Frost by Robin W Bailey

lived!
    Time was short, and she feared someone might pass in the hall and hear the struggle. She had to end this.
    A knee smashed Tumac's unprotected groin. A loud animal grunt, and the governor slumped forward. Savagely, she kicked his feet from under him. His head twisted dangerously, eyes swelling as his entire weight suspended from the jeweled garrote. A pink tongue forced itself between discoloring lips.
    But still he clung to life. She put her foot on his neck.
    A furious pounding at the door, then it burst open. Two guards rushed in, swords sprouting from their fists. At a glance she recognized the one who had escorted her with Tumac.
    She released one end of the chain, and Tumac crumpled on the carpet. Only her uncanny speed saved her from a quick death as the first guard charged. A blade whistled past her ear. She swung the chain, and her attacker screamed as its pendulant gems stung his eyes. A foot sank into his belly; a fist crashed with startling power into the back of his head.
    She made damn sure he fell before she stopped hitting. Then, the second guard lunged. A desperate dodge, whirl and tug, and one of the veils that hung from the ceiling swirled down, tangling the man in its folds.
    But the first guard had found his feet again, groggy, yet still dangerous with his sword. He swung clumsily, and she danced back. Then her foot caught, slipped on something soft—Tumac's discarded pantaloons.
    She fell hard, cracking her head on the floor. The blade rushed up, descended. She rolled, evading death by a hair's breath. But something pulsed in the top of her skull, and her ears were full with a loud ringing. That carelessly strewn bit of silk had been her undoing.
    Through blurred vision she watched three more sentries rush into the bedchamber. The fight was over, a useless effort. She held up her hands in surrender, just staying a death-thrust from the first guard.
    Tumac was not dead. He tottered on shaky legs toward her, supported on either side by two men. Deep, mottled welts of crimson showed lividly around his neck where the links of chain had bitten. Pain glazed his tiny eyes.
    His hand came down against her cheek, but there was no strength in the blow, and she forced a perverse smile.
    His voice was a harsh raspy whisper. “You wretched, foolish girl!” A quivering finger pointed high along the wall. Concealed in the upper shadows was a narrow slit. No light showed through, but she guessed its purpose. “I'm never without my personal guard! Even with a woman I am watched and protected!"
    The fat little man who had come so close to death glowered, seeming to expect a reply. She considered a number of mocking insults, but decided to hold her tongue. She was in enough trouble already.
    â€œI should have given you to young Telric,” he croaked when she plainly had nothing to say. He motioned to the guards. “Take the thankless, ungrateful little bitch back to her cell, and never let me set eyes on her again."
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    Chapter Six
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    She fell in a heap on the straw-covered floor, and the cell door slammed shut. The laughter of the guards lingered long after their footsteps faded.
    She was back where she started—naked, bound and weaponless. A large bump where her head had met the floor in Tumac's room ached mercilessly, but she ignored the pain as best she could and worked at the chain that held her wrists. Though the numbness in her fingers made the knotted links difficult to manipulate after long minutes she was free. Circulation returned with tingling slowness, and she licked the raw, red bands that chaffed her skin.
    She felt only slightly less impotent. Rising, she paced the cell. No furniture—not even the little stool she had tripped over before. Nothing to break up and use as a weapon. She tried her weight against the door; it was thick, solid, betraying not the least sign of weakness. The bars in the small window were set deep in the wood, quite