Free Hangman Blind by Cassandra Clark Page B

she dug her nails into his face with all her force. His response was to shake his head to dislodge her grasp and laugh all the more. It was a grating sound that lacked any sign of joy, and in retaliation he ground his teeth into her neck, tearing at her cloak and all the while cursing the inconvenience it was causing him.
    Discovering the leather belt that held it in place, he grappled at the buckle but could not open it. Angered, he slammed her against one of the pillars, and as she fell back her head cracked against it. She would have slumped to the ground with the shock but for the fact that he still held her round the waist. As he pressed his body against hers the rank smell of old sweat swept over her and the staleness of his unwashed garments made her want to vomit.
    With an effort she forced her fingers into the notch of her belt and found the knife, but although she managed to get a grip on it she couldn’t manage to turn the blade. Instead she had to bring it hilt upwards. She rammed it hard under his jaw. ‘You devil! Let me go!’
    The action took him by surprise. He obviously hadn’t realised she was armed. His head jerked back but, professional fighter that he was, he recovered instantly and, enraged at being struck by a woman, grabbed her round the neck with both hands and began to shake her like a doll, grunting, ‘I’ll teach you, you bloody whore!’
    His eyes locked on hers and she saw the madness of evil in them. There was no doubt about the end he had in mind. It was obvious he would relish the chance to gloat over her dead body after he had done with her what he willed. It would be ill-doing for its own sake. She had to loosen his grip.
    While he was still fumbling under her cloak she brought her free hand up and jabbed two fingers hard into his right eye and rammed the hilt of her knife into his throat and, while his head jerked back and a cry of pain was torn from his lips, she twisted free. With a sob of fear she fled crazily back into the darkness and on, deeper into the labyrinth of pillars.
    I must find the door , she thought in desperation. But where is it ? Already her attacker had recovered and she could hear his feet pounding the stone flags as he came after her. His steel-tipped boots echoed like the sound of a dozen men. She ran first one way then another. His breathing seemed to fill the entire chamber.
    With a gasp she saw a glimmer of light that seemed to indicate an exit and, with an extra spurt, she flung herself towards it. At her touch a door swung open and, sobbing with relief, she fell through to the other side.
    Her relief turned to horror the instant she realised it did not lead to safety as she had hoped but was instead the entrance to a small, lightless cell. With the swiftness of thought that comes from fear she ran her hands over the walls, frantically searching for a way out, but found only stone beneath her palms.
    Her pursuer was still rifling among the arcades crammed with provisions destined for the castle kitchens but she could hear the echo of his footsteps as he approached. There was a clatter of steel followed by a curse as he realised he had lost the trail and his sword came up against the wall. Her reprieve was short lived. There was a short pause, then his footsteps rang out again as, like a hound quartering on the prey, he regained the scent and resumed the pursuit. Stealthily she pushed the door shut, playing for time while she tried to find a way out. He was coming closer. At any moment he would find the door and all would be lost.
    Then her heart leaped. By a sliver of light filtering through an upper window she could just make out a shape against the opposite wall. With her pursuer closing in, she fled over to it.
    It turned out to be a spiral stair. She looked up and saw it climbing into darkness. In desperation she started up it then, hearing him come to a stop outside the door, realised it would be useless. He was almost within the chamber. She would be