had begged but to no avail.
Many things had changed in those few years. Among them, the arrival of Kerowyn, who had sent one of her commandos to prove to Selenay that she and her daughter needed the kind of protection only instruction in the lowest forms of fighting could provide. Alberich undertook the Queen's instruction; Kero and Skif got Elspeth's. The lessons were frequently painful.
Dirk's taught me a thing or two since the last lesson- she told herself as she circled him warily, testing her footing as she watched his eyes. and I bet neither of them knows that.
She sensed the pile of armor behind her, and tried to remember what was topmost. Was it something she could throw over his head to temporarily blind him?
'Pick up the pace, boy,' Kerowyn said. 'Take some chances. You only have a few more moments before she either calls for help herself with Mindspeech, or her Companion brings the cavalry.' Skif lunged just as she made a grab for the nearest piece of junk, a leather gambeson. He waited until she moved, then struck like a coiled snake. He caught her in the act of bending over sideways and tackled her, both of them flying over the pile and landing in a heap on the other side of it. Her knife went skidding across the floor as her cheek hit the gritty floor, all the breath knocked out of her.
She writhed in his grip and grabbed the edge of his hood and tried to pull it down over his eyes, but it was too tightly wrapped. She struggled to get her knee up into his stomach, clawed at the wrappings around his head with no effect, and kicked ineffectually at the back of his legs. He simply pinned her with his greater weight, and slapped the side of her head at the same time, calling out 'Disable!' Damn. She obediently went limp. He scrambled to his feet, heaved her up like a sack of grain, slung her over his shoulder and started for the door.
She watched the floor and his boots, and wondered what her Companion was supposed to be doing while the 'assassin' was carrying her off.
'Not that way,' Gwena said calmly in her mind, right on cue. 'I've got the front door blocked, and Sayvil has the rear. The only way out is by way of the roof.'
'No good, Skif,' Elspeth said to his belt. 'The Companions have you boxed in.'
'Well, then I'll have to abort and follow my secondary orders,' he replied, 'Sorry, little kitten, you're dead.' He put her down on her feet, and she dusted herself off. 'Crap,' she said sourly. 'I could do better than that. I wish I'd had my knives.' She couldn't resist a resentful glance at Kero, who had made her take them off when she entered the salle.
'Well,' Kero told her. 'You didn't do as badly as I had expected.
But I told you to get rid of those little toys of yours for a reason. They aren't a secret anymore; everybody knows you carry them in arm-sheaths.
And you've begun to depend on them; you passed up at least a half dozen potential weapons.' Elspeth's heart sank as Skif nodded to confirm Kerowyn's assessment.
'Like what?' she demanded. She didn't-quite-growl. It was ironic that a room devoted to weaponswork should be so barren of weaponry.
There was nothing in the room; at least, nothing that could be used against an enemy. The salle's sanded wooden floor stood empty of everything but the bench she sat on and the pile of discarded armor. There were a few implements for mending the armor that she'd brought in from the back room. There were no windows that she could reach; they were all set in the walls near the edge of the ceiling. Even the walls were bare of practice weapons, just the empty racks along one wall and the expensive-but necessary-mirrors on the other.
'The bench,' Skif said promptly. 'You were within range to kick it into my path.'
'You should have grabbed that leather corselet when you went off the bench,' Kero added.
'Any of the mirrors-break one and you've got a pile of razor shards.'
'The sunlight-maneuver him so that it's in his eyes.
'The mirrors again; distract me with my own reflection.'
'The leather-needles-'
'The pot of leather-oil-'
'Your belt-'
'All right!' Elspeth cried, plopping down heavily on the bench, defeated by their logic. 'What's the point?'
'Something that you can learn, but I can't teach in simple lessons,' Kerowyn told her soberly. 'An attitude. A
