Читать «Rising Tide (зксм-1)» онлайн - страница 69

The curse began when a severed foot was found in the court. Most in Velen believed the foot was placed there as a warning to someone, but the stories varied as to who the warning was for. Some said it concerned a Shadow Thief who'd failed in his assignment. Some said it was a warning to Hieydl, the old baker whose son had moved the family business, over an affair of the heart. The foot, over the years, ended up belonging to hundreds of people in the stories that circulated.

There was one truth about Seven Cuts Court in all of Velen: no one went there alone at night. Since the morning the foot had been discovered in the court, people who foolishly ventured into the court at night alone ended up dead-all of them from seven similar deadly slashes- and the victim's right foot was always taken.

Most believed it was the work of a vengeful ghost. For all its acceptance of its ghosts, Velen also housed a number of poltergeists that had to be banished from time to time. None of the clergy or professional ghost-chasers had been able to exorcise whatever haunted the court after dark.

Jherek didn't know what he believed, but he'd always stayed away from the place. Now he had no choice. He took a fresh grip on the cutlass and moved into the shadows of the court.

The attack came without warning and faster than Jherek thought possible. Only his keen hearing saved him when he heard the rustle of leather armor to his left. Instinctively, he went down and to the right. At sea a sailor had to stay low. Losing contact with the deck or the rigging during a storm or an attack often meant death.

He rolled on his shoulder and pushed up on his knees.

The cutlass came on line in front of him, and he squared himself up behind it as Malorrie had always taught him.

The leather-clad attacker bolted from the shadows, following up his immediate strike confidently, expecting to overpower his victim before he could get to his feet. A sword's steel splintered the weak moonlight, sweeping toward Jherek's head.

The young sailor turned the sword blow with the hook, feeling the impact shiver down along his arm. His attacker's strength pushed the hook across, making Jherek use the cutlass to block as well. Even then, the sword stopped scarce inches from his throat.

The man roared a curse, his dark face hidden by a scarf wrapped around his face. His breath smelled like he'd spent the night in a tavern.

As the man yanked his sword back, Jherek put his weight on one knee and lashed out with his other leg. He hooked his foot behind the man's ankle, tripping him.

Jherek got to his feet as the man fell backward. Even big as he was, the attacker shoved himself to his feet with surprising speed.

"Tricky whelp, eh," the big man said. "Won't be enough." He charged forward, swinging his blade with all his might.