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The Magehound :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 55 из 216For the first time, Matteo understood what the stable hands meant when they swore that they never heard that snort but they expected to see it accompanied by a burst of sulfur-scented steam.
Matteo spun to place Cyric at his back. He sent a quick glance toward the watchful Tzigone, hoping beyond hope that she might discern his battle strategy. To his surprise, she nodded and edged down the street toward Mbatu. She pulled a long knife from her boot and went into a crouch.
When the clatter of the stallion's approach stopped, Matteo danced back a couple of steps. The wemic saw his opening at last and lifted his sword high. Matteo moved with him, raising his sword in anticipation of the parry. As he expected, the wemic reared up and unsheathed his claws.
Tzigone threw herself forward, knife leading, and plunged her blade into the wemic's flank. Mbatu let out a roar of pain and instinctively twisted toward the new threat. But he could not halt the momentum of his own blow, and his great sword descended in a killing arc. Matteo tossed aside his borrowed sword and rolled clear.
His timing proved to be nearly perfect. Cyric had also reared up, and his hooves slashed out at the wemic. One hoof grazed Matteo's shoulder painfully, but the other found the wemic's skull with a sickening thud. The wemic's head snapped back and he dropped to the cobblestone. He lay still, a steady trickle of blood matting his long black hair.
For a moment the street was silent, but for the whuffling, almost mirthful sound of the stallion's breath.
Matteo rolled to his feet and came over to pat Cyric's black neck. Tzigone tugged her knife free with a quick jerk and circled around to crouch by the wemic's head. She lifted one eyelid, then the other, staring into each orb intently.
"He lives," she said shortly. "No need to look over your shoulder, though. He won't remember any of this."
"You sound very certain of that," Matteo said warily. The tone of her voice held an odd resonance, one very similar to that he discerned in wizards after a spellcasting. "Speak forthrightly. Did you work magic on the wemic?"
"Me? A wizard?" She let out a short, derisive sniff. Rocking back on her heels, she rose in a swift, fluid movement. "The wemic is having a bad day. He's been hit on the head twice already, and it's only just past highsun. If things continue apace, by sunset he'll be lucky to remember his own name. Very lucky."
She spoke the last words with a bitterness that surprised him. For a moment Matteo puzzled over how, and if, to address this. No inspiration came, so he dealt with that which he understood.
"I would not have defeated the wemic without your help," he said honestly. "The debt is paid."
He swung up onto Cyric's back.
Matteo spun to place Cyric at his back. He sent a quick glance toward the watchful Tzigone, hoping beyond hope that she might discern his battle strategy. To his surprise, she nodded and edged down the street toward Mbatu. She pulled a long knife from her boot and went into a crouch.
When the clatter of the stallion's approach stopped, Matteo danced back a couple of steps. The wemic saw his opening at last and lifted his sword high. Matteo moved with him, raising his sword in anticipation of the parry. As he expected, the wemic reared up and unsheathed his claws.
Tzigone threw herself forward, knife leading, and plunged her blade into the wemic's flank. Mbatu let out a roar of pain and instinctively twisted toward the new threat. But he could not halt the momentum of his own blow, and his great sword descended in a killing arc. Matteo tossed aside his borrowed sword and rolled clear.
His timing proved to be nearly perfect. Cyric had also reared up, and his hooves slashed out at the wemic. One hoof grazed Matteo's shoulder painfully, but the other found the wemic's skull with a sickening thud. The wemic's head snapped back and he dropped to the cobblestone. He lay still, a steady trickle of blood matting his long black hair.
For a moment the street was silent, but for the whuffling, almost mirthful sound of the stallion's breath.
Matteo rolled to his feet and came over to pat Cyric's black neck. Tzigone tugged her knife free with a quick jerk and circled around to crouch by the wemic's head. She lifted one eyelid, then the other, staring into each orb intently.
"He lives," she said shortly. "No need to look over your shoulder, though. He won't remember any of this."
"You sound very certain of that," Matteo said warily. The tone of her voice held an odd resonance, one very similar to that he discerned in wizards after a spellcasting. "Speak forthrightly. Did you work magic on the wemic?"
"Me? A wizard?" She let out a short, derisive sniff. Rocking back on her heels, she rose in a swift, fluid movement. "The wemic is having a bad day. He's been hit on the head twice already, and it's only just past highsun. If things continue apace, by sunset he'll be lucky to remember his own name. Very lucky."
She spoke the last words with a bitterness that surprised him. For a moment Matteo puzzled over how, and if, to address this. No inspiration came, so he dealt with that which he understood.
"I would not have defeated the wemic without your help," he said honestly. "The debt is paid."
He swung up onto Cyric's back.