She got to it first but Phin grabbed her wrists by their cord bindings before she could use it, and they rolled together in a tangle, gagging on the dust their struggle raised. Ty and the creature were locked in combat and the Sarge and Rickard were both shouting in different parts of the building. Phin finally managed to get his longer legs under the melee and roll the woman to her back, forcing her arms over her head with a sharp cry.
“Stop it!” he hissed at her, eyes only inches from hers.
“Let go of me!” she yelled back in accented Codian.
“Woman, listen!” he said in a harsh whisper. “I am the only chance you have of getting away from these men and out of here. Do not fight me!”
She blinked at Phin in confusion, but did not wholly stop struggling. Across the room Ty barked an oath and the little creature hissed gleefully.
“Who are you?” the woman demanded.
“My name is Phinneas.” She made a final squirm, but Phin had her pretty well pinned. “Trust me,” he said. “I am on your side.”
She blinked up at him. “Do you even know what side that is?”
“Not really. But the other one has to be worse.”
“Phoarty, a little help!” Ty called. Phin looked over and saw that while the legionnaire was faring all right, he could not quite land a killing blow on the quick little beast. It scrabbled around him hissing and spitting, bleeding a slimy gel from several wounds but still darting in to swipe at Ty’s legs. Its severed claw lay in the dust, twitching.
“Do not do anything rash until we have a plan,” Phin whispered to the Duchess, then raised himself enough to wrench the dagger out of her bound hands. He rolled off of her with the faintest feeling of remorse not really appropriate to the situation, took up the dagger, and crept up on Ty’s opponent from behind.
Ty met Phin’s eyes and nodded him to the side. Both torches were now on the ground and Ty lunged forward for a stab that the creature avoided only by scampering sideways and putting a claw foot down on one of them. The creature screeched and hopped backwards directly at Phin, and before he had time to think about it Phin plunged the dagger in between its scaly shoulder blades. Hot gore splashed his hands and the creature fell to the ground, hissing and squeaking as all four limbs tried to reach the dagger jammed in to the hilt. Then Ty was on it, yelling and hacking at its head until it finally lay still.
Rickard burst into the room, eyes raking the place. He saw the Duchess by the wall and grabbed her by the bindings on her wrists, twisting them cruelly.
“Don’t ever run off in this place, you stupid wench!” Rickard shouted in her face. She fell forward to her knees and grimaced in pain, but made no sound. Her eyes remained locked on Phin’s.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Uriako Shikashe was the first to step through the mist-shrouded gatehouse and emerge into the round plaza just inside Vod’Adia. Nesha-tari was close behind him. The vendors looked at the grim samurai with his bared white blade and the beige-cloaked woman whose flashing blue eyes returned their looks smugly, and no one felt the need to tout their wares. These people looked like they knew what they were doing.
Amatesu came out next with a pack on her shoulder and carrying an unlit lantern. Tilda followed with an arrow nocked in her short bow. Brother Heggenauer and John Deskata appeared with mace and heavy short sword, both of them armored now as the ex-legionnaire had stripped the breastplate and greaves off of one of his fallen fellows. He also carried, once again, the tall tower shield of the Legions.
The six of them looked around surprised by the market-day atmosphere of the place, and weapons were finally slid back into sheaths or at least rested on shoulders. Nesha-tari crossed her arms and spoke, but no one translated. Everyone looked around.
“Where’s the other guy?” Deskata asked.
“His name is Zebulon,” Amatesu said. Quick introductions had been made once already.
“Whatever. Where is he?”
The samurai grunted and nodded his flaring kabuto helmet back at the gatehouse, where a raised crossbow was just easing out of the dense mist in the passageway. The weapon was followed by Zeb’s head, bushy hair poking out from beneath his Ayzant helmet. He looked around over the bow then lowered it and jogged over to the others with his ring mail jingling.
“I got lost in the gatehouse,” he mumbled.
“It was a straight hallway,” Tilda said. He had no response.
Nesha-tari spoke again, and Zeb translated. The woman’s words sounded like commands but Zeb repeated them as suggestions. She thought everyone should disperse to ask around after the men they were after before setting off into the city.
Brother Heggenauer frowned deeply at the woman as she spoke in Zantish, but he made no comment before striding for a tall building with a white shield freshly painted on the black bricks above the open door. Deskata and Zebulon went off in other directions while the two Westerners remained with Nesha-tari. She crossed her arms and stood on one foot to admire the shiny new, knee-length boot of dark leather on the other. The Shugak had hurriedly provided her with the new footwear, along with some supplies now distributed among the party.
Before she went off on her own Tilda looked over the Westerners. She was guessing that Uriako Shikashe was samurai, but was pretty sure she was right as he carried both katana and wakizashi swords and wore a full suit of o-yori that must have cost a fortune. The woman Amatesu always added the highly respectful suffix -sama to his family name as well. The Western woman had introduced herself with just a single name, but Tilda had seen her heal Zebulon’s throat with only a touch.
“ Shukenja?” Tilda asked Amatesu, and the woman with the wreck of a hair style raised a black eyebrow and nodded.
“Good,” Tilda said.
“You are familiar with the ways of the Western Lands?” the shukenja asked.
“A little,” Tilda said. “I am from Miilark.”
Amatesu looked at Tilda’s black half-cloak.
“Guilder?”
Tilda raised one of her own black eyebrows as she nodded.
“Good,” Amatesu said.
Tilda moved across the plaza and talked to a gnome who tried very hard to sell her a map of the city. He had a smile as wide as Fitzyear Coalmounderan’s but there was a different quality in his eyes. Tilda suspected his maps were fake. He had however seen the legionnaires a few hours ago or so, but not where they had gone. Tilda rejoined the others. Zeb knew no more than she did but Heggenauer said that Shanatarian priests had healed two men in Imperial armor, one from a bad leg wound and another with two fingers cut off.
“I should have picked up the Sarge’s digits for him,” John Deskata growled as he was the last to arrive. His manner now was scarcely anything like it had been while he was calling himself Dugan, and Tilda supposed that this gruff, angry man was the real him.
“There is a bunch of Agintans in that building,” Deskata jerked a thumb. “They saw our boys move off on the first street heading south. I looked around back there but the streets are a maze.”
“What do we know of this heart of Vod’Adia they seek?” Heggenauer asked. Deskata shrugged.
“It is some castle or palace smack-dab in the middle of the city. That’s all the seer could get from the book.”
The party looked to the south and toward the middle of town, but as far as they could see they perceived only rising rooftops and a few towers. Nothing that looked like a castle on its own.
Nesha-tari spoke even as she started walking around the building Deskata had indicated.
“Madame Nesha-tari suggests we discuss this on the move,” Zeb said, following the Westerners who were already following the Zantish woman. “Instead of standing here like a bunch of…well. Never mind.”
Tilda joined them and fell into step beside Brother Heggenauer, the acolyte of Jobe. His handsome face was determined and as he noticed Tilda looking at him he gave her a short smile and a nod.