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"Do not be one of them," a mad but familiar voice breathed in his ear.

He cast about wildly, but saw no one. He knew the voice. Unbidden, images of Parko danced in the darkness, and he longed for the freedom to hunt and kill and feed as the need drove him.

The white face and feral laugh of his old companion followed when he started moving again. And where was Parko's body now? At the bottom of a river because some hunter put it there-the same one who now hunted him.

He heard the sound of a hammer pounding on wood and moved up quietly behind a tree. The mild inlet river gushed softly as it flowed past, and Rashed stood not far away with his own shirt off, attempting to repair the hole in the boat's hull.

Rashed's white skin was the only unnatural element of his appearance. The heavy bones of his bare shoulders and the practiced swing of his mallet seemed completely human, completely mortal. Other tools and boards lay on the ground, waiting to be used.

"Is he a true Noble Dead?" Parko's dead voice whispered in Ratboy's ear.

"No." Ratboy shook his head. He stepped back, realizing the futility of Rashed's actions, the pointless danger of remaining to fight this hunter, the regret of leaving Teesha behind.

There was no indecision, no real turmoil inside him anymore. He wasn't going back. The forest called him. He could kill along the way, steal clothes from his victims, and be true to his own nature.

One last pang of longing passed through him as he thought again of Teesha. Then he disappeared into the trees… heading north.

Even though the hole in the ship's hull was small, Hashed was beginning to realize he'd never be able to mend it himself without proper supplies-and even then it would take several nights to make her seaworthy. He'd ripped some boards from the deck and attempted to use them for hull repairs. At first the work pleased him, as it gave him something constructive to do and reminded him that he indeed controlled his own fate. Now he decided a different course of escape might be in order. If they could travel by road at night to the next town along the coastline, he could buy them passage on a ship.

He frowned. That would take money. He had counted on being able to delay concern over finances.

His thoughts turned to Teesha.

Her method of hunting did not give him cause to worry, but he still glanced backward occasionally, wishing she would appear.

Often given to admiring aesthetics, he could not help noticing the beauty and variety of forest life growing on and around the boat. Vines of purple and white, bell-shaped flowers hung down from the bow and the stern, connecting to heavy fir trees and wild lilac bushes. Even in the moonlight, glowing blankets of light green moss covered many tree trunks and roots like soft carpets. The thought of fleeing such a place only fueled his anger toward the hunter who had desecrated his current existence.

"You could have been a carpenter," said a sweet voice behind him.

He turned to see Teesha inspecting his work, which he hardly thought worthy of praise. With her dark curls falling like a blanket around her petite face and shoulders, the glorious colors of nature faded in his estimation. Nothing compared to her.

"Is the blacksmith dead?" he asked flatly, not mentioning his relief at her return.

"Yes…"

Something was wrong. He lowered his mallet and walked to her.

"What is it? Did the half-elf escape Ratboy?"

Teesha raised her chin to look him full in the face.

"I think Ratboy has left us. I felt his separation."

Rashed didn't understand, but he knew Teesha's mental abilities surpassed his own. "What do you mean?"

She reached out to touch his arm. Earlier, he'd removed his torn tunic to work with greater freedom, and the sensation of her fingers on his bare skin made him tremble.

"He is gone," she said simply. "He has followed Parko onto the Feral Path."

A sense of loss hit Rashed. It was not so much because he cared for or missed Ratboy, but more that his safe world was unraveling around him and he could not seem to rewind the skein.

But that which mattered most still stood by his side, still needed his protection. If he were capable, he would have embraced Teesha tightly and whispered comfort in her ear.

He was not. Instead, he turned halfway toward the boat and said, "So there are only two of us now?"

"And Edwan."

Yes, Edwan. Why did he always forget the ghost? "Of course," he said.

Teesha hesitated. "We still have one another. Perhaps we should see Ratboy's decision as a sign. Perhaps we, too, should forget everything here and slip away."

For a brief moment, Rashed wavered. Teesha was safe. She was with him. Perhaps they could just leave this place and disappear into the night. But then an image of the hunter flashed in his thoughts, as well as the memories of himself pulling Teesha through collapsing tunnels while his home burned over his head.

"No, that hunter dies. Then we leave. I'll kill her myself tomorrow night. You will stay here. I won't be long. I can't take the chance that she'll follow us." He gestured toward the boat. "This is not repairable with the tools and supplies I have, but I promise we'll leave here soon. I have an errand to take care of tonight. We'll need money for traveling."

She dropped her gaze and her usual facade of casual charm.

"All right," she said quietly, "but I want you to know that I'm afraid, and very little in this world frightens me."

The urge-and the inability-to comfort her became physically painful. "I won't let anything hurt you."

"That isn't what I'm afraid of."

Rashed waited outside The Velvet Rose until a tall, richly dressed patron exited the inn. Stepping from the shadows of a side alley, Rashed punched the man in the face hard enough to drop him. He stole the man's purse and then his cloak. Rashed quickly donned the cloak, making sure its hood completely hid his face. Even at this late hour, The Velvet Rose could sometimes teem with life and he did not want to be recognized.

Upon entering The Velvet Rose, he only saw three people: a maid, another patron preparing to depart, and Loni, the elf who functioned as a polite proprietor and guard. His mental abilities could handle all three. Casting out with this mind, Rashed projected a suggestion that they should ignore him, that he belonged here. Teesha was better at this, but Rashed knew how to use his abilities when necessary.

Once past the foyer and the front desk, he walked up the stairs and knocked on Ellinwood's door. There was no answer but he could sense the constable's presence inside.

He reached down and turned the knob. It wasn't locked. At his previous visit, the constable had made him welcome, so he was able to walk right in.

Upon entering, he saw Ellinwood's enormous form half lying in a damask-covered chair. The flesh around his partially open eyes was puffy and tinged with a pinkish-red hue. Drool ran down one corner of his mouth and dribbled into a wet pool on the neck of his green tunic. On the table next to him sat an empty, long-stemmed crystal glass, an urn, and a bottle of amber liquid. Rashed walked over and looked in the um. He knew of yellow opiate. In his soldiering days in the Suman empire, he'd seen enough of it in the back-alley bars and dens where the desperate gathered to sate their needs. He'd long suspected Ellinwood spent his profits on some addiction, but he'd never cared enough to seek an answer.

Disgust filled Rashed. Why should anyone mourn for these mortals when they so frequently chose to destroy themselves? And Suman opiate was dangerous. It consumed those enslaved to it. The constable would soon do anything to acquire more.

"Wake up," Rashed ordered.

Ellinwood's eyes fluttered several times before opening completely. He was dazed and incoherent at first. Then his expression cleared. As the sight of Rashed registered, confusion was replaced by shock.