The Floodgate   ::   Каннингем Элейн

He tried not to dwell on this. Every instinct prompted him to fight his way to his friend's side. Logic and training prevailed. He had no possibility of making a surprise attack, and he could not expect the thugs to stand patiently by as he hauled himself up into the ice wagon. His best chance of aiding Tzigone was to wait until the cart reached its destination. Paradoxically, the bloody robe gave him hope that she would be unharmed. Her abduction was meant as a warning and perhaps a lure.

Very well, he would give them opportunity to deliver that message directly, and sooner than expected. With a grim smile, Matteo vowed to make the coming «conversation» as interesting as possible.

Finally he saw the huge bulk of an icehouse up ahead. The cart veered around the small streets that surrounded the vast building and approached the rear. Wide, double doors swung open to admit them, then slammed shut behind. The ice wagon slowed, and the rumble died into silence.

Matteo dropped quietly to the ground and swept the icehouse with a quick measuring gaze. Everything seemed to be in good order. The metal hooks and tools were free of rust. Fresh straw had been strewn on the packed dirt floor, and the high beams were free of cobwebs. The spells that opened and closed the doors for the cart were obviously well maintained. In short, this was no long-deserted building. Yet no one was working, even though highsun had come and gone and the sunsleep hours past. Matteo also noticed that the walls were thick to keep the ice cool and, not coincidentally, to muffle sound.

The momentary silence exploded into a fury of thuds and curses-most of the latter coming from Tzigone, though a few muffled and pained exclamations from her captors suggested that she was making a good accounting for herself. Tzigone's voice abruptly dwindled to a furious mumbling. The cart's back gate fell open with a crash, and three men stumbled out from behind the curtain and down the ramp, carrying their uncooperative captive. They'd managed to stuff a rag into her mouth and bind it with a gag. She writhed and kicked and, presumably, swore, but to no avail. The men pinioned her so that her hands were stilled, leaving no chance that she might cast a spell.

Another man followed them-a wizard holding a long wand in one hand. When he saw Matteo, he quickly touched the wand to each of the three men. Matteo noted the soft click as the wand touched the men, as if the wizard were tapping against granite.

Stoneskin, he thought grimly. These men had expected him to follow, and they were well prepared.