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The Magehound :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 192 из 216Matteo released his grip and let the farmer's momentum do the rest.
With a rising howl, the man flipped into the air for a brief, flailing flight. He cleared the fence surrounding the pigpen and splashed down into the muck.
Matteo rose, arms folded, and admired the result. It was a story Tzigone would relish, and one that he doubted even her deft embellishments could much improve.
He was congratulating himself still when something hit the small of his back with a thud that resounded through his bones and sent him pitching forward onto his knees. Pain radiated through him in blinding, pulsing rays.
Heavy footsteps thumped around him. With difficulty, Matteo focused on a visage very similar to that of the farmer, minus the muck that his first opponent was scraping from his face.
"The family resemblance is striking," Matteo muttered dazedly.
"Striking!" The second man guffawed. "Oh, I like that! Hit him and he outs with a jest. Let's see what smart boy's got to say once I fetch him upside the head."
"He's not so smart," announced a thin, querulous voice from somewhere above their heads. "Only a fool don't check a hound for ticks or ask if a bastard's got brothers."
Matteo's head was starting to clear, and he anticipated both the source of the distraction and the man's probable response.
"Granny Frost?" the second man quavered, looking warily up into the trees.
But his brother sloshed out of the pen. "That's no haunt, fool! The girl's got more voices than a village meeting. She's come back."
Ignoring the numbing pain, Matteo surged to his feet and hurled himself at the second man's knees. They went down hard, rolling and pummeling at each other as best they could. It was no strategy at all and very little skill, but in his dazed state, Matteo could do no better. To his chagrin, the big man managed to pin him. He lifted his fist, prepared to drive it into Matteo's face.
Suddenly the man reared up, shrieking like a banshee. Over him stood a grim-faced Tzigone, wielding the pitchfork like a triton.
"He won't be sitting for a while," she said with satisfaction.
Matteo pointed. "Behind you!"
She whirled to face the first man. He had a small ax raised for a killing blow.
Tzigone dropped the pitchfork and gestured sharply. The ax handle burst into flame-or so it appeared. Matteo recognized the spell as a simple globe of light, although the leaping red «flames» were far more impressive than the child's toys that half of Halruaa could summon.
The farmer dropped the weapon and backed away.
With a rising howl, the man flipped into the air for a brief, flailing flight. He cleared the fence surrounding the pigpen and splashed down into the muck.
Matteo rose, arms folded, and admired the result. It was a story Tzigone would relish, and one that he doubted even her deft embellishments could much improve.
He was congratulating himself still when something hit the small of his back with a thud that resounded through his bones and sent him pitching forward onto his knees. Pain radiated through him in blinding, pulsing rays.
Heavy footsteps thumped around him. With difficulty, Matteo focused on a visage very similar to that of the farmer, minus the muck that his first opponent was scraping from his face.
"The family resemblance is striking," Matteo muttered dazedly.
"Striking!" The second man guffawed. "Oh, I like that! Hit him and he outs with a jest. Let's see what smart boy's got to say once I fetch him upside the head."
"He's not so smart," announced a thin, querulous voice from somewhere above their heads. "Only a fool don't check a hound for ticks or ask if a bastard's got brothers."
Matteo's head was starting to clear, and he anticipated both the source of the distraction and the man's probable response.
"Granny Frost?" the second man quavered, looking warily up into the trees.
But his brother sloshed out of the pen. "That's no haunt, fool! The girl's got more voices than a village meeting. She's come back."
Ignoring the numbing pain, Matteo surged to his feet and hurled himself at the second man's knees. They went down hard, rolling and pummeling at each other as best they could. It was no strategy at all and very little skill, but in his dazed state, Matteo could do no better. To his chagrin, the big man managed to pin him. He lifted his fist, prepared to drive it into Matteo's face.
Suddenly the man reared up, shrieking like a banshee. Over him stood a grim-faced Tzigone, wielding the pitchfork like a triton.
"He won't be sitting for a while," she said with satisfaction.
Matteo pointed. "Behind you!"
She whirled to face the first man. He had a small ax raised for a killing blow.
Tzigone dropped the pitchfork and gestured sharply. The ax handle burst into flame-or so it appeared. Matteo recognized the spell as a simple globe of light, although the leaping red «flames» were far more impressive than the child's toys that half of Halruaa could summon.
The farmer dropped the weapon and backed away.