n him. The man turned and ran across the room, stopping only long enough to grab the dagger before he fled.
MacGil tried to chase him, but the man was too fast, and suddenly the pain rose up, piercing his chest. He felt himself grow weak.
MacGil stood there, alone in the room, and looked down at the blood pouring from his chest, into his open palms. He sank to his knees.
He felt his body grow cold, and leaned back and tried to call out.
“Guards,” came his faint cry.
He took a deep breath, and with supreme agony, managed to muster his deep voice. The voice of a once-king.
“GUARDS!” he shrieked.
He heard footsteps come running, from some distant hallway, slowly getting closer. He heard a distant door open, sensed bodies getting closer to him. But the room spun again, and this time it was not from drink.
The last thing he saw was the cold stone floor, rising up to meet his face.