Raymond E. Feist – Krondor: Tear of the Gods (страница 9)
‘What do you propose?’ he asked.
‘There are but three guards. You are, I assume, a competent swordsman?’
‘I am—’ began James.
‘As I am a competent magician,’ interrupted Jazhara. ‘Let’s go.’
As they strode back towards the dyer’s shop, James felt the hair on his arms stand up, a sure sign magic was being gathered. He had never liked the feeling, even when he knew someone on his side was employing it. Jazhara said, ‘I will distract them. Try to take Yusuf alive.’
James pulled out his rapier and muttered, ‘Four to one and you want me to try to keep one of them alive? Wonderful.’
Jazhara entered the shop ahead of James, and Yusuf turned as she did so. ‘What—?’ he began.
Jazhara’s pointed her staff at him and a loud keening sound filled the air as a ball of blue energy exploded off the tip of the staff. It struck the merchant, doubling him over in pain.
James rushed past the magician, quickly scanning the room for a sign of the children. They were gone. The three armed guards hesitated for a moment, then sprang into action. James was about to strike the guard on his right when the energy ball caromed off Yusuf and struck the guard to James’s right. James quickly switched his attack to the center assailant.
James had fought multiple opponents before, and knew there were certain advantages. The most important thing he had found was that if his opponents hadn’t practised as a unit they tended to get in one another’s way.
He lunged and took the centre assailant under his guard, running him through. As he withdrew his blade, he leapt to his right and as he had hoped, the man on James’s left stumbled into the dying man in the middle.
Yusuf’s sword suddenly slashed the air near James’s head. He had recovered from the magic Jazhara had thrown at him and was now on James’s right, his scimitar expertly slicing the air.
‘Great,’ James muttered. ‘The spy has to be a master swordsman.’
The two remaining thugs had regained their feet and were a danger, but Yusuf was the true threat. ‘Jazhara! Keep those two off me, if you please.’
Jazhara advanced and another burst of energy shot across the room, this time a red blast of lightning that caused the air to crackle as it struck the floor between James and the two guards. They quickly retreated as smoke began to rise from the wooden floor.
James didn’t have time to appreciate the display, for Yusuf was proving a formidable opponent. It looked as if there would be almost no chance of keeping the Keshian spy alive, unless he got lucky. And given a choice, he’d rather keep himself alive than spare Yusuf and die in the process.
James used every trick he knew, a lethal inventory of combinations and feints. Twice he came close to cutting the Keshian, but twice in turn Yusuf came close to ending the struggle, too.
James circled and the turn brought Jazhara and the other two thugs into view. One had left the magician and was coming to help his master finish off James, while the other approached the magician warily, as Jazhara stood ready with her iron-shod staff before her.
James didn’t hesitate. He feigned a blow to Yusuf’s right hand, and as the Keshian moved to block, James spun to his own right, taking him away from the Keshian spy. Before Yusuf could recover, James was standing at his exposed left side, and all the merchant could manage was to fall away, avoiding a killing blow. This brought James right into the reach of the approaching guard, who lashed out high with his sword, a blow designed to decapitate the squire.
James ducked and thrust, running the man through. He then leapt to his right, knowing full well that Yusuf would be coming hard on his blind side. James hit the floor and rolled, feeling the scimitar slice the air above him. As he had hoped, Yusuf was momentarily slowed as he tried to avoid tripping over the falling corpse of his guard, and that afforded James enough time to regain his feet.
Off to one side, James could make out Jazhara and the other guard locked in combat. She wheeled the staff like an expert, taking his sword blows on hardened oak and lashing back with the iron tips. One good crack to the skull and the fight would be over, and both James and Jazhara’s opponent knew that.
Yusuf came in with his sword point low, circling to his right. James glimpsed bales of cloth and display racks to his own right and moved to counter Yusuf. The spy wanted James’s back to possible obstructions, so he might cause the squire to trip.
James knew it was now just a matter of who made the first mistake. He had been in struggles like this before, and knew fear and fatigue were the enemies most to be avoided. Yusuf’s face was a study in concentration: he was probably thinking the same thoughts.
James paused as if weighing which way to move, inviting Yusuf into committing himself to an attack. Yusuf declined. He waited. Both men were breathing heavily.
James resisted the urge to glance to where Jazhara struggled to finish off her opponent, knowing that to do so would invite an attack. The two men stood poised, each ready for an opening, each waiting for the other to commit.
Then James had an inspiration. He intentionally glanced to the left, at Jazhara, seeing her block a blow from the guard; she took the tip of the staff inside the man’s guard, and James saw her deliver a punching blow with the iron end of the staff to the man’s middle. He heard the man’s breath explode out of his lungs, but didn’t see it, for at that precise moment, James spun blindly away to his left.
As he had expected, Yusuf had acted the moment James’s eyes wandered, and as he had also suspected, the attack came off a combination of blade movements. A feint to the heart, which should have caused James’s sword to lash up and out, to block the scimitar, followed by a looping drop of the tip of the scimitar to a low, inside stab, designed to impale James in the lower belly.
But James wasn’t there. Rather than parry, he had spun to the left, and again found himself on Yusuf’s right hand. And rather than dance away, James closed. Yusuf hesitated for an instant, recognizing he was over-extended and needed to come back into a defensive posture. That was all James needed.
His rapier struck out and the point took Yusuf in the right side of his neck. With a sickening gurgling sound, the spy stiffened. Then his eyes rolled up and his knees gave way and he fell to the floor.
James pulled out his sword and turned to see Jazhara break the skull of the last guard.
The man went down and Jazhara retreated, glancing around to see if any threats remained. Seeing only James standing upright, she rested on her staff as she tried to catch her breath.
James walked to her and said, ‘You all right?’
She nodded. ‘I’m fine.’
James then looked around the room. Bolts of cloth were overturned and had been sent every which way, and many were now stained with crimson.
Letting out a long breath, James said, ‘What a mess.’
JAMES SHEATHED HIS SWORD.
‘Where did the children go?’
Jazhara looked around, then glanced up the stairs. ‘I’ll look up there. You see if they are hiding in that office,’ she instructed, and pointed to the door at the rear of the shop.
James nodded, with a half-smile. No point in making an issue out of who was in charge, he thought, turning to comply with her instructions. She was, after all, a princess by birth. Then as he reached the door he wondered,
He opened the door, sword at the ready, in case someone else lurked within. He entered a small office at the centre of which stood a writing table. Two burning lamps lighted the room, and a large chest stood against the far wall. The chest was apparently unlocked, its hasp hanging open, but James had received too many harsh lessons about trusting appearances, and so he approached the chest with caution. He glanced first at the papers spread across the writing table and saw several in a Keshian script he recognized. Most of these were orders for dyed cloth. Other letters in the King’s Tongue were also business-related. Then he spied two documents in a script he did not know.
He was examining the chest for traps when Jazhara appeared in the doorway. Through clenched teeth she said, ‘The dog had the children caged.’
James turned and looked through the door and saw a dozen frightened children, ranging in age from five to ten, standing mute behind the magician. They were dressed in filthy rags, their faces streaked with grime. James let out a slow sigh. Poor children in Krondor were nothing unusual; he had been an ‘urchin’ himself before becoming a thief. But systematic abuse of children was not part of normal Kingdom practices. ‘What do we do with them?’
‘What was that place you spoke of earlier?’
‘The Sign of the Yellow Shield. It’s an orphanage established by the Princess and the Order of Dala.’
One of the children drew back at mention of the place, and James remembered Nita’s reaction. James called into the main room, ‘You, boy, why does that frighten you?’