The Mercenaries - Ed Greenwood [5]
"Over here!" the fat man hissed, waving. They peered at him narrowly as he hastened toward them, and Kurthe growled with irritation.
"Who are you?" the beautiful she-pirate asked the fat man coldly as he came up to them.
"Someone who wants to hire all of you for a little pirating," he replied, "if I can get you out of here before the Daggers take us all!" He waved at the advancing soldiers, and the Sharkers fell silent. They could see the Daggers as well as he could.
"Just how," the dwarf asked, "Master 'Someone,' are you going to get us out of this little trap, eh?"
"Belmer's the name," the fat little man replied. "I can get you out only if you follow my orders. And the first I'll give is: put down the furniture, or we'll have the folk of the Masques after us as well as the Daggers:"
"Sound enough," the dwarf grunted, grounding a stool that was as big as he was. "Next?"
"Stay together in a group, and when-and only when-I say Arrows!' strike out at a Dagger. Seek to knock down, not to stay and slay."
The she-pirate looked up at the big Konigheimer beside her, collected his curt nod, and gestured to Belmer to lead the way. The fat man promptly broke into a trot, beckoning them to follow.
"It didn't take us long to find an overbearing captain again, did it?" Kurthe growled, as they hastened along one wall of the tavern and struck out across the field, ignoring the shouts of the Daggers drawing in around them.
"Be thankful and be still, Kurthe," the dwarf and the beautiful she-pirate said, more or less in unison. It sounded like something they'd said many times before.
"What's that ahead of us?" the youth asked uncertainly, as they hastened through the wet grass.
"A rain barrel," Belmer told him. "From the Masques. I put it there earlier."
"Why?" the boy asked.
The dwarf chuckled. "I think I know, Ingrar. Watch."
Two of the Daggers were almost upon them, swords drawn and shields up. "Halt!" one commanded, "in peril of eternal exile from Tharkar!"
"Good evening," Belmer said, moving suddenly to one side but not slowing his pace. His movement put the barrel between himself and the watchman. "I am Ambassador Droon, of Ulgarth, and I demand the protection of Tharkar's authorities for myself and my bodyguard. Do you speak for Tharkar?"
"I-" said one of the Daggers, momentarily nonplussed. That was long enough. Belmer came around the barrel with arms open and empty, but suddenly shoved at the man's gut. Staggering, the armored man stumbled backward against the barrel. Belmer grasped one leg and heaved, finding his job suddenly easier as the grinning dwarf charged in to take the other leg.
The Dagger went over the barrel with a crash-and another Sharker, waiting on the other side with one of his boots slipped onto his hand, brought it down with all his force on the man's helm. The visor crumpled inwards, and he gave the helm a swift turn to the side, to be sure. The watchman lay silent and still.
The other Dagger snatched at a horn that hung from his belt-but Belmer was already in the air, dagger foremost. The man tried to back hastily aside, lost hold of the horn, hacked wildly with his sword-and was spun around, to find a hard sit-down landing in the grass.
"The barrel!" Belmer called to Kurthe, as he rolled upright once more. "Over him!"
The scowling Konigheimer brightened just a trifle, and caught up the rain barrel as if it was a child's toy. It was empty. One end gaped open, the rain-hood missing, as Belmer had left it. It fit down around the sitting watchman with a satisfying crash, jamming the man's sword and shield in around his arms and pinioning him securely.
"Good," Belmer said, as calmly as if he'd been surveying the weather. "Now we make for that building there."
"The Ankle Bells?" both women asked, in scornful tones.
"IVe rented a cellar there," Belmer told them. "The upper chambers are a mite too perfumed for my tastes."
"You're giving the orders, Ambassador