"Exactly," Faro agreed. "And there you have it. Everything I do-or do not do-will be credited to your control of me."
"Such illusion!"
"No illusion, mistress."
He did not seem to be joking. Xylina shook her head as they turned the corner and headed towards their home. "Perhaps mother was different-perhaps I am simply remembering things wrongly-but I don't remember her ever treating her slaves that way. Certainly she and Marcus talked all the time about everything under the sun, and she listened to his opinions and often followed his advice."
"What happens in private and what happens in public are two different things, little mistress," Faro cautioned. "I am certain that your mother must have acted in the same arrogant fashion as any other Mazonite in public. And you must do the same, if you are going to impress other women with your control, your strength and-"
Whatever else he was about to say was lost, as a hint of movement in the shadows of the street ahead of them made them both stop dead in their tracks.
The lanterns and torches were fewer and farther between here; the blotches of shadow larger and deeper. And there was something in the third pool of shadow from where they now stood.
They remained right where they were, beside one of the lanterns, in the full light. That made it difficult for them to see into the shadows, but impossible for anyone to sneak up on them.
The only sounds were the ones coming over the walls; distant reminders of a different kind of life. Xylina felt her stomach knot, her spine tingle with a premonition of danger. A moment later, the danger manifested.
Impatient for their prey to come to them, the ambushers moved out of concealment and into the lit portion of the street.
There were five men and one woman. The woman hung back, remaining at the edge of the shadow, only the outline of her form revealing that she was a woman. The men were all large, roguish-looking, with cruel, hard eyes and the scars of those who had fought others before.
But they were not as big or as muscular as Faro-and none of them had that "arena look," a look as if they longed for death and did not care whether the death was their own or someone else's. They carried no weapons; that was a death-penalty crime for any man without a special permit, even if the weapons weren't used.
They said nothing, nor did they need to. It was obvious that their chosen targets were Faro and his mistress. What they could not have guessed was that the two might oppose their attackers as a team.
For an ordinary man to be armed within the city was death-but a man might carry a stave or a staff, and although the law said that it must be of light, hollow material, easily broken, who was to say what that staff might truly be made of? Especially if it had been conjured and could be banished long before the City Guard arrived at the scene.
No sooner thought than done; Xylina gathered her power from deep within, spread her hands palms up, and conjured a staff as tall as Faro, but made of metal. She staggered a little as it dropped into her hands, but tossed it quickly to the slave.
He took it immediately, casting her a feral grin, and went into a "guard" position with it.
She dropped behind him a step, her heart pounding and her mouth dry, as the ruffians rushed them.
She used the strategy that had been so successful against Faro: conjuring metal rods and hurling them at the legs of their attackers. One went down in mid-charge; two more stumbled but recovered.
The two who had not been stopped hurled themselves at Faro; the other two came for Xylina.
She conjured a metal net and threw it at them, dancing backwards and hoping there were no more of the ruffians behind her. The net ensnared the first of the attackers neatly; the second continued to charge.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Faro snap up the tip of his staff, taking the first man to reach him under the chin. The man's head jerked back as the tip connected with a meaty crack. He fell over backwards, landing in a limp heap in the street, and did not move.
Now Xylina's second attacker was within arm's-length of her; she changed her tactics and conjured something different: a double-handful of grit that she tossed directly into his face before ducking under his groping arms and getting behind him.
He cried out with pain and his hands flew to his face- but he still had the momentum of his charge, and now Xylina was in a position to add to that.
She did, with a kick to his back that sent him into the wall. He landed heavily against it, hitting it with his head and shoulder. She conjured another heavy rod the length of her forearm, and while he was still dazed, she clubbed him across the back of his skull.
The impact jarred her hand and made her let go of the rod, but it no longer mattered. The man dropped to the bricks like a felled ox, his scalp split open and bleeding.
She heard a sound behind her and ducked, dropping to the ground and tumbling out of the way. Just in time, for the man she had tripped with her rods had recovered-and had one of the rods in his hand. He swung-
Just as she banished her conjuration. How apt Faro's warning about that had been!
The sudden loss of his improvised club startled him- giving her a chance to repeat her trick with the grit. She hit both his eyes with the stuff, and he yelled and stumbled back-right into range of Faro's staff.
Faro dispatched him with careless ease and a blow to the side of the head, and turned his attention back to his other opponent before the clubbed man hit the pavement.
This was when the woman in the shadows made her move.
She left, abandoning her slaves.
Xylina could hardly believe it when the woman whirled and took to her heels, running off into the shadows and leaving her men to fend for themselves and extract themselves as well as they could. But she had no time to congratulate herself on her luck, for the third man came at her, and she was fairly certain that he would not be taken by either the rods or the net, nor would he leave his eyes vulnerable to a handful of grit.
He was fast, charging her like a sprinter, and there was nowhere for her to run.
So she conjured a patch of the most slippery oil she could think of right under his running feet, then dodged to one side as he hit it.
His feet went right out from underneath him and flew up; his head hit the bricks of the street with a sickening crack.
He did not get up.
Faro used the moment of distraction as she took out her third opponent to eliminate his second. He drove the tip of the staff into the ruffian's stomach, then brought the other end down on his head. The man went down with a muffled cry.
And the street was suddenly silent. Quickly Xylina banished her conjurations. The woman might come back with the City Guard, and accusations of an armed slave. Faro stared at his empty hands for an eye-blink, then quickly dusted them on his tunic.
"Are you all right?" he asked Xylina carefully, as if he were having trouble forming words. She could understand that; she trembled from head to toe with reaction, and she was not certain she would be able to talk coherently for several moments yet. She simply nodded, and walked cautiously over to one of their felled opponents. Felled? No-she realized as she touched the first one that she and Faro had done their work too well. There would be no one to question, for they had killed all five.
As she had half-expected, there were no badges or livery, or anything else to identify the woman who was their mistress. Their tunics were plain, coarse linen. There were no brands of ownership on them, either. Even the slave-rings about their necks were cheap iron bands with no writing on them.
She straightened from her examination to see that Faro was doing the same thing-checking the dead men for anything that could identify them.
Or was he?
She took a closer look-to see that he was rifling the bodies!