The inner keep was too quiet.
No banners flapped, no courtiers whispered. Only the slow drip of blood from broken stone and the low rasp of wounded men trying not to die. In the darkness, their eyes shone as Asmodeus silently observed.
"This way," Qwass said.
He limped ahead, one hand on his sword, the other pressed against the gash under his ribs that refused to clot. Even with Asmodeus's blood knitting him back from the brink, the duke moved like a man who hadn't slept in three days.
Everyone is exhausted...
The pair passed through a shattered arch into the main throne halls.
Memories of being summoned, the queen, the princess and meeting Alan and the others flashed through Asmodeus's mind. Many of his classmates were dead, and now even the knights he had trained with in the first months also vanished.
It hurt to look...
The high windows shattered, with spiderwebbed cracks.
