Authors: Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
“Ach! Dummkopf!”
The words echoed in her ears as if from down a long hall, then a rough hand caught her arm in an iron grip. She tried to wrench free, but her struggles only incensed him, and muttering something in an
unknown tongue, he shoved her before him across the room until they reached an open spot. The hall blurred as she was swung in a wide circle around her captor, then with a sneering chortle he let go, sending her sailing into a small group of masters. An older man, of an age about three score, reached beneath her shoulders to lift her up, and she thought he might rescue her from the oafish brute. Alas, the man only chortled and tossed her back into the waiting arms of her tormentor. That one roared with laughter and shook a many-tongued lash above his head while he held her by the scruff of the neck and shook her, none too gently. All at once there was a rending tear as the woolen tunic and the shirt beneath it was ripped open down her back. In the very next instant the hall was filled with the most horrendous feminine
scream that the Hanseatic League had probably ever heard. Abruptly the place went silent, and all faces turned toward her in questioning wonder. She struggled mightily to keep the falling garments in place, but the smooth creamy shoulders seemed to catch the gleam of the meager light. Suddenly Elise found herself staring into the pale blue eyes of Nicholas Von Reijn. They widened and his jaw sagged as a show dawning occurred. The small face, bound about with leather, was too familiar, but his mind stumbled in confusion in a wild, frantic search for reasons. Why was he seeing Elise garbed as she was? And why, by heavens, in this place? His mind was cauterized by sudden doubts. It was as if there was a part of him that wanted to rescue her, but in so doing he would be disassociating himself from the Hansa. He stood
frozen, unable to move, as he wrestled with his conscience.
The burly master seized the slender arm again, and Elise was spun around to be subjected to his piercing, searching eyes. His free hand tore the skullcap from her head, spilling forth a bounty of auburn hair before his eyes. A sharp intake of breath gauged his surprise, and he bellowed in ear-splitting tones,
“Was ist das? Eine junges Madchen?”
Karr Hilliard came to his feet with a lunge and, leaning halfway across the table, braced his upper torso on his trunklike arms.
“Eine Fraulein?”
His face darkened to an apoplectic red as his searching glare found the slender girl. Roaring out a command, he thrust a finger in her direction.
“Egreifen ihr!”
Incited to action against this blatant intrusion into their domain, the men moved en masse to take her, and Elise suffered a wave of prickling, sickening horror as she saw herself being torn apart by the venging masters. Painfully conscious of her solitude in the midst of the crowd, she clamped her jaw against the trembling that beset it and by dint of will set herself to the confrontation, refusing to yield without a fight. She drove a small foot into the belly of the man who held her and gained her freedom as he doubled over in pain. Flinging an arm backward across another's throat, she struggled forward, ducking and twisting in a frenzied effort to escape the hands that snatched and grasped for a hold. Piece by shredded piece, she yielded the shirt and tunic to stronger hands until she was left with nothing more than a few thin scraps hanging over her
bound breasts. Vaguely she became aware that Justin had launched an attack with a bludgeon at the outer edge of the tumult, but his attempt to reach her
was ineffectual against so many. Elise almost sobbed as fingers painfully raked her bare shoulder and slipped downward to catch her arm in a steely vise. She was snatched around, and a bloated, mottled face pushed forward to fill her entire vision. Suddenly there was a bright flash in front of her eyes, and magically a thin line of oozing red droplets appeared on the man's cheek. His reaction seemed slow and sluggish as his eyes stretched in horror and an undulating squeal of pain issued from the widening cavern of his mouth.
The tip of the rapier dipped again, this time more slowly to allow the eye to follow. It pressed threateningly into the thick rolls of the man's throat, bringing him gingerly to the very tips of his toes as his eyes searched askance for the one who held the weapon. Elise's own gaze flew in amazement along the shining length of steel, up a black-garbed arm and finally reached the face of the tall Easterling. A gasp was stillborn in her throat as she recognized those translucent green eyes which bore into the man. It was Maxim! And there was a sneer in his voice as he spoke to her captor.
