Digan gulped. Quick as a cat, he dove under the big man's arm, making a break for the open street. They were on him before he cleared the alleyway. This time, he hadn't been caught by surprise and pinned from behind. Digan fought like a madman, and two of the men were already out of the fray before a third suddenly uttered a surprised moan and collapsed to the damp cobblestones of the street in a crumpled heap. The burly spokesman whirled around suspiciously, and a second slingstone thudded into his shoulder. The big man howled with outraged pain, and made a grab for Digan. Stones continued to pelt the remaining beggars, falling with cool accuracy, and Digan did his best to aid his unseen benefactor with his fists, dancing back out of the ruffian's reach.
Finally, blood streaming down the side of his face from a sharp rock's kiss, the leader barked an order to his remaining men, and they took to their heels.
Digan sat heavily on the damp pavement, nursing the knuckles of his right hand. "You might as well come out," he called dully. "You'll get the whole reward now, I suppose."
"What?! You mean the great Mordigan Bryre is surrendering to the likes of me?" The low-pitched call mocked Digan from the shadows of a nearby alleyway.
"With an aim like that I'm not likely to evade you, and I'm too tired to fight any more. What are you waiting for? Let's just get the whole thing over with." Digan started to push himself off the ground, then froze as a slight shadow detached itself from the darkness and glided closer. He frowned, trying to make out his rescuer's identity. "Do I know you, boy?"
The newcomer cocked his head in the pale light given off by the rising moon. "Aye, Mordigan Bryre, though I doubt you'd remember. I'm not one of your fancy friends with their uppity ways…but you knew me once."
Something about the tilt of the boy's head was familiar, and suddenly the memory came… It was nearly two years gone since Digan had caught Payter menacing a ragged urchin by holding his head under the water of the fountain in the square. Digan had pulled Payter off his victim and threatened to tan the bully's hide if he didn't leave off torturing the smaller boy. Payter had claimed to have caught the lad lifting his purse and allowed that he had the right to punish the thief. Digan had replied by deriding the need to drown a boy a foot shorter and twenty pounds lighter in order to retrieve sixpence. The other boys lounging nearby had laughed at Payter, who had retreated from the scene with angry scowls and mumbled threats. The incident was one of the chief causes of the bad blood between Digan and the shop boy, who hated being thwarted-especially in front of his peers. At the time, the urchin had solemnly promised to repay the kindness one day, but Digan had waved away his gratitude.
"It seems you pay your debts with uncanny timing," Digan smiled now, rising to his feet and automatically dusting the seat of his leggings. "Now, it is I who owe you, my friend-?" He put a note of inquiry into his expressive voice as he held out a hand, and the other, hesitating shyly for a moment, shook it.
"Gauston Sayre…so they say," the boy offered, with an enigmatic shrug. "You must leave here at once. The Beggar King will not be the only one searching for you-or the only one to find you. I can show you a safe way out of town."
