Dessert had not yet been served, but the feast had obviously been in progress for some time. Many of the lords in attendance looked like they had already eaten their fill. Bustling servants shuttled away empty trays and plates. A large fire blazed in the huge hearth.

Nedwin could smell the food as never before. Beef, mutton, ham, chicken, turkey, and goose were present, with all their varied gravies, seasonings, and sauces. He smelled pea soup, chunky vegetable stew, mashed yams, fresh berries, pungent cheeses, buttered mushrooms, skewers of olives stuffed with garlic paste, and hunks of bread slowly growing stale.

Despite the diverse scents discernible in greater detail than ever before, the food did not smell appetizing. Not in the slightest.

All the aromas paled next to the intoxicating allure of fresh human blood.

Tonight the feast was not on the tables or in the kitchens. Tonight the feast was inside the diners, pumping round and round, warm and liquid and beckoning.

But Nedwin was not here to indulge his new appetite. No matter how brightly that desire burned, he must not heed it. He had a mission to accomplish.

He quietly unpacked the spheres from his sack, then replaced them without the sawdust for easier access. He practiced how he would hold the sack and how he would remove the spheres.

The secret entrance to the dining hall was concealed behind another tapestry, at the side of the room. It would not allow him to emerge near Copernum, but unless he was clumsy, it should be near enough.

Nedwin could not afford to wait. He needed to strike while Copernum remained. What if the head traitor excused himself before dessert?

Nedwin worked the releases and slid aside a cunningly constructed section of the stone wall. The section moved without much noise, disguised by boisterous conversation, clinking tableware, and hustling servants. The heavy tapestry still covered the gaping opening.

Thrusting the tapestry aside, Nedwin stepped into the dining hall. The fire in the hearth bothered his eyes, but not enough to slow him down. Most of the armed guards were clustered near the main door. The first orantium globe sailed their way. The second went to a nearer table. Both globes exploded in rapid succession, with white flashes and thunderous booms that echoed in the cavernous hall. The guards were thrown in all directions. One man lost his helmet. The table bucked and splintered, platters of food soaring into the air. Diners flipped and tumbled.

Startled faces turned his way. Nedwin saw shocked recognition in most of their eyes. All had professed loyalty to him and the crown. Smiling, he produced another orantium globe, tossing it at the guards near the table where Copernum, Dolan, and the grand duke dined. The explosion devastated the guards and overturned the table.

A quarrel hit Nedwin in the ribs. He observed it with mild interest. The projectile caused no pain and failed to hinder him. He rewarded the crossbowman for his accuracy with an orantium sphere that launched him, and others near him, into astonishing feats of acrobatics.

Servants were scattering, making for the doors to the kitchen. Nedwin threw a sphere there next, to dissuade people from exiting.

Some of the diners were pulling knives and drawing swords. Most were seeking cover. A hurled knife stuck in Nedwin’s thigh, causing no significant harm or discomfort.

A group of nobles from the nearest tables charged Nedwin, forcing him to throw an orantium sphere closer than he liked. He felt the warm shockwave from the blast. The noise made his ears ring, and the flash left him dazzled. He staggered, but kept his feet. He could smell his own charred flesh.

Nobody was attacking him anymore. Most were pressing toward the doors. Nedwin threw a globe at the main doors and another at the doors used by the servants. The blasts claimed many lives.

“This is your reward for taking orders from a displacer!” Nedwin called, his voice strange in his ears. He threw a globe at some lords taking refuge behind an overturned table. A direct hit proved that orantium was much more powerful than wood.

Men screamed and moaned. Smoke filled the air. Nedwin stalked toward the table where Copernum was huddled. Their eyes met across the room. Nedwin had never seen Copernum looking bewildered or afraid. Tonight he saw both emotions displayed nakedly.

With three globes left, Nedwin hurled a sphere at another table where treacherous lords cringed. A few people were escaping out the doors. But not Copernum. Nedwin got close enough that he could not possibly miss, and demolished the table where Copernum cowered. Although it was heavier than the other tables, the orantium blasted it into kindling.

One globe remained.

Through the smoke, Nedwin saw Copernum scrambling away, his body bleeding and blackened. Dolan was dead. The grand duke was dead. Dozens of other traitors had perished.

“Wait, Nedwin!” Copernum cried, holding up a hand. His stunned eyes were desperate. Flecks of food had spattered his face and clothes. Splintered pieces of the table protruded from his body. “Wait! Kill me and Galloran dies. I have vital information!”

Nedwin shook his head. “Galloran has had enough of your help.”

He threw the final sphere so that it shattered against the floor beside the disloyal chancellor. The glaring explosion did the rest.

Feeling oddly disconnected from himself, Nedwin looked around. The smoky room was still. Everyone had fled, had died, or was feigning death. He had succeeded. He had unnaturally extended his life for a purpose, and the task had been accomplished. The realization brought profound relief.

Just to be sure, Nedwin checked a few ragged pieces of his former torturer. After all, he was a displacer. But it was no trick. Copernum was not temporarily disassembled. He was extremely dead.

“You’re even deader than I am,” Nedwin mumbled.

How soon before more guards came after him? Any minute. The thunder of the orantium would summon soldiers from all over the castle. Some of the guards might want to hesitate. They would hear what had happened from the survivors. They did not know he was out of orantium. And he was supposed to be dead. But not knowing that their leader had perished, they would also fear his wrath if they failed to act.

Nedwin walked toward the fire that still blazed in the hearth. He had deliberately not disturbed it with his barrage of orantium. He needed that fire.

Nedwin glanced at the secret passage. The dining hall remained still. He might be able to sneak away.

No. He had been fortunate. He had not only eliminated Copernum, but he had executed most, if not all, of the men capable of taking his place. Without the might of the giants, without treacherous nobles orchestrating the occupation, another revolution was inevitable. Justice had been served. The traitors had been punished. When Galloran returned, he would find allies running Trensicourt, not enemies.