Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"Stay hidden," he whispered, curling his body up to climb or cut the rope. "You can do more unseen…"
What did you think I was going to do, dance around in the shrubbery waving flags ? But he wasn't
Shkai'ra, didn't know her; she acknowledged and crouched low. The torches came in, faster than he
could free himself. By wavering flamelight she saw him, twisting now to turn facing them, with the faint
glearn of steel in his hands, short sword in his right, dagger in his left. A flash showed his face, still
handsome-lined, even inverted: but the lips were stone-hard thin, and the eyes… she'd heard tales of a
stare that could stop a platoon of Arkans dead in its tracks with sheer fear, that had made one veteran
officer fall over, dead, his heart stopped.I'm a storyteller's daughter , she'd thought at the time. Now all
she could think was,I'm glad that's on my side . She'd never seen such a pure expression of not only
anger—at himself, it must be, but turned on them—but will, utter will, inhuman certainty. Only when it
vanished into shadow again did she remember he was swinging upside-down, mostly helpless; his eyes
had burned it away while they were visible.
The Arkans, six, came in fast. A knife throw would never cut the rope, which was probably wet with
dew, she knew; she'd more likely hit him.Closer . She drew her neck-sheath knife, twitched the two
wrist-sheathed blades into her hands quick as thought. Her hands were sweating. He was going to have
to fight fikken well.Damn you, why didn't you listen to me? Why didn't you listen to your command
council ?
Just don't be stupid, she said, to herself this time,don't do anything dumb. I've got to get him out of
this. It's up to me, and has been ever since he put his foot in it .
Or… The thought came slowly, unfolding cold and pure and practical.Or I could leave him. I could
leave him for them to kill, tell the rokatzk Iknew where the snare was from checking before and
led him into it. And have Lixand .
The Arkans rattled to a clash-kettle stop, just out of his reach. No one had run for an archer or to alert
the camp, as far as she knew.
"Well, well, well." They relaxed, straightening, their crouching stances turning into swaggering.As only
Arkans can , she thought.Always so manly when your opponent is chained. " Looks like we've
caught ourselves an assassin. Why don't you just drop those sharp, dangerous objects, my boy, and we'll
let you down. Hmm?"
Fish-guts—because he's not dripping with gold sixchilioibehind the line —where heshouldbe —
they don't recognize him. The Arkan voice was young and haughty for asolas , some half-lordling
getting his training; she saw him, beardless, nose high in the air. By habit she crouched with knife cocked,
waiting for the first flash of Arkan flesh not covered with steel.
But Lixand… They'd truth-drug her if she came back without thesemanakraseye , no matter what her
story, no matter how trusted she had been.So I can't not help him. I have to . Yet if she sneaked back
into camp, immediately gathered up Sova and the animals and got like stink out…
Swinging only slightly now, he didn't answer the threat, wanting to give nothing away by his voice, which
was known, but kept his blades. His hands were ready, poised on guard, as if he always fought upside
down; the stare was gone from his eyes now, replaced by calm, but she could see it underneath, biding
its time, held back to be let out when the moment was right. Dead leaves itched her sooted ankles; they'd
rattle if she moved.
"Very well, backstabber," the half-lordling said, boredom dripping in every word. "Have it your way.