As they emerged from the gate's shadow the other guard cried out in surprise.
Paran held his breath as the man stepped close to Coll. “I know him,” he said. “He's Coll jhamin, of House jhamin. I served under him.” “What? I thought Coll died a few years back” the other guard said “Screw the writs,” his companion snapped. “I know what I know, Vildron. This is Coll, all right.”
“He wants to go to the Phoenix Inn,” Paran told the man. “That's the” The man nodded. “Let's do it right, though.” He turned to the other guard. “I'll take the grief if there's any, Vildron. Get me the wagon-it's still hitched up from this morning, right?” The guard smiled up at Paran “Thanks for getting him here. Some of us in the city still got eyes, and damn what the highbrows whisper. We'll put him in the back of the
Paran relaxed. “Thanks, soldier.” He looked past the man, eager to see what he could of the city now that the wall was behind him. Immediately before them rose a humped hill, its sides overgrown with weeds and gnarled trees. On its summit squatted a temple of some kind, abandoned long ago, from which a square-sided tower rose, capped by a bronze A, — A rnnf A'shis e es reached the belfry's open-sided platform he saw a. Rallick raised his head cautiously over the platform's edge. He almost gasped aloud. The belfry was empty. Then he remembered Ocelot's sorcery. Holding his breath, he strained one last time with leaden arms, drawing himself flat on to the platform. As soon as he moved to gather in his feet, the barren stone of the platform shimmered and he saw Ocelot lying before him, crossbow cocked, taking aim at something. Rallick unsheathed his knives and moved all at once. But his ex. Ocelot spun on to his back, weapon swinging to fix on Rallick. The Clan Leader's face twisted into a mask of rage and fear. He wasted no time with words and immediately released the quarrel set in his cross. Rallick tensed for the impact that he was certain would throw him across the platform and possibly over the edge. A flash of red before his chest blinded him momentarily, but no impact came. Blinking, Rallick looked down. The quarrel had vanished. The truth came to him in an instant. The quarrel had been magic, created by sorcery to fly unimpeded but Baruk's rusty powder had worked. Even as this thought burst Ocelot swore and dropped the crossbow. As he reached for his knife, Rallick landed on him. A loud grunt sounded from the Clan Leader, his eyes squeezing shut in pain.
1&-akywv, axww&t "X-aggm ~n V,% figWha-ria against Ocelot's chest. The weapon scraped across mail beneath the cloth shirt. Damn, the man had learned something from that other night-and this was Rallick's own precaution, come to defy him now. The blade in his left hand he angled upward, under Ocelot's right arm. The weapon's point cut into flesh, then continued on into the man's armpit.
Rallick saw, inches from his face, the dagger's tip emerge from the cloth covering Ocelot's right shoulder, followed by a bloom of blood. He heard a knife skitter across the flagstones.