Swords Against the Shadowland

A scant inch from the Mouser's throat, the axeman checked his swing. Looking to his partner, he chuckled again. The second guard ripped a piece of string from the hem of his loincloth and measured the distance from the Mouser's Adam's apple to the edge of the axe. Marking the string with his thumb, he handed it to the first guard and, taking up his own axe, moved into killing position.

Though he bit his lip, swearing not to give them the pleasure of a second scream, the Mouser nevertheless cried out as gleaming death hurtled down upon his offered throat.

Again, the axeman checked his swing, and his partner measured an even shorter distance with the piece of string. Swallowing, the Mouser could just feel the sharp metal edge brushing his skin. Grumbling, the first guard took up his axe again.

A movement near the chamber entrance caught the Mouser's attention. A black-cloaked figure swept into the room, its features concealed beneath a hood. A long-bladed sword arced high and whistled down upon the first guard's unprotected neck. A spray of hot blood fountained into the air.

"Fafhrd!" the Mouser croaked, straining at his manacles, twisting his head as far as the strap beneath his chin allowed.

The figure made no answer. Knocking the corpse of the first guard aside before it could fall, his rescuer leaped upon the platform, nearly putting a boot in the Mouser's stomach as he swung his sword again. The second guard ducked and tried to swing his axe. Before he could lift it, a bolt sprouted from his left eye.

Surprised, the Mouser strained to twist his head again. Another cloaked figure stood in the doorway, a crossbow still braced against one shoulder. "You're not Fafhrd!" he said, rolling his eyes toward his nearer savior.

A gloved hand pushed back a concealing hood. Nuulpha grinned, his face flush with excitement. "Want me to leave?" he said.

The Mouser did his best to shrug. "As long as you're here ..."

Nuulpha's partner found a ring of keys on a peg near the entrance and tossed them. "Hurry!" the second figure insisted, shooting a nervous glance back over one shoulder.

Nuulpha fumbled with the keys, trying one after another in the manacles until he found one that fit the locks. Freed, the Mouser sat up, and with Nuulpha's help, stood.

"Aarth!" Nuulpha muttered. "Your face . . .!"

The Mouser touched his right cheek and winced. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, too. His whole face felt like overripe fruit. "You're not so pretty, yourself," he said, forcing a grin. Then he shook his head. "No, forget that. Right now, you're the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

"Kiss him later," hissed the figure guarding the doorway as it loaded a new bolt on the string. "Let's get out of here."

"Can you walk?" Nuulpha asked.

The Mouser nodded, relaxing his steadying grip on Nuulpha's arm. "If you don't particularly mind, I'd rather run. This damp environment is bad for my complexion."

"Walk or run. Just be prepared to fight," said the second figure, in a harsh whisper. Sweeping back one side of a cloak, a slender arm tossed a bundle toward the Mouser.

"Scalpel!" the Mouser exclaimed, as he unrolled his gray cloak and found his weapons. "Catsclaw!"

Nuulpha took the Mouser's arm again and steered him into the next chamber with an urgency. "When I heard someone had tried to break into the forbidden tower on Nun Street," Nuulpha whispered as they hurried through the dungeon, "I knew it was you. At the North Barracks I found your weapons and learned that Rokkarsh, himself, had demanded to see you."

A body sprawled in the corridor, blood oozing slowly from one ear to pool on the slimy floor. From the leather apron and the keyring at its side, the Mouser guessed Nuulpha had jumped the jailor.

Glancing at that keyring the Mouser asked, "Is there time to open some of these cells?"

"No!" said Nuulpha's partner, who prowled the corridor ahead as an advance scout. "Now shut up—before we're all caught!" Reaching the bottom of the staircase, the partner ignored the steps and instead ducked into the shadows below the stone cascade.

The sound of well-oiled gears turning shivered faintly through the air, followed by a barely audible scraping. A gleam of light drew a line near the floor, illuminating the partner's boots, then calves, knees, and thighs as it widened. A door, hidden beneath the stairs, rose. Just beyond its threshold, a lantern, suspended on a peg, limned Nuulpha's partner with a golden radiance.

With concealment no longer an advantage, the partner pushed back the concealing hood and shook free a curly mass of black hair before seizing the lantern and beckoning them onward.

The Mouser gaped, taking a full instant to realize through the surrounding light, that the face before him belonged to a young woman. Before he could say anything, she turned away and hurried down a narrow, stone-lined tunnel whose ceiling hung so low it nearly brushed her head.