“I… I… I don’t know what you are,” Rikali stammered, “but you ain’t no common thief.”
“Not common for certain,” Elsbeth retorted as her knife cut through a sleeve and deep into the halfelf’s upper arm. “Maybe Gertie’s right. Maybe I should stop playing with you and end this farce!
But I don’t want to hurt you too badly. You’re not human and could be worth good coin.”
“Pigs! Pigs on you!” Rikali’s arm was numb, and she cursed again when her dagger slipped from her fingers. Her dress sleeve was dark with blood. “You cut me good that time, you lousy… lousy… whatever you are!” The half-elf darted left, then spun forward and right. The move took Elsbeth by surprise, and she retreated.
Rikali raced to the end of Dhamon’s bed, turned, and brought her remaining dagger down hard on the rope that bound one of Dhamon’s ankles. Two more quick moves and she’d cut it enough for him to break free. She hurried to the far side of the bed and hacked at the rope binding the other ankle. Broken glass from the mirror covered the floor here, but Elsbeth was no longer slow to follow.
The big woman charged across the room, crying out as the glass cut into the bottoms of her feet. The half-elf barely turned to meet her in time, bringing up the dagger to block Elsbeth’s knife. Elsbeth stepped closer and jabbed at her, swung her around and forced her toward the window. Dhamon broke away from the bed, smashing the headboard. It took him three attempts to sit up. The room was spinning, but he was able to get a good look at the half-elf now. He noticed how different she looked. She used to wear overly tight clothes. Now she wore an ample dress that fell to her ankles. Her face used to be painted—lips, eyes, cheeks, eyelashes thick with kohl—all of it in sharp contrast to her pale skin. Now she wasn’t wearing any makeup, and her face had a softness, almost a fragility to it, like a ceramic doll. Her hair was the same, a mass of silvery-white curls that fanned away, but there was less of it, falling only to her shoulders.
“C’mon,” he told himself. “Get up.” His feet were suddenly on the floor, and he was standing. The dark blurs came into focus. He could make out the window and a glow, tiny, which he recognized as a candle. Lantern light spilled through the open door.
Dhamon heard a woman gasp. Rikali?
“I could use some help here, Dhamon, Mal!” came the reply. “I didn’t know women could fight so well!”
Neither did I, Dhamon thought. Though his head was still muddled, he saw that Elsbeth was still fighting Rikali. Gertie was struggling on the floor with the young man. Maldred had made it to his knees and was twirling his fingers in the air. Casting a spell, Dhamon knew. Dhamon reached behind him, to the broken bedpost where he’d hung Wyrmsbane, finding nothing. A part of him remembered that the Ergothian named Satin had taken the sword, and that she was no longer here. He swore softly as he tugged free a board of wood to use as a weapon. Dhamon shuffled forward and raised his makeshift club, bringing it down with as much strength as he could summon and soundly clipping Elsbeth’s shoulder. Unfazed, the whore continued to press the half-elf toward the window.
“Help Varek!” Riki shouted. “That bitch is gonna kill Varek! Dhamon!”
“Varek?” Dhamon glanced down at the floor. Gertie had her hands around the young man’s throat. His face was red, and his eyes were bulging wide. Dhamon swayed back and forth on his feet as he took a step toward the pair. He raised the makeshift club and watched the room spin around him. Several feet away Maldred continued his spell. In his half-drugged state, the enchantment came slowly for him, but he refused to give up. He concentrated on his fingers, which were becoming warmer—comfortably warmer at first, then almost painfully so.
“I don’t want to hurt you, woman,” Maldred said, trying to get Gertie’s attention, “but I can’t let you just kill that young man.”
She ignored him.
“I’m warning you…” Maldred continued, aiming his fingers at the woman. She dug her nails harder into the young man’s throat.
“That’s it.” Maldred released his enchantment. Streaks of fire flashed toward her, striking her in the chest and stomach.
She didn’t react, so he sent another fiery volley. This got her attention, and she released her grip, stumbled to her feet, starting toward Maldred. Her scant clothes were smoking, the skin beneath charred from the magical assault.
“I’d give up if I were you,” Maldred said. The young man she’d been throttling gasped for air and rubbed his throat. “Stay where you are. Woman, don’t you listen?”
He shook his head and spread his hands wide, mouthing a string of words in Ogrish. A sheet of flame shot from his hands. It struck the thief at waist level, and in an instant she was engulfed, writhing and screaming in a deep, harsh voice that sent chill waves down Maldred’s back. Maldred forced himself to his feet just in time, as she fell forward onto his broken bed, still writhing, the fire spreading to the sheets. In a few steps Maldred was at Varek’s side, extending a hand and helping him up. At the same time, he steadied Dhamon.
“Room’s burning,” Maldred said.
“Aye, we better get out of here,” Dhamon’s words were still slurred, his tongue thick, but his head was a little clearer, and when he shook it, he was happy to note the room was now stable.
“Riki?” The word cracked from the young man’s mouth. “Where’s Riki?”
Dhamon and Maldred glanced about. There was no sign of the half-elf. Elsbeth was gone as well.
“Must’ve already cleared out,” Dhamon said. “She knows when to run.”
Maldred shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He pointed to the window, where the curtains fluttered, their edges tinged with blood. There was more blood on the sill. “I saw them near the window.”
Oblivious to the spreading flames, the big man snatched up his trousers and struggled into them as he stumbled toward the window and stuck his head out.
“Nothing,” he said after a moment. “No sign of them.”
“The wenches had this well planned,” Dhamon said. “They drugged us, robbed us, and were going to kill us.”
“Riki saved you.” This came from the young man. “You two’d be dead if she hadn’t come here. We must find her.”
Dhamon glanced at the stranger but didn’t reply. He had the looks of a woodsman, dressed in a green leather tunic and thigh-high boots, with leggings that were a darker shade of green. His hair was thin and blond, falling straight to his jawline, and his eyes were an odd color, a gray the shade of ashes.
“Gotta get out of here,” Maldred said, pushing himself away from the window, nudging Dhamon and the woodsman toward the door. The fire had spread to the remains of the bed frames and had started to lap up the wall. “Gotta get out now. Then we’ll worry about Riki.” He grabbed his boots and tunic in one hand, then with the other tugged until his sword came loose from the wall.
“Riki,” the young man persisted. “We have to find my wife.” He edged by the two surprised men and started down the stairs.
“Wife?” Dhamon asked to the stranger’s back. There was no answer, and he put away the thought for the moment. “Maybe she went after the big wench,” he suggested to Maldred. “Out the window, but more likely out this door. Those women… there was something not right about them.”
“Riki wouldn’t have climbed out a window in her condition,” the young man said over his shoulder, “and she wouldn’t have chased after any of those women.”
“She was wounded,” Maldred agreed. “I don’t think she went anywhere on her own.” The big man coughed as the smoke started to billow out of the room. He brushed by Dhamon and took the stairs two at a time. “We’ll find her.”