I could only watch in abject horror as the crossbowman fitted the bolt into his weapon, cocked it back and pointed it at Kian. Part of my mind, the part which kept track of shifting political currents was trying to determine if this were a coup by one of the Triumvirs. It was difficult to know who would have an incentive to murder an Imperial Ambassador, although perhaps framing someone for doing so might be a benefit. 

"No!" I shouted and stepped forward as the crossbowman fired. I waved the sword in desperate negation and to everyone's evident amazement the bolt cracked into the blade and sent the weapon spinning from my hands, deflecting it away from Kian's chest. Everyone froze for a second to stare at the spectacle.

"That is enough luck for one day," the surviving spearman said, drawing back his weapon to thrust it at me now that I had no weapon. I danced aside as he thrust knocking the shaft sideways with my hips as I snatched up a marble bust of Myrmidia from the mantle and brought it around in a wide arc that crashed into the side of the spearman's helmet. He staggered back, dropping his weapon in a daze. I glanced around desperately for a weapon, and lunged for the dropped sword. The uninjured mercenary kicked it aside and struck me across the shoulders with the hilt of his sword, sending me tumbling to the ground. I hit hard and rolled onto my back, looking up as the mercenary stood over me raising his sword. I felt cold terror surge through my body, but before he could thrust home I saw his eyes widen. A figure leaped over the top of me, dressed in fine silk and carrying a ridiculously heavy broadsword.

"Le Dame!" Guy de Pounce shouted as he brought down his weapon in a great overhead blow. The mercenary brought up his slender weapon in an attempt to parry but the heavy Brettonian weapon knocked. The mercenary's arm, severed at the elbow dropped to the marble floor, fingers spasming around the hilt of his sword. Guy whipped his sword around in a figure eight which took the man's head from his shoulders. The surviving spearman turned and ran, casting away his weapon and leaping through a window, crashing into the shrubbery below. Guy glared after him, the tips of his thin mustache twitching with irritation as his nostrils flared.

"Cowardly zellswords," he sniffed as he wiped his blade clean on one of the fallen men's tunic.