Damien St. Cloud leaned against the wall in the back corner of the throne room, the stone rough through his black tunic, and watched the line of peacocks waiting their turn to suck up to Uncle Andy. Silk and lace draped the soft, flabby bodies of thirty of the richest and most powerful people in the kingdom while gold and gems glittered in the light of the glow globes hanging from the ceiling. They’d arrived to present themselves to the king. Probably so, despite his best efforts, he wouldn’t forget they existed.

A slight breeze from the invisible fan he’d conjured blew the overwhelming stink of perfume mingled with sweat away. When he first entered, the stench had about knocked him over. You’d think people that rich could afford a bath. He didn’t know how the regular guards stood it. The warlords used soul force to block their sense of smell. Damien could see the flow of energy that separated their brains from their noses. That had to be how Uncle Andy kept from throwing up.

For his part. the king sat on his simple wooden throne, a big, fake smile plastered on his face as he shook the hand of a fat, bald nobleman in acid green silks. Damien couldn’t hear what the fawning fop was saying nor did he care enough to conjure an eavesdropping sphere to listen in. He assumed the man wanted something, the same as the rest of the leeches in line. Rich as they were, you could always count on a noble to want more.

Damien narrowed his focus, curious about the nobles’ soul force. The fat man in green seemed ordinary enough, likewise the woman behind him. The man behind her, one of the few without a giant stomach, had a weak internal soul force. Not strong enough to train as a warlord, but enough to give him an edge over an ordinary person.

He kept scanning. A surprising number of the nobility lacked any significant soul force. Maybe nature made a point of balancing their wealth with a lack of real power. Damien frowned when he reached the second-to-last man in line, a potbellied fellow with oily black hair and watery blue eyes. He had no soul force at all. Which meant he had to be a sorcerer. Curiosity piqued, Damien studied the man even closer. A faint soul force aura surrounded his body. Some kind of illusion maybe.

Why would a noble need an illusion to present himself to the king? Something was wrong. Along the far-side wall stood the captain of the royal guard in his immaculate blue-and-silver tabard over practical mail armor. Damien didn’t know the man well. He’d stood beside Damien’s father when Uncle Andy presented him with the Medal of Valor last week. The captain had a strong internal soul force, nothing compared to Dad, but better than average. Most important, his loyalty to the king was beyond question. He’d know if the nobleman was hiding something.

Damien worked his way around the back of the throne room. The guards all knew him and moved out of his way. A minute later he leaned against the wall beside the guard captain, arms crossed, trying to look casual. “Captain.”

“Damien. Something I can do for you?” The captain pitched his voice low so no one would overhear them.

“The second-to-last man in line, do you know him?”

“Dominic Santen. He’s a merchant prince, bought a title, but doesn’t hold any land. What about him?”

“Is he a sorcerer?”

“No, he’s a weasel, liar, thief, and cheat, but not a sorcerer.”

“Then we have a problem, because that man’s a sorcerer and I suspect he’s using an illusion to look like Mr. Santen.”

The captain eased his hand closer to the well-worn hilt of his sword. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah.” Damien wanted to tap his soul force, but didn’t dare for fear of warning the imposter. “How do you want to handle it?”

“Can you break the illusion so we can see what we’re dealing with?”

The imposter had moved so he stood only ten people from the throne. They needed to act fast, before he got any closer to Uncle Andy. “Sure, but if he’s strong this could get ugly fast. Do you want me to shield the nobles or take down the sorcerer?”

“Take down the sorcerer. I know enough about sorcerers to know my men won’t have much of a chance against him. We’ll deal with the nobles. Blasted Crimson Legion! They were supposed to screen all the guests before they entered the throne room.”

Damien nodded. The captain’s plan made sense. Part of him wanted to defend his new comrades, but he couldn’t think of a good argument. How had the sorcerer snuck into the castle? Damien hoped whoever the imposter was, he was just filling in for the real Dominic Santen and didn’t mean any harm. “Understood. When do you want me to go?”

The captain made several subtle gestures with his off hand and all around the room guards tensed. “Now.”

Damien drew power and sent a stream of it at the imposter. He formed the blast so it would only shatter the illusion, not harm the person under it. The image of an out-of-shape merchant vanished. In his place stood a female figure. Tight gray pants and shirt hugged a curvy figure. A half mask covered her face from the nose down. She wore thin black gloves and heavy leather boots.

Her cold gaze locked with Damien’s.

This woman was a killer, he knew it.

She leapt toward the throne, a golden blade appearing in her right hand. Damien conjured a wall in her path, but the blade made short work of it.

He’d never seen a soul force construct that dense. It looked like she put all her power into it.

Uncle Andy had leapt to his feet and pulled his sword. It appeared he wanted to fight, but his guards were standing in front of him, shielding him from the assassin.

Whimpering nobles fled for the exit, royal guards attempting to keep them under control. Damien had no time to worry about them. With his barrier demolished the sorcerer rushed the guards.

They attacked and an instant later found their swords in pieces, only their enhanced speed keeping them from getting gutted. Damien drew half his power and conjured golden chains that wrapped tight around her legs and body. He matched the density of her blade and when she tried to cut the bindings away she only nicked them.

Uncle Andy’s guards hustled him out the back exit. Half a dozen guardsmen approached the woman as she furiously hacked at the chains. Damien poured more energy into them to repair the damage she was causing.

“Somebody hit her! I can’t keep her bound forever.”

The captain of the guard raced in at warlord speed and brought his pommel down on the back of her head. Her sword vanished and she slumped in Damien’s chains. He studied the flow of her soul force to make certain she wasn’t faking before he let the chains vanish. Two guards caught her before she hit the ground.