Honor Among Thieves Read Online Free PDF Page B

for windows he might jump out of. He found none.
    The scarred one spoke next, saying exactly what Malden expected—and dreaded—to hear. “We’re here,” he announced, “for yer thief.”
    Malden jumped up onto his chair. He looked up toward the rafters and saw they were too high to reach, at least ten feet above his head. The two kingsmen had by reflex moved to flank the table on either side, blocking off his escape that way as well.
    “Hold,” Croy said, rising to his feet. “What’s the meaning of this?”
    “He was spotted comin’ in through the gate today under false identity. Somebody knew his face and passed along the particulars. Now we’re to take him in.”
    Malden had thought he would be safe here. Though he was well known in Ness, he was a stranger in Helstrow. He’d assumed no one here had so much as heard of him. That foolishness had made him lax, made him forget his usual caution.
    Cursing himself, he tried to decide which way to run. Normally when he entered a public building like this he would take a moment to memorize all the exits. This time he’d been so tired from the day’s riding he hadn’t bothered.
    “But what’s the charge?” Cythera demanded.
    Toothy looked at Scar, who looked back at him, as if they couldn’t decide between the two of them which one should answer. “Suspicion of bein’ a thief,” Toothy said finally. “Now, which one of ye is called Malden?”
    Balint began to laugh. Croy started to turn to look at Malden, giving him away.
    Malden dropped his hand to his belt, where his bodkin used to be. It hadn’t been a good knife, really, but it was his. Now it was gone—and in its place was a sword. A sword that should never have been his, a sword Croy had given him under false trust. A sword, more to the point, that he’d never learned how to use.
    “Look out, Halbert—he’s got a cutter,” Scar said.
    “Hand it over, boy,” Toothy—Halbert—said.
    “What, this thing?” Malden asked. Then he drew the sword from its scabbard and let it taste the air. “It’s harmless.”
    The sword had a name. It was called Acidtongue. The name came from the fact that while the blade looked like an old piece of iron, pitted and scored by age, it was in fact quite magical—on contact with the air, it secreted a powerful foaming acid that could burn through just about anything.
    In olden times when demons walked the land, the sword had been made to fight against them. It was one of the seven Ancient Blades, brother to the one Croy wore at his own belt, and it had magic woven into its very metal. It could sear through demonic flesh that would resist normal iron weapons and cut through even the thickest armored shell or matted, brimstone-stinking fur. Malden knew from personal experience it worked just fine on more worldly substances as well.
    With both hands on the hilt, he brought the blade around in a tight arc. It passed through the middle of a pewter tankard as if it were made of smoke. The top half of the tankard fell to the table with a clink—even as the wine it had contained splashed out across the table in a hissing wave.
    Halbert and Scar both jumped back as if he’d thrown a snake at them. They also jumped a little to the side—Halbert to the left, Scar to the right.
    Malden split the difference and dashed between the two of them, headed straight for the door.

Chapter Six
    B ursting out into the sunlight, Malden turned his head wildly from side to side, looking for any avenue of escape. His foot slipped on a pile of horse droppings and he slid wildly for a long second before he got his feet under him again. Scar and Halbert were already emerging from the inn’s door when he finally spotted his next move.
    A low wall ran along one side of the inn yard, a pile of unmortared stone attached to the side of the stables. It sloped gently up toward the thatched roof of the stables, and to one as fleet as Malden it was as good as a staircase. He danced up the rocks,