Cerest recognized it at the same time. He drew his sword.
"Greyas!" he cried. But there was no answer from the shadows.
Cerest looked down at the blood pool and cursed. Shenan shoved Fannie away and brandished her own blade, moving into position at Cerest's back.
Icelin used the distraction to slide off the back of the crate, putting it between her and the elves. She heard Fannie stumbling for cover, but Cerest was no longer paying her any attention. He was watching the shadows intently.
"Show yourselves!" He shouted.
Tense, Icelin waited, but there came no answer from the shadows.
A breath passed, and a sound like beating wings came out of the darkness. A huge metal cleaver buried itself deep into the crate where Icelin had been sitting. The handle quivered from side to side.
Icelin reached up and snatched the weapon. As soon as her lingers touched the handle, the attack came.
Sull leaped from behind a crate, charging into the circle with a loud roar. The sight of the red-haired giant hurtling across the warehouse was enough to break apart Cerest and Shenan. They dived for cover, and Sull placed himself squarely in front of Icelin. He grabbed the cleaver from her and sliced her bonds.
"Get back!" Sull shouted as he parried a blow from Shenan's blade with his mallet. The dagger left a deep gouge in the wood.
Icelin backed away, seeking cover. Cerest broke to follow when another shadow moved-a large burst of darkness that came from above.
Ruen dropped from a column of stacked crates, landing behind Cerest. He grabbed the elf around the throat, dragging him away from Icelin.
"Greyas!" Cerest shouted, twisting to shove the man off. "Rondel!" He spun. Icelin saw the instant the elf locked eyes with Ruen.
For a breath, Cerest froze like a frightened deer. Icelin heard him mutter, "Spellscarred," before he went for his sword.
Ruen stood before him, unarmed and at ease. His knees slighdy bent, he all but danced on the balls of his feet. Cerest thrust with his blade, and Ruen jumped back. The thrust never came close to his flesh. The elf swung again, and again Ruen dodged, this time finding an opening to punch Cerest in the gut.
The elf stumbled back. His sword wavered; he didn't know whether to attack or defend.
He has no notion of how to fight an unarmed man, Icelin realized. It would be more to his advantage if Ruen had a weapon.
The thief, on the other hand, appeared to be reading Cerest's attacks before he made them. He danced back, sweeping his foot out in a kick that connected solidly with Cerest's knee. The elf had his full weight propped there; he went down with a cry of fury.
This wasn't desperate street fighting. Icelin observed Ruen's measured stance, the balance between rest and motion. He stayed suspended between the two, almost floating, until Cerest's attack came. Only trained, disciplined warriors fought this way, facing whirling steel with an air of serenity and absolute comfort in the strength of their bodies.
Ruen Morleth was not a thief, or at least, not only a thief. He was a monk, a warrior trained in unarmed combat.
A loud pounding sounded outside the warehouse door. Icelin tore her attention away from the battle. Ruen and Sull must have sealed the door from the inside when they'd entered the warehouse. Cerest's men-gods knew how many had come running at the elf's shout-were trying to break down the door. The flimsy wood and rusted iron wouldn't hold for long.
Not this time. She wouldn't be caught again. Icelin took a deep breath and searched her mind, cycling through spell after spell in the vast tower library.
Wind. Force. Her teacher had shown her how the spell could be used if she was ever jumped in Blacklock Alley.
Good enough to seal a door. Spellbooks opened and flew before her mind. She discarded the safe spells, those that would do no harm. She threw them all into a dusty corner and pictured a black book, something fearful and dangerous. Yes. Those were the spells she feared most, but they were the only ones that would aid her friends.
Then it came to her: a black tome with a gold spine. The words were written in faded ink, as if her mind were instinctively trying to protect itself from the deadly power in the words. She forced herself to visualize them clearly. Her heart tripped rapidly in her chest. She thought of a song to calm herself, chanted in time to the music, but her voice quivered. She was no monk. There would be no serenity for her in this fight.
The spell manifested in a burst of energy. Icelin's hair blew straight back from her face. The hot wind made her eyes stream. She lifted her hands, and the wind rose, spiraling outward to the door in a contained funnel. The force of it grated against the wood, forcing the door tight into its frame. The pounding ceased.
"Ruen! Sull, let's go! I can't hold it for long!" Icelin screamed above the wind.
Sull turned, his mallet tangled with Shenan's dagger. He kept barreling into her, knocking her off balance so she couldn't cast a proper spell. "Hold on, lass. We're comin'!"
Icelin heard a loud thud. It sounded like someone had been thrown into a pile of crates. She was too focused on the spell to see whether it was a friend or a foe.
The breath burned in her chest. Too hot, she thought. The air thickened, and sweat poured down her face. The spell was too strong. It was happening just like before, but this would be much worse. She could feel the heat building. Paint bubbled on the warehouse walls.
Gods, don't do this to me. Not again.
Five years fell away like scales. She was losing control; the spell was slipping away, taking on a life of its own. Icelin was powerless to stop it. She could hear the screams coming from the boardinghouse. So many people, trying to get out…
The wooden door buckled in its frame. Frightened shouts rang out from the other side. Icelin fought to contain the wind, to keep it caged in its deadly funnel.
Flames burst into being and flew along the funnel's rim. Icelin could do nothing but watch them, a dozen restless sprites spiraling through the air. Pain shot through her after each flame appeared, as if they were being torn from her body.
Icelin dropped to her knees, and the funnel burst. Freed, the fire shot in all directions. The deadly flame arrows buried in crates or ricocheted off the tin walls.
Everyone in the warehouse would be a target, Icelin thought wildly. She couldn't end the spell; the magic became unrecognizable once the spell went wild. She had no way to contain it now.
Through a haze of smoke and pain, Icelin felt a presence behind her. For all she knew, it could have been Cerest or one of his men, come to stick a dagger in her back. Somehow, she knew it was Ruen. The thief crouched behind her.
"Can you walk?" He had to shout to be heard above the roaring wind.
Icelin shook her head. The slight movement made her vision swim.
"I can't touch you," Ruen said. "My ring will enhance the spell. It could kill us all."
"Where's Sull?" Icelin said. "Fannie-she's here too." She couldn't see them through the smoke. The crates were on fire, the blaze spreading to every corner of the warehouse. Soon the ceiling would collapse, just as it had done five years ago.
"Sull and Fannie are fine," Ruen said. "The others fled in fear of your spell."
Relief flooded Icelin, bringing with it a sense of peace. This was justice, she thought. I will die here and never hurt anyone again.
"Go," Icelin said. "Get out of here. Make sure Sull gets to safety, and your marker is paid. That's all I care-"
A wave of energy shuddered through Icelin's body. She felt the last vestiges of the spell inside her explode outward. The door and part of the wall blew apart, but Icelin didn't hear the grinding, tearing metal. The force of the blast deafened her.
"How convenient," Ruen said. He was still shouting, but his voice seemed to come from very far away. He had his hands at her armpits, dragging her to her feet. "You made us a door."