prince’s slash in the side. Never burly, K-adakithis had learned that he had to
put everything he had behind his practice strokes just so that his opponents
would notice. He did that now, so wildly and viciously that his blade tore
several links of Bourne’s mail-coat and relocated them in his flesh. Bourne made
an awful noise. Horribly shocked and knowing he was hurt, he decided it were
best to fly. He staggered as he ran, and the prince let him go.
Kadakithis picked up the fallen rod of authority and slapped it once against his
leather-clad leg. His heart beat unconscionably rapidly as he knelt to help the
trusted man he’d brought with him. That was not necessary. In falling, the poor
wight had smashed his head open on a chunk of marble from a statue. Slain by a
god. Kadakithis glanced after Bourne, who had vanished in darkness and the
ruins.
The Prince-Governor stood thinking. At last he went to the well. He knelt and
called down into blackness.
‘I am Prince Kadakithis. I have the wand. Perhaps I speak uselessly to one dead
or dying. Perhaps not, in which case you may remain there and die slowly, or be
drawn up to die under torture, or … you can agree to help me in a little plan
I have just devised. Well – speak up!’
No contemplation was required to convince Hanse that he would go along with
anything that meant vacating the well and seeing his next birthday. Who’d have
thought pretty Prince Kittycat would come out here, and helmeted, too! He
wondered at the noises he had heard. And made reply. The wood creaked.