Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I by Chris Turner

Author:Chris Turner
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: heroic fantasy, magic, humour, epic fantasy, adventure, sword and sorcery, fantasy adventure

CHAPTER 3

THE DAKKAW OF KRINTZ

“Solve his riddles, escape his plans,

Lest one remain, putty in his hands,

Fly from Bisiguth before a bride he taketh,

And so his vengeance he maketh . . .”

—’Topical Fables of Sarch’, from Xiver’s New Contemporary Library.

I

Baus did not pause to belabour his predicament under Heagram Prison’s wall. He let his fingers claw free of the beobar’s trunk then launched himself away double-time, thrashing through the woods with no decorum.

His legs were limber; his lungs were strong. He took to the moonlit gaps with the swiftness of an antelope. Through his glassy eyes he saw the mist muting the moonlight and shrouding his way through the tangle.

A mournful horn blasted from nearby.

Baus stopped short. With suspicious eyes he raked the unfamiliar gloom. A sound echoed from far away, reinforcements of some sort. The position of the blare was inexact; but he guessed his pursuers had reached the better part of the wall that faced the sea.

Too close! He plunged deeper into the forest, preparing for an attack. The idea was to elude any new threat, but a crisp snapping of twigs brought him spinning about, drawing his tiny blade. He strained to discern the source.

“No need to fear!” a pellucid voice called out from the darkness. “It is I, a friend.”

The declaration prompted Baus to release his white grip on the hilt of his gladius. The voice was melodic, a woman’s rich soft voice, clear as a bell. As the seconds passed, Baus discerned a robed figure in plain acolyte’s garb, knee-high and subdued. A small hand and cowl partially covered her face—the same he had seen in the yard, a face unfettered by malice or devilry. She appeared harmless, trotting from behind a massive trunk, with a small white hand tucked in a loose velvet sleeve, lifted in peaceful greeting.

“Ulisa?” Baus peered closer. His own murmur seemed comic in his ears.

She approached on calm feet. She was gorgeous in every way, graced with a pure presence that was difficult to describe. She exuded a magical litheness; her figure was bathed in light, an emanation that captivated him. Not for random was it that he took an instant like to this creature, despite her absurd size. She was no more than three feet high. Nor was the truthful innocence of her aura or sense of arbitrary power any diminishing quality. She scrutinized him just as curiously; he felt a keen stupefaction, for the wet garments revealed her contours in evocative light, hardly for the worse. Even so, she shivered slightly in the chillness of the night.

“Who are you?” she asked. “I am Ulisa—my friends call me Ulisa the Utilitarian.”

“Baus of Heagram,” Baus answered.

The rest of the distance was small and he crossed it in a trice. With a graceful ease she appraised him with blinking eyes. “I am indebted to you, Baus. The like is not common in these parts. Let not some false judgment of character betray me . . . so please accept this token of my thanks for warning me against that rogue.

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