I put my hand on my sword hilt, chewed my lower lip. I had found Foster ... but it wouldn't do me—or Vallon—much good. He was on his way to the dungeons, to be walled up until the next Change. And it would be three months before I could legally make another try for Qohey's place. After seeing him in action I was glad I hadn't tried today. He wouldn't have needed any net to handle me.
I would have to spend the next three months working on my swordplay, and hope Foster could hold out. Maybe I could sneak a message—
A heavy blow on the back sent me spinning. Four bodyguards moved to ring me in, clubs in hand. They were strangers to me, but across the room I saw Torbu looming, looking my way....
"I saw him; he started to pull that fancy sword," said one of the guards.
"He was asking me questions—"
"Unbuckle it and drop it," another ordered me. "Don't try anything!"
"What's this all about?" I said. "I have a right to wear a Ceremonial Sword at an Audience—"
"Move in, boys!" The four men stepped toward me, the clubs came up. I warded off a smashing blow with my left arm, took a blinding crack across the face, felt myself going down—another blow, and another: killing ones....
Then I was aware of being dragged, endlessly, of voices barking sharp questions, of pain.... After a long time it was dark, and silent, and I slept.