"Dusty Monk - The Cloak & The Dagger" - читать интересную книгу автора (Monk Dusty)

The man came after the sorcerer, swinging wildly. The sorcerer was backpedaling furiously, attempting to
avoid the assailant's blows. He was already chanting, and his hands were working furiously. At that
moment, a buckler-protected arm crashed in the window behind Devon, and as Devon turned he saw
two more men come crawling through. These men were also wearing bandanas. They charged towards
Devon. Devon reversed his dagger, and hurled it at the closest one. It embedded in his shoulder, and the
man staggered back a step with a cry. He recovered quickly though, pulling the dagger from his shoulder,
and continuing on. Another dagger slipped into Devon's hands, replacing the first. Just then, the first
swordsman with the scimitar let out a blood-curdling scream, and backed away from the sorcerer, his
eyes wide with terror. He turned and fled the room, running for his life and dropping his weapon in the
process. As Devon prepared to meet the charge of the man engaging him, he wondered briefly what
demons the sorcerer had made the man see to cause him to flee like that. The second man from the
window turned and closed with the sorcerer, whom barely had time to get out his dagger and fend for his
life. Devon knew that as long as he was engaged in combat, he'd have no chance for more spells.

Then his opponent was upon him. He came in high, with a side slash, which Devon easily ducked under.
Then the man backed up, and began to circle Devon, looking for a better angle. Devon circled with him,
keeping him in front. As he did so, his mind worked furiously. Who were these men? What were they
after? Him? The sorcerer? The cloak? The man lunged forward. Devon met the attack head on -- or so it
seemed. He jerked his head left, then right, narrowly avoiding two vicious cuts. Then he thrust his dagger
forward with his right hand. The man dodged left, avoiding the dagger, and met Devon's onrushing left
fist. Devon punched the man squarely on his shoulder -- directly on top of the knife wound. The man
cried out, and stepped back. Devon pushed the advantage. He feinted high with the dagger. The man
threw his sword up to block the blow, and before he could recover Devon thrust the dagger under the
man's guard, burying the blade deep in the man's belly. The attacker staggered back, stumbled over the
chair, and went sprawling. He writhed in pain, the dagger still buried in his stomach. Devon turned to the
sorcerer.

The other man had the sorcerer backed into a corner. The mage was defending furiously, but the
swordsman had the advantage, and knew it. Already the sorcerer was bleeding from several cuts. Just
then the swordsman connected with a solid cut that bit deeply into the sorcerer's arm, causing him to cry
out and drop his dagger. The assailant raised his sword for the death blow. A dagger sprouted from the
back of his neck. He cried out, dropping his blade to reach for the buried dagger. He turned to see
Devon crouched on one knee, his throwing hand still extended. The man gurgled once, and crashed to
the floor. The sorcerer rose from the corner.

"I'm not sure why you saved my life," he said. "But I'm thankful."

"Right now I'm not sure either," Devon replied. He wasn't all that terribly concerned about the sorcerer.
His mind was on other things. He had a hunch. He went over to the man with his dagger in his belly, who
was still writhing on the floor, moaning in pain. Devon rolled the man over roughly, and jerked the
bandana from his face. His eyes widened in recognition. Sweet Mother of Asu! These were guild thieves!
Why were guild thieves here? Devon's mind was racing. This was bad. This was very bad. He retrieved
his blade from the man's stomach, causing him to cry out in pain, and clutch at the gaping hole. Devon
ignored the man, cleaning his blade and re-sheathing it. He turned to the sorcerer. "We definitely should
be leaving here. Now." While Devon had been examining the thief, the sorcerer had retrieved some
bandages from his chest, and had bound his wounded arm.

"Agreed," said the sorcerer. "But first I have to get something." He went to the flour-covered chest, and
with a level gaze at Devon, withdrew the cloak. Devon didn't really care. He had been stealing the cloak