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chance. Perhaps better, if they were only indifferent with their weapons. But
I thought not. Thieves are rarely unversed in fight-
ing and weaponry.
I ran. Off the track and into the trees, into the twilight of early sundown,
where the shadows lay thick and deep with nothing of light about them.
Lir-shape, I knew, would provide a swifter escape, but I hurt so badly from my
fall that the shapechange would require more concentration than usual, conse-
quently more time. I knew better than to hope for the latter, and probably
could not manage the for-
mer. I had caught them off-guard and put one of them down, but my store of
tricks was gone. If they ran me to ground, I would have to fight them.
Behind me, I heard shouting interlaced with shrieks of pain. Also the telltale
crashing of bodies through the brush. The quarry had been flushed, now pur-
suit was begun.
I swore aloud breathlessly, then wished I had not.
My throat was afire with pain, inside as well as with-
out. The rough rope had scraped me raw, shredding the flesh of my neck while
also half-throttling me. I
was lucky to breathe at all; it might have broken my neck.
My hunter's cap caught, came off, was left; I dared not stop for it. Now hair
came tumbling down, snag-
ging boughs and brambles, cluttering itself with leaves and twigs, growing
sticky with juices and sap. Fear-
sweat stung my armpits; breasts ached from nerves.
The shadows grew deeper as day shapechanged into evening. I fell, rose,
staggered, tore vine-ropes out of my way. Wished myself, vainly, elsewhere, or
at least a sword in my hand.
But mostly I wished for lir-shape; for wings in place of arms.
If I stopped running, perhaps I could summon the magic. But I stopped running
to try it, I chanced if losing the lead I had. And all of my kin had taught me
to treasure advantages, no matter how large or small; never to spend them
foolishly, nor ever sur-
render them.
I crashed through brush into clearing, staggered to a halt. Facing me were
men. Kneeling, squatting, hunching, all gathered around a new fire. All
listen-
ing to another who held a sword in his hands.
The firelight blurred before me, glinting off knives and in eyes; from the
accoutrements of rank. I
blinked, fighting off weakness, clung to the nearest tree. They were, I
thought, king's men; they had that look about them.
"Leijhana tu'sail" I
gasped. "Let me have that sword!"
As one they turned and stared, showing knives, swords and startled eyes, and
hard, strange faces.
Some were bearded, some were not; all wore foreign clothes.
I put out my hand. "The sword." But it was more a question than command.
The man with the weapon smiled. There was little
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
of it I could see in the rich red bush of his beard, so at odds with the blond
of his hair. "Sword, is it?" he asked. "And you but a bit of a lass!"
Erinnish, I knew instantly, by the lilt of Aileen and
Deirdre.
Cursing was loud behind me, accompanied by crash-
ing. I spun, dragged free my knife, braced to meet the thieves. They broke
free into the clearing, saw me, saw them, stopped short. And uneasily counted
the numbers of the men who stood at my back. Even
Hart would lay no wager; I unlocked my jaw from itself.
The red-bearded man strode forward, nearly knock-
ing me aside as he brushed a shoulder purposely.
"Have ye business?" he asked of the thieves. "Or have ye come for the fun?" He
made a sweeping gesture of his left arm as if to invite them in. At the end of
it his hand touched me on the chest and pushed me back a step. "A bonny lass,
aye, but she'll be serving us first. You'll have to wait your turn." He eyed
them assessively. "Unless, of course, you'd sooner play the part of the maid
yourself . . . we've just arrived from Erinn and we're not particular whom we
rape. 'Tis been a long journey."
As he intended them to, the thieves backed away and ran. Now it was my turn to
flee, though I chose another direction.
Two steps only; he caught me by the hair. "Lass, lass, don't go ... don't you
know the sound of a lie?"
I sliced his wrist with my knife. "I know the sound of a threat let me go,
ku'reshtin!"
He did so, with alacrity. I saw shock in long-lashed eyes.
"Lass
 "
In clipped, fluent Erinnish, I told him to shut his mouth.
He stared, but he did. And then brought up the sword and knocked the knife
from my hand.
"Now, lass," he said, "d'ye think ye might listen to us?"
"No," I answered promptly, and summoned the magic to me.
Tried to summon the magic . . . the Erinnishman clamped a hand on my right arm
and the pain of it nearly sent me out of my senses. I bit into my lip to beat
off the swoon and inwardly cursed my weakness.
"Lass," he said, "you're hurt. There's blood all over your neck " Abruptly, he
took his hand from me, " as well as on your arm. Lass "
Gods, but I
hurt.
"Let me go," I rasped. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]