Fern experienced a blue bolt of inspiration. “And I’ll bet after the trouble started, some local nob mentioned a crew you’d never heard of, but they insisted could get the job done? An easy hire?”
The Warden’s eyes widened—adirecthit.
“I think you might want to have a little talk with them, whoever they were,” added Fern, shaking her head woefully and really getting into the spirit of the thing. “If they’re still around.”
Astryx sighed. “I should have noticed. It’s such aclassiccon.” She flicked Nigel in an arc at the ring of mercenaries, addressing the Gatewarden in a loud voice. “They’re all his crew. Taltus is fleecing you. You’re hiring his own soldiers to protect you from him. Gods, this is a hoary old chestnut.” She shook her head. “The Four Fingers don’t exist. Or if they do, they’re certainly not from around here.”
The Oathmaiden leveled Nigel at the mercenary leader and smiled humorlessly, her ragged silver hair riffling in the wind. “Which means I won’t feel the slightest remorse about doing what needs to be done.”
The Four Fingers didn’t wait for another word.
They collapsed inward as one, spearheads leading the way.
The Gatewardens pursued at their heels, already drawing their blades.
Astryx took a single lunging step forward, bringing her elbow high and her swordpoint low—
—and with a graceful turn and a long, looping slash, she beheaded seven of the oncoming spears with Nigel, who laughed his plummy laugh the entire way.
Then she danced among black-clad figures, deadly and purposeful, while the Wardens smashed into the circle from without, spilling violence into the crowd.
Fern gasped as she felt Zyll’s hand knot into the hood of her cloak.
Then the goblin dragged her, choking, up over the statue’s plinth and into the shadow between its legs.
To safety.
14
“You can come out now,” said Astryx.
Fern stared in astonishment from around the toes of a massive sandaled foot carved of stone. Behind the Oathmaiden, black-clad figures sprawled across the square amidst shattered spears and a scattering of helms. A few of them sagged between the shoulders of Gatewardens leading them away.
Although the skirmish had been far from bloodless, Fern thought every one of Taltus’s crew would be crawling away with all their limbs and most of their fingers.
The Gatewardens had pitched in, she supposed, but Astryx?
There was a reason they called her the Blademistress.
“That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen,” breathed Fern.
The elf scrubbed a hand through her hair in a shower of sweat. “But not worthy of any foul language, I noticed.” The corner of her mouth curled in the specter of a smile.
“Only appropriate,” declared Nigel. “I’m pleased to see the bookseller expressing someproperappreciation. Er, my lady, do you mind?”
Astryx glanced at the Elder Blade in her hand, and with a casual whip, flicked a ribbon of blood off his length and onto the white stone. The sword made a contented noise deep in his phantom throat.
Her gaze found Fern again, then skittered away to search beneath the statue. “Now where did she get off to . . .”
Fern spun. Zyll had been crouched by her side for the entire battle, she was sure of it, but now—
“Hat-ling is verrry fashion-y, yes?”
When she turned around again, the goblin stood beside Astryx with both hands clapped to a kettle helm swallowing the top half of her face. Her orange pigtails barely poked out the bottom.
The elf rubbed furiously at her shortened ear.
Why am I still here?Fern asked herself dazedly as she followed Astryx and Zyll out of the crowded square. A respectful citizenry granted them a wide berth, which no doubt pleased Nigel immensely.
