imperative.
“They take their time. They will never see us past the bakery.”
She wore a rapier and main gauche. The bow went up on her shoulder out of the way. Her brown hair, trimmed neatly and rather too short, shone bravely in the light of the suns.
I looked past the jut of the stable roof as we went out. If some damned inquisitive mercenary took it into his head to move well out into the yard, he could not fail to see us. Once they had broken into the building they’d be up the stairs like a pack of werstings, all fangs and ravagings.
The bakery was a single-story affair and we ought to scramble down easily enough. I judged there would be no need to set a rear guard, and Nod the Straw, out on the roof, would have warned us if a mercenary did stroll out too far.
Nod the Straw, a wispy little fellow who worked in the stables, waited for us on the roof. His pop-eyes and thick-lipped mouth expressed no surprise that there were two more people suddenly appearing from the shelter of his barn. But he was savagely annoyed and kept brandishing a cut-down pitchfork.
“I know who it was,” he raved. “That crop-eared, no-good kleesh of a Sorgan! He must have betrayed us — and they’ll give him a dozen stripes quicker’n a dozen silver sinvers.”
“Never mind about who betrayed us now, Nod,” said the woman. “Help get Barkindrar down off your roof.”
Tyfar said, “Do you all go on. I shall hold the roof and delay them—”
The woman threw him a glance that I, for one, would not welcome. Although, by Krun, that self-same look that says what a great ninny you are has been thrown at me in my time.
“Leave off, Nod,” said Kaldu. “I will take Barkindrar on my back.”
“You great dermiflon!” jibed Nod the Straw. But he desisted in his efforts, and Kaldu took Barkindrar up and bore him swiftly down over the roof of the bakery. Nath the Shaft followed with Nod the Straw.
“What are you waiting for?” said Tyfar. He drew his sword. “I can hold them off for long enough—”
“You think, then,” said this woman in her imperious way, “that you are some kind of Jikai?”
Tyfar’s color rose up into his cheeks.
“I think I know where honor—”
“Honor!” She laughed, and, even then, even in all that thumping racket from below, and the peril in which we stood, that laughter rose, pure and untrammeled, and exciting.
“Go on, Tyfar,” I said. “There is time to get across into the shadows of the bakery.”
“I shall not precede this — lady.”
“Then,” I said, and if you are surprised you still do not understand that old reprobate, Dray Prescot,
“then I shall go at once myself and leave you two to wrangle it out between you.”
And, with that, I jumped down onto the adjoining roof and crabbed deuced swiftly across to follow the others as they clawed their way down a crumbling wall to the alley. I had no compunction. I knew Tyfar’s honor would make him follow me, wasting no more time. If the woman wished to be last, no doubt following some obscure honor code or discipline of her own, then we’d only hold things up by further wrangling.
Tyfar breathed down my neck as I jumped for the alley.
“That woman! Insufferable! Vosk-headed! Stubborn as a graint!”
“Charming, though, you must agree.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I noticed her at once. Although I would not say charming — in fact, charming is the last word I’d use. Attractive, alluring, beautiful — yes, she’s all those. But who can put up with seductiveness cloaked with superciliousness?”
I peered suspiciously at Tyfar. “Isn’t that San Blarnoi? Although, to be sure, I think the quote phrases it somewhat differently from ‘put up with’.”
“San Blarnoi knew what he was talking about. That woman!”
“Yes?” came that smooth mellifluous voice, sweet as honey and sharp as a rapier. “What woman would that be, horter?”
Tyfar spun about. I was facing him, and he swung back to stare
“They take their time. They will never see us past the bakery.”
She wore a rapier and main gauche. The bow went up on her shoulder out of the way. Her brown hair, trimmed neatly and rather too short, shone bravely in the light of the suns.
I looked past the jut of the stable roof as we went out. If some damned inquisitive mercenary took it into his head to move well out into the yard, he could not fail to see us. Once they had broken into the building they’d be up the stairs like a pack of werstings, all fangs and ravagings.
The bakery was a single-story affair and we ought to scramble down easily enough. I judged there would be no need to set a rear guard, and Nod the Straw, out on the roof, would have warned us if a mercenary did stroll out too far.
Nod the Straw, a wispy little fellow who worked in the stables, waited for us on the roof. His pop-eyes and thick-lipped mouth expressed no surprise that there were two more people suddenly appearing from the shelter of his barn. But he was savagely annoyed and kept brandishing a cut-down pitchfork.
“I know who it was,” he raved. “That crop-eared, no-good kleesh of a Sorgan! He must have betrayed us — and they’ll give him a dozen stripes quicker’n a dozen silver sinvers.”
“Never mind about who betrayed us now, Nod,” said the woman. “Help get Barkindrar down off your roof.”
Tyfar said, “Do you all go on. I shall hold the roof and delay them—”
The woman threw him a glance that I, for one, would not welcome. Although, by Krun, that self-same look that says what a great ninny you are has been thrown at me in my time.
“Leave off, Nod,” said Kaldu. “I will take Barkindrar on my back.”
“You great dermiflon!” jibed Nod the Straw. But he desisted in his efforts, and Kaldu took Barkindrar up and bore him swiftly down over the roof of the bakery. Nath the Shaft followed with Nod the Straw.
“What are you waiting for?” said Tyfar. He drew his sword. “I can hold them off for long enough—”
“You think, then,” said this woman in her imperious way, “that you are some kind of Jikai?”
Tyfar’s color rose up into his cheeks.
“I think I know where honor—”
“Honor!” She laughed, and, even then, even in all that thumping racket from below, and the peril in which we stood, that laughter rose, pure and untrammeled, and exciting.
“Go on, Tyfar,” I said. “There is time to get across into the shadows of the bakery.”
“I shall not precede this — lady.”
“Then,” I said, and if you are surprised you still do not understand that old reprobate, Dray Prescot,
“then I shall go at once myself and leave you two to wrangle it out between you.”
And, with that, I jumped down onto the adjoining roof and crabbed deuced swiftly across to follow the others as they clawed their way down a crumbling wall to the alley. I had no compunction. I knew Tyfar’s honor would make him follow me, wasting no more time. If the woman wished to be last, no doubt following some obscure honor code or discipline of her own, then we’d only hold things up by further wrangling.
Tyfar breathed down my neck as I jumped for the alley.
“That woman! Insufferable! Vosk-headed! Stubborn as a graint!”
“Charming, though, you must agree.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I noticed her at once. Although I would not say charming — in fact, charming is the last word I’d use. Attractive, alluring, beautiful — yes, she’s all those. But who can put up with seductiveness cloaked with superciliousness?”
I peered suspiciously at Tyfar. “Isn’t that San Blarnoi? Although, to be sure, I think the quote phrases it somewhat differently from ‘put up with’.”
“San Blarnoi knew what he was talking about. That woman!”
“Yes?” came that smooth mellifluous voice, sweet as honey and sharp as a rapier. “What woman would that be, horter?”
Tyfar spun about. I was facing him, and he swung back to stare
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