The bowmen were already reloading, and shouts and pounding feet could be heard coming from another direction. “Got any clever ideas?” the dwarf asked the human irritably.
A cloud of white smoke erupted around them. The murk swirled through the air, obscuring them from view. All of a sudden a woman stood before them, in a white, bright robe. Beautiful, dark-haired, she reached out to pull the gnomes, the dwarf, and the warrior near to her.
“It’s… it’s her!”gasped Dram, shocked. He stared goggle-eyed. “Lady Coryn!”
“Hurry,” she snapped. “There will be plenty of time for fond reunions if we get out of here alive. Now, move!”
Even Carbo and Sulfie hastened to oblige, moving in close to either side of her billowing white robe. More arrows clattered through the alley, but the smoke made the shots go wild. The warrior was the last to join them, as he was busy slashing his blazing sword back and forth, knocking several of the threatening shots aside.
“Well?” demanded Coryn. “We’re not waiting forever.”
The warrior looked at her, then at the rank of knights, now reloading for their third volley. Jaymes winced, shaking his head.
“Damn,” he muttered, charging into the swirl of smoke.
“Put your sword up,” she suggested, with just the hint of a wry smile. He nodded, smoothly sliding the weapon into the hilt concealed beneath his cape, then reached out to grasp the hand extended by the white-robed Coryn.
They stood in a tight circle-the dwarf, the man and woman, and the two gnomes. The lady in white chanted something guttural, and a swirl of magical power enveloped them. There was a sense of sickening disorientation, then the cloud of smoke and magic that hid them from the knights vanished.
With it went the knights, the ghetto, and in fact in the whole city of Caergoth. They blinked to find themselves still holding hands, all in a circle, now standing in the sunlit quiet of a vast plain, sheltered by a verdant, overgrown hedge. A wide river valley, marked by the silver course of a great stream, was visible below them. There were no other people anywhere in sight.
“Coryn,” said the warrior. “We owe you our thanks.”
She snorted, unamused. “Save that. First we have to talk.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The pursuit of the assassin of Lorimar, Lady Selinda admitted to herself, was a bright spark of excitement amid what was shaping up to be a rather tedious conference. Not that the dukes would allow her to accompany the three hundred knights who rushed to bring the villain to justice-they turned deaf ears to even her most persuasive entreaties. Even so, she felt a thrill as, with Lady Martha at her side, the Princess of Palanthas climbed to the top of the castle’s gate tower, from where they could watch the progress of the knights streaming the streets of the great city.
The lady had brought a spyglass, and the two women took turns looking through the device. Selinda was amazed at the effect-when she focused the lens, she felt as though she were looking down from a low rooftop right in the neighborhood instead of from this lofty vantage high up on a castle tower.
The knights could be observed making their way in three columns. The gleaming silver armor of Caergoth’s mounted finest reflected the bright sunlight as the Knights of the Rose headed down a wide avenue. The princess couldn’t help but notice the Sword knights of Solanthus, and the Crown of Thelgaard, looked shabbier in comparison. Their armor, even when metal, barely glinted in the daylight, and their horses were thin, often scarred, by comparison to the huge, well-groomed war-horses of their host’s detachment.
“That’s Thelgaard’s men in the middle,” Lady Martha explained, though the black banner displaying the white crown gave clear enough proof of their allegiance. To the left, the blue pennant with the image of the silver sword flapped in the wind as the knights of Duke Rathskell swung around to the left flank.
“What is that wretched place down there?” asked Selinda, perceiving that the three detachments were encircling an area of flat-roofed shacks, lean-tos, and other hovels along a strip of waterfront.
“We call that the ghetto,” Lady Martha said, a trifle embarrassed. “It is wretched, and no respectable human would go there. For a long time it was inhabited only by Aghar and criminal scum, though since the War of Souls it has become a sort of haven for gnomes. In fact, they’ve built it up a bit since going there-making stone houses, that sort of thing. Poor little folk-they suffered as much as anyone during the years of the Scourges, so my husband has been gracious enough to let them have the place. Indeed, they are better neighbors than the gully dwarves!”
“No doubt,” Selinda agreed, acutely aware that her father’s men had virtually eliminated the filthy little Aghar from Palanthas. Those glimpsed by her escort were seized and, she assumed, expelled from the city.
Her eyes wandered beyond the ghetto to the great docks that serviced the ocean-going galleons. She spotted her father’s ships, nine in all, serenely at anchor in the great port. The tenth-her flagship, Pride of Paladine — was securely lashed to the wharf. The voyage from Palanthas to Caergoth had been reasonably comfortable, she recalled, and the food served to her and the few noble-ranking officers who had shared the captain’s table, excellent. No trace of seasickness had bothered her, and she relished the salty breeze, even the occasional burst of spray splashing across the deck.
Yet now the prospect of re-boarding the galleon for the long return trip home suddenly terrified her. She couldn’t explain her feeling, but she shuddered at the sight of the big ships, quickly pulled her eyes away, looking off to ascertain the progress of the arrest. In her heart, she knew nothing would compel her to board the vessel home. Such a trip would be disaster-this much she knew as the Truth.
It was possible to return to Palanthas overland, but how could she make that happen? Captain Powell would never understand her apprehension. She would have to give the matter some thought.
At the fringes of the ghetto, she saw, the knights were dismounting, leaving their horses in the care of squires as squads of armed and armored men deployed into the neighborhoods. They started into the squalid neighborhood streets and alleys, weapons drawn. There was no great hue and cry, however-even the bright banners were tucked away as the men started their search.
Selinda could see throngs of little people-gnomes, she guessed-prodded at sword point into the small squares and plazas that dotted the ghetto. Occasionally she heard the bark of an indistinguishable, but forceful, command. More than once she saw a gnome or some other wretched denizen squirming in the grip of a strong knight. For a long time this methodical search proceeded, as a a great many citizens of the ghetto were corralled, interrogated-sometimes roughly-then restrained in the increasingly crowded open spaces.
“They must have learned something-look!” cried Lady Martha breathlessly, as the individual parties of knights all hastened toward a small corner of the ghetto. The hapless gnomes left behind swiftly vanished into the tangled lanes, going inside and shutting their doors. Since her hostess was clutching the spyglass in her hand but not using it at the moment, Selinda grabbed the device and put it to her eye.
The knights were forming lines of battle. In addition to the gleaming swords Selinda scanned ranks of archers, less heavily armored then the swordsmen but readying their deadly crossbows. One by one the streets surrounding a small area were cordoned off, and archers deployed behind the ranks of swordsmen, all of them moving with methodical discipline. A wider ring, comprised of Caergoth’s Rose knights to judge from the immaculate armor, stood back from the attacking formations, presumably to intercept the Assassin if he should try to slip through the encirclement.