Bikker’s hand went to his scabbard, and Acidtongue leapt free. Its pitted and corroded surface glinted wet in the moonlight. A droplet of acid formed on its tip and fell to the ground, where it smoked and bubbled. “Draw your sword,” the big swordsman said. He held Acidtongue almost straight out at his side.

Croy bowed his head. He uttered a short prayer to the Lady, that She might strengthen his arm in Her service. Then he reached behind him and drew his shortsword, bringing it down over his shoulder to point directly at Bikker. Ghostcutter remained safely in its sheath.

“You bastard,” Bikker said. “Draw your real sword.”

“Ghostcutter is for killing demons,” Croy said, “or worthy opponents. You are neither, only a churl whose blood will befoul even this length of simple steel.”

It was a harsh insult indeed, but it had the desired effect. Bikker’s wrath bubbled over and he slashed wildly with Acidtongue, bringing the blade up high and then driving it down toward Croy’s quillions.

That might have been enough—that one blow could have carved right through the dwarven steel of the shortsword and had enough momentum left to drive Acidtongue right through Croy’s body. It could have been the stroke that killed the knight.

But he still had his shield on his left arm. He brought it up high and took the blow hard on his forearm. The acid-wet blade burned through the oak shield and cut through its iron boss as easily as it cut through the air, but Croy rolled his arm under the cut and sent Acidtongue driving down into the grass and dirt between his feet.

Bikker leapt backward, pulling his blade free and out of range of a counterattack. He laughed maniacally. “Very good, Croy. Very good.” The rage drained out of his countenance. Had it been a ruse? It had looked real enough. “You might survive five minutes if you keep fighting defensively. Will that be long enough?”

“Long enough for what?” Croy asked.

“For your friend Malden to reach the crown. After all, the real reason you’re here is to distract me, isn’t it? To keep me out of the house while your pet thief robs the place.”

Croy could not help but let his face show his surprise. How could Bikker know that?

“You didn’t think we would leave the crown unguarded, did you? How very foolish of Malden. Hazoth is a sorcerer. He has many ways of watching what goes on inside his own house. He knows that Malden is in there right now, and he knows what Malden is trying to do. Ah! There, look!”

Bikker pointed up at the rose window on the third floor of the house. Multicolored light burst from inside the glass.

“Hazoth is greeting his uninvited house guest even as we speak,” Bikker announced.