Ruler of the Realm

Fifty-eight

Pyrgus fought like a fury. But guards were racing in from all directions until he was surrounded by a milling mass of close on a hundred. Even if he’d used the Halek blade again he’d never have broken out. In moments he was on the ground, wrestled down by the weight of bodies.

‘Hold him, boys!’ a coarse voice ordered.

Two of the boys grabbed his arms. Two more helped to drag him to his feet. Pyrgus stopped struggling. He was ringed by men now, every one of them a lot more heavily armed than he was.

‘Shall I search him, sir?’ someone asked. ‘He may be carrying a weapon.’

‘I’m carrying a pass from Madame Ogyris,’ Pyrgus said.

‘Pass, is it?’ asked the officer. He looked pointedly at the massive wreckage of the glasshouse.

‘Let me show you,’ Pyrgus offered. There was no chance the pass would make a difference, but if he played for time he might think of something more sensible.

He felt one of the soldiers loosen the grip on his arm and jerked it free. The man didn’t bother to grab it back: Pyrgus wasn’t going anywhere.

‘I have it here,’ Pyrgus said. It occurred to him it might change things if he told them who he was. They could decide to kill him on the spot, of course, but he was still a Prince of the Realm, so they might think of handing him back to the palace authorities. Or they might decide to bounce on their noses all the way to Haleklind. But whatever. He had to do something.

He reached into his pocket for the pass and his hand closed over the crystal flower. As he began to draw it out, one of the soldiers shouted, ‘Watch out – he’s got a weapon!’

Half a dozen men hurled themselves upon him again. Pyrgus’s arm jerked and his hand tightened convulsively. The bloom dissolved into glittering dust beneath his fingers.

All movement stopped. The guards stood frozen as if turned to stone.