Dreamspinner by Lynn Kurland Page B

and leave him to his own affairs. She raised her eyebrows briefly at the things the man and his sparring partner were snarling at each other, added
learn curses out in general circulation
to her list of things to see to when she was free, then turned back to the stairs in front of her.
    It was as she climbed that seventh staircase that things began to occur to her, most likely because she realized that there were men waiting in the shadows, men with drawn swords, men who watched her but did not approach. Perhaps it wasn’t so much that the man behind her had been sparring with men she hadn’t noticed, but that those men had formed a gauntlet he’d had to fight his waythrough. If that were the case, why hadn’t she been favored with the same?
    Perhaps that was yet to come.
    She reached the top of the staircase and walked out into a courtyard full of statues, realizing only then that she was chilled to the bone—and very uneasy. She had skill enough for sniffing out the dangers lurking in the hierarchy of a weaving guild, but here she was completely out of her depth. It had occurred to her that she would need to talk quickly to convince Scrymgeour Weger to give her aid, but she hadn’t considered that she might be putting her own life at risk as she did so.
    She looked around her carefully. The middle of the courtyard itself was empty, surrounded by low, wholly inadequate walls, and full of fog. And then she saw that what she’d thought were statues obscured by the fog were actually more grim-faced men who stepped closer and formed a large circle around her, all watching her with glittering eyes. She hardly had the chance to even attempt to raise her sword before she went sprawling thanks to someone having pushed her from behind. She managed to hold on to her sword, but she supposed that was just dumb luck. She crawled to her feet and realized it had been her morning’s companion who had nudged her rather ungently out of his way.
    He was also keeping her behind him, putting himself between her and the man who had stepped forward and engaged him. She would have thanked him for that, but she imagined he wouldn’t be particularly interested in anything she had to say at present. He was too busy keeping himself alive. He shrugged out of his pack at one point, then flung it away from him before he was decapitated by his foe.
    The battle didn’t go on for very long before her companion’s sword was slapped out of his hand. It went sliding across the wet stone, past her. She followed its journey and saw the toe of a boot pin it against the stone. Aisling looked up the leg, up, and still up a bit more, until she saw a face that sent a cold, heart-stilling terror through her.
    Scrymgeour Weger.
    It could have been no one else.
    “I heard,” he drawled, “that a warrior of uncommon ferocity was making his way up my steps, so I came to see who it was. Which one of you two feeble women was mistaken for someone with sword skill?”
    Aisling found herself again pulled behind the scarred man, which she didn’t object to as it gave her time to decide how best to be about her business.
    She looked around herself. She was still surrounded by very fierce-looking men who were watching her as if they could have as easily killed her as looked at her. Worse still was the giant of a man standing there with his arms folded over his chest, who would likely grasp her by the front of her tunic and fling her over his parapet. She could only assume what lay beyond those walls was the sea. She could hear the roar of it—or perhaps that was the wailing of those whom Weger had sentenced to death and were still awaiting it.
    It was perhaps foolhardy to think there could be honor in such a place, but all she could do was hope for it. Though it was tempting to simply stand where she was and hide, she knew she had to do what she’d come to do. Her life hung in the balance.
    She stepped forward, in front of her companion.
    “It was me,” she