Shannivar Read Online Free

same establishment, in the event their presence had been remarked. Where there was one such place, he told himself, there would be others. He felt less tired now, although still groggy. He should be able to stay on guard most of the night.
    I’ll sleep once we’re safely under way, trading watches with Danar. Let him do his share of the work when fewer things can go wrong.
    Rubbing the sore place in his chest, he woke Danar. The girl roused at the same time. To Zevaron’s inquiry, she replied that her mother rented out rooms for a few coppers a night.
    Outside, the street was no emptier than before but filled with a different sort of crowd. Most of the women, the smaller children, and laborers were gone. Lights winked on in drinking and eating establishments.
    Outside the corner tavern, the one Danar had first pointed to, lanterns of colored paper had been hung on strings. The enticing aroma of fried pastries mingled with the curling smoke. A table had been set up outside the door, and a woman in a greasy apron was fishing bits of crisp dough from a kettle, dusting them with powder, crystallized honey most likely, and handing them out as fast as her customers could offer their coins.
    Danar glanced at Zevaron, mutely pleading. Zevaron’s stomach gurgled, reminding him that they had not eaten since the fish at the tavern. Maybe hunger was what was wrong with him.
    â€œGet us some,” he said, “and I’ll keep watch out here.”
    With a grin, Danar waded into the little crowd. Zevaron turned slowly, trying to look casual as he scanned the intersection. All seemed as normal and undisturbed as things ever were in a place like this. Two seedy-looking men, obviously drunk, started a fight. A pickpocket, perhaps the boy from earlier, had chosen the wrong victim and was sent sprawling.
    Zevaron relaxed, but only for an instant. A pair of armed Gelon, whether soldiers or ordinary patrol or royal guards he could not tell, entered the intersection. One of them carried a torch. They ignored the brawling drunks and moved across the square, stopping to peer into the faces of the younger men. They questioned one ragged fellow, who looked too terrified to give a coherent account of himself.
    Zevaron turned toward the pastry seller, putting his back to the soldiers. As he did so, he glanced about for the quickest way out of the square. Not back the way they’d come. Too many onlookers, and too much could go wrong—
    â€œGot them!” Danar’s clear tenor voice, with its unmistakable aristocratic accent, rang out. He emerged from the throng, and the light from the nearest soldier’s torch lit his face.
    â€œYou there!” The harsh-edged voice carried above the noise of the crowd.
    Zevaron reached for his sword. His head whirled sickeningly, and his muscles felt as if they had turned to clay.
    The soldiers now had a clear path to Danar. Danar stared at them, holding a pair of crullers by their thin wooden skewers. His eyes widened as they rushed toward him.
    No battle reflexes!
Cursing silently, Zevaron yanked the sword free and lunged between Danar and the patrol.
    â€œRun!” he yelled at Danar.
    The first Gelon reached him, sword swinging. The heavy steel slashed down, with all the soldier’s larger mass behind it. Zevaron reacted without thinking. His early training, enhanced by years of practice on a pirate ship, took command. He caught the blow on the flat of his own sword, deflecting and blunting its full force. Steel whined and then hummed as, for an instant, blades joined and swept through the air in a single spiraling pathway. Now to end the dance with a flick that sent the other sword spinning free—
    Zevaron’s stomach lurched and his skin went cold. He wavered, his balance broken. The swords jerked apart. Voices swept over him, people crying out, shouting, some of them almost upon him—
    â€œNever mind that one! Get the boy! Jaxar’s