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her had taken a peculiarly marked wooden board down from the wall, and was
holding it up to her foot, making several sets of markings on the board with a
piece of white chalk. His second set of measurements came from Mom's feet.
He nodded. "I can have those ready tomorrow if you'd like." He rubbed his
hands together. "Now, we ought to decide on a price ..."
Torrie pulled out the gold coin, again. "We need them now, and this is your
price. All of it."
The dwarf's massive head tilted slightly to one side. "Well, well, I could
modify a couple of boots I was making on speculation, you see, on speculation,
but then the price "
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Torrie picked up the Krugerrand.
" will be amply paid by your gold, amply paid, young lord. Sit ye down, sit,
sit, and it will be just a matter of moments."
This wasn't exactly a normal sort of situation, but even under bad
circumstances Torrie always enjoyed seeing somebody who was good at it work
with his hands. Within just minutes, the dwarf had taken down two pairs of
boots and with a small, pointed knife, removed the stitching that held sole to
foxing; he carved on each sole, in one case simply making it slimmer, in the
other case making it shorter and slimmer.
It was just a few moments, but the Sons were starting to get impatient. "We
need to move today," the bitch said. "Herolf is generous with our time, but
even he would not be overgenerous."
Torrie knelt down in front of Maggie, and checked the lacing on the calf-high
boots. "In a moment," he said, turning back to Maggie.
"You're going to have to pull this tighter," he said, grabbing hold of her
wrists and gently pulling her forward. "When I say now," he said quietly,
slipping a scabbarded knife into her hand, "you go all out you pull hard, eh?"
Dad had probably wanted him to give the knife to Mom, but Maggie was the
fencer, not Mom, and while the knives Dad had passed him weren't epees, they
were the closest thing he had to that, just as Maggie was the closest thing to
a knife-fighter.
It was supposed to be scary, Torrie decided, but there was something about it,
something strange, a feeling like this is what he had been born for, been
trained for, for all of his years.
He might not be able to do it right all the time, but nobody could: but it was
the right thing for him to be doing.
He slipped the scabbard from his remaining knife, and used his thumb to pin
the hilt against the palm of his hand, letting the length of the blade lie
along his arm, parallel to it.
"Look." He gestured with that arm, and when the bitch followed his gesture, he
spun the knife around in his hand and slashed back, low, catching her across
the belly.
She let out a bark, and then a howling scream that trailed off into a bubbling
moan.
Torrie wasn't waiting. He had already lunged at the Son next to her, the one
in wolf form, ducking under outstretched claws to slip the knife in between
his ribs. The flesh parted easily, too easily, as though it was Jell-O, not
hard muscle under tough skin.
The two Sons on guard were already dashing in. Torrie barely nicked the one in
humanoid form, but tripped him as he lunged past, and turned to face the
other. There was nothing to do but hope that Maggie was able to handle the
injured one, because the wolven
Son flattened himself against the floor and sprang.
Timing, Father used to say, was everything: Torrie ducked to the right the
only direction open transferred the knife to his left hand, and planted it
firmly in the Son's throat, twisting as he withdrew it.
He turned. Mother had flattened herself against the wall, but Maggie was
covered with a Son's blood from her chest to her feet, and while her face was
white, her jaw was set.
"Quickly," he said. "We've got to run, to get out of here." Torrie turned to
the dwarf: "Does this shop have a back way out?"
"Hurry, hurry," the dwarf said, urging the three of them toward the rear of
the shop, down a narrow hall and into a storeroom that ended in a thick,
barred door. The dwarf slid the bar aside and yanked the door open. "Go left
down the alley, and then right at the end of it, and run for your lives, run,
run, run."
As Torrie opened the door, he heard a click behind him. The three of them were
alone in the storeroom; the dwarf had disappeared.
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He stepped out into the alley, and froze. The mouth of the alley was filled
with a dozen swordsmen, each with a drawn blade, each wearing black livery
edged in crimson orange, decorated at the chest with a flame design. Behind
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