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Page 476
gave a convulsive shudder. Red appeared on the knife blade. The corpse slid its sword over the side of the litter and sat up briskly and then got to its feet. Muffled sounds came from behind the hand that held the master of the guard's mouth. Sir Giles chuckled.
''Mary help me," Simon groaned softly. "It is harder to lie stiff and still than to fight all day. Bring the torch here." He gestured and the prisoner was turned toward him. He shook his head. "He knows me, but I do not know him. You need not die," he said directly to the man, "if you will obey me. I am the rightful master here, as you must know. I do not think anyone will hear you if you shout, but if you raise your voice, you will die. Very well, Rolf, let go his mouth."
Simon's master-at-arms, garbed somewhat uncomfortably in the messenger's clothing, relaxed his grip, but his knife hand pricked his captive in warning.
"Where are Lady Alinor's men?" Simon asked.
"Down below." Far from shouting, the reply was scarcely more than a whisper. The man's eyes flickered from the blood-clotted garments to the strange gray waxen expressionlessness of Simon's face. He knew there were men you could not kill. The strong spirit held the dead body to its task, and such spirits could make slaves of living men. He was shuddering convulsively.
"Are they guarded? By how many?" Simon asked.
"No. No guards."
It was probably true. What need for guards when escape was through a four-inch-thick, iron-bound door opening into a stairwell that led into a Great Hall filled with enemies.
"The men first," Simon said after a moment's struggle with himself. Every fiber of him cried out to go to Alinor at once, but he knew they might need the extra men-at-arms should they be discovered.
The master of the guard whimpered like a sick child. His eyes, bulging as if they would fall from his head,

 
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