This Scepter'd Isle (DE 1)

Author:Gellis, Roberta & Lackey, Mercedes [Gellis, Roberta]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Epic, Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Contemporary, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Baen Books
Published: 2013-12-10T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was fortunate that Denoriel was carrying his naked sword in his hand when they were thrown out of the Gate with force enough to stagger Miralys. Something with bat wings and a great many teeth leapt at them. It was so vicious and stupid, that it impaled itself. Sick with pain from the iron cross and a much worse disorientation from traveling by Gate than had ever struck him before, Denoriel was in no condition to fight.

The violent failure of the Gate had another advantage. Miralys's stagger brought the elvensteed's adamantine silver hooves down with some force on something like a short, fat, slimy snake, also with a great many teeth, every one of them dripping with venom. The feel of the creature beneath his hooves made Miralys leap sideways off the Gate platform. And now it was FitzRoy's deathgrip on the pommel and the elvensteed's mane that kept Denoriel in the saddle.

A short dash away from the Gate to the far side of what might have once been meant as a park around a fountain drastically reduced the number of attackers. Miralys needed only once to kick out hard backward—none of them ever knew what his hooves connected with because it crawled away cursing and whimpering—to ensure them of some needed quiet and privacy.

After some little period, FitzRoy's hands began to relax their hold on mane and pommel, enough at least so he could turn his head. "Are you all right, Lord Denno?" he asked.

His voice, a little thin, a little tremulous seemed to recall Denoriel from his daze. With an expression of disgust he shook the dead bat-winged thing off his sword and looked at the blackish stain on the blade. Then his left arm made an abortive movement as if to reach for something, but it was still tight around FitzRoy.

"The cross," he muttered. "The iron cross must have collapsed the Gate." For a moment his grip on the boy tightened even further, so that FitzRoy grunted in pain. "God's Blood, my stupidity could have killed you."

"Should I put the cross away, Lord Denno?" FitzRoy asked.

"I . . . I don't know," Denoriel admitted, wiping the blade off on the skirt of his doublet. "It's a protection to you in one way and, well, the failure of the Gate shows that in other ways it's a danger. Sorry, Harry, my head's full of uncombed wool. I'm not thinking very clearly."

The boy had been looking around while they spoke and his nose wrinkled with distaste. "I don't think we should be here, Lord Denno. I've never been, but I've heard Reeve and Ladbroke talk. This looks like the worst slum in London." He hesitated and then added, "Except I don't think there's anything like that—" he gestured toward the corpse Denoriel had shaken off his sword "—even in the worst slum in London."

"No, we're not in London," Denoriel said, sick and dizzy and hurting, wondering how much he dared tell the boy.

He knew Harry loved him dearly and he guessed that Harry knew there was something a bit uncanny about his Lord Denno.

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