“Wenn du deine Freunde heute nicbt zu deinem Begrabnis einladen wilst, wurde ich vorschlagen, dab du die Dame so schnell wie moglich freigibst, mein lieber Freund.”
The man complied, having no wish to make mourners of his friends, and ever-so-carefully raised his hands away from the maid as his eyes moved
downward warily to the blade. Afraid to move lest the point prick a vital vein, he stayed very still, only daring to watch as the maid obeyed the beckoning motion of the Easterling's free hand. She slipped behind the tall man, and his two companions finished the protective circle around her as they raised their swords at the ready.
There was a surge forward as the Hansa masters answered the invitation. Swords rang from scabbards, and the Easterlings' blades sang, weaving a web of protective steel about the maid, nicking here and stabbing there, setting the masters all back upon their heels. With swords slashing, they bloodied more than a few.
Watching the fray, Nicholas cursed himself for his lack of action in rescuing the maid, and then roused himself to a belated determination that he would not allow Elise to be taken by the Hansa, or the Easterlings. He plowed his way through the churning body of men, tossing aside any who stood in his way. Masters tumbled helter-skelter beneath the wrath of this aggressor as he seized one after another and threw them from his path. He grabbed a sword from one of his last victims and raised it in earnest, preparing to meet the attack of the tall Easterling, then he halted in astonishment as he met the flaring green eyes.
“Maxim!”
“What say you, Nicholas?” Maxim's low, rasping tone challenged him. “Do you seek to kill me, too?”
“Ah, damn yu!” Nicholas growled in frustration. He didn't need a seer to tell him he had lost this
game of hearts to a more worthy opponent. “Get her out of here!” he cried, thrusting his sword upward.
Maxim met the feigned jab with his own blade and sent the other's sailing. Even as the blade clanged to the floor another sturdy figure stepped to the fore. The Hansa masters moved back in shuffling haste as Gustave clicked his heels together and lifted his straight, two-edged rapier in a salute to Maxim.
“So! Ve meet again,
Herr
Seymour,” he greeted in derision, having observed Nicholas's recognition. “I am sure
Herr
Hilliard vill be interested in knowin' it is yu, but I vill tell him shortly.” Gustave smiled confidently as he swished the long blade before him in a series of zinging X's. “Yu vere a fool to expose yurself for the
fraulein.
It vill mean yur death.”
The hall reverberated with the sound of clashing steel, and Elise smothered a frightened gasp as Maxim stumbled back a step beneath the forceful assault. The Hansa masters nudged each other and grinned with amusement as they widened the circle to allow Gustave more room and the sole privilege of deciding this contest. It had been well-confirmed on a number of occasions that among his other talents, Gustave was a very adept swordsman. They had no doubt that he would handle this upstart Easterling with ease.
Cringing in trembling fear as she watched Gustave's thrusting and slashing advance, Elise wondered if Maxim would be able to defend himself, much less gain the advantage. It seemed his blade was ever blocking, parrying and then riposting,
but would it be enough to withstand Gustave's strong, aggressive attack? The man continued to strike and lunge with a rather haughty arrogance, forever pushing Maxim back. The masters, anxious to watch the fight, stepped around the small band, clearing a path for their retreat.
Elise became aware of Nicholas taking Justin's arm a short distance away and, after a murmured comment, pointing toward the entrance. The younger man seemed to gain some enthusiasm from the captain's words and began shoving his way toward the door. He seized their cloaks and the Easterling's coats from the rack and was directly behind them when Elise saw him flit through the portal. Lifting his head, Nicholas fixed his eyes upon the two men who were on either side of her and frowned at them as he jerked his head toward the door. Elise knew the signal. They were to escape with her. Now!
“No,”
she moaned as one of them caught her arm. “I cannot leave without Maxim!”
“Please, madam,” the urgent whisper came close above her ear. “We must get out now . . . for your husband's sake!”
Shaking her head as she sobbed, Elise struggled against their attempts to pull her away. “No, I won't! I cannot desert him!”
Quickly Maxim tossed a stern command over his shoulder. “Go, woman! Get out of here!”
Elise gave no further argument, but reluctantly obeyed his directive and allowed the men to draw her toward the door.
