Pathfinder Tales--Liar's Island--A Novel by Tim Pratt

Author:Tim Pratt
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466842649
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

15

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Cursing, he managed to wrestle Hrym loose and sliced through the ropes holding him, but by the time he was free the smuggler was shouting, “He’s here, the assassin is here!” and there were men with torches and swords pouring from the ship to come after him. The man who’d flung the net over him took one look at Hrym and ran away, but the rest kept coming.

The smuggler might have little respect for the thakur’s laws when it came to import/export dues, but she was apparently patriotic enough to report an assassin’s attempt to escape, or else she’d just been offered a reward. Possibly both. People were complicated, after all.

Without being asked, Hrym produced another cloud of freezing fog, though it seemed less thick than it had been at the palace—was Hrym getting tired, or were there limits to how much he could gush forth in a day? The attackers—whether they were mercenaries, palace guards, or just good citizens, Rodrick didn’t know—went slipping and sliding wildly on the rime-slicked ground as the fog froze everything it touched, and he and Hrym fled.

They emerged from the cloud of icy fog, but didn’t stop running. Rodrick’s cloak flapped around him, and he considered veering off and diving back into the water, but where would he go from there? He could try to steal a ship, but a craft small enough for him to handle himself would hardly be sufficient for crossing the ocean, and there was still the small matter of his total lack of navigation skills. Maybe he could get his hands on a flying carpet, somehow, or make his way to that haunted island off the coast and hope to find a less scrupulous smuggler there, or—

“Bastard!” a woman shouted, and something struck him across the chest so hard his legs flew out from under him and he landed on his back, groaning. A boot hit him in the ribs, and he rolled over to get away, then scrambled to his feet.

Grimschaw stood, all in black leather, holding a black-hafted spear. At least she hadn’t stabbed him. The point looked wicked.

“I don’t have time for this,” Rodrick growled, swinging Hrym in her direction.

She shoved the spearpoint under his chin. “Don’t point that thing at me, or I’ll spear your larynx. You stole from me, you scum. Give me the scroll. The real scroll.”

Retaining his bluster with a mob after him and a spearpoint at his throat was challenging, but Rodrick managed. “Our business is done, woman, and if you don’t like what you bought, that’s hardly my fault. Get out of my way, I need to go—”

“When I realized you’d robbed me, I started watching the palace, thinking you’d come out eventually, but then chaos broke loose there, and I heard rumors that the outlander with his icy sword had tried to kill the thakur. You maniac! I knew you’d come to the docks to escape the island, so I waited for you here. You can go on your way as soon as you give me what’s mine.

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