At the end of the block, Snail Street curled east and south. At that juncture, a street from the west-Fish Street, named for its vendors, the finest place for a stringer of the morning catch-met Snail Street. It was a broad intersection, much wider than…
Gods, Araezra realized. "Tal! Tal, ware!"
Shadowbane ran across the roof and leaped-soaring like nothing human-all the way to the other side. The roof was lower there, and he barely caught the edge. Araezra saw him land and roll, and he looked back ar his hunter.
"Tal!" she screamed. "Stop!"
Too late.
Talanna reached the edge of the building and leaped, and for one heart-wrenching moment, Araezra thought she might make it.
Then she slammed into the edge of the opposite building at chest height, and rebounded to plunge into the open Fish Street, where a few men with their nets were passing. Araezra could only watch, heart frozen, as her friend tumbled like a discarded doll toward the ground.
Then she slowed, and drifted down gently like a fluffy cottonwood seed. Araezra realized Tal was wearing Neverember's ring-the ring the Open Lord had given her to mock her name.
"Tal!" Araezra shrieked, and she pushed herself forward. She slammed into a fisherman rounding the corner, and they both rolled on the wet, grimy cobbles.
Talanna settled gently to the ground and lay there, unmoving.
Araezra cursed, forced herself up, and hobbled to Talanna. She fumbled for a healing potion in her belt, only to prick her half-numb fingers on a shard of glass. Her belt was damp and she realized her potions had broken somewhere in their hectic flight.
The hairs rose on Araezra's neck as Shadowbane dropped next to her, his cloak billowing wide. Two throwing knives-Araezra recognized them as Talanna's-stuck out of his shoulder and forearm, but he appeared not to feel them. Blue smoke wafted from his feet- the remnants of whatever magic he'd used to run that fast and leap that far. His cold eyes gleamed at her-seemingly colorless in the moonlight-then at Talanna. Those eyes looked somehow familiar, but in her terror for her friend, Araezra did not care.
"Away!" Araezra shrieked, falling to her knees at Talanna's side. "It's your fault! Away!"
Shadowbane put up a hand to silence her.
Araezra recoiled as though slapped. How dare he-how dare he treat her like a child! She remembered Talanna's adamantine dagger in her hand and she lunged forward, driving it toward Shadowbane. He twisted his arm around hers, ignoring the wound along his forearm, and dealt her wrist a slap with his other hand. The dagger clattered to the street.
Then he twisted Araezra's arm, driving her to het knees. His eyes gleamed down at her. He could break her wrist without resistance.
Instead, to Araezra's surprise, he let go. She scrabbled back a pace, cradling her wrist. It didn't seem broken, or even to have suffered serious harm.
Shadowbane bent over Talanna, spreading his hands wide.
"What are you doing?" Araezra demanded. She drew Shadowbane's sword-the only weapon she had left-but the hilt burned her hand and she dropped the blade to the ground. It lay, smoldering bright silver, on the cobblestones.
Shadowbane laid his hands upon Talanna's unmoving chest.
Araezra watched, stunned, as white light flared within his fingers and spread inro Talanna. The red-haired woman's eyes fluttered and she curled into a pained ball, coughing.
Shadowbane rose and faced Araezra. She tried to meet his eyes, but he looked away-toward his sword. She stepped protectively before it, daring him to attack.
The man hesitated only a moment, then leaped away into the night.
"Gods, Tal!" Araezra knelt beside her friend and hugged her.
"Geh… almost… almost made it, eh?" Talanna said. "That jump?"
Then her eyes closed and she moaned, consciousness leaving her.
They were beneath the eaves of the Knight 'n Shadow, Araezra realized. She saw folk standing in the street around them, surprise and concern on their faces.
In particular, a half-elf lady with red hair caught Araezra's eye. She was dressed elegantly in a crimson half-cloak over a gold-chased green doublet, and was staring at them intently. Of all the onlookers, she was the only one who didn't look up. Araezra found her gray eyes unnerving. The woman turned away and disappeared into the tavern.
Araezra cradled Talanna tightly. "Help!" she cried. "Someone help!"
A chill rain began to fall.
NINE
Cellica was stirring the simmer stew from the eve before, reflecting that it might require a few more herbs, when she heard a thump near her tallhouse window.
Leaving the long wooden ladle in the pot on the fire, she turned toward the sound and saw the latch on the window rise-pushed up by a blade slipped between the shutters. She touched the crossbow-shaped medallion at her throat and waited silently.
The blade teased the latch up, bit by bit, until finally it scraped open. Then the shutter pushed inward and a man in a torn gray cloak tumbled through with a crash. He had clearly been leaning on the window from without, as though injured or weak.
Releasing the nervous breath she had held, Cellica rushed to his side, heedless of the rain blowing inside.
"Are you hurt?" she asked. She ran her hands over his chest and scowled at the knives standing out of his shoulder and his left arm. They stuck mostly in leather, she saw, but there was blood, too. "What passed?"
"You locked the window," Shadowbane said. "I couldn't-" He coughed harshly.
"It was raining. I guess I didn't think," said the halfling. "Curse it, you used your healing on someone else-you fool. How many times have I told you? If you need it, you need it." She grasped his helm. "Here. Let me-"
Without meaning it, she let compulsion slip into her voice, but he resisted her influence. He shoved her hands away, then wrenched the helm off by himself. Cellica glimpsed a little blood in the mouth guard before he cast the helmet away to crash, with several loud bangs, off the wall and floor. It rolled to the corner and stopped.
"I can't-I just can't." Shadowbane put his hands to his face as though he would weep. "I made a mistake, Cele. I didn't… I didn't mean anyone to be hurt."
"Aye." Cellica didn't know what had taken place, but she recognized the despair in his voice. "I'm sure you did whar you could, Kalen."
His colorless eyes gazed at her, wet. He started coughing and retching then, and she could barely hold him up. He'd pushed himself, she knew-running and fighting and leaping. Magic boots or no, strengthening spellscar or no, a man was not meant to push so hard.
"Rest, now," Cellica said. "All's well. All's well."
She could feel his body relax as it bent to her will. Whatever god had blessed her voice with a touch of command, she thanked the fates.
As Kalen coughed and trembled, she held him as she had since they had been children on Luskan's cruel streets. When he'd been hurt or she'd woken with night terrors, they'd embraced each other like this-brother and sister, though not by blood.
After a while, Cellica spoke again. "You don't have to do this," she whispered.
He shook his head and limped to the table. "We'll talk come morn," he said.
"It is morn," Cellica said. He sighed. "Highsun, then."
Cellica gently tugged the knives free and unbuckled Kalen's armor. His thick chest and shoulders swarmed with scars from years of this sort of activity. He wore as much blood as sweat.
"These are bad," Cellica said. "I could fetch a priest, and-"
"No," Kalen said. "Only needle and thread."
She shivered. Of course he wouldn't want magical healing. He wanted the scars to remind him-as though he deserved them. One scar for every drop of innocent blood. Cellica shivered.