helpers to wait in ambush, he beat on the door in the middle of the night, the traditional hour for Death to come calling. He waited a minute, then opened it with an inquisitor’s golden key and went in. Elboro House was very opulent, all marble and thick rugs and gilt-framed mirrors. Warren and Quintus stood foursquare in the great entrance hall, barely visible in the moonlight. He had not expected both of them.
“Look who’s come!” Warren said. “Your reputation has preceded you, brother.”
Wolf gave them the speech he had ready. “We shall not be disturbed. You know you cannot escape and I know you cannot give up, any more than I can. I offer you a clean, quick end, or you can kill me and endure what follows. The choice is yours.”
Warren laughed shrilly. “You plan to take us on together? My Leader is a dueler of renown and I certainly intend to defend myself.”
“That is your right,” Wolf said, hoping they did not mean it. He drew Diligence. Two more swords flashed from their scabbards. He was gambling, of course, that their ward was already fleeing between the chimney pots and they would play for time, rather than fight seriously.
He was wrong. Quintus stayed out, but Warren was recently married, unwilling to die, and a deadly fencer. The rugs made for tricky footwork and absorbed the sound, so only clattering metal broke the silence, just panting breath and starry gleams from the steel. They worked their way around the hall, with Wolf doing most of the recovering, but in the end he got his back to the light and used that advantage to find an opening.
As he stood in bitter triumph over the body, sobbing for breath and bleeding like a pig from what Warren had done to him, he heard Quintus chuckle in a soft, macabre mockery of his boisterous mirth back in the days of their innocence.
“That was the easy part,” he said. “Try your teeth on me, Sir Wolf.”
He came forward in a whirl of rapier and the King’s Killer had no chance at all. Quintus drove him into a corner, pricking and jabbing without mercy, adding scars to his face with a surgeon’s precision, and all the time cackling.
“You don’t need all that much ear…. A little more leer…” Conjury could heal cuts, but not replace missing flesh. Soon Wolf was fighting with an arm over his forehead to keep the blood out of his eyes. Repeatedly Quintus cornered him, cut him some more, then let him break free, just to drive him back the other way. No swordsman in creation could have held him off and Wolf was convinced that Diligence was on her way to the sky of swords when his opponent suddenly hurled his rapier down and ripped his doublet open. And laughed.
“Oh, Lynx! You think he had a laugh when he was at Ironhall, you should have heard him then. The Yeomen two streets away heard him.”
Lynx’s eyes were still not back to normal, but he was interested enough to forget his own plight for a moment. “What happened?”
“I killed him. The point is that his ward was dead, Lynx. Elboro fell off the roof and saved Athelgar the headsman’s hire. Quintus’s binding snapped and he knew it right away.”
“So?”
“You still can’t sleep.”
Lynx shrugged stupidly, still bemused. “I fainted from lack of blood.”
“I said sleep. Your binding’s intact. Your ward’s still alive.”
Lynx’s eyes seemed to shine like a cat’s then. “Celeste? Alive?”
“She has to be. You’re still bound!”
She had not been taken for the sake of her jewels and dropped overboard. That was not the explanation.
12
B y the time the morning bell began its clamor, Wolf had finished writing a full report of his progress so far, little as that was. He had wrapped the bizarre wooden mace for shipment to the Privy Council and copied out parts of Lynx’s testimony for Master of Archives, so that Fell and Mandeville would receive due honor in the Litany. He had also raided the kitchens for a quick breakfast. Snow was falling but the wind was
“Look who’s come!” Warren said. “Your reputation has preceded you, brother.”
Wolf gave them the speech he had ready. “We shall not be disturbed. You know you cannot escape and I know you cannot give up, any more than I can. I offer you a clean, quick end, or you can kill me and endure what follows. The choice is yours.”
Warren laughed shrilly. “You plan to take us on together? My Leader is a dueler of renown and I certainly intend to defend myself.”
“That is your right,” Wolf said, hoping they did not mean it. He drew Diligence. Two more swords flashed from their scabbards. He was gambling, of course, that their ward was already fleeing between the chimney pots and they would play for time, rather than fight seriously.
He was wrong. Quintus stayed out, but Warren was recently married, unwilling to die, and a deadly fencer. The rugs made for tricky footwork and absorbed the sound, so only clattering metal broke the silence, just panting breath and starry gleams from the steel. They worked their way around the hall, with Wolf doing most of the recovering, but in the end he got his back to the light and used that advantage to find an opening.
As he stood in bitter triumph over the body, sobbing for breath and bleeding like a pig from what Warren had done to him, he heard Quintus chuckle in a soft, macabre mockery of his boisterous mirth back in the days of their innocence.
“That was the easy part,” he said. “Try your teeth on me, Sir Wolf.”
He came forward in a whirl of rapier and the King’s Killer had no chance at all. Quintus drove him into a corner, pricking and jabbing without mercy, adding scars to his face with a surgeon’s precision, and all the time cackling.
“You don’t need all that much ear…. A little more leer…” Conjury could heal cuts, but not replace missing flesh. Soon Wolf was fighting with an arm over his forehead to keep the blood out of his eyes. Repeatedly Quintus cornered him, cut him some more, then let him break free, just to drive him back the other way. No swordsman in creation could have held him off and Wolf was convinced that Diligence was on her way to the sky of swords when his opponent suddenly hurled his rapier down and ripped his doublet open. And laughed.
“Oh, Lynx! You think he had a laugh when he was at Ironhall, you should have heard him then. The Yeomen two streets away heard him.”
Lynx’s eyes were still not back to normal, but he was interested enough to forget his own plight for a moment. “What happened?”
“I killed him. The point is that his ward was dead, Lynx. Elboro fell off the roof and saved Athelgar the headsman’s hire. Quintus’s binding snapped and he knew it right away.”
“So?”
“You still can’t sleep.”
Lynx shrugged stupidly, still bemused. “I fainted from lack of blood.”
“I said sleep. Your binding’s intact. Your ward’s still alive.”
Lynx’s eyes seemed to shine like a cat’s then. “Celeste? Alive?”
“She has to be. You’re still bound!”
She had not been taken for the sake of her jewels and dropped overboard. That was not the explanation.
12
B y the time the morning bell began its clamor, Wolf had finished writing a full report of his progress so far, little as that was. He had wrapped the bizarre wooden mace for shipment to the Privy Council and copied out parts of Lynx’s testimony for Master of Archives, so that Fell and Mandeville would receive due honor in the Litany. He had also raided the kitchens for a quick breakfast. Snow was falling but the wind was
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