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Thorian.
He wouldn't even need to kill Jeff, not really, although he might as well.
Just distract him for a moment, and it would all be done, as long as he could
maintain the element of surprise against Thorsen.
Thorian Thorsen nodded. "So you have to keep your distance, far enough away
that he can't even smell you, can't see you, doesn't know that it's you ..."
"Unless," Jeff said, each word sour in his mouth, "you're not the wrist, but
I am." The Son feared Thorian Thorsen but more as a strategist than as a
fighter. Thorsen wasn't exactly ancient, but he wasn't young anymore, his legs
full of spring and his eye sharp as a hawk's maybe . the Son had figured out
that the real threat would be whoever was watching Thorian's back, not Thorian
himself.
You couldn't play chess with somebody who could see two moves beyond where
you saw.
Well, you could, but you'd lose. Badly.
Thorsen didn't look at Jeff as he fed the dog another biscuit. "I was
wondering if you'd say that."
Were you?Jeff thought.Or were you really just wondering when?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Scion
The bars of the cell, the last of six set into the side of the corridor, had
been carved from the stone of the cities itself, a latticework of stone that
reminded Ian of those crinkle-cut deep fried potato chips that he had always
thought were innately too greasy.
It was lit by a frosty circle set into the outside wall, which looked like
quartz. Wan light trickled in, overpowered by the twin lanterns set into the
far wall.
It was still doubly locked, both by the brass padlock that Ian thought even
he might be able to pick, and by the long, thin stone slab that slid across
the base of the cell door, preventing the door from being removed.
A simple mechanism, if you even wanted to call it a mechanism. Assuming you
couldn't break the stone and the stone of the Cities was incredibly tough
stuff you'd have to lift and slide the slab, and that was anchored in place by
a brass spike that went through a hole in the slab and into a corresponding
hole in the wall. Reed Richards might be able to have enough reach to remove
the spike while still in the cell; no human or Vestri could.
"You haven't opened the cell yet, have you?" Ian asked the guard.
Folivan del Folivan the job of jailer was apparently hereditary was a fat and
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ugly man, but well-tanned, despite his job. This suggested that he didn't
spend a lot of time on duty, an impression that was substantiated by the thick
dust on the floor and each of the combination bench and sleeping slab in the
other five cells. So the job of jailer was probably a hereditary sinecure.
That made sense. There was a lot wrong with dueling to settle arguments, no
matter what rituals you wrapped it in, but it did have the virtue of settling
them, of leaving somebody injured or humiliated or both rather than jailed.
Folivan del Folivan gave Ian a who-the-hell-are-you-to-be-asking look, but at
a subtle finger gesture from Darien del Darien he shook his head. "No," he
said. "I have not opened it."No, he might as well have said,I am not a
blithering idiot.
Ian had worked out that the klaffvarer literally "key-bearer"; less formally,
chief butler had more authority in the Old Keep than the one in the House of
Fire had had, but he put that aside for a moment.
Why was everybody looking at him, though?
It had started with Hosea looking at him ... ... and that explained it. Hosea
had looked to him, as though Ian was in charge, and Ian had, perhaps
unconsciously, taken his cue from the Old One. Darien del Darien had found it
convenient or expedient to play along, and even Branden del Branden and
Herolf, both of whom seemed to want to play alpha male games, albeit probably
for different reasons, had done so, as well.
Folivan del Folivan looked from face to face, and then back to Ian. "Do you
wish me to open it?" he asked, his gaze carefully focussed on a spot halfway
between Darien del Darien and Ian.
Darien del Darien eyed Ian levelly. "What do you think, Ian Silver Stone?" he
asked.
Ithink that I'd like this to be your problem, and not mine.Valin had clearly
escaped, and that was fine with Ian. The only question was how, although Ian
was fairly certain he knew, in general outline.
If Ian was right, though, Valin should be long and safely gone. And that made
helping out the men of the City a line item under the category of Maintaining
Friendly Relationships While In A Foreign Country, and not one under Stooling
for the Guards.
"I think he's gone."And I sure hope he is. "Herolf," he said, "do you smell
him?"
The Son growled. "Who are you to be asking me any questions, friend of
Thorian the Traitor?"
"Why, he's nobody to be doing any such thing," Bran-den del Branden grinned.
He seemed to have relaxed some since the announcement that Valin had escaped.
The idea of torturing information out of a dwarf probably hadn't gone over
well with him, either. "You're quite right, Herolf. Ian Silver Stone has no
authority here, and his suggestion is offensive. Folivan del Folivan, unbar
the door, and let us remove it. If and I say if the Vestri somehow remains in
there, and uses the opportunity to escape, why, it's none of Herolf's concern,
after all."
"Pfah." Herolf smiled, but there was no warmth or friendliness in the smile.
A wolf's smile was the baring of teeth for threat or use.
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