Chapter 7: The Palace Quarters

Already waiting for my arrival were three men, all wearing the armour of the royal guard: either money had proved of more worth then these men's words, or they had slain the original bodyguard and stolen their equipment. They each had swords almost as fine as the one that I held myself, as well as a wooden shield and their armour. They looked fresh, whereas I was exhausted. There were three of them and one of me. Any hope I may have had for secrecy was gone: they had heard the door open when I entered. What was it that I did? I screamed.

All three of them looked rather unnerved, and I do not blame them: I must have looked a sight. I was bloody, my clothing torn, my hair matted to my head with sweat and my eyes lit with a desperate fire. Maybe they were also thinking that here in front of them was a man who had slain a score of their companions and made it from the dungeons to here in such an incredibly short time, all on my own. Two of them began to step backwards as I drew my sword and rushed forwards, still expressing all of my desperation in a single unintelligible shout. The first man, the one who held his ground, raised his shield to deflect my blow, almost cowering behind it. Without thinking, I jumped as I neared him and kicked it with both of my legs. The shock caused him to tumble backwards and trip, and myself to land on the tiles on my back. Not noticing this, I rolled straight onto my feet again in time to parry the blow of one of the other guards, both of whom had gathered their nerve. Still not thinking, my arms seemed to pilot themselves to bring my sword over and parry the blow of the other guard while it was only inches away from my heart. I was forced to give ground.

Encouraged by this, the guard who had struck at me first of the pair raised his shield and ran forwards with a yell. I spun out of his way, leaving him charging air, and ducked underneath the sweep of the second. Had he not had a shield this would have left his guard wide open: as it was I could attempt only a clumsy stab forwards that he stepped backwards away from: it made contact but was blocked by his armour. The guard who had stood his ground was now on his feet and running towards me, as was the guard who had run past me before. I waited for a beat, trying to think of something to do, and then dived desperately and slid across the tiles between the legs of the guard in front of me. He stepped backwards again and spun around to face me, while the two running forwards ran into each other. The pause of hesitation was what had allowed this to happen, but it had been entirely unplanned: clearly the great angel was watching over me, for whatever reason.

I rolled over quickly, as the other guard was now standing over me and I parried his downward thrust. At the same time I kicked him with both feet in the abdomen, forcing him to stumble backwards into his companions who were only just recovering themselves. I stood up and stabbed instinctively forwards, straight through the stumbling guards armour and into his stomach. I put my foot on the man and pulled my sword out, kicking him backwards: his two companions stepped out of the way to let him fall. As they did so I stepped forwards and slashed at the one on the right, scratching across his neck, and then turned to parry the blow of the other. He pushed forwards, pushing me backwards, then ran forwards to capitalise his advantage. He slashed at my own neck: my head ducked somehow almost without my intending it to and I stabbed at the centre of the man's chest. Again Khaveen's excellent sword pierced through his armour, and again I pulled it out immediately.

I blinked, and seemed to wake up. The guard I had stabbed first was now kneeling, his hands clutching at his stomach, his eyes on his companion with the neck wound, who was now dead. He looked up at me in terror and dropped his sword on the ground and began to shuffle backwards desperately. The other wounded guard looked up at me, but I stamped on his wrist and pointed my sword at his face: he let his blade go, and I kicked in away. I then pointed with my spare hand at his shield. He understood, and with shaking hands took it off and gave it to me. I turned, and ran to the corridor which would take me to the Princess' chambers.

