rafters. A scarred table was surrounded by rickety benches and stools, the only furnishings. Flyspecked notices and lists were posted on the walls between many pegs for cloaks and coats. Shuttered windows in the end wall would overlook the holding pens. At the table, surrounded by four servants, stood a young and beautiful blonde woman. Her hands were empty of knives, the Uskevren delegation noted, but her snapping brown eyes looked sharp and dangerous.
The Foxmantle quintet had lost a war. The leader's purple embroidered vest lacked gold buttons, she missed her hat and a glove, and her cape hung askew because the chain had broken. Her attendants in purple and blue, two women and two men, were equally roughshod. A woman sported a black eye, and a man carried one arm in a sling. All five bristled with weapons.
Mostly the men marked Zarrin, one of five breathtaking Foxmantle daughters. Pub talk liked to hash over which Foxmantle heir was the fairest, the most hellacious, and the most fun in bed. Zarrin strove hardest to gain power within her family, refusing the role of 'a brood bitch who births a bunch of brats for my father and mother to bounce on their knees!' Tamlin and Zarrin were old sandbox chums, for only lately had the two families come into competition. The Foxmantles had always farmed, pressing wine, growing dyestuffs, salting meat, and tanning hides and furs, while the Uskevren had, before the family's Great Fire, farmed the sea. Since Thamalon the First had begun buying and renting farms, dickering with the Foxmantles had become necessary lest they compete in the marketplace and make prices plummet.
Lovely Zarrin fumed but offered no more aggression, so Tamlin plucked the knife from the door jamb and, smiling, offered it to her. 'I say, Zar, your welcome lacks the usual Foxmantle cheer. Have you suffered some setback in our city's spangled streets?'
'You're dark-damned right we suffered setbacks!' Zarrin snatched back the throwing knife. Tamlin had unwisely held it by the blade, and now looked at his fingers through slits in his gloves. 'What's the idea of siccing gnashers on us?'
'Gnashers? The flying dogs?' Absently Tamlin scratched his chin and made the scab bleed. Escevar stripped his left glove to show seeping bandages. Tamlin said, 'We met some too, and their whistling keepers.'
'Keepers?' asked Zarrin. 'We didn't hear any whistles.'
'We did. Vox killed one.' Tamlin told about the foreign hillman in the gnasher-fur vest.
Zarrin pouted prettily. Her blonde hair, piled and pinned in back, yet fell about a widow's peak to blonde brows. 'We just turned a corner and ran into a howling pack. We thought they were famished wolves that slipped into the city after cattle. They chewed up my retainers and spat us out. One servant's at Selune's temple having his hand amputated.'
'Where were you attacked, milady? In what part of the city?' asked Escevar. 'And when?'
'Below the Hunting Gardens, not far from the main house.' The Foxmantle freehold guarded the northern gate where Galogar's Ride became Rauthauvyr's Road. 'Not long after sundown.'
Vox held up two fingers, stretched his arms, curled his hands to imitate a tree, showed ten and two fingers, then animals scampering before his eyes. Tamlin interpreted, 'Yes, that's near two miles from Twelve Oak Park. How can the keepers move a ferocious pack of monster-dogs through the streets without being seen? Did you notice some had wings?'
The two parties compared notes but learned little. Now and then from below came the bellow of a bull or bawl of a calf.
'Who knows?' Zarrin concluded. 'Maybe these hill-men are crazy or cultists. Or maybe they work for someone in Selgaunt. If either of us were kidnapped, the ransom would bring a flock of ravens. We just need to watch our backs, as usual.' For emphasis she traced the family crest embroidered on her bosom: three vigilant eyes in purple set on a slant. 'Drop it for now and get to business. You and I need to split up the gate tariffs and the drovers' and freighters' trade.'
'So Father informs me.' Handing his cape to Escevar, Tamlin took a stool and rubbed his hands as his father might. 'The Soargyls-May they all be stricken with seven-fold boils! — kept the carters under their thumb by killing the troublemakers and extorting from the rest. But lately none of their thugs have collected the protection money: excuse me, civil supervision taxes. So collections at the gate are haphazardly enforced. Both our houses want to bid on the contracts for the gate tolls. Rather than brawl in the streets, we should reach some agreement.'
