beard, trimmed to a point.
His eyes were dark and his face, big-boned, powerful, held a look of such savage anger I knew I would have to treat him with the utmost caution. “One move — one — and you’re spitted.”
“Stand quite still,” said the woman.
Her voice was mellifluous, very pleasing in other circumstances. She wore a russet tunic and russet trousers, cut tightly, and her slender waist was cinctured by a wide brown belt, and the gold buckle glittered in the light. As to her face, that lay in shadow; but I caught the impression of a firmness there, the shape conveying that sense of strength as her head half-turned to stare along the shaft. Her eyes fastened upon me, large and brown and luminous above the bar of shadow from her left arm.
“We shall all have to move very—” I began.
The man spat out a curse.
“You speak when you are spoken to, dom, not before. You are very near death.”
“Oh, aye,” I said. “And so are we all—”
The man lifted his fist. His nostrils pinched in.
“Kaldu!” The voice of command as the woman spoke smoked into the room. She was used to telling people what to do and seeing them do it. “Quiet, Kaldu. No chance has brought these two horters here.”
“They mean us mischief, my lady. Let me—”
I said, “Stop clowning about, Kaldu. Listen to your mistress. And we must all get out of here. The watch is on the way. Where are — where is the injured man and his comrade?”
The bow was held in a grip that did not tremble by so much as an eyelash. The bow was a big, compound reflex weapon that pulled enough to let a man know he held a bow; the girl gripped it and held the arrow in such a fashion that told me she knew exactly what she was doing. One thing was sure, this mysterious woman was a superb archer.
“You know? How could you? The watch—?”
“Come on, Kaldu,” I said. “Close your mouth. We must get out of here at once.”
“I believe you,” the woman said. She lowered the bow.
I heard Tyfar let out a shaky breath. He did not put as much trust as I did in the bowmanship of this girl.
“Which way is the watch coming?”
“In the direction of the Avenue of a Thousand—”
“Very well. We must go over the roof to the bakery beyond. Kaldu, fetch Barkindrar. Tell Nath.” She swung to face Tyfar and me. “I do not know who you are — yet. But if you are traitors—”
“Barkindrar and Nath are my men,” spoke up Tyfar. “Lady. I trust they are not badly hurt—”
“They can run.” Tyfar flinched back.
“Then,” I said, “for the sake of Havil the Green, let us all run!”
The girl flashed me a look. “Havil,” she said. “You are Hamalese?”
“Yes—” began Tyfar.
I said, “Havil is known over all Havilfar. Now enough shilly-shallying.” Barkindrar and Nath appeared, helped along by Kaldu. He loomed over them. “Come on, you two famblys. We must run for it.”
They started to speak and an enormous battering began on the door. The noise burst up from front and back of the building.
“The watch!” said Kaldu. “We are too late!”
“No!” flared the girl. She looked like an enraged zhantilla, fiery, incensed, splendid. “It’s never too late, until you’re dead!”
Chapter eight
An Arrow in the Swamp
The bakery leaned against the stables for mutual support. They propped each other. The aroma of baking bread fought with the dungy whiffs from the yard at the back of the barn. As we prepared to run through the opposite door to the bakery, the woman looked at Barkindrar. The Brokelsh was clearly in pain; but in that sullen, mulish, Brokelsh way he refused to acknowledge the fact. The woman placed her hand on Barkindrar’s forehead.
The hand was shapely, firm, clearly the hand of a woman and yet I knew that hand could accomplish warrior deeds. Her face relaxed for a betraying moment from her tough no-nonsense pose and revealed the compassion she felt. Then she swung back to us, hard and
His eyes were dark and his face, big-boned, powerful, held a look of such savage anger I knew I would have to treat him with the utmost caution. “One move — one — and you’re spitted.”
“Stand quite still,” said the woman.
Her voice was mellifluous, very pleasing in other circumstances. She wore a russet tunic and russet trousers, cut tightly, and her slender waist was cinctured by a wide brown belt, and the gold buckle glittered in the light. As to her face, that lay in shadow; but I caught the impression of a firmness there, the shape conveying that sense of strength as her head half-turned to stare along the shaft. Her eyes fastened upon me, large and brown and luminous above the bar of shadow from her left arm.
“We shall all have to move very—” I began.
The man spat out a curse.
“You speak when you are spoken to, dom, not before. You are very near death.”
“Oh, aye,” I said. “And so are we all—”
The man lifted his fist. His nostrils pinched in.
“Kaldu!” The voice of command as the woman spoke smoked into the room. She was used to telling people what to do and seeing them do it. “Quiet, Kaldu. No chance has brought these two horters here.”
“They mean us mischief, my lady. Let me—”
I said, “Stop clowning about, Kaldu. Listen to your mistress. And we must all get out of here. The watch is on the way. Where are — where is the injured man and his comrade?”
The bow was held in a grip that did not tremble by so much as an eyelash. The bow was a big, compound reflex weapon that pulled enough to let a man know he held a bow; the girl gripped it and held the arrow in such a fashion that told me she knew exactly what she was doing. One thing was sure, this mysterious woman was a superb archer.
“You know? How could you? The watch—?”
“Come on, Kaldu,” I said. “Close your mouth. We must get out of here at once.”
“I believe you,” the woman said. She lowered the bow.
I heard Tyfar let out a shaky breath. He did not put as much trust as I did in the bowmanship of this girl.
“Which way is the watch coming?”
“In the direction of the Avenue of a Thousand—”
“Very well. We must go over the roof to the bakery beyond. Kaldu, fetch Barkindrar. Tell Nath.” She swung to face Tyfar and me. “I do not know who you are — yet. But if you are traitors—”
“Barkindrar and Nath are my men,” spoke up Tyfar. “Lady. I trust they are not badly hurt—”
“They can run.” Tyfar flinched back.
“Then,” I said, “for the sake of Havil the Green, let us all run!”
The girl flashed me a look. “Havil,” she said. “You are Hamalese?”
“Yes—” began Tyfar.
I said, “Havil is known over all Havilfar. Now enough shilly-shallying.” Barkindrar and Nath appeared, helped along by Kaldu. He loomed over them. “Come on, you two famblys. We must run for it.”
They started to speak and an enormous battering began on the door. The noise burst up from front and back of the building.
“The watch!” said Kaldu. “We are too late!”
“No!” flared the girl. She looked like an enraged zhantilla, fiery, incensed, splendid. “It’s never too late, until you’re dead!”
Chapter eight
An Arrow in the Swamp
The bakery leaned against the stables for mutual support. They propped each other. The aroma of baking bread fought with the dungy whiffs from the yard at the back of the barn. As we prepared to run through the opposite door to the bakery, the woman looked at Barkindrar. The Brokelsh was clearly in pain; but in that sullen, mulish, Brokelsh way he refused to acknowledge the fact. The woman placed her hand on Barkindrar’s forehead.
The hand was shapely, firm, clearly the hand of a woman and yet I knew that hand could accomplish warrior deeds. Her face relaxed for a betraying moment from her tough no-nonsense pose and revealed the compassion she felt. Then she swung back to us, hard and
Similar Books
