scattered and tumbled away.
The other man was strong, and agile as a monkey. Dupuy avoided two powerful kicks and gained a crouching position, the knife in his hand. He glanced up, sneering in satisfaction.
“Those fools can’t see us. They are masked by the overhang. I can cut your heart out, and they’ll never know what happened.”
Jaymes scrambled back.
Dupuy grinned and leaned closer, the knife outstretched.
It was a move Jaymes had anticipated. The chained man kicked hard at some loose rock on the inside of the ledge. A large stone exploded out of the mass, striking Dupuy on one kneecap. The man’s face went white, and he gasped in pain as he crumpled.
Jaymes brought one bootheel down hard on the knight’s outstretched right hand. He heard the cracking of small bones, as he kicked out hard with the other foot. Sir Dupuy screamed as he went off the ledge. The scream trailed off pathetically, ending in a sickening crunch.
Gasping for air, with sweat streaming into his eyes, the warrior slumped back on the narrow ledge. His hands were still secured by a steel chain. There was no way he could climb up or down, but the bastard hadn’t killed him. He could savor that triumph.
Finally, his weariness overtook him. It was peaceful here, beyond the reach of his captors. He let his head loll back against the sun-warmed cliff… perhaps it was time for a well-earned nap.
His eyes had barely closed when he heard a scuffing noise, sitting up in alarm as dust flew from a pair of unseen boots.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, squinting to see who it was that had dropped on the ledge. The air was clear, his eyesight was perfect, yet he saw no one. Cursing, he strained against his cuffs.
“Hold on, old friend,” said Dram, slowly coming into view. The dwarf was grinning, and-even more amazingly-holding the sword of Lorimar.
“By… by all the gods…” Jaymes said, feeling numb with shock as much as pain.
“If I recall correctly, this thing will cut through steel, right?” asked the dwarf cheerfully.
The warrior nodded mutely, wondering if he was losing his mind. What was Dram doing, appearing like magic? Was he perhaps already dead? Well, fine, he felt tired enough to be dead.
Yet by the time his manacles were cut loose-the painful burns on his wrist made by the flaming sword would make scars he would treasure-he knew that he was alive. Before he could ask Dram how in the world he had been saved, the dwarf brought out a small bottle and took the first sip.
“It’s my last potion. This one’s for flying,” he said matter-of-factly. “I saved enough for you to have a drink, too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY — THREE
You mean he’s gone? How did it happen?” the princess demanded furiously of Captain Powell. In vain, she had been trying to figure out what happened. The first men she had encountered told her such conflicting tales-the prisoner had escaped, had killed a man, had plunged into the gorge. The most ridiculous claim had come from a shaken young knight who had insisted the prisoner had sprouted wings and flown away!
Powell stood at the edge of the drop. His face was flushed, his eyes wild, his voice cracked like a whip, but the knight captain shook his head in exasperation at the princess’s approach.
“Tell me! Did he escape? Did he die? What?”
“All we know for sure is that he killed Sir Dupuy, the knight who came from Palanthas, even as the poor man was trying to help him across the narrow ledge,” Captain Powell declared through clenched teeth. “They both toppled over. We lost sight of them past the overhang. Some men report they saw him flying through the gorge, carrying the Sword of Lorimar! Ridiculous, I don’t have to tell you. I have sent men to see if they can get a look down into the gorge, to see if he ended up on the rocks or in the river.”
“What about the other man, Sir Dupuy? Are you sure he’s dead?”
“Both of them ought to be dead, by Joli-there’s no way anyone could survive that fall!” said the captain in disgust and frustration. “But the Sword of Lorimar is missing from my saddlebag! So far we haven’t been able to get a clear look at that part of the river directly below us-the overhang juts out too far!”
“Well, get someone down there to check!” ordered Selinda.
“Perhaps we should lose our lives too? Haven’t you noticed the raging river with all the jagged rocks at the bottom?” The captain’s tone was furious, his eyes bulging in his head. The young princess suddenly understood the depth of his emotions: not just anger at the escape of a prisoner but humiliation for his own failure, and grief for the loss of a good man. “I’ve sent some men down the road-that they might get a look from the next bend.”
The princess bit her lip, turning away. She drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Yes-I see the danger, and I should have realized you would have acted at once if things were otherwise. The man who died-who was he? It seems strange that he was involved.”
“Yes, that’s a little strange,” Powell admitted. “He belongs to my order, yet I’ve never made his acquaintance before. I asked some of the other men-you know, family details, that sort of thing-and none of them claim to know him either.”
“Is that so unusual? The Rose is a large order, is it not?”
“Yes, of course. There are chapters all across Solamnia, even on Ergoth and points west. But the man had a Palanthian accent, which is home to most of the men in this company, and we have all served together or trained in Sanction at some time or other in the past decade. It seems odd he could be a stranger to us all.”
“Sir!” called a knight, riding up the trail as quickly as safety would allow. “We got a good look at the river. There is a body down there, wearing the tunic of the Rose. Sadly, it would seem to be Sir Dupuy.”
“Just one body?” demanded Powell.
“Aye, sir. Just the one we spotted. But… sir!”
“What is it, man? Speak!”
“I did see the prisoner flying, sir. Pardon me for saying so, but I swear this on the Oath and the Measure. He was carrying that great long sword and soaring down the gorge like an eagle, heading back toward the east. I may be going mad, Sir, but that’s what my eyes told me I saw.”
“Very well, then.” Powell declared crisply. “Who else supposedly saw the prisoner flying?”
Several more knights spoke up sheepishly, all of them claiming to have witnessed the impossible. Several added that they saw two flying figures, one of whom resembled a dwarf.
“Flying dwarves, now?” the captain groaned. “By Joli, what next?” He turned away, rode a little way up the widening road as Selinda spurred her horse to his side.
“Do you believe such lies? How can it be possible that the Assassin flew away from here?”
“You heard them. Either they’re all lying, or bewitched by some kind of illusion magic. They saw a dwarf, too-maybe that dwarf we allowed to escape. Well, obviously there’s some kind of sorcery at work-but from what source and how he worked these wonders I have no idea.” Suddenly Powell smashed his fist into the rocky hillside above the road. Trembling with rage, he had to turn away from Selinda and compose himself. If I had let the prisoner be executed as was proper, he thought, this wouldn’t have happened.
The princess, understanding his shame, hung her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “This is my fault.”
He turned back, his expression stiff and controlled as usual. “No,” he said. “The responsibility lies with me, and I will tell your father that.”
“What about pursuing him, er, or them?” she asked hesitantly. “Not that we can fly after him, of course.”
“I have already dispatched fifty men to the east,” Powell said, pointing down the road they had traversed this morning, the treacherous way back to the plains. “They are riding as fast as they dare, and will disperse to scout the area when they reach the flatlands. They are pledged to search for the villain, as long as it takes, but I doubt
