Chapter twentyThe would-be murderers moved forward deliberately. They spread out. They intended to take their time and be sure of me. They drew left-hand daggers. I felt my eyebrows drawing down at the flight of those daggers. The damned things were peakers, the assassin’s dagger. They’d been adapted for the left hand to become main gauches. Vilely unhealthy weapon, the peaker, with grooves down the blade coated with poison.
“Watch out for their main gauches, Nalgre. Poison.”
“Yes. May the Good Opaz rot their guts.”
Of the seven assassins, the two in the center looked the most likely. Big, bulky fellows, one a Rapa the other a Brokelsh, they were the leaders. The others, a mix of diffs, would take their cue from the center two and no doubt seek to dart around and backstab us.
Because I
