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Page 477
were fixed upon Simon's mouth, where the gray flesh around the bluish lips was cracking. Both lips and cheeks looked rotted, as if they would begin to fall away and expose the grinning jaws of a skeleton. The man was no coward. He had fought in more than one battle. But to face the walking dead was more than he could bear.
"Hugo," Simon said to another of the men-at-arms, "into his clothes. You are close to his size."
The exchange was swiftly made and they bound and gagged the terrified creature and left him. The torch was doused and the eight men crept up the outer stair. Hugo stepped into the Great Hall cautiously, turned right toward the stairwell of the keep as Simon had bid him. Once he stumbled over the feet of a man asleep on a pallet and was cursed. Hugo replied angrily in a harsh whisper that he supposed the sleeper never pissed, and was cursed again but in a sleepy unsuspicious voice. The other men, forewarned, tiptoed carefully around the extended feet. In the stairwell all stopped to breathe and wipe the sweat from their brows. After the first turn of the stair shielded them from the Hall, they paused while Rolf extracted flint and tinder from a pouch and lighted the torch again.
There was no trouble finding Beorn and his ten men-at-arms or releasing them from their confinement. Beorn was nearly insane between rage and shame at having been caught unaware. He began to explain, apologize, and ask about his mistress all at once, but Simon cut him off.
"No blame to you in a keep where you have been welcomed with honesty so often, and there is no time for talk now."
Beorn, having come closer, gasped suddenly. "My lord, my lord, you are sore wounded!" He put out an arm, as if to catch Simon if he should fall.
Sir Giles laughed again. "If I lose my keep, I can have employment as a dresser to traveling players.

 
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