The crimson witch

sounds did reach them would most likely blend in with the normal background noises of the night.
        When he came to the spillway where the stream tumbled into the moat, he crawled out onto the moat bank where shadows completely obscured him and took a moment to gather his strength.
        Then he came to his feet and ran on his toes, never going back on his heels for fear of making noise, until he came to the edge of the drawbridge where the shadows very suddenly ceased to exist and the light from the courtyard spilled out through the gate, illuminating the night. There was no chance he could conceal himself any longer. He summoned his courage, held the sword before him, and leaped onto the bridge, crossing the last few steps to the guards, and swinging his sword on the nearest. It was as good on real objects as it was on Thobs. It bit into the sentry. The man shuddered, gagged, fell away with blood pouring out of him.
        Jake whirled on the second to bring home another fatal blow when, abruptly, a fist caught him on the jaw and sent him reeling backwards, almost into the moat. He shook his head, swung the sword to deliver a solid blow. The second guard drop-kicked him in the chest, sending him over the edge of the planking into the pitch, cold waters below.
        Suffocating…
        Darkness…
        He beat his way to the surface and spat out the water that was in his mouth, coughed again and again to clear his lungs. The Thob sword was still in his hand, and he clutched it tightly now as something brushed by him beneath the surface of the moat.
        “Bandit!” The guard was shouting from the bridge above. “Bandit! Bandit!”
        There were answering shouts from the castle, the slap-slap of feet on the courtyard cobblestones.
        Jake turned toward the shore, treading water. But there was something in his way. A long snout and two yellow eyes belied the calm of the water and gave evidence of some rather ugly form like an iceberg beneath the surface.
        He brandished his sword.
        The beast didn't move. It lay on the water like a log with only the knob of its head showing.
        Above, more servants clattered onto the bridge, some with torches. The moat and the surrounding area was brightly lighted now. Jake could see that the beast was some form of alligator.
        Someone above said something, and everyone laughed.
        The beast began moving in.
        Jake backstroked to the wall.
        The beast kept coming.
        When his shoulderblades touched the castle stone, he knew there was nowhere for him to go. Except down. He clenched the sword and frantically tried to plan his actions in the coming minutes. There was only one thing he might do. It could just possibly work.
        He treaded water, waiting.
        The beast stopped moving in directly and began a back and forth movement that brought him in more slowly. It was an attempt to hypnotize him, Jake knew. Another animal, less intelligent than a human being, would carefully follow the left-to-right motion until it was somewhat numbed with the repetition. Then, when it was least aware, the beast would zoom in for the kill. He would have to keep himself sharp.
        The drawbridge was almost full of spectators now. They elbowed one another for better vantage points.
        The beast attacked!
        He dived.
        The water was so dark that he could see little but shadows. Had it not been for the torchlight above, even shadows would have been imperceptible.
        The beast swung around, surprised. It was directly over him now. He rammed the sword upward and gouged out its belly.
        It dived after him.
        His chest ached for air.
        The beast brushed his side, not seeing him, turned abruptly when it realized what it had touched.
        He smashed the sword into its snout.
        The beast flailed mindlessly now.
        Jake surfaced and drew in a great gulp of air.
        The crowd on the bridge roared approval when they saw him, and he wondered why. Then something brushed his legs again, and he whirled to see a second of the alligator creatures gliding through the water behind him. The moat, he suddenly realized, was full of them. He could kill one-maybe even two or three, but he could not hold out forever. Sooner or later, and most likely sooner, his arms would get tired from hacking with the sword, from keeping him above the water. His legs would grow