Skif slipped the catches on his knives and then hesitated. The combatants were all moving too fast and in unpredictable ways. He’d never practiced against anything but a stationary target; if he threw a knife, he could all too easily hit Alberich, and if he threw a knife, he’d also throw away half of his own defenses.

:Skif, get the children out now!:

Cymry’s mental “shout” woke him out of his indecision; with a quick glance to make sure the Guildmaster (what Guild was he?) was too far away to interfere, Skif grabbed the wrists of two of the three—the third was clinging to the arm of the second—and pulled them onto their feet. Then he got behind them and slowly—trying not to attract the eye of their chiefest captor—he herded them in front of him, along the wall, and toward the door that Alberich had entered by.

One of the three, at least, woke out of her fear to see what he was trying to do. She seized the wrists of both of the others and dragged them with her as they edged along the wall. Her eyes were fixed on that doorway; Skif’s were on the fight.

It was oddly silent, compared with the tavern- and street-fights he was used to. There was no shouting, no cursing, only the clash of metal on metal and the occasional grunt of pain.

And it was getting bloody. All of the bodyguards were marked—not big wounds, but they were bleeding. It looked as if the four bodyguards should bring Alberich down at any moment, and yet he kept sliding out from beneath their blades as Skif and his charges got closer and closer to their goal. Skif wanted to run, and knew he didn’t dare. He didn’t dare distract Alberich, and he didn’t dare grab the attention of the Guildmaster.

Ten paces . . . five. . . .

There!

The girl who was leading the other two paused, hesitating, on the very threshold, her face a mask of fear and indecision. She didn’t know what lay beyond that door—it could be worse than what was here.

“Run!” Skif hissed at her, trusting that Alberich had already cleared the way.

The girl didn’t hesitate a moment longer; she bolted into the half-lit hallway, hauling the other two with her. Skif started to follow—hesitated, and looked back.

There was a body on the floor, and it wasn’t Alberich’s. While Skif ’s back was turned, the Weaponsmaster had temporarily reduced the odds against himself by one.