A Flight of Ravens by John Conroe (books to improve english .TXT) 📕

his now crossed left arm and pressed with force.  His shoulders were uneven by his own action, the left higher than the right, and when I turned and twisted, my shifting center of gravity overcame his raised and off-center mass, tilting him and pulling him further off balance till he fell forward, onto the floor.  I continued stepping back and twisting, shifting my left hand as the club slipped back through my armpit.  The result of all that torque was simple physics—his hand was unable to hold the haft of the baton and the cudgel came free, the weighted head still tucked in my pit.  I threw the bolter into his face, pulled the club free with my right hand, and immediately hit him in the temple, forearm, throat, and side of head seven times as fast as I could.

Turning back to the mayor, I found him pointing a small crossbow at me with one hand while holding up the still-sealed vial with the other, a victorious smile on his face.

“I hereby arrest you for the murder—” he started to say, but my thrown club hit him in the face.

His little crossbow went off and I felt a line of fire on my left biceps.  I ignored it as I vaulted onto the desk, one foot kicking out to hit the mayor in the chest.  He toppled backward, dropping both the vial and the crossbow in an attempt to catch himself.  It didn’t work, as his ass hit the window behind him, the sound of shattering glass mixing with his terrified yell as he fell back and out. He caught himself by the window frame, halfway out.  I kicked him again and he flew backward, his terrified eyes locked on mine.

I stepped right up to the broken window and glanced down.  The mayor was lying on his back, eyes wide open and unseeing, arms and legs akimbo.  A quick glance across the street found Drew, Soshi, and Cort watching for my signal.  All three ran for the door of the municipal building.  I dropped down to the floor, found the vial, and twisted it fully open, dropping both halves onto the desktop just as the office door opened.  The secretary rushed in, two more men behind him, his expression changing from a glare to shock as he took in the bodies.  The new guards stopped and evaluated the situation, eyes locking on their dead fellows.  They glanced at each other and pulled short swords from sheaths.  I took the time to pull a matched set of fighting knives from my own sheaths and waited calmly.  Before they could work up the courage to take me on, my Shadows came rushing up the stairway, their own blades bared and ready.

It took another two hours to assert our authority, have the bodies picked up, and install the economic director as temporary mayor.  His first act was to hastily give me a writ for the prime spot in the market.  Altogether it was way too much drama, but the mayor’s actions and attitude told me he had been knee-deep in something rotten.  I left Soshi and Cort to question the new mayor and most of the municipal staff while I took the rest of my team to the market.

In all, it cost me well over four and a half hours and the lives of three men to get a stinking market booth in a good spot.  Luckily, I have good people, as Trell and Kassa had succeeded in supervising Mr. Kazilionum as he modified the entire stock of raw chips left over in Andru’s shop.

So now I leaned against a doorframe and watched Trell as he yelled and shouted like a barker for a travelling faire troop.  Drew and Kassa were as busy as thieves in an abandoned jewelry store, taking in little golden chip necklaces and handing out new and improved versions.  It had been a simple matter to have Kazilionum Impress the remaining raw chips with something like a geas that made the holder feel that little golden-hued trinket was the best, most valuable thing ever.  And that was all it did.  No dark emotions triggered, no inflation of mind-clouding anger, envy, or fear.

All it had taken was one or two people to handle one of the new trinkets, decide they were superior to their existing ones, and make the trade. Then when they started to brag to the others, the floodgates were raised.  Now it was just a matter of time.

“So there you are,” a voice said from off to my right side.

The blonde woman approaching wore the robes of the Holy Assembly, but I’m pretty sure none of her fellow clerics wore them quite so well as she did.

“Hello, Gwen,” I said.

“Savid DelaCrotia,” she said, stopping about two spans away.  “Holder of the Kingdom Cross and agent of the crown.  I had a feeling you might show up.”

“Well, this is Montshire, after all.  The real question is why would the Holy Assembly cross the border and tread upon the clear territory of the Church of the Apostle of the Punished?”

“Find the answer to why the Apostle hasn’t shown up and you’ll have your answer as to why we did,” she said, dark eyes flashing with indignation.

In all the rush to find the source of all this conflict, I hadn’t thought a second about the Church of the Apostle or its lack of involvement.

“I’m a little preoccupied with ending this mess. Perhaps you could save me the trouble and just, maybe, you know… tell me?”

She studied me, head tilted, and I waited to see which way she would go.  Her blonde hair was what I would call sunny rather than the color of corn, and she had very dark brown eyes, which isn’t a combination I’ve seen very often.  Plain robes, unbound hair, and not a trace of powder on her cheeks or lip rouge and yet she outshone every woman in the plaza, more than a few of whom