let it out in cloud.
“You at least have some idea what you’re looking at, Haught,” Mriga said, waving
the wicket gate out of existence and walking through where it had been. Haught
stared, as well he might have, for the deadly wards laid inside that gate
unravelled themselves and died without so much as a whimper. “If I were you, I’d
announce us.”
With some difficulty Haught reassumed his look of threat and contempt. “My
mistress is unavailable,” he said.
Mriga looked at the raven. “Slugging abed again.”
The raven snapped its beak in annoyance and napped away from Mriga’s shoulder.
Abruptly a helmeted woman in an oversized tunic stood there, a spear in her
hand, and rapped with its butt on the ground. With a roar, the dry hedge and the
barren trees all burst forth in foliage of green fire. Screeching, the black
birds went whirling up out of the tree like scorched papers on the wind, leaving
little trails of smoke and a smell of burnt feathers behind them.
“She’s up now,” said Siveni.
One last man came hurriedly to the door, swearing, a tall, fair, and broad man
and Tyr launched herself at him, stiff-legged, snarling. “No, Tyr!” Mriga said
hurriedly, and grabbed at the dog, just catching her by the scruff of the neck
… a good thing, for a knife had appeared as if by magic in the man’s hand, and
was a fraction of a second from being first airborne and then in Tyr’s throat.
Tyr stood on her hind legs and growled and fought to get loose, but Mriga held
on to her tight. “This is no time to indulge in personalities,” she hissed.