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."
Those with him muttered their assent. "Why don't you two
just head on back to wherever it is you came from?"
Nikol shifted restlessly; her armor jingled, her sword
clanked. The man turned, looked at her with drunken
interest.
"That steel I hear?" The man took a step nearer Nikol.
Reaching out a filthy hand, he caught hold of her by the
chin, wrenched her face to the light. "You look as if you've
noble blood in you, boy. Don't he, fellas? Not some noble's
son, by any chance? With a fat purse?"
"Let go of me," said Nikol through clenched teeth. "Or
you're a dead man."
"Please," said Michael, trying to come between them,
"we don't want any trouble - "
But he only made matters worse. His staff caught on
Nikol's cloak, dragged the fabric aside. The shining
breastplate she wore glittered in the sun.
"A knight hisself!" The man howled in glee. "Look,
fellas. Look what I've caught! I'm gonna have a little fun.' "
He drew a long dagger from his belt. "Let's see if your
blood does run yellow - "
Nikol thrust her sword into the man, yanked it out
before he or his drunken companions knew what had
happened. The man stared at her in blank astonishment,
then groaned and toppled to the ground. A pool of blood
spread beneath him. The sight sobered up his friends, who
growled in anger. Some drew knives; one wielded a
blackthorn cudgel. Michael whirled his staff. Nikol set her
back to his, her sword, red with blood, swinging in a slow
arc.
The men made a half-hearted show of attacking
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