Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [4]
Suddenly, catlike, the man sprang. The attack almost caught Tristan off guard, but his keyed instincts sent him darting to the side. He grasped the thief’s wrist as his attacker’s momentum carried him past. Then, kicking out sharply to the side, the prince knocked the Calishite to the ground.
But suddenly the grip in which Tristan held his foe reversed itself, and the prince felt himself being flung backward. The wind exploded from his lungs as he landed heavily on his back. Like lightning, the thief sprang toward his chest, curved dagger flashing toward the prince’s neck.
Ignoring the pain in his chest, Tristan thrust his knife to block the attack, then grasped his attacker’s wrist with his free hand. In a dizzying roll, they tumbled across the muddy grass, first one, then the other holding the advantage. Giving a wrenching twist, the thief suddenly broke free and stood. Before he could step clear, however, Tristan swept his leg through a circular kick. His foot landed behind the thief ’s knee, and the man dropped heavily. Tristan leaped onto him, holding his knife to the stranger’s throat.
Slowly, the Calishite relaxed and then, amazingly, began to laugh. Tristan wondered if the man was crazy, then he realized he was nodding toward Tristan’s stomach. The prince looked down to see the curved dagger poised a scant hairsbreadth from his gut. As the prince tried to keep from gasping, the thief relaxed his hold, dropping the dagger to the ground.
“I had no wish to hurt you,” he announced, in a heavy accent. I only wanted to see if I could best you.” He laughed again with unmistakable good humor.
“Stand aside! Make way!” A squeaking voice parted the crowd, and Pawldo burst through the ring of onlookers. With him came Erian, a great bear of a man and one of Caer Corwell’s veteran men-at-arms. Robyn trailed behind.
“Are you all right, my prince?” inquired the halfling.
Tristan was about to answer when he noticed, with some annoyance, that Robyn was not looking at him, nor did she seem in the least bit worried about him. Instead, she stared at the Calishite thief with a curiosity the prince found strangely objectionable.
Suddenly she flashed a look at him, and grinned. “That was a neat trick. Did you ever see a blade move so fast?”
Meanwhile, the thief regarded the prince, the guards, and Robyn with slowly dawning understanding.
“Prince?” he questioned, looking toward Pawldo for confirmation. “So I stole the purse of a prince!” The thief gave a rueful chuckle. “Luck of a she-camel,” he declared in disgust, spitting into the grass. “What do we do now?”
“Your luck will only get worse;’ grunted Erian as he grabbed the Calishite by the scruff of his neck. Lifting the thief easily, the huge man roughly frisked his body.
“Here,” grunted the thief, awkwardly reaching into his boot. He tossed the pouch of coins to Tristan. “You’ll probably want these back,” and he gave that rueful chuckle again. Against his will, Tristan felt himself liking the bravado of the young thief.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Daryth – of Calimshan.”
“Come along, now!” ordered Erian, forcefully pushing the thief forward. “Let’s see what the king has to say about this.” Daryth stumbled, and the surly guard cuffed his head.
Robyn tugged at the prince’s arm as the guard led the thief away. “If Erian takes him to the king,” she whispered, “he’ll be executed for certain!” Her eyes were wide with concern.
Thstan looked at the departing thief, and once again felt that strange pang of jealousy. Still, he had his purse back and the incident was over; it was not enough to warrant a death sentence.
“Come on,” he grunted. “I don’t know what good it’ll do, but we might as well go along with them.” He was glad he had said it when Robyn squeezed his hand in gratitude.
*****
Black waters swirled and parted, and the form of the Beast rose from the still coolness of the Darkwell. Massive and tight-knit trailing vines crowded