They must have been on a side street and heard, she thought amidst the dizziness. Let them help me. Christ, Dazhbog, Yarilo, St. Yuri, help them help me.
The Varyag’s knife was out. “Go,” he snarled. “No need you. Go.” She realized that he was drunk, and that that made him the more dangerous.
The smaller of the two men advanced, cat-footed. “I think best you go cool that noggin of yours, friend,” he replied mildly. His own knife slipped forth. It was a tool for eating and ordinary cutting, a sliver against that great blade. Nor did its bearer seem any kind of warrior. His slender frame bore a fur-lined coat and trousers smoothly tucked into soft boots. Svoboda made out that much because his companion carried a lantern, which threw a dull glow on them both and a puddle of it at their feet.
The Varyag grinned beneath the moon. “Dainty lordling and cripple,” he jeered. “You tell me what to do? Scoot, or I find how white your tripes be.”
The second new man put down the lantern. It had been in his left hand. His right was missing. From a leather cup strapped to that forearm reached an iron hook. Otherwise he was muscular, his garb stout but plain. He drew his small knife. “We two,” he rumbled. “You alone. Cadoc say go, you go.” Unlike the slim man, he could barely speak Russian.
“Two cockroaches!” the Varyag yelled. “Perun thunder me, enough!”
He made a long step forward. His weapon flashed. The slim man—Cadoc?—swayed aside. He thrust out an ankle and gave a push. The Varyag tripped, crashed to the stones. The man with the hook laughed. The Varyag roared, sprang up, charged him.
The hook slashed. Its curve ended in a point that went deep into the attacker’s upper arm. The Varyag yelled. The opponent’s knife cut his wrist. His own iron clattered loose. Cadoc danced in and, half playfully, seized his hairlock and sliced it across. “The next trophy comes from between your legs,” Cadoc said with a leer. The Varyag howled, whirled, fled. Echoes died away.
Cadoc hunkered down by Svoboda. “Are you well, my lady?” he asked. “Here, lean on me.” He helped her rise.
His companion stooped for the Varyag’s knife. “No, leave that,” Cadoc ordered. His Russian must be for her benefit. “I wouldn’t want the guard to find it on us. That oaf’s carcass would scarcely be as inconvenient. Let’s get away. The racket may well have drawn attention we can do without. Come, my lady.”
“I, I’m unhurt.” The breath sobbed in Svoboda’s throat. She had, in fact, suffered nothing but possible bruises. A measure of daze remained. She went blindly along, Cadoc’s hand on her elbow.
The man with the lantern and the hook asked something that must mean, “Where to?”
“Our lodging, of course,” Cadoc snapped in Russian. “If we should meet a patrol, then nothing has happened, we’ve simply been out for a little drink and merriment. Will you agree to that, my lady? You do owe us something, and we’d hate to miss the fleet’s departure tomorrow because Yaroslav’s officers wanted to question us.”
“I must get home,” she pleaded.
“You shall. We’ll see you safely back, never fear. But first—“ Shouts lifted to the rear. “Hark! Somebody did come. They’ve found the knife, and if they have a lantern too, they’ll have seen the blood and scuffled offal. Here.” Cadoc led them into an alley, a tunnel of murk. “Roundabout, but it avoids trouble. We’ll lie low for an hour or two and then escort you, my lady.”
They emerged on a broad street, moon-bright. Svoboda’s wits had returned. She wondered how far she could trust the pair. Might it be wisest to insist she go back to Olga’s at once? If they refused, she could strike out by herself, no worse off than earlier. But that had not been well off at all. And—a throbbing, a warmth—never had she known anybody like this. Never again would she, perhaps. They were to sail in the morning and she, she was once more to become a wife.
Then Cadoc plucked his companion’s sleeve and said merrily, “Whoa, Rufus. Don’t go on past.” A house bulked before them. The door was unbarred. They wiped their feet and trod through, into a space where she could barely see tables, benches, a couple of night lamps burning. “The common room,” said Cadoc in her ear. “This is a hostel for those who can afford it. Quiet, please.”