Guld was unable to resist as the man beside him, massive and dark and armoured- the foreigner with the scimitar — pried the sword from the sergeant’s numbed fingers. The man had a heavy iron crossbow resting on his left forearm, a rune-crowded quarrel in place and nocked. “Don’t worry,” the man whispered in his appalling and barbaric accent, “you’ll get what’s left of ’em both, enough to appease the mob. But now leave me to my business. You have no idea what you face-be glad for that.”
Guld managed to lift his head. The scene spinning before his eyes, he could only half-discern what was happening at the post. The crow had spread its wings, then it drifted down toward the handmaid. There was a blur and a cold ripple and the crow became a man, a huge, chain-armoured, bald-headed man, who looked down on the maid. She said something and he giggled in reply. He raised a hand, gestured delicately and the girl buckled, gurgling, then flew limp and sprawling to one side with blood spraying onto the cobbles.
Princess Sharn groaned as if in ecstasy.
The eunuch slowly approached her.
Beside Guld, the hunter raised his weapon weapon and took careful aim.
“Shoot,” Guld managed to hiss. “Shoot, damn you!”
He heard creaking sounds come from the hunter, and turned to see the man’s face darken, as if with great strain. “What in Hood’s name is the matter with you?” Guld tried to push himself upright, but the pain lancing through his head was too much. He could only stare in dawning realisation as the hunter strained with all his might, yet could not move a muscle.
A cool, calm voice spoke behind them. “Steck Marynd, you are a stubborn one, aren’t you? You are welcome to struggle all you like, but I assure you that, although you cannot see it, the demon holding you fast exercises but a modest effort in restraining you. Gods,” Bauchelain continued as he stepped around both men, “what a wasted life, this maniacal pursuit. How many years since that unfortunate crossing of our paths? Far too many indeed. I suggest you retire, thankful that I’ve spared your life, once again-but, I add, for the last time. ’Tis not mercy that stays my hands, sir. But indifference, alas. You are, after all, naught but a minor irritation. Well,” he paused, then raised his voice to the eunuch even as the monstrosity began a sorcerous gesture of death in front of the princess. “Korbal Broach! Leave off the damsel, old friend. Her poor maid will suffice this night, surely?”
Korbal Broach hesitated, then cocked his head in Bauchelain’s direction. “Twice touched, this one, Bauchelain,” he said in a reedy thing voice. “She belonged to last night, yet deprived was I, humble servant to life.”
“The Lady pulled, then,” Bauchelain said easily, walking up to his companion. “Give her that.”
The eunuch pouted. “You would deprive me of begetting, again, Bauchelain?”
“I think you have enough for now,” the man replied. “Besides, detecting a hastening of events, I have dispatched our manservant to the docks-after imposing a long slumber on the corporal outside Sorrowman’s, of course. In any case, vast coin is even now being spent on our behalf, and so our departure is imminent.”
“But Bauchelain,” Korbal Broach said softly, “all who neared my trail are assembled. We could silence them each one, and the city would remain ours for many more weeks. Even the sergeant’s squad has been taken care of-who now could endanger our efforts? Kill the sergeant, kill Steck Marynd, kill the princess, and lo, we are at ease once again.”
“In a city plunged into violent chaos.” Bauchelain shook his head. “Steck’s death is not to be by our hand this night, Korbal. He will live many years yet, unfortunately. As for the sergeant, I admit to sufficient respect to warrant him a grave threat-should the princess die tonight-”
“Then kill him. ’Tis easily solved.”
“Not so,” Bauchelain answered smoothly. “Less than an hour past, the Mortal Sword, Tulgord Vise, swore a blood-vow, consecrated by the High Priestess of the Sisters. It seems our entourage of pursuers has grown by one, and like Steck Marynd, the goddess-charged fool will not relent in his hunt. So, let us not add Sergeant Guld to the train. The Mortal Sword, blooded by the Sisters, even now defies my wards, and approaches.”
