'I'll hang you for this!'
'We're protected by Prince Throdus. You'll do no such thing.'
The regent sputtered. 'Mutiny! If you were in my command, I'd have you all flayed!'
'Kurkulatain, keep him out of the way.'
The slightest of the three grinned and flicked his sword tip under the chamberlain's chin, only to have the old man bat it away. The swordsman's smile went cross as he tried to find a way to subdue the irascible lord.
Keep them preoccupied, Cleedis, Pinch silently urged. He already had one hand on his sword and just needed a moment of diversion to act. So far, Cleedis held them in indecision, but they were still too watchful for the rogue to strike.
'GUARDS!' Cleedis bellowed!
The three bravos sprang toward the lord in surprise, desperate to shut him up.
It was just the distraction Pinch needed. Ignoring the one whose blade was on Cleedis, Pinch struck at the other two. With a single sweep he produced a dagger in his off hand and struck, driving the blade like a nail into the sword hand of the third attacker, Faranoch.
The man shrieked as the blade plunged through tendons, scraped off bone, and thrust out through his palm. The rapier clattered from his grasp. Pinch gave the skene a vicious twist and let go, leaving the bravo to gape at the bloody memento the rogue left behind.
The leader, realizing he'd cornered the sheep while the wolf still prowled, flailed around in a desperate attempt to correct his error. Pinch was unarmed; there'd been no chance to draw his sword. He stepped aside from the courtier's frantic lunge, but instead of using the man's recovery to draw his own sword, Pinch seized the other's wrist and stepped forward, bringing his foot up in a sweeping kick between the man's legs. Pinch connected just below the waist, and the ringleader shrieked falsetto as all the air inside him blew out in one massive gust. Treeve writhed on the ground while Pinch's first target stumbled back onto a bench where he sat clutching his transfixed hand.
'Hold where you are!' shrilled the last ambusher as he held Cleedis by the throat, sword point pressed into the sagging folds beneath the man's chin. 'Make a move and I'll kill him!'
Pinch stepped away from his whimpering victim, shrugged, and finally drew his sword. 'So what? Kill him.'
The little man swallowed in terror.
'You expect me to fight fair. You expect me to care.' The regulator walked forward, leveling his sword at the man. 'I don't care if you kill him. I just want to kill you.'
'Janol…' Cleedis gurgled.
'Shut up, old fool. Do you think I'll risk my life for you? You haven't earned it.'
From the distance came the rattling clank of the gate being opened. Voices carried over the silent rooftops.
The man wanted to see who else was coming but was too terrified to take his eyes from his nemesis. Unintimidated, Pinch continued to close. At last the man's nerve broke, and he flung his hostage forward while bolting into the mazed warrens of the necropolis.
Pinch dodged to the side as the chamberlain gasped and stumbled to freedom. For a moment he thought about chasing the man but easily decided against it. Instead, he turned his attention to the fellow on the ground. Remarkably, perhaps driven by fear, the man had regained his sword with every intention of using it, once he caught his breath.
Pinch didn't wait for that. With a quick thrust he brought an end to this comedy. The body fell hard on the muddy lane.
The last survivor threw up his blood-covered hands to surrender, and the hue and cry of the arriving bodyguard forestalled the need for any action on Pinch's part.
'Seize him!' Cleedis commanded as his bodyguards sprinted to the scene. The armored men fell upon the courtier and savagely pinioned him on the ground. The man's expression was a wrenched mass of pain and terror.
'My lord chamberlain, what shall we do with him?' queried the captain of the bodyguard. A coarse-shaven man adept at killing and following orders, he looked over the rogue's handiwork with no small amount of approval.
'Keep the priests away,' the chamberlain ordered. The captain nodded and ran off.
Cleedis walked over and placed the tip of his cane on the man's bloodied hand. 'What's your name, fool?'
Perhaps he was too dazed to understand; perhaps he was too stubborn, but the man didn't answer.
Cleedis leaned forward. The prisoner screamed.
When the screaming stopped, Cleedis tried again.
'Sir Kurkulatain,' was the burbled answer. Sweat and tears shined the man's face. 'Vassal of Prince Throdus.'
'Did the prince send you?'
'No, my lord!'
'Too easy.' Cleedis leaned on his cane again. 'Who sent you? Tell me and things will be easier.'
The man could barely whisper. 'Treeve. Word was Throdus offered us titles.'
'This is the result of ambition,' Cleedis admonished Pinch who'd been patiently sitting on the bloodstained bench until the questioning was done.
'It's the result of ill planning.'
'Whatever,' Cleedis shrugged. He turned to the captain of the guard, who'd returned from his mission. 'This man'-Cleedis pointed at the prisoner-'is a traitor who has attacked the rightful regent of Ankhapur. Execute him.'
'Shall there be a trial, my lord chamberlain?'
The chamberlain looked to Pinch with a cold vulture's eye. 'I see no need for a trial. Do you?'
The rogue shook his head and got to his feet. 'No, none at all.'
'Rejoin us, en route to the palace,' the chamberlain ordered, and the two took their leave. 'I doubt there'll be any more attacks today.'
'Lord Cleedis, have mercy!' shrieked the prisoner. His screams rang through the silent company he was about to join, until his echoes were one with the choir of silent ghosts pleading for their own justice.
10
The pair passed through the gate, leaving the captain and his men to clean up the untidy details. The priests, drawn by the screams, thronged on the other side but their entrance was blocked by a pair of soldiers who stood casually in the way. No one was going to antagonize a man who wore the golden serpent of the royal household.
Unless, of course, they weren't from Ankhapur.
There was a tussle in the midst of the holy men as Lissa struggled to break through the line. She was held back by another, Pinch could see, a pumpkin-bellied servant of Gond. She fought with the conviction of moral purity, but the pragmatism of girth was on his side. She was stuck fast.
It was interesting to watch the reaction of the rest of the small band, so seldom did such a diverse collection of faiths cluster together. The loyal servant of Gond, the pragmatic Wonderbringer, was saying 'Such is the result of treachery,' as he held Lissa off. Torm's man, the defender of justice, all but drowned him out by shouting-no, demanding-to know the proof of the assassin's crimes. The Oghmaites and the Deneirians quietly observed; watching and noting was what their lords demanded of them. The priests of the god of song seized upon the moment to begin a golden-toned dirge. In the back, the armored priest of Tempus watched with dour approval, satisfied that victory and defeat had been properly rewarded.
