Snippet #1479092

The princess had chosen to sit in contemplative silence for the most part, allowing Amon to ask the questions when he felt it necessary. She'd had a feeling it was a good idea to bring Zade here, and she had not been wrong in this. Thus far, it was becoming quite plain to her that the chemical for the poison had been manufactured somewhere in Marchfield, and without top-level clearance, but disguised as normal product shipments, which likely rules out mass quantities. A small effort, then, but all the more dangerous for it.

At the mention of a one-eyed man, though, Amon stiffened almost imperceptibly beside her. Now there was an interesting observation, and it told her that they were onto something indeed. And that was indeed the main problem now: the who of it. A rogue faction of scientists would not possess the finesse necessary to undertake a task of this magnitude, especially not if they were so incompetent as to let their test subject escape. If the doctor was right (and despite her misgivings about a man who spoke aloud to himself alone in the middle of a room full of people, he was Amon's, and for that reason alone she had to trust that he knew what he was talking about), that man he and the healer had treated was indeed an experiment, and the people in question were capable of taking someone from Beta at least without fear of repercussion.

Which either made them very stupid, or very well-connected. She was inclined to believe that this could be the work of that pseudo-rebellion that stirred within the lower districts, but for that one small detail. She knew Zade often stole for the same client, which meant that whomever he was, he was wealthy enough to hire scientists, but it was highly unlikely that such a man (or woman, as the case may be) would take the unnecessary risk of kidnapping a Beta denizen when there were plenty of people that would be less missed wandering around your front door. Reprehensible, yes, but also pragmatic.

"It seems," Amon ventured, "that there is a traitor in my Guild." Loki's eyes snapped to him, and the man stood. "I thank you all very much for your assistance; you are free to leave if you wish. It would seem that this is more an internal matter than I had hoped." He was still calm as ever, but his sometimes-protegee, sometimes-adversary knew him much better than that. She was opening her mouth to ask the healer to stay (she wished to see about securing the blonde woman's assistance for her mother) when the door flew open.

An acid-tongued rebuke was half a breath from Loki's lips, but when it was Carlisle who staggered through, clutching a profusely-bleeding side, it died unvoiced. "Traitors," he said, looking directly at Amon rather than herself, and she knew it must be bad indeed for him to break his cover so. He managed two more steps before collapsing onto the ground in a heap.

There was a beat of complete silence before the hall outside erupted in the sounds of a clash. It would seem that the few guards Amon had posted were attempting to fend off the attackers, and without another word, the Guildmaster was out the door, sword drawn. Loki looked to the rest of them. "Escape out the window if you wish, but if they know of this meeting, they surely know of you."

One of the rogue assassins had made it to the door, and the princess set her mouth in a hard line before unsheathing her own knives. They weren't just for show, after all. The assailant, a man perhaps in his mid-thirties, looked positively sick with glee for the chance to kill the princess herself, and she noted that she'd have to watch her back if she was indeed the primary target. A longsword swung in a broad arc towards her shoulder; Loki stepped out of the way and stomped hard on the man's kneecap, causing him to stagger forward. He turned it into a somersault before one of her blades could find his back,, and she caught the slight glint of light as several needles were thrown at her.

Swatting them out of her way with her left knife, she wasted little time in throwing the other one. It had just enough time for one end-over-end turn before embedding itself with a soft thunk in one of his shoulders. Shame; she'd been aiming for his throat, but he'd moved. Flicking her eyes around the room, she decided to take the fight outside, into the corridor. There were noncombatants here, after all, and she did not wish to injure them if she could avoid it.

The damn dress made moving a chore, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. At least he followed her out. Of course, all thoughts of such small mercies fled immediately upon seeing the devastation in the hallways. No less than ten bodies already coated the carpets with blood, and she knew that she had personally taken the precaution of having this wing cleared of its normal patrol this evening. There would be no reinforcements, and she estimated the number of attackers at a solid thirty-five or so. Amon wasn't going to be a great deal of help; he was presently dueling what appeared to be the commander of this little regiment of fools, and with nothing less than a broken wrist already.

Shit.