“Kill him.”
Bauchelain shook his head. “Best to wait a year or two, when the power of the ritual has faded somewhat. I’ve no wish to stain my clothes-” He turned as the clash of horse hoofs sounded from down a side street. “Oh dear, it seems we’ve tarried too long as it is…”
Tulgord Vise had broken through the wards. The thundering charge of his warhorse fast approached from beyond the humped barrow that rose like a tiny hummock where the street opened onto the Round.
Bauchelain sighed. “The Mortal Sword’s sudden gift of power is… formidable.” He raised a hand. “Alas, he forgot to bless his horse.” A gesture. On the other side of the barrow there was a bestial scream, then a terrible crashing sound followed by a solid crunch. The stones of the barrow seemed to bulge momentarily in the low torchlight, then settled once more in a haze of dust. “It will,” Bauchelain spoke, “be some time before the Mortal Sword regains his senses, sufficient, that is, to extricate his head and shoulders from the barrow.” He swung back to Korbal Broach. “My friend, we’ve outstayed our welcome. Our manservant lays out the coin-our baggage is being carted to our transport. It is time, Korbal, we must move on.”
At that moment something white and the size of a fat cat darted from the shattered barrow. Spying it, Bauchelain murmured, “Oh, I like the look of that.” He gestured once more.
An ethereal demon rose hulking and massive in the white rat’s path. A taloned hand snapped down. The rat- Whitemane, Guld realized, it must be — had time for a single piteous squeal before it vanished into the demon’s fanged maw.
“Get that out of your mouth right now!” Bauchelain roared, stepping forward.
The towering demon flinched, shoulders hunching.
“Spit!”
The demon spat out a mangled, red-smeared lump of fur that bounced once on the cobbles then lay still.
“Korbal, examine the unfortunate Soletaken, if you please.”
The eunuch sniffed in the rat’s direction, then shrugged. “It will live.”
“Excellent.” Bauchelain addressed the demon once more, “Fortunate for you, Kenyll’rah. Now, gather up the hapless thing and return to my trunk-”
“Not tho fatht!” a voice cried from one side.
Guld managed to turn his head and saw Blather Roe and Birklas Punth standing on the other side of the fountain, their hats pulled low. Both held their long-shafted rat-stickers leaning over a shoulder.
“And who might you two be?” Bauchelain inquired.
“Kill them,” Korbal Broach whined. “I don’t like them. They make me nervous.”
“Remain calm, my friend,” Bauchelain cautioned. “While I share your unease, I am certain some amiable arrangement can be achieved.”
Guld stared at the two floppy-hatted men. They’re just rat-hunters-why all this anxiety?
Birklas was eyeing the Kenyll’rah demon with distaste. “Dreadful apparition, begone!”
The demon wilted, wavered, then vanished.
On the cobbles Whitemane suddenly lifted its head, glanced about, then scurried for the shadows.
“That was unkind of you,” Bauchelain complained. “I dislike having my servants dismissed by anyone other than myself.”
Birklas shrugged. “Moll may indeed be a modest city, Wizard, but only in outward appearance. It has its games, and its players, and we like things the way they are. You and your necromantic friend have… upset things.”
“Thingth,” Blather added, “that don’t like being upthet.”
“They smell of a barrow,” Korbal Broach said.
Bauchelain slowly nodded. “Indeed, they do. Yet this city’s barrows are so… insignificant, I cannot imagine…”
“Wards are not eternal,” Birklas murmured. “Although, I will grant you, it took us some time to find our way out of the Knoll. Only to find we had been preceded by almost every efficacious spirit and being once interred alongside us in the lesser barrows. They used the rats, you see. Blather and I, however, did not. In any case, enough of all this. Consider yourselves expelled from Lamentable Moll.”
Bauchelain shrugged. “Acceptable. We were just leaving in any case.”
“Good,” Blather smiled.
