sparks and splinters from the hay-barn wall. And that left one.
As Aldric rolled from the fall and back to his feet, Widowmaker came from her scabbard with a whisper of steel on wood… and then froze halfway to a guard position as the man with the last loaded crossbow walked forward slowly, enjoying his moment of absolute superiority. Behind him, the other two slung their missile weapons and drew shortswords for what would now be only butchery.
“Aldric Talvalin,” said the first
taulath
. He spoke excellent Alban, with a Pryteinek accent, so that Aldric glared hatred. The man’s crossbow wasn’t aimed, but pointing nonchalantly at the ground… for now.
“Keep the girl safe,” said the hateful Alban voice behind the hood. “Girls are for dessert.”
“Sweets are bad for you,” said Aldric, deliberately using the highest form of the Alban language as an unsubtle insult. It was the way a clan-lord would address a beggar, if the clan-lord deigned to communicate with more than just his riding-quirt.
The
taulath’s
crossbow came up, steadied, sighted on Aldric’s forehead… and loosed. Blue fire exploded unsummoned from Widowmaker’s pommel-stone and enveloped her blade in the instant of the missile’s flight. The longsword shifted to guard in a flicker of hot blue-white light, and emitted a shrill metallic screech as her edges met the accelerating crossbow bolt and sheared it point to nock in two. Aldric hid disbelief behind a hun-gry feral grin and whipped the blue-burning
taiken
through to an attack posture—
And then there was a slap of impact and the center of the
taulath’s
hood went explosively concave. As his companions dived for cover, the assassin took a single tottering step backward and fell. Aldric matched his movement with a raking stride forward that slammed his heel square into the center of the masked face, then brought Isileth Widowmaker down with all his force onto the crown of the hooded head.
The
taulath
lay quite still in the snow, split to the middle of the chest, crumpled and bloody and somehow smaller now. The other
tulathin
were nowhere to be seen.
“What—what happened?” Kyrin had spent the past few seconds face downward in the snow, displaying good sense for what Aldric considered was the first time in far too long. “I thought you were dead!!”
“Exaggerated rumors.” Aldric’s sardonic smile was not a particularly pleasant thing to see, especially since it was spattered with the dead man’s blood. “Now, quick, and quiet: to the stables.”
“I said what happened?”
“Slingshot.” He augmented the laconic answer by turning her hand palm-up and dropping into it what looked like a small egg. Kyrin glanced down—then made a shocked little noise as she realized exactly what he meant, dropped the still-bloody lead slug into a snowdrift and scrubbed her smeared hand hard against the leg of her riding-breeches. The slug had been completely round when it left the sling, but now it was slightly flattened—because a human skull can always put up some resistance, even to a slung lead shot…
“Who killed him—not you?”
“I wish…” Aldric pushed open the stable door and led the way in with the muzzle of his
telek
. Apart from agitated horses, the place was empty. “No, I just made sure. He shot at me, and then that thing took part of his head off. The other two got out of sight; they’re still out there somewhere.” He swung up into Lyard’s saddle, leaving one foot free of its stirrup so that he could lean sideways,
kailin-style
, along the horse’s neck, and looked back at Kyrin. “So are the others, the
tulathin
in white who killed him.”
“More
tulathin
! Friends of yours?”
“Just more assassins. They don’t want the first squad to kill me—that’s the only good thing about them. As for what
they
want, I think it’s me again. Alive, this time.”
“No encouragement to stay.”
“All right, you win.” Aldric laughed, a harsh bark of
As Aldric rolled from the fall and back to his feet, Widowmaker came from her scabbard with a whisper of steel on wood… and then froze halfway to a guard position as the man with the last loaded crossbow walked forward slowly, enjoying his moment of absolute superiority. Behind him, the other two slung their missile weapons and drew shortswords for what would now be only butchery.
“Aldric Talvalin,” said the first
taulath
. He spoke excellent Alban, with a Pryteinek accent, so that Aldric glared hatred. The man’s crossbow wasn’t aimed, but pointing nonchalantly at the ground… for now.
“Keep the girl safe,” said the hateful Alban voice behind the hood. “Girls are for dessert.”
“Sweets are bad for you,” said Aldric, deliberately using the highest form of the Alban language as an unsubtle insult. It was the way a clan-lord would address a beggar, if the clan-lord deigned to communicate with more than just his riding-quirt.
The
taulath’s
crossbow came up, steadied, sighted on Aldric’s forehead… and loosed. Blue fire exploded unsummoned from Widowmaker’s pommel-stone and enveloped her blade in the instant of the missile’s flight. The longsword shifted to guard in a flicker of hot blue-white light, and emitted a shrill metallic screech as her edges met the accelerating crossbow bolt and sheared it point to nock in two. Aldric hid disbelief behind a hun-gry feral grin and whipped the blue-burning
taiken
through to an attack posture—
And then there was a slap of impact and the center of the
taulath’s
hood went explosively concave. As his companions dived for cover, the assassin took a single tottering step backward and fell. Aldric matched his movement with a raking stride forward that slammed his heel square into the center of the masked face, then brought Isileth Widowmaker down with all his force onto the crown of the hooded head.
The
taulath
lay quite still in the snow, split to the middle of the chest, crumpled and bloody and somehow smaller now. The other
tulathin
were nowhere to be seen.
“What—what happened?” Kyrin had spent the past few seconds face downward in the snow, displaying good sense for what Aldric considered was the first time in far too long. “I thought you were dead!!”
“Exaggerated rumors.” Aldric’s sardonic smile was not a particularly pleasant thing to see, especially since it was spattered with the dead man’s blood. “Now, quick, and quiet: to the stables.”
“I said what happened?”
“Slingshot.” He augmented the laconic answer by turning her hand palm-up and dropping into it what looked like a small egg. Kyrin glanced down—then made a shocked little noise as she realized exactly what he meant, dropped the still-bloody lead slug into a snowdrift and scrubbed her smeared hand hard against the leg of her riding-breeches. The slug had been completely round when it left the sling, but now it was slightly flattened—because a human skull can always put up some resistance, even to a slung lead shot…
“Who killed him—not you?”
“I wish…” Aldric pushed open the stable door and led the way in with the muzzle of his
telek
. Apart from agitated horses, the place was empty. “No, I just made sure. He shot at me, and then that thing took part of his head off. The other two got out of sight; they’re still out there somewhere.” He swung up into Lyard’s saddle, leaving one foot free of its stirrup so that he could lean sideways,
kailin-style
, along the horse’s neck, and looked back at Kyrin. “So are the others, the
tulathin
in white who killed him.”
“More
tulathin
! Friends of yours?”
“Just more assassins. They don’t want the first squad to kill me—that’s the only good thing about them. As for what
they
want, I think it’s me again. Alive, this time.”
“No encouragement to stay.”
“All right, you win.” Aldric laughed, a harsh bark of
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