace; they were simple brutes. The stranger left them gurgling in their own blood.
Weallix started yelling, calling for his soldiers. He raved and ranted, pointing. Then he cut off, stumbling back as the stranger grabbed a chain and pushed forward, swinging up and landing with a thump on the wagons. The purple-skinned daeril struck with a thick-headed mace, but the God King’s weapon-the Infinity Blade itself-flashed in the air.
