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forcing Ratboy to keep changing positions, he saw the undead falter once.
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Leesil heard Chap growling from behind, but the hound stayed clear. Ratboy
struck hard. As Leesil blocked, he dropped to one knee in the water. He kicked
out with his free leg to the inside of Ratboy's knee.
The joint gave a muffled crackle on impact, but Ratboy only stumbled and
struck again. Leesil rose up inside the downward stroke, his blocking blade's
edge up. When the blow connected, there was no clang of steel.
Ratboy's wrist struck the blade's edge, and Leesil slashed outward.
Hand and sword flew away in the water. The undead jerked up his arm to strike
again and then gaped in disbelief at the stump of his wrist.
Leesil kicked out to Ratboy's other knee, letting his whole weight drop down
and drive the blow home. A resounding crack followed as his boot collided with
bone. His outstretched foot dropped through the water to the tunnel floor, and
he shifted his weight to it. He slashed his second blade across, waist level,
and Ratboy retreated two steps.
Ratboy's movements were halting and unstable, but he showed no sign of
outright pain, only angry disbelief. The lower half of his tunic hung loose
from the cut, and his sunken stomach was slick with his own black blood.
Leesil lifted his left blade at guard, the right low and ready. Ratboy
lunged, and his one remaining hand lashed out.
It was so fast that Leesil couldn't block or duck in time. Thin, cold fingers
closed on his throat as fingernails bit into his skin.
The grip faltered briefly, squeezed painfully tight, and then faltered again.
Gasping for air, Leesil realized what was happening. The small-boned bastard
was bleeding out, weakening. Undeads were not inexhaustible after all.
Ratboy opened his mouth, head thrusting forward. Sharp teeth and fangs rushed
at Leesil's face, and he jammed his right blade upward. Its point pierced the
underside of Ratboy's jaw, snapping his mouth closed. Ratboy's head barely
flinched, but it was enough, and Leesil sliced up with his left blade.
It cut halfway through the forearm of the hand about his throat, and the grip
released.
The undead swung wildly with the stump of his right arm, and Leesil ducked
aside, slipping to Ratboy's flank. He dropped his right blade and braced his
free hand against his left forearm as he swung the remaining blade back.
Ratboy turned his head, open mouth dribbling dark fluids.
Leesil swung down with his full weight. Bone ground on steel as his weapon
severed straight through Ratboy's neck.
The headless body splashed down.
Leesil fell to his knees with a second splash, panting.
Anger and dark delight washed from him in the bite of cold water. The tunnel
became instantly quiet but for the soft sound of lapping liquid running
against the walkways.
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Finished but Leesil felt his past failures only partially rectified.
Exhaustion took him, and he remained there for a long while with his head
down, trying to regain his breath. What finally stirred him was Chap's warm
and wet tongue upon his cheek.
Leesil crawled slowly to his feet and sheathed one blade, then felt through
the water for the other until he found it. Both blades in place, he turned
about, searching for the heads, and spotted Chap standing on the walkway next
to the torch. Both heads rested before his front paws, as did the sack. Leesil
gathered the trophies with a sense of release instead of triumph.
The moment he finished tying the sack to the back of his belt, Chap took off
down the tunnel toward where they had first entered.Leesil followed without
questioning the hound's decision.
They had to find Magiere.
Chapter 20
Magiere studied Welstiel. He looked much the same as he had in Miiska,
composed and controlled. She looked at his black leather gloves and cloak, and
his voice echoed in her thoughts.
A moment, if you please.
Lord Au'shiyn's dead face surfaced in her mind. His murderer had used those
very words to draw the Suman's attention.
"You," she whispered aloud, still uncertain what her senses now demanded she
believe."Your voice& your hands."
He was calm and detached, still the cryptic mentor he'd played for her back
in Miiska. Magiere tried to find the hunger inside that always warned of an
undead's presence, but it wouldn't stir.
"Did you follow Ratboy here, or did he follow you?" she asked.
He frowned as if such a question were childish.
"I am not one of them," he said. "I have been preparing you for what lies
ahead. You would have never battled these creatures without inspiration, and
now look what you've become. So much more than you were, even since your
awakening in Miiska."
What did he mean by inspiration? Nausea threatened to creep in upon the tail
of Magiere's bewilderment.
"You arranged this?" she asked, a sickening awareness growing. "And what
happened in Miiska as well?"
"A simple matter," he answered, "of making sure you were the one to purchase
the vacant tavern."
Confusion began to feed slowly into outrage.
The council of Bela, Chap's hidden manipulations, the elves seeking Leesil's
life, and now Welstiel. How many had played Leesil and herself like puppets,
tugging their strings from both near and far?
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Welstiel waved his hand, apparently growing frustrated with her. "All but a
means to anend, and you have nearly reached that end. The rest you will learn
on our journey, and so I've come for you. The conjuror is unpredictable, and I
wanted to be present in case he became a true danger."
He was mad, but Magiere was uncertain what to do. Her gaze kept returning to
the black gloves.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," she said. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]