J Rivkin - Silverglass

The window was only a few feet to her left, and in a moment Corson had made up her mind and clambered over the sill. If she was going to die anyway, maybe she could at least kill Lord Thierran first.

But Lady Nyctasia was alone. There was blood on her mouth, and her shirt was torn at the shoulder. She gave no sign of seeing Corson, though her eyes were open and staring.

Corson hurried past her and flattened herself against the wall by the doorway.

Lord Thierran was coming up the corridor, still shouting orders to his retainers. I want guards at every entrance! Search the stables and the gatehouse!

He strode across the room to the window and looked out anxiously over the grounds, watching for any movement.

Corson kicked the door shut. At the sound, Lord Thierran wheeled around and stared at her in disbelief. She was coming towards him, smiling, a dagger in her left hand.

though corson brenn Torisk had not often been to Rhostshyl, she remembered just where The Lame Fox Tavern was. For some things she had an infallible memory. The Lame Fox was a disreputable den shunned by the respectable people of the city.

There was a place like it in every town on the coast, and Corson was familiar with them all.

The crowded alehouse was all one room, filled with trestle-tables and benches.

The only light came from smoky torches and the great hearth where joints of meat roasted and charred. On every side men and women were drinking and dicing, arguing loudly, cursing and bragging. A singer with a small lap-harp was perched on a table, trying to make herself heard above the din.

The crowd eyed Corson curiously as she entered, but she was accustomed to that.

Her height alone usually drew stares, since people so tall were rare in the north-but no one had ever found her ungainly. She moved with an athletes grace and power, and her beauty was not hidden by her travel-worn tunic and breeches.

She had large blue eyes, and skin of a warm, rich gold. After her release from the army, she had let her chestnut hair grow long as a mark of her independence.

She usually kept it plaited in a braid and bound like a crown around her brow, but when she let it down, it fell over her broad shoulders and straight, tapered back in a rippling tawny wave.

Corsons only ornament was a pair of small golden earrings-the trophy of an early exploit. Shed been hired by a merchant guild to rid the roads of a certain dangerous bandit. The earrings had been his.

She met all stares at The Lame Fox with a look of deliberate challenge that made the curious drop their eyes hastily, or turn away. Her confident manner declared that she was well able to use the battered broadsword that hung at her hip. She took a seat near the singer and ordered a tankard of the best ale. Everyone knew that the ale all came from the same barrel, but the more you paid the less water they added to your portion.

Corson was feeling very well pleased with herself. She had just been hired by both the leading families of Rhostshyl to assassinate the same person. And neither party knew of her dealings with the other. The rival houses of Edonaris and Teiryn had been lethal political enemies for generations, and the city was on the brink of civil war. It seemed they could only agree on this one thing-both were willing to pay a high price for the death of the sorceress. Lady Nyctasia arn Edonaris. The Teiryns accused her of causing a fatal sickness among them, and even her own kin were afraid of her. Corson found the situation amusing as well as profitable, and she meant to celebrate her stroke of good fortune by getting prodigiously drunk.

The girl with the harp was singing:

Oh, I could complain

That my life is a curse-

The wind and the rain

And the hole in my purse!

But what would I gain?

Things could always be worse!

Corson laughed and tossed a coin to the singer, who caught it in her hand and winked.

Seeing that Corson had money, every gambler, pickpocket and charlatan in the tavern took a renewed interest in her, and she was at once invited to join in a game of deaths head.

Corson loved to gamble, but shed learned from bitter experience that it was fools sport. No thanks, Ive no luck with dice.

But tonight your luck may change.

Ah, but why trust to luck when you can learn fortunes secrets? A slender young man dressed in bright motley leaned toward her across the table. Around his neck hung a string of medallions stamped with mysterious symbols.

As well toss your money in the gutter as give it to fortunetellers, sneered the gambler, who felt that she had established her right to swindle Corson first.

Though she had no faith in soothsayers, Corson wanted some amusement and paid the youth what he asked. With a grand gesture, he pushed aside the pitcher and mugs, and drew an eight-pointed star on the table with a stump of charcoal. From a leather pouch he took a handful of polished gemstones and handed them to Corson.

Will you first hear of the present? he inquired. At Corsons nod, he drew a circle around the star. The mirror, he explained, that shows things as they are. Shake the stones in your hand and throw them on the star. Their pattern will tell the tale.

When Corson had done so, he studied the scattered stones intently, murmuring to himself, Green at three! and, Just on the line, there.

You are placed at a perilous juncture, he said at last. The whole course of your fate depends on a choice you will soon make. If you choose ill He shook his head solemnly. No fortune awaits you at all.

Thats an old story, said Corson. And what if I choose well?

To answer that, I must consider the future-thus! He gathered up the colored stones, then drew a square around the circle. The window, he proclaimed, that shows things far off.

Corson threw the stones again, and the fortuneteller contemplated their pattern with evident satisfaction. Should you choose this way, a dangerous journey lies before you, but at its end fortune will favor you. You will win wealth and honors and become a lady of title and influence.

Oh yes, very likely, laughed Corson. And what is this fateful choice I must make?

You will know it when the time comes. If you wish for surer knowledge now, I can only try-but such secrets are not so easily come by He paused expectantly. A further payment from Corson would no doubt have cased the difficulty, but at that moment they were interrupted by a shout of indignation from the singer. One of the customers had accused her of picking his pocket.

I wouldnt go near enough to you to steal your purse! I dont want to get fleas!

Give it back, you thieving slut! He seized the girl by the arm, but she broke away and dodged behind Corson.

Ask her if I took it, she insisted, appealing to Corson. She was watching me all the while.

Shes in league with you, then, but Ill have it out of you anyway! He turned on Corson. Just you try to stop me if you dare!

Its nothing to do with me! Corson protested. Shes no friend of mine.

Youre a coward as well as a thief, he goaded. By now, all other pastimes at The Lame Fox had been abandoned, as people gathered round in hopes of a fight.

Corson was furious. Why did that little chit have to single her out to be her champion? Corson did not for a moment doubt that the girl was a pickpocket, but she was too proud to refuse a public challenge. Reluctantly, she got to her feet and faced her accuser.

Youve no sword, she said, and unsheathed her dagger instead. Though Corson was left-handed, she took the weapon in her right hand and wrapped her cloak carefully around her sword-arm.

He grinned and drew his own blade, also winding his cloak around his free arm as a shield. The crowd made room for them and there was a murmur of excited speculation. The wagering favored Corson.