was back, but it was coming from the Marshal and his men—all of them, as far as she could tell.
“Halt!” Thrusk barked.
His little troop halted. They were only a few feet in front of Saxon’s nose now—two on the left and three on the right, placed to shoot past the horse at the passengers. The squeaks and hoofbeats in the rear died away as the coach stopped. Horses whinnied greetings. Emerald risked a glance behind her and was not at all surprised to see Murther’s purple monster and its four beautiful chestnuts. One of the grooms was opening the door and pulling down the steps, and the armed guards were clambering down from the rooftop seat. Wart with his rusty sword was seriously outnumbered.
Thrusk walked along the verge, staying clear of his men’s line of fire, on Wart’s side of the wagon. “Get down, both of you.”
As Emerald began to move, Wart said, “Stay where you are! By what right do you contest our passage on the King’s highway, fat man?”
Thrusk showed yellow teeth in his black jungle of beard. “By right of might, shrimp. Now get down or I’ll have my men—Huh?” He took one step closer, peering harder at Wart. So tall was he and so low the wagon that he was looking down, rather than up. “By the eight! It’s the minstrel brat, the sneak thief! Well, well, well!” His roar of laughter sent avalanches of ice down Emerald’s backbone.
Wart glanced back. So did Emerald.
And so did Thrusk.
Doctor Skuldigger was just emerging from the coach.
Taking advantage of that momentary distraction, Wart made a flying leap from the wagon, swinging the rusty sword in a murderous slash. What he might have achieved with it against a man wearing breastplate and helmet was never established, because he caught a toe on the wheel. His war cry became a howl of despair and he pitched headlong, sprawling in the dirt like a wagonload of firewood. He rolled and his sword rattled away across the gravel.
Emerald ducked, but no crossbow bolts flashed through the air.
“ Flames !” Thrusk roared. “Try to kill me, would you?” He grabbed the front of Wart’s jerkin and hoisted him up bodily with one hand, as if he weighed no more than a blanket.
Wart sagged in his grasp like a rag doll, half stunned by his fall, eyes wobbling, but evidently undaunted. “Killing’s too good for you, stinkard!”
Thrusk roared in fury and slammed a fist the size of a loaf of bread against Wart’s jaw.
Emerald screamed at such brutality. Wart hit the ground again, flat on his back. But Thrusk then drew his sword as if to chop off his opponent’s head and the time for screaming was past. “ Leave him alone !” She was down on the road between the two of them with no clear recollection of hitching up her skirts and completing the sort of mad leap that Wart had attempted, even in her ill-fitting shoes. “You get back!” she yelled, spreading her arms.
Thrusk snarled and drew back his free hand to swat her aside. An instant before he would have spread her as flat as he had spread Wart, a sepulchral voice spoke at her back.
“Stop!”
At that soft moan, the giant froze.
“Incompetent oaf!” Doctor Skuldigger came mincing forward, followed a few paces behind by Mistress Murther and another woman. “Aw? What are you doing, Marshal? Tell your men to unload those bows at once.”
Thrusk barked an order at his troop. “This trash tried to kill me.” He gestured with his sword at the unconscious Wart, the move being close enough to Emerald’s knee that she jumped aside. His attitude to the Doctor was one of sulky deference.
Skuldigger was in charge. He sighed. “Aw? I instructed you that there was to be no bloodshed.”
Blood was still being shed. Emerald knelt to examine Wart. He was out cold and bleeding badly from the mouth. Whether he had lost teeth or simply split his lips she could not tell, but his jaw was swelling up like a red cabbage. Perhaps this experience would cure some of his tricky habits.
“Halt!” Thrusk barked.
His little troop halted. They were only a few feet in front of Saxon’s nose now—two on the left and three on the right, placed to shoot past the horse at the passengers. The squeaks and hoofbeats in the rear died away as the coach stopped. Horses whinnied greetings. Emerald risked a glance behind her and was not at all surprised to see Murther’s purple monster and its four beautiful chestnuts. One of the grooms was opening the door and pulling down the steps, and the armed guards were clambering down from the rooftop seat. Wart with his rusty sword was seriously outnumbered.
Thrusk walked along the verge, staying clear of his men’s line of fire, on Wart’s side of the wagon. “Get down, both of you.”
As Emerald began to move, Wart said, “Stay where you are! By what right do you contest our passage on the King’s highway, fat man?”
Thrusk showed yellow teeth in his black jungle of beard. “By right of might, shrimp. Now get down or I’ll have my men—Huh?” He took one step closer, peering harder at Wart. So tall was he and so low the wagon that he was looking down, rather than up. “By the eight! It’s the minstrel brat, the sneak thief! Well, well, well!” His roar of laughter sent avalanches of ice down Emerald’s backbone.
Wart glanced back. So did Emerald.
And so did Thrusk.
Doctor Skuldigger was just emerging from the coach.
Taking advantage of that momentary distraction, Wart made a flying leap from the wagon, swinging the rusty sword in a murderous slash. What he might have achieved with it against a man wearing breastplate and helmet was never established, because he caught a toe on the wheel. His war cry became a howl of despair and he pitched headlong, sprawling in the dirt like a wagonload of firewood. He rolled and his sword rattled away across the gravel.
Emerald ducked, but no crossbow bolts flashed through the air.
“ Flames !” Thrusk roared. “Try to kill me, would you?” He grabbed the front of Wart’s jerkin and hoisted him up bodily with one hand, as if he weighed no more than a blanket.
Wart sagged in his grasp like a rag doll, half stunned by his fall, eyes wobbling, but evidently undaunted. “Killing’s too good for you, stinkard!”
Thrusk roared in fury and slammed a fist the size of a loaf of bread against Wart’s jaw.
Emerald screamed at such brutality. Wart hit the ground again, flat on his back. But Thrusk then drew his sword as if to chop off his opponent’s head and the time for screaming was past. “ Leave him alone !” She was down on the road between the two of them with no clear recollection of hitching up her skirts and completing the sort of mad leap that Wart had attempted, even in her ill-fitting shoes. “You get back!” she yelled, spreading her arms.
Thrusk snarled and drew back his free hand to swat her aside. An instant before he would have spread her as flat as he had spread Wart, a sepulchral voice spoke at her back.
“Stop!”
At that soft moan, the giant froze.
“Incompetent oaf!” Doctor Skuldigger came mincing forward, followed a few paces behind by Mistress Murther and another woman. “Aw? What are you doing, Marshal? Tell your men to unload those bows at once.”
Thrusk barked an order at his troop. “This trash tried to kill me.” He gestured with his sword at the unconscious Wart, the move being close enough to Emerald’s knee that she jumped aside. His attitude to the Doctor was one of sulky deference.
Skuldigger was in charge. He sighed. “Aw? I instructed you that there was to be no bloodshed.”
Blood was still being shed. Emerald knelt to examine Wart. He was out cold and bleeding badly from the mouth. Whether he had lost teeth or simply split his lips she could not tell, but his jaw was swelling up like a red cabbage. Perhaps this experience would cure some of his tricky habits.
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