Chapter sevenAn arrow c*****d off the wall a handbreadth from my head. I slid into the shadow of an ale barrel like a ferret down a rabbit hole.
Across the intersection of roads running at right angles through two valleys a crude barricade had been thrown up. Tables, wardrobes, barrels, upended carts, all jumbled together to make an obstacle to Nagzalla’s Nasty Neemus. They shot at the defenders of the dismal street at my back and tried a charge which carried some of the barricade. The Raging Volcanoes fell back, slashing axes about in desperation.
These two gangs at each other’s throats were damned inconvenient, by Krun. A girl staggered into my ale barrel and collapsed, an arrow through her throat. She gargled blood. Her grimy face carried a look of profound shock and her ripped-open t
