“Father!” he nearly shouted. His eyes were fully open. The significance of this fact was not lost on either of us. “You have to come out here!”
It was then I noticed the silence. There were no sounds of combat.
I dashed through the curtain, nearly knocking Spyro down in the process. I took two steps toward the street and stopped.
Degan and Iron were both standing in the middle of the square, weapons drawn, breathing heavily. Brass ware of every imaginable shape lay scattered about them, dully reflecting the day’s last light.
Neither man was paying much attention to the other; instead, they were staring out at what was left of the surrounding crowd. Or, to be more specific, at the dozen or more men and women who had stepped out of the crowd, their weapons drawn.
At first, I thought they were Rags come to settle the disturbance. Then I noticed that the nearest one wasn’t wearing a red sash; instead, she had a barely visible, dirty gold strip of cloth tied about her arm.
War colors. Nicco’s war colors. Oh, damn.
I was taking a reflexive step back when a deep bass voice I recognized boomed out across the street. It still had the power to freeze me in my tracks.
“I’ve got you now, you crossing little bastard!” thundered Nicco. Off to my right, the crowd parted, and the Upright Man stepped into the open space before the stalls.
At first I thought the war had been taking its toll on Nicco, what with his puffy eyes, tangled hair, and unkempt clothes-he looked as if he’d been dragged out of bed. Then I noticed Rall’ad standing behind him, and realized it was very likely the case.
The fish vendor saw me looking at him, smirked, and slipped back a little farther into the crowd.
Crossing little bastard; I’d sear his face on his own grill if I got out of this.
“It’s going to be painful for you, Drothe,” said Nicco, opening and closing his fists at his side. “So painful.” He looked away before I could reply and addressed the degans.
“I’ve no quarrel with either of you,” said Nicco, pointing to the two degans. “You want to fight in my territory, I’ll overlook it. Hell, you can take this bazaar apart for all I care. My Arms won’t lift a finger against you.” He gestured at me. “But if you try to come between me and that, then we have a problem.”
I took another look at the men and women Nicco had brought with him. All their steel was quality; all their faces were grim. More than one of them were wearing at least some sort of protection as well. Four sported steel gorgets; another two had leather jack coats; most had some sort of helmet; one even wore a well-oiled steel cuirass strapped to his chest. Armor wasn’t usually worn on the street-that they had come this decked-out meant they had come ready for trouble.
I recognized some of the faces among them, too: Mythias, Seri Razor Edge, Gutter Janos, the Hell-and-Fury twins, the Cretin… Some of Nicco’s best muscle was here.
In a strange way, I almost felt honored at the talent he’d assembled, even though I knew it wasn’t meant for me directly. What worried me, though, was that there might actually be enough deadly skill among the Arms to take both degans.
Iron took a slow, calculating look at the men and women surrounding him. Degan simply stared at Nicco.
“Well?” said Iron to Degan.
Degan didn’t respond. He stood in the middle of the street, sword in hand, blood running down his arm. The silence radiated out from him, infecting the crowd until even the Purse Cutters and the water hawkers grew still.
Nicco met Degan’s gaze. “Don’t be stupid,” said the Upright Man, his voice sounding like a shout in the stillness. “He’s not worth it.”
“Shows what the hell you know,” said Degan. Then he moved, and the Cretin, who’d been a good four paces away from him, was falling over, Degan’s sword already on its way back out of the Cretin’s left eye.
In an instant, everything went from stillness to chaos. Knowing a bad situation when they saw it, the last of the crowd surged away from the imminent bloodshed. Two of the Arms got caught in the panicked tide and were swept away; the rest rushed forward to engage the degans. Iron laughed and waded in to meet three of the Arms outright, killing the front man with frightening casualness. When the remaining two shifted to keep him from joining up with Degan, Iron laughed again and waved them on with his free hand.
Degan hadn’t even paused in his assault. Without looking down, he’d caught the guard of the Cretin’s sword with his boot, kicked it up, and grabbed the weapon out of the air with his left hand. Now, with a sword in each hand, he was rushing Nicco.
Four Arms stepped forward to meet him. Degan cut with the left blade, parried with the right, feinted, and flicked the tip of his left sword. A gash appeared in the tallest Arm’s throat, pulsing red as he crumpled toward the ground. Another cut, a thrust, a stab with each blade, and another Arm fell.
It looked like Degan was going to wade his way to Nicco without much effort. I smiled at the thought. Then another Arm rushed in from the side, forcing Degan to shift his guard and work against two fronts. His advance stopped.
Nicco had blanched at the sight of Degan bearing down on him, but now he had enough breathing room to think. He thought of me.
“Get the damn Nose!” Nicco yelled to the square in general. He began circling toward me.
I didn’t need to hear him twice. Staying here only made me a target. If I wanted to do anyone any good, I needed to get out of this stall, preferably in a less than obvious fashion. The fewer people who knew where I was, the more damage I could do.
I drew my rapier and turned to duck back behind the curtain. That was when I saw Seri Razor Edge vaulting into the stall over a pile of crates, a nasty grin on her skeletal face.
Seri didn’t say anything when she landed-couldn’t, for that matter; she’d had her tongue cut out years ago. Rumor had it that her then-husband had done it because she had lied to him. Once she’d recovered, Seri had used the brace of long barber’s razors she still wielded to carve him up and sell him for pig fodder.
Seri clicked the razors open and closed, open and closed, in a blur of silver steel. Even though I had reach with my sword, I thought twice about attacking her-I’d seen her take apart better swordsmen than I in a matter of seconds.
“Go ahead, try her,” said a voice. I glanced right and saw another Arm, named Leander, standing outside the stall. He had a broad-bladed infantry sword resting across his shoulder-a souvenir from his days in the Imperial legions.
Two Arms versus me-I’d seen better odds at a fixed cockfight. If Ioclaudia’s journal hadn’t been filling up my left hand, I would have tried a drop-and-throw with my wrist dagger.
I saw the curtain shift slightly behind Seri, even though there was no breeze. I resisted the urge to smile.
I looked over at Leander. “How much?” I demanded.
His eyes narrowed. “How much what?”
“How much to let me go?”
Leander looked at me, dumbfounded for a moment, then laughed. “You mean how much to cross Nicco? I’m not-”
That was when Mendross’s staff thrust out through the gap in the curtain. It caught Seri behind the ear with an audible crack. Her knees buckled.
By then, I was already throwing the journal at Leander. I wasn’t happy about it, and my gut tightened as I did it, but it was either throw that or my sword, and I needed the sword more just now.
The motion caught Leander by surprise. Instinct made him block the book with his sword, which meant he missed the rapier thrust I sent immediately after it. My blade caught him at the base of the jaw. The tip bit deep, his head snapped back, and he was dead.
I was still recovering from my lunge and turning to thank Mendross when something collided with the side of my head. My first thought was, What the hell are you doing, Mendross? but as I staggered and fell, I saw Mendross still standing in the curtained doorway, a look of surprise on his face. Then I saw Nicco step over me, and I knew who had clicked me.