Tarscenian paused. Then he sank to his knees and pre shy;tended to look for something on the walkway. His hands plunged into his cloak to search through his pouches.
"Hurry, hurry," he whispered to himself. Soon he was using blood-red sand to outline a fish on the boards of the walkway. Another fish, the size of his hand, joined the first, and then another. "Pesqi d'armotage, oberit getere," he murmured. A shout rang out below. Tarscen shy;ian hurried to finish. "Getilin ornest gadillio dehist."
"There he is! Up there!" a man's voice shouted from below.
"Pesqi d'armotage, oberit getere. Getilin ornest gadillio dehist!" Tarscenian finished the chant, then used both hands to whirl the sand figures into oblivion. The guards' shouts below turned into oaths as Tarscenian's spell overturned six carts full of slippery fish and water between the guards and their prey.
Most of Dahos's men lost their footing amid the flop shy;ping fish and cursed loudly. A few goblins, unhampered by hard footwear, made it to the steps. But Tarscenian was already on his feet and racing away to the north.
After several months of Seeker reign, Solace residents were used to fugitives fleeing along the wooden walks in front of their treetop homes. They stayed invisible behind their doors, assisting no one.
This walkway connected with another. Tarscenian chose the path that would take him northwest toward the lake. This area contained only homes, no shops or open markets. It was deserted now. Ropes were laced from branch to branch, many of them draped with dry shy;ing clothes.
Tarscenian glanced back. A hobgoblin was thirty paces behind him, two goblins following.
Three temple guards stood fifty paces ahead, pikes set on the wooden boards of the walkway, smiles broad under their helms. His pursuers had him cornered, fifty feet above the ground.
Tarscenian could see the lowering sun glittering on Crystalmir Lake behind the guards. The lake was but a short distance away, yet it might as well have been leagues distant for all the good it did him now.
To add annoyance, some Solace housewife had stretched her laundry across the walkway. Tarscenian was forced to slap aside dripping shirts, socks, and bed shy;ding as he watched the guards and goblins edge for shy;ward. The sheets flapped like huge wings.
"Wings!" Tarscenian said suddenly. Did he know a fly shy;ing spell? He drew his sword to worry the approaching foes. "A flying spell," he hissed. "Think, Tarscenian! By the Old Gods, if only Ancilla were here!"
He focused intensely on the memory of the white-robed mage. Had she been a goddess, his call would have been a prayer. "Ancilla!" An answering murmur rose within Tarscenian's mind, teased him, and died. "Ancilla!" If she could hear him, could she dispatch a spell?
Again the teasing sensation, as though a hibernating animal stirred within his mind. "Ancilla!"
My… My love?
"Ancilla, I'm trapped. They will capture me unless…"
The guards and goblins were short paces away. The hobgoblin pounded one of the goblins on the head with a mailed fist as though they shared an obvious joke.
"See! Old man crazyfool," the hobgoblin chortled. "Talk-talk self. Stuck now. Bounty bounty." The goblin, rear shy;ranging its helmet, continued its approach, crouching behind its bigger cousin.
"Ancilla …"
Tarscenian … I… The voice died away, then returned as though communicating drained almost every iota of the mage's energy. I have.. no.. 1 cannot…
The hobgoblin leaped.
Tarscenian sliced through the air with his sword. The weapon severed, not the hobgoblin's neck, but the laun shy;dry rope between them. Tarscenian lunged for the rope, caught it with his left hand, and swung over the railing.
"Pray Paladine it's well tied at the other end," the man gasped on the way down.
Tarscenian arced through the open space that sepa shy;rated Solace's border from a few scrub pines at the edge of the lake. Sheets, pillowcovers, and knit socks cascaded through the air.
The captain of the guard was waiting for him on the ground, flanked by six men. Each flourished swords and spears.
"For the Old Gods!" Tarscenian bellowed, swinging his sword wildly. The guards threw themselves to the dirt as Tarscenian hurtled directly toward them, but they were not quick enough. Tarscenian managed to sever the arm of one and the hand of another. A third guard fell unconscious when he was clouted in the head by Tarscenian's boots.
Then Tarscenian was heading up again, higher and higher, until it seemed he could almost touch the lake. He remembered, as a child, leaping off a swing at the highest point of its curve, soaring through the air like the panther he'd been pretending to be. He remembered, too, the broken ankle that had kept him in bed for weeks after that escapade.
"Paladine," he prayed, "let this work."
He was coming back down again. The hobgoblin stood on the ground now, urging the others toward the sword-wielding human pendulum. Tarscenian hit one of the goblins, a reddish-orange creature with bright lemon-yellow eyes. The goblin staggered into another one. They both careened into the hobgoblin, who tossed them aside like rags.
Then up … and up. Tarscenian hastily stuffed his sword in its scabbard-no easy task while curled around a rope. His right hand, now free, unclasped the cloak, loosely holding the garment in place.
The hobgoblin swept the other guards aside, and waited alone in Tarscenian's path. The butt of its spear rested on the ground, the point glinting toward the human.
Tarscenian could see victory and consternation mingled in the creature's tiny red eyes. He could almost hear the beast's thoughts: Why did this daft human sheathe his sword?
Then, just as Tarscenian was about to collide with the hobgoblin, the man whipped off his cloak and snagged the spear. The force of Tarscenian's charge whipped the weapon into the neck of the monster that had held it. A bellow rocked the clearing behind the old man as he swung toward the lake.
And then he jumped free of the rope, soaring over two pines toward the water. Tarscenian curled himself into a ball. The landing would either save or kill him.
Water, deep blue and icy even in summer, closed around him. His sword dragged him down, but he dared not jettison it. He kicked his way to the surface, then he made himself relax, lie back, and breathe regularly. He kicked forcefully, away from shore.
The captain of the guard ordered the goblins and hob shy;goblins into the lake after their quarry. Tarscenian heard
the goblin's shrill refusals, and the hobgoblin's deep shout, "Water. Hobgoblin. No. Lake hobgoblin. Wait, see, masterguard."
Tarscenian's sword dragged him down. At this rate, he would tire and drown long before he reached the western shore. "Paladine, please," he prayed, gasping for air. "Ancilla still lives. Let me save … Let us save … We have to …" Then he halted in wonderment.
A spell, long-forgotten, floated into his mind. Tarscen-ian gulped air and raised his arms. With his fingers, he pounded a tattoo on the water surface until the muscles in his forearms threatened to cramp. All the while, he repeated the chant that played through his mind.
"Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit. Fotatol aerifon hexi shy;cadi pfeatherlit. Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit."
He paused to breathe and drew in a lungful of water. He coughed and sputtered, but chanted on.
"Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit."
He felt his wig disguise wash loose from his scalp. A cramp began to hurt his side. He speeded up his chant shy;ing.
Suddenly his muscles eased. He was borne up in the water as though the giant hand of a god had scooped him up. The heavy sword weighed nothing. His sodden garments ceased to hamper him. He glanced back toward Solace. There was no sign of his pursuers.
Suddenly, a craft floated before him.