Unfortunately, there was only one way to be sure.
Iron was up and in an easy crouch as I began to move forward. Despite his gasping for air, his sword assumed a rock-solid high guard almost of its own accord. He glanced at me, then turned his full attention to Degan. Degan was on his feet now, obviously favoring the leg Iron had struck.
The sack lay directly between them.
“Leave it for now, little Nose,” said Iron. Deep breath. “Plenty of time later.”
“It’s his property,” said Degan.
Iron chuckled and took another breath. “That sure of your hold on him, are you?” he said. “He’s given his word twice over, now, brother-both to you and to Solitude. Which one do you think he’ll favor?”
Degan frowned. “Take the sack, Drothe,” he said.
I have to admit, I was mildly surprised. It was good to know Degan had that much faith in me; that, or he figured he could just take it back again if he changed his mind.
“Leave it be,” said Iron more forcefully. “Let it distract him.”
I looked from one degan to another. “The hell with this,” I said. I took my hand off my rapier and strode forward.
That was my first mistake.
Degan sprang to his left and stepped forward, using my body to shield himself from Iron’s view. It would only provide a moment of cover, but for a degan, that would likely be enough.
Iron, for his part, shot to his feet, spinning in the opposite direction. As he turned, he switched his sword to his left hand, so that when he faced me again, he was able to redirect the momentum into a full-out lunge, blade already extended.
I started to back away from the lunge, when I felt a hand in the middle of my back. “Don’t,” said Degan in my ear. Then Iron’s blade was arcing around my arm, its curve letting it slide past and come in at Degan at the same time.
I heard a grunt and the scrape of metal on metal behind me. Iron’s face was less then three feet from my own, and I saw him clench his jaw. Then he was lurching forward into me.
To say I bounced off him would be putting it mildly. His body connected with mine and propelled me away as if I’d been thrown. At the same time, I felt Degan’s hand shoving me, so that when I came to rest on the street, I was a good three to four paces away from them.
I rolled over and saw Degan with his free hand locked on Iron’s wrist. He must have reached around me and grabbed it when Iron lunged. Iron was turning, trying to keep Degan’s body between himself and the other’s sword, even as Degan twisted and levered down on his wrist.
I looked away, scanning the street. There, five feet to my left, was the sack.
I practically fell over myself in my haste to get to it. I wanted to ask Degan how he had gotten the journal, ask Mendross what had possessed him to give it to Degan in the first place, but all that could wait. Right now, I just wanted to get my hands on the damn thing so I could get rid of it.
Except when I picked up the sack, I knew the journal wasn’t in there. The heft was all wrong, and the mass inside too malleable when I lifted the canvas. Whatever was in there wasn’t a book.
I reached in and gingerly pulled out a coil of knotted rope. Each knot had a small scrap of paper tied into it, and around each knot, I knew, though I couldn’t see them, was tied a single strand of my hair.
Somehow, Degan had gone back after his fight with Shadow and retrieved the rope Jelem had made for me. That, or he had actually managed to pick it up without setting it off when he came after me. Either way, it couldn’t have been easy.
Damn, but he was making this hard.
I heard a yell, followed by a flurry of sword strikes so quick they nearly blurred into a single, continuous noise. I looked up, ready to move.
Degan was pushing Iron back with a relentless array of cuts and thrusts, his blade whistling in the air before him. It was stunning; I’d never seen a sword move with that much speed and accuracy at the same time. Every action was precise, every attack flowing into the next with flawless efficiency. There wasn’t a hint of uncertainty in any of it.
And Iron met each attack just as flawlessly, parrying Degan’s blade the exact amount needed to keep it from touching him, but no more. Iron’s defense never faltered, be it blade or body or foot-he was exactly where he needed to be to not get hit. But none of his counters worked, either. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t turn Degan’s attacks back against him.
It was a beautiful, daunting display. The only problem was, it was bringing them right toward me.
I hopped back two paces and was just deciding which way to leap when Iron suddenly stepped off to one side, practically turning his back to Degan even as he thrust his sword toward him. Degan bent his torso back and tried to step off as well, but not before Iron’s blade slid along the top of his right arm. Degan’s free hand slapped the sword away, revealing a long, shallow cut along his right shoulder and biceps.
The two men stepped apart and regarded one another. Then they began circling again.
My stomach lurched at the sight of Degan’s wound even as my head recoiled at the thought of giving the book to him. Hell and damn.
I glanced at the bazaar around me as I coiled the rope and slipped it into my belt. Most of the crowd had dispersed, although there were enough people hanging back on the edges for someone to be making book on the fight. There was even a water seller moving through the crowd with his spouted pot.
I made my way around the edge of the fighting, trying to stay out of range of the degans while keeping my distance from the gawkers as I hurried back toward Mendross’s stall.
The fruit seller had taken up a position before his partly broken-down stall, a solid-looking staff in his hands. Not a single fig was going to go missing if he had anything to say about it. Then I showed up, and his produce was forgotten.
“Degans?” he said, practically sputtering. “Degans are fighting over the book you gave me? The book you said no one would be looking for here?”
“I didn’t think it would come to this,” I said.
Mendross took a step forward, brandishing his staff for emphasis. “I heard the name ‘Shadow,’ Drothe. And ‘Solitude.’ Those are names I don’t like hearing!”
“Join the club,” I said. I stepped into his stall. Mendross hesitated a moment, then moved his staff aside.
“I want that book out of my stall,” said Mendross. “Now.”
“Do I look like I came over here to argue about it?” I said.
Mendross turned on his heel and shoved the curtain aside. “Spyro!” he yelled. The boy’s head popped up from behind an opened sack of dates. His hair was mussed and his eyes only half open.
“Sometimes I think you’d sleep through the Angels’ Descent, boy,” snapped Mendross. “Get out there and make sure no one steals the stall.” Spyro didn’t quite fall over himself on the way out, but it was a close thing.
I followed Mendross through the curtain, glancing over my shoulder as I did. The two degans had come to grips again, each holding the other’s sword arm with his free hand. Iron was pushing Degan backward toward a brass seller’s stall, while Degan was busy trying to shift his weight and spin Iron into the stall instead. The curtain fell to block my view, and an instant later I heard the crash and clatter of a hundred incense burners and lamp holders being knocked to the ground. I wondered who had ended up against the table. Instead of looking, I turned back to Mendross.
The fruit seller was unceremoniously dumping a basket of figs out onto the floor. From the bottom toppled a cloth-wrapped bundle.
“Here.” Mendross unwrapped the journal and held it out to me. “I don’t want to know,” he said as I took it. “Ever. Understand?”
I gave him a wry smile. “Trust me-I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Two days ago, I might have-”
We were interrupted by Spyro thrusting his head around in the edge of the curtain.