Beside him, Brot’ân’duivé crouched with an assembled anmaglâhk short bow in hand. The greimasg’äh had not possessed such upon leaving their homeland. Osha did not ask from where the bow had come. There could be no doubt: from the dead body of an anmaglâhk.
The shadow-gripper drew a short arrow from behind his back and underneath his cloak. The arrow had a Chein’âs white metal point, like all other anmaglâhk tools.
Osha turned his attention to the southern marketplace below.
“Wynn, Shade, and il’Sänke should be in place,” Brot’ân’duivé said. “Magiere and the others will come soon. Take your position and be certain you can see both me and the house at all times.”
Osha remained silent but did not care to take orders from Brot’ân’duivé. The night had already been difficult, and he was on edge.
Before leaving the domin’s hidden sanctuary, Magiere and Chap pressed for Wayfarer to remain behind. Osha had agreed that she would be far safer that way, but Wayfarer became visibly terrified at the thought of being left alone—should no one return. Yet she was equally frightened by the prospect of a battle with an undead specter and possibly imperial guards.
Osha hated the thought of leaving her behind, but Magiere—and Chap through her—argued that Wayfarer had no way to defend herself. The others would be too engaged to protect her at all times. Osha could not argue with that logic, but he also could not help dwelling upon Wayfarer alone in that shabby tenement.
For fear of revealing his turmoil, he now kept his eyes downcast.
Once more, his role would be to stand on a rooftop with a bow in his hand. He wanted to protect Wynn—and Shade and the others—but his part in their efforts began to feel cowardly.
It was not prideful to admit he was now good with the bow, as he had worked for that. But any men down below threatening those he protected stood little chance against a skilled archer up above them.
“Did you hear me?” Brot’ân’duivé asked. “Take your position.”
Osha did not look at the greimasg’äh. He turned away and rose, preparing for the leap to the next rooftop.
“One more thing,” Brot’ân’duivé said.
Osha froze without looking back.
“Putting down a guard is not enough,” Brot’ân’duivé continued. “He will still be dangerous and able to call attention from the others. One shot per target—one to finish that purpose completely.”
Osha did not flinch, but his revulsion grew for Brot’ân’duivé ... the tainted greimasg’äh.
“I will be certain that my ... targets ... will not endanger anyone,” Osha answered.
He rushed the rooftop’s edge and leaped before Brot’ân’duivé could say more.
Magiere slipped quietly through the streets with Leesil and Chap. She and Leesil were both cloaked with their hoods up in preparation for the moment to reveal themselves. Her sheathed falchion was strapped on, and her Chein’âs dagger was lashed in its sheath at her lower back. Leesil wore both winged punching blades strapped to his thighs, and she knew he had at least one anmaglâhk stiletto up his left sleeve.
Chap’s weapons, as ever, were his teeth and claws, the awareness of a majay-hì, and a natural ability to sense an undead—one that matched Magiere’s own.
Crossing a city in the dark was nothing new to them. They’d done so together countless times. What was new was the heavily cloaked vampire walking a few paces ahead—and not just any undead, but one of the most bloodthirsty monsters Magiere had ever put down.
Years ago, back in Bela, Chane had left a string of brutalized bodies in his wake.
Had someone told Magiere she’d ever willingly allow Chane to lead her anywhere, she’d have pounded the witless snarker unconscious. And the only reason she followed Chane this night was the hope that he would lead her to something she wanted to kill even more than him: the one who had made her helpless.
She wasn’t helpless anymore.
“We are almost there,” Chane rasped without looking back.
That nearly voiceless voice reminded Magiere of when she’d taken his head, and yet he’d come back again. His hands were gloved, and inside his hood he wore a leather mask. Around his neck hung a pair of metal-framed glasses with lenses so dark they looked black. Wynn carried the same for whenever she used that new staff with the long crystal atop it, so it was obvious why Chane was so covered up.
So he would survive that same crystal and its light like the sun.
This only made Magiere more aware of how much Wynn and Chane had been through together, about how much they had accomplished. Another orb had been recovered.
Thankfully he still wore his “ring of nothing,” as he called it. Otherwise, Magiere and Chap would both be distracted in sensing what he really was.
“You all right?” Leesil whispered.
“Yes,” she answered.
But every time she thought of that gray-robed and -cowled figure who had tortured her without a single touch, she grew cold inside to the point of being numb.
She wanted the fire in her guts again. She wanted hunger and rage, even to the rush and risk of those overwhelming her. She wanted what had been taken from her. In that, she might need Chane as well. At least in thinking on him she could feel the hunger that fed her strength.
—We will ... destroy ... the specter—
As these words surfaced in her mind, she almost stopped. Perhaps Chap had done it unconsciously, but there was a sharp, determined tone to the memory-words he’d called up. He sounded almost as driven and obsessive as she felt.
“Yes,” she answered him as well.
Ahead, the street emptied into a large open marketplace, all quiet in the predawn darkness. So far, they hadn’t spotted a single imperial or city guard, and she wasn’t sure exactly what that meant.
Chane halted and pointed ahead with one gloved hand. “There, up the next block. Are you ready?”
Magiere settled a hand on her falchion’s hilt, even knowing she needed nothing but her hands and teeth.
Ghassan stood behind a shed between two houses across the street from the one he had chosen. Though the sky was still dark, dawn was not far off. When he peeked around the shed’s corner, Wynn did so as well, for she was so short he could see over the top of her hooded head when she crouched a little. And in her hand was the staff, its sun crystal at his eye level and unsheathed.
When he had made that for her, he had not known how useful it would be. He also knew that others had been made as a last means for dealing with Khalidah, and yet everyone of his sect had died but him.
He had never learned how that could have happened. He had seen only their lifeless eyes staring upward where they lay. Every crystal in the sect’s subterranean sanctuary had been shattered within the chest that contained them. There had been no resources, let alone the time to make more before he fled that place.
Shade stood attentive and pressed up against Wynn, shoulder to thigh. Every now and then she uttered a half whine.
“What is wrong with her?” Ghassan asked.
“She’s just ... overprotective when she thinks I’m going to do something dangerous.”
He raised an eyebrow. “With your penchant for trouble, she must be continuously distressed.”
Wynn’s head turned upward. Whatever irritated sharp look she gave him was not clearly visible in the dark. When she looked away, and he was about to do the same, she jabbed her elbow into his side.
Scowling, Ghassan had no chance to protest.
“Look!” she whispered.
A glint of gold caught his eye. He spotted two imperial guards stepping into view from a side street. They entered the market, briefly looked about, and turned back the way they had come.