No sooner had I walked past the walls into this corridor then I saw the door at the other end, which led to the Royal Chambers, open. Through it walked my reflection, with a sword identical to Khaveen's in his hand. I watched as he strode arrogantly towards me, with a superior smirk on his lips. Somehow, I noticed, his hands and limbs had the same marks of dirt, sweat and blood as those that I had gained from climbing out of the pit that he had caused me to fall into. I frowned as memories of the strange vision I had had after that incident returned to my mind. Surely, since I had a shield and he did not, I would have an advantage and be able to defeat him? But then, what I read on the bridge had nothing to do with conflict…

My reflection was still advancing and I had to make a decision quickly. I decided at this point to trust the grace which had kept me living to this point. I dropped my sword and recently-acquired shield, and walked forwards to meet my double. His expression changed almost instantly from one of pride to one of confusion and hesitation: he dropped his blade as well and with it seemingly gave up any hope of fighting or killing me. We both broke into a run: I am not entirely sure why, but it simply seemed the right thing to do. I realised at this point that my reflection truly did seem to reflect me: when I sought to confront him, he sought to confront me, and when I considered peace, he did as well. Neither of us stopped or slowed as we neared each other, and indeed ran straight into one another. I felt the same kind of curious sensation as I did when I had run through the mirror in the first place: as if we were both made of water, and flowed into each other. When I had my bearings once more, I saw that my reflection had vanished entirely. I turned, retrieved Khaveen's sword and the guard's shield, and then continued on my way, my head swimming with thoughts over the strange events.

It was because of this that I only remembered the trap at the end of the hallway at the last second, and skidded to a halt. Too late. I felt the tile depress under my foot, even as I desperately stepped backwards. The walls on either side of the tile met each other in an instant, what must have been a tonne of masonry slamming into where I had been standing less than a second ago. My last second memory had saved me from being suddenly, and completely, crushed, but it had not been enough to entirely move out of the way: my left arm, with the shield still on it, was caught between the two pieces of rock.

Reader, I cannot properly describe the pain so I shall make no attempt to. If you have in your past ever had a part of your body crushed then you understand what I felt: if not, then you cannot hope to comprehend. Suffice it to say that I screamed and fell to the floor even as the walls began to slide back into place. After such a wound I knew even then that my arm would never heal: the bones had been entirely shattered, as I could feel them like broken glass inside the sinews, threaded amongst the nerves and ruined muscle. The shield that had been upon it was shattered into splinters, which even if they did chance to drive into my arm would not have been felt over all else anyway. As the stone slid back my limb was a sight I could not bear to look upon: there was no longer any semblance of the order or natural ingenuity that bones give to a form. All was bent out of shape and laced with streams of blood. My vision swam. How on earth or in heaven I managed to maintain consciousness at that point I have no idea. I offer you no explanation, reader, as I have none myself, save that perhaps for that one hour I was, as I had suspected earlier, no longer a thing of flesh and blood, but rather made of gears and spirit alone, a body which was only being held together by force of will.

At that time, standing on the balcony of her bedroom and with a mind filled with tumult and anxiety, Sheherazad cast yet another glance back at the hourglass. There was only a pitiful few sands still remaining in the top bulb, and they were swiftly draining away. She outright refused to let the Vizier have his prize, and yet… Maybe if the horn had not sounded she would jump, here and now, and be at peace. But the truth of the matter was that it had. When all hope is lost, then there is finally acceptance and endings for people of Sheherazad's wisdom, but that horn was a trumpet from heaven, a message from above telling her to still maintain hope. She could hear, though not quite see due to the angle of her balcony, a commotion at the palace gates: the people of the city had also heard the horn, and something else, perhaps some evidence or word of the treachery was striking them into a frenzy. They seemed to be trying to gain an entrance into the palace, to storm its gates. With nigh on all the guards killed by Jaffar during the insurrection, they might yet succeed.

And still, as often as it was chased away by her rational thought, the image of a vengeful Kyashahara, sword in hand, rushing through traps and guards alike continued to surface in her mind. What was the cause of the alarm in the first place, which seemed to have brought more trouble upon Jaffar's cause then aid? The entire world had gone mad over the last month, Sheherazad was sure of it: her father's absence, meeting Kyashahara, the Vizier's insurrection, his final ultimatum, and now this? It seemed as if absolutely anything could happen in this strange new world and, indeed, everything was.

Almost, it seemed, in answer to that thought, Sheherazad then heard a distant thump and a scream. Someone must have set off the hallway trap. That voice… Surely she was imagining things, but it seemed… Her eyes were drawn once more back to the hourglass. There was only a minute left.