path.
Jeremy put a hand on my arm. 'I like none of it,' he whispered. 'The place smells of a trap.'
'Aye, but we came to help the Earl. Trap or no trap, we shall do it.'
'There are the stables,' Corvino whispered. 'Do you wait now.' He was gone in an instant, back as soon. 'There is a carriage outside, and a dozen horses within. Several of them are still wet with sweat. They have been hard-ridden within the hour.'
'A dozen? Perhaps four for the carriage, and eight for outriders or others. They are eight or nine. Perhaps ten.'
'It is a goodly number,' Ring suggested thoughtfully.
'Enough to go around. Come now, no jealousy! Each of you will have at least one, and two if you are lucky. Gentlemen, I think we are expected. Let us not keep them waiting. As my name is Barnabas Sackett, I hope that Rupert Genester is himself here.'
We started forward, then I stopped. 'Jeremy? Do you and Corvino mind? Jublain and I will enter alone. Do you follow us. In that way we may not all be trapped at once.'
We went forward, up the few steps, and Jublain put a hand to the door. At my gesture, he opened it and I stepped inside. There had been no chain on the door, no bar. Truly, we were expected. Stepping inside, Jublain followed.
The great entranceway was dark and shadowed. Light showed beneath a door. I stepped quickly forward and in that instant the big door slammed behind us and torches flared into light.
We were in the center of a great hall and a dozen men stood about us, all with drawn swords.
One stepped slightly forward. 'You do not disappoint me, Sackett. You come quickly to meet your death.'
'Of course. Did you expect me to keep you waiting?'
'They've barred the door,' Jublain said quietly.
'Aye, that makes it better. Not one of them shall escape us. And look, Jublain. The rascal with the beard. It is Nick Bardle himself, trying to patch up the mistakes he made.'
A move, and my blade was drawn. 'I hope the Earl is still alive? Or have you murdered him?'
Genester shrugged. 'He will die ... Why hasten it? I want no marks upon
'Of course. Will you try to put them there yourself? Or will you sprawl in the mud again as you did in Stamford?'
His lips tightened with anger, and he took a half-step forward. I held my blade low, smiling at him. 'You were a fit sight for a lady, sprawled in all your pretty silks in the mud! There was no occasion for it. The lady but asked for a drink.'
'I shall kill you now,' he said.
'Will you try it alone? Or leave it to this pack of dogs that follows you?'
Above me, faintly, I heard a scrape of something. A foot on stone? What was above? I dared not look up.
'Do not let him die too quickly,' Genester said. 'But die he must.'
'And you, Rupert? Are you ready for the blade? I've chosen a resting place for it, right under that pretty little beard.'
'Take him,' he said, and turned indifferently away.
They moved, but I moved first. I was within a long blade's reach of the nearest man and, taking a quick step, I lunged just as his sword came up. There was a faint clang of steel, and my blade went past his and a hand's length into his chest.
His eyes stared at me down the length of the blade, the eyes of a man who would die. I withdrew swiftly and then Jublain shouted, 'At them!' And then there was only the clang of swords, the whisper of clothing and the grunt and pant of men fighting.
From above there was a shrill yell, then down a rope came Corvino, and then Jeremy.
A man rushed at me, swinging a cutlass, a wide sweep with a blade that might have been effective in a boarding operation. But not here. My blade was down and I cut swiftly upward. The blade slit through his shirt front and parted his chin—the very stroke I had planned for Genester himself.
At least two were down. I felt a blade nick my arm, the rip of my shirt. It was close, deadly fighting, with no time for fancy work here. I thrust, slashed, thrust again, moving always.
Corvino was down ... no, up again. There was blood on his shirt. The torchlight wavered and shadowed and unshadowed us. Faces gleamed with sweat. It was wild, desperate, bitter fighting this.
A tall man lunged at me. I parried and he came in with his thrust and we were face to face, our swords locked tightly. It was Darkling.
My left fist came up quickly in a smashing blow to his belly and he gasped and stepped back. I followed him in, keeping our swords locked, and hit him again ... my attack totally unexpected.
Darkling fell back again, disengaged and tried to come into position. But my own blade was far forward and, without drawing it back, I turned quickly left and cut across his face under his nose, then right, and under his eyes. Neither was deep, both were bloody. He fell back, shocked, and I let him go.
A blade ripped my shirt again and then we were forced into a corner, Jublain and I. Corvino was down or gone. Jeremy was waging a desperate fight with three men, his blade dancing, gleaming, thrusting. One man fell back with a cry, and Jeremy dropped quickly to one knee—or almost there—with a sweeping blow at the next man's legs. Killing him as well.
Suddenly there was a banging upon the door, a shout, and Jeremy skipped quickly to one side and, fencing adroitly to hold the man off, managed to flip the bar from the door. Instantly it crashed open.
Captain Tempany! And with him four men!
Suddenly there was a break for the door, and desperate fighting there. Leaping across a body I raced up the steps to the door through which Genester had gone.
I shoved the door slowly inward and a pistol coughed hoarsely in the small confines of the room. Leaping through the door, sword in hand, I saw Rupert Genester just beyond.
The Earl—at least I supposed him to be—sat up in bed, a woman standing near him, her face pale and angry. Genester threw the now empty pistol at my head and then ran around the end of the bed to come at me.
He was facing me, a desperate man. His face was pale, his eyes very bright and hard. There was no coward in the man, for all I disliked him. His blade was up and he was ready.
Though I had out-maneuvered him often, Genester faced me squarely. 'Even if you live to tell it,' he said, 'they'll not believe you. I will declare that you killed the Earl.'
'But he is not dead!' I said. 'I—'
His sword was down by his side in his right hand. Suddenly his left held a dagger, and he lifted it to stab down at the old man who lay beside him. His left fist gripping the dagger swung up and back.
I lunged.
The point of my blade took him at mid-chest and thrust toward his left side.
His arm was caught in movement, and my blade sank deep. He turned his head and looked at me, his eyes wide, lips bloodless. 'Damn you!' he gasped. 'I should have—'
I lowered my point and he slid off it to the floor, blood all about him, his fingers loosening on the dagger. The dagger clattered to the floor.
'Your pardon, Excellency,' I said, 'forgive this intrusion, but ... my name is Barnabas Sackett.'
'I know who you are,' the old man's voice rumbled like a far off thunder in the small room. 'And you are your father's son.
'By the Lord,' he said, sitting a little straighter, 'as neat a bit of action as ever I saw!'
Suddenly, I realized that Nick Bardle was gone ... I'd forgotten him.
Gone! I started after him but the old man lifted a hand. 'Let him go,' he said, 'and open the door before they burst it.'
The door opened again. Jublain was the first through, sword in hand, then Jeremy Ring and Sakim. Following was Captain Tempany.
