False Covenant (A Widdershins Adventure) Read Online Free Page B

face as well as Major Julien Bouniard. She'd always been sure she'd never call one of the Guard a friend , but Julien was starting to challenge that certainty.
    Unless, of course, he identified her as part of the group of thieves who'd invaded the home of the Marquis de Ducarte, at which point, she was fairly sure, any burgeoning friendship would end with the slamming of a cell door.
    From the sound of things, as best she could tell in the thumping, pounding tumult, only a couple of them were following her as she fled. Probably, she guessed, Julien and his other uniformed friend. The other Guardsmen, the ones disguised as servants, were either still flailing about beneath the banner or, more probably, had taken off in pursuit of the other escaping thieves.
    Well, Julien was good, no doubt of that. And while Widdershins didn't know the man with him, she had to assume the major had chosen only good people to work with him on this. Nevertheless, the day she couldn't outrun two Guardsmen was the day she deserved to be arrested.
    She pulled streamers off the wall as she passed, shoved over the occasional chair or unlit candelabra, hoping to tangle the feet of her pursuers. Again, it wasn't that she doubted she could stay ahead of them, but why take the chance that they'd come close enough for a clear shot? She took a small flight of stairs in a single leap and found herself nearing one of the manor's side doors, presumably meant for deliveries and servants. It hung open before her, and Widdershins found herself wondering briefly if some of Squirrel's gang might have already used it as an escape route. Not that it mattered; a few more steps and she'd be…
    Olgun's cry of alarm warned her a split second before the much more human grunt of pain would have. She twisted in the doorway, slouched uncomfortably so she could keep the hood over her face, and gasped at the scene playing out before her.
    Two of Squirrel's thieves—she could tell, even with the masks, that they were not part of the group whom she'd helped escape—were closing in from behind the pursuing Guardsmen. The blond constable she didn't know had staggered back against the wall, his right arm bleeding freely from an ugly gash across the bicep, his bash-bang having fallen to the floor at his feet, discharging its payload harmlessly into the wall when it hit. Even as his face paled with pain, he struggled to draw his rapier, however awkwardly, with his left hand.
    Julien himself had dropped into an expert duelist's stance. Widdershins wasn't certain what had happened to his own firearm; he held his rapier unerringly straight, but he was having more than a little difficulty trying to cover both opponents at once.
    No, not both. All three . Even as Widdershins watched, Squirrel himself—a deep bruise creeping across the lower half of his face like a fistful of grape jelly—stepped from a side passage to join the others.
    “You're losing your touch, Olgun,” she muttered softly. “Well, of course your touch! I mean, you know that I can't hit that hard….”
    Squirrel growled something unintelligible, drew his stiletto with his left hand—and with his right, produced what could only be Julien's own flintlock! Widdershins couldn't begin to guess when or how he'd gotten his hands on it, but then, he was a thief, after all. That's what he did.
    Except now he was about to become not just a thief, but a Guard-murderer.
    And Widdershins couldn't afford to worry about her own escape any longer.
    “Olgun!”
    A flash of divine power, a spark from nowhere, and the bash-bang discharged before Simon could pull the trigger, while he was still bringing the weapon up to fire. The ball shot past Julien, ruffling the edge of his tabard rather than punching through flesh and bone, and gouged an ugly hole in the wall behind him.
    Multiple astonished stares flickered to the disobedient weapon, and in that moment, Widdershins struck. Her own rapier—currently lacking its defensive