jaw. The force and the pain stunned her. She hung limp in his grip, defenceless
against his second punch. He heaved her body into a corner, where it hit with a
dead-weight thud; then he began moving frantically through the darkness as the
axe continued to bite against the door.
Cythen had not lost consciousness, though she wished she had. Her mouth and jaw
were on fire, although, ironically, one or another of his punches had undone the
dislocation, along with loosening a few of her teeth. She could have screamed
freely now, as she heard his glittery clothing dropping to the floor, but the
anguish of her failure was too great.
A piece of wood had splintered away from the door. Light from the lanterns in
the hallway glinted off the serpent ring which he held before his eyes. She
realized that he must think her dead or unconscious, and she thought she might
survive if she continued to be silent, but he came at her as a second, larger
piece of wood came loose. The glistening serpent’s head rose above his fist.
She lunged away from him and felt something strike her shoulder. In the swirl of
pain and panic she did not know if the fangs had pierced her; she knew only that
she was still alive, still wrapped around his legs and trying to bite him with
her already battered and bloody teeth. He kicked free other with little
difficulty and made a leap for the window as a hand reached around into the
darkness and worked the latch.
Though the door was open almost at once, Turghurt had heaved himself clear of
the window before they reached him. And though Cythen protested her health and