charged Scrornuck. Instead of taking them on directly, he jumped, up and forward, doing a flip in the air and landing directly behind their leader. An instant later, he raised Ol’ Red's blade to the Captain's throat and made an offer of his own: “This is your last chance to go peacefully."
The soldiers had seen enough. They ran like scared rabbits, past Scrornuck and their leader, out of the courtyard, down the passageway and were gone.
Scrornuck put his sword away but kept one hand firmly clamped about his prisoner's neck. “Maybe you'd like to tell us a little bit more about Lord Draggott and why he wants us?"
"Aggh—ack—auggh,” the Captain gurgled in response.
"It's hard to talk when you're being strangled,” Jape said.
"Oh.” Scrornuck loosened his grip a little.
"Two of my best men...” their captive sputtered, squirming to get a good look at Scrornuck's face. “What kind of demon are you?"
"The kind that'll rip your lungs out if I don't like your answers.” He brought Ol’ Red's blade a little closer to his prisoner's throat.
Jape stared into the Captain's eyes. “Tell us about Lord Draggott.” His voice was soft, almost soothing. “Who is he? What's he look like?"
"He is our master,” came the defiant reply. “He wears black—black hood, black cape, black robes, black mask..."
"Of course,” Scrornuck spat, “they always wear black."
"It is the will of Spafu that we defend our sacred way of life,” the Captain said. “Lord Draggott has told us that invaders would come to defile the Temple and overturn the sacred order. We must not let that happen..."
"Who is he to say such things?” Nalia demanded. “A prophet?"
"Lord Draggott is more than a mere prophet. He is the true—"
Scrornuck heard a crunch from above. He spun about, dragging his captive with him, and saw atop the wall a soldier with a dagger in his hand. As Scrornuck shoved Jape, Nalia and the Captain to the ground, the soldier threw his weapon. Scrornuck spun to his right and ducked, and the dagger bounced off his jacket. Then, as the boots sang their song, he leaped upward, landing on the rotted fake-stone at the top of the wall. The soldier reached into his belt for another dagger, Scrornuck threw a punch, and the century-old plastic-and-stucco collapsed under them.
Both men fell. One knew how to land. Scrornuck twisted in the air, getting the boots underneath him to soak up most of the shock of impact. He dropped and rolled and knew he'd be sore tomorrow, but he'd done much better than the knife-thrower, who lay unmoving on the grass, his neck at an impossible angle.
The Captain saw an opportunity and bolted for the passageway. "Shit!" Scrornuck muttered as the sound of footsteps faded away, “bitch got away.” He spent a moment listening for noises in the passage and scanning the roof for any more attacks from above. Seeing and hearing nothing out of the ordinary, he relaxed a little and helped Jape and Nalia to their feet. “I think they're gone—for now, anyway."
Taking the little red prayer book from his sporran, he knelt beside the dead and recited the Prayer of Intercession for Fallen Enemies, following it with a moment of respectful silence.
"Did you really have to whack those guys?” Jape whispered as Scrornuck put the prayer book away. “They don't harm guests here, remember?"
"That's what I thought, too.” Scrornuck took Jape's hand and held it against the warm, sticky wound in his side.
"Hmm.” Jape wiped his fingers on a patch of Scrornuck's kilt—there were so many bloodstains on the garment that one more would hardly be noticed—and reached into a pocket of his cape. “Do you need the first-aid stuff?"
"It's minor. I'll take care of it tonight."
Jape nodded, and with one toe he rolled over the body of the soldier who'd fallen from the roof. “Let's see if we can learn something about who they were.” Still working with his toe, he prodded the helmet off the dead man. “Would you
The soldiers had seen enough. They ran like scared rabbits, past Scrornuck and their leader, out of the courtyard, down the passageway and were gone.
Scrornuck put his sword away but kept one hand firmly clamped about his prisoner's neck. “Maybe you'd like to tell us a little bit more about Lord Draggott and why he wants us?"
"Aggh—ack—auggh,” the Captain gurgled in response.
"It's hard to talk when you're being strangled,” Jape said.
"Oh.” Scrornuck loosened his grip a little.
"Two of my best men...” their captive sputtered, squirming to get a good look at Scrornuck's face. “What kind of demon are you?"
"The kind that'll rip your lungs out if I don't like your answers.” He brought Ol’ Red's blade a little closer to his prisoner's throat.
Jape stared into the Captain's eyes. “Tell us about Lord Draggott.” His voice was soft, almost soothing. “Who is he? What's he look like?"
"He is our master,” came the defiant reply. “He wears black—black hood, black cape, black robes, black mask..."
"Of course,” Scrornuck spat, “they always wear black."
"It is the will of Spafu that we defend our sacred way of life,” the Captain said. “Lord Draggott has told us that invaders would come to defile the Temple and overturn the sacred order. We must not let that happen..."
"Who is he to say such things?” Nalia demanded. “A prophet?"
"Lord Draggott is more than a mere prophet. He is the true—"
Scrornuck heard a crunch from above. He spun about, dragging his captive with him, and saw atop the wall a soldier with a dagger in his hand. As Scrornuck shoved Jape, Nalia and the Captain to the ground, the soldier threw his weapon. Scrornuck spun to his right and ducked, and the dagger bounced off his jacket. Then, as the boots sang their song, he leaped upward, landing on the rotted fake-stone at the top of the wall. The soldier reached into his belt for another dagger, Scrornuck threw a punch, and the century-old plastic-and-stucco collapsed under them.
Both men fell. One knew how to land. Scrornuck twisted in the air, getting the boots underneath him to soak up most of the shock of impact. He dropped and rolled and knew he'd be sore tomorrow, but he'd done much better than the knife-thrower, who lay unmoving on the grass, his neck at an impossible angle.
The Captain saw an opportunity and bolted for the passageway. "Shit!" Scrornuck muttered as the sound of footsteps faded away, “bitch got away.” He spent a moment listening for noises in the passage and scanning the roof for any more attacks from above. Seeing and hearing nothing out of the ordinary, he relaxed a little and helped Jape and Nalia to their feet. “I think they're gone—for now, anyway."
Taking the little red prayer book from his sporran, he knelt beside the dead and recited the Prayer of Intercession for Fallen Enemies, following it with a moment of respectful silence.
"Did you really have to whack those guys?” Jape whispered as Scrornuck put the prayer book away. “They don't harm guests here, remember?"
"That's what I thought, too.” Scrornuck took Jape's hand and held it against the warm, sticky wound in his side.
"Hmm.” Jape wiped his fingers on a patch of Scrornuck's kilt—there were so many bloodstains on the garment that one more would hardly be noticed—and reached into a pocket of his cape. “Do you need the first-aid stuff?"
"It's minor. I'll take care of it tonight."
Jape nodded, and with one toe he rolled over the body of the soldier who'd fallen from the roof. “Let's see if we can learn something about who they were.” Still working with his toe, he prodded the helmet off the dead man. “Would you
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