Tibb was loathe to leave his fire especially for a fight.
“I’ll bet he’s a cutthroat. Nothing but a cutthroat. Has to be a crazy cutthroat to try to pass Dragonsgate under these ridiculous conditions.”
Pinter jerked feverishly at the pile. “Quit blithering and get that equipment over here. He’ll be past us before we can even get off this cliff.”
“What purpose will it serve?” Tibb demanded, stalking stiffly across the cave floor toward a pile of arms. “We’ll get nothing but trouble out of this one. He’s a cutthroat, I guarantee you. No one but a cutthroat would be in this pass in the wintertime.”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Pinter snarled, freeing one knot with a mighty jerk, and putting in two more in the process.
“That’s what I said,” Tibb yelled.
“We’re not cutthroats,” Pinter barked. “We’re outlaws. Outlaws!”
“So you keep saying,” Tibb muttered as he shuffled across the cave toward Pinter, his arms loaded. He slammed the load of weapons and gear onto the stone and turned around to look for the rope ladder to lower them. “Where’s the rope?”
“Where do you think it is?” Pinter yelled in exasperation. “Where does it look like it is?”
“It looks like it’s in knots,” Tibb observed. Pinter roared in frustration as yet another tangle came into the ladder; in anger he buried the toe of his boot in the pile of gear. It plummeted over the edge, turning end over end to the canyon floor and landing in a snow drift.
“Now why’d you do that?” Tibb scolded. “I bet your precious Admon Faye doesn’t kick his weapons off cliffs.”
“Say one more word to me, Tibb, and I’ll send you down the same way!”
“You bent my sword!” Tibb griped, peeking over the edge. His sword was sticking point down in the snow. “Look at it. You ruined it.”
“Would you help me untangle these knots?” Pinter screamed. “He’s getting past.”
Rosha stopped singing. He had seen the large bundle tumble from the cliff face, and it aroused his curiosity. He focused his gaze on the cave entrance above him and shouted for joy when he saw a rope ladder drop freely from it, followed by two scurrying figures, who fought to keep from falling as they hurried to the ground. “Ho there!” he cried. “At last here’s some company!”
Dragonsgate was wide at this point, nearly a quarter of a mile from cliff to cliff, so Rosha could easily have avoided the ragged-looking characters who now wrestled with the bundle in the snow. But he was so eager for the company of others that the thought of danger never entered his mind. He guided his horse toward them through the drifts, climbing leisurely to meet the two thieves who hustled to block his way. “Greetings, my friends,” he called as he reached them.
“Halt there!” cried Tibb, waving a sword in his face.
“Stay your mount, or I’ll cut his forelegs,” Pinter added, seizing his weapon in both hands and swinging it back to strike.
“And touch not your blade,” Tibb went on sourly. “Or I’ll drop you here.” This mounted warrior had dragged him away from his warm fire, and the stocky thief was determined to make him pay for it.
Rosha hadn’t thought to reach for Thalraphis. He was trying to control a cackle. The sword Pinter waggled at him was bent at a ridiculous angle. “Your weapon, sir,” fac managed to get out, “is somewhat…
misshapen.”
“Yes, well,” Tibb grumbled, talking his eyes off Rosha and glancing up the blade of his sadly bowed sword. He shouldn’t have. Rosha’s left foot had slipped its stirrup, and now slashed out to crack across Tibb’s knuckles. The sword in question sailed into the air, turning slowly and flashing once in the sunlight before clattering against the near cliff and dropping into the bank. Both thieves followed its flight in surprise. There was plenty of time for Rosha to jerk out ThaLraphis if he’d wished to, but he left it where it was. He was enjoying this encounter.
Tibb put his hands on his hips and frowned at Rosha. “I don’t imagine you’ve helped its shape any by that.”
“Who knows?” Rosha grinned. “The blow just might have straightened it.”
Tibb stomped angrily after his sword, tossing up a shower of snow with every stride, and Rosha turned back to face Pinter, who watched him uncertainly.
“Here now,” Pinter said nervously. “Don’t try any tricks. Get off that horse, or I’ll maim you both.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t bother this animal if I were you, my friend.” Rosha smiled, “He’s a very special horse, you see, and he doesn’t take kindly to anyone who threatens me.” Rosha was pleased with the performance of his tongue. Perhaps it was because he was on his own again, but for some reason he felt very confident in his speech today. “What are you two doing out here, anyhow? You ought to be sitting by a fire someplace.”
“I was,” Tibb called, “until you showed up,” He picked up his sword and gazed at it in disgust.
“We are defending our pass against intruders like yourself,” Pinter shouted. “You’ll not leave Dragonsgate without paying the toll you owe us.”
“Toll? You make it sound like you owned the place,”
“And so we do.”
“Own Dragonsgate?” Rosha said, incredulous. “No one owns Dragonsgate.
Not since Vicia-Heinox died. If anyone could claim title to it, it would be my friends and I. After all we evicted its last owner.”
“What? Who are you?” Pinter queried aggressively.
“Rosha mod Dorlyth, bear’s-bane,” Rosha said flatly.
Pinter was visibly shaken. He swallowed hard, then shouted, “Tibb!” He took several awkward steps backward in the snow.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Tibb mumbled as he slogged his way back toward them, turning his battered Wade over in his hands and shaking his head in disbelief.
This is one of them!” Pinter shouted, suddenly dancing and weaving from side to side as if he expected Rosha to fall on him any moment.
“This is a companion of the dragon killer!”
Tibb looked up at Rosha with a new admiration. While in Lamath he had followed Pelmen’s prophetic ministry with some curiosity and here was one who had travelled with the Prophet. “Really?” he asked.
Rosha had heard that tone before, and it made him wince. He half-expected Tibb to ask him the same insane question he’d left Ngandib-Mar to avoid: “What was Vicia-Heinox really like?”
<fYou ah you put your hands in the air, bear’s-bane!” Pinter shouted nervously. He was growing breathless. In spite of his long legs, it was difficult to dance and shuffle in this snow.
“Why?” Rosha asked sensibly.
“We need some tribute from you (puff!) to present to our master (puff!) when he returns.”
“Oh?” Rosba smiled. “And who is this master of yours
“Admon Faye, of cour ” Pinter’s voice abandoned him in mid-sentence.
The point of Thalraphis was suddenly hovering two inches from the tip of his nose.
“How did you do that?” Tibb asked Rosha, admiringly.
Rosha ignored him. “Where is he?” he demanded. All humor had left his voice.
Pinter minced no words, quickly spitting out, “He’s in Chaomonous.”
“Where in Chaomonous?” Rosha demanded.
“I don’t know.” The sword tip moved an inch closer to Pinter’s nose.
“I don’t. Who can know where ”
Rosha touched his heel lightly to the flank of his war-horse, and they were gone in a burst of powdery whiteness. Both Pinter and Tibb were left lying on their backs in the drifts.
“How did he do that?” Tibb asked again.
“You were certainly right about one thing,” Pinter choked, staring at the sky. “He was nothing but a cutthroat!”
Joss studied the road carefully. “I begin to disbelieve the barkeep.