One of the men stuck out a muddy boot, tripping him. The three men laughed heartily, as if the sight of Caledan sprawling on the floor were a great joke.
“This fellow thinks he’s too good for our establishment,” one of the traders said coarsely.
“I think you’re right, Goris,” another agreed.
“Maybe if he had a little less gold in his purse, he wouldn’t feel so damn superior,” the third trader growled.
The three men advanced, clenching their meaty hands into fists. The other patrons in the tavern studiously looked away. Caledan would get no help from them.
“I’m warning you,” he said hoarsely. “Leave me alone. For your own good.”
The trader called Goris let out a mirthful bellow. “You hear that, men? He’s concerned for our well-being.” He loomed over Caledan. “I’ll tell you the best thing for my own good, worm. It would be to take all your gold, and then smash your ugly face to a pulp. How’s that sound?”
Rage blossomed in Caledan’s chest. Desperately, he tried to suppress it, but it was already too late. He felt the first dark stirring deep inside. The other had sensed his anger. It was waking.
“Please,” Caledan whispered urgently. “Please listen to me. Your lives are in danger. You’ve got to go. Now.”
Goris spat in disgust. He gestured to the other two. “Come on, men! Hold him down while I break a few of his fingers for fun.”
The three men lunged for Caledan, but their hands never reached their target.
“I warned you,” Caledan whispered sadly.
Suddenly, he felt himself swept away on a surging flood of power. Shadowy, bestial shapes sprang from the dim corners of the tent. The air was filled with the sounds of ripping canvas and splintering wood—or were they the sounds of ripping flesh and splintering bone? Caledan was only dimly aware of the bedlam. The hysterical shrieks of the three men seemed to come from a far distance before they were abruptly cut off. As the dark storm swirled around him, Caledan huddled on the ground, curling himself into a tight ball. He rocked back and forth, muttering four words again and again, as if they were a charm that could keep him from drowning.
“I will not forget. I will not forget. I will not forget …”
“He’s been here, all right,” Cormik said with a low whistle of amazement.
Mari could only nod. There was little left of the tent besides a shallow crater littered with a few tatters of greasy canvas and a handful of wood scraps. According to the rumors Jewel and Cormik had overheard, seven people had been slain in the tent’s destruction two nights before. Most versions of the story claimed that the cause had been a bolt of lightning or a freak cyclone. The companions knew better. The tent’s main pole still stood in the center of the blasted crater, the thick shaft grotesquely twisted. Seared into the wood were the shapes of a hundred bulbous, staring eyes. Mari wondered how the local folk explained that.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” she said finally. “Let’s find out if there’s still a market in this town. We need supplies.”
It was three days since the companions had left Triel behind. Outside Lord Elvar’s walled town, Kellen had once again conjured shadows of the past, and they learned Caledan had ventured north, following the Trade Way. They rode hard on his trail, trying to make up for lost time.
As they traveled down the road they twice heard bloodthirsty cries above and glanced up to see three dark specks circling high in the sky. The shadevari. Both times the companions had plunged into the thick bracken beside the road, and Morhion had cast a spell that concealed them with a magical dome. The dome acted as a mirror, reflecting the surrounding trees and brush. Twice they waited in terror for the claws of the shadowsteeds to pierce the magical dome and slice them to ribbons. And twice, after what seemed an agonizing eternity, the hideous cries receded.
Now they guided their mounts through the twisting, muddy warren of makeshift tents and shacks. The population of Soubar had been dwindling with the waning days of autumn, and the violent incident two nights ago had begun a mass exodus. Everywhere merchants and traders were packing their wagons and heading for winter bases. Still, there were hundreds of tents in the squalid encampment, and soon they discovered a bustling market in the town’s center.
“We may be able to uncover a few more tidbits about Stiletto here,” Jewel suggested. She turned to Cormik. “Shall we do a little scouting, love?”
The big crime lord frowned. “Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”
“What’s the matter with a little niceness now and then?” Jewel replied a bit too sweetly.
“Nothing,” Cormik grumbled, “except when it’s used to draw attention away from the dagger one’s holding behind one’s back.”
“Really, Cormik,” she scolded him. “Have I ever given you cause to be so suspicious of me?”
“Frankly, yes.”
“Oh, very well!” she said, throwing up her arms in exasperation. “I’ll promise to dispense with all semblance of niceness, you mistrustful old walrus. Will that make you happy?”
He grinned at her. “Very happy.”
The two tied their horses to a hitching post and quickly disappeared into the throng. Mari, Morhion, and Kellen hitched their horses as well.
“I am going to see if there is an herbalist in the market,” Morhion said. “I require some ingredients for my spells. Kellen, would you like to accompany me?”
“Yes,” the boy replied earnestly.
“I’ll go see if I can buy some supplies for the road,” Mari told them. “Let’s meet back here in an hour.” She whispered into her mount’s ear. “Farenth, keep an eye on the other horses, will you?” The chestnut gelding nickered softly, and by that she knew he understood.
Mari watched as Morhion and Kellen wended their way through the market. It was clear from the way he gazed up at the taller man that Kellen worshiped the mage. Why should he not? Morhion was intelligent, powerful, and of noble bearing. Mari supposed she worshiped him a bit herself. Not for the first time, she thought how grateful she was that he had accompanied her on this journey. She could not have done all this without him. True, the mage could be distant at times, even cold. Yet Mari considered him a close friend, ever since the night he had told her of the terrible pact he had forged to save Caledan’s life—a secret he had never shared with anyone else. Mari realized that she and Morhion had something else in common now, for she had made her own sacrifice for Caledan by becoming a renegade Harper.
Oddly buoyed by this thought, Mari set off to complete her tasks. She returned to the horses an hour later to find Morhion and Kellen waiting for her. They helped her pack the foodstuffs she had bought—in small quantities at outrageous prices—into their saddlebags. Just as they finished, Jewel and Cormik reappeared. The two seemed both excited and agitated.
“What is it?” Mari asked. “Did you find out something about Stiletto?”
“As a matter of fact, we did,” Cormik replied, glancing around nervously.
“More than we expected,” Jewel added. “Er, we may want to get going and talk about this elsewhere.”
“Why?” Morhion asked darkly. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing, really,” Cormik replied, fidgeting with his numerous rings. “It’s just that we finally learned where Stiletto’s base of operations is located, and—”
“Where?” Mari interrupted him excitedly.
Before Cormik could answer, the crowd suddenly parted around them. Out of nowhere, a dozen figures materialized, each clad in black and bearing a brightly polished saber. With astonishing swiftness, the men in black encircled the companions. Mari swore. They were surrounded.
“Let me guess,” she whispered harshly. “Stiletto’s hideout is here in Soubar?”