Free Mickey Zucker Reichert - Shadows Realm by Shadow's Realm (v1.0) Page B

Backstroke?” His taunt echoed between the buildings.
    Agitation entered the thief’s tone. “Tell your friend to shut up. Now!” Sharp pain touched Taziar’s skin. Blood beaded at the tip of the blade, and sweat stung the wound.
    Larson’s hand fell to his hilt, and he took a menacing step. “Who are you telling to shut up, asshole? I’ll cut off your ears and shove them up your nose.”
    “Calm down.” Taziar tried to keep his voice level. He had never seen Larson so hostile, and the thief’s greed alarmed him. Ten gold was more than a common laborer might make in a year, and the northern mintage would make it no less valuable. If Taziar had been alone, he would have felt certain that the thug would not harm him; but, challenged by Larson, the youth might be driven to murder. “You’re not the one with a knife at your throat.” Reminded of what he might have become at the same age, Taziar grew careless of risk. “Friend, you’re doing this dumb.”
    The thief’s fingers shivered against the dagger’s hilt. He, too, seemed out of his element, unaccustomed to getting lectured by victims. “I’m doing this dumb? Which of us is jabbering on the blade end of the knife? If one of us is stupid, I’m not guessing it’s me. Now give me your money and I may not kill you. Everyone else can just drop their purses, turn around, and leave.”
    Taziar cursed the loose hood that slid over his eyes and made it impossible to meet his assailant’s gaze. “Look, friend, you can’t have all our money. I offered you some. I’d have given the same to you if you’d asked nicely. Anything more than we’re willing to give freely, you’ll have to take. You’ve got four companions. See that man there.” He tensed a hand to indicate Larson.
    Immediately, the arm clamped tighter around Taziar’s neck, neatly closing off his airway.
    Taziar fought rising panic. Blackness swam down on him, but even vulnerability could not shake resolve. Given slightly different circumstances, he could have been this teen.
    Gradually, the thief’s grip relaxed. Taziar gasped gratefully for breath, then forced himself to continue. “If you want to take money from my friend, you’ll need at least six more of you. Then, the one survivor can gather the money into a pile and spend it.” Taziar measured the thief by his actions, sensed uncertainty beneath forced defiance. “Ten gold could feed you all for a month and more. Are you going to take the ten I offered you, or will you get all your friends slaughtered for the chance to get a few more? I can’t compromise. My friends have to eat, too. And you won’t live long on the street acting stupid.”
    “Stop. It’s all right.” Silme spoke in the rapid, high-pitched manner of a frightened woman, but Taziar knew the sorceress too well not to recognize a performance. She passed her dragonstaff to Larson who accepted it grudgingly in his off hand. “I’ll give you my purse. I don’t care. Money doesn’t mean anything. Just don’t hurt him.” Reaching into her side pocket, she removed a thin pouch of coins. She approached the thief, flicking her hands in contrived, nervous gestures. “Let him go. You got his ten and mine. That’s more than half of it. It’s better than the deal he gave you. Just let him go.” She pushed her purse at the thief’s free hand. “Here. Take it. Take it.”
    Instinctively, the thief glanced at the purse.
    Quick as thought, Silme grasped the youngster’s knife hand. Positioning her thumb on his littlest knuckle and her fingers around and over his thumb, she gained the leverage to twist. The blade carved skin from Taziar’s cheek. He dodged aside as Silme used her other hand to wrench the dagger from the youth’s surprised grasp. A sudden punch beneath his elbow finished him. The thief tumbled, flat on his back, in the street.
    A rock sailed from the rooftop.
    Larson dropped Silme’s staff. His sword met the stone in midair and knocked it aside. He