The Great Bazaar and Other Stories by Peter V. Brett Read Free Book Online Page A

right for them even as he exhausted
the fall's momentum. He got back on his feet in a moment, sprinting hard after
them.
    "Stop and
face Everam's justice!" he screamed.
    But all three of
them knew that "Everam's justice" meant only a quick death, and
wisely ran on, turning a corner and breaking the cleric's line of sight
momentarily.
    Abban was slowing
them, huffing as he hobbled on his spear. He stumbled suddenly, falling to his
knees and dropping his spear. He looked at Arlen with frantic eyes.
    "Do not leave
me!" he begged.
    "Don't be an
idiot," Arlen snapped, grabbing his arm and hauling the fat merchant
upright.
    "Get Abban to
the cart," Arlen told Jamere. "I will delay the dama."
    "No, I'll do
it," Jamere said. "I can..."
    "Mind your
elders, boy," Arlen said, shocked to hear one of his father's phrases pass
his own lips. He grabbed the boy's arm and propelled him towards Abban. The boy
looked at him as if he were mad, but Arlen glared at him and he nodded and
tucked himself under Abban's arm.
    Arlen slipped into
a shadow, his black robes making him invisible in the night, and slung the
satchel over his shoulders. If anyone was caught with the evidence, let it be
him.
    Right fix
you've gotten yourself into now , the voice in his head observed.
    The dama came around the corner at a run, but still he was ready for Arlen's ambush,
ducking smoothly beneath a circle kick that would have blown across his
solar-plexus. The dama rolled by, then straightened suddenly, his
stiffened fingers striking Arlen in the wrist.
    Arlen's hand went
numb, and his spear fell away from his nerveless fingers as the dama dropped low and spun to sweep his legs. Arlen threw himself backwards, tumbling
until he could spring back to his feet. The dama came at him hard, a
white-robed specter of death.
    They met on even
footing and traded furious blows. For the first few moments, Arlen thought he
might have a chance, but it quickly became clear the dama was only
taking his measure. He twisted sharply away from one of Arlen's kicks, pivoting
back to punch Arlen hard in the throat.
    It was not like
having the wind knocked out of him, which Arlen had experienced many times.
This was like having the wind trapped within him, its means of egress and
replenishment cut off. He choked, staggering, and the dama turned almost
lazily into the kick to his stomach that forced the breath back out of his
damaged windpipe with a blast of agony and sent him flying onto his back in the
street.
    Arlen could hear
other dama approaching from Sharik Hora, and see the flicker of their
lamps. He struggled to rise as the damn coldly advanced upon him.
    "Who were
your accomplices, servant of Nie?" the dama asked. "Tell me
the names of the lame one and the boy and I will grant you a quick death."
    Arlen tensed to
attack again, and the dama laughed. "Your sharusahk is
pitiful, fool. You only prolong your pain."
    Arlen knew the man
was right, he was the superior fighter. But combat was more than perfection of
art. Combat was doing whatever was required to win.
    He grabbed a
fistful of sand from the street and flung it into the dama' s eyes,
kicking hard at his knee even as the cleric cried out and clutched his face.
There was a satisfying crack, and the dama dropped screaming to the
ground.
    Arlen staggered to
his feet, running after Abban and the boy. The were on the cart now, and Arlen
leapt aboard just as Abban whipped the camel and the beast galloped away.
    Behind them, half
a dozen clerics gave chase, all carrying lanterns and moving with the same
impossible grace and speed.
    Abban whipped the
poor camel raw, and slowly they began to pull away, as the beast reached speeds
no man could match. Arlen dared to think they might escape when they hit a pit
in the road and one of the cart's two wheels shattered. All three were thrown
to the ground, and the camel stopped, the heavy beast laboring for breath.
    "To the abyss
with you both," Jamere said. "I'm not dying for a chin and a