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aunt in days gone by. Surely her kindness can be no great transgression.
Gil came to their notice.  Where has this fellow been? Newshield snapped.  My
study? Oh, that is beyond the beyonds!
 Then, answered Angorman,  we will get us gone. Our apologies. Gil, hoping
Newshield would buy it, headed for his guns. But Dulcet s nephew raised his
hand, and swords were drawn.
 No, Lord Angorman. Having come, you must stay. The heavies at the door
ranged themselves frankly around the room, waiting. Gil s stomach clenched,
but he hesitated to make a long move for the pistols; Dulcet and Newshield
were both in his way. There were just too many men, too near, with bared
blades. Newshield shed his cloak and loosened his own weapon.
 The rest of this party will doubtless be in guest quarters, he said, picking
six of his men with a sweep of his arm.  You come with me. He selected four
more.  And you others make your way round, through the garden. Post yourselves
beneath their window, against escape.
Dulcet was stunned.  You . . . you knew they would be here?
 He s got pages from Arrivals Macabre upstairs, Gil told Angorman. Newshield
appraised the American.
 Yes, I harbored a very important patron when he was in need. He did not find
what he sought in the loose pages he brought, and so left them behind. He
smirked.  We would have taken you when you first came, but my aunt s chief
servitor got wind of it somehow. He fled, and would have betrayed me. It took
us all afternoon to track him down in the marshes. He perished with the Bright
Lady s name on his lips, stupid zealot.
He turned back to his men.  You know what is expected. Bear up; within the
hour, the Flaming Wheel will be on the wing to the Hand of Salamá. In one
hundred heartbeats we will go in at them. Harrowfoot, you will stay here with
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the remaining men and guard these three.
They took torches and moved out, six to the staircase that led to the guest
quarters, behind Newshield, and four more for the garden. That left eight in
the dining hall. They waited with unsheathed swords, leaving no doubt what
would happen if someone shouted a warning. Gil felt sick to his stomach, angry
at himself, very much afraid.
Perhaps the other servants would help? No, not against so many men-at-arms. He
felt a split second s pity for the hapless chief servitor, driven to desperate
courage by faith in the Bright Lady, run to ground by horsemen and baying
dogs.
Something clicked. Short on time, he didn t even stop to look for flaws.
 Harrowfoot, you look like a reasonable guy to me. The man, hard-bitten ugly
whose mid-section had gone to paunch, glared suspiciously.
 I mean, who doesn t want to turn an honest profit? Gil hastened. Angorman
eyed him noncommittally, but Harrowfoot s interest had been piqued.
 What profit is that, witling?
 Hey, listen, I m not with these people. Why can t you just let me walk? It d
be worthwhile for you; there re a hundred gold bits in my saddlebag. You take
 em and I ll take off, how s that? Newshield won t care; he s got what he
wants.
Harrowfoot plucked the saddlebags out of the pile of gear in the corner, set
them on the table and rummaged through them. Gil tried to estimate how much
time he had. Hurry!  The right bag, the one that s tied off. They re at the
bottom. He bit his lip, trying to tell Angorman with eye contact, It s
coming, get set. The Saint-Commander only displayed contempt.
Harrowfoot, tearing things out of the bag, grinned to himself. If there were
money, he d take it, but the outlander would never leave the room alive. He
pulled items out and tossed them aside: a spare shirt, socks, a whetstone, a
wadded swatch of red cloth.
Gil saw that, and gathered himself. The dogs growled, showed fangs and fought
to break free with insane ferocity. One handler was dragged headlong, losing
his hold. His two dogs flung themselves directly at Harrowfoot and the strip
of red bunting Gil had saved from the attack on Woodsinger at Earthfast.
Harrowfoot went down with a scream. Everyone in the room was shouting. The
armsman nearest Gil was distracted. The American took a long step inside his
guard to knee him. He jumped the next man, whose sword pointed at Dulcet s
heart. The man was just turning, having heard the thud of the kneeing and the
first guard s moan. Gil clamped an arm around his throat and, kicking the back
of his knee, hauled him back off balance. He bellowed to Andre and Ferrian,
wherever they were, to watch out. To Angorman he screamed,  Go for it!
The Saint-Commander wrestled the sword from the second man, thrust Dulcet over
to the wall, and wove through confused foemen toward his axe.
The second handler s animals had turned on him and savaged him. They, too, now
threw themselves at Harrowfoot. Two guards were trying to beat them off him
with the flats of their blades. Men and hounds stabbed, bit, growled, cursed
and fought.
Gil put his second man away with a hammer blow to the base of the skull, but
the first was stumbling to his feet. The American damned himself for not
having nailed him right. Another guard came around the table. Caught between
them, Gil dove under the long, wide dining board, strawberrying his hands and
forearms.
Angorman had eluded one opponent. The melee of dogs and men diverted most
attention from him. Another foe closed with him. They flailed at each other, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]