Free Silent Hall by NS Dolkart Page A

not buffoons, and they were not grinning. This was their livelihood. Criton’s haze of mind was gone, and every muscle in his body longed for this fight, but his mind prevailed. How could a few boys whose beards were not yet full grown even consider resisting them?
    There was a sudden bark from behind, and Phaedra screamed. The bandits turned their heads, which was enough of an opening for Hunter to attack. In an instant he was charging the woods, sword and shield in hand. It was too late for caution then. The thought made Criton’s heart leap with a vicious joy. He looked to the fen and found the men there backing away from Four-foot’s onslaught, their arrows already loosed ineffectually and their faces showing panic.
    There were several more screams.
    The leader of the bandits ran toward Criton, Narky and Phaedra, sword raised. It wasn’t clear whether he meant to kill them or take them hostage, but Criton did not wait to find out. He drew in a deep breath and imagined that the man was his Ma’s husband. Flames leapt from his mouth. The highwayman threw up his arm to shield his eyes, and when he dropped his arm again, blinking and trying to find his assailant, Criton tore his face off.
    The man’s screams were horrifying. Narky stared, and Phaedra was sick.
    â€œWhat in the Gods’ own…?” was all Narky seemed able to say.
    Criton didn’t answer. He was trying not to be sick himself.
    Soon Hunter returned, his sword still clean. “They ran,” he said, and then stopped short when he saw what Criton had done to the bandit leader.
    They were all staring at him now, demanding an explanation. Criton suddenly felt that he had so much to answer for, he didn’t even know where to start. He had killed someone, someone who had been alive just a moment ago. And it had come far too naturally to him.
    His claws dripped blood. “My family is descended from dragons,” he said.
    Ma had always told him to hide his true nature from others, so that he wouldn’t be persecuted in the outside world. What would they do to him, now that they knew what he was?
    He could see Hunter trying to decide whether he still counted as a countryman to defend, or whether he was a dangerous monster to be slain. He had apparently not decided yet when Bandu arrived, surveying the bodies and looking pleased with herself.
    â€œNow you are glad Four-foot is with us,” she said.
    â€œYes,” Hunter said, and turned his head toward the wolf. The hero of the morning was busy feasting on one of the fallen men. Criton’s hands might be covered in blood, but for the moment he was forgotten.
    Thank the Gods for that.

9
    Bandu
    A fter that , nobody objected to Four-foot’s company. He and Bandu were welcomed into the pack, and they all traveled together toward the abbey, which was apparently just another word for a big den made out of stone. Bandu did not think she would ever understand why people needed all these different words for the same few things. Four-foot’s kind never wasted their time finding new ways to say the same things.
    Poor Four-foot. His cut was swelling, and she didn’t like its color. Was it supposed to do that, after they burned it? She didn’t know, but she hoped the abbey people would. What would she do, if Four-foot died? Her memories from before she met him were vague and disturbing. Just thinking about losing him made her feel more sympathetic toward Phaedra, who had already lost her own Four-foot.
    The others had been awfully surprised about Criton’s scales and sharp hands, and now they seemed to have decided to pretend nothing had happened. Bandu wondered how they had failed to notice it all to begin with. They weren’t very perceptive people.
    They were being just as blind now, ignoring that angry crow. It had been following them for some time already, ranting about some slight it had received. Bandu did not think the crow’s anger was