The Last Knight
“His long sticks flashing, his tall, athletic body unbelievably lithe and controlled, he charged down the hill from the church of Saint Sulpice, a circle of laughing, excited children darting around his stick-extended legs like ragged brown bumblebees about a giant yellow-and-red flower. Behind him came Benno the Lute Player, his white mask a frozen grin of black thread on coarse linen, his cold-numbed hands working hard to coax a tune from the battered old lute.
Look at that, said the you...nger of the two guards at the River Gate. Now, that's one way to stay out of the mud. But the other guard, wet and chilled and foul-tempered after a long night spent chasing shadows across the rooftops of Laval, simply grunted and retreated farther beneath the sheltering archway of the gate.
Hey, Benno, called the younger guard, bobbing up and down on his toes to keep warm.
The lute player, looking dumpier than ever in his ill-fitting yellow-and-red tunic, spun about to face the guard and froze.MoreLess
Look at that, said the you...nger of the two guards at the River Gate. Now, that's one way to stay out of the mud. But the other guard, wet and chilled and foul-tempered after a long night spent chasing shadows across the rooftops of Laval, simply grunted and retreated farther beneath the sheltering archway of the gate.
Hey, Benno, called the younger guard, bobbing up and down on his toes to keep warm.
The lute player, looking dumpier than ever in his ill-fitting yellow-and-red tunic, spun about to face the guard and froze.MoreLess
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