Banners in the Wind Page 0,51

as Reniack valued him as highly as he should.

But where was he? Tathrin blinked. He couldn't see Jettin at all. All the approaching men were now blurred, as though he peered through rain-streaked glass.

Reaching for his sword, he couldn't find the hilt. Tathrin groped frantically at his hip but his numb fingers closed on empty air. Someone shoved hard at his shoulder, sending him staggering backwards. But there was no one there. Even reeling like a drunkard, Tathrin could see that much.

He nearly fell headlong on the sawdusted floor, stomach hollow and mouth dry. Twisted shadows flickered around him. He flailed frantically with his fists, all the while terrified that he would feel a blade biting into his flesh. The steel plates sewn into his jerkin might protect his vitals but his arms and legs were unarmoured. Which phantasm held the sword that could be the death of him?

Whatever was amiss didn't affect his ears. A nervous laugh cut him to the quick. Jettin thought this was funny?

Fury burned through Tathrin's fear. Before he realised he had reached for it, his hand closed on his sword hilt. He ripped the long blade free and swept it around at waist height. That should keep his would-be killers at bay.

Abruptly his vision cleared. Gren had already laid three men on the floor, groaning amid the filth. A fourth, bearded and burly, had grabbed the other end of the bench.

Tathrin winced. Gren was strong but the bearded man could have taken on Reher the blacksmith back in Carluse. The bearded man grinned and hauled, using all his height and weight. Gren simply let go and the man fell back with a crash to stun himself on a table's edge.

Sorgrad was ringed by four murderously intent men. Each had a dagger, as did Sorgrad, though he'd discarded the stool.

Tathrin choked on a warning as the man behind Sorgrad made his move. Distraction could be fatal. But somehow, someone's glance had betrayed that attack to the Mountain Man. As the man lunged, Sorgrad stepped backwards, stooping down. So much taller, the mercenary couldn't curb his rush forward, sprawling helplessly across Sorgrad's back.

With some shift of his weight, Sorgrad used his hips like a wrestler and threw the man into the attacker on his off-hand. They fell hard in a tangle of limbs and furniture.

The remaining pair grabbed Sorgrad's arms. With one on each side as he straightened up, they apparently robbed him of any freedom to move. To Tathrin's horror, Sorgrad seemed to sag with defeat.

Then he saw that all Reniack's men had hold of was Sorgrad's hands. The Mountain Man ducked and twisted completely around, stepping right under his own dagger. Pulled off balance, his startled attackers stumbled into each other as Sorgrad's hands crossed. The mercenaries' heads clashed with a sickening thump. One fell, knocked senseless. The other collapsed with Sorgrad's dagger embedded in his shoulder.

Tathrin saw Ekarre and his long-haired associate had Reniack himself in a painful hold. As the rabble-rouser struggled, he winced and yielded.

Jettin turned to run.

'No you don't, lad.' One of the drinking den's customers blocked the young adept's path. 'You want to play here, you play by our rules. Stand your ground or take your beating.'

The disinterested mercenary shoved the young adept straight into Gren's embrace.

'No, please,' Jettin begged.

Gren's hands were closing around his neck. Jettin could only struggle for a moment before he was strangled into unconsciousness. Gren let him fall to the floor.

'No!' Tathrin shouted, seeing the Mountain Man reach for a dagger.

'Enough!' The tavern-keeper walked out from behind his counter, a heavy cudgel in one hand. 'That'll do,' he warned one of Reniack's men who was trying to rise despite Ekarre's female lieutenant's boot planted on his chest.

'You and yours are fairly beaten.' The tavern-keeper glared at Reniack and around the room at his minions. 'Take yourselves off or that unicorn badge will be shit on across the Carifate. You know the rules.'

'This isn't over.' Reniack spat a fine spray of blood at Sorgrad.

'No indeed.' Sorgrad smiled through the bruises darkening on his face.

'You three have till sunset to conclude your business and be gone.' The tapster jabbed a forefinger at them.

'We welcome your forbearance.' Sorgrad's courteous bow prompted chuckles from the onlookers.

'Get the boy!' Reniack slapped one of his bloodied men and pointed at Jettin, now lying behind a fallen table where Gren had apparently rolled him.

Tathrin moved to bar their way. 'He's--'

Gren laid a firm hand on his arm. 'He's one of their