“Riki…” Dhamon had managed to regain his voice, though the word came out almost unintelligibly. The half-elf glanced over at the bed, saw Dhamon staring at her with a glazed look. She rolled her upper lip back in a snarl, though the expression was lost on him. The distraction cost her. Elsbeth stepped in once more, this time lowering her head, charging forward and smashing her head against Riki’s face and momentarily stunning the half-elf. At the same time, the thief drove her knife forward, the blade slicing into Rikali’s skirt and grazing her hip.
“Pigs, again! My dress!” Riki cried. “You foul woman! You’re a dead woman now, you hear? Dead!
Dead! Dead!”
Dhamon shook his head, still trying to shed the effects of the drugged ale. Pain danced behind his eyes. “Riki.” He blinked, discovering his vision still blurred, but he could make out a few shapes and colors. He could still smell Elsbeth’s Passion of Palanthas. “Riki.” The word was stronger. Concentrating, he bunched the muscles in his arms and pulled on the ropes. The hemp dug painfully into his wrists. He worked at it as Rikali and Elsbeth continued their fight. The ropes were slick with his blood. He knew that the half-elf was good with her blades, and for a moment he wondered if he should wait until she won and cut him loose. He vaguely remembered her saying something about letting the women kill him and Maldred and decided waiting wasn’t a prudent idea.
He pulled harder and found some sensation returning to his legs. He tried to draw his knees up to stretch the ropes tied to his ankles. The bedposts groaned in protest, and he felt the wood, rather than the ropes, start to give.
Across the room, the wench named Gertie was effortlessly wielding Maldred’s great-sword. She edged forward with it, while ducking under the swing of the young man’s staff. She forced him back, until he was cornered against the wall.
“Who are you?” she hissed. “Who are you to interfere in our business? You’ve no right, you insolent pup!” She ran at him then, thrusting the sword forward. Her target moved, but not fast enough. The tip of the greatsword managed to slice his side, cut deep into his tunic, and plunge through to the plaster wall, pinning him like a bug.
“You’re strong!” the young man blurted. “Stronger than you should be!” He glanced at the blade. It was so far into the wall it must be protruding well out into the hallway on the other side.
“Strong?” She released the sword’s pommel, grinning malevolently at his predicament. “You haven’t seen strong.”
She danced back and forth in front of him, easily avoiding the blows from his staff and watching him amusedly while he struggled to pull free. He couldn’t afford to drop the staff and use both hands to tug out the greatsword, and his leather tunic refused to rip.
“Your clothes are well-made, boy,” Gertie taunted. “You’ll look good, buried in them.” She skittered over to Dhamon’s bed, reached for her knife, and raised it above his throat. “Before you die, boy, you can watch your fellows go first. You and the half-elf can watch.”
“No!” The word sprang from Maldred’s lips. The big man’s eyes were open. He was struggling to shake off the drugged ale and had managed to turn his head toward Dhamon. He balled his fists and tugged on the ropes, but his efforts were too feeble. “Leave him be!”
“Yeah, Gertie, leave him be!” Elsbeth shouted as she slashed again at Rikali. “That one’s mine to kill!”
“Sorry,” Gertie replied with a smile. “He’s mine now.”
“No! Please!” This from Riki, who managed to slip away from the distracted Elsbeth and darted like a flash toward Dhamon. The half-elf swung her knife, cracking Gertie’s blade on the pommel and sending it away just as the tip had reached Dhamon’s throat. The blade drew only a thin line of blood before clanging to the floor a few feet away.
“You’ll not kill Dhamon!” Rikali spat. The half-elf swung again in a wide arc, and Gertie scampered back, laughing.
“Thought you said he owed you, half-elf,” Gertie tittered as she glanced about for an unbroken weapon in easy reach. “Thought you said he owed you, that you didn’t care if he was dead.”
“He owes me, all right!” the half-elf sneered. She returned her attention to Elsbeth, narrowly dodging a swipe of the big woman’s blade. “He’s gonna owe me more for savin’ his damn life!”
“Stay put!” Elsbeth cursed at the half-elf. She stomped her foot in anger, the heel cracking the wood of the floor. “You just stay put so I can kill you and be done with this! I’ve let this tussle go on too long!”
Riki dropped her gaze to the broken floor panel, then raised her eyes to meet Elsbeth’s. The thief’s eyes glimmered darkly like night, the pupils no longer blue. “What are you?” the half-elf breathed.
“Your death,” Elsbeth stated. She stabbed forward just as Riki jumped back. Gertie had moved to the end of Maldred’s bed, one hand on the bedpost. In a heartbeat she’d pulled the post off the bed. A corner of the bed fell to the floor, and the still-drowsy Maldred groaned. The thief wielded the post like a club, advancing on the young man still pinned to the wall. “Elsbeth thinks we need to end this, pup. I suppose she’s right.”
“Who are you?” Rikali shouted again. “The two of you ain’t no—”
Her words were cut off with a loud crash. Maldred had finally shaken off enough of the effects of the drug and had pulled so hard at his bonds that he’d managed to shatter the rest of the bed. The big man fumbled to escape the ropes.
Gertie glanced over her shoulder and scowled. “Elsbeth! Let’s be done with the game and be after Satin!” She hauled back on her makeshift club, dropped beneath the swing of the pinned man’s staff and hit him soundly in the chest. The bedpost was old and cracked from the blow, and she cursed and discarded it.
“Beating the life out of you is going to take too long,” Gertie sneered. She raised her empty hands. As the youth brought his staff down again, she caught it, the wood smacking hard against her open palms. “Blessed!” she shouted in surprise, as her fingers folded tightly around the wood. “That stung! You’re a strapping pup!”
They struggled with the staff for a moment. She pulled him free of the wall, his tunic ripping. He fell on top of her, the staff still between them. They continued to wrestle over it for a moment, then she rolled, pinning him.
“Stop struggling, pup! I’ll kill you quick! I swear! You’re human and not worth selling.”
“You shouldn’t be so strong,” the young man gasped.
Nearby, Maldred had managed to free his wrists and ankles of the ropes and was struggling to sit on the broken bed. “This… is… not… right… at…all,” the big man said. “Something is not right about them.” He tried to get up, but his legs were too heavy and refused to move. It was all he could do to lift his arms.
“Somethin’s not right?” the half-elf parroted from across the room. “Whatever gave you that idea, Mal? They drive swords through plaster walls, rip posts off beds. They’re as strong as bulls!
Somethin’s not right, indeed! Mal, I ought to—ow!”
Elsbeth had managed to cut the half-elf again, and Rikali was forced to put all her effort now into parrying Elsbeth’s blows.
“Dhamon! Dhamon!” Maldred called across the room to his friend. “Move!”
Dhamon pawed awkwardly at his ropes, all the while watching the fight between Rikali and Elsbeth. The older woman had the half-elf against the wall and drove her fist forward. Rikali moved her head just in time, and Elsbeth’s fist instead struck the thick plaster wall, knocking a hole in it. The half-elf’s mouth dropped open, and she stared in shock as the woman easily pulled her arm free and blew at the plaster dust coating her knuckles.