both the men by their collars and sent them flying across the room to collide heavily with the wall on each side of the door. The firbolg quickly threw a blanket over the exposed young woman and turned to face his hated associates.
The three on the side of the room looked to each other nervously; one of the men who had hit the wall lay crumpled in a heap at its base. The other, though, was up and outraged, a short sword in one hand.
Vander couldn't help but grin as he considered the situation. Might this be the long-awaited showdown? A nagging thought stole his mirth. He could kill these men, all five, and probably the other dozen or so that were in and about the house, but what about Ghost?
Always, the firbolg had to remember Ghost.
"You three," he commanded to the men on the side of the room. "Your associate has drawn a weapon on your master."
The three understood the implications immediately, as did the man holding the short sword, if his suddenly fearful expression correctly revealed his thoughts. The Night Masks were a vicious and evil band, but within the organization existed strict codes of conduct and horrible forms of discipline that even the hardiest assassin feared. The three by the wall drew their own weapons and faced the traitor.
The man with the short sword fumbled to put his weapon away. He jerked once, then again, a confused expression on his face.
His accomplice, crumpled at the base of the wall, was not as dazed as he had appeared, and he was eager to regain the taskmaster's favor. In his hand he held the last of three daggers, and this one, too, he whipped across to find a place in the traitor's side.
Anxious to show their respect and loyalty to their powerfill leader, the other three promptly rushed the dying man. A club slapped the short sword from trembling hands, and all four loyal soldiers set upon the doomed man, hacking and crushing until he lay in a bloody heap on the floor.
"Put him with the other dead," Vander said to them. He looked back to the bed. "And find a proper prison for this girl"
"She is a witness and must be killed," an assassin replied. "That is our way."
"On my word alone," Vander growled back, his voice carrying tremendous influence now, considering the grim fate of the one who had dared to oppose him. "Now take her!" The same man who had questioned the decision started immediately for the bed, sheathing his weapon .but not relenting his steely eyed glare.
Vander caught him in one hand by the throat and easily lifted him from the floor.
"You are not to touch her." The firbolg snarled in his face. He noticed the man's hand inching toward his belt. "Yes ," \fonder purred, "do draw your little knife!"
The three remaining men seemed at a loss.
"She must be killed," one of them dared to offer in support of his threatened colleague.
The man in Finder's grasp twisted free enough to growl defiantly at the firbolg.
\fender heaved him through the nearest wall, back into the kitchen. Several assassins who had gathered in the other room stared through the hole in disbelief at the angry firbolg.
"On your word alone," the three men by the door said obediently.
"I will make my place in the barn," Vander said to them all. "It is more fitting to my size and there I will not have to deal with your impertinence. I warn you just one more time," he growled ominously. "If the girl is harmed in any way . . "
Vander left it at that, preferring to end the threat by leading the others' gazes to the squirming and groaning Night Mask caught fast by broken, stabbing planks halfway between the bedroom and the kitchen.
Fredegar Harriman, proprietor of the Dragon's Codpiece , shook his thick-jowled face in disbelief at the request for yet another private room. The inn had only eight such rooms, and while the much less expensive common room was nearly empty, all of the private rooms were occupied. That alone seemed amazing enough, but what struck Fredegar as even more odd was the makeup of his guests. Five of the rooms belonged to visiting merchants, as was common. A sixth had been paid for until the end of the year by Cadderly, and a seventh had been reserved by the Edifi-cant Library for use by a soon-to-arrive headmaster. Even more unexpectedly, the last room had been