[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
woman like her had ended up a slave in the first place.
Rhania pointed to an arched gateway at the far end of the courtyard. Through there. Your friend is in
Ilban s workshop.
Good. Stay close to me.
Keeping to the shadows under the gallery, he started for the gate.
Suddenly someone on the gallery overhead shouted, There they are.
Rhania cowered back against the wall as the sound of running feet came from all directions. That s
Ilban!
There! a woman screamed, and Seregil prayed it wasn t Zoriel.
No! Rhania gasped, looking around wildly. No, I can t& I won t!
Before Seregil could stop her, she clasped the carving knife in both hands and drove it deep into her
breast. She fell without a cry.
Shit, shit, shit! Seregil bolted across the courtyard, dodged between two startled guards coming the
other way, and dashed into the garden beyond. The workshop Rhania told him about was right there in
front of him, but it might as well have been on the moon for all the good it did him right now.
A pursuer caught him by the shoulder. Seregil paused just long enough to plunge his poniard through
that man s throat and into the chest of the one who d come with him, then ran across to a large, ornate
fountain on what appeared to be an outer wall. Using the carvings for purchase, he scrambled up. At the
top, somehow still clutching the bloody poniard, he looked over and saw a shadowed fold of ground
below. Ditch or gorge, it was impossible to tell.
He kept low and ran along the top of the wall, trying to find a better place, but the declivity followed
this side of the house.
If he did jump and didn t break his neck, he still might not be able to get back inside easily for Alec.
And just where exactly was he going to go if he did run-branded, dressed in stolen, ill-fitting clothes, with
blood on his hands, and no knowledge of the countryside?
He followed the top of the wall past the workshop and around the smaller garden with the covered
walkway and the fish pool. He caught sight of movement below just in time to flatten himself into the
angle between the wall and the tiled walkway roof.
What are you doing in here? a man demanded.
The master said to search everywhere, another replied.
Don t be a fool. You can see where he went over the wall. There are bloody handprints all over the
fountain. Get the dogs and search the gully first. He s likely lying there with a broken leg, the damn fool.
That ll be the least of his worries once the master has him again.
The voices faded away. Thunder rolled in the distance, and a few drops of cold rain pattered down,
spattering on the tiles and soaking through the back of Seregil s thin tunic. A moment later the skies
opened and rain came down in sheets.
Seregil mouthed a silent prayer of thanks. The rain would cover the fact that there were no tracks
beyond the wall. He cautiously raised his head and looked around. Directly across from where he lay
was the wing of the house where he d been held in the upstairs room. Several small wooden grilles were
visible just below the eaves, and most likely let into an attic. In his experience, attics of large houses could
be very useful places.
He carefully crawled along the walkway roof, but the rain was so heavy now that he could barely see
the fountain and guessed he was equally hidden.
It was hard work, clambering over the uneven tiles, and his palms and knees were sore by the time he
finally reached the first wooden grille. It was old and a little rotten. Using the dagger, he easily pried it
from its frame and wriggled in.
It was dusty and cold inside, and pitch-black at first. He crouched where he d landed, letting his eyes
adjust. A flash of lightning gave him a glimpse of jumbled trunks and broken bits of furniture. Seregil
resisted the urge to explore just yet and leave telltale wet footprints in the dust.
His caution was well warranted. Servants soon appeared with lanterns and proceeded to search every
corner of the rambling space. Seregil was kept busy skulking from one shadowy hiding spot to another.
He eventually managed to get behind them in an already searched area and hunkered down under a large
pile of moth-eaten bedclothes, clutching the bloody poniard.
It wasn t the best hiding spot: the musty comforters were alive with beetles and mice, and he nearly
ruptured his eardrums stifling several violent sneezes.
The lights finally disappeared and the attic went silent again. He stayed where he was, breathing though
his mouth, for some time, but no one came back to catch him out. The storm still raged outside, with
thunder treading on the lightning s heels.
With any luck, Yhakobin would give up the search for tonight, and find the trail cold tomorrow. Safe
for the moment, Seregil arranged himself more comfortably in his dusty, itchy hiding place to rest while he
could.
Take care, talí, he murmured softly. I m coming for you soon.
CHAPTER 37
Closing In
THE MILKY LIGHT of early dawn was slanting through the broken slats when Seregil cautiously
emerged from his hiding place. He braced for some lurking guard to jump him, as they had last night, but
it seemed he was alone with the mice for now. He brushed himself off, slapped a spider off his neck, and
looked around. His pursuers had done him a favor. There were fresh footprints all over the dusty floor.
No one was likely to notice a few more.
The attic ran all around the top of the house, mirroring its shape, and he soon found a small window [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl wyciskamy.pev.pl
woman like her had ended up a slave in the first place.