'I have one: simplicity itself,' offered Zarrin. 'Consider. My family's house overlooks Rauthauvyr's Road. Your family keeps a tallhouse near the Way of the Manticore. Why not tend our separate gates? We'll negotiate with the Hulorn's seneschal for tolls from the North gate, and you take the Western. You've seen how busy the traffic is in these stockyards. Imagine the revenue you'd collect over a year! We'd sacrifice some duty to maintain the Elzimmer Bridge, but it's worth it to not cross the city just to empty coffers.'
They talked. Smiling, smug, and bewitched by Zarrin's beauty, Tamlin failed to see Escevar and Vox signal in the background. Before the companions knew it, Tamlin spit on his palm and shook hands. 'I say, Zar, this is smashing! We'll stay out of each others' hair and all prosper! My father will be pleased, and so will yours, I'm sure! We need to celebrate-Escevar, what's all that noise?'
The bellows and bleats of livestock had grown so loud the negotiators had to raise their voices. Every animal within blocks, it seemed, bawled or squawled. Farm dogs barked and farmers shouted. Escevar slid down the hall and trotted back. 'Something's spooking the cattle! They're almost breaking down the stalls downstairs! I can't see what's stirring them!'
'Well, go find out!' Tamlin ordered. Escevar trotted off. Zarrin's people shifted weapons. Axe in hand, Vox unlatched the window shutters.
As if shot from a catapult, two winged dogs swooped through the open window and smashed into the swordtrainer.
In that same second, Escevar dashed into the room, grabbed the door, and tried to slam it shut. Three unwinged gnashers bashed the door and knocked the bodyguard sprawling.
Four more gnashers galloped into the room, toenails skittering on the sandy floor. Two more soared through the window.
Everyone fought for their lives.
Tamlin glimpsed brown backs and yellow teeth and smelled the open-sewer stench. Then a gnasher clamped bonebreaking jaws onto his knee-high boot. Another leaped and slammed Tamlin into the back wall. Savage teeth snagged his doublet, and Tamlin was dragged half-over with the dog's weight. A third vaulted its comrade and snapped teeth like a bear trap. Only his wild flailing saved Tamlin's right hand. Tripped by the dog tugging his leg, Tamlin sprawled on hands and one knee, all too aware his throat was vulnerable to attack.
Zarrin snatched up a stool and slammed a dog's head. The stool splintered, but the dog was hammered flat. Snatching out her sword, Zarrin took reckless aim and skewered the gnasher mangling Tamlin's leg. Blood fountained as its throat was pierced. Tamlin kicked the dying dog loose. The other dodged Zarrin's blade, snapping and snarling.
Temporarily free, Tamlin saw they were armpit-deep in rabid killers.
Flat on his back, Vox staved off one beast by the throat while pushing another back with his axe haft. Unable to free his weapon, he kicked a third brute. Escevar danced above him, swiping and slashing at jumping animals with smatchet and sword. A frustrated animal circled Escevar to dive for Vox's face. The swordmaster tried to roll when Escevar was tumbled by a dog ramming his belly.
Escevar flopped over Vox with a pair of snarling dogs atop him. Human and gnasher legs kicked around Vox's head. Escevar's blades swirled like a wind-whipped windmill. The animals gripped by Vox tugged free to escape the circle of steel. The swordsman flipped over on all fours. Escevar was dumped on his side. Dogs pounced on Vox's bearskin back. Swearing like a fury, Escevar stabbed wildly to protect himself and punctured his own thigh with his smatchet. Bleeding, Escevar stabbed, then lunged to gain his feet. Vox bumped his hip, and the two thumped back to back. Where in the name of Seven Sinners was Tamlin?
The Heir of Uskevren lurked behind a table that Zarrin had dumped and dragged against the wall. It formed a solid barricade, but the ends gaped open. A darting dog clamped Zarrin's boot heel. Zarrin shucked the boot but blundered into Tamlin and whacked her nose against the wall. The thought of a bloody swollen nose stoked her fiery temper, and Zarrin screamed as she slashed steel at anything that moved.
Tamlin armed himself with steel in each hand, but wrongly, so the smatchet jutted down and the sword tipped up. He whipped both, but steel clashed uselessly on steel. Still, he struggled to see what went on elsewhere, knowing they had to quit the room.
