strange—good old Gozmo wasn’t usually tormented much by his conscience. And even the fact that he hadn’t told me the client was the king shouldn’t be making him this nervous. In any case, Gozmo had the right to conceal the name of the client.
“Forget it,” I said, and the young lad and I walked back out into the street.
“What did that man want from you?” he asked after we had walked in silence for a minute.
“Do you have a name?” I said, answering a question with a question as I watched a guard patrol go by.
“Roderick.”
“Well then, Roderick, do we have much farther to go?”
“We’re almost there—we go through that lane,” he muttered.
“Are you certain that’s our way?” I asked the young magician, jabbing my finger toward a dark, foul-smelling corridor formed by two buildings huddling close to each other. “To the Street of the Apples?”
“Yes.”
I shrugged, nodded to Roderick to go first, and followed him, taking my crossbow out from under my cloak. What could I expect from this youngster who knew nothing about the customs of the Port City?
More people die in dark, smelly alleyways like this than on the border in battles with orcs and Miranuehans. But the alley turned out to be empty. When the way out onto the Street of the Apples was already close and we only had another twenty yards to go before we broke free of this narrow trench, I relaxed. And so, Roderick and I came face-to-face with five rather unfriendly-looking thugs who had appeared from the Street of the Sleepy Dog, shutting us in the narrow alley.
“What do these men want?” Roderick whispered in alarm.
I recognized the third man in the group from the Street of the Apples. “We’ve got serious trouble here.”
“Haven’t you g-got any m-money?” Roderick asked in a frightened voice.
“I wouldn’t exactly say that. Only it’s not money they’ve come for.”
“F-for what, then?” asked Artsivus’s apprentice, growing even more frightened.
“For my life. And I think they’ll dispatch you to the next world for good measure. When I make a move, you attack the ones behind us.”
“B-but I don’t know how,” Roderick protested. “I haven’t even got a weapon.”
“Then we’ll die.”
His only answer was a loud gulp.
Four of the men were clutching short, heavy armored-infantry swords, the kind used by the soldiers of the Border Kingdom. The most efficient weapon in confined spaces or dense ranks, where you can’t turn with a long blade. The fifth man, whose right shoulder was bandaged, hung back behind the others.
“How’s your health, Paleface?” I asked politely when they walked up and stopped five yards away from us.
“Better than yours will be in a moment,” the assassin replied.
“Kill them!”
My crossbow gave a click and the hulk that Paleface was hiding behind started tumbling backward with a bolt in his forehead. The second ugly brute yelled and raised his sword above his head, and then there was a roar behind me and I felt the searing heat as a ball of fire the size of a good horse’s head went flying past me straight at the killers. I abandoned everything, dropped down onto my belly, and put my arms over my head.
A loud boom struck my ears, I felt the earth shake, and crumbs of stone came showering down on me. Someone howled. What’s the advantage of wizardry over shamanism? Wizardry takes effect instantly, while shamanism is an entire ritual. Goblins dance, orcs sing. That’s why shamanism acts a lot more slowly, but the shamans don’t lose any strength after they use it, unlike magicians.
The fireball, that weapon so beloved of all novice magicians, had transformed one attacker into a heap of ash, then struck the wall of the building and exploded.
Paleface was howling and yelling somewhere beside the end of the alley. I could see that his face was burned, and bloodied by small splinters of stone. A hole big enough to drive the royal carriage through had appeared in the house to the left of us. Roderick certainly hadn’t been stingy with his spell.
Tearing my eyes away from Paleface, I turned toward the magician’s apprentice. The young lad, totally drained of strength, was half sitting, half lying, propped up against the wall, and the two remaining thugs were staring at him in amazement.
“Let’s run for it!” howled one of the killers, throwing away his sword. In his fright he obviously hadn’t realized that Roderick couldn’t hurt a fly right now.
They ran off in the same direction they’d just come from, stomping their feet and howling in terror. Of course, I didn’t bother to follow them. I was more interested in Paleface, but he had vanished without a trace.
“Lucky bastard,” I said, shaking my head in admiration.
I went across to Roderick.
“Are you alive?”
He nodded feebly, but his eyes were glowing. “I did it! That’s the first time I’ve made that spell work!”
“Oh yes! I almost got roasted. Thanks for the help. Now let me help you up. Or the guards will come running in a moment.”
Roderick gave a brief nod of his light-haired head. I helped him get up off the ground, then supported him as I