Rhania pointed to an arched gateway at the far end of the courtyard. Through there. Your friend is in
Ilban s workshop.
Good. Stay close to me.
Keeping to the shadows under the gallery, he started for the gate.
Suddenly someone on the gallery overhead shouted, There they are.
Rhania cowered back against the wall as the sound of running feet came from all directions. That s
Ilban!
There! a woman screamed, and Seregil prayed it wasn t Zoriel.
No! Rhania gasped, looking around wildly. No, I can t& I won t!
Before Seregil could stop her, she clasped the carving knife in both hands and drove it deep into her
breast. She fell without a cry.
Shit, shit, shit! Seregil bolted across the courtyard, dodged between two startled guards coming the
other way, and dashed into the garden beyond. The workshop Rhania told him about was right there in
front of him, but it might as well have been on the moon for all the good it did him right now.
A pursuer caught him by the shoulder. Seregil paused just long enough to plunge his poniard through
that man s throat and into the chest of the one who d come with him, then ran across to a large, ornate
fountain on what appeared to be an outer wall. Using the carvings for purchase, he scrambled up. At the
top, somehow still clutching the bloody poniard, he looked over and saw a shadowed fold of ground
below. Ditch or gorge, it was impossible to tell.
He kept low and ran along the top of the wall, trying to find a better place, but the declivity followed
this side of the house.
If he did jump and didn t break his neck, he still might not be able to get back inside easily for Alec.
And just where exactly was he going to go if he did run-branded, dressed in stolen, ill-fitting clothes, with
blood on his hands, and no knowledge of the countryside?
He followed the top of the wall past the workshop and around the smaller garden with the covered
walkway and the fish pool. He caught sight of movement below just in time to flatten himself into the
angle between the wall and the tiled walkway roof.
What are you doing in here? a man demanded.
The master said to search everywhere, another replied.
Don t be a fool. You can see where he went over the wall. There are bloody handprints all over the
fountain. Get the dogs and search the gully first. He s likely lying there with a broken leg, the damn fool.
That ll be the least of his worries once the master has him again.
The voices faded away. Thunder rolled in the distance, and a few drops of cold rain pattered down,
spattering on the tiles and soaking through the back of Seregil s thin tunic. A moment later the skies
opened and rain came down in sheets.
Seregil mouthed a silent prayer of thanks. The rain would cover the fact that there were no tracks
beyond the wall. He cautiously raised his head and looked around. Directly across from where he lay
was the wing of the house where he d been held in the upstairs room. Several small wooden grilles were
visible just below the eaves, and most likely let into an attic. In his experience, attics of large houses could
be very useful places.
He carefully crawled along the walkway roof, but the rain was so heavy now that he could barely see
the fountain and guessed he was equally hidden.
It was hard work, clambering over the uneven tiles, and his palms and knees were sore by the time he
finally reached the first wooden grille. It was old and a little rotten. Using the dagger, he easily pried it
from its frame and wriggled in.
It was dusty and cold inside, and pitch-black at first. He crouched where he d landed, letting his eyes
adjust. A flash of lightning gave him a glimpse of jumbled trunks and broken bits of furniture. Seregil
resisted the urge to explore just yet and leave telltale wet footprints in the dust.
His caution was well warranted. Servants soon appeared with lanterns and proceeded to search every
corner of the rambling space. Seregil was kept busy skulking from one shadowy hiding spot to another.
He eventually managed to get behind them in an already searched area and hunkered down under a large
pile of moth-eaten bedclothes, clutching the bloody poniard.
It wasn t the best hiding spot: the musty comforters were alive with beetles and mice, and he nearly
ruptured his eardrums stifling several violent sneezes.
The lights finally disappeared and the attic went silent again. He stayed where he was, breathing though
his mouth, for some time, but no one came back to catch him out. The storm still raged outside, with
thunder treading on the lightning s heels.
With any luck, Yhakobin would give up the search for tonight, and find the trail cold tomorrow. Safe
for the moment, Seregil arranged himself more comfortably in his dusty, itchy hiding place to rest while he
could.
Take care, talí, he murmured softly. I m coming for you soon.
CHAPTER 37
Closing In
THE MILKY LIGHT of early dawn was slanting through the broken slats when Seregil cautiously
emerged from his hiding place. He braced for some lurking guard to jump him, as they had last night, but
it seemed he was alone with the mice for now. He brushed himself off, slapped a spider off his neck, and
looked around. His pursuers had done him a favor. There were fresh footprints all over the dusty floor.
No one was likely to notice a few more.
The attic ran all around the top of the house, mirroring its shape, and he soon found a small window [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]