Gustave smirked as he delivered several slashing assaults upon the ever-present blade of his opponent
and gained more ground as the other retreated. “Yur
liebchen
may go,
Herr
Seymour, but she vill not escape. Nor vill yu. Yur end is very, very near.”
“Perhaps,
Herr
Gustave. But then, you could be mistaken.” After a glance behind him to assure himself that his companions were within close range of the portal, Maxim settled himself in a comfortable stance. With an ease and subtle finesse he had not thus far displayed, he launched his attack. No longer did he block and parry, but now his blade began to threaten. A flicker of surprise touched Gustave's countenance as he found himself repeatedly twisting away to avoid the thrusts. The sudden suspicion that he had only been played with set his heart thudding a new rhythm. His blade was forced to move ever faster to safeguard his defense, and when one tardy movement answered a lightning slash, he felt the tip of the other's rapier lay open his cheek
“ âTis but a small trophy, Gustave. Nothing to fret about,” Maxim assured the fellow.
Elise had paused a moment in the doorway to watch and was struck by the change in the flavor of the duel. Maxim was now master of the game, and he played with his opponent as a cat would tease a mouse. It was as if his retreat had only been a well-executed maneuver to get his companions safely to the entrance, and though she had been slow to grasp it, Nicholas and the others, in turn, had picked up on his ploy.
“My lady, I must urge you to leave.” The plea came as her arm was taken. “Lord Seymour would not wish you to see this.”
Elise shivered from more than the cold as she stepped through the doorway, sensing that Gustave would not survive what would follow. Justin was already on the steps below, having dispensed with the dozing guard, and wrapped a cloak about her bare shoulders as she quickly descended.
Inside the hall sweat dappled Gustave's brow as the clever blade became a blur of movement reaching ever inward to breach his defense and deliver painful snips and cutting pricks. His clothes were snagged and bloodied by the relentless assault, and he grew increasingly weary. He saw an opening as his opponent leaned in to attack and with a snarl, raised his arm and swung the sword with all of the strength in his arm. With a clang that echoed in the hall his blade was halted, and he saw the slightest of smiles flit across Maxim's lips before the straight blade slid down his own and the point dipped toward his chest. It seemed only a quick, sharp pain in his ribs, but a heavier twinge told him the blade went deep. Very deep.
Maxim stepped back and nearly half of his blade was covered with a dull, dark red. Gustave staggered back a step and stared down in horror at his chest and a slowly spreading blossom of red. His breath seemed locked within the cavity, and though he raised his blade, he stood stock-still. A low murmur rippled through the communal hall, and in the dwindling light he saw his opponent back away with his sword raised to threaten any who would interfere. His breath freed, and Gustave filled his lungs with a deep, gurgling wheeze. The blade fell from his numbing fingers, and he lifted his gaze to
stare at the tall, princely garbed man, then his eyes dulled and he collapsed forward to the floor.
Maxim retreated quickly as the awestruck crowd stared at their fallen champion. He took a last step and was through the door, slamming the massive portals behind him. He twisted the heavy hasp into place, knowing it would not hold the throng at bay for very long, but it would allow him and his companions a short space in which to flee.
The guard had roused to awareness and staggered in a daze to his feet, just in time to catch the solid hilt of Maxim's sword squarely on the point of his chin. With a waning sigh, he sagged again to the step, where he lay unprotesting as Maxim leapt over him. Justin swung his arm to encourage Maxim to hasten down the stairs, but that one needed no such invitation. Thrusting the rapier in the scabbard, he raced down the steps, his long strides taking them three at a time. He soon joined his companions and caught the lambskin coat Justin tossed at him. He did not pause in the donning of it, but jammed his arms through the sleeves as he ran. As he passed Elise, he caught her hand, and she fairly flew at his side as he took the lead.
Justin yelled from behind and when Maxim glanced back, the younger man pointed toward an alley they had not traversed before. They raced into its dark security as a loud crash shattered the stillness of the night, marking the fall of the great door of the
kontor.
Shouts filled the night as the league's members charged over the fallen barrier, leapt down the stairs, and spread out in different directions.