The Tyrant's Law (Dagger and the Coin)

word out of you, and I swear we’ll cut you down and burn whatever comes out.”
    Five men, Marcus thought, was a damned lot of people. But they hadn’t attacked yet. If anything, they seemed more frightened. He backed up slowly, pushing his table with the backs of his legs as he went, trying to clear a path for the men to leave if they wanted to.
    “They followed us,” a dark-skinned one at the back said. “Lani, they followed us.”
    “Well, and if they didn’t you just told them my name,” the man at the front said. “And thanks for that.”
    “Lani?” Marcus said. “My name’s Wester. We don’t need to—”
    The attack was fast and disorganized. Lani jumped forward, his blade swinging high. Marcus blocked and made a low counterstrike by long habit. Lani grunted with pain, falling half a step back and preparing for Marcus to press the advantage, but by then two of the others had stepped to their leader’s side. Marcus could see them preparing to attack in unison. He couldn’t block them both.
    Kit’s cider mug came from behind him in a low, fast arc and shattered against the nose of the man on Lani’s right. Marcus thrust at the one on the left, who fell back, cursing.
    “I don’t want this,” Marcus said. “We’re not hunting you.”
    “We’re not going back!” Lani shouted, and then as if on a signal, all five men turned and bolted for the yard, leaving Marcus and Kit alone in the common room. Marcus moved forward carefully. Retreating to the next room to set up an ambush was an idiot’s plan when you already had five blades to the opponent’s one, but working with the assumption that his enemies weren’t idiots would have had its drawbacks as well. Keeping the blade at the ready, he moved forward step by careful step. The sound of hooves pelting away down the road left him feeling a little more certain, and when he reached the yard, the thin groom’s confused expression and the cloud of dust in the west were enough that Marcus sheathed his blade. Kit’s familiar footsteps came up behind him.
    “Well,” Marcus said. “That’s not good.”
    “Don’t you think so?” Kit asked. “It seems to me it might be quite a hopeful sign. Men are beginning to abandon the Antean army. And did you hear what they said to me? Cut me and burn whatever comes out? That sounds to me as if some other people within the enemy forces have begun to see that something odd is going on, and they aren’t celebrating it.”
    “That’s true,” Marcus said. “It’s not what I meant, though.”
    “No?”
    “I’m fairly sure they stole our horses.”
    “Ah,” Kit said. “That’s not good.”
    “Isn’t. You think you might be able to use those uncanny powers of yours to find us some replacements?”
    “I assume we can walk up to the city. It might take some time to earn enough to buy horses, but we can try.”
    “I was thinking more along the lines of walking up to someone on a nice horse and asking them to let us use it.”
    Kit made an uncomfortable kind of grunt and Marcus looked over at him.
    “I believe the power—her power—can become a path of corruption. An opportunity, as it were, to lose what is most valuable about ourselves.”
    “Yeah. Saving the world here, Kit,” Marcus said. “Let’s keep focus on that.”
    The old actor sighed.
    “Let me see what I can do.”
    O nce they’d reached the dragon’s road, they moved as fast as a courier, changing for fresh horses twice a day. The fields, farms, and wild places of Antea spread around them like a vast grey-brown cloak. The trees were shedding their summer green. In the fields they passed, Firstblood farmers rode on mules with whips at their sides while Timzinae men and women harvested the last of the autumn crops—pumpkins and gourds and winter wheat. Whenever they passed a low temple, the banner of the spider goddess flew from its roof. And even with all this for warning, Marcus was surprised when at last they reached Camnipol.
    Coming from the south meant that the great city stood on an escarpment above them. They went up the trails to the southern gate with only the massive walls to see. Within them, Camnipol might have been empty for all Marcus could tell. It was only when they passed through the tunnel in the wall and emerged into the wider city that the full extent of the place became clear. All around him, buildings rose two and three and four stories high. The streets were thick with people, Firstblood mostly, but