called out full of desperation and anger. “Father! Let us in! Dayrne-anyone
awake!”
“Chenaya!” The second rider rose to a timid crouch and drew a small dagger.
“They’re coming!”
Four men ran down the street, weapons drawn. Even as they came on, three more
emerged from the shadows to join them. Chenaya whirled to face them, cursing.
Gods knew what the hell they wanted! This was too much trouble for a common
robbery. Perhaps it was vengeance for the two she’d already slain that drove
them.
“Get behind me,” she ordered, dragging her companion by the arm. Then she put a
pair of fingers to her lips, gave a sharp whistle, and called, “Reyk!”
The lead runner gave a choked scream, then a long gurgling cry of frightened
pain. He dropped his sword, fell to his knees, beat at his face. But he was much
too slow. The falcon, Reyk, climbed back into the sky, leaving the man’s eyes in
bloody ruin. He winged a tight circle, then settled on his mistress’s arm. She
sent him aloft once more. “Can’t carry you and fight,” she whispered tersely.
Without turning away she banged her pommel on the gate again. “Father!”
One runner stopped to help his fallen comrade. The rest rushed on. She couldn’t
make out their features or identify their dress, but she could feel their
hatred.
Her companion beat on the gates with a dagger. “Open! For pity’s sake, let your
daughter in!”
Chenaya ripped off her cloak and drew a second sword. With the two blades she
stepped forward to meet her attackers. “All right, you miserable dung-balls!”